I'm a stay-at-home mom of two living outside of Atlanta. I like to dabble in music, art and writing although I'm usually too exhausted to partake in these activities at the end of the day. I hope blogging can help get these juices flowing!
I wrote the most soulful, harrowing, genuine, clarity-filled post I had ever written.
And then I lost it.
As we prepared for our upcoming anniversary trip down here to Tulum, Mexico (where I sit at this very moment, absorbed in a tropical beach-dream come true), I had been planning to write this particular post. I meant to put aside time writing it way before we boarded the plane, as my anticipatory fear of flying often starts months in advance. Yet the busyness of life intercepted, and it wasn’t until we were strapped into our seats on the plane that the words began to breach the dam.
I took my raw fear, that had moved suddenly from anticipation to staring me straight in the eye, and I began. With my phone and my two small but mighty thumbs, the words billowed out, filling the tiny screen.
From the startling moment of the jet-engine’s deafening start, to the pure surrender of the moment of lift-off. From when I closed my eyes and said my most earnest prayer for safety and the ability to be able to hug my children again. From the moment when peace triumphantly emerged as I was taken back by the beauty that was displayed out my window at 30,000 feet…I captured it all in my complete narrative. For the entire two hours of the flight, I wrote.
I described in gritty detail, the effects of panic that my body feels when I am traveling in an airplane. The moment when the doors close and the white flag is waved. When the pilot announces that there will be turbulance and my breathing seizes up. When I am in the midst of turbulance and my nerves catch fire and my body is frozen with fear and lack of control, and the epiphany and relief that I have when I surrender to that control. When I let my role be one of traveler and leave the flying and controlling up to the pilot. When I realize that maybe the fact that I have gotten to have a tiny snack and a ginger ale while writing and listening to Band of Horses all while simultaneously not having to move a damn muscle can actually be seen as relaxing instead of terrifying. When I realize that my husband, who is snoring hard next to me after two margaritas and a couple episodes of Portlandia, handles this flying business way better than me, so why aren’t I doing that??
Whatever I said, it was good. I felt it. It was raw and in the moment; a front row-seat inside the inner workings of my brain when faced with one of my biggest fears. I felt the landing-gear machinery opening, and I quickly gave the writing a once-over. It didn’t even need more than a word or two of editing. It was good.
I had known the title for months. Learning to Fly. Flying has played such a big part in the story of my anxiety. It was time to give it the spotlight.
Done. Title ready, photo of a plane, easy. Effortless and satisfying. Like a good meal at a restaurant. Only thing left to do is pay the bill.
When you spend time searching for moments of creative inspiration and then suddenly it happens, where everything falls in to place, when an idea lands in your hand with ease and grace, waiting for you to make it your own, you treasure it. It is a special thing. Like a creative birth of sorts. A thing of beauty. If you fail to grab onto the idea, however, it is gone; it will flutter on until it lands on another willing soul, ready to give it a life of its own. It’s a delicate, fleeting process.
We will be deboarding soon. I have to hurry to tidy up and make sure I haven’t left anything on the plane. So, I hit publish.
An important thing to remember when you are traveling to a foreign country, is that the internet is not a given. And when you choose to do your writing exclusively on an internet-based blogging site, you most certainly need an internet connection, of which I did not have. But in a hasty, hurried moment, I hit publish. And although I missed the entire message that was given next, I know that it most definitely contained the word error.
And then all was lost.
When you create something, anything of originality, you realize the inability to duplicate it, at least without its original copy, that is. There will always be a first creation of something, and you need that evidence as a blueprint before it can be copied. A re-creation can be attempted, of course, but it will never be the same as the original.
As I walked through the Cancun airport, excited about vacation and yet sick to my stomach with the loss of my words, I thought about trying to re-write it from memory. We did have a 90 minute shuttle ride, plenty of time to start over, right? But the moment was clearly lost. The ideas, the words, the emotions, had clearly passed. I had to move on, let it go.
It was hard. It sounds so silly, to be so upset about the loss of something so seemingly trivial. But to me, it was important. When you feel that you can better explain your life in words, when you can shine a bit of your soul this way, it is a piece of you. You cherish it. For some, it is how you best show your true self to others. It is a genuine piece of your heart.
A piece of my heart that will never be recovered.
But then I started to think (as I often try to spin things into the positive), maybe those words weren’t meant to be read. Maybe those words were just for me. I had documented every moment of my journey through my fear of flying, and had come through with flying colors (hehe). The words had served as a catalyst, as a trusted guide, holding my hand, leading me through the thick cloud of fear. My words gave meaning to my emotions, laid them out, exposed them to the light. And we all know that fear cannot survive beyond the shadows.
My words carried me through one of my most feared moments. Although I had wanted to share them with others, to bridge a connection for others who share a fear of flying, it was apparently just not the right time. There will be other times, though.
At least I can rest in the fact that my words were there for me when I needed them. They guided me through a difficult time and remain forever in that moment. A moment no longer captured in words, but in memory. A moment where fear came and went like a passing cloud outside the jet window. A moment not meant for anyone but me, as I triumphed over my fear in quiet victory.
The words are gone, never to be captured again, but the experience, the progress, it remains. Every single step taken towards freedom from fear leaves a lasting impression in my mind, a footprint in concrete.
For this reason, I know that I have lost nothing, but gained everything.
Okay. I think I’ve made my peace. Time to get back to some vacation time. And cross your fingers that I don’t lose this post too; I don’t think I could take it. At least I still have Mexico. It’s not such a bad consolation prize.
I hesitated to write this post at first, but as I shuffled around speed-cleaning the house, the thoughts kept bubbling up, the words wanting to burst out of my head. So here I am, typing away instead of weeding through my children’s clothes to find the things they’ve outgrown (like I had planned). But as I’ve learned in my renewed love affair with writing, you can’t ignore a surge of inspiration. Poor Jack may end up sporting a crop top when he goes to put on that 4T shirt later, but at least I managed to purge my thoughts.
I’d been thinking about a phrase I’ve used lately, and frankly, too infrequently in the past. It’s a bit off the cuff, especially for me (a generally straight-laced, mild-mannered individual), but if something works for you, you go with it.
My husband had an outpatient procedure the other day that I had to accompany him to, and was also required to drive him home from. The hospital is a good distance from us, so I anticipated having to take the interstate home. I tried to avoid circling my thoughts around this too much, reminding myself that I’ve been successful lately with my highway driving, so this would be no different, right?Someone else was nervous too!
Two things that worried me, however; it was 8:30 am, smack in the middle of morning rush hour in metro Atlanta, and I had an adult passenger. Sure, it was just my husband. But much of my driving anxiety started with him as a passenger, so there are some pretty deep associations present when he’s in the car. Poor guy, he thinks it’s all his fault. Anyway, I briefly toyed with the idea of taking the back roads, but we had been up since 5 am, and we were ready to get home. So I put myself on auto pilot and headed for the highway.
I haven’t touched much on my social anxiety, but it plays a big factor in how my other anxieties and phobias are affected. As a people-pleaser and chronic “nice” person, you constantly worry about what other people think of you. You would rather die than ever burden anyone with your issues, so you bury your emotions. You constantly crave acceptance, so you only want to show the most acceptable side of yourself. All of this “acting” and pressure to be perfect can further contribute to anxiety by blocking any and all outlets of stress relived by showing genuine emotion. I am constantly putting pressure on myself not to fail (although I’ve drastically improved at this lately) by avoiding my real feelings and hiding behind this perception of having it all together. The “fear of man”, that I have referenced in an earlier post, carries an uneven, unhealthy amount of weight in my life.
When I’m worried about trying to drive without having a panic attack, and then you throw the social anxiety on top of it, you end up with a Double Stuff Oreo of anxiety. Not sure if this is the best metaphor, as I love me some Double Stuff Oreos. So maybe an over-flowing trash can of anxiety? Whatever works here.
Anyway, I’m driving along for a bit, while my husband is in a post-anesthetic coma but managing to make work calls, and all of a sudden, I start to feel my chest tightening up. When you start to panic, you can feel as if you don’t have enough air (this can eventually lead to hyperventilating, which ironically, is the effect of taking in too much air), and I falsely sense the oxygen thinning. I deepen my breaths and try to let the calm wash over me. I start to notice the alarming amount of cars around me, and my body stiffens at the thought of being trapped. I hang out in the far right lane for a while, giving myself an exit strategy just in case I need to pull over. I don’t worry much anymore about having to pull over with my husband in the car, as I’ve done it many times with him in the past and he has learned to be understanding. But I still have my pride, and I force myself to push through this impulse, knowing that I’ve faced this challenge before. Still, with every approaching exit sign I have the urge to give up, to take the comfortable route. My thoughts are circling again, the doubt is surfacing. My body is stiff, my chest is tight, I struggle to get enough air in, or so it feels.
Am I going too slow? Are people getting annoyed with me? Can I pass this person or will I panic if I’m in the middle lane? Will my husband be disappointed if I exit now? Will I be disappointed? Can I make it home?
Worry. Doubt. Fear.
I feel the words in my head causing physical symptoms in my body. The pressure to please. The lies of fear. The dialogue with my a-hole brain that has held me back from a full life…from freedom.
Then I remember; I have the power. It’s within me. I can talk back to my a-hole brain. It will not control me. So I fire back at it.
Who gives a shit?
You laugh, I know. This is not how I usually talk. But this is how I should talk to my a-hole brain. I mentioned in an earlier post that I needed to talk to myself more like a friend, but my a-hole brain is not my friend. It is an intruder, an annoying, trouble making creep who’s taken up residence in my brain. I spend so much energy being nice to everyone around me, but I cannot keep being nice to the a-hole. I can’t keep entertaining its thoughts and resume a passive stance.
I say this phrase silently, in my head. As soon as the words take over, the fear melts away, almost instantly.
I’m driving too slow and this might annoy people. So what?
I might panic if I switch lanes. Who cares?
I might disappoint others or myself. Who gives a shit?!!
I hardly ever curse. Not that I’m against people who do, it’s just not my thing. Unless I’m trying to learn a new sport. Then you might happen to hear a few choice words. The first time I tried to ski with my husband (who is one if those natural athlete-type people and therefore infuriating to the athletically challenged, like myself) I cursed like a sailor and at one point proceeded to throw a ski pole. But cursing at fear and doubt can be incredibly powerful, not to mention therapeutic. This is not me, but its pretty much what I look like on a ski slope.
I know some of you are like, this is how I think all the time, no big deal. To you I say, more power to you. Way to be resilient and confident and unaffected by the messiness of life. Not that you don’t care, but you know when to say when. You know when to stand up for yourself. For those of you like me, who care too much, who worry about everything, who can’t imagine upsetting anyone, we need some more curse words in our lives. Just stick them in your back pocket and pull them out when the too much is starting to paralyze you. Don’t feel bad about it. Don’t think you are disappointing anyone by using the power of a word. Okay, so do use your best judgment here, of course, but when talking to yourself, let it go. No one is in your head but you. You won’t offend a soul by silently cussing out the thoughts that shouldn’t be there in the first place. Go to town, my friend.
It’s truly amazing, the power of words. Words can knock you down, but just as quickly build you back up. They can hurt but they can heal. When weakness envelopes you and fear tries to trick you into imminent failure, reach into that back pocket and pull out the words that will fight back. It doesn’t have to be anything dramatic, of course. You may simply shout NO!!! STOP! when defeating thoughts begin to surface. Whatever works for you.
Of course, one of the most important things I’ve learned on my journey with anxiety and panic, is that you don’t want to stop the actual attack. When panic is coming on, it’s important to let it come, and not try to stop the actual event of a panic attack. Thinking you can stop a panic attack, and desperately trying to stop it, has the counter-effect of making it worse and more intense. But changing our thoughts in the moment is the key here.
For example, if I’m riding along worrying about a handful of things while driving on the highway in a heightened state of sensitivity, there’s a huge difference in saying “No, I cannot panic. Please don’t panic. I’m so scared that I will have a panic attack. Oh no, here it comes!!” and “Who cares if I panic? Here comes a wave of panic now. I will be just fine. It will be uncomfortable and I don’t like it, but who gives a shit? It will pass and life will go on. No one cares if I panic.” Can you pick out the better way to talk to yourself in an anxious situation? Which one is more forgiving? Which one gives you room to breathe and let go?
In the past when I would start to panic and freak out in front of my husband, he would tell me to “ride the wave”. Of course, at the time I would just get mad at him and tell him he didn’t understand. As it turns out, however, he was right (cue eye-roll). The wave of panic will come, and like any wave, you cannot stop it. It has to gradually grow, crest, and break. To prepare for this, we must learn the best way to ride the wave of panic. It will be uncomfortable, unpredictable and hard to control, but we can do our best to steady our boards and ride it out until the water eventually becomes smooth again. More waves will come, yes, and some will be bigger than others. We may be scared and unsure. But we become better riders with practice. We learn to lean into the waves and our ride becomes smoother. We are better prepared if we get tossed into the surf. We ride it out and know that eventually we will reach the safety of the shore.
It takes so much practice. That’s the scary part, starting the practice. But it can make all the difference. Don’t give your fears too much material to work with. Belittle them and they will slowly fade away. If you don’t care about them, they won’t care either. Neglect your fears and they will not survive. Don’t let them back you into a corner; just walk right past those fears and don’t give them a second glance.
I hope you care enough about yourself to not give a shit. Not when it comes to believing the lies fear throws at us. Not when our thoughts make us think less of who we are. You are too important to put up with that.
What will you say to your fear? I hope whatever it is, it’s not very nice. Frankly, I hope it has something to do with going to hell.
Okay, you can wash my mouth out now.
The soap may taste bad, but the freedom tastes oh so good.
I started doing these a while ago and they just kind of tapered off, but I think it’s time to bring it back. One- because it will force me to write more. And two- because we should always find a reason to celebrate the things that make us happy. So here is my list for this week!
1.FALL!!!!! I feel like I was just celebrating the start of summer. But all of a sudden, fall is upon us. I know I mentioned that summer is my jam. I could also say the same about Fall (although I’m pretty sure the start of any new season is the best, really). It’s been a really hot summer here in Atlanta, and in fact, the first technical days of Fall were equally as hot. But a couple of days ago, the switch flipped and now it finally feels like fall. The crisp, cool air, the clear blue skies, the leaves starting to fall ever so slightly…I just want to eat it up! Throw in football, pumpkin everything, mums, Fall Festivals, apples, sweaters, leggings with cute boots and I’m smitten. The other day I made my Target run, and instead of just walking out with the birthday gift and milk that I intended to get (of course), I walked out with a Halloween sign, the cutest fabric pumpkin, a glittery bat garland, a cinnamon scented candle, and a fabulous gold pumpkin pillow. That pillow almost made the Happy List by itself I love it so much. I know we (and I’m talking to you, ladies) make fun of ourselves for going into Target and getting side tracked, but that seasonal decor is really just too much fun to ignore. So in another month when I’m tirelessly sweeping leaves off my porch and whining about how annoying it is to get my kids to put on coats and socks, I will try to remember all the reasons why I love Fall. Target seasonal section, you will always be one of those reasons.
2. Child’s Pose. I started doing yoga a few years ago. When people learned about my anxiety, they were all, “why don’t you try yoga?” and all I could think was how anxiety-provoking it would be to try to do all those fancy hard-to-pronounce moves in front of a room full of strangers. But somehow, I found BeYoga on the Marietta Square and I was in love. And, they offered a workshop for beginners!!! That really helped with the first-time jitters. Turns out, I love yoga. The stretching, the breathing, the mindfulness. Great for your body and mind. Score. But child’s pose, man, that is the best. You sit on your knees, slightly spread apart, bring your head to the floor and stretch your arms out long on the ground, and breathe. If you’ve never tried it before, I’m begging you, just do it…and get ready to say ahhhhhh.
3.La Croix. I always wondered how anyone could drink barely flavored sparkling water. I didn’t see the point. I don’t know if there’s some magic age where sparking water suddenly becomes glorious but I guess I must be close because by-golly, all of a sudden I’m an addict. I am constantly hitting up the Costco for 24 cans of bubbly goodness. So cold, so refreshing, so barely-flavored. Which, apparently, is now my thing. If only I could figure out how to pronounce it. French class, you have failed me.
4.The Beach. The beach could be an entire Happy List by itself. We recently made the trip down to Ft. Walton Beach, FL (the trip where I drove us home by myself!!!) a couple of weeks ago, and it was the best time. The weather was unbelievable, and the kids are at this magical age where they finally posses a decent amount of independence while still managing to be innocent and cute. We all enjoyed each other’s company. One notable perk of the magical age is staying up later without totally falling apart the next day, so we enjoyed more than one sunset on the beach and our fair share of night swimming (which always feels like a huge adventure for the kids). All of this while Jason and I could sit back with a cocktail and reminisce about surviving the good old days of swim diapers, beach tents and pack-n-plays. I think I finally made a family vacation believer out of him.
5.Football. If you are born and raised in the South, you have probably seen a football game or two. Game Days are considered to have their own culture in some aspect. Being a Georgia native, I am a UGA Bulldog and an Atlanta Falcons fan (two teams that have broken many hearts during my lifetime), and I love everything about football Saturdays and Sundays (or sometimes, Thursdays and Mondays). Planning your team color coordinated outfit, meeting up with friends and family, tailgate food, marching bands, and finally, the roller coaster ride that is the actual game. Every game is like watching a movie, the drama unfolds before you, in real-time; sometimes your heart explodes with excitement and other times you are left jaw-dropped with shock and disbelief. This past Saturday was no exception as the Bulldogs lost in the final seconds to the Tennessee Vols. There were just no words. But that’s the name of the game. You cannot predict every outcome. Win or lose, I still love this game.
6.Campfires. Okay, so maybe we weren’t exactly camping, but we did set up a nice little cheapie fire pit in the backyard. With the fall temperatures finally cooling off, we were able to have our first fire the other night. We carefully searched for the best sticks and roasted marshmallows. We threw leaves and pine straw into the fire and marveled at how fast they shriveled up. We practiced outrunning the smoke as it shifted with the breeze. My son became a little too obsessed with lighting things on fire, so eventually we had to call it quits. Also, I made the mistake of buying the bag of jumbo marshmallows, which resulted in my children resembling some sort of human fly paper. Despite the stickiness, I’m predicting many more backyard pow-wows in the future.
7.Starbucks. Okay, okay, I know there are a million cute mom and pop coffee shops that I could mention that make me happy, but there is just such a comfort in the reliability of a Starbucks. If there’s ever an hour or so to spare in my day, I know at least 3 Starbucks nearby that will be waiting with my Chai Tea Latte, free wifi, and a tiny little spot for me to just sit and be. I went this morning to do some work (making the class directory for Allie’s preschool class is serious work, people!!!) and again I was amazed and how dang happy it made me just to sit in a Starbucks with all the mature, well-dressed business folk (and a few other stragglers donning t-shirts and yoga pants, like myself) and just chill. There’s nothing like pounding away freely on my laptop while the echoes of verbal chatter and the hiss of steaming milk fill the air. I saw a sign today that they’re going to start serving beer and wine in the evenings?!! Really? As if I don’t loiter in there enough, now I am going to be enticed to stay straight on through until night-time now that I can enjoy a glass of Pinot and a cake pop simultaneously. Might as well just keep an overnight bag behind the counter.
8.Apple Slices and Caramel Dip. Makes me happy. The end.
9.The Sunrise. With the days becoming shorter, we are waking up before the sun. Which means we are catching quite a few sunrises these days. I know I mentioned the sunset as being up there with my top favorite things of all time, but a sunrise is just as magnificent, if not more so. There’s such beauty in the beginning of something, and it’s hard to compete with the wonderment of a new morning. Plus, I have witnessed significantly less sunrises (or at least purposely sat and watched one) than sunsets, so the rarity alone adds to the awe of the event. Some of my most memorable sunrises… on the beach in Cancun, Mexico, during spring break in college (oops, we never went to bed!), early mornings when I lived in Breckenridge, Colorado (you couldn’t actually see the sun, but the way it lit up the rocky mountain peaks across the valley, in a blazing splendor of orange light, was one of my fondest memories), and sitting on the rocky cliffs overlooking the Pacific during our honeymoon in Kauai, HI (thanks to the time difference we were up extra early to enjoy a few of those). I look forward to many more of these quiet, magnificent moments that come with each new day.
10.People. I realize that this can be a subjective topic. Do I really like all people? I can’t say that I do. Especially if you ask me while in the Costco parking lot at lunchtime, in Atlanta rush hour or on Black Friday. But for the most part, I believe that all people are generally good and have goodness somewhere in their hearts. Yes, there is evil in the world. But let’s not focus on that now. This is a Happy List, by all means. What fascinates me about people, is that what you see is usually not ever what you get. Heck, I am a testimony to that fact. I am always curious about the story that everyone carries with them. So much so, that sometimes I feel compelled to ask complete strangers about their life story (from which I always refrain, for fear of looking like a complete lunatic). The people who intrigue me the most are the ones who seems to be suffering, the ones with frowns on their faces, who are lashing out at the world. What are their stories? Where is their source of pain? Okay, so maybe the guy honking at me in the Costco parking lot isn’t on my list of favorite people, but there’s still a tiny sliver of compassion for him buried beneath my irritation. For just like you and I, he has a unique perspective. There’s a story beneath it all. No one person in this world is the same, and that is a beautiful, amazing thing. People are the glue that hold our world together, and we have a responsibility to each other not only to respect our differences but to celebrate them. We as humans have a unique and powerful ability to influence our world, and if we can leave a legacy of any kind, I pray that it is one of peace and unity. People make me happy only when they are doing their best to be good-hearted people. Good, not to be confused with perfect, but good, decent, loving people. Even those who seem distraught or coarse can be hiding a pure, but broken heart under a tangled mess of sadness and despair. So before you discount the weary, the broken and disheartened, get to know them as people. Listen to their story. Little by little, you will start to see the happy in their hearts. And I guarantee, by taking to time to listen, you will feel the happy in your own heart growing too.
I haven’t blogged as near as much as I’ve wanted to, and besides lack of time (or reaching for the glass and wine and a blanket instead of the laptop) there’s really no good reason not to be writing more frequently. I’m beginning to think, however, that this pesky little perfectionist in me may have something to do with it.
I keep waiting for the perfect thing to write about, edit it a hundred times, and then finally put it out there. When it’s perfect. Didn’t I promise transparency, though? Didn’t I tell you to give yourself grace and embrace your imperfections? Looks like I need to start taking my own advice.
I started following a blog recently, and the author posted a new goal of trying to blog everyday. Everyday! I can barely put make-up on everyday. Today I didn’t even get dressed until almost 11am (not that I wasn’t super productive though…it’s amazing how many household chores you can get done in your pj’s! And thank goodness no one can see my glorious outfits in morning carpool line!!).
I’ve accomplished some pretty noteworthy things in the past few months, and I have hardly written a thing about them. Why?! Part of me thinks no one really wants to read about it. That’s the other pesky friend in my head, the low self-worth one. She’s just hanging out up there with little Miss Perfect, having a cocktail and scheming away and how to rob me of a full, content life. Sorry ladies, time for last call.
In the spirit of celebrating my accomplishments, I am determined to write about my drive yesterday. I took the longest drive with the kids I’ve ever done…7 hours from Destin to Kennesaw by myself. BY MYSELF!!!!! As I traversed those long, seemingly endless stretches of highway, I thought, I need to blog about this! Yet those snarky frenemies in my head started inflicting doubt. It’s just a boring drive. Why would people want to read about that? People drive all the time. They don’t want to read about it.
So I didn’t take to the keyboard, although I was fresh off reaching this huge goal and teeming with disbelief and pride. It was partially out of pure exhaustion that I failed to capture the moment in words…I’d driven the farthest I had been in about 10 years, and I stillhad to unpack and put the kids to bed without a husband. The wine and cozy blanket were the clear winners.
Here I am though. I’m going to write about this, damn it! Sure, my kids are yelling at me from downstairs and I should be starting dinner, but they will survive a few more measly minutes. I can at least get started and stop if they start beating each other up. Clock is ticking.
While I ruminated on whether anyone would want to read about a boring drive home from the beach, I had a thought. When I first started grappling with this anxious driving business, I was desperate for answers, advice…anything to proove that I wasn’t alone in this. Enter the smart phone. I Googled driving anxiety, then searched and searched for someone with a similar story. There were some forums here and there, some technical psychology sites, links to this and that; I did read some snip-its of similar experiences, but nothing that I could really connect with. I ended up finding an anxiety Facebook group, so I put a couple of posts out there and waited. I needed support and reassurance. The most poignant response I received was from a woman who had just started driving on the highway again, after 20 years. In my reply, I remember asking her how she did it? She mentioned that it took a great support group and lots of courage. That’s one of the trickiest parts of recovering from the grips of paralyzing fear…there’s no clear answer. No one size fits all. But we crave a sense of community, a support group of our own, for whatever we may need. We cannot do it alone.
This is why I write. Because maybe there’s that one person, who was like me 6 or 7 years ago, desperately searching for a common thread, for a link to a glimmer of hope. Someone out there needs me. More than likely, it’s several someones.
Back to the drive. I have said for years, one day I want to be able to drive my kids to the beach. It has been a goal for so, so long. I really am still in disbelief that I actually did it. I’m like that though, slow to react; I kind of go into shock until reality sets in. Anyway, the opportunity kind of just presented itself unexpectedly.
We took a family trip down to Ft. Walton Beach, right outside of Destin, FL. I was so excited that Jason could finally join us; he is so hard to pin down with his work schedule. When we arrived I realized that it was booked until Monday, and we had planned to come back Sunday. By the time Saturday evening rolled around, Jason made a suggestion; what if he flew home (he had an international flight he had to catch the next day) and I drove the kids home? Then we could stay an extra day.
Could you do it? he asked.
Pause.
This is where the fear wants to control you. You hesitate, you start to make excuses, you try to find every reason not to face your fear. Jack has school. I really miss my bed. I don’t know if the kids can ingest another meal of popcorn shrimp. But I knew better. Here was an opportunity. Not only to extend our wonderful, priceless family time, but to practice. To take the fear head on. I did not pause for long this time.
Yes.
Yes! Challenge accepted. Was I really going to do it? Then Jason went ahead and booked his flight. It was done. I was in.
Yes. This is why we needed another day.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t even that worried. Usually, the anticipatory anxiety would fester and build until I was a hot mess of nerves. But we just enjoyed our last day of glorious beach vacation time, sipped frozen drinks while our kids played in the pool (side note: the day when both your children can swim unassisted in a pool is AH-MAZING!!!), Jason flew out, I enjoyed another frozen pool drink, we watched the sunset from the beach, swam until dark, ordered a pizza, and called it a day. I even slept like a rock. It wasn’t until the next day that my nerves started acting up on me.
Looking back, I think that packing the entire condo up into the truck while you are alone with two kids and a dog was maybe more annoying than the entire drive, but thanks to the trusty old iPads, I got the job done. So we all strapped into the F150 (Jason’s car, since mine was at home) and I started taking deep breaths. This is it. I have to do this.
I find necessity to be a very helpful motivator. There was only one way home, and I was it. But I was nervous. I adjusted my seat belt. I entered the address in Google Maps and dissected each possible route. I ate a protein bar. Mom, I’m ready to go! My son was clearly not in the mood for stall tactics. Time to go.
I decided to take a different way then how we came in, really only for old time’s sake. Back in high school and college I could drive to Destin with my eyes closed, we came down so many times. I can still see myself, driving in my white ’88 Honda Accord, windows down, music blasting, usually a best friend or two riding along. I used to put the car in cruise control and drive Indian-style, for goodness sakes. Please Lord don’t let my kids ever do that. There were no smart phones, no navigation systems; it was just me, a road atlas and a Sony Walkman CD player that would play through the stereo via cassette tape. Free as a bird (and probably listening to Free Bird).
So I started on the route, reminiscing over familiar sights and smells, noticing changes here and there, but mostly enjoying the scenery.
Until I came to the bridge.
The Mid-Bay Bridge seemed familiar, I’m pretty sure this was the route we used to take into Destin back in the day. These days, however, bridges are not my friend. As part of my anxiety I suffer from agoraphobia, which is a fear of being trapped or stuck in an enclosed space. A bridge leaves no room for error. I must maintain complete control and competence on a bridge.
There was a girl in college with me that was deathly afraid of bridges. I was with her once when she had to cross a bridge, and people had to literally hold her hand to help her across. I remember thinking that was crazy. How could you be scared of a bridge? I know now. I think of her all the time. Crazy how things can change.
I glance at the navigation map…wow, that’s a long bridge. I must maintain myself for how long? The impulsive thoughts come quickly…should I turn around? Should I reroute? Can I pull over if I need to? Can I do this?!
Yes. I can do this.
It is not a walk in the park. I take deep breaths. I try to control the AC so that it’s just perfect. I prepare to be uncomfortable. And then…I’m driving over the bridge. Guess what? I just go with it. Then, I turn the moment from dread into complete wonderment.
Look at the water guys! (They are engrossed in the iPads at this point) Put your iPads down!!! Look at the sailboat! Look at that pelican on the pole! Say goodbye to the ocean, guys!
This is the good stuff. The good that is happening in the moment. I declare the goodness out loud, and flush away the negative. Then, just like that, we are over the bridge.
Getting over that bridge seemed to be the push I needed to make it through the rest of the trip. After that, it was smooth sailing. The small highways didn’t look all that familiar; I’m pretty sure there were some new ones built in the 15 years since I’d driven down here. There were some pretty sketchy, remote areas (at one point the road didn’t even register on the map), but most of the route was straightforward. In the past I never had anxiety about being lost; I always considered myself having a decent sense of direction. We drove through a couple of rain storms, had to let the dog out to pee on the side of the road, then Jack had to go (which resulted in stepping in an ant hill, which he was quick to brush off, but then decided he would stick it to the ants by peeing on them). We hit up two Love’s truck stops (which were eerily similar and packed with way too many tempting kids toys), stuffed our faces with McDonalds and Pringles. We listened to Katy Perry on repeat (per Allie’s request) and laughed at Bear when he got his head stuck in the Happy Meal box scavenging for rogue french fries. Jack had a timer set on his phone to track how long it would take us to get home, but he still kept asking.
Mama, how many minutes are in 2 1/2 hours?? After many appeasing answers, I finally responded with, I can’t do math in the car.
On I-10Off the map!She wore this the whole way home. My hero.
We actually had a decent time. The kids were great. Again, thank you Apple. We had a lot of laughs. I had a lot of time to think. I sang a lot of Katy Perry. But what I didn’t have a lot of, was fear.
Every mile, every second, every hour, was another step. A step towards freedom. I was building on this experience and coming out stronger because of it.
I did stall again, however, as I approached I-85. What had been simple, two lane divided highways for most of the trip were bound to end once we inched closer to downtown Atlanta. I stopped at the end of the smaller route 185 to get gas, clean out the car, let the dog pee…putting off the inevitable. Unless I wanted to add an extra couple of hours to the trip, I had to push on.
So on I went. The kids were getting a bit antsy into hour 6, and I couldn’t blame them. More motivation to take the fastest route…and the most intimidating. Three lanes turned into four, five, and finally I was in the middle of the eight lane connector. This was the stuff I had only reserved for my nightmares, and all of a sudden I was slap in the middle of it. But I was calm. I had to work at it, but I remained that way. As I hit rush-hour traffic in downtown (fabulous timing, I know), I realized that I could hop over to the HOV lane (yes, I Googled it and kids do count), but it was all the way over to the left. Much like the bridge I had feared earlier, the left lane is not my friend either. But I was ready to get through this as fast as I could if it meant getting home quicker. So over I went.
The big, scary connector up ahead.At least Bear is relaxed!
I got some dirty looks (at one point I rolled the windows down so the kids were a bit more visible), but the HOV lane sped my commute up immensely. Next thing you know, I’m on 75 north, cruising with the rush hour crowd like it’s no big deal. I got this. I pull in the driveway and want to kiss the ground. Home. I’m exhausted. The car smells like stinky dog, sweaty kids and chicken nuggets. But we made it. I did it.
If the me from 6 years ago could read this, I’d be in shock. I wouldn’t believe it. It would be impossible to fast-forward through years of crippling fear and doubt to realize that a moment like this could exist. But what that younger, more fearful, broken me would see, is that there is hope. That fear does not win in the end. The the steps are small and painfully slow. Sometimes there will even be steps backwards, but there is hope in the end. There is always hope. No one can get you there but yourself, but you also cannot do it alone.
I met with a friend not long ago who specializes in natural healing and helps patients with anxiety, and had overcome it herself. As I explained the many outlets and paths I had been taking to find an answer somewhere out in the universe, she said something that will always resonate with me.
The answer is in YOU. You have everything you need right there, inside you.
I finally believe her. I knew she was right, even then, but like all things in life, sometimes it takes the gift of time and wisdom to see what’s right in front of us…what’s been within reach the entire time. One day, I promise, you will be able to just reach up and grab it. And when you do, hold on. Hold on tight.
And by all means, freaking celebrate it.
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Starting a post at 11:30pm is never a good idea, but inspiration is not known for being timely. So here I go.
I’ve been thinking all day about this friend I know.
It’s not a new friend, but it’s someone I haven’t treated like a friend lately. Or ever, perhaps. I started thinking about her this morning.
We had some family in town, and I was doing my best to be a gracious and put-together hostess (even though these were probably the easiest-going house guests one could ever have). So, of course I was worried about the normal hostess things like my house being a mess and what do I offer them to drink and shoot, sorry I’m out of regular coffee, now you won’t be able to function thanks to me. I do love having people in my house, don’t get me wrong. But I have major performance anxiety about it. I’m always second guessing myself in this situation. Am I entertaining them enough? Am I leaving them alone enough? Do my towels smell clean? I’m so judgemental of myself in this position.
I have always felt that although I love having people over, I despise hosting. I’m not sure if this makes sense, but the only way I can untangle this thought is by guessing that since I like helping people and doing things for others, welcoming people into your home is a positive, people-pleasing move. That same people-pleasing tendency, however, can get wound up so tightly in perfection that you feel the responsibility of this pleasing business squeezing all the air right out of you.
I relayed this insecure perspective to someone the other day, while I was going on about how excited I was to have everyone over to our house in a couple of weeks for a party, but how I was already starting to get crazy-eyed over all the crap I have to do to get my house looking absolutely perfect. You’re home is so warm and welcoming! You have nothing to worry about! I went on to explain my theory of “house anorexia”: that I have a distorted image of how my house looks and it will never look good enough. This is obviously not as serious of a disorder, but it’s still disheartening. Such a shallow, first-world problem, I know. I hate even wasting thoughts on this as I read it back. But sadly, I know I’m not alone in this shallow trap of superficial suburban comparison. There’s so much good in my life, and I’m worried about my role as a domestic goddess? Tisk, tisk.
Anyway, this was all brought to light this morning as I was apologizing again to my house guest about the mess. I was in the laundry room making sure she was able to switch over her laundry okay.
Sorry it’s such a mess! I grumbled with a bit of an eye-roll.
Don’t worry about it! It’s just a laundry room! She smiled at me.
It’s just a laundry room.
I went back to put a smidge of make-up on, and ruminated over all the times I had apologized about stupid things that morning. Apologized about the coffee. Apologized about the kids being loud. About having not enough variety of breakfast food. About being a mess. About being a terrible mom for not making my kids lunches the night before (ok, so this happens pretty much every morning).
Pretty much everything I did was followed by an apology.
Why am I doing this? What am I apologizing for?! I stared at myself in the mirror for a minute. Then I stopped. I started over.
Hi there, I said to myself, silently. How are you? You look nice today! And what a great house you have! So warm and welcoming. You are so gracious to have people stay with you. You are doing a great job.
Just like that, the weight lifted. I was as light as air. I felt a pang of confidence and reassurance in my veins. Simply by being a good friend…to myself.
I know I mentioned in my last post about how thought distortions can really shape who we are in our daily lives. Our thoughts can be so deeply hidden in our subconscious, however, that it can be difficult to unmask them. But this morning they were loud and clear.
I’m not good enough. Im a failure. Im not worthy.
I didn’t just hear the words as I moped around apologizing, I felt them, heavy like a lead blanket, crushing me under it’s weight. That is, until I made my new friend.
The way we talk to ourselves is so harsh sometimes. Would you ever talk to a friend that way? Of course not! When you stop and change the perspective around a bit, it can be shockingly profound. We worry so much about pleasing others, about being a good friend, yet we go around talking to ourselves like the scum of the earth.
Take care how you speak to yourself, because you are listening.
How can such a simple concept be so difficult? No wonder I have anxiety issues; look how I talk to myself. I’m my own worst enemy, my harshest critic, bound by the chains of perfection. All the while, I’m missing out on the good. Fretting about trivial imperfections while this beautiful life is happening right in front of me.
That’s why I’m trying something new. I’m going to be a good friend…to myself. This sounds so corny, I know. But I’m not sure if I’ve ever been a friend to myself. And this is the most important friendship I think I could ever have. It’s way, way overdue.
It will take some time to build our friendship. We have a lot of ground to cover, and lots of catching up to do. But it’s time to make an effort.
This special friend is so, so worth it.
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It was a great one. We soaked up the sun, swam our hearts out, and ate our weight in popsicles. We had a blast at the beach, made memories in the mountains and out on the lake. We hit the water parks, museums and movies. The summer was hot, fast and magical.
I also can’t believe that I only blogged ONE time all summer.
Although as I mentioned in my last post, I take that as a pretty good sign. Instead of blogging away at night, drenched in fear, I was pretty relaxed. I was doing things I hadn’t done in forever, like actually reading whole books and watching TV (seriously y’all, I hardly ever watch TV anymore. It’s a steady diet of smart phone news and Facebook). It was a nice break. Of course, I’m obsessed with the summer Olympics, so now there’s more TV. I can’t think of a bigger oxymoron than watching the best athletes in the world sweat it out while I lay completely still and horizontal under my blanket on the couch. If only they gave gold medals for best blanket-wearer. I’d definitely be on the podium.
Anyway, I did accomplish some big things over the summer in terms of anxiety. I drove up to Cashiers, NC with the kids and my sister in the car, which was huge for me. Granted, it wasn’t a ginormous interstate, rather a series of small highways and crazy mountain roads. It was super uncomfortable and mentally exhausting, but I made it. The more I pushed through the discomfort and just maintained, the better I felt. Although having an adult passenger in the car makes driving harder, since the social anxiety kicks in and amplifies everything.
What if I start panicking in front of this person? Or have to pull over to calm down? What will they think of me?! How embarrassing!
It helped so much that my sister knows all about my issues, but it’s still not something that I’m comfortable with. And I was following my mom and grandmother in their car, which added even more pressure. I did have to finally pull over on the side of that curvy mountain road (at the ever convenient scenic lookout) to take a stretch and a brain break, something my first counselor taught me. Sometimes it helps to just stop and hit the reset button. Although when you’re driving it’s not practical to stop very often, especially when you have passengers. But eventually I made it, and had an incredible vacation, so mission accomplished. Another tiny taste of freedom.
Lately, I’ve been driving on the interstates more frequently, and have been able to stay on for an extended amount of time. This hasn’t happened in years. If I ever did get up the nerve to get on the highway, I’d usually only make it one exit. Going for more than one exit was such a scary idea; as soon as I passed the first exit I would automatically panic at the idea of being trappeduntil the next exit. If there was more than a mile between exits, it was game over. I became flooded with panic. Looking back I can’t believe how catastrophic this idea seemed. There is still a small impulse to pull off when I see an exit approaching, but it’s nowhere near the level of doom that I previously felt.
One of the biggest differences I’ve noticed when I practice highway driving is the decreased level of anticipatory anxiety. Back in April, when I really started tackling this thing head-on, just thinking about having to get on the highway made me shutter. I would work myself into a total frenzy from the time I left my house until I reached the entrance ramp. My nerves would just fester and burn until they were about to explode. I anticipated the worst scenarios possible; having a panic attack on the highway, losing control and crashing, injuring my children. Because of these twisted thoughts my brain totally rejected the idea of getting onto the highway at all, and this also caused physical sensations that would worsen the more I worried. Trying to control a car when your skin is crawling with discomfort and you feel like you’re having a heart attack is not exactly a good time. But after numerous practice sessions, the nerves are starting to settle. The purpose of exposure practice is to desensitize the brain and to re-train the thought patterns of fear. Ever so slowly, I’m beginning to regain control over my a-hole brain by proving it wrong.
Hey a-hole brain? Look at me! I’m driving on the highway and I’m not crashing. You were wrong. Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah!
Fear is such a liar.
So now when I choose to practice highway driving, I just get on and go without much of a thought. There’s still lots of discomfort and doubt, but the voice of fear isn’t quite as loud. Sure, the actual decision to practice is still a tough one, and maintaining a calm journey is extremely difficult, but I’m taking it nice and slow. Baby steps. Plenty of grace. I’m not ready to head down I-75 with the kids to the beach, but it’s on my to-do list.
Although the voice of fear was relatively quiet this summer, today it decided to turn itself up a notch. Up there with that fear was an equal amount of self doubt. I always try to pinpoint reasons for an increase in my doubts, but the truth is my self esteem issues run deep. I’ve always struggled with my self worth, to the point that it’s shaped much of who I am. Again, I can’t point to a specific cause of this generalization, but I recognize it as a lie. It’s just a lie that I have a hard time unbelieving.
The way we talk to ourselves is so automatic that it’s hard to tune into, let alone change. For different reasons, our genes and our environment shape our subconscious thoughts from the moment we are born. I’ve spent many years in talk therapy and I’ve come to the realization that I will never be able to trace back to a specific reason that I talk to myself the way I do, and there’s no one thing in my past to blame for the onset of panic disorder. Mental health is so, so complicated and such a conglomerate of factors, that the search to pinpoint a cause or find a cure is enough to drive you mad. In fact, I will never be completely cured. Similar to a recovering alcoholic, there’s always a chance that I will fall back into my old ways. It’s something that I will have to manage for the rest of my life.
Most people who suffer with anxiety or depression tend to have distorted thought patterns that end up leading them down this road. David D. Burns, author of The Feeling Good Handbook, uses the idea of cognitive distortions to treat his patients.Psychiatrist Aaron T. Beck was the originator of this idea, and Dr. Burns continued to research the concept and has even developed methods to alleviate negative thought patterns.
Cognitive Distortions are exaggerated or irrational thought patterns that are believed to perpetuate the effects of psychopathological states, especially depression and anxiety.
I tried to read Feeling Good. I really did. Heck, I may even pick it up tonight and try to get back into it. It’s a great resource. But it’s long and technical; there are charts and daily assignments and at some point my ADD kicks in and tells me to put it down and see what everyone is up to on Facebook.
He does, however, have a great method for getting rid of thought distortions. You have to chart your daily thoughts (specifically during anxious or depressive episodes) and trace them back to categories of thought distortion. It’s kind of like untying a knot in your negative thoughts by figuring out what distortions makes you think a certain way. Once you can straighten out your thoughts by disproving the distortion, you can recreate the thought in a positive, more constructive manner. This takes a lot of work, mind you. But if you really want to get down to the root of your problem, this is a highly successful way to do it.
I want to at least give you the list of cognitive distortions for reference purposes. I love this version of it:
When I first saw this list, I realized how many of my thoughts were distorted. It had become second nature to me to think like this for most of my life. I’ve been handed this list by many a therapist and psychologist, but I appreciate how this one includes pictures to help you remember easier. It’s like Cognitive Distortions for Dummies. There are many other lists online; feel free to search for the one that is easiest for you to understand.
Dr. Burns suggests that the way to “untwist” your negative thoughts is by keeping a Daily Mood Log, to track your thought patterns and assign them to one or more of the cognitive distortions. I also like this list of simple ways to examine negative thoughts:
The power of thought is amazing. The notion that a simple thought can shape your mood, your behavior, and your entire life is not to be taken for granted. The longer you’ve lived with distorted thoughts, the harder it is to unravel them. But it is possible. I am seeing the results ever so slowly.
In other news, I did make a few more noteworthy accomplishments this summer. I made it to the top of the lighthouse while on vacation in Saint Simons Island…man, if that wasn’t a hot, seemingly endless, claustrophobic journey. I drove up I-75 to the Tellus museum, and again on the way home, with my daughter in the car. And just today, I crawled through the penguin tunnel at the Georgia Aquarium. THE FREAKING PENGUIN TUNNEL! Have you been in that thing? It’s like two feet tall in there! But the smile on Allie’s face when I lifted her up and she saw herself surrounded by all those adorable little penguins, that just made the extra flutter of fear in my heart transform into joy. Okay, so I was also a little distracted by the two penguins that decided to mount one another right in front of me. Thank goodness Allie just found it funny that the one penguin was “jumping” on the other one. Good gravy.
To the “normal-brained” person, this list seems silly, but to me it is everything. To me it is proof that my work is paying off. Every little accomplishment gives me hope. I have so much more work in front of me, but I’m motivated. I have built up quite a collection of tools to help me, and hopefully I can help a few others along the way by sharing them along with my story.
The other night I was watching (guess what?) the Olympics, and the runners were getting ready to take their marks at the starting line. I said to my husband, Can you imagine the nerves they are feeling right now? I would never be able to do that! I would pass out!
They are trained for that, he says. They spend their whole lives training for that moment. This is their moment.
No matter what the goal is, there’s a way to get there. We are all running our own race. We train for it. We practice. We put in the work, the sweat, the tears. My race does not involve gold medals or world records, but it is a race towards my freedom. Freedom from the chains of fear. I don’t need to win, necessarily, I just want to finish strong. To be able to look back, with clear, non-distorted thoughts and know that I did my best. That the fear did not break me, but propelled me forward.
I will finish this.
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I was talking to a friend the other day about how I haven’t blogged in while. Her response was, “Well, maybe that’s a good thing?” Good meaning I haven’t had any issues with anxiety to write about lately. I was like, yeah, good point! Then she said, “I guess it’s there when you need it, right?”
Well, here I am. I need it.
This summer I’ve actually been pretty content. Besides the normal end-of-summer laziness kicking in, I’ve been in a pretty good place. I was nervous about the change in medication, but optimistic. Things were a little bumpy right after the switch; the typical withdrawal symptoms ensued, but they were a bit milder than I expected. I pushed on through and followed my schedule of introducing the new meds, weaning on as slowly as possible. I didn’t notice too many negative side-effects, and seemed to have made the transition successfully. This week, however, (week 3 since the change) has been a different story. To put it simply, my mood has turned pretty sour. In fact, today I hit the lowest of my moods in a long, long time.
I remember the last time I went through a big medication change, about 3 or 4 years ago. I was folding laundry while watching Kathie Lee and Hoda, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to jump through the screen punch them in the face. If you know me, I’m pretty sure you know I don’t ever feel like punching anyone in the face, let alone random talk-show hosts. It was so overwhelmingly irritating, and alarmed me so much so, that I ended up calling my doctor to ask if this was normal. I proceeded to tell her all of this and she laughed. “You’re probably not the only one who wants to punch them in the face.” Good point. Although, I kind of like sweet Kathie Lee and Hoda (I mean, who can’t appreciate women who get to chat and drink wine at 10am everyday? They had rainbow sangrias last time I watched them. Cheers, ladies!). Humor aside, (although I do still crack up when I think about that moment) I knew this wasn’t a normal feeling for me. Sure, I have my ups and downs, but this was borderline rage.
So I can’t completely rush to judgment after a day like today, knowing I’ve been through times like these before, but I know it needs a closer look. It’s just not typical for me to have raging mood swings. Unless you’ve threatened my children or I’m about to give birth. Please grant me a free pass there. Anyway, I’m thankful that now I can recognize when something needs to change without waiting it out too long.
Looking back on this day, I should’ve been in a glorious mood. I mean, I had 4 hours to myself today while my mother-in-law came to stay with the kids. I leisurely shopped at Banana Republic, ate lunch by myself, and got a freaking frappuccino with the whipped cream. Tough day, I know. All that and STILL I felt like I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
Red flags were waving everywhere.
I came home to my sweet babies and found that just the amount of noise they were making made me want to walk right back out the door. Just the thought of cooking dinner made me want to poke my eyeballs out. My only reprieve came in the event of slicing up a pablano pepper for dreaded dinner prep, scratching my nose, ending up with flaring, burning nostrils, and having to stick milk-soaked paper towels up them for 15 minutes. One cannot help but laugh at that scenario (in-between muffled curse words), even though it burned so badly I almost called poison control. Thank goodness for Google.
Thankfully, my hubby took over dinner duty while the kids stared at me wondering what on earth had possessed their mommy. While I mentally decided to quit and call it a day, (knowing realistically there was still a good bit of day left so sadly I could not quit) I realized that I was not having a normal response. Ok, so the burning nose called for an appropriate amount of drama. But the ungratefulness? The irritability? The hopeless sadness and emptiness I felt? No. Good. Reason.
I apologized to my husband when I finally sat down to dinner (which turned out quite tasty, even though I was still mad at those peppers) for being such a mess. He was such a sweetheart.
“I know you’re going through this medication change, babe. It may be time to recognize that it may not be working. You’ve got to make that call for yourself, though. It’s okay.”
Bless him. He has learned how to handle me and my issues so much better over the years. It’s funny, because he’s usually the moody one, and I’m usually the one that helps calm him with my steady, positive outlook and extra dose of patience. Tonight, I appreciate his ability to return the favor. He smiles at me.
Peace out, babe. I’ve got the kids.
So here I am, soaking in the bath tub, trying to cheer up. I’ve already watched a plethora of funny cat videos, but have barely cracked a smile. I mean, if funny cat videos don’t do the trick, there’s a problem.RED. FLAG.
I see you, a-hole brain. Don’t think I’m giving up without a fight.
The interesting thing is, this time it’s not so much a feeling of fear, but more of a sadness. In technical terms, it’s called depression. Although this diagnosis falls onto a spectrum. Catching it at the top end, however, is the tricky part.
I felt like the new medication was doing pretty good in terms of anxiety. I’ve noticed a little trouble catching my breath here and there, (a typical anxiety symptom) but not much in the way of panic. Feeling pretty darn calm, actually. I’ve driven on the interstate in small amounts without much of a flinch. I’ve been in social situations and haven’t noticed the usual nerves. But, I have noticed a bit more sleepiness, more of a lack of focus and motivation, and overall just feeling more drugged. Fun. But, like all changes in medication, it takes a few weeks for the effects to “kick in”. Well, this is week 3, so time to analyze. I’m thinking, no bueno.
But how frustrating is that? I spent all this time worrying about changing medications, fill 3 different prescriptions, finally muster up the courage to try one, and now I sit here in a bubble bath on a beautiful blue-sky sunny day after shopping and Starbucks and I’m still not in a good mood?? Snarl, boo, hiss, pout. I guess this is the part of the journey that just plain stinks, the part where you try something on and it just doesn’t fit. If only I could squeeze into that glass slipper and end up with the Prince Charming of mental stability. If only life was such a fairy tale.
So what do I do now? Do I go back on my old meds, that I felt trapped on, but seemed to be working ok? Do I try something new? Do I give it another week and see if anything changes ? I really, really don’t want to go through another month being a science experiment, but is there any other choice? Am I looking for answers in all the wrong places?
Looks like I’ll have some extra praying to do tonight.
On a positive note, my dark mood has given birth to newfound inspiration. I’ve been feeling uninspired in the writing department lately, and I have been pretty bummed about it. Part of my Starbucks journey was meant to be spent blogging away, happily sipping on java-chip goodness while letting the creativity flow, but it just wasn’t happening. Ok, so I was a little distracted by the teens at the next table debating politics; I mean, that was just too entertaining not to eavesdrop upon. But, I spent the good part of an hour in front of the screen with nothing to show for it. Then I left feeling so damn ungrateful and selfish for being so frustrated over nothing more than a lack of inspiration. I mean, there are people in this world dealing with grief, loss, war, trauma, poverty- real problems. And I’m sitting here drinking a $5 coffee beverage whining about feeling uninspired?? Puh-lease. If that’s the only thing I have to complain about, I should be elated.
But today, I realize that validation is less important than recognition; recognizing the warning signs of a need for change. Seeing the subtle way your feelings and emotions can slowly start to sabotage your well-being. It’s not an easy thing to see; it’s sneaky and unintentional, but having more than a decade of experience with the monsters of anxiety and depression can prep you for such an uprising. It’s tricky to find the fine line between giving yourself the grace to be in a bad mood and realizing that the mood is taking over your life. I am so, so thankful for the sense and the ability to know the difference.
And who knows, tomorrow I may wake up all smiles and giggles, and look back on today as a complete fluke. That’s the funny thing about life, we aren’t quite sure what each day will bring. We know there will be good days and bad. We are all on this roller coaster just riding it out, not sure when it will come to an end, but hoping we can say that it was the best ride we’ve ever been on. Even though there were parts that scared us to death. Even though there were parts that shook us to the core, that made us want to get off, that made us dizzy and uncomfortable.
We aren’t in control of our ride, but we can grease the squeaky wheels a bit. We can ease up on the seat belt and enjoy the breeze in our hair. We will get turned upside down, but we can enjoy the feeling when we find ourselves back upright. It’s a long ride, and sometimes the turns come out of nowhere, but sometimes we can see them coming a mile away.
There’s a turn up ahead for me. I just have to find the strength to lean on in.
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First, this senseless, incomprehensible shooting in Orlando. Then a two-year-old is drowned by an alligator at Disney World, of all places. My heart can’t take all this madness. And the social media circus that has followed is just as frightening. But I am like a moth to a flame; I get sucked in with the best of them. And it ain’t pretty.
There have been many posts defending the poor parents of this sweet 2-year-old boy, who have been judged and attacked for their “negligence”. So I guess this could count as another one. Although I’m going to take the long road to get to the point. So bear with me.
When I was pregnant for the first time, with Jack, I had a peace and calm I had never felt before. I was creating a miracle, a sweet baby boy who would love me unconditionally and make me whole. I mentioned before that my anxiety pretty much disappeared during my pregnancy. I was filled with a joy and a purpose that patched up any previous holes in my heart. I finally had someone to call my own, who promised to stay forever. Which was a huge relief for me, because I’ve lived through the opposite.
In my darkest days, while in therapy with Wendy and right before I started medication, I had a breakdown. In, fact, this was the session when, after a year of lots of talking and digging but little progress, she suggested I seek help from a psychiatrist. I really did try, I tell you.
My anxiety was so bad then that I could barely sit in her office without feeling terrified. I think I mentioned that we had to meet downstairs in a restaurant a few times just so I didn’t have to sit in there. This time, she suggested sitting in the office next to her, and maybe the different environment wouldn’t trigger any panic. Again, I really did try. I was laid out on a couch (like you would totally picture in a therapy session) trying to relax, but I was so anxious that I was shaking in my boots. Literally, I had my cowboy boots on that day. So at least I looked cute. But I was an anxious, panicky mess.
I can’t even remember what we were talking about, but somehow we got on the subject of my dad. I have an incredible, loving step-dad that I refer to as my dad, but my biological father has been estranged for about 11 years now. The last time I talked to him was on the phone, when I asked him if I could mail him an invite to my wedding. We’ll see, honey. We’ll see. And that was it.
Of course, I kind of expected that answer. After all, he had failed to produce any child support for his fourth child (from his third marriage) and he was trying to stay as low profile as possible. We always joked that if he had ended up coming to our wedding, it would have been like an episode of COPS. So of course, he was a no-show. I mean, he’s only the Father of the Bride. Sure, it was to be expected, given the circumstances. But it still hurt.
I remember getting upset about my dad when Jason and I were engaged. I was excited about marriage, but also terrified that one day he would leave. Because that’s what the men I love in my life do. They leave. There were a few nights I remember the flood gates opening up during our pillow talk (usually after a night of binge-drinking at the local bar) when I would ramble on about my fears of loving him with my whole heart and then being left in the dust. This has always been hard for me, to trust someone with my whole heart. To know that they won’t leave me. It’s easier to put my guard up and not get too close than to risk being heart broken.
Then I had a child. My resentment towards my dad really ramped up after that. How can a father leave his child? The question became even more infuriating after I became a parent. For that is probably my greatest fear of all; losing a child. But to just give up on one? To abandon them voluntarily? I was hurt and confused more than ever.
Back to Wendy’s office. Shaking in my boots. And somehow, we get on the subject of my dad. And I finally let it all go. I just don’t understand how he could leave me! I cried a terrible, organic, ugly cry right then. And I’m not much of a crier. The hurt was deep, and it finally came to the surface. Slowly, eventually, the tears dried. I stopped shaking, I calmed down, and I actually felt better. It was like an emotional cleansing.
She looked at me, with a comforting but bewildered smile. I think it would be best to refer you to a psychiatrist. Yeah, time to throw in the towel. Sweet Wendy. We tried, girl.
When you have a child, there is such overwhelming joy in your heart. You automatically love with your whole heart, no questions asked. There are no trust issues, no drama, it just IS. It is full-throttle LOVE. It is yours to keep, to cherish, to grow. But then, as big as the love comes, comes the WORRY. The realization that there are no guarantees. That it is your job to keep your child safe. The world becomes a threat. You adopt a whole new set of fears, and the stakes are higher than ever. The responsibility is stifling. You have finally given your whole-heart, and now you must be its protector.
They say when you have a child it’s like your heart has left your body and goes out into the world. That’s a pretty accurate way to describe how big your love is for your children. You would do anything for them.
You become a mama bear.
My anxiety took a turn for the worse after my little hearts were outside my body out there in the open. I was responsible for keeping these precious loves safe at all cost. No pressure.
Losing my children.
When I worry about crashing on the highway. When I travel without them. When I feel like I am dying in the middle of a panic attack. I worry about my children.
This is most likely fear number one.
And the sweet mom of the boy at Disney, I’m pretty sure it was hers too.
And of course the father, the papa bear, trying to wrestle an alligator to save his child. I can’t bear to think of what it was like for those poor parents, to watch their worst fear unfold before them. I can’t.
I also can’t believe this family has to be defended. Of course this is a living nightmare for them. We owe them our complete support and compassion and those who dare think otherwise do not know what it’s like to have your heart out there in this big world, at risk of being swallowed up at any moment. Things can happen in the blink of an eye. We do our best to keep our children safe, but there’s only so much control we have. It is the heart-breaking, terrifying truth of parenting. We as parents, as humans, should be lifting this poor family up instead of judging and criticizing. It makes me sad to think I even have to say that. Come on, people! Where is the LOVE?
Not too long ago, I was talking about my “real” dad, taking the usual bitter tone about how he doesn’t even know he has grandkids, yada yada, when my mom chimed in.
Poor Pete. He was always so down on himself. He never felt like he was good enough.
My heart opened up right then. All of a sudden, I felt like I knew him, like our hearts shared a moment. Maybe we’re more alike than I realize. Maybe instead of harboring this bitterness and hurt, I should realize that he may be hurting just as much. Maybe I should practice compassion and forgiveness instead of anger and resentment. After all, he’s living out my worst fear. He’s lost his children.
He needs love, too.
Of course, we are not completely lost. We are very much here, carrying on our beautiful, messy lives, open to reconnecting at any moment. It just takes a little bit of effort, and a whole lot of courage.
Another Father’s Day has come and gone. I celebrated my wonderful step-dad and loving husband, and had an amazing weekend with my family. Of course, I also thought of my “real” dad today. I wondered how he feels on a day like today. I can’t imagine it’s warm and fuzzy. I assume he feels loss and regret, but I only assume that because I am a parent now. And if he and I are related, I trust that he has a compassionate heart like I do. A heart that loves deep and yet doesn’t know how to show it. A heart that feels like it’s not good enough and therefore may be reluctant to try. A heart that is only human.
One of the phrase I tell my kids often is: I’m doing the best that I can. I feel that it’s important to teach them that life is hard and complicated, and all we can do is try our best. We are not perfect. We will make mistakes. But we must give ourselves grace. And more importantly, we must give it to others, too.
Unless you’re a terrorist or an alligator. In that case, the mama bears are coming after you.
Here it is! I’ve finally committed to writing about the hierarchy of fear. Let’s define a few things before we dive right in.
When you have lived with panic/anxiety disorder for while, you develop a pattern of avoidance called agoraphobia. Agoraphobia is defined as “fear of places and situations that might cause panic, helplessness, or embarrassment”. So essentially, this is the fear of fear I keep talking about.
It starts out so subtly that you don’t even realize that it’s developing, but the avoidance of fears can only last for so long. It starts to affect the way you live your life in a very limiting way. There are people who’s agoraphobia is so extreme that they become housebound. I met a lady once after college, when I was living in Florida, that had this condition, and it was the first time I had ever heard of such a thing.
What a miserable way to live! How could you be afraid to leave your house?
Little did I know that one day I would be so close to knowing that feeling. It has never been that bad for me; yes, I do prefer the comforts of home, but I like to get out of the house. There was a time when things were really bad that leaving the house was starting to feel like a threat, but luckily I intervened with medication.
When I first read about common fears that can induce panic and anxiety, I felt instantly understood.
You mean there are other people who feel like they are going to die if they sit in the middle seat in a movie theater? I’m not the only one who panics when the door closes in a meeting? Wait, I feel like I’m suffocating on the subway too!
When you develop these fears and hide them from the world, you feel like no one understands. You feel ridiculous, embarrassed, inferior. It’s terribly isolating. But you may be surprised to find that most of your fears and phobias are common and are understood by millions.
Approximately 3.2 million American adults ages 18 to 54, or about 2.2 percent of people in this age group in a given year, have agoraphobia. Specific phobia involves marked and persistent fear and avoidance of a specific object or situation.
Statistics | Mental Illness Research Association
Still feel alone? Sure you do. Better maybe, but where are all these people when you need them? It’s not like everyone’s open and understanding about it. Most people I know try to hide it or are unaware of what is actually happening to them. It took me 5 years to figure out and accept my issues. That’s a lot of time for people to walk around feeling scared and confused.
If you are one of the just plain scared and confused, you need to be proactive about treatment. There’s a difference in just being scared of something versus developing an actual phobia that changes your behavior and thought patterns. For some, a trip to a doctor/therapist is a good place to start. Maybe a tweak in your diet and exercise regiment will make a world of difference. Meditation/prayer and getting enough sleep works wonders. But we are all different, and in different stages of the game. Since I was uneducated on how to heal myself naturally, I had little success and sought medication to get a jump start on my therapy. But if you catch it early enough, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) and Exposure Therapy can be very successful in treating panic. It’s considered the gold standard among psychologists for the treatment of anxiety disorders.
Cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) is a short-term, goal-oriented psychotherapy treatment that takes a hands-on, practical approach to problem-solving. Its goal is to change patterns of thinking or behavior that are behind people’s difficulties, and so change the way they feel.
In-Depth: Cognitive Behavioral Therapy | Psych Central
Of course, the way we think influences the way we feel. Our feelings and emotions influence our perspective on fear. Changing these thought patterns can be extremely helpful. Of course, if you are deep in the emotional pit of thinking, (which is where I tend to find myself often) logical thought training can be a challenge. For me, it made more sense to start CBT after finding a helpful medication to stabilize things a bit.
Exposure Therapy is a derivative of this theory; it’s also the most challenging since it involves directly facing your fears in order to overcome them. As scary as this sounds, for me it’s proven the most successful, that is, when I can muster up the courage to practice it.
Every time I get onto the highway, I’m using the exposure therapy technique. There is a big difference in the mindset that you use when exposing yourself to your fears. When you are actively practicing exposure therapy, you voluntarily put yourself in a position to become anxious and panicky, but you are prepared to let it happen instead of resist the fear. The resistance and avoidance is what essentially feeds the panic. Letting go of resistance is key. However, you must be prepared with the right tools before you practice.
So back to your list of fears. This is one of the first steps you must take before you begin any kind of therapy. You can simply jot them down on scratch paper or use a template found online. There are different types of templates, and they vary slightly; play around with them or just make a simple 1-10 list.
You start with a general category. For me the big ones are driving, flying, confined spaces (this is very broad), darkness and crowds. Every one of these general categories that for me, has multiple sub-categories. For example, Fear of Confined Spaces could have the subcategories subways, tunnels, movie theaters, elevators, church, meetings, etc.
Once you decide which fear to start with, list each varying situation and rate them according to the scale you are using. Then, put them in order from least scariest to most. Now you have your starting point. Each baby step you take in conquering your fears is a step of success. It may feel painfully slow and cumbersome, but be patient with the process.
Again, it is important to know before you start practicing with panic that you need access to tools that will help you cope with the fearful situation. The AWARE steps I mentioned before are essential tools for riding out a panic attack. Of course there are various other tools that can help you with your anxiety in general, and I will cover those later. But for now, listing out and organizing your fears is a great start.
As you write out your fears, you may notice some of their powers instantly fading. Simply getting these thoughts out of your head and on to paper can be extremely therapeutic. Why do you think I started this here blog, people?!
You are a powerful voice in your own life. As hopeless as you may feel, you can change the way you react to your fears. Once you learn and truly start to believe that fear is a liar, that power is given back to you. It’s been there all along, you just have to learn to trust and believe it.
So write out your list. Your list of lies. I can’t wait for you to start crossing them off one by one. Cross them off and tell them to go where the sun don’t shine and never come back. Seats taken, fear. You’re not welcome here.
Summer is here! There’s a whole new list of favorite things to be appreciated. Here’s the top 10 things that made me smile this week.
1. The start of summer. Y’all know that summer is my jam. I love how life slows down and warms up. We sleep later, we stay up longer, we permanently smell like sunscreen and bug spray. Will I be this in love with summer in a couple of months? Probably not. But for now, Yes!!!
2. Elastic-waist loose shorts. Sure, my hubby thinks they look like pajamas. Heck, they are pretty darn close. But not only are they in style, they don’t squeeze my thighs until they are bursting at the seams. My current faves are $5 at the Wal-Mart. You’re welcome.
3. The baseball field. Whether you’re at your child’s little league game or the professional stadium, nothing says American summer like being at a ball field. Grab a hot dog and a cold drink and you’re set.
4. Watermelon. This red, juicy, heavenly fruit is on my favorites list for life. I ate so much watermelon when I was pregnant I thought I just might give birth to one. I especially love buying them whole and slicing them up. $5.99 at Costco people. The life span of a whole watermelon in my house is about 3 days. We are addicts.
5. Hummingbirds. Every late spring/summer, we fill up the old feeder and they come for a visit. This spring, we actually had one stuck in our garage. The poor thing was exhausted and perfectly still, which I had never seen. We managed to set it free, and it was fascinating. We love to watch them from our sitting room as they fight over the feeder, those fiesty little guys.
6. The pool. I know it can be high-maintenance with kids, (although this is finally the year no one is in a puddle jumper or a swim diaper) but when you’ve finished out the day with worn-out little ones wreaking of chlorine, it’s a darn good feeling.
7. Good neighbors. You can’t pick your neighbors, much like you can’t pick your family. So when you have good ones, it’s like winning the lottery. Friday night we lost our dog (we scared him off while shooting fireworks) and so many neighbors grabbed their flashlights and took to the streets. My one sweet dog-loving neighbor drove around with me for hours. Bear did make it back (ever so non-challantly) around 3am that morning. We are so grateful for that furry little stinker and that we are surrounded by awesomeness.
8. The Bachelorette. I know, you’re rolling your eyes. But it’s so much mindless fun. Now you know where to find me on Monday nights.
9. I feel like I haven’t mentioned enough food! How about vanilla bean ice cream? How good is it?! And what is it about those tiny bean specks?!! Delish.
10. Memorial Day. Not necessarily a happy day, given the circumstances. But a day of celebration. A day of patriotism, which always makes me tear up a bit. A day to recognize the sacrifices that have been made for our freedom. I am forever grateful.
Rerouting Life 