Frozen

In the past, I've always come here to honestly vent my feelings. Something about wrangling my thoughts into concise sentences has always made them feel more real, more tangible, and thus more manageable. It's the cheapest form of therapy, really.

But lately, I've felt paralyzed. Frozen. The overarching issue currently is the state of my marriage--which while painful, is in no way doomed. Marriages are private, personal things; almost impossible to accurately portray to a third party without breaking bonds of trust and respect; and since I do honor those bonds, I know that there are certain things I can never discuss in a forum as public as this.

And so I'm left unsure of how to handle this little space of mine on the internet. Somehow, posting entirely about art projects, thrifted outfits and my redesigned bedroom seems shallow and fake, as though I'm trying to maintain a 'perfect' facade by not divulging the full context of my life. And yet I still want to share those things. They're a form of therapy as well; small instances of creativity and creation amid what could be a very sad chapter in my life.

So can I simply ask that you know and understand this? That things are both hard and exquisitely wonderful right now. That my moments of despair are always followed by experiences of comfort, love and hope. That this too shall pass, but that that knowledge doesn't entirely negate the agony of the challenge. That I miss you. That I miss writing to the ether and feeling validated and stronger for it. That I'll try to be more present, sharing the joys in my life without feeling false, because I know you understand the melancholy of my life as well. That as difficult as this is, I'm grateful for my life and grateful that I have places to turn to for comfort.

Having said that-- I'll see you tomorrow. ;)

{image by Miika Järvinen}

What I Need

J often asks what it is that I need when I'm depressed-- how he can best support and love me when his natural reaction is to give me a wide berth and try not to feel offended at my stoniness. It's a simple question, but one that I find difficult to answer.

Obviously, there are many ways to help prevent an episode of depression, but once I'm already there, it feels like a rather hopeless case. Aside from knowing that giving me distance doesn't work, I don't have a rote list of answers at the ready. In fact, thinking about it is a bit frustrating in the sense that if I knew there was something that would snap me out of it, wouldn't I have done it already?

Then, last night as we walked and mulled things over, the film What Dreams May Come came to mind. {I've always loved this scene, where Christie tells his wife that, "... I was part of the problem. Not because I remind you, but because I couldn't join you. So I left you alone."} It struck me that what I most want when I'm depressed is not to be left alone.

Depression turns my mind into a prison, and to be abandoned in that is horrifying. It's not that I want to be joined in my depression-- I wouldn't wish that pain on anyone-- but I need to be loved when I'm most unloveable. I need to be talked to when I can't utter a word back. I need to be defended when I don't feel worthy of defense. To that end, these are a few actions that I feel would help me not feel alone in depression:

• Hold my hand. Put your arm around me. Give me a hug. Initiate contact and comfort, because I don't have the strength to move.

• Shelter me from noise, responsibilities and criticism. Think of it as childbirth, only instead of riding physical waves of pain, I'm trying not to drown in mental pain. Breathing is an effort, so protect me from anything that distracts from that. 

• Talk to me. Tell me, "You don't have to say anything, just listen," and then fill the silence. I'm stuck in my own head, and as much as I want to, I can't escape. Talking to me gives my brain a much needed respite from the ugly thoughts inside.

• Take me for a walk. Take me on a drive. Take me to a movie. Change the scenery for me without expecting much from me.

• Encourage me to try to get out of bed, go running, talk to my mom, and resume healthy habits. But don't get mad if I'm unable to.

• Tell me it's going to be okay.

• Tell me you love me.

• Let me cry.

Do you suffer from depression? What is it that you need when you're at your lowest? Are you a spouse or loved one of someone with depression? Any tips for my husband?

How to Take Care of Me

I don't know how to take care of you, J exclaimed in frustration. I know I should be sympathetic, but instead I just feel mad.

He had a right to be.  I knew that.

I'd gone off my medication and had {predictably} sunk into a depression. He was upset with how easily my current pain could have been prevented, but I was too trapped by my own paralyzing feelings to try and handle his as well. 


Don't kick me when I'm down, I thought. If you can't love me right now, just leave me alone.


Days passed. I got better and our pseudo-argument faded into a non-conversation, the way so many items of conflict do.

***

Last week as I drove down the US-60 to pick up the older children from school, a car ahead of me blew a tire, skidded across two lanes of traffic and flipped before slamming into a barrier and ejecting a passenger. All I saw was the smoke from the tires and a sea of brake lights, but I pulled to the side and ran to help.

When I arrived on the scene, an older woman who had witnessed the accident was standing in the road, hysterical. I put my arms around her and walked her to her car, murmuring comforting words and telling her to breathe, just breathe. She pointed to the young woman lying in the street, saying, it's terrible so terrible and why don't they stop? Why don't they help? There were, in fact, a pair of women crouched over the bleeding form, but I settled her into her car and ran to join them.

The girl was alert but confused and bleeding from multiple head wounds. We took our shirts and jackets to wrap her head, then carefully put a layer of clothing underneath her to protect her from the burning asphalt. She begged for us to move her to the shade, but we used our bodies to shield her from the sun instead and distracted her with talk of sexy firemen coming to her rescue. She kept forgetting where she was, asking what happened and who was traveling with her and where was her mother?

I left her briefly to peer into the wreckage of the car where another young woman was crying and cradling her shoulder, but otherwise unhurt. It was obvious that neither of them had used safety belts. Fools, I thought as I asked her name and told her sit tight, help is on the way. 

Once more crouching over the first girl, I held her hand as another woman dialed her mother, gently informed her of the accident and then held the phone to the girl's ear as she sobbed into it. My heart hurt for that mother.

Am I dying? the girl asked me. No, sweetheart, I answered, no.

Not long after, police cars and fire trucks pulled up with sirens wailing. I relinquished my hold on her hand as the paramedics took over, then walked to my car and slowly pulled back into traffic. I was short a jacket but in all other respects, it was as if nothing had happened. Just a surreal and horrific dream.

But for days afterwards, I found myself checking and re-checking that my children's safety belts were fastened. It became so compulsive that in exasperation, E sighed and asked, are you still thinking about the car crash? 

Yes, yes I was.

I pictured my children launching from their seats, lying crumpled in the road and I got angry at those girls. I was angry that they hadn't been buckled, that they hadn't prevented their injuries and that their mothers had received those dreaded phone calls. I know I should feel sympathetic but instead I just feel mad. 


***


I hate taking that little pill every day. I hate the mocking tone it uses as it tells me that I'm not enough on my own, that I'm weak and broken and damaged. I hate that sometimes, though it lessens my lows it also lessens my highs, until I feel like I'm floating through life feeling just okay, with no passion or spark or creativity.

I realize now that as much as I hate it,  it's a safety belt, and I love my family too much to leave them with the aftermath of a crash.

But please, if I do end up confused and crying on the asphalt? Don't be angry. Just hold me and tell me that as much as it feels as though I am, I'm not going to die.


No, sweetheart, no.

{images from our NY trip 4/2009}

February Face

"Why, what's the matter,
that you have such a February face,
so full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?"


-William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing


I've been a bit absent lately, allowing the stresses and disappointments of life to weigh heavily on me. I know better, but sometimes the strength to care for myself eludes me in the face of an escapist book and a warm bed. I wallow and feel all the worse for it.

As much as they'd wanted to, my parents are no longer coming to live with us. For now, their path continues to keep them in Washington State, and while in practical terms this means that my life hasn't really been affected, I have a hard time remaining practical regarding it all. The almost-nearness; the glancing promise of living-in-one-another's-pockets and the what-could-have-beens have made our current distance feel all the more vast. I dwell too much on the loss.

That, in addition to the looming cloud-of-death that is our financial situation, has managed to cast a pall over my mood. I need to shake it off. Be happy. Or at the very least, adopt Lord Grantham's attitude:

"I haven't the right to be unhappy, and that's almost the same thing."

Now, isn't that a cheerful sentiment to start off your Monday?

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Something New

So often, I dress to feel thin. I avoid certain styles, hair do's, trends, all because I don't feel 'thin enough' to pull them off. When I'm depressed, my thoughts become consumed with how much happier I'd be if I could just lose 10, 20, a million pounds. It seems as though it's my mind's default for avoiding any other emotion or problem I may be facing in life.

I'm sick of it.

This year, I vow to live in that uncomfortable space where excitement and uncertainty dwell. I want to drown out that voice that tells me to put off my life until I achieve some unattainable ideal. I want to be joyful in my own skin instead of wishing I could slough it off like the grime of a filthy cell I'm caged within.

And I'm starting today.

I'm putting my hair up, though I'm certain it leaves me entirely too exposed {with my pointy nose and turkey waddle.} I'm wearing skinny jeans even though the mirror reflects only my hips and thighs. I'm sweeping on bright lipstick and stepping out of the house scared but exhilarated-- because today feels like the beginning of something new.

A more contented me.

My body is a cage.

This weekend I fell,

slow motion,

into a fog of depression the likes of which I haven't faced in a while.

Each morning I'd wake to a day that stretched endlessly in front of me, void of anything interesting or meaningful,

like all the light had been sucked from the world.

After a brief search for distractions-- something to read, something to watch, something to think about-- I'd inevitably end up back in bed, buried beneath the covers

sinking in to oblivion

sleeping until my head and my body both ached.

J was unable to rouse me, try as he might to push me out the door.

"Go running," he'd plead. "You'll feel better."

but I couldn't seem to get my limbs to cooperate.

Or my mind to quiet

its endless chant,

"Useless, useless, useless."

{At times like these, my bed has a gravitational force

far greater than my willpower.}

I never seem to know what triggers it.

Likewise, when I hit bottom and am finally able to look up,

and squint at the watery sun,

I am equally unable to vocalize what has ended it.

but I'm relieved.

Now I run {though my legs feel like they move through molasses} and pray

that the depression stays away. That this really is

the end.

{image}

Never Again

This weekend, I got rid of the very last of my maternity clothes. I've sold all the baby toys, passed on teeny-tiny newborn outfits and cleared my drawers of nursing paraphernalia.

I am done.

I'm sure it comes as no surprise that I feel a monumental sense of relief at the thought of never being pregnant again. Pregnancy was never easy for me.  It pushed me to the absolute limits mentally and physically, driving me into the depths of depression and testing the strength of all my relationships. Not once was it embarked on without first having to steel my determination and faith. And while it was obviously worth ever second, I can't downplay the hardship of it. In fact, I'm sort of surprised that I actually went through it four times.

I couldn't do it again. And if, for some reason, I thought that I could-- J would point out that our marriage probably couldn't go through it again.

So I'm done. And for the most part, I'm glad. I'll still finger the ruffly, little baby-girl dresses a bit wistfully, but I'm happy with our rambunctious brood.

I'll buy the dresses for my grandbabies. :)

Cabela's

Wow, I'm having a really hard time being home. Instead of slipping into a healthy routine, diving back into my responsibilities or even thinking of fun and distracting things to do here, I spend a lot of time reminiscing and missing people.



I mean, it's not like I didn't have off days in Washington. Like this-- no one felt up to anything big, but the kids had cabin fever so we took them to Cabela's. {And now that you mention it, yes, that is Baby R in Spiderman pajamas. Some days, that's just the way I roll.}



But it was awesome! The kids spent hours there and were enthusiastic the whole time. L was obsessed with this huge catfish and would tug at my shirt every time it made the smallest movement, exclaiming "He waking up! He moving! He waking up!"



And don't even get me started on all the taxidermy. It was better than a zoo, seeing all the animals up close. As you can see, L particularly liked the elephant.



Even things we hadn't expected the kids to gravitate towards turned out to be entertaining. They ran in and out of hunting blinds as though they were clubhouses, and E loved to put on camouflage hat & gloves, stand in front of more camouflage and ask, "Can you see me?"



I know I can go to Cabela's here, but what I'm really missing is the camaraderie of sharing the daily joys and frustrations of raising my children.

It was so nice to have people who love my kids and rejoice in all their quirky personalities, but then also heave a sigh of relief when they're finally in bed and we can settle in to watch a movie and eat ice cream. To have adult conversations in the middle of the afternoon with, or have someone who can look you in the eye and reaffirm that yes, this is a really hard job and don't worry, you don't suck at it.


sigh.

I just miss my family, and today it's making me all,  "Modern suburbia is stupid!" and "Why don't we have villages to raise our children anymore?" and "I can't remember why we even live here" kind of pouty.

Next summer can't come soon enough.

Fear

Growing up, my family was plagued with money problems. My dad worked hard, my mom was a genius at creating a home and meals and beauty out of seemingly thin-air, and my childhood was by no means tragic. But from a very young age, I worried. I hated Christmas, and the month-long stress it induced in me as I monitored what my younger brothers were petitioning Santa for. I lost sleep dreaming up schemes to make money and 'save' my parents. I was simultaneously frustrated and extremely defensive of my family's efforts to survive from day to day. 


As teenagers, my brothers and I got jobs and contributed to the family finances. I grew to believe that our hardships were blessings- bringing me closer to my family, teaching me to rely on the Lord, and forging me into someone akin to Job. Even so, there were times when I would look at clothing in a store window and want it so badly, it physically hurt.


I grew up and got married. In our poorest newlywed days, we were never as poor as I'd been as a child. We paid off our debts, had a savings account, traveled through Europe, and vowed to furnish our home only with objects we absolutely loved. 


I became pregnant with Little Miss C and made plans to quit my job. J was self-employed, which I'd been supportive of, but as my due date loomed closer, I became increasingly anxious and badgered him to get a 'real' job. He tried to comfort me, saying that he had faith that we'd be taken care of, that God would make sure we were fine. I always replied that, "Being 'taken care of' doesn't necessarily mean we'll have money" and, "God's version of 'fine' and my version of 'fine' are not the same."


I was scared.


I had no idea how frightened and traumatized I truly was until a few years later when we went to see Cinderella Man. It takes place during the Great Depression. During one scene, the mother waters down the milk to make it last another meal, and in another, the son steals meat from the butcher because he's afraid that if they don't have enough to eat, he'll be sent away to live with relatives. I walked out of the theater shaking, crying, and trying hard not to throw up. 


I couldn't explain my reaction to J except to say that it was as if all the fear I'd felt as a child had come rushing back at the sight of the on-screen plight of the characters. I spent the next two weeks discussing it with our therapist, and came to discover that I had a twisted view of my Heavenly Father. I expected Him to make life hard. I felt guilty for the life I now led and kept expecting the other shoe to drop. I was suspicious and terrified of Him. I didn't really have faith. 


Around this time, J began working for a TV show. He still had commitments to his own business, so he was working two jobs and commuting three hours a day. I had E, a baby in constant pain with reflux, and slipped into a deep, dark depression as I cared for him night and day. It was one of the hardest periods of my life, and yet I grew to know the Lord in a way I never had before. I began to pray to Him in earnest, see His hand in my life, and trust that He truly did love me.


Two years ago, when J lost his job, I felt that I'd finally overcome my fear of money insecurity. I trusted that Heavenly Father had sufficiently prepared me for this new period of self-employment, and I honestly  didn't feel overly worried.


Until last week.


For 3 days last week, our debt was doubled and I was a complete and utter wreck. When I understood just how bad the loan was that we had signed, my body was filled with such pure, intense fear that I couldn't feel my hands. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and couldn't stop crying. I tried to find solace in faith, but my fear pushed it away. My mind was stuck in a never-ending spiral of worst-case scenarios until both J and my parents declared my reaction to be out-of-proportion to the problem. There was something deeper going on there.


For a few years now, I've been saying that, "Heavenly Father never gives us more than we can handle, and he knows me well enough to know I can't handle severe money problems." Perhaps that's true-- after all, we were able to cancel the loan and emerge from last week's fiasco unscathed-- but I don't think so. I think He needed me to see just how deep-seated my fear still is. Faith can't be contingent on life going the way I want or expect it to go. I have to accept the fact that I don't have control. My faith and trust need to be more absolute. 


I'm not certain how I'm going to accomplish that, but if I ask Him to help me, He will. I don't expect it to be easy, but one thing seems sure-- it can't be nearly as bad as that all-encompassing fear was. 


{image}

Prepare to Die

I accidentally let my prescription laps, and now I'm going thru withdrawals. Every noise seems amplified tenfold, and I feel like killing anyone unfortunate enough to cross my path. Luckily, J took two of the kids with him on his film shoot today, cutting the household noise in half. Now to call the Doctor and wait out the rest of the day with a pillow over my head. 


{image}

Pardon My Introspection

{image}

Disclosure: this post is long and largely personal. But I felt that it was important to both document and share.


I stopped by the Church building on my way to the gym, knowing it would be unlocked due to the Stake Women's Conference being held that morning. I needed to organize and disinfect all the toys in the nursery as part of my new calling, but I'd been too tired to do it the previous Wednesday night. Thus it was now a chore squeezed between my morning workout and Grandpa's 94th Birthday Party that afternoon. 


I sorted through plastic dinosaurs and matched the Little People to their farms and schoolyards, all the while feeling rather sad and disgusted with myself. Do you know how sometimes unhappiness can feel like a weighted blanket across your shoulders? At that moment, mine felt as heavy as bricks. I spent an hour tidying and categorizing, all the while berating myself for my shortcomings in an attempt to give myself some kind of psychological kick-in-the-pants. 


When my task was completed, I readied myself to go but became distracted by sounds drifting down the hallway. I'd forgotten about Women's Conference. I wandered towards the source, acutely aware of my inappropriate attire, and was startled to hear a live speaker-- not a broadcast, as I'd been expecting. 


I turned to leave, but just as I did, my sister in law stepped into the hallway with her infant son fussing in her arms. She took in my tousled hair and paint-splattered gym clothes, and with a comforting smile convinced me to sit next to her in the back of the Chapel. 


The woman up front was in the middle of her presentation. She was talking about self-image and how the destructive acts of comparing and belittling ourselves prevents us from accomplishing the things that the Lord would have us do on this Earth. The story she told next resonated in my soul to such a degree, I haven't stopped thinking of it since. I've discussed it with three different people, and do not think it would be an exaggeration to say that I believe it has changed me. She said:


Seven years ago, her marriage was falling apart. Although things between she and her husband were later repaired with the help of counseling, repentance, prayer and hard work, it was a very difficult time for her. Because of the nature of the problems, she felt that she wasn't measuring up to some 'ideal'. Her self worth was very low and she despaired, wondering why this had to happen to her. {wow, that all sounds familiar!}


It was Christmastime and she was 8 months pregnant. She took her young daughter with her and to an overly crowded Walmart and attempted to get all the shopping done in a single miserable trip, figuring she was unhappy anyhow. 


With her cart filled to the brim, she got into a long, slow checkout line and then looked down to find her daughter gearing up to throw an all-out, screaming, flailing, bawling-at-the-top-of-her-lungs fit. Nothing she did calmed the little girl, so eventually she was forced to abandon her cart and drag the child out of the store, past gawking strangers, to the very back of the parking lot and into the car. Having strapped her child into the car seat, she collapsed into her own seat and and then heard in her mind with perfect clarity, "You are a bad mom."


She covered her face and began to weep, the thoughts continuing to barrage her.


"What made you think you could have more children? You can't even handle the one you've got. You're marriage is hanging by a thread and you are a failure."


Then, through the sobs, she heard a small tap, tap, tap on the window. She raised her tear-streaked face to see a woman with four older children huddled behind her standing at the door. The woman motioned for her to roll down the window, which she did.


"I saw you struggling with your daughter in the store," the woman said kindly, "and then I noticed you here crying. I felt I just had to come and tell you this: You are a good mom."


"We've all had those days" she continued. "You're doing a good job. I can see that you love your daughter and you're handling her just right." The woman patted her shoulder and murmured more comforting words until the mother had calmed down and was able to drive herself home. 


At this point, I was sitting in the back of the room struggling not to cry. Not even 20 minutes earlier, I'd been listening to that voice. The voice that tells me that I'm a bad mom. That I'm unattractive. That I don't measure up. That voice feels real. It sounds right. Sometimes, I even convince myself that the words it says are exactly what God would say to me. I listen to it and hang my head in shame, feeling the weight of my imperfections. 


Sitting through the woman's account made me realize: I have forgotten the true nature of God.


All throughout the scriptures are examples of God's mercy when dealing with fallible humans. He invites others to cast the first stone. He weeps. He heals. He forgives. 


I have heard His voice through blessings and from Prophets. I have felt it in answers to prayers. Always it is gentle, tender, loving and infinitely compassionate. 


He does not berate. He does not condemn. He says, "Thou art mine" and "Go and sin no more." His words lead me to all things virtuous, lovely and praiseworthy. When I allow myself to hear Him, to truly believe that I am a daughter of God, it empowers me in ways that no kick-in-the-pants self-despise ever can. How could I have allowed myself to forget?


I know that not everyone believes in Satan. Or God for that matter. But I do, and this weekend I decided that labeling that voice as depression is not enough. That voice, the one that berates and belittles, is Satan getting a foothold on me, discouraging me to the point that I am unable to reach my full potential. 


Well, I'm not having it. From this time forward, that voice is going to have a fight on his hands.

PS- Do you remember the story of Mary and Martha? Martha was busy about the house, preparing and worrying over many things, while Mary sat at Jesus' feet and listened to his words. On Saturday, I felt like Martha. I was weighed down and busy, scurrying between chores and parties and motherly duties. But my Sister in Law was there at the church, dressed appropriately and listening to Women's Conference- just like Mary. Luckily for me, she pulled me into the Chapel and allowed me to be Mary as well for a while. I will be forever grateful. Thanks, Lu. 

Then and Now

Last week, I found the journal I kept back in 2005. It starts before E was born and ends right around the time he reached 10 months. It was strange to read it, knowing as I do now that it was the hardest, darkest and loneliest year of my life. I wrote of how tired I was, casually mentioning that at 6 months, E was still only sleeping if I held him upright against my chest. I wrote of my fear that I was neglecting Little Miss C. I wrote that I missed my husband. I wrote that I was praying every day, feeling lost and unequal to the task of mothering two children on my own. 


I read it now and wonder how I could have been so hard on myself. Couldn't I see that I wasn't getting sleep? That I wasn't getting support? That I'd slipped over the edge of post-partum depression into the scariest clinical depression I'd ever experienced? I can barely look at photos from that time, the pain is so raw in the stance of my shoulders; the deadness in my eyes. 


Though much of what I wrote include cute anecdotes of what Little Miss C said and what E did, I know better. A large part of me wants to reach back in time and give myself a hug... and a bottle of medication.


I can't change the past, but I can be easier on myself today. Like then, I'm not getting any sleep. I'm critical of my weight, my mothering, my lack of productivity, creativity and romance. Today, I'm barely functioning. I feel paralyzed and heavy, the tears wait behind my eyes and the smallest noise draws my wrath. But five years from now, I may look back and wish I'd taken a deep breath and relaxed a little. Been more tender and forgiving of myself.


So that's what I'm trying to do.


{Image by Elly MacKay. I'm going to buy one of her prints someday.}

Every Little Thing

My emotional state has been rather precarious lately. Though I am taking my medication, the lack of sleep pushes me to my very edge. I plunge into painting and organizing because obsessing over nuances in color doesn't allow room in my mind for anything else. And anything else is liable to bring me to tears. 


Anything else includes the possibility that Baby R is my last child. It's the thought that has been dancing on the periphery of my awareness, but I keep pushing it away. I can feel in my heart that Heavenly Father is ready to bring peace to the question, but I purposely don't pray and ask. I know that when I finally do, I'll be in for a significant period of mourning no matter what the answer. 


The thought of ever being pregnant again seems inconceivable at this moment. I feel drained, body and soul. I don't think I could live through another pregnancy and make it out mentally sound. But to think that I will never again have a tiny newborn, that I will never nurse and bathe and cuddle a miraculous little babe-- that is truly heartbreaking as well. 


In the meantime, I try to savor every moment with baby R, but without thinking about it too much. I grin at the way my little family mirrors my own growing up {one girl followed by three boys!} though my mom managed to have four kids in three years when it has taken me nearly ten to do the same. 

In so many ways, my life now and the life we are giving our children is completely different than the way I grew up. Sometimes it makes me panicky and I wonder if I'm doing all of this wrong. So similarities-- even little ones, like having four kids in the same order my mother had us-- brings me comfort. I look at my kids and then I look at my brothers and I and suddenly it's easy to imagine my children all grown up and doing fine. 

Every little thing is gonna be alright. 

Precipice

I want to be talking about how I've organized all the kitchen drawers, or the {neverending!} process of choosing paint colors, or wittily review the recent books I've read. 


But I can't. 


I'm having a truly low day today. Every little setback and disappointment feels insurmountable at the moment. The not sleeping. The fighting kids. The messy toilet training. The stalled weight loss. The fighting with my husband. The crying baby. The lack of money. The falling-apart car. The half marathon this weekend that I'm not prepared for and can't afford anyway.


None of it is new and yet it's all crashing in on me, so I'm burying myself in a blanket and signing off until i feel happy and shiny again. 


Hopefully tomorrow. 


{image}

Imagine

Sometimes I get tired of dealing with depression and image issues. I mean, really? I'm not over this yet? It's been decades.

The upside is that at least I'm familiar with the drill. It may not be easy to employ all the coping strategies to dig myself out of self destructive thinking, but at least I know what the coping strategies are.

For example: last night I was in one of those situations that I knew would trigger all of my insecurities. As we cleaned up from an otherwise enjoyable evening, the thoughts started to tumble into emotions that then threatened to avalanche into full blown depression. I took a deep breath and {much the way a public speaker imagines his audience in their underwear} ran through these mental exercises:

Imagine that every woman in the room wishes she looked like the woman next to her. While I find women of all shapes and sizes to be breathtakingly beautiful, I often berate myself if I do not fit into a very narrow definition of perfection. If I imagine that every woman is torturing herself with the same kind of self-loathing and comparison, the result is so heartbreaking that I'm often able to snap out of such ridiculous thinking.

Try to see myself the way J sees me. J has told me again and again that if I looked the way I wish I looked, he probably wouldn't give me a second glance. I always want to be taller. He likes that I'm petite. I want to be skin and bones. He likes the femininity of my curves. He says I'm already the ideal woman. My problem is that I don't appreciate it.

Tell myself, "You're an athlete". When I remember the feel of my body when I'm running, or imagine each muscle, sinew and bone working as I move across a room, my body becomes something more than just a 'display'. It becomes a marvelous machine that I love and appreciate for all that it can do.

Imagine Satan laughing. Whenever I'm overtaken with self-despise, I imagine that Satan must see it as a victory. I picture all the good things I'm not able to achieve because I'm too busy hating a body that he only wishes he could have. The thought of his glee rouses all of my faculties and ignites the fighting spirit inside of me. It gives me the strength to push away negative thoughts.

Sometimes, this is all it takes to return to a healthy mindset.

Sometimes, I'm forced to go through these mental exercises again and again, fervently praying, taking medication, working out and doing all in my power to tip the scale back to balanced brain chemistry.

And so the struggle continues.

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Last Week's Sampling

Being back on my anti-depressants has been marvelous. My anxiety over being around people has disappeared, and I'm now able to attend church {twice!} and family events. The biggest surprise has been how quickly all my self-critical thoughts vanished. To be honest, I was pretty sure that those were true, not a symptom of depression, and was pretty shocked to find myself looking in the mirror a few days after being on meds thinking, "Did I lose weight? I don't look so bad. What was I so upset about?"

I've had a few side effects. The strangest: The first few days, I could feel anxiety just below the surface, but not strong enough to stop me from socializing. However, I'd find that all the tension would migrate to my jaw, and it felt like I was always fighting to keep my teeth from chattering.

Also, I've been a bit jittery and my thoughts keep flitting from subject to subject. It made it impossible to blog last week. I have about a dozen half-started posts that I couldn't focus long enough to finish. Here's a sampling:

• Do you shop with Clinton and Stacy in your head? I went dress shopping this week and kept hearing, "Dress the body you have, not the body you wish you had." and "When something doesn't fit, it doesn't mean there's something wrong with your body. It just means that particular item is clothing is wrong for your body. Try on something else." But my favorite bit of advice came from my mom: "When you feel the worst about your body is when it's time to spend the most on fabulous clothes."
• Baby R is so strong. He can hold his head up, look around, and stand while holding my fingers. We've let him try the excersaucer and can now get a few things done around the house with newly freed hands!
• After 6 years in this house, I feel like every door has a hole in it, every wall needs repairs and new paint, and all the baseboards are scuffed. It's time for some heavy-duty revamping.
• We've already started Christmas shopping. Ohmygoodness, I've turned into one of those people! What's worse, I feel like my kids have way too many toys. Wouldn't I be the meanest mom ever if I only got my kids books and clothes for Christmas?

Hopefully, this week my brain will settle into a more calm and focused place and I'll be able to blog more regularly. For now, I'm off to the gym. Baby R is almost 10 weeks, but I think he can pass for 12. :)

Locks

Lately, being depressed and anxious is like having thousands of critical voices muttering loudly in every room of my mind. Their volume increases when I'm around other people, shouting that every eye is watching, every thought is judging, that in every way I am found lacking.

They've driven me to tears.

They've forced me to avoid all social events.

They've become so loud that I was sure that what they said was the truth.

But now I'm on medicine again, and it's as if every day I lock a few critical voices into a deep, dark corner of my brain where they can still be heard {faintly} but ignored. Suddenly, what they say sounds a little less credible.

I bought a dress {I do have a waist!}.

I went to Sacrament Meeting.

I'm feeling brave.

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Meds

I can no longer keep the crazy at bay, so today I'm going to the Doctor's to get a prescription for my much-missed antidepressants. They probably won't make me as happy as losing 30 pounds would, but it's a start.

Changing the Channel

My mother in law has often told me of how once when she was younger, she was sitting in church feeling very sorry for herself. She was lost in thought and could feel the tears starting to brim in her eyes when an older lady tapped her on the shoulder, leaned forward and whispered, "Change the channel in your head."

I spent most of yesterday trying to change the channel in my head, but it felt as though no matter what I did, the same program was showing on every station. By evening, I fled the house in an attempt to run it off.

It was a pathetic attempt. My breathing kept transforming into sobs, my face kept crumpling without warning, and my body felt leaden. I couldn't run far or fast enough to escape myself.

I was two miles from home, berating my looks, my lack of speed, my everything, when a storm that had been advancing from the distance suddenly didn't look so distant. The rain was falling like a curtain- I could see it sweeping across the desert, kicking up dust as it went. I decided I needed to turn around and high-tail it for home.

I was hit first by the wind. It carried the scent of red dirt, hot pavement and creosote, and rushed in from the east like a solid wall. Next, I could hear the rain advancing. It drummed on the tin roof of a barn across the street, then flattened the tall grass in the field opposite me, then swallowed me in heavy, sideways sheets. In mere moments, the dirt road became a minor riverbed. Lighting was flashing, trees were bending, and I was struggling to see in the torrential downpour.

One mile from home, I was completely soaked and splattered with mud. I was running in odd gullies, trying to avoid lowest ground {hello flood waters} and not wanting to be the tallest thing around, but also not wanting to run among the trees, which were the tallest things around.

"It would serve me right to be struck by lighting," I thought to myself, then started laughing.

I laughed and gasped and struggled the whole way home, where I found the door open and towels laid out in anticipation of my return.

I don't know how that rainstorm changed the channel in my head, but it did. I still feel frustrated with my weight and my slow running pace and my lack of sleep, but it's no longer the only thing occupying my thoughts.

Now I think about not being struck by lighting. :)

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Guess who isn't coming to dinner...

This morning I found this image of a burned out, abandoned house covered in snow...... made out of Legos. Yeah, it's amazing. {see more photos of Mike's work here} It reminded me that there is beauty everywhere and in everything, a message I needed to hear today.

Yesterday, I took the kids to Target. We have a dinner with extended family this weekend due to Conference, and it will be the first time I've really seen people since having the baby. It's one of those events that I can't avoid, but simply thinking about going makes me anxious and weepy. I figured that having something new to wear might help.

"What do you think of this?" I asked Little Miss C, holding up a wrap dress from the clearance rack. She looked from the dress to me, then made a face that clearly conveyed skepticism.

"You still look like you're going to have a baby," she said, as if surprised I was considering wearing 'regular' clothes.

We had to leave the store before I burst into tears.

When she saw she'd hurt my feelings, she tried to apologize, "I'm sorry that I said that out loud!"

{Um, obviously, that didn't help much.}

It's strange: I remember being about her age when I said something that hurt my mom's feelings. I remember the look on her face and being so surprised that it was even possible to hurt her. After all, adults are supposed to be above all that, right? So as we fled the store, I kept telling myself to be above all of it. But it still hurt, because she was just echoing my own thoughts. Only, I had hoped that I was just being hard on myself, that it wasn't that bad.

Anyway, there's beauty in everything, blah blah blah.

I'm so not going to dinner.