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Yesterday, I threw my arms up in defeat. I surrendered. I caved. I gave up. I did the unthinkable – called a medical specialist. The connotation surrounding this call is “I’m a failure.” I could not rid my body of pain. I could not figure out the problem and fix it. Add this mindset to escalating PMS (yes, it’s real) and my emotions launched into a tailspin – and landed on “depressed.”

Every ounce of me wanted to go face-down in a bag of tortilla chips and eat my way out of the pit of failure I had fallen in. (It didn’t help that we recently purchased the tastiest tortilla chips I’ve eaten in a long time, and they were staring at me from the counter.)

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