Author: reroutinglife

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!
Slow it Down

Slow it Down

reroutinglife

Is it just me, or is May like the new December? It’s one of those crazy months where your schedule is packed-out like a Taylor Swift concert. Between baseball tournaments, ballet recitals, musical performances, awards banquets, field days, end-of-year parties and graduations, it’s hard to find time to breathe. Yes, these are joyful occasions; priceless moments for the memory book. I’ve cried at pretty much every single sweet event. But, the insanity of May-cember can tend to add a few extra gray hairs.

I think I’ve been ready for summer for about the whole month of May. I function so much better in the slower months of summer. If you know me, you know I am a slow human being. In fact, this is probably my husband’s least favorite thing about me. He is like the energizer bunny; I’ve grown accustomed to being 10 steps behind him in almost every situation. One could beg to differ that his impatience is a match for my slowness, (now, don’t you just know that God put us together to learn a little thing called tolerance?) but the older I get, the more I appreciate this trait. What’s wrong with stopping to smell the roses? And the gardenias, magnolias, lavender, honeysuckles…

I do enjoy life in the slow lane. Except when the world wants you to go fast. 

Which is what May is to me. Fast-paced and jam-packed and just plain emotional. Things are ending, beginning…changing. All of a sudden, Jack is done with Kindergarten. My baby girl is four. I started off the year pulling my hair out trying to potty train that iron-willed girl, and now she is so independent sometimes she forgets to tell me she’s pooped. And don’t you know, parents of young children, you are nosy about their poops.

Today was the day my May-cember wave finally crested. We had Jack’s field day and end-of-the-year party today, which was actually really fun. I do love participating in all that fun stuff. As a former teacher, I do miss that fun, crazy time with the kiddos. But 5 hours in the blazing, humid Georgia sun with screaming children and a tear-jerking Kindergarten slide-show is just about enough to do you in. We headed home with strict orders for everyone to rest. Until, a friend invites us to the pool. How nice does the pool sound on this 88 degree day? Maybe just for a quick swim? But don’t forget, quick is not in my vocabulary.

After that 2 1/2 hour shin-dig, I remember that I have to eventually feed my children, so we hike home, sun-baked, chlorinated and low on fuel. Allie is whining because she’s scraped her toe in the pool, so we are moving at a snail’s pace (that mind you, is too slow even for me) and she is begging me to carry her, at which I look at her like she’s crazy since I have two bags and three pool noodles in my arms already. But how sweet that our kids think we are super heros like that.

We make it home, and knowing I have to focus my ADHD brain on dinner prep, I stick an iPad in front of the kids and try to proceed. Allie’s iPad, however, is having connection issues and she’s asking for help and again, I give her a crazy look since I have two raw chicken breasts in my hands and clearly I am in no position to put my fingers on an electronic device. “Go find your dad” is my solution. Off she goes.

I really wish I liked cooking. I actually don’t mind it when I can do it slowly, without distractions. Which I haven’t had in about 7 years.  But the whole following-directions and timing thing is a bit overwhelming for me, and my husband knows I turn into a crazy person and it’s best to leave mommy alone during the meal-making window. But alas, the kids are still needy and hungry, the trash is overflowing, and I have made the mistake of not pouring a glass of wine before the maddening dinner creating. I’m sunburned, tired, hungry and irritated. If I hear “mommy” one more time, I just might crack. You win, May-cember. 

Then I remember my meds. I am weaning off of my anti-depressant (with the hopes to try something new) and clearly this has not helped my current mood. Switching/weaning medications has never been a smooth process for me. There are withdrawl symptoms involved and when you have anxiety, these symptoms can throw you into a panic. I am more experienced and educated in what to expect, so I have learned to give myself plenty of grace during this process, but it’s still no picnic. I have actually been feeling okay, and my short temper this evening could simply be from the day’s events, but it’s worth a thought. Luckily, I remembered to brief my husband of this change so he could brace himself for whatever version of his wife was about to emerge. That sweet man, who is clearly scared by my tone of voice by now, offers to put the kids to bed. How fast can I pour my wine and hop in the bubble bath? No slowing down there.

Now I’m clean, cozy and horizontal. My sweet children are tucked in and dreaming. Things have finally slowed down. But I wouldn’t appreciate this moment so much had the day been any different. It was exhausting and crazy, but it was my crazy. We made memories and said good-byes and laughed and cried. We pouted and whined and kissed and hugged and said good night. Today was a good day.

“Today is the day that the Lord has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it” – Psalms 118:24

One of Jack’s teachers showed us a clip of her son graduating high school today:

“Don’t blink, parents!” she exclaimed.

And then I sat and cried through that sweet slideshow of my baby boy.

We can’t slow down our days. Time marches on and change will inevitably come. We can try to enjoy the present as much as possible, even when it irritates us to no end. One day we will look up and the world will be different. We will wish we could go back and just slow down. Savor every sweet moment.  That last wave of May will crash onto the shores of summer and slowly disappear, soaking in each little memory. I hope you welcome summer and its promise of slowing down. As for me, I was made for summer. But inevitably, the waves of life will come again. How I choose to ride them, however, that is up to me. 

The Happy List – Week 1

The Happy List – Week 1

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Okay, so I lied. I am not ready to post on the Hierarchy of Fears. I have been constantly swallowed up by the laundry and other ill-timed nightly chores (deciding to clean my oven at 9pm…what?!) when I should’ve been working on my research, so it’s just not gonna happen folks. Instead, I’m going to introduce you to a more light-hearted topic I call my Happy List. 

When you are in a constant ninja-battle against the monsters of anxiety and depression, sometimes it’s hard to find happiness in your day. In an attempt to celebrate the little moments of joy, I am going to compile a weekly list of the top 10 things that have made me happy during the week. This will also serve as a reminder of what to be grateful for as I trudge through life. I know I make it sound like I am in a constant state of despair when you read some of my posts, but that’s really not true (although I’ve had my fair share of dark days).  I’m generally a happy person, and I’m at pretty good place right now.  Even despite the anxiety ninja-battles. The Happy List is random and in no particular order (much like my life, ironically), but I find these little moments of happiness are what matter most. So, here you go.

The Happy List – Week 1

1. My new patio table (that replaced my old one that shattered into a million pieces).  Dear dining al fresco: we’re back!

2. Drinking coffee (half-caff of course!) out of my Mexican Mug of Happiness. Yes, that’s what I call it. I picked this little beauty up on a recent trip to Cabo with my hubby.  If only I could’ve brought back the chips and salsa. 

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3. My new laptop! Aka, my new “boyfriend”.  Finally! We are still figuring each other out. But I like him, a lot. 

4. Listening to old Dave Matthews Band albums.  Boy, does that take me back to a carefree time. “Eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die” (insert fiddle jam here). 

5. Lemon-ginger mojitos. Yummmmm.

6. Coloring with Allie in her My Little Pony coloring books, and drawing pictures with Jack. What is it about a rainbow assortment of washable markers? I do declare. 

7. Caprese salad everyday for lunch with fresh basil from the garden.  Soon to have home-grown tomatoes added.  And those fresh mozzarella cheese balls…oh my heavens. Did I mention how happy food makes me?

8. Watching my daughter absolutely loving her swim lessons (I hated them. Her teacher is a miracle worker.). Hearing her confident little voice yell, “I did it!”. Music to my ears. 

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9. Chaise lounges. Yes, please. 

10. Words of affirmation and hugs of encouragement. Bucket, filled. 

All right, first list complete! I encourage you to make your own list.  There are so many little things we have to be thankful for.  Don’t let the moments pass you by. Oh, I have to add a bonus round…while doing laundry tonight (waiting on the oven to self-clean, of course), I found $40 in my hubby’s shorts pocket!! Thank you, laundry fairy! #jackpot #mostmoneyivemadeallmonth #winning (I realize these are not actual working hashtags. But they make me happy. So there.)

 

 

 

Krystal Clear

Krystal Clear

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Yes, that’s a guy dressed up as a Krystal’s burger. More on  him later.

Despite the appreciation and love I felt over this past Mother’s Day weekend, my a-hole brain decided he missed me. He was ever so quiet, tip-toeing around in the shadows, but I saw him. That sneaky little thing. Some of those old doubts that I thought were gone and done with, made their way back into my head. The “what if” statements were becoming louder.

Then this morning, as I non-chalantly merged onto the the freeway to practice, I wasn’t feeling it. There was fear, but no adrenaline. There was a job to do, but not as much inspiration or motivation. I simply felt blah, with an undertone of over-all dread. Still, I had to practice, so I settled in for a drive.

When I first started practicing my highway driving, it was scary as hell. My anticipatory anxiety and adrenaline were through the roof. However, this made my accomplishments seem even bigger. The joy was greater. The pride was overflowing. Now, I am in a different place. A place of maintaining, of work; of just plain commitment.

I have always struggled with this. As a creative, deep-thinker, I am very driven by inspiration and emotional rewards. When I’m “not feeling it”, I struggle. When you have depression/anxiety, you really struggle to feel it sometimes. It can be the most beautiful, sunny day, and all you feel is rain. So, you have to dig deep. Which is not easy by any means.

I’ve always struggled in setting reasonable goals for myself. You  need to be somewhat organized to submit a goal, something my ping-pong ball, ADHD brain is not (and yes, this low-energy girl really is diagnosed ADHD). I’m lucky if I can make a grocery list and remember to look at it. But this weekend, I remembered something important about goals.

I ran a 5K with some friends this weekend, and although I love to run, I am a sporadic runner at best. I don’t normally care about my distance and am even less aware of my time. But as I was running this race with hundreds of other people, I found myself becoming motivated to pass the people around me. They become short, attainable goals. I’d go for the guy 5 feet away, then 10 feet, then I’d try to outpace the girl next to me. These small goals propelled me all the way to the finish. My friends applauded me on my time, which turned out to be pretty good! All thanks to these small, motivational goals that helped me along the way.

This is a great way to approach managing your anxiety. You will not overcome it all in a day. As stubborn as I am, this is not easy to accept.  I pride myself on my patience with most things in life, but I am not a patient learner. You should see me try to learn a new sport. Let’s just say I save all the curse words for those special times. Not pretty.

Yes, I did get on the highway and drive for many fear-laden miles, but I was hard on myself for not feeling the same sense of joy and accomplishment. The smaller the goal, the more likely you are to reach it. And if you don’t, you pick yourself up and try again tomorrow. If you do meet your goal, by golly, celebrate it! You should celebrate  the fact that you got out of bed today, dag nab it! But what was I doing? Beating myself up because I didn’t achieve my goal with joy. I had forgotten that there is joy in simply reaching a goal at all.

I shared my running epiphany with my husband the other night and his little business-oriented mind lit up. “You made a SMART goal!” Why thanks, dear hubby, for thinking I’m so smart. But then he explained that it’s an acronym that helps make sure you’ve created a manageable goal.

SMART Goals

Specific

Measurable

Attractive

Realistic

Timely

Sounds pretty organized, right? Or you can just settle for small goals,  if memorizing an acronym makes you even more anxious. But good to know, my love.  This is why my husband runs a company and I do not.

Back to my current state; this is the grunt-work, the maintenance, the commitment phase. It’s like getting up to workout when you don’t feel like it. It’s doing your homework when you want to go out and play.  It’s getting out of bed when you really don’t want to. This is the hard stuff.

Which brings me back to the Krystal man.

This morning on my uninspired (but successful! Goal reached=credit given!) drive, I made it up I-75 north to the city of Emerson. It’s a new, sports training development area, and there was a new Krystal’s restaurant opening up. Hence the dancing mini-cheeseburger on the side of the road. He was really busting a move, let me tell you. And guess what? That silly, dancing cheeseburger just plain made me laugh. I snapped a picture and praised him for a job well done. He wasn’t just doing his job well, he was doing his job with joy. He just as well could’ve stood there and waved. But he was dancing up a storm.

You see, the Krystal man showed me what I really needed to see at that moment; that we all have a job to do. It may not be something we enjoy. It might be hard. You might have to dress up as a cheeseburger and dance on the side of the road. But you get out there and do it.

Work will not always bring us joy. But there is joy in work. We can also do our work with joy. We can’t expect it to be a given. We have to dig deep for it sometimes.

So even on the blah days, I hope you still get out there and do the work. Practice panicking with purpose. Give yourself credit for the little things. Start achieving those small goals. Start your day with a big ole’ spoonful of grace. And when things get really hard, you’d better put on that cheeseburger suit and dance your pants off.

The Darkest Day (A Love Letter to my Medication)

The Darkest Day (A Love Letter to my Medication)

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I promise that my blog won’t be this intense and heavy all the time! But I feel like I cannot truly move forward without sharing this story with you. If it helps one person with their decision, than it was worth it.

This is pretty much the story of why I decided to start taking antidepressants. I know some of you probably just got on them without thinking about it, which is fine and dandy. But I am an overthinker and an overanalizer, and this was a tough decision for me. It scares me to think about where I would be had I made a different choice. So I don’t really go there. But if you or someone you love is struggling with treatment options, this may be a good read. I’m going to start a series called My Toolbox (coming soon!) with all sorts of helpful tools for helping manage your panic disorder. But I do need to get the medication part out of the way first.

I have numerous favorite books that have helped me through all of this, but some of them spend quite a bit of time disproving the idea that anxiety/depression medications even work. They stress that you can be cured without medication. By all means, you can, and if you can, more power to you! But please don’t put pressure on yourself if you are a complete failure without them. I tried so hard not to take medication, to the point where I almost broke. Sometimes you just have to give in already.

So back to my story. I had my first big panic attack, and many others in the years following. 7 years to be exact (with the exception of my first pregnancy, when I was totally symptom-free) before starting medication. Wow, writing that out makes me realize how long I actually suffered.  I wasn’t miserable all of the time, but when it was bad, I didn’t have the tools to help me in the right ways, so it just steadily got worse.

I was a preschool teacher for most of those years, and I can remember  days when I could barely drive to work. I would try to take different routes that wouldn’t trigger the panic, but there are only so many ways you can go. Little did I know, the avoidance was just feeding the panic. I was just winging it. I would panic in silence while reading a book to the class. I would panic during meetings and conferences, but nobody could tell.  I burried it deep inside and carried on with my perma-smile. I remember my jaw being constantly sore from the stress taking its toll. I would wake up at night with my teeth just chattering with anxiety.

I finally mentioned some of these things to a coworker, and I’ll never forget what she told me, that the other day she had to just “get up and run out of the room.” She was having a panic attack. I think this was the first person that I had really ever talked to about it, outside of my best friend and my spouse. She went to her doctor and he started her on Lexapro. I got his number and booked an appointment as soon as humanly possible.

I went to see this doctor, who talked to me for all of five minutes before giving me a sample pack of Lexapro. Although I was excited, something still didn’t sit right. Was this the right decision? How can he diagnose me so quickly?Does this guy even know what he’s doing?

I went home and took one pill. I remember tying my shoes and all of a sudden feeling like everything was in fast-forward. I started to freak out. Now I know a little trick called weaning on and off medication to help lesson their negative effects. Something Doctor What’s-His-Face forgot to mention during our short encounter. So I started calling people. My husband, my family, a friend or two. Most of them shared the same thought:

“You are the happiest person I know. You do not need to be on medication.”

So that was it. I believed in them more than myself. I decided to ditch the medication route and start talk therapy.

But then I got pregnant, and I felt great. Anxious, but in a good way. I was so overwhelmed with love and purpose for the little life inside me, that most of my fears melted away. I had a great pregnancy, and delivered a beautiful, healthy baby boy.

For the first few months of motherhood, I was in the total baby-euphoria stage. Sure, it was a total life change, and not a walk in the park by any means, but I was still so fufilled in my new role. My sweet Jack filled the gaping hole of love and acceptance I had yearned for my whole life. My bucket was full.

But as happy as I was, slowly things started to settle in. I went back to work when Jack was 8 weeks. I was juggling parenting, working, breastfeeding and pumping, lack of sleep, and the realization that I was totally committed to being a parent forever.  All things I expected, sure, but you can never be fully prepared for the challenges this new reality brings. Before I knew it, my a-hole brain started emerging from the shadows. Sometimes I wish he would just announce himself with some grand gesture instead of slowly creeping back in. He would be so much easier to recognize. But he is just sneaky and mean like that. That a-hole.

Things were getting pretty bad and I could barely even see it. I did finally start talk therapy, but my claustrophobia had gotten so bad that I couldn’t even make it up to the office for my sessions. I remember the terror I felt in the elevator, the hallway, and in the waiting room. I felt like I was gasping for air, the walls closing in, so anxious to escape.  Sweet Wendy would meet me downstairs in a restaurant nearby instead. We had some great talks, uncovered some past issues that couldve contributed to my anxiety; she even gave me some desensitization techniques. But our goal was to fight this without medication. I was insistant that I didn’t need it.

I had my big panic attack on the highway during this time. This propelled me towards rock bottom. Even though I had a sweet, happy baby that I loved to the moon and back, I was deeply saddened that he had a mother with these issues. My most important job as a mother was to keep my child safe and happy, and I felt like my fear was putting him at risk. Such a helpless, helpless feeling. The sadness became depression. I didn’t even know this until later, looking back. Anxiety and depression often go hand in hand, and usually one is a precursor to the other. In this case my anxiety had led to my depression.

I started having trouble sleeping I was so anxious. I had terrible, horrific nightmares. I’m still shocked at how bad these dreams were. All symptoms of my anxious state of mind. I could barely drive to work without being in a constant state of panic, and having my precious child in the car with me constantly only magnified my hopelessness. At one point, I was standing up teaching a lesson to my class, and I almost fainted. I was at my breaking point.

I woke up one morning after a bad night of awful dreams and little sleep, and I felt like I was on pins and needles. I was jumping out of my skin with fear. I had to wake up at 4:30am to feed Jack and then get ready for work. I’ll never forget walking into the bathroom, turning on the light, and looking in the mirror. I didn’t recognize myself. I know people say this casually all the time, but this was the scariest, darkest moment of my life. It was like I was looking at a different person. This was not me.  I then had the most life-changing thought I’ve ever had: This person has to go. 

I’m not sure if this counts as a suicidal tendency, and it pains me to even write down those words. I genuinely love my life and the people in it. I love being a mother, a spouse, a daughter, a friend and a good-hearted person. That person in the mirror, however, that person wasn’t any of those things. That person wasn’t me.   I knew at that moment that I needed serious help. I needed to change my life ASAP.

My counselor got me an appointment with a psychologist the next day. She started me on Zoloft and gave me Xanax to “nibble on” in case the Zoloft caused more anxiety, which it did at first. I do remember going back into that fast-forward feeling, and I had some tightness in my chest. But for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t scared. I drove to work without worrying about it. I started sleeping again with no nightmares. Slowly life started getting back on track. The medication was helping me. It was what I needed at the time.

I know medication is controversial. You hear about Big Pharma, doctors getting paid off to write prescriptions, people giving ADHD medication to 2-year-olds. I know this is an abused and very subjective issue. There are risks and benefits associated with anything you do in life. Your circumstances may not lead you down the same road. Everyone has a different story. I’m just sharing my particular story of why I’m thankful that the medication was there when I needed it.

Starting medication for anxiety or depression isn’t something to take lightly. I’m glad I went to someone who was a trained expert, but I also wish I wouldn’t have waited so long. But, to quote one of my favorite songs by the Indigo Girls:

“With every lesson learned a line upon your beautiful face.”

I learned many great lessons on that bumpy ride. I’m learning more and more everyday. It’s a beautiful thing.

If you feel like starting medication is necessary to your healing process, do your research. Be your own advocate. Be vocal with your doctors about what’s working and what’s not. If they don’t listen, find another one who will. If I could give my two cents about picking a medication, find one that’s easy to wean on and off of. Also be patient. You may have to try on a few different medications before you find the one that works best for you.

True, I dislike being dependent on my medicine, and there are withdrawls issues if I switch or forget to take it. I will get off of it one day. But for now, I know I’m doing the best I can, and I am in a good place.  A humble, joyful, grateful place.

If you didn’t hear anything else in this story, hear this: don’t wait until you are staring back at a stranger. Love who you are enough to get the help you need. Do not sit back and suffer in silence. You are worth more than that. Don’t let your fears distort your own reflection. You deserve to wake up, look into the mirror and love who you see.

Shine On, Shame Out

Shine On, Shame Out

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The past 24 hours have been filled with heart-overflowing gratefulness.  I’m another year older and even more validated in who I am.  The responses to the blog have been more overwhelming than I could’ve ever imagined; so much support, love and encouragement from so, so many. It has been the best birthday gift ever.  AND I got to eat cake.

What was even more profound than the outpouring of support, were my friends who opened up and shared their own experiences with panic.  Some of these people I had known almost my entire life, and I never knew.  But it doesn’t surprise me.  Anxiety is not something that you are exactly proud of. Mental health issues aren’t something you want associated with your image, right? We all strive for love and acceptance, to feel like we are just “normal”.  In a world obsessed with labeling others, mental illness is one label you are not necessarily lining up for.

Here are some of the actual quotes I received after my blog went live:

“I never would have thought that. You always seem so happy and never stressed.”

“You fooled me. Had no idea.”

“Wow, someone who actually came forward.”

The element of surprise is so common here. If I had a dollar for every time someone has said to me, “but you seem so happy!” I would be a rich woman.  People who have anxiety issues are some of the nicest people you have ever met. You would never guess that they are struggling on the inside.  This is typical.  We are emotional masterminds; we have learned to stifle and hide our fear to the point where it breaks us.  We are people-pleasers that would never want to burden anyone else with our problems.  We are so worried about acceptance and love from others that we don’t want our negative issues to threaten that.  All of the hiding and burying of the terror we really feel feeds panic disorder.  Until we can break out of the shame spiral that it brings upon us, we will continue to suffer.

Tonight I had the privilege to listen to an amazing woman, Rachel Faulkner Brown, tell her story.  She has overcome some unimaginable loss in her life.  One of her talking points touched on “the fear of man”. Basically, what others think of you.  If we dwell too much on this, it will destroy the light meant to shine from within us.   I am so guilty of this.  I worry about what people think of me all the time.  Why? Some of us are more insecure than others.  I have always felt like the team mascot for insecurity.  People who struggle with insecurity tend to overcompensate  by burying their own emotions to please and accommodate others. This is a breeding ground for anxiety disorders.

I was 23 when I had my first full-blown panic attack.  But hiding behind a perma-smile was a life-long talent.  Sure, I am a genuinely happy, positive person.  But I have never been good at handling or channeling my stress for fear of upsetting others. It took many, many years after that first attack to even start to accept that this was happening to me, and even longer to share it with others.  But the simple truth is, the more open and vulnerable you are, the smaller the fear becomes.  Just simple acceptance makes a huge difference in starting the battle against the panic trick.

Why are we so afraid to speak out? Why is there such a stigma associated with this disorder? There doesn’t have to be.  In her talk tonight, Rachel mentioned that “we think about ourselves more than anyone else does”. We worry about “the fear of man” and what others will think if we speak out about what’s on our hearts and minds.  But realistically, everyone is too busy worrying about themselves and their own issues to really care.

I dare you to try it.  If you are just starting to feel the loneliness of panic disorder and hiding behind your fear, try telling one person.  If you are too afraid to talk, write it down.  Or, just start by talking to your fear.  Introduce yourself, and accept it for what it is.  Tell it you’re not here to fight with it, but to live with it, to learn from it, and to watch it eventually get bored with you when you aren’t putting up the good fight.  We all have those people in our lives who are looking to pick fights with everyone, who are constantly stirring up drama.  Fear and anxiety are those people.  The more drama you give them, the more they are going to get out of it.  They want you to fight back.  But guess what? There’s nothing a dramatic pot-stirrer hates more than someone who doesn’t give them any material to work with.

My fear-friend is still hanging out with me, but we are on much better terms.  I’m slowly learning to ignore his shenanigans. My hope for you is that you can stop hiding behind your shame and let your own light shine, whatever it is.  That light will cast a shadow over your fear.  And who knows, maybe it’s afraid of the dark and will choose to disappear for good.

 

 

 

Panic with Purpose

Panic with Purpose

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I did it…I finally published my blog! Geez Louise, that took forever.

If you are checking it out for the first time, I apologize for my lack of technical knowledge. I’ve been really trying to perfect my layout, website function, staying up way too late watching WordPress tutorials, blah blah blah. But my friend Kristen (who has been helping me navigate this blog world per her blog, Junk Drawer Diaries) reminded me to drop my perfectionist tendencies and just do it already.

“The message is the most important part.”

Yes!!!! Sometimes you just need someone else to remind you of what you already know.

I mentioned panic with purpose on my Facebook post, and I just wanted to elaborate. For those of you who have panic disorder, it is not only terrifying, life-altering and miserable, but the panic attacks seem to serve no purpose whatsoever. Which is absolutely maddening. But I don’t believe that anymore. Now I panic with purpose.

Here’s a brief neurological explanation of a panic attack. So most of you are familiar with the fight or flight response. So, if there is a tiger chasing you, your brain sends signals to your nervous system to either fight or flee from the event. Your adrenaline gets going, your heartbeat and breath quicken, your body tingles, your senses become more acute. When you have panic disorder, your fight or flight response is a bit off. It can be triggered by a traumatic event, or in my case comes out of the blue, usually during a period of life change (positive or negative). My first panic attack happened in the bedding department at Macy’s. No tigers to be found.

Anyway, you pretty much feel like you are dying or going crazy, without a clear reason.  You tend to avoid places in which you have panicked before, which starts a lifestyle of avoidance, and avoidance only fuels the disorder. Phobias can develop over time. Pretty soon your kids are wondering why you had to turn around while in line for the Gran Fiesta Tour with Donald Duck at Epcot so you could escape the fear of a dark confined space and just sit on a bench and take a Xanax since you nearly panicked just anticipating that nightmare. Trust me people, this is no way to live.

Through exposure therapy, every time I panic, I see it as an opportunity to learn. It is a time to practice, to manage, to heal. It doesn’t feel like it at the time, of course. But the more I chip away at this monster of fear the more progress I am making. I am truly panicking with purpose, and that purpose is to eventually not panic.

This is a slow, grueling process. But I’ve already gained so much ground. Short-term struggle for long-term gain. There are so many days where I’m not up for it- the practice of exposure therapy. But the show must go on. 12 years of letting fear run my life is just too long.

My other purpose is just as motivating as recovery, and that’s the purpose of helping others. If there’s one thing I pride myself on, it’s my empathetic heart. I know how awful this journey can be. If I can help one person get through it, my heart will be happy. I believe in others more than myself sometimes, and this is half the reason I am blogging in the first place. To connect with others who need to be understood, who feel isolated and alone. It took years for me to accept this disorder and I remember feeling like no one understood what I was going through. The loneliness is unbearable.

So, I choose to panic with purpose from now on. No more wasting energy and anger. It does not serve me anymore. The more I learn to let it go, to lean into the panic, the more progress I make. My purpose is now crystal clear. It’s a scary and vulnerable place, but I’m staying in line for this ride.

Dizzy Days

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imageThe day is still young, but it has already surprised me.

I went to bed too late (as a result of still navigating this blog thing!) and woke up feeling dizzy.  A few days a month, I will have these “dizzy days”.  Whether it’s from lack of sleep or a side-effect of medication, they generally set you up for a “bad” day.  If you suffer from panic disorder, I don’t need to explain this.  I know everyone has bad days, but when you have frequent panic attacks, the bad days just set you up for failure; at least in your head, anyway.  Just your a-hole brain playing tricks on you again.

What a little prankster.

It was off to school as usual, 7:30am for Jack and 8:45am for Allie.  I really, really didn’t want to face the day.  Feeling vulnerable, uncomfortable, and generally out of control.  The a-hole brain feeds on this negative feedback.  I almost just kept Allie home so I could chill.  Sometimes we do that just for fun…we are both home bodies, and after all it’s just preschool.  But I was looking for more of an excuse; a reason not to face the day with this heightened sensitivity.  Then I remembered what I had recently read in good old Dr. David’s workbook.  If you want to make progress, you have to practice. Even on the “bad” days. So on we went.

While buckling my sweet, smiling girl into her car seat, a pang of profound sadness came over me.  This happens sometimes when I look at my happy, joyfully fearless children.  Especially Allie.  She has an extra dose of fearless.  It sounds contradictory to how one should feel when realizing your children are happy.  But I instantly mourn for my joy.  I miss the childlike joy that comes so easily to them.  I try to let that go as I keep talking to my silly girl, trying to siphon her joy instead of mourning my own.  The a-hole brain loves when you get self-absorbed.

So I sat through an extra-long carpool line (an occasional panic trigger) with flying colors. Kissed my sweet girl good-bye, and then knew what I needed to do.  I had 3 hours to kill.  It was time to practice.

Dr. David recommended an hour every day, so I would shoot for that.  Time to take to the highway.

I didn’t fully go into my first full panic attack on the highway, but I will brief you.  I had been experiencing waves of panic while driving on the interstate, but nothing full-blown.  Enough to start the ball rolling.  I had full-blown panic in other areas, but highway driving was relatively minor.  I had always loved driving.  It gave me such a sense of freedom.  I would usually offer to drive on road trips with friends, and have even driven cross-country multiple times.  These are some of my best memories.

I had been nervous off and on driving until I became pregnant with my first, Jack.  My anxiety completely disappeared for the entire pregnancy. Blame it on hormones or first-pregnancy excitement, but it was great.  It was postpartum that put me into a tailspin.

I think I was struggling for a while and just didn’t accept it.  Don’t get me wrong, having a newborn is wonderful.  But stir in an overwhelming sense of responsibility, navigating work/motherhood, and total lack of sleep, and you have a recipe for disaster. At least if you are susceptible to anxiety and panic.

When Jack was about 7 months, I was heading to Lake Oconee to my in-laws house for Labor Day weekend.  We were going with a bunch of our friends, and I was excited. Granted, I was the only one with a baby, but we could still have fun, right? I drove up early to help get the place ready.  Me, Jack in his infant seat, and Bear, our sweet little dog, who loves riding in the car. Friday afternoon traffic on a holiday weekend in Atlanta is never a walk in the park, but it was never an issue for me. Until that afternoon.  Traffic on 285 was at a standstill, and I was smack in the middle lane.  I’ll never forget how beautiful of a day it was; blue sky and abundant sunshine. Sadly, driving on days like this triggers my anxiety now, thanks to this memory. All of a sudden, I feel the wave coming on.  I struggle to calm myself, grasping mentally for something to stop it.  My breath quickens, my heart races, my body tenses up and tingles.  I start to leave my body.  Besides feeling like I’m suffocating, the disassociation  is always the scariest for me.  You literally feel like you aren’t in control of yourself anymore, like you are literally going crazy.  When you have your precious baby boy in the backseat, this is only more agonizing.  You are his mother and his protector.  You feel scared not only of the attack but for not keeping your child safe.  Looking back as an observer, you realize that your a-hole brain is just telling you stories.  But in the moment, especially when you are unaware of the panic trick, it is absolutely horrifying.

So I call my husband, bless his heart.  He is a tough love kind of guy.  So he just tells me, “Babe, you can’t freak out! You’re on the highway!”.  Thanks my love.  My thoughts precisely.  He does the best he can with me, and has learned along with me in my journey.  But I think men hate when they can’t do anything to fix the problem.  It’s against their “manliness” code. So I quickly say good-bye, continue freaking out, but can’t exit anywhere, so I just bear it until I reach the next exit.  I pull over in a Wal-Mart parking lot and eventually calm down.  My mother-in-law (who has obviously heard from my hubby) calls and I just start to cry.  I do remember that the crying felt so good. Most people who suffer from panic disorder try to hold in their emotions, instead of letting it go.  But in my mind, I was traumatized.  Driving has never been the same since.

Well, that wasn’t nearly as brief as I meant it to be. I did make it to the lake. The rest of the trip is a blur, but I surely didn’t die because of the attack.  But my emotions were so strong that the experience was tattooed on my brain and started years of avoidance in multiple driving situations. But I won’t go into all those now.

Back to this morning. Yes, I was having a bad day. Yes, I was scared.  I was twitching, rolling the window down, up again, changing the music, the AC…grasping for control.  The anticipatory worry was starting to sink in, but I remembered what the book said about it. Ignore the “what if” statements, and if they do enter your brain, try to humor them.  Basically make fun of them.  Whatever it takes to take away their power. The anticipation is way worse the the actual deed. Waiting at the stoplight to get on the ramp just plain sucks. No way around it. But it turns as all lights do, and I’m in it. No turning back.

My new friend Dr. David, in Panic Attack Workbook, stresses the idea of just letting the panic come. All your instincts tell you to fight it.  I’ve been fighting it for 12 years.  Until now. You are so used to fighting when a challenge arises in life, but the opposite rule applies with panic. Fighting it will make it worse.  So the panic comes.  I try to let it come.  My sensitivity is at a level 11, but I just let it float.  He talks about the AWARE method in his book, so I do that. I will post a link soon explaining this useful method. I practice my belly breathing, also something a learned in the book.  I have always heard to concentrate on my breathing to calm me, but I never knew the right way to breathe. Just like that, I’m driving on the highway. It’s a momentary relief, as I realize the challenge is to maintain this for AN HOUR. I’ve always struggled with not getting off at every exit (panic sufferers tend to feel “trapped” in situations where they cannot flee) but I push past the first exit. Then another. And another. My body feels like it’s on fire, buzzing with nerves. I’m crawling out of my skin. But I’m doing it. I’m practicing. I hate it, but I have accepted it.

If you drive far enough up I-575 on a clear day, you can see the silhouette of the Blue Ridge mountains. I decide this is my goal.  I float through the panic, still buzzing with awareness. But I press on.  At one point I start singing and roll the window down.  Positive driving memories come to mind…for a moment I’m back in high-school/college on a road trip. Relaxed and carefree.  I drive a particularly long stretch of highway and actually forget to panic about how far the exits are from each other. Progress.

I round a corner, and I am almost the only one on the road. Then I see the mountains. They are more beautiful that I remember. A wave of emotion comes over me, but not panic. It’s joy.   I can hardly remember the feeling of joy while driving.  I revel in it.

Having reached my goal, it’s time to head back.  I’ll have to pick Allie up soon. I turn around and go back, and then I remember the road construction. There are cement barriers, narrow lanes, traffic ahead. Waves of panic return.  I try to remember what to do, how to let it go. It’s harder on the way back. I’m mentally grasping for control.   I almost exit several times. But then I remember another tidbit from the book, when you are scared to do something, do it. There’s a super slow truck in front of me, but I am more scared in the left lane. Without thinking too much, I just do it. I switch lanes. It takes away the anticipation and gives me a much needed confidence boost.  Once I am there, I challenge myself to stay there. I stay there for several miles, until I finally reach the exit leading home.

So that’s it, right? I’m cured! Hardly. This was my first day of practice, and only with driving on the highway. Yes, I’m super proud of myself, (and I even had coffee this morning!!!) and I hope the confidence will help in other situations. But I have many, many more challenges ahead.

I know many of you are just sick at your stomach even thinking about facing your fears when it comes to panic. I still am. I have so much work to do.  Again, it has taken me 12 years to accept the idea of practicing.  I still take meds and will need more time to think of practicing without them. Today I did it without Xanax, which was huge.  I even dug into my purse for the bottle at one point. But I’m trying to teach myself that these things are just like Dumbo’s feather. He thought he needed the feather to fly, but turns out he did just fine without it.

I know you will be fine too. Good days, bad days, dizzy days…be thankful just for another day.

 

 

 

 

Practice

Practice

reroutinglife

Do you ever feel like you’re on a ferris wheel? Like you are constantly spinning around not accomplishing anything? That’s the phase I’m currently in.  I know I haven’t posted in a while, mainly since I haven’t quite figured out how to be a blogger and also since I can barely make it through the kid’s bedtime without falling asleep tucked up next to their soft blankies and stuffed-animals.

My sweet friend Kristen, who just launched her own blog (here is where I would insert a link to her blog if knew anything about blogging) sent me a tutorial, which I am yet to read, and I still can’t manage to drag myself down to my desktop in the basement without being intercepted by my couch and a blanket. I am currently accepting laptop donations to fix this issue. So there is my explanation on lack of blogging.

But a lot is going on for sure. Hit a rough patch of anxiety which peaked and resulted in adding to my current anti-depressant, which I have since decided to go back to my original dose. Playing ping-pong with the old brain again. Poor thing. Have dabbled with paleo dieting and possibly changing medications all together as advised by friends/doctors/health coaches. Lots of possibility brewing. But my favorite little tool in my anxiety tool kit at the moment is my current book, Panic Attack Workbook, by David Carbonell, Ph.D.

A brief synopsis of the book…it basically says that to truly beat “the panic trick”, you have to practice the exposure theory. Which is pretty much letting yourself panic in phobic situations and working with the panic instead of fighting it. Which personally, I’ve known about for years but have never really been ready to face. After 12 years with this mess, however, you start to say enough is enough. 

It’s a great, practical, pro-active read. I’m pretty sure he named every single panic situation/thought I’ve ever had, along with offering non-complicated advice. Well, non-complicated until you actually start practicing with panic. Easier said than done. And bless you, Dr. Carbonell, I would love to practice for your recommended hour a day/five days a week, but I have two small children and a husband that is gone half the month usually. I’m practicing most days keeping little people alive and functional. Finding time to go to the bathroom, let alone “practice” with my anxiety, is a luxury. So I would have maybe added a chapter, like: Panic and the Tired Mom. Or, Practicing with Panic While Your Kids are Screaming in the Background. But hey, maybe in the next edition.

Just to illustrate my point, here’s a brief overview of my evening. Hubby is out of town (for 10 days!!!) and I’ve just finished miraculously putting some kind of food on the table. My kids start yelling at each other because Allie’s chair is touching Jack’s and she won’t move it and then she bumped it hard “on purpose”. So we flee the crime scene and start the bath/shower process, where Allie is fussing because she has her arm stuck in the shirt she is taking off by herself because “she can do it”, meanwhile Jack has clogged the toilet because he uses about half the roll to wipe himself. So, I help Allie with her shirt and then go into the bathroom to find poop ON THE WALL. It’s a trace amount, mind you. But no amount of poop on a wall is acceptable. So I clean that up while the dog starts going crazy at the door because the TruGreen guy is here to ask if I need lawn services even though somehow they have missed that they have been treating our lawn for 2 years. All is quiet momentarily so I go to clean up from dinner when I hear screaming from the bathroom because Allie has splashed Jack because “Jack was being mean” and he is splashing back because “she splashed me first”.  But man, are they sweet when they’re sleeping.

I love my children dearly, I do. My mom bought me a sweet little sign that says, “Being a mom makes me so tired and so happy”. I love that. Being a mom is a labor of love, and being a mom with panic disorder adds a hint of spice to the dish. Which makes me think, maybe I shouldn’t beat myself up for relying on medication for anxiety in these early childhood years. Maybe that book was meant for moms with kids off to college. Certainly they don’t want you to do it during the teenage years either. So when is the right time to suck it up and start exposure therapy? I’ll sleep on that one.

Seriously, I do want to start soon. I have so much hope in my fearful little heart. I think once you loose hope, you’re in a far tougher spot. So I’m thankful for hope. I can’t say I’m thankful for anxiety, but I am accepting of it and it’s the journey I’ve been given. My hope is to overcome it and to help others on their journey as well. So cheers to starting practice… one of these days.

Let’s Begin

Let’s Begin

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Wow, so that was a rough start! I wasn’t prepared for how hard it would be to find a name for this here blog. But, Phew!!!! An hour later, after trying more than a handful of quirky, cutesy names that were taken, here I am. Rerouting  Life. Because “Life Rerouted” was taken. That was up there with trying to think of the perfect band name. Even though you are not even a member of a band.

Anyway, rant over. Here I am. Typing with one hand on my phone because I’m too lazy to get out of bed and get to an actual keyboard. But that’s me…comfort over practicality.

I used to write. Like, a lot. I’d fill up notebooks and notebooks of stories and poems as easily as people breathe. It was my escape, my outlet, my life line. It was one of a few things I actually took pride in. When you write a story in third grade and your teacher loves it so much she wants to read it to the class, you start to think you’re on to something. You get a little nudge in the right direction and you go with it. Plus, you LOVE it. It frees you from the dark,lonely times. It becomes a friend.

And then, life happens. The journals fill with adolescent woes and dreams. Love happens, and the pen really gets going again, but then settles down. Heart break happens, and it gets quite the workout. Then you find “the one”, and the pen feverishly jots down vows and wedding plans. You fill a honeymoon journal, and not too long after, a pregnancy journal. You write a letter to your newborn baby and fill a baby book with quotes and sweet milestones. And then, real life. You trade in your pen for a glass of wine and some “me” time staring at a tv. Your second child comes along and you can’t even find a pen to save your life.

Fast-forward a few more years and here I am. No pen needed, thanks to this snazzy technology thing. But certainly a need. As a person with self esteem just about at sea level, writing is like a super power. I always feel like it’s the real, authentic me that can’t seem to make it’s way out verbally. I am a pretty awkward, distracted, nervous person, who tries with everything in me to present the exact opposite of this, which can be a bit exhausting. To other people, I am the nicest, calmest most patient person they’ve ever met. Which assures me that I am indeed presenting myself correctly. Ok, so I do think I am genuinely a nice, good person. But calm I am not. In fact, I have this fun little thing called an Anxiety Disorder.

I almost hate to give it a title, because that gives it more power. I HATE giving it power. But anyway I have been diagnosed with Panic Disorder w/agoraphobia. Sounds scary, right? I have a mental illness…awesome. Until you accept this fact, it is pretty isolating and embarrassing. Which, it still can be, but to a lesser degree now. For example: a “normal brained” person would go about their day say, driving to work on the interstate, maybe taking a subway or a business trip on an airplane, but a person with my specific mental issue has to find another way (or take lots of anti-anxiety medication) because even thinking about doing these things scares the crap out of them, and actually being in these situations makes their body go into a physical panic attack in which they feel like they are dying. This has happened to me in grocery stores, malls, loud restaurants, movie theaters, churches, carpool lines, and on Disney World rides. And no, not like, Space Mountain, like, the Little Mermaid. Thank goodness for my Xanax on that hellish journey.

Blah, blah, poor me, yada yada sob story…I sound like another victimized soul with a chip on my shoulder. But that is not what this is about. I am a lover of life that has what my homie Glennon Doyle (of Momastery genius) calls an “a-hole brain”. It’s like there’s me, and then there’s that little part of my brain that’s trying to sabotage me. I hate, HATE my a-hole brain. Sometimes it’s louder than other times. I do like parts of my brain, really. Although she’s a bit of a distracted one, bless her heart. When I think of what’s going on inside my head, I often envision a ping-pong ball just letting loose up in there. But that little voice in there; that doubt, that fear, that terror…I live frequently trying to hold it back from bursting the door down. Because when that happens, Lord help me.

Ironic literary transition…the Lord has, in fact, helped tremendously with this process. But that’s a whole other topic. Whew, I could go on and on. Save it, sister.

So, I almost completely forgot to get the the point of this first post; why I chose this title. I mentioned that my anxiety has put me in the position to be petrified to drive on the interstate. I’ve made some progress in the 10 years since this all went down, but my #1 on my anxiety list is driving on the interstate with my children. Ok, so there’s a few other scary things up there with that. But that’s a biggie. Awesomely enough, (and I’m horrible at giving myself credit, so I’m working on that) I have managed to do this, although in small measured amounts. But it’s just terrifying. I think I’d rather sit and pull all my teeth out. Usually, when I have to go somewhere far, I plug it into good old google maps, and praise Jesus, they have an option that says, “avoid freeways”.  When I discovered this, I literally heard angels singing. Ok so not really, but that’s how dang excited I was. Sure, it adds an extra hour (or 3) to the journey, and the beach is out of the question, but I am the queen of some back roads.

You see, “rerouting” is something I’m a bit of an expert at. Avoiding the hard way is something I’ve managed to perfect. I avoid my fears, my triggers, my challenges. It’s just easier. Safer. But it’s also debilitating, isolating, and lonely. It’s letting the “a-hole brain” win. It’s like being imprisoned by your own mind. When you get down to it, it’s infuriating.

Rerouting Life is about changing this current path; rerouting THROUGH the hard stuff, the scary stuff, the things I avoid. I’m tired of living life halfway. I have been robbed of so many good things in life for too long. I’ve missed out on close friendships, events, and memories due to a false sense of fear. It’s time to reroute from the path of avoidance, and start walking the hard road. It may take me a lifetime to do it, but I’m going to try. I just want to ride the Little Mermaid ride without being medicated, dammit.

So, whether no one reads this or everyone, I am beyond elated just to get the words out. This expulsion of words is my therapy. And way, way cheaper, mind you. Life is good, all issues aside. I am a work in progress, and I know I was made this way for good reason. Good will, and has, come out of this. I know more good and bad is to  come. Life is not meant for quick and easy answers. But when needed, we can always reroute.