Tag Archives: therapy

When Birthdays Aren’t So Happy

14 Oct

No1 turned 4 this week.  Among the bittersweet celebration of her newest number floated tiny flashbacks.  Bit and pieces of the horror kept snapping me out of my happiness.  The 37-week induction for no reason, the 12 hours she spent in ICU because of fluid in her lungs, the second-degree cervical laceration, and the feeling of complete disconnect with my new baby girl.  One of my most vivid memories of the day she was born is being wheeled into the ICU and realizing I had absolutely no idea which baby was mine.

Four years ago, early in October, I lost who I knew myself to be.  It may be the anniversary of my baby’s birth, but it’s also the anniversary of the onset of my PPD.

Past birthdays haven’t been so hard.  But my birth experience with No2 was so beautiful and peaceful and my bond so deep and immediate, that the anger over how bad round one was has resurfaced.  It’s almost as if comparing experiences has highlighted how horrid the first one was.  I realize it’s water under the bridge. . . that I have an amazing little girl who knows that she is loved and feels it ever day with me.  Maybe it shouldn’t matter how I gave birth to her, but it does.  Those early days were filled with emotional and physical trauma, both of which I suppose I’m still healing from.

Today, we celebrated with a party.  A house full of preschool friends, yellow “happy car convertible” decorations, a Matchbox car race, crafts, and treats.  It was joyful and a celebration of everything No1 is in this moment.  She had an incredible time.  Incredible.  I’m choosing to focus on that.  Choosing to live in the present.

But in these quiet moments when my heart reaches back to the past and aches for what might have been, or regrets all the time lost to denial and naiveté , I am trying to be kind to myself.  I’m staying up late to play video games with my husband, imagining Velma’s face on each villain and alien creature.  I’m taking long showers, freshening up the pink in my hair, and wearing my favorite makeup.  I’m sleeping in on the weekends and going to bed early to listen to podcasts I know will send me off to dreamland.  I’m sipping my coffee slowly and microwaving it as many times as it takes to finish the whole cup hot.  I’m soaking in each “I love you,” from my now-four-year-old.

It’s okay to celebrate her four astounding years on this earth and grieve for the joyful birth and postpartum experiences I was deprived of.  And spooning chocolate frosting straight from the can into my face?  Sure has helped with both.

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Gifts Of Imperfection – Courage, Compassion, and Connection, Week Two

17 Sep

If you’re just joining in, you can find Week One here.  And the link to the book here.  Welcome.

Gifts Of Imperfection  - Courage, Compassion, and Connection

Brene Brown calls courage, compassion, and connection the Gifts of Imperfection because all three require us to be vulnerable and imperfect, but reap great rewards of a more wholehearted life.  

I particularly love how she discusses that these are life habits – that you can practice “couraging” to become more courageous. I have to say that I have found this to be true. By blogging about my experiences with mental health, I’ve had to practice all three gifts. And it *has* gotten easier to be courageous with practice, though I still struggle in certain settings and with particular people (sometimes even myself!) to be courageous, compassionate, and to connect.  Feeling overwhelmed?  Not to worry.  Brene gives practical, everyday examples of what these look like and makes it clear that even small steps toward the “three C’s” will contribute to your sense of worthiness.

Here are a few of my “a-ha” moments from this chapter:

“Until we can receive with an open heart, we are never really giving with an open heart. When we attach judgment to receiving help, we knowingly or unknowingly attach judgment to giving help.” (p. 20)

“The heart of compassion is really acceptance. The better we are at accepting ourselves and others, the more compassionate we become. Well, it’s difficult to accept people when they are hurting us or taking advantage of us or walking all over us. This research has taught me that if we really want to practice compassion, we have to start by setting boundaries and holding people accountable for their behavior.” (pp. 16-17)

“Shame hates it when we reach out and tell our story. It hates having words wrapped around it—it can’t survive being shared. Shame loves secrecy. The most dangerous thing to do after a shaming experience is hide or bury our story. When we bury our story, the shame metastasizes.” (pp. 9-10)

Brown, Brene (2010-09-20). The Gifts of Imperfection. BookMobile. Kindle Edition.

For me, it all boils down to speaking my truth.  Being real with myself and people in my life.  It hasn’t been easy, but it’s been worthwhile.

Tell me about a time you practiced or witnessed “ordinary courage”. What are some small, practical ways you can be mindful and practice courage, compassion, and connection this week?

Disclaimer: I purchased the book Gifts of Imperfection on my own and am not being compensated for my review of the book or for promoting it. I receive no kickback from any of the Amazon links provided above. I simply love the book and want to share.

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Gifts of Imperfection – Introduction, Week 1

10 Sep

If you’ve read my about page, you know how much Brene Brown’s work has inspired me to live an authentic life – to be vulnerable and honest with myself and others.  After I saw her video (linked on the about page), I downloaded Gifts of Imperfection: Letting Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are to my Kindle and devoured it in a matter of days.

It was life-changing.

It allowed me to gently look at who I know myself to be and to examine why I was hiding my true self from others.  It taught me about the perils of shame.  And it pushed me to write my story.  This story.  My blog is the result of a giant leap of faith I took after completing the book.  Brene wrote about how vulnerability contributes to happiness – and so I told the world about my PPD.  Fearful of the reaction, I pressed the “publish” button.  I have never regretted that click.

So I’d like to share the book with you.  I started discussing it with my friends over at Mama’s Comfort Camp on Facebook, but feel like this might be a better place.  I’ll summarize a chapter each week and ask you to respond to a prompt to get us started.  You can join in at any time, and there is no deadline on a chapter.  I’ll add a Discuss tab to the menu bar so you can find the discussion easily.

Here’s where you can find a copy of the book.  And here is Brene’s blog, which is awesome.  She has a new book called Daring Greatly, which I can’t wait to read.  When I have time to read again, that is.  ;)

There’s a preface, but I’d like to start with the Introduction.  Ready?

Gifts of Imperfection, Introduction

The introduction is an overview of the entire book…a little of everything. Brene talks about her interpretation of Wholeheartedness and suggests that daily practice of courage, compassion, belonging, and being vulnerable can lead to already fulfilling life.

The sentence that resonated the most with me is on the first page: “No matter what gets done and how much is left undone, I am enough.” I want to get back to a place where I believe this about myself.  I measure the successfulness of my days by counting dishes in the sink and crumbs on the floor.  I calculate how much I depended on other people for help and feel guilty or “less than” for needing it.  I know I’m not alone in being my harshest critic, and I think that this idea of unconditional worth could be transformational for us all.

What was your immediate reaction to the sentence above?  What kind of emotions did it bring up for you?

What sentence/idea from this chapter resonated the most with you, and why?

 

Disclaimer: I purchased the book Gifts of Imperfection on my own and am not being compensated for my review of the book or for promoting it. I receive no kickback from any of the Amazon links provided above. I simply love the book and want to share.

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Giving Up Control

31 Aug

My mom is ever the boy scout.  Prepared for anything and everything.

Yesterday while we were out shopping she picked up a microwavable syrup bottle.  Apparently my dad fails to read warnings and almost melts Mrs. Butterworth on a weekly basis.  When we got back to her home I noticed that she had saved the packaging.  She explained that it had a 5-year warranty, and should any of the seals leak, she wanted to have the paperwork handy.  After stapling the receipt to the warranty, she filed them together.  I don’t know about you, but I figure when I spend $5 on a syrup bottle that I’m accepting a risk.  If it should break after 5 years of dutiful syrup-warming, then at least I got my money’s worth.  If it falls apart after three days, I call it a $5 lesson.  But not my mom.   I told you.  She’s prepared for everything.

I truly admire her organization and preparation, and I have to say that it’s come in handy on more than one occasion. When I have forgotten my toothbrush on a weekend at the lake, she always has an extra.  She has sterile strips for paper cuts in her bathroom cabinet that I have used more than once.  Need a foldable luggage carrier?  Boom.  Apple corer? It’s yours.  Forget about your gynecologist appointment and need someone to watch the kids?  She kept the day free just in case.

She was a stay-at-home-mom and cared for me and my two brothers in much the same way back then.  She is an amazing mom, and the best grandma a kid could hope for.

But.

I’m beginning to think all those years of being prepared for absolutely everything played a part in the development of  my OCD – specifically my need for control.  Deep down when things go wrong, I find myself sure that I could have prevented them if I just had just planned better.  And thus I tend to anticipate anything that might go wrong and overcompensate by over-planning.

It’s as if I’m waiting for the house to spontaneously combust for no reason.  But instead of the typical safety precautions like smoke alarms and fire extinguishers, I’ve summoned the fire department and sit patiently aiming a fire hose at the roof just in case.  It’s difficult to relax when you’re holding a fire hose.  For one thing, it’s heavy.  And its exhausting trying to maintain control over its pressurized contents.

I want to be clear.  I do not blame my upbringing for my mental health issues.  But I do think it’s helpful to look at contributing factors like societal conditioning, personality, birth order, and life and childhood experiences when I’m trying to work though my anxiety.  If I can find fault in an idea I always accepted to be true based on my past, than I just might have a chance at letting it go.

Giving up control of the world around me means giving up responsibility.   It’s liberating to give myself permission to simply respond to difficult situations instead of feeling the need to prevent them.  I don’t always succeed at this venture, but when I do, I feel my anxiety melt away.

I’m truly grateful to my mom for teaching me responsibility.  But in the spirit of self-care and mental health, I’m going to try to be a little less careful from now on.  But only a little.

 

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Mother’s Pride

18 Mar

Thanks to Charity over at Our Giggles and Grimaces for inspiring us to be proud of our successes.  As mothers and women, we don’t brag about ourselves enough.  We worry that it will look like boasting, or will intimidate others, so we pretend to be smaller than we are. I’m so glad she’s asked us to hold our heads up high and share the good!

I’m proud of myself for….hmmm…you know what?  I’ve faced a lot of adversity in the last three years and I’ve always joked that I didn’t have to do it with grace – that I just needed to survive.  But when I look back, I’m proud of how I’ve handled myself.  I’ve come through the PPD, the anxiety, the antenatal depression, the baby’s birth, two herniated disc episodes, and the death of two grandparents with composure and introspection.  I’ve asked for help, spoken up and called doctors, gone to therapy, and done the work to get better.

As a mother, I’ve made breastfeeding No2 a priority.  As long as I believe it’s still in her best interest, I will continue to fight for it.  I’ve had to be flexible and adjust my expectations of what breastfeeding will be for us, which has been the hardest part.  But I’m making it work.

I’ve coped with No1′s toddler antics calmly and rationally in the last few months.  She’s so very three and still adjusting to having a baby sister, so things have been tense.  But I believe I parent her with a good balance of discipline and affection.

I went back to teaching lessons 6 weeks after the baby was born.  I missed the kiddos and worried they would get behind, but mostly, I did it for me. It’s my “In the Zone” time and I love it.  It’s a ton of work to make it happen each week and I couldn’t do it without my awesome family and friends, but I’m proud of myself for being gutsy enough to give it a try.

So there you go.  That feels pretty good, actually.  Won’t you join us?

Head on over to Our Giggles and Grimaces and link up!

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Perfection

14 Jan

I think it was from Brene Brown that I heard or read something like this:

You look at your newborn baby and think, ‘She’s perfect.’ And yet each of us is imperfect from our very beginning.  We are all born imperfect and will remain imperfect for the rest of our lives.

I look at my new baby, and want to think she’s perfect.  She has my nose, long pianist’s fingers (and toes), dark grey eyes, and the most beautiful little ears.  She makes a grumpy old man noise out of annoyance when she sneezes, and laughs in her sleep. And she really only cries when she’s hungry, wet, or naked (seriously, folks…I’ve never seen a baby be so pissed to get undressed).

But she’s not.  I could list a dozen things that make her difficult, and I’m certain I will only add to that list as she grows up.  She’s as imperfect as the rest of us, and that? IS BEAUTIFUL.

If she were perfect, I would worry constantly about ruining her – about messing up. I would fret over every decision being the “right” one, because perfection implies right and wrong. There would be some utopian vision of the baby, child, and woman she should be, always in peril because of my impending parenting mistakes.

My job as a parent isn’t to protect her perfection, guarding her from mistakes and pain. Instead, it’s to nurture her as a whole person, hopefully teaching her that her imperfections don’t diminish her worth. They make her real, accessible, and whole.

By the way…if you haven’t read Brene Brown’s The Gifts of Imperfection, it’s life-changing.  Honestly.

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Warning Signs

14 Dec

This pregnancy has been completely different from my first.  Easier.  Less stressful.  More joyful.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s been an uphill battle, and I’ve had some of my very lowest points during this journey, but with the right medical care, therapy, support, and medication, I feel like I’ve experienced a *mostly* normal pregnancy this time around.  I am so grateful for all the help I’ve received and so proud of myself for all I’ve done to stay healthy and happy.  But also?  I look back at pregnancy number 1 and want to scream in frustration over all the warning signs I missed.  I realize that I did my best last time, and even more so, that patients cannot expect to self-diagnose mood and anxiety disorders.  But hindsight sure is 20-20, isn’t it?

Because I have seen what a contrast my two pregnancies have been, I feel hopeful that my postpartum experiences can be different, too.  And like I’ve said before, this time I’m prepared.  Armed.  And I want the people around me to feel armed too.

I’ve spoken with my friends and family.  I want them to know I’m wary of the PPD returning and that I will need their help to stay healthy, but I don’t want to feel like I’m being babied or watched over unnecessarily.  Even a normal postpartum experience can include mood swings and tearfulness.  When I talked with my mom (Hi, Mom!), she said she looks back now and feels like she missed signs, too, and she wanted to know what to look out for.

What should we have seen before did we miss because we didn’t know?  What do I want my friends and family to watch for?

  • Inability to Sleep: Even when someone else was caring for No1, I couldn’t sleep.  I was too anxious and my mind spun with a million thoughts.  And the sleep deprivation was a huge trigger for me.  This time around, I’ve asked my mom to stay some nights with us early on, and I plan on being flexible about feeding No2 in a way that lets us all get some rest.
  • Control Freak: I could not let anyone else take over for me…with the baby, with household chores, Christmas shopping.  I had to do it all.  Part of me felt like I was supposed to be able to do it all, like I had something to prove.  I remember distinctly telling my mom not to do the dishes and feeling like an enormous failure when she cleaned my bathtub.  I had to pack the diaper bag because I was certain hubs could not do it well enough, and I struggled to let anyone else care for the baby.  This time, my mantra is “I’m pregnant (or I just had a baby) and I shouldn’t have to <insert your least favorite chore here>.”  I’ve come a long way in the last three years and feel like one of the biggest changes I’ve made is my ability to let go of perfection and to accept help.
  • Rage: This was the scariest of my symptoms and one I think very few people were privy to.  The littlest things would set off a chain reaction, causing me to spiral into an Incredible Hulk – worthy temper tantrum.  Missed naptimes were the biggest trigger.  The quality of my entire day hinged on how many naps No1 took and how long each was.  The anger was directed at the baby for not sleeping, at hubs for not matching the bottle tops and bottoms by color, at drivers on the road for running red lights…at anything and anyone.  And it was terrifying.  I became unrecognizable.  These days it takes quite a bit to trigger any kind of temper, and I truly hope it stays that way.
  • Fear: This sounds ridiculous, but for a while, I actually felt afraid of my baby.  Afraid that I didn’t know how to take care of her and afraid that she didn’t love me.  At times I thought she was trying to make my life difficult, and I expected way more out of her than a baby can give.  My confidence was nonexistent as a parent.  I remember once my husband telling me “caring for a baby actually isn’t all that hard, when you take the emotion out of it.”  I still think it’s a simplification, and at the time he said it, I was offended and hurt.  But you know what?  There’s a little truth in there.  My fear was making caring for No1 so much harder than it had to be.
  • Lack of Confidence:  I know new moms read a lot of parenting books.  In fact, I believe that there are an awful lot of people capitalizing off of the lack of confidence most new moms feel.  But I did more than just read a few books.  I read all of them, certain one would have “the answer”, because I certainly didn’t.  I lacked confidence in how to feed my baby, how to get her to sleep, and whether or not to use a pacifier.  Basically, if there was a book about it, I was sure I was doing it the wrong way.  It wasn’t until the fog of PPD and PPA lifted that I started to trust my instincts and it turned out, they were pretty darn good!  I’ve noticed that when I start to have an episode with anxiety or depression, my confidence is the first thing to go.  I doubt every parenting decision and the worthlessness creeps in.  What I know to be true fades into a complicated mess of confusion.  I anticipate needing advice about having two children – and I’m sure I’ll pick up a book or two along the way – but if I start to feel like I *need* them to parent, I’ll know something is amiss.
  • Inability to Deal with Noise:  This is a common trigger for many of us on #ppdchat.  Noone likes a screaming baby, but with PPD or PPA, the sound is torturous, quite literally.  These days, I can listen to my toddler holler, yell, and scream at me and as long as I know she’s not physically injured, I can walk away, put in some earplugs, and wait out the storm.  I’m sure I’ll still be triggered by the baby’s crying, but I hope this time around, it doesn’t completely shut down my brain like it did the first time around.
  • Tearfulness: This one’s tricky, because I think it’s what most people expect to see when someone they love is depressed, but it wasn’t my main symptom.  Yes, I would cry, but it was often mixed with the rage or came after an episode of explosive temper or anxiety.  It’s still something I want my loved ones watching out for.  If I’m tearful and extra-sensitive (especially to criticism) for longer than a couple of weeks after No2 is born, please check in on me.
  • Shutting Down: This one’s from my husband.  I asked him what the worst symptom was and he said it was that he worried that I would shut down when I needed to care for No1. For a while, I stopped being able to bathe the baby, go to doctors appointments, or run errands.  A pile of unfolded laundry would sit, wrinkling, because it seemed like too big a task to undertake.  The anxiety made everything seem overwhelming and my husband had to take over for me.  I expect to need help, but not for irrational reasons.

Quite honestly, I’ve done a bang-up job of recognizing symptoms over the last 9 months as they appear and asking for help immediately.  I’m extremely optimistic that should I take a turn for the worse after this baby is born, I will know it and continue to reach out to my support network.  I’ll be under the care of both my psychiatric nurse and therapist and I have the contact information from an amazing perinatal psychiatrist at MGH who specializes in postpartum mood disorders.

But.

I know that my brain overreacts to hormones and the postpartum period is an especially vulnerable time, specifically when you’ve suffered from PPD before.  PPD is a sneaky little bastard and at its worst can make you believe things that you know to not be true.  Denial is one of it’s most vicious weapons, and so I’m not going in alone.

How can you help? Please ask me how I’m doing.  Check on me.  Ask me how I’m sleeping and if I’m letting people help.  Ask me if I feel supported by my husband and if I’m connecting with my daughters. Remind me to come here and to read the blog and to take my own advice.  And if, as I hope it will be, my answer is that I’m doing well…trust me.  Let me be okay.

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I give great advice. Now if I could only listen to it.

11 Nov

The other day on twitter I was accused of being wise.  Now, I grant you, I tend to be a wise-ass, but that isn’t what my #ppdchat mamas meant.  It seems that I always know what to say and how to help.

Honestly, I’ve always been analytical, introspective, and compassionate, so the giving-good-advice thing just kind of comes naturally.  But I fear I’ll be seen as someone who has all the answers and has their shit together, when in reality, I’m muddling through just like everyone else.

Because you see, I give great advice…to other people.  I can listen and put myself in their shoes, mirror back what I’m hearing from them, and truthfully tell it how I see it.  Perhaps I would have made a good therapist.  Maybe it’s part of why I am a great teacher.  But when it comes to myself, I often get so caught up with believing my feelings I can’t see the forest for the trees.  No1 freaks out because her covers aren’t tucked in just so and I fly down the stairs in a rage because I. Am. Done.  Or I go to a playgroup and leave feeling insecure about myself as a mom and a friend…all because someone looked at me a certain way.  Hubs will tell me we are running out of milk and I take it personally, as if he is accusing me of failing as a wife.  And I feel like a burden these days, asking for help because I am eight months pregnant and so very tired.

With practice, I’m getting better at treating myself like I do others.  Sometimes (and with the help of modern medicine), I can step back and separate myself from the feelings enough to judge the situation for what it is.  Those are my proudest moments, lately.  It’s been a tough lesson to learn, but three years of therapy has taught me while I can’t control my emotions, I can choose how I respond to them.

So please know.  I don’t have all the answers.  Really.  I’m faking my way through this just like everyone else is.  And that’s okay.  Life is hard – and anyone who claims to have all the answers is full of it.

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It’s Official: This Is For Real

13 Sep

Lately I’ve been grappling with baby names.  For the life of me, I can’t seem to find a name that fits (and that hubby hasn’t vetoed).  Honestly?  I kind of hate naming babies.  It’s torture for a perfectionist to choose something so permanent, not even knowing who the little person will be.  Deep down I know it’s not that big of a deal.  It is just a name.  I’ve done it before, and it worked out well.  We love DoodleBug’s name.  Still, I’m struggling.

Family names?  Mildred.  Boyer.  Lois.  All too old-fashioned.  I mean, I’m a traditional-kind-of-name girl, but those are just a little too…stuffy.

And then there are the names that past students have ruined forever.  Amber.  Alyssa.  Natalie.  Those names will forever belong to those girls…and not in a good way.

It’s a complex process for me.

The little therapist who lives in my head (Anybody else a member of this little club?  I believe membership is free after you’ve been to actual therapy.) says that even if I found “THE” name, I still wouldn’t be able to commit.  I suppose she’s right.  Once we pick a name, it all becomes a little more real.  Somehow, even with the baby paraphernalia blanketing the house and Baby Girl kicking inside my ever-growing stomach, I manage to  live in denial about the change that is coming.  My girlfriends with two kids tell me it’s a familiar feeling – you are so busy with life, the second pregnancy ninja-sneaks by you, until BAM!  You’re holding a newborn in your arms and repeating the words “gentle, please” so often they have lost their meaning.

Am I ready for this to be real?  I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, seeing as Baby Girl is doing this:

 

The reality is that avoiding naming her isn’t keeping her from existing.  I so want her to exist, but I’m terrified at the same time.  So, I’m gonna take a deep breath, accept that this is scary and new (and that’s okay), and pick a name.  I can do this.

p.s.  How hot are the sweatpants?  I mean, really.  My belly pics just keep getting sexier and sexier.

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Guest Post!!! Join me over at Butterfly Confessions!

15 Aug

A’Driane from Butterfly Confessions and I met in the #ppdchat mamas group on Facebook.  In the months we’ve gotten to know each other online, I’ve come to see her as an optimistic, caring woman who wants to be so much to so many.  She’s honest, both with others and herself, which is a rare trait to find in a friend.  And her outgoing personality explodes through my twitter stream every morning as I drink my decaf.  I’m so excited to share what we’ve been cooking up.  A’Driane asked me to guest post a while ago, so instead, we are swapping guest posts, each writing in response to a photo prompt – a picture I snapped in a garden next to Arlington City Hall.    I’m honored she asked me to write for Butterfly Confessions and hope I can live up to the task. 

Won’t you please join me over at Butterfly Confessions?!  And be sure to check out her Self-Love Saturday posts, dedicated to self-esteem and self-improvement!

A tree stands in a garden, nestled between stone buildings of importance and dignity.  Reaching out from a small patch of green near a brick pathway,  its branches twist and turn in a ragged, unrefined manner.  The bark, speckled with spots of white, reveals its age.

This tree did not choose its lot in life.  If it had, surely it would have chosen a larger pasture, one which isn’t hidden in shadow most of the day.  A field, perhaps, filled with flowers and fed by sunlight and gentle rains.  Instead it was planted where even basic needs would be a struggle to fulfill….

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