It's All About Timing

I've had a feeling recently that things really weren't right. My biggest problem was that I wasn't sleeping more than an hour at a time at night. I would wake up and have to get out of bed because the right side of my body was so restless that I couldn't stay still anymore. It's a symptom, along with the worried feeling in the pit of my stomach, that I am all too familiar with. Apparently, I wasn't ready to come off of the medication yet. Even though I had been on it longer after Maggie than either of the boys, the timing wasn't right for me. My symptoms became prominent with both boys right around 10 months after they were born and wouldn't you know, Maggie is 10 1/2 months old. I knew it was a risk trying to ween off at this point in time because of my past history, but I also wanted to see if having already been treated for six months would have resolved my Postpartum Depression issues earlier this time around. A big fat NO is the answer that I have clearly been presented with in the last couple of weeks.

I am hugely disappointed. Not in myself, because there wasn't anything I could have done about it, but in the fact that I now have to go back on medication for a few months. I was looking forward to a summer of fun when I would be full of the energy that I am robbed of while I'm on medication. For the last six weeks, I have enjoyed being able to stay awake all day without fighting the need for a nap, getting into an exercise routine, and preparing to start the rest of my life without having to face this challenge again.

This is the first time I haven't been able to go off medication after six months with success. But again, because of the timing I am not surprised. Something in my postpartum brain just seems to struggle at the 10 month point.  So I started the medication again yesterday and I am hoping for a decent night sleep really soon. I need a good night's sleep really soon. What I am not looking forward to is having to ween off again. But for now my focus is on taking care of my current situation and stomping out these mild symptoms as they reappear. I will worry about the end game later.

Big Steps Forward, A Small Step Back

"I feel good. I feel great. I feel wonderful." If you haven't seen What About Bob, you MUST. It's one of the funniest movies ever and I think I've seen it at least 20 times in my life. Anyway.. aside from the movie promo, I must say that I think my attempt to step out into the world more and conquer a few of my fears has gone really well. I generally feel good, great and wonderful.

I knew starting this blog would hold me accountable for standing behind my decisions to try more things and let go of some of the insecurities that have been plaguing me my whole life. Honestly, it has worked. I am busy, happy and involved in so much more as a result. However, there are still plenty of times I feel like the village idiot and would love to go home and crawl under the covers.

The other night I went to a party with a group of women that was made up of mostly people I knew and a few that I didn't. But it was at the home of someone that I have only met recently and so it was out of the comfort zone for me. I felt like I was back in seventh grade. I didn't know where to stand, what to say or who to talk to. I did go with three friends, but of course I felt like they knew the people that I didn't and they are all better socially than me anyway. I didn't want to be too involved and look like an obnoxious fool, but I try really hard not to appear meek and shy either because that is how I ended up turning people off in the past. Note to self: only men in the 1800's like meek and shy women. Glad I figured that one out in 2012. So I did my best and I really did enjoy the party, but I wish I could go into new situations with confidence and just let the good times flow. Now I've committed to go out to dinner and dancing with a group of friends on Friday (because as part of my goals for the year I can't say no if I'm available) and I'm already worried. I'll only know about half of the people well enough to have something already in common with them and I'm more of a 100% girl in order to relax and have a good time. I'm sure it will be fun. If not, I'll carry a fish around my neck and recite over and over, "I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful."

In many areas though, I have come so far! I can now go someplace unfamiliar and not feel sick to my stomach worrying about where I'm going to park, who will be there, etc. etc. I can walk into the school and easily talk to people. I can actually invite people to do things and expect that the answer will be yes rather than assuming it will be no because they've got other friends and commitments that don't involve me. I can make phone calls without having to psych myself up first. I have gained so much confidence and I'm really delighted with how positively my efforts have affected me and my family (well, except for Roman who has spent a lot more nights home alone with the kids while I have "girls night" plans). I am very hopeful that meeting new friends will soon be on the easier list too. But all in it's own time. For now I am very satisfied with the big steps forward even if they are balanced by a few small steps back.

My Post Partum Depression Story Part 2 - Fighting Back

This is a follow up to the post The First Time Around in which I wrote about coming to the realization that I was suffering from Post Partum Depression. Unlike with most illnesses, depression related medications do not bring immediate relief. It is expected that it will take up to a month for the medication to build up in your system enough to reach full strength. There is also a trial and error process that takes place as the doctors try to get the dose adjusted correctly. Fortunately for me, I was able to stick with the dose that they started me on. But the healing process is so much more that that. While medication is great, and in my situation necessary, it can't do the job alone. I had to do a lot of work to help make myself better and let me tell you, at that point I really didn't know if I could do it. I knew I had to, but every day was such a struggle. With very little sleep at night and being on edge all day, my mind had little to no down time. I became aware very quickly that I needed to focus on one day at a time and simply managing that day as it came.

I felt humiliated and embarrassed to admit that I had Post Partum Depression. I was overjoyed and so amazingly in love with this little boy, yet at the same time I had failed at being a mom and let my mind take me apart one piece at a time. I couldn't be around loud noise and confusion because it simply overwhelmed me. I didn't want to go anywhere, but I also didn't want to stay home with Braeden by myself. I would watch him playing and will myself not to get up and go to him because in my own mind I couldn't be trusted. It was my greatest fear that I might do something to him (which I never, ever did) and that fear just kept producing more fears and worry. Knowing the medication couldn't work right away only made it all worse. I was caught in a constant storm of fear and guilt.

I was so fortunate to have a wonderfully strong support system. Once I came forward with what was going on, my family jumped right in and played whatever role I needed them to at any given time. The first night my parents kept Braeden at their house overnight so I could try to get some sleep and begin to process my situation. I couldn't wait to get to him the next morning and returned to their house by 7:30am to see him. My irrational sense of guilt made it feel like not being near him would ruin his life and make him know that something weird was going on. I'm doubtful that he thought anything of it that night. It wasn't his first sleepover and he was happy to stay. For the next week or so, I spent the days at my parents house with my dad and brother hanging out with me periodically throughout the day since they both work right there. I could manage okay each day until 4:00. After that, the panic would come back and I'd have to fight harder for the rest of the day until bedtime. I'm not sure if it was exhaustion or being able to let my guard down because my mom and Roman both got home from work around that time. I was also seeing a holistic chiropractor every couple of days and it was like therapy for me. I could talk easily with her and she did something with my energy that calmed me down and helped me to continue to move forward.

For a while, every day was a fight. I always made sure I stuck to a routine and didn't vary from the way I had always cared for Braeden. It helped me to stay focused and busy. If I was doing something, I couldn't think. I needed to stop thinking for a while. After the first month or so, the panic was gone. Thank you God! I was far more able to function closer to the way I had before the PPD started. I still didn't enjoy much, but I  felt much more like myself. For the months that followed, I tried to add more activity to our days. I joined a playgroup and interacted with others more. It was helpful for both Braeden and I. We also went to a public playgroup offered in a nearby town. I found my inner strength and I pressed on and made myself get better. There was no choice in my mind. I wanted to not be only be a good mom, but a great mom. I wanted to be a fully functioning part of my community of family and friends again. And I did it. As Evan says so often these days, I won.

I started to wean off the medication after six months. This was another process that made me very nervous. Again the question of, what if I'm really crazy and it just took having a baby to bring it out? What if I need medication for the rest of my life to continue to feel sane? I had learned enough about myself by that point that I knew I could do it. I had made it through the very worst and come out on top so I could do this part too. As it turned out, I'm not permanently crazy. Phew! Going off the medication did change things a bit. I had to go back to controlling my mental state and emotions all on my own, but I was happy to get that part of me back. As I had begun to feel better along the way, I had really started to miss feeling things. On the medication I couldn't go low, but I couldn't go high either. So the joy of milestones, etc. was missing. The weaning off was effective and I realized I could be the old me again, actually even better. I had learned a lot of lessons about who I was, the strength I had, and what I really wanted out of life during the whole PPD experience.

Over time, I started to understand that it was not a situation I had any control over. I couldn't have stopped the PPD from coming and I wasn't a failure. I became proud of myself for getting help and kicking PPD's butt. It took a couple of years, but eventually I was more willing to talk about it freely and share my experience with others without feeling the need to apologize for it. And now, I am completely willing to share my story with anyone. I am hopeful that my experiences can help someone else who might not recognize what they're feeling. I made it. Take that Post Partum Depression.

The First Time Around

The first time around, I never saw it coming; at least not in the beginning. I had been worried about the pregnancy; it went great. I was told to expect Post Partum Depression; it didn't come. Or so I thought. I knew what to look for. The classic signs I had been told about were sadness, an inability to bond, fatigue, and crying for no reason. None of those were true in my situation. I loved being a mom. It came naturally, and I never questioned my abilities, or my love for my baby. It all seemed too good to be true.

Braeden was born in December. Since I didn't see any signs after the first few months, I let my guard down. There wasn't any reason to worry anymore. Nothing had come of the warnings. I was good to go. However, by October I was physically in pain. I couldn't explain the causes for my symptoms. I had frequent headaches on the crown of my head. I felt lumps and bumps in places they shouldn't be. I had serious heartburn issues that weren't able to be cured by medication. I went to the doctor several times for pain in the center of my chest. Not heart related, just like I had pulled a muscle that wouldn't heal. Nothing was wrong. I would stand in the shower and start to panic because I thought something must be seriously wrong and I couldn't imagine dying and leaving my baby behind. He deserved a mom. I couldn't sleep worrying about having cancer or something else that would leave Braeden without a mother. Christmas came, and though I didn't realize it at the time, I just didn't care. I love Christmas, but that year I didn't even really decorate. It didn't matter to me to get the house into the holiday spirit. I decorated the tree and took pictures of Braeden's first Christmas. I thought I was enjoying it. During the month of January, I was extremely anxious and restless. My body was constantly agitated and I felt out of control. I worried about taking Braeden anywhere because something bad could happen to us. I thought I was being protective. I still didn't think I had PPD because I didn't have the symptoms that I had heard about and it had been a year since he was born. So what was wrong with me???

By the beginning of February, I had lost 20 pounds because eating had become so painful due to the heartburn. At that point, a shooting occurred in a mall department store (not near me - I saw it on the news) and a switch flipped in my brain. I went from feeling anxious and jittery to completely out of control. I no longer felt like I could be in charge of my own actions. One night I was laying in bed with Braeden next to me (he was not a good sleeper in his own bed like my other two are), and thinking about how awful it would be if I got so out of control that I hurt him. That thought process was NOT OKAY with me. The next day, February 6, 2008, I made an appointment with the doctor to talk about depression. There was no way I was taking any chances with my life or Braeden's. Amazingly, they got me in that afternoon and the doctor was able to tell me how I felt without much input from me. I had no idea that anxiety and panic were classic signs of PPD. She prescribed Lexapro and then told me it would be fully effective in about a month. Come again?!?!!? I had to live like that for another month?? She recommended an out-patient, full day treatment program to take up my days for a while. I thought about it, but it wasn't a place for me. I had plenty of support from family to help me get through for 30 days. It was a relief to have finally figured out what was wrong and to be talking about it. My biggest fear at that point was, what if I never go back to the way I was? What if I have to spend the rest of my life on anti-depressants to be "normal"? I felt weak and defeated. During the months that followed, I learned just how strong I really am.

Panic and Anxiety Before Post Partum Depression

In my early 20's I began noticing that certain situations would evoke an unnecessarily strong reaction. I first started having panic attacks when I lived in Boston and would get stuck in traffic. Knowing that I couldn't move until all the other cars did caused an immediate fight or flight reaction. I learned to try and keep myself calm, but I was never able to prevent them from happening. After that came 9/11, and the fear of something happening to me became so intense that I hated to be alone. I didn't drive alone if I didn't have to and I was constantly worried about the world ending. I was nervous all the time. I couldn't sleep. I was always waiting for the next bad thing to happen. After a month or so I was pretty much back to normal.

I had the biggest panic attack I've ever had on the plane to go to Ireland for our honeymoon. I couldn't breathe, I was sweating and my heart was beating so fast my husband almost took me off the plane. I really thought I might die. We went anyway. Not a good plan. I spent our entire honeymoon near panic, worried about having to fly home. Now I medicate to fly, and can actually enjoy the destination. 

I was anxious about getting pregnant because there were so many things I wouldn't be able to control. What if the baby kept kicking and I got panicky because it wouldn't stop? What if I had a panic attack during labor and couldn't stop it?? I knew I could never have an epidural because it would limit my ability to move my legs or walk. I cannot lose control that way. Panic looms right around the corner waiting to pounce on situations like that. As it turned out, none of those things were a problem. I loved being pregnant. I felt great. I enjoyed feeling the baby move and looked forward to meeting him or her when it was time. It's not that I didn't fear labor.. no one looks forward to the pain, but I knew I could handle it. I would handle it. And I did. I had Braeden without any medical intervention. No drugs for this momma. (I ended up having all three babies this way). To say I was elated and proud of myself is an understatement. I thought maybe I'd finally beaten all of this terror living inside my brain.

I waited for the Post Partum Depression to come anyway. All the doctors and midwives said it was likely, due to my history with panic and anxiety. But it didn't. I couldn't believe it. I loved my baby immensely and wanted to be with him every second of the day. Motherhood was for me, without a doubt. I felt like a new person, with a new sense of confidence and an overall feeling of belonging in the life I was living. It was great, until things changed.

Starting the Conversation

I am glad to be blogging for many reasons. I begin with the obvious;  now I have a place to scrapbook my family's life. That is hugely important because there are so many things I want to remember, but up until now never took the time to write down. Ask me about Braeden's first time going to story hour at the library and I'm guessing I'll struggle a little a lot to recall the memory. But now, events like that will be written in our family history forever. I hope that all three of my children will be able to read back over this blog someday and recall happy childhoods filled with love, happiness and good times with friends and family.

Along with family scrap booking, this blog is a place where I can openly talk about all that I've been through to get to this point in my life. I want all of my fear/anxiety/PPD experiences written down so that my kids have a point of reference if they ever need it. They will be able to see what I went through and know that if they are ever faced with these challenges, they will be okay. I wish that I had spoken up sooner so many times in my life about the anxieties and fears I so often felt. People were very willing to help when I was ready to talk, but knowing that other members of my family (particularly my paternal grandmother) had gone through so many of these same issues would have been very reassuring to know earlier on. I hope they never need it, but it's here if they do.

Lastly, I am so amazed at the doors that have been thrown open by sharing my story. Many people have shared with me that they have felt similarly at times in their lives; the struggles so familiar to their own personal experiences. Even close friends and relatives that might not have wanted to talk about it before either, are opening up and saying "yeah, I can totally relate to that". I am so honored that you are choosing to share with me. It has helped me immensely to find these bonds and I am coming to realize that I am not alone. And let me tell you, not alone is a great place to be. I feel more connected than ever before even though I'm doing so much of the communication through the computer. The comments that I have received here, on Facebook and in actual face-to-face conversations, make me understand that I am meant to be exactly who I am, in this exact place, at this exact time. I love you all for your support and encouragement. Thank you.

All I had to do was start the conversation.

Not Quite Care Free

I grew up in a fairly typical family setting. I had two wonderful parents who loved me, one brother and a dog. Oh and I had a couple of hamsters along the way, but I'm pretty sure they would much rather have lived their lives out in someone else's house. We had what I would consider a pretty classic American family, or at least it was way back in the 1900's. You're mind is automatically going back to about 1910 right? But to our kids, the fact that we lived before 2000 and the Internet will probably never cease to amaze them.

My life should have been that of a care free child. I had nothing to worry about. I knew I was loved and I always had enough food and clothes. Perfect. But some of us, like me, aren't wired that way. While most of the time I lived out that happy childhood, there was always a bit of worry in my little brain. I carried anxiety that wasn't necessary for a child to have (this is strictly in my own opinion). Obviously, it is possible that everyone had these same issues.

When I was little I had nightmares. I won't go into specifics because, well, I don't want anyone to have me committed. But, they were recurring and even though I told my mom about them, I just couldn't get whatever was causing them out of my brain. I have always been able to remember my dreams, often more vividly than I would like. I work lots out in my head at night. I have found that when I am on anti-depressants for the post partum depression, the dreams become more vivid and scary. It's as if my conscious brain is blocked by the medications from dealing with what I see, hear and read during the day, so my unconscious works on processing it all at night. I am aware as an adult that my dreams cannot hurt me, but I was terrified as a child.

I lay a little of the blame for my childhood anxiety on the pamphlets given out at school. Do you remember the one where the man would drive by in his car, stop, and then get out and offer you a lollipop to get in his car? Or say that your mom had sent him to pick you up? I'm sure the propaganda was meant to instill a sense of fear, but for me it was terrifying. We lived close to school so I was a walker. Let me tell you, every single day I was watching the street for that car that was going to slow down and try to snatch me. Other kids were walking along, playing with friends, laughing. Not me, I was not going to be caught off guard and taken away from my family forever.

Vacations are fun right? Yes, I loved going to the lake with my family every summer. Who wouldn't? But, I couldn't get this one worry out of my mind while we were away. What if someone breaks into our house and hurts the dog? What if she is in pain and no one knows until my grandfather gets there to feed and walk her? Seriously, this fear was with me the entire vacation, every year. Not a thought about the stuff in our house if someone broke in, just, please don't hurt the dog. I needed to be there to protect her. I felt the need to protect. If I wasn't there, who would be?

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my vacations swimming and boating and learning to water ski. It was idyllic; just what summer should be when you're a kid. And speaking of swimming.. this is how I know that fear roots itself deeply in me with a grasp so tight that I've had to fight for years to get out from underneath. I don't swim in any water with fish anymore. I haven't in years. When I was little, like all dads and brothers, my dad and brother would pinch me underwater and tell me that fish were biting me. It should have been a game. I mean really, I could see them doing it. But my brain registered a fear of fish right then and there, and I still cannot go in water that I can't see clearly to the bottom of to check for fish. Wish you were me don't you?

I can't change any of those pieces of my past. I accept that. It's not something my parents did, or something I did to myself; it's just who I am. Do you have any childhood fears that never left? That you now realize are unnecessary, but are so deeply rooted that a part of them will never go away? I bet we all do. I just hope yours didn't control your life quite the way mine did.

Exactly

“I'm not telling you it's going to be easy - I'm telling you it's going to be worth it.”
― Art Williams

When I saw this, I thought, you're exactly right Art Williams. I don't know who you are, but I believe you're onto something here. His sentiment is exactly how I feel about starting this blog. The writing for me is easy. Deciding what to write and how much to share? Not as much.

I want to be truthful. I want to empty my soul and find myself a better person through the process. I hope to be able to help others by sharing the experiences I have had and letting anyone else who might feel the same way know that they are definitely not alone. It often feels that way, but there are always people who want to be there for you even when you can't see clearly enough to recognize them. I want to reveal my whole self through reflection and straightforwardness. I can do these things. I KNOW it WON'T be easy, but if the relief I already feel sharing the little that is published so far is any indication, it's going to be worth it in countless ways.

What I don't want, is to make this a pity party. I am not writing from the poor me perspective and I truly hope that you don't see it that way. I hope to fill this blog with love and joy, interspersing the struggles I've been through to accomplish the list above. I am at a very good place in my life which is why I feel comfortable exposing my whole self to the world FINALLY. 34 years in and I'm ready to talk.. I don't want anyone to read and think that I am unhappy. I couldn't do this if I was. It would be too hard to face friends who are reading my writing if I wasn't up to the challenge of owning my emotions, struggles and fears. I don't want anyone to treat me differently. As I've said, I'm in a better place than I have ever been and this blog is meant to hold me accountable for walking the walk to go along with talking (writing) the talk.

I do hope that maybe if you've known me for a long time, you can think back and realize that if I wasn't there for you at a time when you needed me, or I didn't show up at your wedding, or didn't call often enough (or at all), it was NOT because I didn't love you, care about you or want to share in your life. I just couldn't. I was paralyzed by my fears and anxiety more times than I can tell you. But I'm fighting back now. This is my life and I will live it to the fullest that I am able. I am doing this for my family and my friends, but mostly for me.

And while I know it's not going to be easy, it will be worth it one hundred fold.

Second Guess Much?

Do you ever get all excited about a decision and then spend the moments or days or weeks after feeling overwhelmed by your choice? For most people, joining a gym, starting a blog, or going out with friends is a happy decision met with excitement and anticipation of what's to come. Well, for me, undoubtedly, it is met with a major case of the "what have I done's?" This is closely followed by "I wonder if I can get out of it?" It doesn't even have to be a major decision. It probably doesn't require anything more than committing to something I wanted to do in the first place. On the surface there is absolutely nothing to worry about. However, I struggle every day to just go ahead and try new things, do something out of my comfort zone (which includes most things),  or associate with people I don't know very well. Easy enough for the average person; a large mountain to climb for me. I'd like to say I'm getting more comfortable with these every day occurrences, and in a way that is true. My children have given me a buffer so that it is not me that is the focus of anyone's attention. Most of what I do is centered around them - appointments, play dates, school - regular mom stuff. I'm very happy and content in that role. I never want my children to worry the way I did, hesitate to accept a play date because they are frightened of other people's houses, not play soccer because they don't know the coaches (yes, in second grade I ran all the way home from the school because I was afraid of the coaches), worry about performing in a school play because (gasp) people might see them. If I do nothing else, I plan to teach them confidence and a sense of adventure. And if I am able to do that, then I suppose that is one decision I won't have to second guess.