A Raw and Honest Journey Through Fear, Love, and Self-Discovery
Written by: Dr. Maggie Augustyn, FAGD, FICOI, FAAIP
The Questions That Haunt Us
There are some days in our lives when the questions simply don’t stop: Who am I? Who am I meant to be? Who will I become? Is this really the road I’m supposed to travel? And then, as time passes, another question brings the following questions: Am I the best version of myself? Am I likable? Am I acceptable? Am I lovable? We think we ought to be, in some way, asking these questions of the people around us. But the truth is, we’re really asking them of ourselves, and within our hearts, we know the answers. Every moment we live leads us to the next, like stepping stones on an unpredictable path. Every decision we make unfolds into a reality, a consequence that shapes the life we live. The past—both the pain we’ve endured and the joy we’ve been gifted—defines the people we’ve become. Over the last three months, I’ve had both a bizarre and powerful experience that has brought me face-to-face with these truths. And as always, I want to share it with you in complete transparency, honesty, and vulnerability. Because, as always, this is not just about who I am, but about who we are as humans.
A Journey Back to the Beginning
Allow me for just a moment to travel back in time. I have recently come to know that when I was born, on September 23rd, 1976, in communist Poland, I was born at a very low birth weight. Times were different, science was different, culture was different, and thus, in an effort to get me out of the hospital safely, the physicians and nurses decided that the best way for me to grow and gain weight would be to separate me. Essentially, from the moment I was born and for a span of nine days, I was separated from human contact. What we know today about how that very development affects a human being is very different from what we knew back then. There are multiple studies that highlight the importance of human contact and the damage caused by infant and maternal separation as the child develops. I hold no ill will against anyone for this experience. This is part of my story, part of my journey, and part of my life. But this information has, in turn, shaped, programmed, and given me the life I lead right now. This very powerful information has taught both me and my healthcare providers (psychiatrists and psychologists) how and why my brain works a certain way. I have severe anxiety, depression, and have suffered from suicidality. And with the backing of psychology and neurology, much of my mental anguish has had to do with attachment issues on a very basic human level since birth.
Don’t Get Over It
There are those who will tell you: get over it. Get over the past! I urge you to discount that advice. I don’t ask you to live in the pain of what might have happened to you. I urge you instead to come to understand it. As hard as it is, almost embrace it. Because that level of understanding will provide you with both the ability to heal and move forward. “Getting over it” will stifle your growth and lead to emotions that sometimes aren’t very appropriate—emotions that you cannot identify and therefore cannot release. On this subject, I strongly urge readers here to pick up the book The Body Keeps the Score by Dr. Bessel van der Kolk—the groundbreaking Bible for understanding how trauma affects how our lives unfold.
Fear as My Dark Passenger
So again, my life has brought me where it has, and I’m grateful for it all. But there were many things that have happened that have instilled this disproportionate fear in me. One of the fears that has been living very persuasively in me is the fear of losing my loved ones: my daughter, my husband, my parents. Very specifically, and very recently, I have feared losing my parents. And again, might we really need to wonder? I’m at an age where many of my contemporaries, even some distant family members, are losing their loved ones. From a scientific point of view, the fear in a woman of my age of losing her parents is not uncommon, and it’s almost appropriate. In my life, however, these fears took on a life of their own.
The Nightmares That Whispered Goodbye
Three months ago, I began having dreams that my father would die on my birthday. Frequent dreams. Vivid dreams… nightmares, really. I would see things like his grandmother asking him to join her on the other side. Some of the dreams would involve my seeing a coffin being set into a fire, allowing my father’s body to be cremated. And really, everywhere I looked, I attempted to find confirmation that this could really be happening. I wanted some sign in the world around me that this would not be happening, but I began to brace for the unthinkable. I had arranged for a family photo session as a result of this grave fear. The week before, as we were all having dinner, talking about this session, my father said something about a death coinciding with a finished family portrait. And it was a series of sentences, coincidences, and realities that unfolded and kept me believing that my father would die on my birthday. For three months, I suffered silently, crying in many corners, living as if my birthday would be the division of the good and sorrow in my life.
Daddy Daughter Time
These three months also made me spend a lot more time with him. Each time I was with my dad, I was present, immersed in every moment. This balanced my life. I wasn’t chasing, I wasn’t speaking, I was living. I was living as if my world was going to end. But those months of me living in both the joy of being with him and understanding that I might be without him were more challenging than I am letting on. The people that I’m closest to knew about what was unfolding in my mind. The people who took care of me—my healthcare providers, my psychologist, and psychiatrist—knew that I was living this new truth. And though medication maybe could have numbed how I felt, I chose to go without it, or at least without an increase. I had so many moments of joy throughout these ninety days, the celebrations that I was living in. And they all far outweighed whatever fear and pain I was enduring at this self-imposed expectation.
When I thought about it more, and when I really leaned into the fear, I also began to imagine that the day my father would die, my mom would pass with him. She has been experiencing a sensation of electrical signals in her heart and has made a cardiologist appointment, but the soonest available appointment is not until November. Again, in this bizarre existence, I convinced myself that if my father was going to die, my mother, having discovered his passing, would suffer a heart attack. And she would pass as well. It would happen exactly as described by the words of my father during one of our meals about the family portrait. And so, for about a month, I lived believing that I would lose both of my parents on my 49th birthday. As the days grew more difficult, I had an incredibly supportive husband who would hold me as I cried, as I feared, as I wanted to scream. All we could do—all any of us could do—was wait for my birthday to come.
Coping With the Unbearable
My psychologist, with whom I was in constant contact, asked me: Who are you going to be when this doesn’t happen? My response to her was: Who am I going to be if this DOES happen? These conversations, with her and within my own mind, were constant. My migraines were unbearable. I was in constant pain. I could barely make it through the workdays. There was no medication that was working: I was on Botox, Topamax, Vyepti, and my neurologist added some Valium to help the muscles relax. I tried Gabapentin and Flexeril. Under some guidance from both my general doctor and psychiatrist, I began to experiment with CBD and THC for my migraines—no change. I even injected myself with local anesthetic near the occipital area and temples (do not try this at home).
I lost so much sleep over the past three months that I sometimes wondered how I was able to walk. What allowed me to put one foot in front of the other was the joy that I chose to see every day unfolding in front of me. I was walking in the delight of the interactions I had with my patients and my team. I was walking in the thrill of having a husband who so courageously loved me through this madness. But this pain and hyperexcited nervous system needed to exist in some way if we were to make it to that birthday. In order to get some of that pain out of my body, somatically, as strange as it sounds, I did some other practices, other preparations. I packed a suitcase filled with black clothes in case I needed to live at my parents’ house in preparation for their funeral. I’d written and almost memorized the eulogy—first for my father, and then for both of my parents. Those things were helpful to me in getting through these last few days. I acted out a future that I was praying I wouldn’t live in. Concocted and surreal, and self-imposed? Yes, all of it, yes. And nonetheless, as a result of the reality that I had created in my brain, these things all helped. And I was willing to take any help, no matter how peculiar, unusual, or borderline socially unacceptable.
The Vigil
The evening of September 22nd approached and was finally with me. I knew I would be too hypervigilant and hyper-focused on what the future might bring and could not sleep. Scott (my husband) and I discussed this. So did my psychologist. My plan was to spend the night busy somehow. I just ended up spending a big part of the night repainting a toy box that I’d been meaning to refinish.
Part of the vision or the dream was that my father’s passing would take place at 2:41 AM. A little after midnight, I couldn’t take it anymore. I got dressed and drove to my parents’ house. I turned off my car lights and parked directly in front of their bedroom window. It’s just as bizarre to write it and to say it as it was to live it.
The most important reason I drove there was my need to carry my mom. I needed to be there to emotionally support her through some of the greatest pain a human can endure—the loss of your soulmate. And when you really conceptualize it that way, and think about what I did and why, there’s a certain amount of acceptance for the compassion that you are willing to extend to another person. I mean, consider the lengths to which you would travel if you knew you could hold someone through their great tragedy.
The Longest and Truest Reflection
The three hours that I sat outside of my parents’ house were difficult. And I choose to use the term “difficult,” despite the fact that I have many others that I could inject there. Difficult is sufficient. During this time, I was also extraordinarily calm and vigilant. I was ready. I had been prepared emotionally for what might happen. I knew why I was there and the reason I was acting in this role. I understood the psychology. I understood the neuroscience. I understood the somatic practice. I understood that I loved my mother so much that I was willing to lose sleep by parking and watching at her window. I understood that I could be wrong. I understood with my entire heart that what I was doing was uncommon, entirely socially unacceptable; and nonetheless, I did it.
Within my mind, I knew that if anybody or everybody considered what I had done, they’d call me crazy. In those moments that I sat in that car, I considered who I was. I considered who I was intended to be. I considered how I would view this day, the following day, and every day forward. In those three hours, I considered whom I would tell the truth about this and how people would view me as a result. I considered how much respect—in myself and in others—I would lose for living out this very bizarre action.
The Moment That Will Come to Define My Life
2:41 AM came. Nothing happened. I sat for a few more moments and then decided to drive home. Tears just broke, like they had been in prison for days or weeks or months. And as I wept, I came to realize that as 2:41 AM arrived, all the hardship and the pain that I had endured had all been worth it. Because as I was pulling back into my own driveway, everything—and I mean everything—was right with the world.
I lived the most perfect, beautiful, and balanced life. I knew that the people who loved and took care of me accepted me despite all the reasons I gave them not to. My husband, who could have deserted me and committed me to a psychiatric facility, chose to love me through this madness. My psychiatrist and psychologist diligently explained to me what was happening and held space for me, making themselves available in the middle of the night. My neurologist, with whom I exchanged many messages, used every resource she could to give me peace from this migraine. My friends allowed me to talk about my fears as they held my hand without judgment. At 3:00 AM on September 23rd, 2025, I lived the most perfect life, because my parents were both alive and well.
#thisisme
And so, as I sit here now, reflecting on the road I’ve traveled, I realize that every twist, every turn, every moment of joy, and every ounce of pain has been a brushstroke on the canvas of who I am. The questions I’ve asked, the fears I’ve faced, the love I’ve received, and the losses I’ve braced for—they’ve all brought me here. To this moment. To this person. To this life.
And while the journey has been anything but easy, I’ve come to understand that true acceptance isn’t something I can seek from anyone or anything outside of myself. It’s been about finding it within me—learning to embrace every part of my story, no matter how broken or beautiful. Yet, I would be remiss not to honor the people who have walked beside me, who held me together when I felt like I was falling apart. Their love, their presence, and their unwavering belief in me gave me the strength to keep going.
And now, as I stand here, I know this truth: I am enough. I am whole. I am here. This is me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dr. Maggie Augustyn, FAGD, FICOI, FAAIP, is a Dawson-trained practicing general dentist, owner of Happy Tooth, author, and inspirational keynote speaker. Featured on 4 dental magazine covers and recognized by Dentistry Today as one of the top 250 leaders, she inspires others through her writing, helping them find healing and connection. Dr. Augustyn serves as the national spokesperson for the Academy of General Dentistry and as a faculty member for the Productive Dentist Academy. She contributes monthly to her “Mindful Moments” column for Dentistry Today and AGD Impact and writes for other publications as well. With unwavering compassion and a dedication to excellence, Dr. Augustyn addresses audiences ranging from a few dozen to thousands, guiding them toward fulfillment and meaningful impact. To contact her, email [email protected].
