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.
Showing posts with label Strength. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Strength. Show all posts
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Friday, April 25, 2014
An Awfully Proud Mama
This is our oldest daughter, Jessica. And today she graduated from Brigham Young University.
Attending her commencement and convocation exercises was amazing. I can't even begin to describe my pride in her achievements and in the incredible young woman she is.
We don't have much money. We live paycheck to paycheck and always have. At times of job loss we've been on food stamps and church assistance. My husband and I both attended some college, but neither of us finished our degrees.
Jessica loves learning. She's so smart and works hard. She always wanted to go to college and I've known for most of her life that we couldn't afford to send her. I remember telling her that if she wanted to go to college, she'd need a scholarship or would have to work her way through. Turns out she needed both.
She earned a full-tuition scholarship for four years through good grades and test scores. Some of her abilities are genetic, to be sure. She's a quick learner and has been blessed with a mind that works the way the school systems are set up to test. But she also had to put forth a lot of effort. She had to sacrifice things she wanted, which sometimes meant her social life. But she did it.
But there was still the cost of books. And for a time there was the cost of living away from home. And there was the expense of her trip to Russia to teach English to young children for four months. She paid for these things herself almost in entirety.
For the first two years of her schooling she worked a 4:00am job as a custodian. For the next year she worked a 6:00am job as a custodian. And near the end she finally got her dream job - doing custodial work in the evening. (Just kidding about that being her dream job, but the timing sure was better.) All of this to pay for her books and other things she needed, because we couldn't. And she worked these jobs while carrying a full-time load of classes.
Everyone has their own path in life. Not everyone will go to college, nor should they. I don't think success is measured by whether or not a person has a degree or how much money they earn. I don't think a person will be happier just because they have a bachelor's degree.
But what I do think will make a person happier and what does constitute success is an ability to have a dream, to want something with all their heart, and to have the drive to make it happen.
These last two days I got to see my daughter realize a dream of hers that she's worked so hard for almost all her life. And it was an absolutely amazing experience!
Attending her commencement and convocation exercises was amazing. I can't even begin to describe my pride in her achievements and in the incredible young woman she is.
We don't have much money. We live paycheck to paycheck and always have. At times of job loss we've been on food stamps and church assistance. My husband and I both attended some college, but neither of us finished our degrees.
Jessica loves learning. She's so smart and works hard. She always wanted to go to college and I've known for most of her life that we couldn't afford to send her. I remember telling her that if she wanted to go to college, she'd need a scholarship or would have to work her way through. Turns out she needed both.
She earned a full-tuition scholarship for four years through good grades and test scores. Some of her abilities are genetic, to be sure. She's a quick learner and has been blessed with a mind that works the way the school systems are set up to test. But she also had to put forth a lot of effort. She had to sacrifice things she wanted, which sometimes meant her social life. But she did it.
But there was still the cost of books. And for a time there was the cost of living away from home. And there was the expense of her trip to Russia to teach English to young children for four months. She paid for these things herself almost in entirety.
For the first two years of her schooling she worked a 4:00am job as a custodian. For the next year she worked a 6:00am job as a custodian. And near the end she finally got her dream job - doing custodial work in the evening. (Just kidding about that being her dream job, but the timing sure was better.) All of this to pay for her books and other things she needed, because we couldn't. And she worked these jobs while carrying a full-time load of classes.
Everyone has their own path in life. Not everyone will go to college, nor should they. I don't think success is measured by whether or not a person has a degree or how much money they earn. I don't think a person will be happier just because they have a bachelor's degree.
But what I do think will make a person happier and what does constitute success is an ability to have a dream, to want something with all their heart, and to have the drive to make it happen.
These last two days I got to see my daughter realize a dream of hers that she's worked so hard for almost all her life. And it was an absolutely amazing experience!
Friday, October 11, 2013
Keep a Happy Thought for Me?
I am still hurting. A lot. The depression and anxiety are still bad. My patience is almost non-existent.
I am going to the doctor on Monday and the therapist on Thursday. I'm really hoping for some relief and/or direction by the end of the week. I'm kind of at the edge of what I can take.
Keep a happy thought for me?
I am going to the doctor on Monday and the therapist on Thursday. I'm really hoping for some relief and/or direction by the end of the week. I'm kind of at the edge of what I can take.
Keep a happy thought for me?
Saturday, October 5, 2013
An Interesting Blessing
I have been fiercely independent for as long as I can remember. To the point of shunning chivalry and sometimes hurting myself because I was too stubborn to let anyone lighten my load, figuratively or literally.
Over the years I've learned to accept help a little more and even sometimes request it. I've learned that I'm not enough to take on the world all by myself. This used to scare me. Now that I've grown a bit and found some people I can trust, it is a bit of a relief. Because now I understand that I'm not meant to take the world on alone.
But one area I didn't seem to learn this was in my marriage. Oh, I did become interdependent with my husband. Especially financially when my health no longer allowed me to work outside the home. But there was still this I-could-get-by-without-you-I-don't-really-need-you thing left over from all those years of my independence and our struggles.
For so many years I have been his strength, his buffer. We both knew that if our marriage ended, as it looked like it would more than once, I would struggle financially but be okay otherwise; he would be a basket case and be lost without me.
But recently that's changed. We tend to pull together in crisis (thank heavens). So his job loss, while incredibly stressful in other ways, has been good for our relationship. We've become closer.
That's not the part that surprised me. The thing that surprised me is what happened during my last PTSD episode (which still isn't completely over, by the way, but is improving).
This last PTSD episode has included so much fear (it always does). It's tough for me to leave the house. It's hard to be around people. I'm claustrophobic. I don't want anyone to touch me or talk to me too much. I try not to visibly cringe when others come near me, but I definitely cringe inside. The nerves in my skin feel like they are all hyper-stimulated at once. My skin hurts. And the thought of someone touching me scares me like when someone comes up to slap your back when you have a bad sunburn.
None of that is new. I get that way every time my PTSD is triggered.
The interesting part is this. My husband has become my buffer. He gets between me and what scares me. Quite often. He'll take the conversation for me. He'll sit between me and others. He'll field phone calls and visits at the door when I just can't face them. I feel safer when he's with me. He's become my protector in a very real way.
For many of you, this may sound like a condition you've always had with your spouse. Why am I making a big deal of it? Because it's not something I've ever had with my husband. It's not something I've ever allowed. It's not something he's ever seen me need. Being protective isn't his natural response when I'm in trouble. He's seen me fight my own demons too many times to think I need him.
But this time I've needed him. And he's come through for me. As horrible as this episode has been, and continues to be, it's been worth it. Because it's allowed a new type of intimacy between me and my husband. I am so grateful for that.
Over the years I've learned to accept help a little more and even sometimes request it. I've learned that I'm not enough to take on the world all by myself. This used to scare me. Now that I've grown a bit and found some people I can trust, it is a bit of a relief. Because now I understand that I'm not meant to take the world on alone.
But one area I didn't seem to learn this was in my marriage. Oh, I did become interdependent with my husband. Especially financially when my health no longer allowed me to work outside the home. But there was still this I-could-get-by-without-you-I-don't-really-need-you thing left over from all those years of my independence and our struggles.
For so many years I have been his strength, his buffer. We both knew that if our marriage ended, as it looked like it would more than once, I would struggle financially but be okay otherwise; he would be a basket case and be lost without me.
But recently that's changed. We tend to pull together in crisis (thank heavens). So his job loss, while incredibly stressful in other ways, has been good for our relationship. We've become closer.
That's not the part that surprised me. The thing that surprised me is what happened during my last PTSD episode (which still isn't completely over, by the way, but is improving).
This last PTSD episode has included so much fear (it always does). It's tough for me to leave the house. It's hard to be around people. I'm claustrophobic. I don't want anyone to touch me or talk to me too much. I try not to visibly cringe when others come near me, but I definitely cringe inside. The nerves in my skin feel like they are all hyper-stimulated at once. My skin hurts. And the thought of someone touching me scares me like when someone comes up to slap your back when you have a bad sunburn.
None of that is new. I get that way every time my PTSD is triggered.
The interesting part is this. My husband has become my buffer. He gets between me and what scares me. Quite often. He'll take the conversation for me. He'll sit between me and others. He'll field phone calls and visits at the door when I just can't face them. I feel safer when he's with me. He's become my protector in a very real way.
For many of you, this may sound like a condition you've always had with your spouse. Why am I making a big deal of it? Because it's not something I've ever had with my husband. It's not something I've ever allowed. It's not something he's ever seen me need. Being protective isn't his natural response when I'm in trouble. He's seen me fight my own demons too many times to think I need him.
But this time I've needed him. And he's come through for me. As horrible as this episode has been, and continues to be, it's been worth it. Because it's allowed a new type of intimacy between me and my husband. I am so grateful for that.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Triggered
All it takes is a PTSD trigger to make everything else in life that was bugging me seem like nothing.
Rally the support troops. Deep breaths. You can do this.
Rally the support troops. Deep breaths. You can do this.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Turning to God
My life is better today.
None of my major stresses went away. Nothing big changed. It was a small change. The same one that's gotten me through a thousand other tough times.
I remembered to turn to God.
My life is always heaviest when I try to carry it alone.
Then something happens, like a reminder from a good friend, and I turn to God. And he smiles and says, "No wonder it's so heavy; you're carrying it all wrong. Plus, you're trying to carry all this other stuff that isn't even yours. Let me help you figure out what you really need to carry and how it fits just right on your shoulders."
I'm grateful for a good friend that reminded me to turn to God.
I'm grateful for the power of the priesthood that allows me to receive the blessings I need in difficult times.
I'm grateful for prayer, which enables the conversations I need to have.
And I'm especially grateful for an understanding that I am doing a good job, that He is there, and that we are in this together.
None of my major stresses went away. Nothing big changed. It was a small change. The same one that's gotten me through a thousand other tough times.
I remembered to turn to God.
My life is always heaviest when I try to carry it alone.
Then something happens, like a reminder from a good friend, and I turn to God. And he smiles and says, "No wonder it's so heavy; you're carrying it all wrong. Plus, you're trying to carry all this other stuff that isn't even yours. Let me help you figure out what you really need to carry and how it fits just right on your shoulders."
I'm grateful for a good friend that reminded me to turn to God.
I'm grateful for the power of the priesthood that allows me to receive the blessings I need in difficult times.
I'm grateful for prayer, which enables the conversations I need to have.
And I'm especially grateful for an understanding that I am doing a good job, that He is there, and that we are in this together.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
The Blessings of Chronic Illness
Last night I had a conversation with someone who knew nothing of my chronic illness. This is someone I only run into occasionally, who has only seen me when I'm doing well. Which makes sense because when I'm not well I generally don't leave my house.
I don't remember what brought us to the topic of my health, but there we were. I was explaining to her that I've fought debilitating fatigue for twelve years and a chronic headache for nearly eight. With no answers as to why. And I watched her face change. There was concern and sadness. And she expressed as much. As she said what kind of specialists have you seen and doesn't anyone have any answers and oh, how hard that must be, I realized I don't see it that way.
And I told her of the blessings I've received because of my chronic illness. (Some of which I've written about here.)
As a society, we tend to celebrate busyness. Go, go, go. That's how to be a good person. Do, do, do. There's never enough time in the day. We have too much to do. Why can't we do and have it all? Chronic illness has taught me that this is foolish.
Doing just to be busy is worthless. Even damaging. When we do and have more and more, it is usually worth less and less. There is such value in choosing how we live our lives, every moment of our lives, instead of getting caught in the rushing flow of life as it happens around us. And sometimes choosing to do nothing. Choosing to be still and quiet. Choosing to do only one thing at a time instead of always multitasking. Teaching our minds to be at peace.
There are people who can learn this without chronic illness. I am not one of them. If I felt better, even now after all I've learned, I would be running around like a chicken with my head cut off -- just like I used to. Bragging (without realizing it) in a martyr-like way about how busy I was. Holding my exhaustion up as a badge of honor for the war of busy I fought. Busy because I couldn't bring myself to give anything up. Because I didn't have the willpower to choose what was important and get rid of what wasn't. Because I didn't understand that empty spaces in my schedule were worth choosing.
I needed chronic illness. I needed the smack in the head that said, "Sit down and be quiet!" I needed to be forced to pay attention to other things. I needed to question the desires of my heart and decide what was important enough to me to spend the tiny bit of energy I have on it. And it can be summed up in one word. People.
The things I was doing before were good things. But most of them were not of eternal significance. People are of eternal significance.
I'm still working toward the ideal for me. For now, I have structured my life in such a way that I am able to take the time to be with people when I need to. I'm blessed that my husband makes enough money that I don't have to work (which I couldn't do anyway because of my health). I'm blessed that the days of small children needing all my time are behind me. As I create my new life, which is constantly in flux, the one thing that must remain true is my ability to be with people. I need this. To set other things aside and just visit.
Maybe it's an hour chatting on my porch. Maybe it's a trip out for ice cream. Maybe it's lunch. Whatever it is, it will involve intimate conversation about things that matter. Things no one else has the time to listen to. I have the time. I protect the time so that I can offer it to others.
I still have to take care of myself. I have to remember that I am important, too. I have to remember that if I don't take care of myself I will have nothing left to offer others.
It is the desire of my heart to connect with people. To lift and strengthen them. And in so doing I am lifted. I am strengthened. Instead of draining my tiny bit of energy, it increases. It feeds my soul.
My illnesses and life struggles have taught me empathy and an understanding of a great many things. Between physical health problems and mental health issues, and the diagnosis and treatment of both, I've waded through many dark waters. Certainly not all of them, but many of them. Sometimes I am miserable and hurting. But I would not trade it for the world. Because it has blessed me with an understanding heart.
If I could go back in time and do something different that prevented me from getting ill, I wouldn't. I am so grateful for what I've learned and how I've grown. I am so blessed to be able to offer what I can. And none of this would have been possible without my chronic illness.
I watched her face change again as I told her these things. I watched it soften. I watched her smile.
If I don't learn from these experiences and bless the lives of others through what I've learned, then it was just a lot of ugliness and unhappiness and pain. But if I use it to reach out, it meant something. It has value. It has eternal significance.
I don't remember what brought us to the topic of my health, but there we were. I was explaining to her that I've fought debilitating fatigue for twelve years and a chronic headache for nearly eight. With no answers as to why. And I watched her face change. There was concern and sadness. And she expressed as much. As she said what kind of specialists have you seen and doesn't anyone have any answers and oh, how hard that must be, I realized I don't see it that way.
And I told her of the blessings I've received because of my chronic illness. (Some of which I've written about here.)
As a society, we tend to celebrate busyness. Go, go, go. That's how to be a good person. Do, do, do. There's never enough time in the day. We have too much to do. Why can't we do and have it all? Chronic illness has taught me that this is foolish.
Doing just to be busy is worthless. Even damaging. When we do and have more and more, it is usually worth less and less. There is such value in choosing how we live our lives, every moment of our lives, instead of getting caught in the rushing flow of life as it happens around us. And sometimes choosing to do nothing. Choosing to be still and quiet. Choosing to do only one thing at a time instead of always multitasking. Teaching our minds to be at peace.
There are people who can learn this without chronic illness. I am not one of them. If I felt better, even now after all I've learned, I would be running around like a chicken with my head cut off -- just like I used to. Bragging (without realizing it) in a martyr-like way about how busy I was. Holding my exhaustion up as a badge of honor for the war of busy I fought. Busy because I couldn't bring myself to give anything up. Because I didn't have the willpower to choose what was important and get rid of what wasn't. Because I didn't understand that empty spaces in my schedule were worth choosing.
I needed chronic illness. I needed the smack in the head that said, "Sit down and be quiet!" I needed to be forced to pay attention to other things. I needed to question the desires of my heart and decide what was important enough to me to spend the tiny bit of energy I have on it. And it can be summed up in one word. People.
The things I was doing before were good things. But most of them were not of eternal significance. People are of eternal significance.
I'm still working toward the ideal for me. For now, I have structured my life in such a way that I am able to take the time to be with people when I need to. I'm blessed that my husband makes enough money that I don't have to work (which I couldn't do anyway because of my health). I'm blessed that the days of small children needing all my time are behind me. As I create my new life, which is constantly in flux, the one thing that must remain true is my ability to be with people. I need this. To set other things aside and just visit.
Maybe it's an hour chatting on my porch. Maybe it's a trip out for ice cream. Maybe it's lunch. Whatever it is, it will involve intimate conversation about things that matter. Things no one else has the time to listen to. I have the time. I protect the time so that I can offer it to others.
I still have to take care of myself. I have to remember that I am important, too. I have to remember that if I don't take care of myself I will have nothing left to offer others.
It is the desire of my heart to connect with people. To lift and strengthen them. And in so doing I am lifted. I am strengthened. Instead of draining my tiny bit of energy, it increases. It feeds my soul.
My illnesses and life struggles have taught me empathy and an understanding of a great many things. Between physical health problems and mental health issues, and the diagnosis and treatment of both, I've waded through many dark waters. Certainly not all of them, but many of them. Sometimes I am miserable and hurting. But I would not trade it for the world. Because it has blessed me with an understanding heart.
If I could go back in time and do something different that prevented me from getting ill, I wouldn't. I am so grateful for what I've learned and how I've grown. I am so blessed to be able to offer what I can. And none of this would have been possible without my chronic illness.
I watched her face change again as I told her these things. I watched it soften. I watched her smile.
If I don't learn from these experiences and bless the lives of others through what I've learned, then it was just a lot of ugliness and unhappiness and pain. But if I use it to reach out, it meant something. It has value. It has eternal significance.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Why I Asked for Support
A few days ago I wrote a post explaining that I was in a dark and difficult place and asking for prayers and happy thoughts in my behalf. I am so grateful to everyone who responded and all those who offered prayers, happy thoughts, positive energy, and love. I believe greatly in the power of all of these. I have felt lifted in so many ways. While I do not believe I am out of the woods just yet, I am improved.
It was a rough month. Two back to back episodes of PTSD followed by a major depression, all while experiencing a new health struggle. It was a seriously dark place I was in. And, as is the nature of depression, it was a little too comfortable.
But there was a tickling in the back of my mind that said, "It doesn't have to be this way. You can be happy. You like being happy." All of those things are difficult to remember when I'm in that dark place.
And asking for help was hard. I grew up in a home where we were taught fierce independence. We help others. We don't need help. We don't discuss our problems with others. We don't complain. We suck it up and get back to work. We push through it. I lived that way for many years.
That way is a lie! I want to scream it from the rooftops. That is not what this life is meant to be! In our society, independence is praised and revered. But independence is only a stepping stone. True mental health is interdependence. This needs to be said more. This needs to be taught in our schools and homes and churches. True mental health (and spiritual health) is interdependence. Interdependence means we do everything for ourselves that we possibly can and ask for help when we need it. It means we know enough to see when we're over our heads or in unfamiliar territory. And we ask for help for those things we can't do for ourselves.
As a religious person, I believe that independence is a beautiful lie to keep us from relying on God and turning to each other. A lie focused on the importance of self. I believe we are meant to be interdependent with our fellow man AND with God, not just one or the other.
One strong person can do a lot. Many strong people, interconnected, can change the world! No wonder the powers of evil want to stop it.
Those are the underlying reasons I asked for help. Mostly it was because I was in such a bad way and needed to feel the strength of others. I needed to not feel so alone. I needed to see the goodness of the incredible people in my life (including my cyber-life).
And it was because I want to practice what I preach. I want to know when my friends and family are struggling. I want to be a support to them. I want to pray for them. I want to reach out to them. I want to tell them I love them when they need it the most. I want to hurt with them. I want to cry for them. And I can't do any of those things if I don't know they are not okay.
It would be hypocritical of me to ask others to tell me when their world is dark if I am not willing to do the same.
My world is brighter today. My burden is lighter. Because of the light and strength offered freely by others. Thank you so much for that. And thank you to those who open their hearts and share with me when they aren't okay. You are brave and strong and I am better for the time we have together.
It was a rough month. Two back to back episodes of PTSD followed by a major depression, all while experiencing a new health struggle. It was a seriously dark place I was in. And, as is the nature of depression, it was a little too comfortable.
But there was a tickling in the back of my mind that said, "It doesn't have to be this way. You can be happy. You like being happy." All of those things are difficult to remember when I'm in that dark place.
And asking for help was hard. I grew up in a home where we were taught fierce independence. We help others. We don't need help. We don't discuss our problems with others. We don't complain. We suck it up and get back to work. We push through it. I lived that way for many years.
That way is a lie! I want to scream it from the rooftops. That is not what this life is meant to be! In our society, independence is praised and revered. But independence is only a stepping stone. True mental health is interdependence. This needs to be said more. This needs to be taught in our schools and homes and churches. True mental health (and spiritual health) is interdependence. Interdependence means we do everything for ourselves that we possibly can and ask for help when we need it. It means we know enough to see when we're over our heads or in unfamiliar territory. And we ask for help for those things we can't do for ourselves.
As a religious person, I believe that independence is a beautiful lie to keep us from relying on God and turning to each other. A lie focused on the importance of self. I believe we are meant to be interdependent with our fellow man AND with God, not just one or the other.
One strong person can do a lot. Many strong people, interconnected, can change the world! No wonder the powers of evil want to stop it.
Those are the underlying reasons I asked for help. Mostly it was because I was in such a bad way and needed to feel the strength of others. I needed to not feel so alone. I needed to see the goodness of the incredible people in my life (including my cyber-life).
And it was because I want to practice what I preach. I want to know when my friends and family are struggling. I want to be a support to them. I want to pray for them. I want to reach out to them. I want to tell them I love them when they need it the most. I want to hurt with them. I want to cry for them. And I can't do any of those things if I don't know they are not okay.
It would be hypocritical of me to ask others to tell me when their world is dark if I am not willing to do the same.
My world is brighter today. My burden is lighter. Because of the light and strength offered freely by others. Thank you so much for that. And thank you to those who open their hearts and share with me when they aren't okay. You are brave and strong and I am better for the time we have together.
Monday, October 29, 2012
My Therapy Necklace
My first day of therapy was difficult. I'd known for years I needed therapy. I wanted to find peace, to settle my heart, to make the fear stop. But I was scared.
I'd gone to therapy with my husband many times, as his coach. I was there to help him in his battle against OCD and the toll it was taking on our family. I liked his therapist. I trusted him. And he's the one I chose to see when I finally found the courage (or the desperation) to fight my own demons.
As my therapist explained it, that first visit was about assessment. We take off the bandage, he examines the wound, and we see how bad it really is. It starts with me telling my story.
I hadn't ever told my story. Not all of it. A few pieces to my husband, but that's all. I had just lived with it. Embarrassed and ashamed. For so many years.
That first session was so hard. I told my story. Very linear. Without much emotion, just facts. I'd quit feeling about it a long time ago. I wasn't anywhere near finished with the story when our hour was up. (It ended up taking three full sessions to get the whole thing out. Which ended up not being the whole thing because there was still a lot I wasn't ready to tell.)
But the session was over. He said I'd done well. He said you can tell how often a person has told their story by how long it takes them to tell it. The more you tell it, the less detail you need and the faster it goes.
He validated that I was wounded. He said I should be proud of myself and celebrate the good work I'd done. I was clueless. I don't celebrate well. Definitely not my own accomplishments. He suggested treating myself. Again, clueless. He told me some things others had done. He suggested that I find a way to mark the moment because it mattered.
I told him I would think about it and see what I could do. Thus, my therapy necklace was born.
I went to the charm store. I found a charm to represent everything important in my battle for peace.
* A simple black cord just long enough to position it right over my heart. Tied in a knot so I can add or remove charms.
* A charm to represent me, at the center of the cluster. Initially this was very nondescript. It was about an inch in diameter, circular like a washer, pounded dark metal, rough edges. An undefined shape that each person could interpret differently. Kind of like I felt about myself. Undefined. Interpreted differently by different people. Nondescript. This has since been replaced.
* A charm that says PEACE. This is what I'm searching for. This is what the work is for.
* A small book that opens. On the cover it says My Story. This was to mark the fact that I'd finally reclaimed my story as my own and chosen to tell it. It's my story to tell.
* A charm that looks kind of like a small metal tablet, rough edges. It has a zodiac sign on it. This charm represents the boy who repeatedly abused me as a child. This is his sign. I have done the work. He no longer has power over me. This is to symbolize my victory over that part of my past.
* A charm of two clasped hands. They could be seen as a handshake, but when I look at it I see one hand reaching down to grasp the hand of another and help them out of a dark hole. Adding strength to the cause. Lifting me up. This charm represents all those who helped me in my dark times. My therapists. My ecclesiastical leaders. My friends. My husband. My kids. People in my group therapy class. All those who made my burden a little lighter, sometimes just by believing in my ability to carry it.
* A starfish charm. This charm represents a special friend. A woman I found at just the right time. A woman who understands and reaches my soul because she has experienced much of what I've experienced. She has an affinity for things of the sea. She calms me in a way others can't.
* A charm of my own making. An amalgam of several charms connected to make one. This charm represents the spiritual element to my healing. It contains a star of David to represent God; a cross to represent Jesus Christ; and a bird to represent the Holy Ghost. God is guiding me in this healing process. He wants me to succeed. Each member of the Godhead plays an important roll. Without Them, I would not heal. It helps me to remember that They are with me in my quest. On this charm there is also a pair of hands in prayer. This represents my grandmother. She taught me to pray. She was the spiritual strength in my life for so many years. Without her guidance, I may never have developed the connection I have with God which facilitates my growth and healing.
* And the new charm which represents me. The old one broke. Rather symbolically for me. The undefined me was replaced. I now have a charm I earned completing a religious program. It brought me closer to God. It helped me understand who I am and the role I am to play. It helped me understand my value. And it reminds me that I can do hard things -- because I am divine.
A black cord with a cluster of silver charms. Probably less that $20 to create. But priceless to me.
There will be more charms. I have other things yet to overcome, demons to fight. And my therapy necklace reminds me that I am powerful. I am strong enough to face whatever comes my way. And I don't have to do it alone.
I'd gone to therapy with my husband many times, as his coach. I was there to help him in his battle against OCD and the toll it was taking on our family. I liked his therapist. I trusted him. And he's the one I chose to see when I finally found the courage (or the desperation) to fight my own demons.
As my therapist explained it, that first visit was about assessment. We take off the bandage, he examines the wound, and we see how bad it really is. It starts with me telling my story.
I hadn't ever told my story. Not all of it. A few pieces to my husband, but that's all. I had just lived with it. Embarrassed and ashamed. For so many years.
That first session was so hard. I told my story. Very linear. Without much emotion, just facts. I'd quit feeling about it a long time ago. I wasn't anywhere near finished with the story when our hour was up. (It ended up taking three full sessions to get the whole thing out. Which ended up not being the whole thing because there was still a lot I wasn't ready to tell.)
But the session was over. He said I'd done well. He said you can tell how often a person has told their story by how long it takes them to tell it. The more you tell it, the less detail you need and the faster it goes.
He validated that I was wounded. He said I should be proud of myself and celebrate the good work I'd done. I was clueless. I don't celebrate well. Definitely not my own accomplishments. He suggested treating myself. Again, clueless. He told me some things others had done. He suggested that I find a way to mark the moment because it mattered.
I told him I would think about it and see what I could do. Thus, my therapy necklace was born.
I went to the charm store. I found a charm to represent everything important in my battle for peace.
* A simple black cord just long enough to position it right over my heart. Tied in a knot so I can add or remove charms.
* A charm to represent me, at the center of the cluster. Initially this was very nondescript. It was about an inch in diameter, circular like a washer, pounded dark metal, rough edges. An undefined shape that each person could interpret differently. Kind of like I felt about myself. Undefined. Interpreted differently by different people. Nondescript. This has since been replaced.
* A charm that says PEACE. This is what I'm searching for. This is what the work is for.
* A small book that opens. On the cover it says My Story. This was to mark the fact that I'd finally reclaimed my story as my own and chosen to tell it. It's my story to tell.
* A charm that looks kind of like a small metal tablet, rough edges. It has a zodiac sign on it. This charm represents the boy who repeatedly abused me as a child. This is his sign. I have done the work. He no longer has power over me. This is to symbolize my victory over that part of my past.
* A charm of two clasped hands. They could be seen as a handshake, but when I look at it I see one hand reaching down to grasp the hand of another and help them out of a dark hole. Adding strength to the cause. Lifting me up. This charm represents all those who helped me in my dark times. My therapists. My ecclesiastical leaders. My friends. My husband. My kids. People in my group therapy class. All those who made my burden a little lighter, sometimes just by believing in my ability to carry it.
* A starfish charm. This charm represents a special friend. A woman I found at just the right time. A woman who understands and reaches my soul because she has experienced much of what I've experienced. She has an affinity for things of the sea. She calms me in a way others can't.
* A charm of my own making. An amalgam of several charms connected to make one. This charm represents the spiritual element to my healing. It contains a star of David to represent God; a cross to represent Jesus Christ; and a bird to represent the Holy Ghost. God is guiding me in this healing process. He wants me to succeed. Each member of the Godhead plays an important roll. Without Them, I would not heal. It helps me to remember that They are with me in my quest. On this charm there is also a pair of hands in prayer. This represents my grandmother. She taught me to pray. She was the spiritual strength in my life for so many years. Without her guidance, I may never have developed the connection I have with God which facilitates my growth and healing.
* And the new charm which represents me. The old one broke. Rather symbolically for me. The undefined me was replaced. I now have a charm I earned completing a religious program. It brought me closer to God. It helped me understand who I am and the role I am to play. It helped me understand my value. And it reminds me that I can do hard things -- because I am divine.
A black cord with a cluster of silver charms. Probably less that $20 to create. But priceless to me.
There will be more charms. I have other things yet to overcome, demons to fight. And my therapy necklace reminds me that I am powerful. I am strong enough to face whatever comes my way. And I don't have to do it alone.
Saturday, September 1, 2012
My Collapse-in-the-Shower Moment
I've been putting off writing this post. I'm anxious about it. I worry I won't capture this important experience properly. That you won't understand. And I'm scared to find those feelings again, to be in that moment of intense pain and fear so I can write it. But I must. It needs to be told.
Seven years ago my life was very different. I was working. A lot. My kids were younger (7, 8, 10, 12, 14) and involved in many activities. My husband and I were in therapy. I was just going through life, trying to stay afloat. My husband finally saw that he was abusive and was trying to change. He was questioning the church and trying to decide if he believed in God. I was learning how to set boundaries and choose for myself. I was trying to figure out who I was. Who I truly was and who I wanted to be.
And then I got a headache.
I'd had headaches before. Bad headaches. Headaches that lasted for days. A headache that made me go blind. And headaches that weren't severe but just made life hard. Headaches were nothing new.
So when I got this headache I figured it would be like the others. I would wait it out, treat it with Excedrin, and eventually it would go away. But it didn't. Some days it was so bad I couldn't work. Some days my vision and dizziness were so bad someone else had to drive me home from work. Some days it was more subtle and I could go on. But it was always there.
After a few weeks, my husband started to think I was faking. He even said so. No one has a headache that long. You're just using it as an excuse so I have to do everything. I'm so sick of this stupid headache excuse. Yeah, me too.
After I'd had it six weeks, two of my toes went numb. This made me nervous. When you get a headache that doesn't go away that long, there is a tiny tickling in your mind that says, "What if it's a brain tumor?" That tickling got stronger.
I told my husband. He freaked out and immediately made an appointment for me to see the doctor.
We went to the doctor together. He did a regular work up. Then he did a neurological screening. Looking for signs that it might be a brain tumor. He didn't find anything that pointed that direction, but he was bothered by how long I'd had it and the numbness in my toes. He talked to me about migraines and said that's what he thought it was; they can cause numbness, too. He gave me some meds to try and said if it didn't break in a week I needed to come back. After this appointment Bill said, "At least I know you're not faking."
It didn't break. I went back. He repeated the neurological screening. He still didn't find anything, but he was concerned. He suggested we do an MRI.
By this point I was getting nervous. My headache should have broken by now. I'd never had a headache like this. What if this is for real? What if it's a tumor?
We couldn't get in for the MRI for a few days. Waiting for that was so hard. And that's when it happened.
It was the night before my MRI. I was taking a shower so I'd be all ready in the morning. And all the walls I'd been putting up to protect myself and my family from the fear came crashing down. What if it is a tumor? What if it isn't something that can be fixed? What if I die? What about my children? What will happen to my children? Although he was finally aware of being abusive, my husband was still mean a lot of the time. He was learning to be more kind, but his natural tendency was still to strike out when he was stressed or angry. What would happen if I wasn't there to protect my children? If I died, they would be alone with him. Who would protect them? And I knew he no longer believed in God or going to church. How would my children remain close to God? How would they be taught all they needed to know without the gospel in their lives? How would they know how precious they were to God and how powerful they were and what they should do if I wasn't there to teach them? I was living with a man who'd made our lives hell for so many years. These children were his. I didn't trust him alone with them. How could I go away and leave them to him? This is too much for them. How can they go on without me? He would put the older ones in charge, make them assume many of my duties. They would no longer be able to be children. This isn't fair to them. It's too much. If I'm not here to guide their lives, they could become lost. My death would push my husband to a very dark place; what if he takes it out on the children? What if he goes into a depression again? How will they deal with it without me? How will they get through it? Who will take care of my children? Who will love them? Who will make sure they know they are God's children?
The weight of all of this overwhelmed me. I crumpled to the floor of the shower in a ball. Hugging my knees. Rocking. Sobbing. In so much emotional anguish. In so much pain for my children.
I began to pray. I wanted to beg to be spared, for my children. I wanted to plead for my life. But that wasn't the prayer that came to my heart. I knew the prayer I needed to offer. And it was the hardest prayer in my life. I couldn't do it. I couldn't say it. I knew I needed to, but I just couldn't. The wrestle in my mind and heart was great. I fought with all I had. Until I could finally say it. And mean it.
"Please. I want to live. I want to raise my children. I want to protect them. I want to love them through the difficulties of life. Please. But . . . thy will be done. If it is not to be, if I am not to live, I know that they are thy children. I trust that thou wilt love them and protect them. I know you want the world for them, too. I know you love them in a way I can't even understand. As much as I love them and want to stay, I trust thy will."
Meaning it was so important. In that moment, I fully surrendered my will to God in a way I never had before. I understood that all would be well even if I weren't to live. I understood, more than I ever had before, that He watches over and cares.
There was still some fear of what would come. But there was also an underlying peace. A knowledge that my children wouldn't be alone. An understanding that if I couldn't be there, He would bring others into their lives who would meet those needs. He loves them. He watches over them. They are His.
And to this day, that is a knowledge that gets me through.
**********
Update: My husband went to therapy for a long time. He's doing much better. He still slips occasionally, but we both know how to handle it in healthier ways. There is no tumor. They still have no answer for my headache, but all tests indicate it isn't life-threatening. Yes, I still have it.
Seven years ago my life was very different. I was working. A lot. My kids were younger (7, 8, 10, 12, 14) and involved in many activities. My husband and I were in therapy. I was just going through life, trying to stay afloat. My husband finally saw that he was abusive and was trying to change. He was questioning the church and trying to decide if he believed in God. I was learning how to set boundaries and choose for myself. I was trying to figure out who I was. Who I truly was and who I wanted to be.
And then I got a headache.
I'd had headaches before. Bad headaches. Headaches that lasted for days. A headache that made me go blind. And headaches that weren't severe but just made life hard. Headaches were nothing new.
So when I got this headache I figured it would be like the others. I would wait it out, treat it with Excedrin, and eventually it would go away. But it didn't. Some days it was so bad I couldn't work. Some days my vision and dizziness were so bad someone else had to drive me home from work. Some days it was more subtle and I could go on. But it was always there.
After a few weeks, my husband started to think I was faking. He even said so. No one has a headache that long. You're just using it as an excuse so I have to do everything. I'm so sick of this stupid headache excuse. Yeah, me too.
After I'd had it six weeks, two of my toes went numb. This made me nervous. When you get a headache that doesn't go away that long, there is a tiny tickling in your mind that says, "What if it's a brain tumor?" That tickling got stronger.
I told my husband. He freaked out and immediately made an appointment for me to see the doctor.
We went to the doctor together. He did a regular work up. Then he did a neurological screening. Looking for signs that it might be a brain tumor. He didn't find anything that pointed that direction, but he was bothered by how long I'd had it and the numbness in my toes. He talked to me about migraines and said that's what he thought it was; they can cause numbness, too. He gave me some meds to try and said if it didn't break in a week I needed to come back. After this appointment Bill said, "At least I know you're not faking."
It didn't break. I went back. He repeated the neurological screening. He still didn't find anything, but he was concerned. He suggested we do an MRI.
By this point I was getting nervous. My headache should have broken by now. I'd never had a headache like this. What if this is for real? What if it's a tumor?
We couldn't get in for the MRI for a few days. Waiting for that was so hard. And that's when it happened.
It was the night before my MRI. I was taking a shower so I'd be all ready in the morning. And all the walls I'd been putting up to protect myself and my family from the fear came crashing down. What if it is a tumor? What if it isn't something that can be fixed? What if I die? What about my children? What will happen to my children? Although he was finally aware of being abusive, my husband was still mean a lot of the time. He was learning to be more kind, but his natural tendency was still to strike out when he was stressed or angry. What would happen if I wasn't there to protect my children? If I died, they would be alone with him. Who would protect them? And I knew he no longer believed in God or going to church. How would my children remain close to God? How would they be taught all they needed to know without the gospel in their lives? How would they know how precious they were to God and how powerful they were and what they should do if I wasn't there to teach them? I was living with a man who'd made our lives hell for so many years. These children were his. I didn't trust him alone with them. How could I go away and leave them to him? This is too much for them. How can they go on without me? He would put the older ones in charge, make them assume many of my duties. They would no longer be able to be children. This isn't fair to them. It's too much. If I'm not here to guide their lives, they could become lost. My death would push my husband to a very dark place; what if he takes it out on the children? What if he goes into a depression again? How will they deal with it without me? How will they get through it? Who will take care of my children? Who will love them? Who will make sure they know they are God's children?
The weight of all of this overwhelmed me. I crumpled to the floor of the shower in a ball. Hugging my knees. Rocking. Sobbing. In so much emotional anguish. In so much pain for my children.
I began to pray. I wanted to beg to be spared, for my children. I wanted to plead for my life. But that wasn't the prayer that came to my heart. I knew the prayer I needed to offer. And it was the hardest prayer in my life. I couldn't do it. I couldn't say it. I knew I needed to, but I just couldn't. The wrestle in my mind and heart was great. I fought with all I had. Until I could finally say it. And mean it.
"Please. I want to live. I want to raise my children. I want to protect them. I want to love them through the difficulties of life. Please. But . . . thy will be done. If it is not to be, if I am not to live, I know that they are thy children. I trust that thou wilt love them and protect them. I know you want the world for them, too. I know you love them in a way I can't even understand. As much as I love them and want to stay, I trust thy will."
Meaning it was so important. In that moment, I fully surrendered my will to God in a way I never had before. I understood that all would be well even if I weren't to live. I understood, more than I ever had before, that He watches over and cares.
There was still some fear of what would come. But there was also an underlying peace. A knowledge that my children wouldn't be alone. An understanding that if I couldn't be there, He would bring others into their lives who would meet those needs. He loves them. He watches over them. They are His.
And to this day, that is a knowledge that gets me through.
**********
Update: My husband went to therapy for a long time. He's doing much better. He still slips occasionally, but we both know how to handle it in healthier ways. There is no tumor. They still have no answer for my headache, but all tests indicate it isn't life-threatening. Yes, I still have it.
Friday, August 10, 2012
I Can Strengthen
When I first got so tired that I went to bed for a year and a half, I kept thinking it would get better. I kept waiting to feel better so I could get back to my life. While it did improve, it never went away.
And when I got my headache it was much the same. I kept expecting it to go away so that I could get back to being productive. So that I could do all the things I wanted to do.
The fatigue has been with me for eleven years now. The headache for seven. There are days that are a little better and days that send me to bed. Mostly I'm tired and hurt all the time.
If you'd told me at the beginning of either of these that I'd have them for the rest of my life, I'm not sure what I would have done. Having hope that they'd get better helped me go on. Having hope that I'd get my old life back made it worth trying.
But I'm at a point now where I don't think I'll get better. I think these will be with me forever. And even if they won't, they are now. This is my life now. And I can't just sit around waiting to get better before I do something with my life.
That's been a tough one. What can I do? There are so many things I used to do that I can't anymore. And there are so many things I wanted to do that I never got the chance for. It would be really easy to get angry or depressed at my situation. And sometimes I do.
But mostly, I am grateful. I have learned so much. I have learned to slow down. I have learned to say no. I have learned to do the important things and let the other things go. I have learned to listen to my body and take better care of it.
But that's not the best part. The best part is I've learned that I am more than just what I can produce. I am more than what I have to offer physically. I have other things to give, other ways to serve, other ways to be of value.
And one of the best things is, I've learned how to better strengthen others.
In the past my service to others was always physical: make them dinner, help them clean, take care of their yard, take some of their work upon myself to ease their burdens. It was good service; it was heartfelt. I am glad I could do all those things.
My service now is different. Now I listen. I spend time with people. I share my heart. It's less obvious service. You can't see something I cleaned or made. But I can feel their burdens lighten. I can see them ready to go back into the fray. They are stronger when our visit is over. And so am I.
There is great power in being able to do something for someone that lifts their physical burdens. It matters. But there is also divine power in strengthening them so they can lift their burdens themselves. I'm so grateful I've had the opportunity to do both.
And when I got my headache it was much the same. I kept expecting it to go away so that I could get back to being productive. So that I could do all the things I wanted to do.
The fatigue has been with me for eleven years now. The headache for seven. There are days that are a little better and days that send me to bed. Mostly I'm tired and hurt all the time.
If you'd told me at the beginning of either of these that I'd have them for the rest of my life, I'm not sure what I would have done. Having hope that they'd get better helped me go on. Having hope that I'd get my old life back made it worth trying.
But I'm at a point now where I don't think I'll get better. I think these will be with me forever. And even if they won't, they are now. This is my life now. And I can't just sit around waiting to get better before I do something with my life.
That's been a tough one. What can I do? There are so many things I used to do that I can't anymore. And there are so many things I wanted to do that I never got the chance for. It would be really easy to get angry or depressed at my situation. And sometimes I do.
But mostly, I am grateful. I have learned so much. I have learned to slow down. I have learned to say no. I have learned to do the important things and let the other things go. I have learned to listen to my body and take better care of it.
But that's not the best part. The best part is I've learned that I am more than just what I can produce. I am more than what I have to offer physically. I have other things to give, other ways to serve, other ways to be of value.
And one of the best things is, I've learned how to better strengthen others.
In the past my service to others was always physical: make them dinner, help them clean, take care of their yard, take some of their work upon myself to ease their burdens. It was good service; it was heartfelt. I am glad I could do all those things.
My service now is different. Now I listen. I spend time with people. I share my heart. It's less obvious service. You can't see something I cleaned or made. But I can feel their burdens lighten. I can see them ready to go back into the fray. They are stronger when our visit is over. And so am I.
There is great power in being able to do something for someone that lifts their physical burdens. It matters. But there is also divine power in strengthening them so they can lift their burdens themselves. I'm so grateful I've had the opportunity to do both.
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