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JOURNEY THROUGH LAMICTAL
by Nikki and Anne Heart ♥ February 12, 2026
*Although we wrote this post together, we have chosen to present the following through Mom’s eyes.
Mom's Story: Journey through Lamictal
I always saw Nikki as a sensitive, caring, hardworking girl who pushed herself to be the very best she could be. From early on, I noticed how deeply her environment affected her emotionally. Change was hard for her, and her perfectionist streak—so much like her father’s—often added to her stress. Whether at school or at home, she tried so hard to do everything “right,” and I could see how that pressure fed her anxiety.
What I didn’t know then was how incomplete my understanding of Nikki’s overall health truly was.
When she entered middle school, her dad and I sought help for her growing stress and anxiety. We found a counselor we hoped would support her. During the first visit, I explained how easily Nikki became frustrated and how those moments often spiraled into stress and meltdowns.
After only two sessions—sessions that involved little more than drawing pictures—the counselor recommended medication. Nikki was just ten years old. No diagnosis had been made. The conclusion was based solely on Nikki not drawing eyes on her figures, a textbook theory about “closing out the world.”
I disagreed immediately. It was clear the counselor wasn’t listening to what we were saying about Nikki. After a few more unproductive sessions, we left.
Over the next several years, I continued trying to find someone who could truly help. Each time, the suggestion was the same: medication—often recommended before anyone even met Nikki. One counselor even suggested that I should take medication, insisting I needed something to “get through the tough times.” I never went back. Sadly, this became the pattern whenever I reached out for guidance.
After so many discouraging experiences, Nikki and I kept her struggles to ourselves. Even though I saw her pain throughout high school, she still managed to excel—an honor student and a scholar athlete.
Like most teenagers, she wanted independence. I helped her apply to colleges far from home, and when she was accepted, I packed her things with excitement for the new chapter ahead.
Dropping her off for her first year of college filled me with pride, but the reality of letting her go hit hard. When I closed the car door and drove away, I cried the entire five-hour trip home. I remember telling my husband, “Don’t talk, just drive.”
Nikki and I spoke often after she settled in. I knew she was struggling but we had a reassuring hope it would work out.
By the middle of the first semester, the loneliness, the grueling workouts required for the track team, the extreme cold rainy weather and the drastic change in her diet all played a role in her depression.
As her depression deepened, we talked about ways to help. I visited her as often as I could, and she came home whenever possible. I reached out to counselors who worked with college students, and Nikki went whenever her schedule allowed.
But during spring break, everything shifted. Her depression worsened dramatically and Nikki tried to commit suicide. Luckily the attempt wasn’t successful.
I immediately reached out to her counselor she was seeing for advice and help for Nikki. Someone I believed Nikki would be able trust. However, I was informed she could no longer counsel Nikki due to the suicide attempt. I asked where we can get help, but no resources were offered only wishes of good luck.
With no one else to turn to, we relied on a referral from a co-worker of my husband’s.
I remember like it was yesterday being in that office with Nikki and my husband, all of us unsure of what to do, hoping this professional could help–talk with her and find a solution to heal her pain.
It was at this visit, the very first visit, we were told that what Nikki needed was medication.
I sat there questioning myself—wondering if my hesitation about medication all these years had kept Nikki from getting the help she needed.
So this time, I sat there looking at Nikki and said “OK, if that is what you need.”
As a parent, all you want is to keep your child safe. When they’re hurt, you clean the wound. When they cry, you wipe their tears. And when they need more help than you can give, you turn to a professional.
So when Nikki needed more than I could offer, I followed the advice given to us. The advice I believed to be true.
It was at this visit, her first visit, she was prescribed her first mental health medication: Lamictal.
Before filling the prescription, I questioned the pharmacist about side effects only to be given the standard informational guidelines.
I again spoke with the counselor regarding some of the side effects listed in the guide, but they were brushed off as nothing to worry about.
With no other choice, I filled the prescription and gave it to Nikki.
As difficult as it was, I drove Nikki back to school because she didn’t want to lose everything she had worked so hard for.
But her mood became increasingly unstable, and her depression deepened. To support her through the final weeks of the semester, I stayed in a nearby town.
I watched her fight for her wellness every day on Lamictal. There were no improvements—only worsening symptoms, including a rash. Her dosage was increased three times in four months. When things continued to decline, we were told she needed an additional medication.
That’s when she was prescribed her second medication, Lithium.
This was only the beginning of a seven-year journey—one that took years to unravel and one that still lingers with us. Looking back, I see so many things that should have been done differently.
From the start, no medical testing was done. No thyroid panel. No discussion of food sensitivities. No exploration of whether Nikki might have been dealing with something other than a mood disorder.
Lamictal is primarily used to prevent seizures and to treat bipolar disorder. Neither condition was Nikki’s diagnosis. Neither was discussed as part of her treatment plan.
And yet, this was the path we were placed on.
Learn More
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Live Healthier
Lamictal Facts
Hidden Triggers
Lithium Facts
Note: All information in “Nikki’s Story and Mom’s Story” are based on detail journals covering seven years of Nikki’s life on prescription drugs.
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