Category: Life

We’ve Trained for This

We’ve Trained for This

reroutinglife

I can’t believe the summer is over.

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 trapped until 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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Leaning In

Leaning In

reroutinglife

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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Mama Bears (and Papa Issues)

Mama Bears (and Papa Issues)

reroutinglife

It’s been a tough week.

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.

Slow it Down

Slow it Down

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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.