My one word for 2018 (in place of New Year's resolutions) was Partake. I expected my year to be focused on truly monitoring what I let into my soul - body and spirit. Filtering out the bad, inviting more of the good.
I'd say I had moderate success. I didn't do well with the physical. I didn't do well cleaning up my diet and focusing on other healthy behaviors I've let slip (like sleep and water).
I didn't do well on time management. I didn't cut down significantly on Netflix and such.
However, I did really well at filtering out the entertainment that doesn't fit my value system. There are books, TV shows, movies, and music I partook of before that I wouldn't really want to admit to. Not because the world considers them inappropriate, but because I do. They were the literal definition of guilty pleasures.
The simplest way I found to bring my behaviors and beliefs into accord was to cut out all entertainment that would be rated higher than PG.
Not everything is rated. Books aren't rated, but many of them would be beyond PG if they were. Music isn't screened well at all. Old movies are often not rated.
With music, I just cut out anything with swearing or sex. With everything else, whenever I found myself wanting to partake of something that wasn't rated, I did a little homework.
With books, I asked the people who read them, if I could. Right now I only read for book club, so I just asked someone who read ahead of me. That worked well. I only had to filter one or two of them out.
I used IMDb to judge movies and TV shows. If a show didn't seem to have a rating, I scrolled down to a section called Certificate and clicked on See all certifications. This showed me how it was rated in other countries. I looked at the ratings from Australia and the United Kingdom, sometimes others. If they were under 13, I called it approved. I also read the Parents Guide. These helped a lot.
The trouble came when IMDb and Netflix had conflicting ratings. Like with Merlin. On IMDb it's TV-PG; on Netflix it's TV-14. I watched many episodes before I found out it was TV-14 on Netflix. Then I pondered a long time. It's a series I've watched a couple times. As far as I could guess, the only thing that might push it to TV-14 is the witchcraft, that gets a little more intense in the later seasons. But it still wasn't something that went beyond my sensitivities. In the end, I stopped watching it. Not because I don't think it's okay for me, but because it was my goal to not watch beyond PG for the year, and I wanted to stay as true to that as I could.
There were a lot of shows that are TV-14 that I think are okay, but I didn't watch. There were also some that were PG that I wasn't okay with, like Charmed (lots of casual sex). Luckily, I had many options I love - like all the Star Treks (except Discovery, which . . . let's just not go there) and Doctor Who. Most SciFi TV before 2000 is fine. I also watched some shows from years ago that I didn't watch when they first aired, like Sabrina the Teenage Witch. And I explored a lot of teen and kids shows and found some gems, like Wolfblood and Gravity Falls.
It was a little tough at the beginning of the year. I wasn't watching R-rated or TV-MA before anyway, so it wasn't a huge jump. But once in a while I'd want to watch something I thought was okay and find it wasn't. And it was tough when the new Fantastic Beasts came out and was rated PG-13. And it was especially tough during Octoboween, when I usually watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, both beyond my limit.
But, overall, it was a great year. I was happier. My soul was lighter. I felt more clean. And less self-reproaching. I'm really glad I did it and that I stuck to it.
I've been debating how I want things to change or stay the same now that the year is over. I've decided I'll mostly maintain my current status. I'll mostly stay away from PG-13 and TV-14, unless it's something I know is clean. I have a much better knowledge of what I'm sensitive to now and feel I can be honest with myself and take care of myself by filtering accordingly.
I watched my first TV-14 show yesterday - The West Wing. There was a bit more swearing than I remember, but I think it was just the episodes I chose. I'm going to give it a few more tries before I write it off again. And I WILL be seeing Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald before too long.
Beyond that, I just don't know yet. I've learned a lot. I'll play it by ear - or by heart, I guess.
Saturday, January 19, 2019
Friday, December 29, 2017
2018 One Word - Partake
Choosing one word for the year is an interesting thing. I always think I know how it will play out, but it always surprises me. I'm sure this will be the same.
It often starts with a feeling. I get a sense of what I need to focus on. Sometimes a clear word. Sometimes just an ethereal idea. After pondering on it for a while, usually several days, I settle on the word. Always a bit before the end of the year. I've known my word for next year for a few weeks now.
And when I choose a new word, I tend to start changing my life to fit it, even before January first. Can't help it.
This year's word is PARTAKE. As usual, I have a very clear feel for what it will be, even if I can't quite say it.
The first word that came to mind was consume, then consumption. It was an idea that I needed to be more aware of what I take into my mind and body. Consume was so completely not the right word, and consumption made me feel like I was in the 1800s with some disease. I had to work on it for a bit.
But partake is so totally the right word. It's not about devouring something. It's about accepting something. It has a spiritual feel to it. It helped me flesh out my view for the year.
It's both about not partaking in something unhealthy for me and choosing to partake of things that are. The duality of that might not be obvious. But I can choose not to partake of certain negative things and go on my merry way without too much change. When I'm presented with good options/opportunities, I need to partake of those.
See? It's totally clear in my heart but tough to communicate.
I've already started to prepare and to put it into practice. It's very compelling, this year's word.
In a simple and obvious way, I've whittled down my viewing and music choices. I already leaned on the less adult side. I already limited my movies to PG-13 and my TV to TV-14. This cut out so much objectionable stuff. (For me. Let me be clear - this is about my tolerance, not a judgment on anyone else.) But there's still so much that I'm not proud of, that I know isn't good for me, but I was hesitant to get rid of because I like it.
I've gone through Netflix (where I do almost all my viewing) and cleared everything from my queue that's rated more than PG. I've also cut out some things that are PG but with content I know isn't in accordance with this plan.
I've created a new music playlist without swearing and without sex. I already had a pretty clean selection, but once in a while I had a song I wouldn't play around other people's children. I figure that's a pretty good indicator.
These seemed to be a good place to start, easy to discern.
I tend to be porous, picking up on the emotions of people around me. Not just aware of them, but carrying them, whether I want to or not. Until now, I didn't make the connection that I have that same experience with the media I partake of. It soaks into me in much the same way, whether I want it to or not. I believe these changes will help lighten my soul.
But it's not just about making better choices about what I consume. It's also about how much. And when. And so many other things.
And as I've begun to put it into motion, without really trying, I've found interesting thoughts cross my mind. When I was disappointed with something and wanted to be critical, I paused. We live in a society that seems to relish complaints, criticism, and sarcasm. They're easy to throw around. But when I paused I heard these words in my mind - "Partake of positivity."
I found it very intriguing. When I stop myself from complaining or criticizing, I've always thought of it as an outward thing. I'm doing this to them, for them. I'm stopping negative feelings and expression from leaving me and going to the other person. But in that moment I saw it from a different perspective. Partaking of positivity, inviting that into my heart, stops the rest. It strengthens me, lifts me. It's not that I stop myself from saying or doing anything negative, because that just goes away. It's just gone.
I know I'm not explaining this very well. It makes sense to me. I hope it makes a little sense to you. And I hope I can observe and document it a bit better this year, so I can share it with you as I go along.
Do you have a word for 2018?
It often starts with a feeling. I get a sense of what I need to focus on. Sometimes a clear word. Sometimes just an ethereal idea. After pondering on it for a while, usually several days, I settle on the word. Always a bit before the end of the year. I've known my word for next year for a few weeks now.
And when I choose a new word, I tend to start changing my life to fit it, even before January first. Can't help it.
This year's word is PARTAKE. As usual, I have a very clear feel for what it will be, even if I can't quite say it.
The first word that came to mind was consume, then consumption. It was an idea that I needed to be more aware of what I take into my mind and body. Consume was so completely not the right word, and consumption made me feel like I was in the 1800s with some disease. I had to work on it for a bit.
But partake is so totally the right word. It's not about devouring something. It's about accepting something. It has a spiritual feel to it. It helped me flesh out my view for the year.
It's both about not partaking in something unhealthy for me and choosing to partake of things that are. The duality of that might not be obvious. But I can choose not to partake of certain negative things and go on my merry way without too much change. When I'm presented with good options/opportunities, I need to partake of those.
See? It's totally clear in my heart but tough to communicate.
I've already started to prepare and to put it into practice. It's very compelling, this year's word.
In a simple and obvious way, I've whittled down my viewing and music choices. I already leaned on the less adult side. I already limited my movies to PG-13 and my TV to TV-14. This cut out so much objectionable stuff. (For me. Let me be clear - this is about my tolerance, not a judgment on anyone else.) But there's still so much that I'm not proud of, that I know isn't good for me, but I was hesitant to get rid of because I like it.
I've gone through Netflix (where I do almost all my viewing) and cleared everything from my queue that's rated more than PG. I've also cut out some things that are PG but with content I know isn't in accordance with this plan.
I've created a new music playlist without swearing and without sex. I already had a pretty clean selection, but once in a while I had a song I wouldn't play around other people's children. I figure that's a pretty good indicator.
These seemed to be a good place to start, easy to discern.
I tend to be porous, picking up on the emotions of people around me. Not just aware of them, but carrying them, whether I want to or not. Until now, I didn't make the connection that I have that same experience with the media I partake of. It soaks into me in much the same way, whether I want it to or not. I believe these changes will help lighten my soul.
But it's not just about making better choices about what I consume. It's also about how much. And when. And so many other things.
And as I've begun to put it into motion, without really trying, I've found interesting thoughts cross my mind. When I was disappointed with something and wanted to be critical, I paused. We live in a society that seems to relish complaints, criticism, and sarcasm. They're easy to throw around. But when I paused I heard these words in my mind - "Partake of positivity."
I found it very intriguing. When I stop myself from complaining or criticizing, I've always thought of it as an outward thing. I'm doing this to them, for them. I'm stopping negative feelings and expression from leaving me and going to the other person. But in that moment I saw it from a different perspective. Partaking of positivity, inviting that into my heart, stops the rest. It strengthens me, lifts me. It's not that I stop myself from saying or doing anything negative, because that just goes away. It's just gone.
I know I'm not explaining this very well. It makes sense to me. I hope it makes a little sense to you. And I hope I can observe and document it a bit better this year, so I can share it with you as I go along.
Do you have a word for 2018?
Thursday, December 28, 2017
A Year of Purpose in Review
It's time to look back on the last year and how my One Word has played out. For 2017 that word was PURPOSE.
In anticipation, I expected I would approach things with purpose. That I would more consciously choose what I did and choose things that had a real purpose. A purpose of value. That instead of running around putting out fires, which my life has so often been, I would take a breath and choose. I would ponder, if only for a minute, what was the proper use of my time and energy. And that did happen. Some.
But often it played out differently. I had something I wanted to do or needed to do and tried to find a deeper purpose in it. I need to go to the library to pick up a book for my daughter. But what is the greater purpose for this. My daughter is currently house bound. I'm going to the library as an act of service. I am doing something for her that she can't currently do for herself. There were many instances of that.
Or I tried to give something purpose. I'm going for a run. This run is to build my running base. Or I dedicate these miles to a friend who is struggling. Things such as this.
But most often it happened in the middle of something I was doing. I'm on hour three of a Netflix binge. Why? What is my purpose for spending so much time this way? It's an effort to avoid the struggles of my life. It's an attempt to dull the things I'm feeling that I don't want to feel. It's a weird way I can feel like I'm accomplishing something, as I check episodes off. There was way more of this type of analysis than usual.
I'm big on examining my motivation for things. But this was a bit different. Looking for a purpose. And asking myself if my purpose was a healthy one. Was it good for me? Did it serve a larger purpose? What general direction were these choices taking me, and did that lead to my bigger purpose? To the broader goals, the long-term goals, I have for myself.
I can honestly say I sometimes did well with this and sometimes didn't. Finding out what my purpose for doing something was sometimes stopped me in my tracks and made me change direction. Other times not so much.
I think this one will stick with me. And it leads well into 2018's word. Coming soon.
In anticipation, I expected I would approach things with purpose. That I would more consciously choose what I did and choose things that had a real purpose. A purpose of value. That instead of running around putting out fires, which my life has so often been, I would take a breath and choose. I would ponder, if only for a minute, what was the proper use of my time and energy. And that did happen. Some.
But often it played out differently. I had something I wanted to do or needed to do and tried to find a deeper purpose in it. I need to go to the library to pick up a book for my daughter. But what is the greater purpose for this. My daughter is currently house bound. I'm going to the library as an act of service. I am doing something for her that she can't currently do for herself. There were many instances of that.
Or I tried to give something purpose. I'm going for a run. This run is to build my running base. Or I dedicate these miles to a friend who is struggling. Things such as this.
But most often it happened in the middle of something I was doing. I'm on hour three of a Netflix binge. Why? What is my purpose for spending so much time this way? It's an effort to avoid the struggles of my life. It's an attempt to dull the things I'm feeling that I don't want to feel. It's a weird way I can feel like I'm accomplishing something, as I check episodes off. There was way more of this type of analysis than usual.
I'm big on examining my motivation for things. But this was a bit different. Looking for a purpose. And asking myself if my purpose was a healthy one. Was it good for me? Did it serve a larger purpose? What general direction were these choices taking me, and did that lead to my bigger purpose? To the broader goals, the long-term goals, I have for myself.
I can honestly say I sometimes did well with this and sometimes didn't. Finding out what my purpose for doing something was sometimes stopped me in my tracks and made me change direction. Other times not so much.
I think this one will stick with me. And it leads well into 2018's word. Coming soon.
Monday, February 13, 2017
2017 - A Year of Purpose
Seriously?! Where did January go? This right here is exactly why I needed my word of the year to be PURPOSE.
Long story short, I choose one word each year. Lots of thought and prayer goes into my decision. And then I try to let that word guide my year. I never know how it's going to play out; there are always interesting surprises.
My word for 2017 is purpose.
It can be tough to explain why I choose the word I do. Sometimes it's totally clear. Other times it's pretty ethereal. Usually writing it out helps. Let's see what happens this time.
People who know me, people who are close to me, know my life is never boring. That's the nice way to put it. My life is often quite complicated and difficult. There are so many areas of my life that go nuts on a regular basis like a drop of water on a hot, greased skillet.
I often feel like I'm dancing on a moving floor. Things are rarely predictable. Try as I might, I rarely feel like I have my footing. Like I'm running my own life.
But it's been worse lately. My life has definitely been running me. A lot! Flinging me around like a dog with a rag doll in its teeth. And I feel it.
I've spent way too much time lately feeling in tatters. Like my dress is shredded, I'm missing a shoe, and one of my eyes is hanging loosely from the socket. (Still a rag doll metaphor. Not blood and gore.)
I'm running around putting out fires. I'm doing this or that because I HAVE to. I'm the flotsam and jetsam on the ocean, flung wherever the waves take me.
It's not a happy way to live. It's not peaceful at all. And peace is always my main goal for my life.
So as I pondered my word, my heart went this direction. Just as a feeling. A sense of what I wanted. But without the words. And then the word came. Purpose. I need purpose.
It's not that I need purpose in my life, overall. I have that. I have oodles of that.
I need purpose in the moments. In the days. In the plans. In the relationships. In the decisions of my life.
I need to steer my life.
We're two weeks into February. I wanted to write this on January first. Guess how well I'm doing so far.
I do have moments. I've chosen to dedicate my runs (or hikes or whatever) to people in my life. Once in a while, someone will be on my mind and in my heart. So I take them with me when I run. Not always, but frequently. When the run gets hard, I remember whom I'm running for and why. Usually gratitude floods over me in that moment. How blessed I am that I can run!
And there've been other moments. Moments I remember to stop. Think. Choose.
But not nearly enough.
Today was kind of an over-the-top kind of day. I was slammed on all sides. Stress. Stress. A little more stress. Some anxiety. And how about some STRESS? Some irrational demands. Some innocent demands hitting on top of everything else. Text. Text. Text. Phone call. Phone call. Phone call. Request. Request. Request. All day long. And some gut-wrenching struggles for people I love, people I need to take care of.
I was not in control for much of the day. And then I was. And it was better.
And tomorrow it will start all over again.
Lots of opportunities for growth. Lots of chances to find my purpose.
Long story short, I choose one word each year. Lots of thought and prayer goes into my decision. And then I try to let that word guide my year. I never know how it's going to play out; there are always interesting surprises.
My word for 2017 is purpose.
It can be tough to explain why I choose the word I do. Sometimes it's totally clear. Other times it's pretty ethereal. Usually writing it out helps. Let's see what happens this time.
People who know me, people who are close to me, know my life is never boring. That's the nice way to put it. My life is often quite complicated and difficult. There are so many areas of my life that go nuts on a regular basis like a drop of water on a hot, greased skillet.
I often feel like I'm dancing on a moving floor. Things are rarely predictable. Try as I might, I rarely feel like I have my footing. Like I'm running my own life.
But it's been worse lately. My life has definitely been running me. A lot! Flinging me around like a dog with a rag doll in its teeth. And I feel it.
I've spent way too much time lately feeling in tatters. Like my dress is shredded, I'm missing a shoe, and one of my eyes is hanging loosely from the socket. (Still a rag doll metaphor. Not blood and gore.)
I'm running around putting out fires. I'm doing this or that because I HAVE to. I'm the flotsam and jetsam on the ocean, flung wherever the waves take me.
It's not a happy way to live. It's not peaceful at all. And peace is always my main goal for my life.
So as I pondered my word, my heart went this direction. Just as a feeling. A sense of what I wanted. But without the words. And then the word came. Purpose. I need purpose.
It's not that I need purpose in my life, overall. I have that. I have oodles of that.
I need purpose in the moments. In the days. In the plans. In the relationships. In the decisions of my life.
I need to steer my life.
We're two weeks into February. I wanted to write this on January first. Guess how well I'm doing so far.
I do have moments. I've chosen to dedicate my runs (or hikes or whatever) to people in my life. Once in a while, someone will be on my mind and in my heart. So I take them with me when I run. Not always, but frequently. When the run gets hard, I remember whom I'm running for and why. Usually gratitude floods over me in that moment. How blessed I am that I can run!
And there've been other moments. Moments I remember to stop. Think. Choose.
But not nearly enough.
Today was kind of an over-the-top kind of day. I was slammed on all sides. Stress. Stress. A little more stress. Some anxiety. And how about some STRESS? Some irrational demands. Some innocent demands hitting on top of everything else. Text. Text. Text. Phone call. Phone call. Phone call. Request. Request. Request. All day long. And some gut-wrenching struggles for people I love, people I need to take care of.
I was not in control for much of the day. And then I was. And it was better.
And tomorrow it will start all over again.
Lots of opportunities for growth. Lots of chances to find my purpose.
Monday, January 9, 2017
A Year of Run
What an interesting year 2016 was. So many changes in my life. So many tough things, some of which got better, others which got worse.
But a very important thing happened in 2016. Something I never expected. Something that kind of sneaked up on me. Something that's changed me for the rest of my life.
In 2016, I became a runner.
In a nutshell, I'd been unhealthy for years. All kinds of medical struggles. They weren't dangerous, just life-inhibiting. In 2014 some things changed in my life which improved my physical and mental health. More changes happened in 2015, which enabled me to begin walking. Really walking. For miles and miles and miles. With zero intention of running. Zero desire to run.
Until my third 5k. I'd done my first one entirely walking, except those last 20 yards; gotta push across the finish line, right? My second one, I added just a little running here and there. Basically just enough to beat my time from my first one. By the time I got to my third one, I knew I'd have to run a significant amount to improve my time. This was all in the summer and fall of 2015.
I think I ran about a third of that last one - run until you can't breathe, walk until your heart stops pounding to the point you think it will explode, repeat. It was incredibly difficult. I couldn't walk the few blocks home, because I'd injured myself by pushing so hard. And I remember thinking in that moment, "I want to run!"
It took several months of resting a little, going back to it too soon, injuring myself again before I really took healing myself seriously.
At the end of 2015, a year of HEALing, it was time to choose a new word. I don't do New Year's resolutions. I choose one word. One word to guide my year. Sometimes it's a lot of work to choose my word. I have so many ideas run through my head. Several of them would fit. God and I have to talk it over for a while before I settle on one.
Last year wasn't like that. I immediately knew what I wanted. I wanted RUN. I wanted to run! But I fought it. It seemed like such a narrow focus. How could it possibly govern my year? How could it affect my spiritual life? How could I use it to govern my relationships? How shallow a word was that to choose?!
But when I took it to God, He said it was perfect! I still didn't know how it would play out, but I trusted it would.
It did.
I ran.
I am a runner.
Let me say that again - I AM A RUNNER!
I don't run fast or far, but I run. And I love it! I never, ever thought about running before. In fact, I mocked my friends who ran. Why would I torture myself like that? But then I did it.
Running makes me feel powerful. Running makes me feel cleansed. Running makes me feel free. Running makes me feel alive! Running is and does so many things.
In years past, when I've reviewed my year through the eyes of that One Word, I've looked at the ways it had an impact on all those individual areas of my life. When I chose RUN as my word, I expected to look back and see how I let it inspire me to RUN to Jesus or RUN to or from this or that. But it didn't. And I've learned something.
I've learned that God doesn't compartmentalize. I do. I'm the one who sees my physical health, emotional health, financial health, relational health, mental health, spiritual health, etc. separately. God sees me.
I've learned that any progress in a positive direction is spiritual progress. Because everything is spiritual. I am a spiritual being, so my entire life experience is spiritual.
Progress in a positive direction makes me more whole. Running makes me more whole. God knew that. And He knew that it was good.
But a very important thing happened in 2016. Something I never expected. Something that kind of sneaked up on me. Something that's changed me for the rest of my life.
In 2016, I became a runner.
In a nutshell, I'd been unhealthy for years. All kinds of medical struggles. They weren't dangerous, just life-inhibiting. In 2014 some things changed in my life which improved my physical and mental health. More changes happened in 2015, which enabled me to begin walking. Really walking. For miles and miles and miles. With zero intention of running. Zero desire to run.
Until my third 5k. I'd done my first one entirely walking, except those last 20 yards; gotta push across the finish line, right? My second one, I added just a little running here and there. Basically just enough to beat my time from my first one. By the time I got to my third one, I knew I'd have to run a significant amount to improve my time. This was all in the summer and fall of 2015.
I think I ran about a third of that last one - run until you can't breathe, walk until your heart stops pounding to the point you think it will explode, repeat. It was incredibly difficult. I couldn't walk the few blocks home, because I'd injured myself by pushing so hard. And I remember thinking in that moment, "I want to run!"
It took several months of resting a little, going back to it too soon, injuring myself again before I really took healing myself seriously.
At the end of 2015, a year of HEALing, it was time to choose a new word. I don't do New Year's resolutions. I choose one word. One word to guide my year. Sometimes it's a lot of work to choose my word. I have so many ideas run through my head. Several of them would fit. God and I have to talk it over for a while before I settle on one.
Last year wasn't like that. I immediately knew what I wanted. I wanted RUN. I wanted to run! But I fought it. It seemed like such a narrow focus. How could it possibly govern my year? How could it affect my spiritual life? How could I use it to govern my relationships? How shallow a word was that to choose?!
But when I took it to God, He said it was perfect! I still didn't know how it would play out, but I trusted it would.
It did.
I ran.
I am a runner.
Let me say that again - I AM A RUNNER!
I don't run fast or far, but I run. And I love it! I never, ever thought about running before. In fact, I mocked my friends who ran. Why would I torture myself like that? But then I did it.
Running makes me feel powerful. Running makes me feel cleansed. Running makes me feel free. Running makes me feel alive! Running is and does so many things.
In years past, when I've reviewed my year through the eyes of that One Word, I've looked at the ways it had an impact on all those individual areas of my life. When I chose RUN as my word, I expected to look back and see how I let it inspire me to RUN to Jesus or RUN to or from this or that. But it didn't. And I've learned something.
I've learned that God doesn't compartmentalize. I do. I'm the one who sees my physical health, emotional health, financial health, relational health, mental health, spiritual health, etc. separately. God sees me.
I've learned that any progress in a positive direction is spiritual progress. Because everything is spiritual. I am a spiritual being, so my entire life experience is spiritual.
Progress in a positive direction makes me more whole. Running makes me more whole. God knew that. And He knew that it was good.
Thursday, November 17, 2016
My Bipolar Self
I don't know where my baseline is.
I want to be as close to stable as possible. But what's the real me?
Is the real me on the lower, more calm part of the spectrum? If so, is every up day an anomaly that isn't really me and something I shouldn't be chasing?
Are the up days me, and should I fight the down days to swim my way back up?
How up can I get and still be normal before I'm into hypomania? Or is that very up state that I see as hypomania where I am meant to be and I need to strive to be there?
If I find a medication that takes me to that higher state, should I find a way to incorporate it into my daily life? If not, because the fact that it requires medication is a sign of a false high, what does that say about the mood stabilizer I take each day to keep me out of the pits?
And if they are all the real me, as I sense they are, how do I ever find balance?
How do I know what to strive for? When to reach for the more up place? When to settle in to what is in the moment?
How do I find peace in who I am when who I am is always in such a state of flux?
I want to be as close to stable as possible. But what's the real me?
Is the real me on the lower, more calm part of the spectrum? If so, is every up day an anomaly that isn't really me and something I shouldn't be chasing?
Are the up days me, and should I fight the down days to swim my way back up?
How up can I get and still be normal before I'm into hypomania? Or is that very up state that I see as hypomania where I am meant to be and I need to strive to be there?
If I find a medication that takes me to that higher state, should I find a way to incorporate it into my daily life? If not, because the fact that it requires medication is a sign of a false high, what does that say about the mood stabilizer I take each day to keep me out of the pits?
And if they are all the real me, as I sense they are, how do I ever find balance?
How do I know what to strive for? When to reach for the more up place? When to settle in to what is in the moment?
How do I find peace in who I am when who I am is always in such a state of flux?
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Preparing for Battle - A PTSD Plan
A little personal journaling as I process through my current PTSD episode --
The world is at war. Every day is a battle. You can choose to meet that with peace, but it will take work. You must strengthen yourself every day.
Daily (preferably morning) -
* half hour meditation
* one General Conference talk
* one verse of scripture
Practice these for one week. Assess daily.
See how you feel after a week. Do you feel stronger and better able to live in peace amidst the war?
Right now I don't feel strong. I don't want to be on the defensive all the time, just waiting for the attack, so that I'll be ready. But I've worried that if I weren't on the defensive, the attack would come anyway and blindside me, as has happened so often in the past. I would be knocked down hard. Painful and bloody. In the past, I've always thought that to protect myself I had to be hard. Being hard is being strong.
But I know that's the emotionally immature form of strength. True strength is soft. Gentle. Kind. It comes from sure footing in oneself that grounds you in who you are. You can stand immovable without being a brick wall.
The world is at war. Every day is a battle. You can choose to meet that with peace, but it will take work. You must strengthen yourself every day.
Daily (preferably morning) -
* half hour meditation
* one General Conference talk
* one verse of scripture
Practice these for one week. Assess daily.
See how you feel after a week. Do you feel stronger and better able to live in peace amidst the war?
Right now I don't feel strong. I don't want to be on the defensive all the time, just waiting for the attack, so that I'll be ready. But I've worried that if I weren't on the defensive, the attack would come anyway and blindside me, as has happened so often in the past. I would be knocked down hard. Painful and bloody. In the past, I've always thought that to protect myself I had to be hard. Being hard is being strong.
But I know that's the emotionally immature form of strength. True strength is soft. Gentle. Kind. It comes from sure footing in oneself that grounds you in who you are. You can stand immovable without being a brick wall.
Saturday, June 18, 2016
Transitions
Seriously, who the crap am I?
Transitions are tough. Even when the new state of being is positive. Even when the other side is wonderful. The change can be difficult.
I remember reading that transitions are especially dangerous mental health territory. Well, I already have mental health issues. And now I'm in the middle of several transitions. What a surprise I'm having a tough time.
My youngest child just graduated. I was so focused on all the pain-in-the-butt things that were going away that I didn't look much further ahead. And now I find myself on unsolid ground. Not sure of my footing. Staring at a bunch of building materials with no idea what I want to create.
My oldest will be twenty-six in a few months. For over twenty-six years (I'm including my pregnancy), my whole life has been focused on my kids. Their safety. Their happiness. How to help them be good people. That's a long time in one job.
My youngest will be eighteen in a little over a month. And as my kids have become adults over the last few years, my role has changed somewhat. They're in charge of, and in control of, more of their lives. They're responsible for their choices, whether they act responsibly or not. In a little over a month, I will not be legally responsible for anyone but myself.
And I'm having some trouble processing that.
The transition has happened slowly, in theory. One child at a time. A couple years in between each one. So why does this moment feel so shocking?
Because she's the last one.
I've been a stay-at-home mom for most of their lives. Significantly longer than I was single and childless. When I no longer have minor children at home, but still choose not to work, what am I?
And what do I want to be?
See, here's the thing. I have all the choices in the world. My husband has no desire for me to work, for both physical health and mental health reasons. Although he would support me if I chose to work. Because he supports me in pretty much anything I want to do.
And that's the key phrase. What I want to do. And I have no idea. What do I want to do?
My health is better than it's been in years, but it's still a day to day thing. There are still days I can't get out of bed. Still lots of fatigue and pain.
But there are other days. Days when I feel pretty good. Days when I feel powerful. Days when I believe I can conquer the world.
I'd love to be able to plan out my life. I'd love to live by schedule. I'd love to know how I want to spend my days. To write it all down and live by it. But with the freedom to set it aside if a friend needs me. And I'm just not sure how to balance that.
I yearn for structure. I've always been a planner. But when my health fell apart eleven years ago, I had to stop committing to things. I had to stop planning. Because it just felt so bad when I let others down, when I had to cancel at the last minute. When I couldn't do that one thing I'd so looked forward to and worked to make happen.
I'm scared to plan again. I'm not sure why. And I guess I've planned all along, just on a different level. I'm not sure why this feels so different.
Yes, I am. I don't want to waste. I don't want to use my time badly. I don't want to just pass through day after day. I don't want to look in my rearview mirror and see emptiness. Days of nothing.
Before now, even if I did nothing else all day, I still parented. I still did something productive, just by keeping people alive and on task in their lives. When that's not my job anymore, what value do I have? Especially if my days are spent just doing whatever I want.
I know I'll find my footing. I always do. And it will be great. And I will be happy. But right now I feel like I'm dancing on quicksand. In an earthquake. With a tornado approaching.
And I have to decide whether to hunker down or face the storm.
Transitions are tough. Even when the new state of being is positive. Even when the other side is wonderful. The change can be difficult.
I remember reading that transitions are especially dangerous mental health territory. Well, I already have mental health issues. And now I'm in the middle of several transitions. What a surprise I'm having a tough time.
My youngest child just graduated. I was so focused on all the pain-in-the-butt things that were going away that I didn't look much further ahead. And now I find myself on unsolid ground. Not sure of my footing. Staring at a bunch of building materials with no idea what I want to create.
My oldest will be twenty-six in a few months. For over twenty-six years (I'm including my pregnancy), my whole life has been focused on my kids. Their safety. Their happiness. How to help them be good people. That's a long time in one job.
My youngest will be eighteen in a little over a month. And as my kids have become adults over the last few years, my role has changed somewhat. They're in charge of, and in control of, more of their lives. They're responsible for their choices, whether they act responsibly or not. In a little over a month, I will not be legally responsible for anyone but myself.
And I'm having some trouble processing that.
The transition has happened slowly, in theory. One child at a time. A couple years in between each one. So why does this moment feel so shocking?
Because she's the last one.
I've been a stay-at-home mom for most of their lives. Significantly longer than I was single and childless. When I no longer have minor children at home, but still choose not to work, what am I?
And what do I want to be?
See, here's the thing. I have all the choices in the world. My husband has no desire for me to work, for both physical health and mental health reasons. Although he would support me if I chose to work. Because he supports me in pretty much anything I want to do.
And that's the key phrase. What I want to do. And I have no idea. What do I want to do?
My health is better than it's been in years, but it's still a day to day thing. There are still days I can't get out of bed. Still lots of fatigue and pain.
But there are other days. Days when I feel pretty good. Days when I feel powerful. Days when I believe I can conquer the world.
I'd love to be able to plan out my life. I'd love to live by schedule. I'd love to know how I want to spend my days. To write it all down and live by it. But with the freedom to set it aside if a friend needs me. And I'm just not sure how to balance that.
I yearn for structure. I've always been a planner. But when my health fell apart eleven years ago, I had to stop committing to things. I had to stop planning. Because it just felt so bad when I let others down, when I had to cancel at the last minute. When I couldn't do that one thing I'd so looked forward to and worked to make happen.
I'm scared to plan again. I'm not sure why. And I guess I've planned all along, just on a different level. I'm not sure why this feels so different.
Yes, I am. I don't want to waste. I don't want to use my time badly. I don't want to just pass through day after day. I don't want to look in my rearview mirror and see emptiness. Days of nothing.
Before now, even if I did nothing else all day, I still parented. I still did something productive, just by keeping people alive and on task in their lives. When that's not my job anymore, what value do I have? Especially if my days are spent just doing whatever I want.
I know I'll find my footing. I always do. And it will be great. And I will be happy. But right now I feel like I'm dancing on quicksand. In an earthquake. With a tornado approaching.
And I have to decide whether to hunker down or face the storm.
Monday, May 9, 2016
How to Be a Good Friend
Yeah, I have no idea.
There are people who think I'm an awesome friend. There are people who think I'm a horrible friend. And there are people who've thought both at different times in our relationship.
I've thought both about myself, too.
Being a good friend is such a subjective thing. Everyone has a different idea about what makes a good friend. About what makes a close friend or a best friend. Even about the difference between a friend and an acquaintance.
I've probably put way more thought into this than most, because I feel it's something I struggle with. And it's something I think I should want to change. I tried to want to change. I even tried to change. But I think I'm done.
I'm at a point in my life right now where I'm just gonna be me.
I'm not going to be what others want me to be just to avoid guilt or to feel like I'm measuring up to some mysterious golden friendship crown.
Because, to be honest, I just don't have the energy. If you need a lot of output from your friends, if you need attention (really, any attention) to believe I care and we're friends, you shouldn't choose me as a friend.
I can do great short term. Maybe we meet when we both have a mutual need. Or one of us has a need when the other of us has a surplus, and we connect. We're good for each other and good with each other.
I can drop everything to help you with your crisis. For a while.
But then, for whatever reason, I just don't have anything else to give. Maybe it's because my life has so many recurring and ongoing crises. Maybe it's because of my chronic fatigue or my bipolar disorder. Maybe it's because I'm just a crappy friend.
And then I will disappear.
Not on purpose. Not because I'm trying to be mean. Not because I'm consciously deciding I don't want to be your friend. But because I have to take care of myself. And taking care of myself often means neglecting everything and everyone but my family. Sometimes everyone other than myself.
I will retreat. For who knows how long. You might reach out. You might not. When I'm gone like this, I probably won't reach back. I might not even acknowledge you've tried to contact me.
I see you reaching. I sense your need. But I can't fill it. And you can't fill mine. Because I need to be alone and lick my wounds or find my way. Or whatever.
I know I've wounded people with this behavior. I see it. But I'm doing triage, and I just can't see your need to be with me as a life or death thing. Or if I do, I pray someone else will treat it, because my hands are tied behind my back.
Sometimes my behavior causes others to pull back, hoping I'll notice they've left and their absence will cause me to reach out. But that doesn't work. Because if I notice, which is a big if, it's entirely possible I will just be grateful to not have to fix it. To not have to figure out the steps to the dance we were engaged in, where I was stepping on your toes. I'll just be glad the dance is over and head to the punch.
I just truly don't know how to do the dance and am no longer interested in learning.
This is the kind of friend I can be now. I can be happy when good things happen in your life. I can be glad to see you when we run into each other. I can occasionally muster the energy, physically and emotionally, to do something together. I will think kindly of you when something reminds me of you. And no matter how much time has passed, I will still consider you my friend.
It doesn't take much for me to consider someone my friend. Do I know you? Have we had positive interactions? Yeah, that's about it. That's all it takes.
If we're not friends, and you want me to feel that way too, you'll probably have to tell me. Even then, I'm not sure I wouldn't still introduce you as my friend should the need arise for me to introduce you.
And if you choose to move on, if you decide (for whatever reason) that you're better off without me, I'll most likely wish you well and let you go. I won't argue. I won't ask you to stay. It's just not in my nature. I'll support your growth in whatever way you seek it.
I know a lot of this will sound harsh to many people. That's okay. We're all just finding our way. And this is just one little trip on the journey of my psyche. It's a crazy, winding path that's sometimes light and sometimes dark, but always mine.
There are people who think I'm an awesome friend. There are people who think I'm a horrible friend. And there are people who've thought both at different times in our relationship.
I've thought both about myself, too.
Being a good friend is such a subjective thing. Everyone has a different idea about what makes a good friend. About what makes a close friend or a best friend. Even about the difference between a friend and an acquaintance.
I've probably put way more thought into this than most, because I feel it's something I struggle with. And it's something I think I should want to change. I tried to want to change. I even tried to change. But I think I'm done.
I'm at a point in my life right now where I'm just gonna be me.
I'm not going to be what others want me to be just to avoid guilt or to feel like I'm measuring up to some mysterious golden friendship crown.
Because, to be honest, I just don't have the energy. If you need a lot of output from your friends, if you need attention (really, any attention) to believe I care and we're friends, you shouldn't choose me as a friend.
I can do great short term. Maybe we meet when we both have a mutual need. Or one of us has a need when the other of us has a surplus, and we connect. We're good for each other and good with each other.
I can drop everything to help you with your crisis. For a while.
But then, for whatever reason, I just don't have anything else to give. Maybe it's because my life has so many recurring and ongoing crises. Maybe it's because of my chronic fatigue or my bipolar disorder. Maybe it's because I'm just a crappy friend.
And then I will disappear.
Not on purpose. Not because I'm trying to be mean. Not because I'm consciously deciding I don't want to be your friend. But because I have to take care of myself. And taking care of myself often means neglecting everything and everyone but my family. Sometimes everyone other than myself.
I will retreat. For who knows how long. You might reach out. You might not. When I'm gone like this, I probably won't reach back. I might not even acknowledge you've tried to contact me.
I see you reaching. I sense your need. But I can't fill it. And you can't fill mine. Because I need to be alone and lick my wounds or find my way. Or whatever.
I know I've wounded people with this behavior. I see it. But I'm doing triage, and I just can't see your need to be with me as a life or death thing. Or if I do, I pray someone else will treat it, because my hands are tied behind my back.
Sometimes my behavior causes others to pull back, hoping I'll notice they've left and their absence will cause me to reach out. But that doesn't work. Because if I notice, which is a big if, it's entirely possible I will just be grateful to not have to fix it. To not have to figure out the steps to the dance we were engaged in, where I was stepping on your toes. I'll just be glad the dance is over and head to the punch.
I just truly don't know how to do the dance and am no longer interested in learning.
This is the kind of friend I can be now. I can be happy when good things happen in your life. I can be glad to see you when we run into each other. I can occasionally muster the energy, physically and emotionally, to do something together. I will think kindly of you when something reminds me of you. And no matter how much time has passed, I will still consider you my friend.
It doesn't take much for me to consider someone my friend. Do I know you? Have we had positive interactions? Yeah, that's about it. That's all it takes.
If we're not friends, and you want me to feel that way too, you'll probably have to tell me. Even then, I'm not sure I wouldn't still introduce you as my friend should the need arise for me to introduce you.
And if you choose to move on, if you decide (for whatever reason) that you're better off without me, I'll most likely wish you well and let you go. I won't argue. I won't ask you to stay. It's just not in my nature. I'll support your growth in whatever way you seek it.
I know a lot of this will sound harsh to many people. That's okay. We're all just finding our way. And this is just one little trip on the journey of my psyche. It's a crazy, winding path that's sometimes light and sometimes dark, but always mine.
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
I Needed to Boot Vanilla
Sometimes your computer chokes. It might run super slowly for a while first. You get the sense something's wrong. Eventually, you can't put up with it any longer. You have to call your computer friend.
Maybe you're the computer friend. Maybe it's a spouse. Maybe you don't have a computer friend and have to take it somewhere to be fixed (in which case, I feel very sorry for you; everyone should have a computer friend).
The first thing your computer friend will say is, "Did you shut it down and restart it?" Trust me. That's what he'll say. (I'm going to say he, because my husband is my computer friend.) Know why he'll say that first? Because it truly does fix it a ridiculous amount of the time. Those magic computer boxes just need to shuffle some things around and put them back in their places - they do that when you restart.
But sometimes it doesn't work. And sometimes you can't get it started again properly. Maybe you need to boot vanilla.
To boot vanilla means to start your computer up as basic as possible, without all the bells and whistles. To only load the essential programs. The minimum needed to gain access to the system. Not enough to run any of the normal programs you use. This requires a special vanilla boot disk or a vanilla install file.
From there, your computer friend can do some troubleshooting. He can search for things he knows might be possible problems. After asking about your recent activity, he might be guided to look for a particular virus. And if he still doesn't find anything, he will try adding programs back in one by one. (Yes, I know there are many possible ways to handle this process. Let's just pretend this is the one every computer friend does.)
As he adds each program back in, he'll watch for errors. This way, he can hopefully find the source of your frustration.
I needed to boot vanilla.
My life kind of choked. Things were running choppy. I was functioning sluggishly. Some days I couldn't get past the boot up screen.
I have several life "computer guys." This time I took myself to my psychiatrist and therapist for repair. (I just happened to have appointments scheduled with them on back to back days.) We did lots of troubleshooting. We figured out some workarounds.
But eventually I decided I just needed to boot vanilla. I needed to get rid of everything in my life that wasn't absolutely essential. I've actually been stripping things out for a while now. Activities. Obligations. Friends. And, more recently, social media. I kind of feel like I've put myself into quarantine.
I think I've gone bare bones as far as I can. Well, as far as I can and still be somewhat healthy. I'm hesitant to add things back in, because I don't want to freeze up again.
But I will add things back in. Very. Very. Slowly. I will go for a short time to a few activities. I will spend some time outside my home. And I will very carefully tiptoe back into social media. Very carefully! Probably in a ways but then back out again. Social media is a slippery place with lots of potential viruses, many of which I know I'm susceptible to.
I'll be running a different machine when I'm done. After all, we have to make upgrades over time or become incompatible with new programs. I've made a lot of changes lately; it's not surprising there were conflicts.
I think my main error has been trying to do a system restore. Trying to go back to the way I used to be. But I've altered too many things for that system to do the job. I need to let the new me become. Whatever I am going to become.
Maybe you're the computer friend. Maybe it's a spouse. Maybe you don't have a computer friend and have to take it somewhere to be fixed (in which case, I feel very sorry for you; everyone should have a computer friend).
The first thing your computer friend will say is, "Did you shut it down and restart it?" Trust me. That's what he'll say. (I'm going to say he, because my husband is my computer friend.) Know why he'll say that first? Because it truly does fix it a ridiculous amount of the time. Those magic computer boxes just need to shuffle some things around and put them back in their places - they do that when you restart.
But sometimes it doesn't work. And sometimes you can't get it started again properly. Maybe you need to boot vanilla.
To boot vanilla means to start your computer up as basic as possible, without all the bells and whistles. To only load the essential programs. The minimum needed to gain access to the system. Not enough to run any of the normal programs you use. This requires a special vanilla boot disk or a vanilla install file.
From there, your computer friend can do some troubleshooting. He can search for things he knows might be possible problems. After asking about your recent activity, he might be guided to look for a particular virus. And if he still doesn't find anything, he will try adding programs back in one by one. (Yes, I know there are many possible ways to handle this process. Let's just pretend this is the one every computer friend does.)
As he adds each program back in, he'll watch for errors. This way, he can hopefully find the source of your frustration.
I needed to boot vanilla.
My life kind of choked. Things were running choppy. I was functioning sluggishly. Some days I couldn't get past the boot up screen.
I have several life "computer guys." This time I took myself to my psychiatrist and therapist for repair. (I just happened to have appointments scheduled with them on back to back days.) We did lots of troubleshooting. We figured out some workarounds.
But eventually I decided I just needed to boot vanilla. I needed to get rid of everything in my life that wasn't absolutely essential. I've actually been stripping things out for a while now. Activities. Obligations. Friends. And, more recently, social media. I kind of feel like I've put myself into quarantine.
I think I've gone bare bones as far as I can. Well, as far as I can and still be somewhat healthy. I'm hesitant to add things back in, because I don't want to freeze up again.
But I will add things back in. Very. Very. Slowly. I will go for a short time to a few activities. I will spend some time outside my home. And I will very carefully tiptoe back into social media. Very carefully! Probably in a ways but then back out again. Social media is a slippery place with lots of potential viruses, many of which I know I'm susceptible to.
I'll be running a different machine when I'm done. After all, we have to make upgrades over time or become incompatible with new programs. I've made a lot of changes lately; it's not surprising there were conflicts.
I think my main error has been trying to do a system restore. Trying to go back to the way I used to be. But I've altered too many things for that system to do the job. I need to let the new me become. Whatever I am going to become.
Sunday, April 17, 2016
The Master Healer
Today started out rough. I woke feeling anxious. No particular thoughts causing me distress, just a discomfort in my body. I had a Harry Potter audiobook on; I use the Harry Potter audiobooks like white noise while I sleep. They relax me. But soon my agitation grew, so I switched over to some soothing music. But that felt like sandpaper on my nerves, so I switched over to my meditation soundtrack. No. Just no.
My anxiety grew. Intensified to the point that I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I always feel my anxiety most strongly in my shoulders. I shake my arms to try to dispel the feeling of tension, the feeling like I'm being held down by my shoulders. Shaking my arms doesn't really help, but it's my natural reaction. Well, I guess it helps a little. Sometimes it gets me through the worst of it. Not today.
My anxiety climbed. Maybe I just needed silence. So I turned it all off. And that was better. My body's stress didn't go down, but it leveled out. I just breathed in the stillness for a bit. Deep breaths. Willing my body to relax.
I prayed for help.
I felt prompted I should listen to a church talk. Luckily, I have several on my mp3 player that I sometimes listen to when I walk. I searched through my list, not really looking for a particular talk, just the right soothing voice. Then I saw the one. Jesus Christ - The Master Healer. If there was anything I needed right then, it was healing.
It was given by Elder Russell M. Nelson, a leader in our church, who does (in fact) have a very soothing voice and manner of address. As I listened to his words, I sought release. I sought a connection with God that would take away my current suffering.
And then a panic attack hit. Hard.
Suddenly I was gasping. Crying. Sobbing. It felt like my throat was closing up. The distress in my body grew. My headache exploded. I cried and cried, clenching at my throat and pressing my hand against my forehead. I had been propped up in my bed, but had to get rid of the pillows and lie flat to try to relieve my throat.
Talk yourself through it. You can do this. Talk yourself down. I tried to remember all I've learned to get through a moment like that. Nothing. And then a vague recollection of how brief it was likely to be. A knowledge that even though it felt like I would die, I wouldn't really.
I began to pay attention to my breathing. Even though I could feel my throat constricting, the muscles tightening, my breathing was still fine. No restriction. No limitation.
But still - panic! Ridiculous, overwhelming panic. And the talk continued. The soothing voice strengthening me even then.
I let myself cry. I let my breaths heave. I let my body work through whatever it needed to work through.
As the talk ended, the panic began to subside. But the anxiety was still there. How would I get rid of that? I need to go to church. I have a calling to perform.
Slow down. I felt prompted strongly to slow down today. I have a tendency to rush around in the morning getting ready and to be highly energetic in my calling. Today, I need to slow down. I need to not do anything which will feed the adrenaline. I need to relieve my body.
Stretch. I felt prompted to stretch. I stretched my legs. I did the stretches for my plantar fasciitis. It helped. I could feel my body releasing a little.
Wash your face. Okay, that might sound like a strange prompting. But I have a very minimal morning hygiene routine. Generally just a quick splash of water on my face. Today I was supposed to wash my face. Gently. Circular motions. Massaging my face slowly. Warm water. More release.
Lotion. Put on some lotion. I put some baby lotion in my hands, rubbed them together a bit, and gently applied it to my face. A similar massaging action. Lovingly. Slowly. And my body calmed.
There is still a remnant of anxiety in my body, just under the surface. I still need to go slow today. I still need to be gentle with myself. Mindful of myself. But I will get through it unscathed. I will be the better for it.
I believe I was touched by the Master Healer this morning. I was guided through healing techniques I had learned but couldn't recall in that moment. And I'm grateful. And I testify. Truth.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mKx63a1vBlg
My anxiety grew. Intensified to the point that I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I always feel my anxiety most strongly in my shoulders. I shake my arms to try to dispel the feeling of tension, the feeling like I'm being held down by my shoulders. Shaking my arms doesn't really help, but it's my natural reaction. Well, I guess it helps a little. Sometimes it gets me through the worst of it. Not today.
My anxiety climbed. Maybe I just needed silence. So I turned it all off. And that was better. My body's stress didn't go down, but it leveled out. I just breathed in the stillness for a bit. Deep breaths. Willing my body to relax.
I prayed for help.
I felt prompted I should listen to a church talk. Luckily, I have several on my mp3 player that I sometimes listen to when I walk. I searched through my list, not really looking for a particular talk, just the right soothing voice. Then I saw the one. Jesus Christ - The Master Healer. If there was anything I needed right then, it was healing.
It was given by Elder Russell M. Nelson, a leader in our church, who does (in fact) have a very soothing voice and manner of address. As I listened to his words, I sought release. I sought a connection with God that would take away my current suffering.
And then a panic attack hit. Hard.
Suddenly I was gasping. Crying. Sobbing. It felt like my throat was closing up. The distress in my body grew. My headache exploded. I cried and cried, clenching at my throat and pressing my hand against my forehead. I had been propped up in my bed, but had to get rid of the pillows and lie flat to try to relieve my throat.
Talk yourself through it. You can do this. Talk yourself down. I tried to remember all I've learned to get through a moment like that. Nothing. And then a vague recollection of how brief it was likely to be. A knowledge that even though it felt like I would die, I wouldn't really.
I began to pay attention to my breathing. Even though I could feel my throat constricting, the muscles tightening, my breathing was still fine. No restriction. No limitation.
But still - panic! Ridiculous, overwhelming panic. And the talk continued. The soothing voice strengthening me even then.
I let myself cry. I let my breaths heave. I let my body work through whatever it needed to work through.
As the talk ended, the panic began to subside. But the anxiety was still there. How would I get rid of that? I need to go to church. I have a calling to perform.
Slow down. I felt prompted strongly to slow down today. I have a tendency to rush around in the morning getting ready and to be highly energetic in my calling. Today, I need to slow down. I need to not do anything which will feed the adrenaline. I need to relieve my body.
Stretch. I felt prompted to stretch. I stretched my legs. I did the stretches for my plantar fasciitis. It helped. I could feel my body releasing a little.
Wash your face. Okay, that might sound like a strange prompting. But I have a very minimal morning hygiene routine. Generally just a quick splash of water on my face. Today I was supposed to wash my face. Gently. Circular motions. Massaging my face slowly. Warm water. More release.
Lotion. Put on some lotion. I put some baby lotion in my hands, rubbed them together a bit, and gently applied it to my face. A similar massaging action. Lovingly. Slowly. And my body calmed.
There is still a remnant of anxiety in my body, just under the surface. I still need to go slow today. I still need to be gentle with myself. Mindful of myself. But I will get through it unscathed. I will be the better for it.
I believe I was touched by the Master Healer this morning. I was guided through healing techniques I had learned but couldn't recall in that moment. And I'm grateful. And I testify. Truth.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mKx63a1vBlg
Thursday, April 14, 2016
It Rained
What the crap is wrong with me?! Seriously. I just don't even know. I'm so lost. I feel like I'm not connected to anything. Just floating out in the ether somewhere.
As far as writing, I'm stumped. I feel like I've lost a part of myself with my inability to write. I just haven't been able to write. I don't know how to explain it. It's not writer's block. It's not a lack of ideas or time or anything like that. It's just a plug. Like someone's put a stopper in, and my writing just won't flow.
I've barely written over the last year and a half. (Maybe before that; I don't know.) I don't know if anyone's even reading my blog anymore, except for people who happen here based on a search for a certain topic.
I don't know why I haven't been able to write. There are many possible explanations.
I've been more emotionally healthy (on the whole) for the last while. For a long time I wrote therapeutically. I wrote to work through all the horrific emotional battles I was waging. I don't have as many of those lately, so it hasn't served that purpose.
I've been exercising a lot more, becoming much more physically healthy over the last year. I wonder if that outlet has supplanted this one. Also, since my hysterectomy put me into instant menopause, I just don't have the multitasking abilities I used to have. I have trouble focusing on more than one thing at a time. So since I've been focusing on losing weight and feeling better, I struggle to focus on anything else. Like, it's tough for me to make a menu and shopping list to keep my family fed. It's tough for me to stay on top of the household money and making sure bills get paid. Forget about cleaning the house!
Besides focus, there's also the energy component. I just don't have the energy for much else. Now, it's possible that's changing. When I first started working out, just under a year ago, I was coming from a place of near inactivity. Like, almost nothing. And from a place of extremely low energy (which is related to not being active, but I'm not sure about which was the cause and which was the effect; I have lots of thoughts on that). If I worked out, I was just too tired to do anything else. Or in too much pain. Sometimes that's not the case now. I hope I'll be able to move past that soon.
But I'm afraid I'm also stuck in a pattern. For almost a year my main focus of each day has been to work out. I find I'm having to really put thought into making other things happen. Oh, there's so much more to this than you know! I feel like I'm just giving the tiniest bit of snippets to explain (because otherwise this post would be seventeen pages long). But I need to get some of this out. So even if what I've said sounds like I'm being lazy and not using my time or my life well, please know that I don't think that's the case. Perhaps I'll be able to explain it further in the future.
For now I'll just hit on one other potential cause of my writing drought. I wonder if it's been connected to my mood stabilizer. I'm a mood writer. I have to feel driven. I have to NEED to write. I have to need to get it out. Almost like throwing up, it has to be forcing its way out of me to feel right.
When I met with my psychiatrist Tuesday I asked to reduce my meds by half. That's what we chose to do. This is the second day of that dosage. Today I'm writing. I can't swear those two events are connected. Let's wait and see.
When we met, she also strongly pushed me to get back to things I love. Writing is one of those things. So I may feel driven because the meds are finally allowing it or because it's an assignment. I don't know which.
But I truly don't care right now. It just feels SO GOOD to write. Like feeling the barometric pressure rise before the storm hits, or does it drop before the storm hits? Either way, the air becomes uncomfortable, and my body aches for the rain. Today it rained!
As far as writing, I'm stumped. I feel like I've lost a part of myself with my inability to write. I just haven't been able to write. I don't know how to explain it. It's not writer's block. It's not a lack of ideas or time or anything like that. It's just a plug. Like someone's put a stopper in, and my writing just won't flow.
I've barely written over the last year and a half. (Maybe before that; I don't know.) I don't know if anyone's even reading my blog anymore, except for people who happen here based on a search for a certain topic.
I don't know why I haven't been able to write. There are many possible explanations.
I've been more emotionally healthy (on the whole) for the last while. For a long time I wrote therapeutically. I wrote to work through all the horrific emotional battles I was waging. I don't have as many of those lately, so it hasn't served that purpose.
I've been exercising a lot more, becoming much more physically healthy over the last year. I wonder if that outlet has supplanted this one. Also, since my hysterectomy put me into instant menopause, I just don't have the multitasking abilities I used to have. I have trouble focusing on more than one thing at a time. So since I've been focusing on losing weight and feeling better, I struggle to focus on anything else. Like, it's tough for me to make a menu and shopping list to keep my family fed. It's tough for me to stay on top of the household money and making sure bills get paid. Forget about cleaning the house!
Besides focus, there's also the energy component. I just don't have the energy for much else. Now, it's possible that's changing. When I first started working out, just under a year ago, I was coming from a place of near inactivity. Like, almost nothing. And from a place of extremely low energy (which is related to not being active, but I'm not sure about which was the cause and which was the effect; I have lots of thoughts on that). If I worked out, I was just too tired to do anything else. Or in too much pain. Sometimes that's not the case now. I hope I'll be able to move past that soon.
But I'm afraid I'm also stuck in a pattern. For almost a year my main focus of each day has been to work out. I find I'm having to really put thought into making other things happen. Oh, there's so much more to this than you know! I feel like I'm just giving the tiniest bit of snippets to explain (because otherwise this post would be seventeen pages long). But I need to get some of this out. So even if what I've said sounds like I'm being lazy and not using my time or my life well, please know that I don't think that's the case. Perhaps I'll be able to explain it further in the future.
For now I'll just hit on one other potential cause of my writing drought. I wonder if it's been connected to my mood stabilizer. I'm a mood writer. I have to feel driven. I have to NEED to write. I have to need to get it out. Almost like throwing up, it has to be forcing its way out of me to feel right.
When I met with my psychiatrist Tuesday I asked to reduce my meds by half. That's what we chose to do. This is the second day of that dosage. Today I'm writing. I can't swear those two events are connected. Let's wait and see.
When we met, she also strongly pushed me to get back to things I love. Writing is one of those things. So I may feel driven because the meds are finally allowing it or because it's an assignment. I don't know which.
But I truly don't care right now. It just feels SO GOOD to write. Like feeling the barometric pressure rise before the storm hits, or does it drop before the storm hits? Either way, the air becomes uncomfortable, and my body aches for the rain. Today it rained!
Monday, March 14, 2016
One Word - RUN
Each year I choose a word. One word to define the year. No specific goals really. Just a direction. A focus.
Last year my word was HEAL. This year it's RUN.
I take my time choosing my word. I think about it. I ponder it. I pray about it. I spend a good long time observing my life, myself, the world. And, eventually, it comes to me.
The thing is, my word is all-encompassing. It's about every part of my life. It's about physical, emotional, spiritual - everything. So it's usually a word that can be used in many different ways, that can mean many different things.
RUN is different. At least I think it is.
I never know how a word will play out. I choose it at the beginning of the year; then at the end of the year I review. I'm always amazed at how the word fits into all the little corners of my life. If you read my post about last year's word, you'll see what I mean.
But right now, at this point in the year, I still can't see how my word is going to be anything but physical.
That's okay. Maybe my word will work differently this year. But I don't think so. I think somehow it truly will play out in many areas of my life.
For now, I'm going to let it be what my heart wants it to be. I want to run.
I can't believe I just wrote that sentence. Honestly, I've mocked my running friends for years. Although I liked to run as a child and played a lot of sports growing up, once my body changed proportions at around 14 the desire to run just for fun was gone. Running seemed like work. It was great for softball, a lot of work for basketball, and something I only coached for soccer. No longer of interest to me.
My interests shifted away from sports at 14. I joined marching band, which became my life. Running was unnecessary. By the time I graduated high school, I'd left any desire to run long behind. It wasn't even visible in my rearview mirror anymore.
I got married. I had kids. And fifteen years ago my body fell apart. The world fell out from under me. I went to bed for a year and a half.
I've written about that a lot (here, here, and here are just a few). So I'll keep it short and just say, I've been clawing my way back ever since.
Last year was my year of healing. It led to this year - the year I will run.
Because I will.
So far this year my life and my body have fought me. A lot. A month of super long hours of reclamation work at our rental left me with no energy to work toward running. Then I was hit with a bout of bronchitis for two weeks in early February, difficulty breathing and incredible fatigue. And another bout of bronchitis from the end of February through early March. And if there's one thing I need to be able to do if I'm going to run it's breathe. I do have to breathe.
Right now I am still scratchy-throated. I still feel like I'm breathing through gauze. But that's better than feeling like I'm trying to breathe through a rock, which is how it felt when I started.
I believe it's getting better.
It will get better.
And then I will run.
Last year my word was HEAL. This year it's RUN.
I take my time choosing my word. I think about it. I ponder it. I pray about it. I spend a good long time observing my life, myself, the world. And, eventually, it comes to me.
The thing is, my word is all-encompassing. It's about every part of my life. It's about physical, emotional, spiritual - everything. So it's usually a word that can be used in many different ways, that can mean many different things.
RUN is different. At least I think it is.
I never know how a word will play out. I choose it at the beginning of the year; then at the end of the year I review. I'm always amazed at how the word fits into all the little corners of my life. If you read my post about last year's word, you'll see what I mean.
But right now, at this point in the year, I still can't see how my word is going to be anything but physical.
That's okay. Maybe my word will work differently this year. But I don't think so. I think somehow it truly will play out in many areas of my life.
For now, I'm going to let it be what my heart wants it to be. I want to run.
I can't believe I just wrote that sentence. Honestly, I've mocked my running friends for years. Although I liked to run as a child and played a lot of sports growing up, once my body changed proportions at around 14 the desire to run just for fun was gone. Running seemed like work. It was great for softball, a lot of work for basketball, and something I only coached for soccer. No longer of interest to me.
My interests shifted away from sports at 14. I joined marching band, which became my life. Running was unnecessary. By the time I graduated high school, I'd left any desire to run long behind. It wasn't even visible in my rearview mirror anymore.
I got married. I had kids. And fifteen years ago my body fell apart. The world fell out from under me. I went to bed for a year and a half.
I've written about that a lot (here, here, and here are just a few). So I'll keep it short and just say, I've been clawing my way back ever since.
Last year was my year of healing. It led to this year - the year I will run.
Because I will.
So far this year my life and my body have fought me. A lot. A month of super long hours of reclamation work at our rental left me with no energy to work toward running. Then I was hit with a bout of bronchitis for two weeks in early February, difficulty breathing and incredible fatigue. And another bout of bronchitis from the end of February through early March. And if there's one thing I need to be able to do if I'm going to run it's breathe. I do have to breathe.
Right now I am still scratchy-throated. I still feel like I'm breathing through gauze. But that's better than feeling like I'm trying to breathe through a rock, which is how it felt when I started.
I believe it's getting better.
It will get better.
And then I will run.
Thursday, December 31, 2015
A Year of Healing
My version of New Year's resolutions is One Word. I choose one word to direct my coming year. It's a from-the-gut choice. I toss and turn it over in my head and heart for days or weeks, working with God to choose what I need for that year. I've been doing it for a few years now, and it never ceases to amaze me how my year looks in retrospect wrapped in that word.
My word for 2015 was HEAL. I went into the year not knowing how that would play out. In most cases, I just tucked that word away in my heart and went about my life. But once in a while something would happen and I'd notice it. I'd notice it was an element of healing. I was healing.
I just went back and re-read my post from the beginning of the year, when I chose this word. I read through the list. And I noticed things, areas of healing that had happened, that I hadn't noticed before. I'm so grateful for that.
But, truly, the biggest change has been my body.
I've got health issues. Nothing major, just enough to keep me from being and doing what I want. Enough to force me to see other ways of being. Others ways to be of value.
I started the year off very unhappy with my body. With its size and shape. With its open rebellion against me. With its struggle to control me, to make me submit to its whims. Honestly, I was frustrated that I even had to have a body, because I felt it limited me in so many ways.
But things changed.
I don't remember exactly how or when it happened. It might have started last year. In fact, I think it did. Last November I decided I wanted to add some color to my hair. Not regular color. Purple. And early in December, I did. I got about six inches of the bottom of my hair bleached and dyed bright purple. Much brighter than I'd anticipated. And more inches than I'd planned. (Due to my own miscommunication with my fabulous hairdresser.) All of a sudden my hair was troll doll purple. My Little Pony purple. No longer subtle at all!
I'd spent years hiding in plain sight. Trying to be subtly present in the room. Mostly because I was very unhappy with the weight I'd gained and the way I looked. I felt miserable and it showed.
I loved having bright hair! It gave me such a lift. But I wasn't prepared for how others would react to it. Suddenly, when I walked into a room, there was no question people would be looking at me. It often made me uncomfortable. But I have always tried to stand behind my decisions, even if they don't seem to make any sense to anyone else. I've tried to live by the principle that I shouldn't make any decision, take any action, that I wouldn't be okay if it were exposed to the world. Stand behind my choices - that's me!
So I decided to embrace it. I decided to embrace me. I shared photos of my hair on Facebook. It was fun seeing how it faded and sharing that, too. But I hated pictures of my face, so it was tricky to share my hair unless I had someone else take pictures from behind. I have lots of picture of the back and sides of my hair, with my head leaning so that my hair fell mostly in front of my face. Because I didn't like my fat face.
Again, I don't know the exact day it happened, but I decided to stop hiding from pictures. I decided to allow pictures of myself, even some I didn't like, to be seen. I decided the picture was just a moment. Even if I didn't like how I looked in that moment, I liked who I was. And I wanted to remember that moment and have evidence of my presence.
And in the midst of this, there were other changes happening. I was healing in other ways. Invisible, inside ways.
In February I heard the words that changed me forever. In February I found the key that turned off the self-harm switch inside me. I February I gave up self-harm for good. Something I knew I was supposed to heal, needed to heal, but didn't want to heal. I trusted. I was healed.
This year I came to a healthier relationship with my dad. I found my footing. Mostly through taking care of my mom together, he and I have found a new respect for each other. A new gratitude for each other. Healing
I've come to a much healthier place with my mom as well. As she's changing, as her world is changing, I'm finding my footing there as well. It's been a tough slog. It's going to get tougher still. But I understand and accept it better now. And that helps. I feel less burdened and more compassionate. And I feel love toward her. The kind of love that's been missing for a while. A healing love. I'm grateful for that.
But the most noticeable healing I've experienced has been physical. At the beginning of the year, I was a slug. I could move and get things done, but everything exhausted me. Everything was a huge burden. I'd do what needed to be done and head straight back to bed. I was so tired and miserable and uncomfortable in my own body.
Again, I don't remember exactly when it happened. But I know it started before my physical. As I was approaching my physical, I was evaluating things and had decided I wanted to get off one of the medications I was on. And, dang it, I wanted to talk to my doctor about losing weight. My body wanted to move.
Now that I think about it, I think that was how it started. My body ached. I lay in my bed aching, and I knew it was because my body wanted to move. And my brain wanted my body to move. But I was so exhausted. Completely depleted. I had nothing more to push my body with. Gravity was pulling so hard.
But I wanted to move.
So at my physical, I talked to my doctor. We made a couple of medication changes. And I made a plan. Eat better. Move. That was the gist of it. And that's what I did. I changed how and what I ate. And I started walking.
Since then I've walked three 5ks; I ran a little in the last one. I've injured myself (plantar fasciitis and shin splints), because I pushed too hard too fast. (Hopefully, I've learned something and will do better now.) I added bodyweight exercises. I did some yoga. I've done some Just Dance. A little of this, a little of that. I shared it all on Facebook, to keep myself accountable. Exercise is now something that's a part of my life. Part of who I am. Part of who I want to be. I want to be a runner!
And, let me just tell you, those are words I never thought I'd say. I had no intention of running. I started out walking. I walked and walked. Miles and miles. (Which in and of itself was amazing to me and everyone around me.) It was in my last 5k, the one where I pushed my body too far and it rebelled. The one where I ran some.
Hurting. Crying. My body ached. But not because of the injury. My body ached to run. I ached to run. Weird.
I'm still working toward that. It's a two steps forward, one step back thing. My body doesn't recover like it used to. I can't just decide I'm going to go push it for hours and hours and not pay for it like I could in high school. These days, the cost of pushing is a bit higher. But not too high. Not so high that it's not worth it. And if I pace myself instead of diving off the cliff, which is my inclination, I can do it. Baby steps. I'm working on that.
Since May I've lost 33 pounds. I've gone down a pant size. I've lost inches here and there. My face has thinned. And all of that's great. But it's not what's most important.
I feel like I've found me. Like my body and I are working together again. I've proven I can do this. I'm not at complete peace about my body all the time, but I'm doing so much better. I'm so much happier. I feel more whole.
Like each year in the past, I will carry this word forward with me. It will remain in my heart. It will continue to drive me in ways I won't notice until I look back.
And I'm so excited to share my word for 2016! But that'll be tomorrow.
My word for 2015 was HEAL. I went into the year not knowing how that would play out. In most cases, I just tucked that word away in my heart and went about my life. But once in a while something would happen and I'd notice it. I'd notice it was an element of healing. I was healing.
I just went back and re-read my post from the beginning of the year, when I chose this word. I read through the list. And I noticed things, areas of healing that had happened, that I hadn't noticed before. I'm so grateful for that.
But, truly, the biggest change has been my body.
I've got health issues. Nothing major, just enough to keep me from being and doing what I want. Enough to force me to see other ways of being. Others ways to be of value.
I started the year off very unhappy with my body. With its size and shape. With its open rebellion against me. With its struggle to control me, to make me submit to its whims. Honestly, I was frustrated that I even had to have a body, because I felt it limited me in so many ways.
But things changed.
I don't remember exactly how or when it happened. It might have started last year. In fact, I think it did. Last November I decided I wanted to add some color to my hair. Not regular color. Purple. And early in December, I did. I got about six inches of the bottom of my hair bleached and dyed bright purple. Much brighter than I'd anticipated. And more inches than I'd planned. (Due to my own miscommunication with my fabulous hairdresser.) All of a sudden my hair was troll doll purple. My Little Pony purple. No longer subtle at all!
I'd spent years hiding in plain sight. Trying to be subtly present in the room. Mostly because I was very unhappy with the weight I'd gained and the way I looked. I felt miserable and it showed.
I loved having bright hair! It gave me such a lift. But I wasn't prepared for how others would react to it. Suddenly, when I walked into a room, there was no question people would be looking at me. It often made me uncomfortable. But I have always tried to stand behind my decisions, even if they don't seem to make any sense to anyone else. I've tried to live by the principle that I shouldn't make any decision, take any action, that I wouldn't be okay if it were exposed to the world. Stand behind my choices - that's me!
So I decided to embrace it. I decided to embrace me. I shared photos of my hair on Facebook. It was fun seeing how it faded and sharing that, too. But I hated pictures of my face, so it was tricky to share my hair unless I had someone else take pictures from behind. I have lots of picture of the back and sides of my hair, with my head leaning so that my hair fell mostly in front of my face. Because I didn't like my fat face.
Again, I don't know the exact day it happened, but I decided to stop hiding from pictures. I decided to allow pictures of myself, even some I didn't like, to be seen. I decided the picture was just a moment. Even if I didn't like how I looked in that moment, I liked who I was. And I wanted to remember that moment and have evidence of my presence.
And in the midst of this, there were other changes happening. I was healing in other ways. Invisible, inside ways.
In February I heard the words that changed me forever. In February I found the key that turned off the self-harm switch inside me. I February I gave up self-harm for good. Something I knew I was supposed to heal, needed to heal, but didn't want to heal. I trusted. I was healed.
This year I came to a healthier relationship with my dad. I found my footing. Mostly through taking care of my mom together, he and I have found a new respect for each other. A new gratitude for each other. Healing
I've come to a much healthier place with my mom as well. As she's changing, as her world is changing, I'm finding my footing there as well. It's been a tough slog. It's going to get tougher still. But I understand and accept it better now. And that helps. I feel less burdened and more compassionate. And I feel love toward her. The kind of love that's been missing for a while. A healing love. I'm grateful for that.
But the most noticeable healing I've experienced has been physical. At the beginning of the year, I was a slug. I could move and get things done, but everything exhausted me. Everything was a huge burden. I'd do what needed to be done and head straight back to bed. I was so tired and miserable and uncomfortable in my own body.
Again, I don't remember exactly when it happened. But I know it started before my physical. As I was approaching my physical, I was evaluating things and had decided I wanted to get off one of the medications I was on. And, dang it, I wanted to talk to my doctor about losing weight. My body wanted to move.
Now that I think about it, I think that was how it started. My body ached. I lay in my bed aching, and I knew it was because my body wanted to move. And my brain wanted my body to move. But I was so exhausted. Completely depleted. I had nothing more to push my body with. Gravity was pulling so hard.
But I wanted to move.
So at my physical, I talked to my doctor. We made a couple of medication changes. And I made a plan. Eat better. Move. That was the gist of it. And that's what I did. I changed how and what I ate. And I started walking.
Since then I've walked three 5ks; I ran a little in the last one. I've injured myself (plantar fasciitis and shin splints), because I pushed too hard too fast. (Hopefully, I've learned something and will do better now.) I added bodyweight exercises. I did some yoga. I've done some Just Dance. A little of this, a little of that. I shared it all on Facebook, to keep myself accountable. Exercise is now something that's a part of my life. Part of who I am. Part of who I want to be. I want to be a runner!
And, let me just tell you, those are words I never thought I'd say. I had no intention of running. I started out walking. I walked and walked. Miles and miles. (Which in and of itself was amazing to me and everyone around me.) It was in my last 5k, the one where I pushed my body too far and it rebelled. The one where I ran some.
Hurting. Crying. My body ached. But not because of the injury. My body ached to run. I ached to run. Weird.
I'm still working toward that. It's a two steps forward, one step back thing. My body doesn't recover like it used to. I can't just decide I'm going to go push it for hours and hours and not pay for it like I could in high school. These days, the cost of pushing is a bit higher. But not too high. Not so high that it's not worth it. And if I pace myself instead of diving off the cliff, which is my inclination, I can do it. Baby steps. I'm working on that.
Since May I've lost 33 pounds. I've gone down a pant size. I've lost inches here and there. My face has thinned. And all of that's great. But it's not what's most important.
I feel like I've found me. Like my body and I are working together again. I've proven I can do this. I'm not at complete peace about my body all the time, but I'm doing so much better. I'm so much happier. I feel more whole.
Like each year in the past, I will carry this word forward with me. It will remain in my heart. It will continue to drive me in ways I won't notice until I look back.
And I'm so excited to share my word for 2016! But that'll be tomorrow.
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
The Land of Irritation or Depleted or Something Else
You bug me. Yes, you. Whoever you are. If you're reading this, you bug me. And so does everyone who's not reading this.
Right now almost everyone and everything irritates me. A lot. And I don't know why.
I'm severely limiting my social interactions, digitally and in real life. Because I can't keep up the facade.
I can't pretend the things you're saying or doing or wearing or eating aren't making me crazy. It takes so much energy to be polite and smile when I really just want to go off on a diatribe about how ridiculous I find you.
I absolutely know how self-centered this sounds (because it is). I understand how un-Christlike this sounds (because it is). I get it. And in my heart of hearts I don't feel this way.
But in my nerves I do. I don't want to. I'm working on it. But right now I do.
And my isolation is for both of us.
I'm certain my facade will eventually break down when we're together, and I'll tell you how whiny I think you are. I'll tell you to quit complaining and either do something about it or just shut up. Which will hurt you.
Which will hurt me. Because I will feel your hurt and carry the weight of that in my heart and on my back. And I just don't have that strength right now.
I think part of the reason everyone and everything is bothering me is because I feel like it's my job to fix all the problems. All of them. All of them in the world.
I know it's not. In my head. But in my heart I feel differently. Accountable. Responsible. At fault.
And I want the world perfect. I want the world to be the way I want it. That includes the people and their behavior. And if I'm accountable, at fault, then it's my job to fix it.
But it isn't. And people get very irritated when I try. (As well they should.)
So I'm just going to pull back and give myself some space to get through this. It's kind of like taking my ball and going home because you won't play what I want to play, only a bit more mature (I hope). You can keep the ball. I'm just going home.
Right now almost everyone and everything irritates me. A lot. And I don't know why.
I'm severely limiting my social interactions, digitally and in real life. Because I can't keep up the facade.
I can't pretend the things you're saying or doing or wearing or eating aren't making me crazy. It takes so much energy to be polite and smile when I really just want to go off on a diatribe about how ridiculous I find you.
I absolutely know how self-centered this sounds (because it is). I understand how un-Christlike this sounds (because it is). I get it. And in my heart of hearts I don't feel this way.
But in my nerves I do. I don't want to. I'm working on it. But right now I do.
And my isolation is for both of us.
I'm certain my facade will eventually break down when we're together, and I'll tell you how whiny I think you are. I'll tell you to quit complaining and either do something about it or just shut up. Which will hurt you.
Which will hurt me. Because I will feel your hurt and carry the weight of that in my heart and on my back. And I just don't have that strength right now.
I think part of the reason everyone and everything is bothering me is because I feel like it's my job to fix all the problems. All of them. All of them in the world.
I know it's not. In my head. But in my heart I feel differently. Accountable. Responsible. At fault.
And I want the world perfect. I want the world to be the way I want it. That includes the people and their behavior. And if I'm accountable, at fault, then it's my job to fix it.
But it isn't. And people get very irritated when I try. (As well they should.)
So I'm just going to pull back and give myself some space to get through this. It's kind of like taking my ball and going home because you won't play what I want to play, only a bit more mature (I hope). You can keep the ball. I'm just going home.
Monday, August 31, 2015
It's Time to Write
It's time to write.
It's time to write.
It's time to write.
I've told myself that so many times over the last few months. And, yet, still I haven't.
Why?
I'm not sure. I have lots to say, but I just can't make myself write. I even know how I want to say the things in my head. I just can't make myself do it.
Maybe it's because the things I plan to write aren't the things I need to write. My heart isn't exploding with the ideas.
In fact, I'm sure that's what it is. It's amazing how things can become so clear when I just start writing.
See. I was right. It was time to write.
It's time to write.
It's time to write.
I've told myself that so many times over the last few months. And, yet, still I haven't.
Why?
I'm not sure. I have lots to say, but I just can't make myself write. I even know how I want to say the things in my head. I just can't make myself do it.
Maybe it's because the things I plan to write aren't the things I need to write. My heart isn't exploding with the ideas.
In fact, I'm sure that's what it is. It's amazing how things can become so clear when I just start writing.
See. I was right. It was time to write.
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
What I Learned From My First 5k
Let me start by saying I walked the 5k. Let me follow that up by saying I was doing almost nothing physical before that.
Some of you will remember my last post, the one where I owned my weight (216 lbs.) and said I was ready to do something to change it.
I went to the doctor on May 18th and talked to him about my weight. I wrote about it on May 20th. And May 23rd I walked a 5k. My first ever.
Was it wise to go from almost no activity to a 5k? Maybe not. I was hurting a lot afterward. But I honestly think it was the best way for me.
Why did I do it? Let me explain.
First, I was motivated by my weight (ugh!). Second, I had a bit of a rush from knowing some of the meds I was on were likely making me gain weight and I was getting off almost all of them. (Seriously, being able to blame the meds was a nice lift.) Third, the last two years we've walked in the Chiari Walk Across America (because my daughter has a Chiari I malformation), and I had walked over two miles both times, and a 5k is 3.1 miles. So I was pretty sure I could do it, even if I had to take it very slow. But the biggest reason is because I wanted to so bad!
This 5k was in honor of the daughter of a couple I went to high school with. She died in an accident when she was just 15 months old. Her name is Elle and this was the Live wElle 5k. I'd known about it for three or four years. I'd wanted to participate in it ever since I heard about it, but I knew I couldn't. I knew I wasn't ready. This time I was. And the title seemed to indicate it was the right one to start with. I am trying to live well!
It was amazing!
But it was also hard. And I learned a lot.
That's me on the right, with the dark blue jacket and gloves. It was very cold. I was also wearing my yoga pants (because you have to wear comfortable pants, right?). I wore my hair down for warmth, and curled it because I knew I'd see people I know there and didn't want to be hideous. I brought a clip to pull it up as I warmed up. I figured I'd just tie my jacket around my waist as it got warmer.
That's me on the left at the end of the race. That was the only time I jogged, and it was because we were near the finish line. You have to run across the finish line, right? Oh, by the way, it's tough to run (or jog) when your feet and legs are numb. Just sayin'.
Let me tell you what's wrong with this picture. No matter how cold it is when the race starts - NO JACKET! Seriously. I found out I hated walking with something around my waist. A few blocks is one thing. Three miles is quite another. And my clip kept slipping. Seriously, pull that dang hair up in a ponytail. No one cares what you look like. No one. And don't wear boot cut yoga pants. Or a t-shirt of material you don't like, even if it's the race shirt. Or heavy tennis shoes. (Okay, those were the only tennis shoes I owned, so I really didn't have many other options.)
I was really excited. I was totally stoked! I knew I was going to rock this thing. And then, two blocks after I started, this thought went through my mind, "What the hell have I done?"
Two blocks in. And I've still got over three miles to go. There's no way on this earth I'm going to be able to finish. But, dang it, I spent money on this. And I want to do this for my friends. And, seriously, how humiliating would it be to have to be rescued? So I kept going.
That first mile I thought I was going to die! Probably not literally, but I thought I might pass out and have to be tended to. Even though I was being careful and going at my own pace.
But guess what. I didn't die. After about a mile, my legs went numb. And things got easier after that. When you can't feel your legs and feet, they don't hurt. Plus, passing that one mile sign is awesome! Not nearly as awesome as the halfway sign, but still awesome.
Once I hit the halfway point I stepped up my pace. I was feeling pretty good now. And, gosh darn it, I was pretty sure I could pass some of those people right in front of me. I went into the race planning to just walk my speed. What was comfortable. Not compete with anyone. But since I'd paced myself well in the beginning, I had a bit more to give in the second half. And I could see others slowing down. And it's just possible my competitive side kicked in.
I picked up my pace and passed many people. That was cool!
I ended up finishing in 53 minutes and 38.1 seconds. I was thrilled to have done it under an hour. Yay me!
And two weeks later I did another one. This time I finished in 48 minutes and 43 seconds. I took almost 5 minutes off my time! Yay me again!
And this is what I wore for that race.
New, lighter shoes. A lot less clothing. Boy, was that a more enjoyable race!
But the most important thing I learned from that first 5k? I learned I could do it!
Some of you will remember my last post, the one where I owned my weight (216 lbs.) and said I was ready to do something to change it.
I went to the doctor on May 18th and talked to him about my weight. I wrote about it on May 20th. And May 23rd I walked a 5k. My first ever.
Was it wise to go from almost no activity to a 5k? Maybe not. I was hurting a lot afterward. But I honestly think it was the best way for me.
Why did I do it? Let me explain.
First, I was motivated by my weight (ugh!). Second, I had a bit of a rush from knowing some of the meds I was on were likely making me gain weight and I was getting off almost all of them. (Seriously, being able to blame the meds was a nice lift.) Third, the last two years we've walked in the Chiari Walk Across America (because my daughter has a Chiari I malformation), and I had walked over two miles both times, and a 5k is 3.1 miles. So I was pretty sure I could do it, even if I had to take it very slow. But the biggest reason is because I wanted to so bad!
This 5k was in honor of the daughter of a couple I went to high school with. She died in an accident when she was just 15 months old. Her name is Elle and this was the Live wElle 5k. I'd known about it for three or four years. I'd wanted to participate in it ever since I heard about it, but I knew I couldn't. I knew I wasn't ready. This time I was. And the title seemed to indicate it was the right one to start with. I am trying to live well!
It was amazing!
But it was also hard. And I learned a lot.
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| Before the race, with three of my kids. |
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| Me at the end of the race. |
Let me tell you what's wrong with this picture. No matter how cold it is when the race starts - NO JACKET! Seriously. I found out I hated walking with something around my waist. A few blocks is one thing. Three miles is quite another. And my clip kept slipping. Seriously, pull that dang hair up in a ponytail. No one cares what you look like. No one. And don't wear boot cut yoga pants. Or a t-shirt of material you don't like, even if it's the race shirt. Or heavy tennis shoes. (Okay, those were the only tennis shoes I owned, so I really didn't have many other options.)
I was really excited. I was totally stoked! I knew I was going to rock this thing. And then, two blocks after I started, this thought went through my mind, "What the hell have I done?"
Two blocks in. And I've still got over three miles to go. There's no way on this earth I'm going to be able to finish. But, dang it, I spent money on this. And I want to do this for my friends. And, seriously, how humiliating would it be to have to be rescued? So I kept going.
That first mile I thought I was going to die! Probably not literally, but I thought I might pass out and have to be tended to. Even though I was being careful and going at my own pace.
But guess what. I didn't die. After about a mile, my legs went numb. And things got easier after that. When you can't feel your legs and feet, they don't hurt. Plus, passing that one mile sign is awesome! Not nearly as awesome as the halfway sign, but still awesome.
Once I hit the halfway point I stepped up my pace. I was feeling pretty good now. And, gosh darn it, I was pretty sure I could pass some of those people right in front of me. I went into the race planning to just walk my speed. What was comfortable. Not compete with anyone. But since I'd paced myself well in the beginning, I had a bit more to give in the second half. And I could see others slowing down. And it's just possible my competitive side kicked in.
I picked up my pace and passed many people. That was cool!
I ended up finishing in 53 minutes and 38.1 seconds. I was thrilled to have done it under an hour. Yay me!
And two weeks later I did another one. This time I finished in 48 minutes and 43 seconds. I took almost 5 minutes off my time! Yay me again!
And this is what I wore for that race.
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| Much better clothing choices. |
But the most important thing I learned from that first 5k? I learned I could do it!
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| We did it! |
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
No More Weighting
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"Are you freaking kidding me?!" That's what I thought when I looked at the scale. I had my annual physical a few days ago. We all know what that dreaded first assessment is going to be. "Can I get you to step up here?" the 20-something, size 2 nurse asks me. She was sweet and kind and just doing her job, but I really want to turn to her and say, "Do I look like someone who wants to step on a scale?"
But I did, because we do. And I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.
And to follow that up, when my blood test results came back they showed quite a spike in my cholesterol levels.
And I'm not okay with that.
I'm not sure whether it was the weight or the cholesterol, but now I want to do something about it. Really do something.
So here it is. - deep breath -
I weighed in at 216 pounds. I am 5'4". I'm just going to let that sit there for a minute while it sinks in. While I get comfortable with owning my self. 216 pounds.
I'm not comfortable with it. Not at all.
I've seen lots of people, mostly women, blog about weight loss and openly share their weight. I swore I would never do that. Funny thing. Now that the decision is made to move in a healthier direction, I can say it.
For years I've told myself I wasn't sensitive about my weight. I knew I was getting heavier, but I was still able to do most of the things I could before, so how bad could it be? My skin never felt flabby. (Yeah, it never does. It grows with the enlarging mass growing under it. Duh.) There was always someone larger than me. That helped, although it shouldn't have. It really had nothing to do with me.
But it did bother me. I'd say it was about being healthy, not about how I looked. Bull! What a lie. One of those self-deception things that helped me get through a situation I felt powerless against.
It was bothering me before I went to the doctor. I addressed it with him as part of my physical. "I used to have no appetite and could easily go 24 hours without eating (not healthy). But now I'm hungry all the time. I'm more physically active than I've been in a long time, but I'm still gaining weight. Could it be menopause?" (I had a full hysterectomy last year. So even though I'm only 45, I'm in full-blown menopause.)
He told me two of the medications I am currently taking cause weight gain. Wonderful. :( Actually, I liked when he said that because it gave me a bit of deniability. "I would totally be losing weight if I weren't on these meds. It's the meds' fault." And that's probably partly true. But not entirely by a long shot.
I'm getting off one of the meds, for other reasons, and cutting the other one by half. Finger crossed this helps. And with my new thyroid medication and the Lamictal I have more energy that I have in years. (Not a lot, but enough to feel like a tired human instead of a rock.)
This is it. This is the time. It's only going to get harder if I wait. And I'm sick of hiding from friends and from pictures.
There are people I used to work with that I avoid seeing, even though I like them and would love to see them again, because I don't want them to see how much weight I've gained. And I've hidden from pictures for years now. There are way fewer pictures of me for posterity than there should be.
Because I'm embarrassed. There. I said it. I'm embarrassed about how I look. I want to say I'm not. I want to not care about what others think of me. But I am. And I do.
A basic history:
* Other than being shorter than most people, I was never really petite.
* In high school (which was the first time I remember even knowing what I weighed) I weighed 140 pounds and wore size 8 jeans. I was not skinny by high school standards. There were so many girls around me who were just tiny. Thin little things. I was absolutely not that. I knew I wasn't that but wanted to be. I developed substantial hips at 14. I have thoroughbred thighs that run in my family. I was not tiny. But when I look back at those photos now I realize how small I really was. Go figure.
* I only gained 20-25 pounds with each baby (5). With my first, I lost the weight quickly and even dropped some extra. I was very active. I dropped to 130 pounds and a size 6. That was the happiest I'd ever been about my weight and how I looked.
* After each following baby, I kept about ten pounds.
* In the spring of 2001, when I weighed about 180 pounds and my baby was almost three, the world feel out from under my feet. By June I was in bed. All the time. For the next year and a half. I was able to function just enough to keep my children alive. I would lie on the couch and watch videos with them or watch them play. I would talk my oldest daughter (10) through getting them food. At night I had a tiny amount of energy and would put together sandwich bags of food for the next day. Cheese slices. Carrots. Crackers. My attempt at taking care of my kids. Because that was seriously all I could do. I couldn't move. I was so tired it made me cry. And giving up all the things I did, all the volunteering at their schools and coaching of their teams and taking them to the park - all gone. I never got a definitive answer about what was wrong, it just gradually got better. But I've never felt well again since. I go through times when I can function better than others. And I go through times when I'm flat in bed.
* I have no idea how much I weighed in between that time and the next time. We didn't own a scale. We still don't.
* In 2010 I wrote "A Weighty Issue," a blog post about being unhappy with my weight but not ready to really do anything about it. It really shook me today when I looked back at that and realized it took five years for me to be ready. I honestly don't remember what I weighed then except that I'd probably just broken 200 pounds. I'd sworn to myself I'd never let myself hit 200, but I did. And it devastated me for a few days. But I shook it off, blamed it on still not feeling well, and moved on. Seriously, if you can barely get out of bed, how could you be expected to exercise?
* In 2012 I went to my psychiatrist for the first time. She asked what I weighed. I said about 200 pounds, which was hard enough to say. But it wasn't even true. Because I had just recently had a physical and the scale said 206. Stupid scale. But I wrote some of that off as premenstrual water retention. You know what I mean; right, ladies?
* And now, three years later, I weigh 216 pounds and wear size 16 jeans. Like I said, I had a hysterectomy. So the excuse of premenstrual water retention is off the table. I am finally able to move enough to clean my house and function almost like a real human being. And I know how to do it. I really have no excuses anymore. (Well, I still have some flat in bed moments. But I could work out on the other days. Which I don't.)
So here's my action plan. Eat better. Move. That's it. It's more defined in my head, but that's the gist of it.
I don't intend for my blog to suddenly become a weight loss blog. I may or may not report as things progress (because they will progress, dang it!). And I don't have a before shot of my body. Honestly, my fat body hasn't been what's bothered me most or kept me from being in pictures.
It's my fat face.
You can hide your body behind other people, but if you hide your face there's really no reason to be in a photo. And I've got a big head - like 7 3/8 big. So when I'm in a photo with other people, my head dwarfs theirs. I look like Andre the giant. That was even true before I got so fat. (Luckily, my husband's head is even bigger than mine. Thanks, honey.)
But I'm ready to own it. I'm ready to move on. And in order to move on, I have to acknowledge where I came from. So here are some of those photos. (Sorry I don't have better photos. Not only do I hide from the camera, but I also haven't digitized many.)
It's my fat face.
You can hide your body behind other people, but if you hide your face there's really no reason to be in a photo. And I've got a big head - like 7 3/8 big. So when I'm in a photo with other people, my head dwarfs theirs. I look like Andre the giant. That was even true before I got so fat. (Luckily, my husband's head is even bigger than mine. Thanks, honey.)
But I'm ready to own it. I'm ready to move on. And in order to move on, I have to acknowledge where I came from. So here are some of those photos. (Sorry I don't have better photos. Not only do I hide from the camera, but I also haven't digitized many.)
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| My wedding day - 1990, 25 years ago. This is the oldest digital photo I had of myself that you could see my face in. This was two years after I graduated. I think my face looks pretty good here. |
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| Five kids later - probably early 1999, 16 years ago. I'm not thrilled with my look here. My hair is pulled up in my "softball/cleaning" ponytail; not super flattering. But there's no double chin yet. |
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| I'm guessing this is about five or so years later - let's say 1994, 11 years ago. See how I'm throwing my head back. At this point I'd started to notice a double chin in photos and was trying to avoid that. |
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| 2009 - 6 years ago. My daughters are super cute, but that's about the only thing I like about this photo. See how I'm hiding behind them? Still trying to tip my head up and back a little? See those flabby arms? See that double chin? Yeah, not cool. But I got in the photo. For that, I'm proud of myself. |
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| 2011 - 5 years ago. By this time I'd decided I needed to start being in some of the photos. I'd also learned that being cheesy in a photo made it less bothersome when I didn't look great. Okay, I look kind of like a drowned rat here because of the rain, but also notice how round my face has gotten. |
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| 2012 - 4 years ago. This is a photo I both love and hate. It's a picture of me teaching at church, which is something I absolutely love to do. It was a wonderful time in my life and I'm glad I have a record of it. But, seriously, can you believe how fat my face is? How fat I am? Oh, my heck! I about cried when I saw it. |
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| 2013 - 2 years ago. Hiding behind someone again. Tilting my head away and back a bit to try to hide that double chin. Failing miserably - Ugh. That double chin. |
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| 2014 - last year. I'm kind of proud of myself for just letting the shot happen. I'm not hiding or tilting my head back. I've come a long way toward acceptance of my true body size by this time. But, oh, how huge my head is. |
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| 2015 - last week. This is me now. I voluntarily took a photo of my face and put it on facebook. I own it. This is me. I'm a fat girl. |
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
A Talk with My Dad
Open, honest, heartfelt communication has never been a thing in my family. Especially with my dad. He's always been very honest and direct, but never touchy-feely. When I was young, he was emotionally abusive and I was very scared of him. There are times even now when I am scared of how he will react to something and am not truthful with him because of it. He's 72 and I'm 45. I thought I'd be over that by now, especially with nearly ten years of therapy off and on.
All of that is so you'll understand what a big deal this story is. My dad is my mom's primary caregiver. I'm her secondary caregiver. She isn't currently diagnosed with dementia or Alzheimer's, but we've been helping her care for herself for about five years now.
The other day I was finally able to sit with my dad and have an open, honest, heartfelt discussion about how my mom is really doing! I'm so proud of myself for that. It was very difficult, but I did it. For me! Because I needed it.
I worried that he didn't think she was as bad as I do (and everyone else does). I worried that he still thought if she could just get off all the meds she takes she'd be okay.
But that's not the case. He did not flinch when I said I thought she was in the early stages of dementia. (Trust me, if he disagreed with me he would have said so and probably told me I was stupid to think so.) He is an old cowboy and really doesn't get stressed. He just rolls with things. He suggested the best way to deal with the situation is to just take it as it is and not be sad about it. Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could do that like him?
The last time he left town (for a much needed respite, a golf tournament with my brother, which I fully supported), things were the worst they've ever been with my mom. My adult daughters were supposed to stay with her and take care of her. (Before that week, all that would have meant was driving her around, helping her get food, and maybe doing some laundry or shopping for her.) But she was in severe pain, needed an MRI (which I took her to) - which made her pain worse because of the way the technician adjusted her, and tried pain pill after pain pill to get some relief while waiting for her appointment for an epidural injection. Her anxiety was through the roof. Because things got so bad, my girls were not enough. She needed me, like a scared toddler needs her mom. She was clingy and scared. All of a sudden I needed to be with her 24-hours a day, including having her take over my bedroom and sleep in my bed because she emotionally couldn't go home (she has some PTSD issues with that house which flare when she's bad). It was a horrible week that broke me time and time again.
Because of our lack of open communication, I never told my dad how hard it was on me. But someone did, because during our open conversation I could tell he knew and is doing what he can to not leave her again.
I was able to tell him, very honestly, that I think I could do it without it being nearly so bad now. My perspective has shifted. First off, it wouldn't hit me out of the blue. Now, if he has to leave town and leaves one of my daughters in charge, I will schedule my life knowing I might have to take over at any time (including always having a bag packed, ready to stay with her for a couple of days at the drop of a hat). But most importantly, I've learned to see the things she does as the illness, not her. She isn't the one making my life hell, the illness is. She isn't the one yelling at me, the illness is. She isn't the one refusing to cooperate and follow through on the things she said she wanted to do that I worked so hard to make happen, the illness is. That really helps.
Thinking of myself as her caretaker has changed things. Choosing to be her caretaker, because she's my mom and I want to help, has made all the difference.
She may not ever be diagnosed, as long as my dad is alive and fully able to care for her. He said he doesn't see any point in it. He doesn't want to know what's coming; he'd rather just face it when it does. Why spend more time worrying? I'm a planner. I would like to know what's coming so I can be ready. But I can honor how he feels. All the testing would be so hard on her. She really struggles when she has to have any kind of testing done or make it to doctor's appointments. And I understand what he's saying about just living where we are in the present moment.
So he can stay there, and I'll do my research. I've joined a group on Facebook for people with dementia and/or caregivers of those with dementia. This group is about information and support. Mostly support. And sharing their stories, which help me and others find possible solutions for those moments that leave us frantic. And answering questions of those who are now where they've already been. I read what they write and try to remember it for the future. I can see so much of what they say in my mom. This group has already helped me so much. They strengthen me through the dark times. It helps to understand more what it is. It helps to see some of what may be coming. It helps to hear them speak with concern for their loved ones when I'm just feeling put upon. But mostly, it helps to know I'm not alone.
All of that is so you'll understand what a big deal this story is. My dad is my mom's primary caregiver. I'm her secondary caregiver. She isn't currently diagnosed with dementia or Alzheimer's, but we've been helping her care for herself for about five years now.
The other day I was finally able to sit with my dad and have an open, honest, heartfelt discussion about how my mom is really doing! I'm so proud of myself for that. It was very difficult, but I did it. For me! Because I needed it.
I worried that he didn't think she was as bad as I do (and everyone else does). I worried that he still thought if she could just get off all the meds she takes she'd be okay.
But that's not the case. He did not flinch when I said I thought she was in the early stages of dementia. (Trust me, if he disagreed with me he would have said so and probably told me I was stupid to think so.) He is an old cowboy and really doesn't get stressed. He just rolls with things. He suggested the best way to deal with the situation is to just take it as it is and not be sad about it. Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could do that like him?
The last time he left town (for a much needed respite, a golf tournament with my brother, which I fully supported), things were the worst they've ever been with my mom. My adult daughters were supposed to stay with her and take care of her. (Before that week, all that would have meant was driving her around, helping her get food, and maybe doing some laundry or shopping for her.) But she was in severe pain, needed an MRI (which I took her to) - which made her pain worse because of the way the technician adjusted her, and tried pain pill after pain pill to get some relief while waiting for her appointment for an epidural injection. Her anxiety was through the roof. Because things got so bad, my girls were not enough. She needed me, like a scared toddler needs her mom. She was clingy and scared. All of a sudden I needed to be with her 24-hours a day, including having her take over my bedroom and sleep in my bed because she emotionally couldn't go home (she has some PTSD issues with that house which flare when she's bad). It was a horrible week that broke me time and time again.
Because of our lack of open communication, I never told my dad how hard it was on me. But someone did, because during our open conversation I could tell he knew and is doing what he can to not leave her again.
I was able to tell him, very honestly, that I think I could do it without it being nearly so bad now. My perspective has shifted. First off, it wouldn't hit me out of the blue. Now, if he has to leave town and leaves one of my daughters in charge, I will schedule my life knowing I might have to take over at any time (including always having a bag packed, ready to stay with her for a couple of days at the drop of a hat). But most importantly, I've learned to see the things she does as the illness, not her. She isn't the one making my life hell, the illness is. She isn't the one yelling at me, the illness is. She isn't the one refusing to cooperate and follow through on the things she said she wanted to do that I worked so hard to make happen, the illness is. That really helps.
Thinking of myself as her caretaker has changed things. Choosing to be her caretaker, because she's my mom and I want to help, has made all the difference.
She may not ever be diagnosed, as long as my dad is alive and fully able to care for her. He said he doesn't see any point in it. He doesn't want to know what's coming; he'd rather just face it when it does. Why spend more time worrying? I'm a planner. I would like to know what's coming so I can be ready. But I can honor how he feels. All the testing would be so hard on her. She really struggles when she has to have any kind of testing done or make it to doctor's appointments. And I understand what he's saying about just living where we are in the present moment.
So he can stay there, and I'll do my research. I've joined a group on Facebook for people with dementia and/or caregivers of those with dementia. This group is about information and support. Mostly support. And sharing their stories, which help me and others find possible solutions for those moments that leave us frantic. And answering questions of those who are now where they've already been. I read what they write and try to remember it for the future. I can see so much of what they say in my mom. This group has already helped me so much. They strengthen me through the dark times. It helps to understand more what it is. It helps to see some of what may be coming. It helps to hear them speak with concern for their loved ones when I'm just feeling put upon. But mostly, it helps to know I'm not alone.
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
How Am I Doing On My New Medication?
I was diagnosed with Bipolar II on October 30, 2014. Within a week I was on a mood stabilizer. My primary reason for this post is to examine how that's working for me.
However, that's not the only major change recently, so I offer this background on my health and meds. While I have no way of knowing for sure what treatment caused what effect, my gut tells me. So I will tell you what my gut says (knowing I could be completely incorrect).
Each morning I take:
So as you can see, I have gone through many health changes over the last year. How would I compare where I am now to where I was a year ago? I am better. Much better.
I do not have the constant, intense pelvic pain I had before my hysterectomy. I have more energy on the new thyroid meds, although still subpar for sure; I can get out of bed and do things more often than before. I don't go through intense PMDD/PMS every month; my moods are more in flow with what's actually happening in my life instead of attacking me out of nowhere.
But, most significantly, I haven't had any episodes of severe depression since I started the mood stabilizer. I was initially put on it to control the hypomanic episodes that can come because of Bipolar II. Those were hard to give up. They were days of extra energy, lots of extra energy, when I didn't need sleep and could get lots done - all the stuff I didn't have the energy to do most days. When I first met with my psychiatrist I asked her why I would want to give those up when they're so great. She told me they cause brain damage. Oh. Okay. I'll give them up.
As I researched Lamictal I read that it can often have the side effect of also helping depression. I held a tiny spark of hope that this would happen, but not much. I've tried so many meds for depression over the years and had so much therapy, but none of it took away the depression for good. The meds didn't work at all or made me suicidal. And the therapy could sometimes get me through a tough moment if my appointment happened to hit during an episode. But usually the black dog (as depression is referred to by those who suffer) would just come out of nowhere and pin me to the ground. And I just tried to survive until he let me up again. I couldn't fight him off. I just had to wait until he was done with me and moved on.
Since I have been on the Lamictal I have not been pinned to the ground by the black dog. Not once. He's chewed on my leg on several occasions, but I haven't gone completely dark at all. There was one time when I'd say he knocked me to the ground pretty hard, but that was situational, and I recovered from it much more quickly than I normally would have.
So here's the deal. And I hate to say it for fear of jinxing it. But I believe the Lamictal is helping with my depression. For real. And it's kind of amazing.
Just as my psychiatrist said it should work, I have ups and downs, but they aren't as high or as deep as they were before.
And there's still a part of me waiting for it to come back and hit me in the head. I've sometimes gone through long periods without depression before, only to be dragged down again; what if this is just one of those? Depression has been a part of my life since I was a teenager. The idea that it could finally be under control is something that's difficult for me to wrap my brain around. I feel like it's an "I feel better so far, but we'll see how it plays out" thing.
And there's a part of me that doesn't want it to completely work. Depression is part of my self-definition. It's part of who I am. If it works, I will have to learn to be me all over again.
However, that's not the only major change recently, so I offer this background on my health and meds. While I have no way of knowing for sure what treatment caused what effect, my gut tells me. So I will tell you what my gut says (knowing I could be completely incorrect).
Each morning I take:
- A multivitamin for women over fifty - even though I am forty-five, because the complete hysterectomy and oophorectomy I had last year put me into instant menopause
- Vitamin D - because I don't get nearly enough sunshine and it can help with depression, especially during the winter (which it feels like we didn't even have here in Utah, oh well)
- Estrogen - because I am in menopause an estimated ten years early and my doctor wants to protect my bones and I don't like the idea of breaking a hip when I fall
- Gabapentin - which is often prescribed for anxiety, but that's not why I take it; sometimes my skin hurts for no reason, and gabapentin can help with neuropathic pain; I've been on it since April of 2014, I think; does it work? I'm not sure; my skin was hurting a lot over the last week; it feels like a first degree burn, but there is no discoloration and I haven't been burned; I'm going to talk to the doctor about getting off this one at my next physical
- Lamictal - the mood stabilizer I've been on since the first week of November, 2014; the reason for this post
- Gabapentin
- Vitamin D
- Omeprazole - a proton pump inhibitor that I take for gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD); otherwise I often have stomach acid that comes up my throat and makes it so I have a chronic cough, chronic sore throat, chronic hoarse voice, and so I can't sleep; without this medication it will often wake me with a burning in my throat that can't be soothed
- Gabapentin
- Melatonin - because I don't sleep well, like at all; I need all the help I can get, but everything else I've tried leaves me super groggy the next day; and melatonin is what our bodies naturally produce to induce sleep
- Armour Thyroid - which is pig thyroid glands "dried and powdered for therapeutic use" (according to Wikipedia); I take this because I have hypothyroidism, which means my thyroid doesn't do it's job very well anymore; I used to take a synthetic thyroid medication but never felt better on it; I found out about this through a thyroid health group on facebook; I had to fight my doctor for it because it isn't as consistent a dose as synthetic, but I have felt better on it; I started this in April of 2014
So as you can see, I have gone through many health changes over the last year. How would I compare where I am now to where I was a year ago? I am better. Much better.
I do not have the constant, intense pelvic pain I had before my hysterectomy. I have more energy on the new thyroid meds, although still subpar for sure; I can get out of bed and do things more often than before. I don't go through intense PMDD/PMS every month; my moods are more in flow with what's actually happening in my life instead of attacking me out of nowhere.
But, most significantly, I haven't had any episodes of severe depression since I started the mood stabilizer. I was initially put on it to control the hypomanic episodes that can come because of Bipolar II. Those were hard to give up. They were days of extra energy, lots of extra energy, when I didn't need sleep and could get lots done - all the stuff I didn't have the energy to do most days. When I first met with my psychiatrist I asked her why I would want to give those up when they're so great. She told me they cause brain damage. Oh. Okay. I'll give them up.
As I researched Lamictal I read that it can often have the side effect of also helping depression. I held a tiny spark of hope that this would happen, but not much. I've tried so many meds for depression over the years and had so much therapy, but none of it took away the depression for good. The meds didn't work at all or made me suicidal. And the therapy could sometimes get me through a tough moment if my appointment happened to hit during an episode. But usually the black dog (as depression is referred to by those who suffer) would just come out of nowhere and pin me to the ground. And I just tried to survive until he let me up again. I couldn't fight him off. I just had to wait until he was done with me and moved on.
Since I have been on the Lamictal I have not been pinned to the ground by the black dog. Not once. He's chewed on my leg on several occasions, but I haven't gone completely dark at all. There was one time when I'd say he knocked me to the ground pretty hard, but that was situational, and I recovered from it much more quickly than I normally would have.
So here's the deal. And I hate to say it for fear of jinxing it. But I believe the Lamictal is helping with my depression. For real. And it's kind of amazing.
Just as my psychiatrist said it should work, I have ups and downs, but they aren't as high or as deep as they were before.
And there's still a part of me waiting for it to come back and hit me in the head. I've sometimes gone through long periods without depression before, only to be dragged down again; what if this is just one of those? Depression has been a part of my life since I was a teenager. The idea that it could finally be under control is something that's difficult for me to wrap my brain around. I feel like it's an "I feel better so far, but we'll see how it plays out" thing.
And there's a part of me that doesn't want it to completely work. Depression is part of my self-definition. It's part of who I am. If it works, I will have to learn to be me all over again.
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