Tag: anxiety

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A song to take the pain away.

tec

I sat in for a therapy session with R. It was supposed to just be five minutes. Enough to tell her counselor that we’d be starting the process to get her on antidepressants. It is time.

It was not a decision that I came to lightly. There were a multitude of factors. Mostly it was that she was getting so much more explosive, and to me, that meant her pain and hurting were at its max. Unfortunately the only factor that really stuck out for my girl was that her behavior was scarring her brother and his trauma was my highest priority and that’s why I finally agreed to the medication.

This turned a five minute conversation into an hour and a half session.

She hurts. I know this. I never know just how much. And it always catches me off guard. The one person who it would be helpful to be privy to said information doesn’t get to know. It’s just part of the mom deal, I suppose.

Being a parent is hard. Knowing all the logical psychology doesn’t really help much. I mean, sure, in the long run sorta. The short run is a different beast.

The long run tells me that she can lash out at me because she feels safe with me. The long run tells me that she will viciously push me away over and over in order to see if I’ll abandon her.

Depression runs her short game.

It requires her to believe she is nothing and not worth sticking around for. Pushing me away and me following suit gives the depression its validation.

Depression begets depression. We feel like things are shit. That we are shit. We feel worthless so we seek all the ways we’re unworthy. And because we get what we look for, all she sees are examples of her nothingness. The cycle feels impossible to break.

~~~~~~~

Depression is a big fat liar and not even this strong, badass mama can contend with it.

I can show up. Over and over. No matter how much it hurts. No matter how it can bring excruciating heartache and practically break me.

But it can not change her perspective. I learned that today.

It hurt a lot.

I have always known that she is hard on herself. I have always known that she has ridiculous expectations of herself. Expectations that no one could ever meet. I know she thinks in black and white and that she truly believes perfection does, in fact, exist.

I know I have always been the first to say “you did great!” and “what do you mean a B on your chem test isn’t good enough?!” and “of course I’ll be at your musical!” I have supported her through countless endeavors. Providing moral support and transportation and peptalks and space when she asks.

Despite her spending so much time trying to convince me she’s nothing, I haven’t faltered in being her biggest cheerleader.

This is my lens. This is how I see it.

No, I don’t notice every single thing that happens. Yes, there are things she’s told me about that I’ve forgotten. Yes, sometimes I’m annoyed that she needed to be picked up at 5 and she still isn’t ready at 5:40. I’m human. I’m fallible. I make mistakes. I don’t always show up how she prefers, nor do I show up 100% of the time. But I show up. I show up often and to the best of my ability.

And then today, the short run played its game. She tells me that I make her feel worthless. That I make her feel like nothing. That she feels like a nothing because of me. That I have instilled this in her.

No amount of logical psychology could have kept my feet firmly planted. The short run won.

~~~~~~~

Her lens is so much different than mine.

I never knew–I never understood–that the voice in her head feeding her all that bullshit is my voice.

It is a devastating blow.

~~~~~~~

Not all hope is lost. I’m silver lining girl after all. Navigation is required. A whole fuckton of navigation. As well as extra reinforcements for this sad mama’s heart.

Above all else, I show up. I may not be able to contend with her depression through her lens, but I won’t go down without a fight. Especially when it’s my daughter’s life at stake.

I don’t know what that looks like yet. I don’t quite know yet what I need to do. I know that whatever it is, I can do it. I will do it.

First tho, I will cry and grieve.

adventures in quarantine, Uncategorized

Hold on to the thread.

tec

I realized last night I take my recent decrease in anxiety entirely for granted.

I read a post about a girl who is filled with anxiety and dread when she has to go to the store. As an anxiety survivor (and sometimes navigator), I remember that feeling, but even with my recent panic attack, that anxiety currently feels far away.

I remember months of paralyzing time passing when I couldn’t make a phone call to a doctor’s office. Or I’d put off going to the store for days. Or I just couldn’t do the laundry. Hell, this blog. I’m great at writing it, but setting the whole thing up and actually launching my site is taking months.

But back to the grocery store and the pandemic. It’s absolutely scary. The thought of being out of commission for so long and feeling like you could quite literally die. Or even the prospect of dying. It is all scary.

The thing is…I just don’t think of those things. That kind of anxiety doesnt trip me up. And I should really stop taking that for granted.

So I want to put out into the universe right now that I am filled with overwhelming gratitude that I can go grocery shopping without anxiety. (But only like every ten days, because, seriously guys, there’s a pandemic out there. Be smart. Stay home.) And still, I am so fucking grateful.

I actually have a quick shopping story. I was stocking up a few days ago. Walking around with my mask and my knitted hat. Pushing my shopping cart with the sleeves of my hoodie. Being safe and spreading joy. Making eye contact and smiling at every person I see.

Some people ignore me and others give an obligatory half smile back. No matter. You do you.

But one guy smiled and winked at me! And it totally fucking made my day. Because in the midst of all this unknown and chaos and upheaval, we shared this nanosecond of normal life.

I hope that in the midst of this pandemic, and the unknown and the anxiety and the isolation, you are gifted moments of human connection that make life feel a little like life again.

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The voice that’s been calling me back home.

tec

I had a panic attack this afternoon.

I feel compelled to write about it because I learned a lot of things. First, a panic attack is not failure. It is a lesson learned. Second, it’s not weakness. It is an opportunity to see how strong you were for so long until something got too big. Third, for me, it was a chance to see how far I’ve come.

In months and years past, a catalyst would have been icing on a cake that propelled me into yelling and shaming and damaging my relationships with the people I love the most.

Today, because of constant work I’ve poured into self-improvement, I felt all of the overwhelm, but I walked away. Never did I fall into a victim mentality because “no one helps me”. Nor did I walk toward anyone and spew venom. I didn’t do irreparable damage.

First, I asked myself why it hurt so much that it feels like my family isn’t showing up for me. And I listened. The answer was, even tho I’ve been showing up for myself, today I went a little too far showing up for someone else and it was at my expense. I hurt because I was mad at myself for not setting a better boundary.

Next, I asked myself why it hurt so much that I didn’t feel looked after. I listened for an answer. The answer was that, while it would be cool to have my family, or more specifically Chris, just omnisciently show up for me, it’s not reasonable. And just because sometimes I catch the glimmer of a grimace that he’s in pain and should ice his shoulder doesn’t mean he should catch all my cues. Hell, I may not even have clues. (And there are totally times I miss Chris’s clues.) Therefore, the answer to my question is that when I have needs, I need to voice those needs.

Today I had a panic attack and I invited Chris to sit with me. He showed up for me. I did it with him by my side. I didn’t have to feel alone.

Showing up for myself doesn’t just mean I run on run days no matter what. Part of showing up for myself means I tell other people what I need. I utilize my support system and let others help me when I need help.

Of course, it also means I get quiet and ask myself what I need. And then I listen and follow through.

I could view my panic attack today as a failure. Well. No. I can’t even do that. I don’t even have the mindset to view it that way anymore. I’ll say instead that, plain and simple, I had a panic attack today and it was a huge growth development moment for me.

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Faster than I can.

tec

I’m so count-y this morning. I just want it to be time to eat.

I’m certain it has nothing to do with food and everything to do with my head. But I don’t want to put in the work. This exact moment I’m tired of putting in the work.

I just needed to say that somewhere.

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Running around in your head.

tec

I feel like I should recap my day. Touch base with the multitudes of people who come across my words. (This is where you laugh. I know no one reads.)

I survived this day. Better yet, I was thriving by evening, even in spite of a nauseating headache.

I took a lot of cbd today. I dunno that it ever really did anything. I haven’t been that much of a basket case in a while.

While at the car place, Chris very patiently overlooked my psychosis. I couldn’t stop moving or rubbing my thumbs into my palms or rubbing my hands on my jeans or rubbing my fingers against my thumbtips.

Fuck. So disordered.

But after Collin assured me there were no loose parts and it might be my struts but maybe not but was definitely something with the oil but still the car wouldn’t implode, I felt better. And felt like maybe I could navigate the car til next Thursday when he’ll look at it again. Fuck, the car gives me such anxiety.

But then I drove in a bunch of snow and it was strangely empowering. But really, above all else, it just really meant everything to me that Chris practically forfeited an after work shower to be there for me and treated me regular even tho I felt anything but. I’ve missed him so much and it felt like breathing to connect.

And R was really spectacular today too. Every day she is coming into her own and navigating her way, alongside her anxiety and depression. She makes me proud.

I feel a little bit like I lost the entire day. But I didn’t lose me entirely and I’ll take the win.

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Get myself back home.

tec

Today is laughably hard to navigate. Painfully, laughably hard. Like so ridiculously hard.

But.

Despite the knot in my stomach and the clenching in my chest and the tightening of my throat, I go on.

And truly, even this is so much better than the alternative of the life I used to live. So, I’m deeply full of gratitude. And also. Because it’s always both. I am deeply in the middle of this excruciatingly hard moment.

*20 minutes later*

I was gonna tell this heartwarming anecdote about the dog and how all she wants is to go outside, and she jumps on you and then refuses to go out when you open the door because she wants you to go out with her to play, but it’s freezing and snowy and you have pjs and slippers on. And she gets all too-playfully-bitey and she just wants you to meet her when she is.

And that’s kinda what this anxiety feels like. It keeps poking me and jumping on me and biting too hard because it wants attention.

So I sat with the dog and fed her peanut butter off a spoon, so both her playful and my anxiety could have some respite.

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And that was awesome for about ninety seconds.

Then R came in to tell me about her plans for the day. Originally her boyfriend was supposed to come over at 10:30, and then I was supposed to take them to the movies at 11:30. But my car (my freakin’-something-always-comes-up-with-it car) is making a sound right now that makes it too scary and unsafe sounding to drive. (The car place is squeezing me in at 2pm today, thankfreakinggod), so she navigated driving plans today and was totally on top of it (that’s my girl!), which then left me totally……not.

I want to be only grateful that she has the fortitude to continue forward. But here I am instead practicing the lesson of “both” and so I’m sitting here sad to be missing out on having her boyfriend here all day or taking them to the movies myself.

And then to top it all off, she told me how she’s been telling her boyfriend all the things she has never tried (he replied, “ohmygod, you lost your whole childhood!”) because I bought healthy food and she never had Trix cereal or Trix yogurt and we didn’t keep a cornucopia of Little Debbie’s in the house.

Sigh.

And it touches all my triggers, while I already feel triggered enough. And so I cried. Because it’s that kind of day.

(I feel the need to pause here and assure my husband that she wasn’t being mean or manipulative and that it’s okay for me to sit in a moment of uncomfortable and be sad. It doesn’t touch my self-worth in a permanent sort of way.)

So I cried and L came up to me and said, “you have snot?” and I said yes and he said, very concerned, “oh! You crying??” and I said yes and he said “why you crying?” and I told him I was sad and it’s okay to cry when you have lots of feelings.

And it is.

And also, holy heavy anxiety and overwhelm. Where the fuck is my blanket fort?

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To divide something so real.

tec

So I want to talk about all of my weekly goals. Delve a little into what they look like and what they mean to me. How it all came to be. I should probably do this before I have weeks and weeks and weeks of thoughts that I can’t catch up with. (Newsflash: it’s been weeks and weeks and weeks already.)

First, I want to say that the precipitous to all of this was a workshop of sorts that Rachel Martin held on her Finding Joy page. She posed the questions, (I’m paraphrasing and filtering through memory and self here) “What is it that you’re waiting til 2020 to do? Why are you waiting 8 weeks to get started? What would it mean to have 8 weeks of progress come the new year?”

The seed was planted.

Then the universe kicked life into gear from there. And now I stand here telling my story.

Week one (Nov 11): Commit to an eating window from 9am til 7pm.

Eating is continually the thing in my life that I navigate. I used to live deeply inside a binge eating disorder. I have always used food as a friend, a connection, a coping mechanism, a stress reliever, an avoidance, an <insert thing here>.

Back in 2013 it was the worst it had ever been. I didn’t even know I had an eating disorder. I thought I was too fat to have an eating disorder. I thought I could only have an eating disorder if I was thin. Hell, I wished I had an eating disorder so I could be skinny! (I was sweet and naive…)

It wasn’t until I was back in school and studying nutrition and learning about eating disorders that I realized that I was drowning in one. I ate so much food it’s painful to think about now. And I never really gained weight because I ate so clean. I only ate proteins and fats and some vegetables. No grains, dairy, sugar of any kind, fruit, nuts. It was just about Whole30, but more strict, for three years. But a crazy obscene amount of food.

After acknowledging my eating disorder, I worked to navigate the things I was hoping to satiate with food and eventually ate mindfully and presently and satiated my pain in healthier ways. Or so it felt.

I lost weight and it was awesome and I felt great. And then I got the flu and after a few days of no food, I succumbed to an orange. Which feels really strange to say. I hadn’t had sugar of any kind in years and thought of it as my heroin.

Everything unraveled slow like molasses after that.

Fast forward six years: a pregnancy, a miscarriage, a wedding, another pregnancy, a newborn eventually turned three year old, a tween, a teenager, the rest of my family, and navigating lifetimes of….just..everything. And I was (am) still using food to function. (Far less destructively and dangerously as I once did, but still.)

I wrote, publicly (…with my name attached to it and everything) to another group I’m in that my goal would be to be healthier and have a healthy relationship with food, but that I’m terrified.

Terrified of not functioning. Terrified of not keeping up. Terrified of drowning. Of losing the comfort of friend, connection, coping mechanism, stress reliever, avoidance, <insert thing here>.

Rachel, the head of said group, told me to pick one small thing to focus on and I retorted my penchant for very much being an “abstainer” and not a “moderator” and referred her to Gretchen Rubin’s moderator vs abstainer, with the caveat that I believe the thought line, but not to my core per se and that life should be grey and not black and white, but in this case for me this one thing is black and white.

Which is obviously ridiculous in hindsight. And in regular sight as well, which is what prompted a quick reevaluation and remedy.

I do stand by the fact that some people are good to live with moderation, while others just aren’t. But I believe too that we don’t have to be pigeonholed to these things by chains or live our lives in paralyzing fear. I didn’t have to stand still just because I work better with abstinence than moderation. I can be afraid and move at the same time. I can moderate where I abstain.

So, I gathered up all my fear and all my brave and decided that an eating window was my next safe step.

I wasn’t going to stop eating this or stop eating that. I wasn’t going to limit food in any way, except by time. And also, the first thing I eat will always be a meal.

The first week took some balancing. Sometimes I counted down the minutes til 9am and other times it was suddenly 11 and I was getting lightheaded from not having eaten, but I hadn’t obsessed the time away. Some days at 9am it felt like I needed to eat in order to navigate anxiety/depression/stress/overwhelm and I would choose to indulge it. Other days I was able to recognize the anxiety/depression/stress/overwhelm and say “I’m going to wait until it passes” and employ other ways to feel all the things.

A few times teacher parent conferences or driving my kids around delayed eating until after 7pm and I carefully chose in those moments to eat dinner and then be finished with food, and it was always before 8. Some days even tho I hadn’t eaten dinner, I decided to forego it altogether because I wasn’t even hungry.

Week 2 (Nov 18): Commit to drinking seven glasses of water a day.

Hydration always feels better and also, by default, helps offset (perceived) hunger. There have been a couple days here and there I’ve only hit five, but it’s only interesting to note because I went right back to my plan the next day. No issue, no shame.

Week 5 (Dec 9): Commit to an eating window from noon til 7pm.

The next natural step for food felt like increasing real me time and limiting destructive eating time. Seven hours is more than a reasonable duration to eat. I rarely get hungry for real before noon anyhow.

There was one morning I was so wrapped up in emotional hunger that I was counting down the minutes til noon and didn’t even realize until 11:30 that I hadn’t done any of my regular morning routine. I was on an emotionally-depleted autopilot.

It was an eye opening example of how much control food can have and that I, solely, am the one that gives it power. For now the seven hour window gives me the reminder and opportunity to focus the rest of my time on experiencing life.

In the weeks to come, now that I have a solid foundation with time windows, my goals in regard to food will really be in regard to practicing positive coping mechanisms. I acknowledge I am not yet using food how I wish to be. I’m okay with that–it’s just not where I am yet. I need new, safe things squarely in place before I can take old, destructive things away. That plan feels like the best navigating.

Up next: weeks 3 and 4. Stay tuned!

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What separates me from you now.

tec

The youngest munchkin and the youngest furball and I are taking the morning to watch Toy Story.

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The kids are at their last Monday of school before winter break and this morning I dropped Harley off for her first visit to doggy daycare. I’m sure she’ll love it, but still I’m the nervous mom who is worried about her girl.

When we adopted her in August, she was heartworm positive. After three treatments, and a month of recovery, she is full of energy now and needs more running around than I can offer. I’ve heard great things about this place and have seen videos of the dogs swimming and running around, but even still, leaving her there and having her look at me like I was abandoning her was hard.

So this morning, the babe and the kitty and I are using the time to get some snuggling in. The dishes and house stuff can wait til later.

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The minor fall and the major lift.

tec

What a difference a year (or six) can make.

The last two weeks have been one crazy thing after another. My insurance is no longer accepting my doctor and physical therapist, so I either have to change insurance or change doctors. The $673 radiologist bill I should have never gotten, that I had fixed and was taken care of in November, suddenly appeared again and hadn’t been resolved afterall. I spent an hour and a half on phone calls getting it resolved again. (Shout out to Tamika who was my own personal savior.)

I’ve been trying to get ahold of a doggie day care place so Harley can run around and play with other pups because ohmygoodness is she in anxiety overdrive/bordering aggressive because she just wants to play play play and has no outlet. (I finally heard back today! Woo!) I ran with her on Sunday (ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod!! I ran! Two laps around the house!!! Freakin’ AMAZING!!!) and then promptly fell on my right knee and palm (and elbow and shoulder). Bright side: I hurt myself, but didn’t injure anything. Less than bright side holy oww and recovery time. (Bonus bright side: I tried Chris’s ghost pepper sauce and I’m a fucking rockstar!)

At 1am today instead of seeing Chris’s paycheck in the account, there was a $900+ fraudulent charge, just in time for me to pay the $150 medical bills today. Kitten’s first vet visit…wait….she has worms?… Oh, our dog’s been eating her poop when we’re not looking?…oh….well…that’s..special…

Have I even mentioned yet we adopted a kitten?! Meet Hazel. R’s early Christmas present/our new family member.

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And I paid the $4.60 on my daughter’s dentist account….that they were going to send me to collections for. Ha. And I was allowed to pay on (instead of pay off) another bill. Thank god. Bright side to all of it: the deposited paycheck offset the $700 overdraft and we’re blessed to have family who can help out until the bank refunds the locked charges.

R has midterms next week and is underslept and overstressed and navigating big adult problems while still being in a teenager’s body with a teenager’s brain. (Given the option to ignore the warning signs of a close friend or make the hard call to betray confidence in order to keep him alive,  she chose life and I couldn’t be more proud.) And S is navigating the end of the semester and a week of unprecedented homework he just hasn’t been able to keep up with, especially when his parents have been a bit m.i.a. in the evenings when it’s time to work on homework because of appointments and meetings. (Given the option this morning of staying home today to work on everything or go to school and own up to the consequences, he chose to go and I’m so freaking proud of him.) And L is still recovering from being sick last week and a bleeding diaper rash to boot because he’s been eating butternut squash soup for days and apparently he’s allergic. (This morning he slept in his own bed til after 5am. Whether fluke or trend, I’m so proud of him.)

Have I worn you out yet? ‘Cause I haven’t run out of material. I could keep going. I won’t tho. Because the only point I wanted to make is that I’m still standing. I didn’t even have to stand back up from this shit show because it hasn’t even knocked me down.

What a difference a year makes.

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Damn sure better than rain.

tec

I went to my first Al-Anon meeting.

I wasn’t nervous at all when I left for the meeting. When I got there and sat down I was suddenly doing all my nervous things. People were inviting and warm, but also people were inviting and warm. They were paying attention to me and fawning and supportive and caring and gosh, that is a lot.

But I went. And I stayed. And I plan to go back.

Really, I already knew I’d go back before the meeting. I’ve been to AA meetings and OA meetings and I know the program is good. I know the people are supportive.

Well, most of the people. OA was a completely different fish. I once had a man tell me I didn’t belong there because I was too skinny. As if my appearance precludes me from using food as a coping mechanism. As if anyone in food recovery has to forfeit community support once they find healthier tools to survive. But I digress.

Al-Anon isn’t like that. I can be there for any reason, for any timeline in my life, for any alcoholic who has touched my life. And I didn’t really understand until recently that I probably should have been going all along.

I should have gone six years ago when Chris and I started dating. In the days when a small argument could have compromised his short sobriety.  Or when he switched jobs for his dream job and then they insisted he throw away his integrity or quit. And he quit. At an immeasurable hit to his self worth, closing not only that dream in his mind, but a true hope for any dream at all. Or the moment we got pregnant and then miscarried and didn’t get to keep Caleb and he retreated from life for a bit. I could have used Al-Anon when his doctor and seizure medication fucked him over completely. Or when he started taking another medicine he put all his faith in and it backfired and, for all intents and purposes, took away his sobriety. For three years.

I could have used Al-Anon. I could have used the support and guidance of people. And I just…I didn’t know better. I didn’t know there was help for me for all of that or where to find it or, really, that I needed the help. That I deserved the help. I thought maybe that’s just how it was going to be from now on. I knew I needed help–wanted help–, but I didn’t know the help I needed was possible to receive. That it was out there.

And so now here I am. Going to meetings. Getting the community I have so desperately needed. Allowing myself the self-care of actual help. Of not going at it alone. Of being told I’m braver and stronger for showing up than I ever was of trying to hold it together by myself. And so I’m gonna keep doing this awhile.