Jessica Woodville | Memoir & Musings

The day my proof copies of my memoir arrived should have been one of the happiest days of my life. And for a moment, it was. I had felt the anticipation and excitement building for days—so much so that I could barely sleep the night before. But what I didn’t realize was that what I was actually feeling wasn’t just excitement; it was my body, specifically my adrenals, deciding that all of this was just too much for them to handle.

I hadn’t been taking it as easy as I should have, considering the emotional burden of everything going on. My living situation, which I’ve touched on before, still isn’t ideal for someone recovering from adrenal burnout—if that’s even the right diagnosis. There’s still an unsettling mystery about what’s truly going on in my body, and I’m stuck in the in-between, trying to figure out if something deeper lurks beneath the surface.

So when the symptoms of a flare-up started, my first thought wasn’t, Oh, here we go again. It was: I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough.

Not this as in another flare-up, but this as in publishing my memoir. Putting my deepest wounds and darkest memories into the world. The fear came in waves—

What if no one reads it?

Worse… what if A LOT of people read it?

Even worse… what if my grandparents read it and it breaks their hearts?

I started typing into my Discord support group, This is too much. What was I thinking? when that all-too-familiar wave of adrenaline shot through my body. My skin felt clammy, my stomach twisted into knots.

Surely, this is just a panic attack and not my adrenals?

Please don’t be an adrenal crash.

It had been quite a while since I had a full crash, and the last thing I wanted was to end up with paramedics and cops at my house again. My poor kids are still traumatized from that whole ordeal, and that was over a year ago now.

It’s a special kind of hell trying to take care of yourself when you’re chronically ill—fighting your body while also trying to convince your mind to be strong. Telling yourself that you’ll find answers and feel better, while a dark voice in the back of your head snickers, Yeah, right. That’s been going great so far. Then add in being a mom. Not just the responsibility of taking care of them but also the desire to be stronger for them.

Because, truthfully, I still have no idea what’s going on with my body.

I could be heading back into adrenal burnout or full-blown chronic adrenal insufficiency. It could be chronic fatigue. I know it’s connected to a lifetime of trauma. But figuring out a treatment plan when I’m still in an environment that triggers fight-or-flight weekly, if not daily, feels like trying to bail out water with a bucket full of holes.

Not having answers is the biggest mindf*ck in all of this.

I don’t know what to do—or not do—to feel better (or at the very least, not feel worse). It’s all trial and error, and honestly? I feel like I’m losing the resilience I wrote about in my last blog. Because here’s the truth: Anything will break under enough pressure. Even me. Even you.

But breaking doesn’t mean I’m giving up.

It just means I have to find peace somewhere in all of this. And right now, that feels like the hardest fight of all.