Constant Quest for Positivity

Whew. It's been a crazy few months. Some of you may have noticed my radio silence. I imagine those who follow my blog or twitter feed are not surprised I needed a break from social media. The break has been necessary as I work hard to be the best me I can be. However I will continue to write. Here's a tidbit of my focus as of late.

Recovery, as I have mentioned before, is a process that is not always linear, often takes steps backwards, has an indeterminate length, and requires a tremendous amount of patience. Once I began to get stronger, it also required (requires) a tremendous of work from me. 

So that, in a nutshell, is where I'm at. Facing my emotions, looking into my heart.

Taking one day at a time (sometimes one moment at a time) but trying to remember to live it, not just survive it. I am getting better and have been equipped with the tools to make the final steps. As the depression wanes, it's up to me to discover happiness again.

This means not listening when the thoughts creep in that I don't know what I'm doing, wondering what the hell I was thinking to make such a major change, thinking that I am not cut out for this. It means taking each and every one of those thoughts and turning it around.

I do know what I'm doing.

This change is a step forward.

I am cut out for this.

Reframe it.

 Accentuate the positive.

Keep on the sunnyside.

There have been times when I think of it as "fake it till you make it" but it's not really faking it. It's just grabbing hold of that little thing and holding on to it with all I've got so I can get to the other side of the darkness. 

How can I make this feel okay?

What can I do to make myself smile?

To breathe?

My runs have become my meditation. I breathe in for three steps and out for two. Three strong words are picked each day and I think them as I breathe in, breathe out and start again. A mantra. 

Strength

Love

Success

Peace 

Comfort

Home

Family

Growth

Happiness.

The words change but it fuels my run and cleanses my soul.

Each and every night, I lie in bed and list the things I'm grateful for. Often they are not about at me, but the loving friends and family I have surrounding me, the amazing people I have come in contact with, the beautiful weather I've been living in. I drift off to sleep holding these thoughts in my head instead of turning over and over the things that went wrong.

Sounds cheesy. But it's working.

The last bump I had was a doozy. I was in town, on my own, and as I hung up from a difficult phone call, I could feel the anxiety closing in, my chest tightening, my eyes glistening. 

***annnnnd breeeeeathhhheeee*

in for three, out for four
in for five, out for six.

***annnnd wallllkk**

'positive positive positive'

It'll be fine. It'll work out. It is not in your control.

Focus on what is.

I ran errands. 

One. at. a. time.

Each check mark, I stopped, reminded myself that it was a step forward, and continued to the next one.

The anxiety didn't magically disappear, but I kept it at bay. Not in a masking, ignoring, I'll have a total break down way, either. (believe me, I've been there) I was aware of it constantly. I had to stop and breathe a lot that afternoon but focusing on what I could do, what I was doing, helped me get through. I made it.

The day was good.

Two Steps Forward...One Leap Back

We moved. To a new city.
A new country.
My husband cut his hours. He started full-time university.
Little miss started a new nursery.
I increased my commute. By three hours a day.


Stress coming from all angles. But I was ready. Hell, this is the kind of thing I used to thrive on. Hand me a challenge, and I was in my element. Exploring the area museums and looking up library times. Finding new running routes. Navigating the area's public transportation.

I multitask with the best of them. I learn new cities quickly. Taking the train to work felt like coming home again. I could do this.

I made running part of my commute. I read books on the train. I budgeted on Saturdays. Slept in on Sundays. My husband did mornings. I did the evenings. It's been busy but we were adjusting.

And then I wasn't.

I've started running because I'm supposed to...not because I want to.
That's if I manage a run at all.

I worry that leaving before my daughter wakes up and getting home after her dinner will scar her for life.

I worry that I will miss the train.
That we will run out of money.
That my daughter will get sick.
That my husband will die.

Worry worry worry worry worry worry worry.

The anxiety is back.

I play the "is it normal" game.

Is it normal to wish for bedtime when it is only 10am?
Is it normal to want to go back to sleep but be too restless to stay in bed?
Is it normal to want to not want to eat?
To want to eat everything?
To want it all to stop?
To be scared of what would happen if it did?

The dark thoughts are returning.

I am a bad mother because I can't provide.
I am a bad mother because I spend all my time working to provide.
I am a bad mother because I didn't enjoy hide and seek today.
I am a bad mother because we played hide and seek instead of practising phonics.

The intrusive thoughts have creeped back in.

I wanted my last post to be one of hope. To show all of you who are battling that there is light at the end of the tunnel. To let all of you who love me know that I was okay. To tell all of you who have shied away that I was me again.

All of that is true. I did get better. But this illness has affected who I am. How I deal. I still try to tackle life head on but this illness doesn't always let me.

With depression comes self doubt. I wonder if I'm making it all up. Whether it's worse in my head than it really needs to be. Whether I just need to work a little harder to pull through.

It isn't that easy. With depression, it will never work that way.

I didn't want to call the doctor, afraid of taxing a system when I was so new to the area. I didn't want to admit I needed help because it felt like admitting defeat. I didn't want to waste their time if I was just having trouble acclimating to change.

These thoughts sound silly when I'm well.

Yet I listened and didn't call.

I met our health visitor on Friday.

It took her five minutes to see what I had been trying so hard to hide.

I saw the look in her eyes and it brought me back to those early days with miss. I cried and said I didn't want to be back at the beginning. That I'm scared that this isn't over.

"You aren't at the beginning. You just need some help getting over some big hurdles. We can give you that help. Let us."

I made the call. I see the doctor this week. My health visitor is visiting again as well.

The depression is trying to tell me I'm at the bottom of that deep dark hole again. I know I'm not.

It is dark but I will get out.

I am well, just not fully healed.

Two steps forward, one leap back....that's still progress.

Unpredictability and the Anxiety Hurdle

My Kid is unpredictable. Parenting is hard. It doesn’t always go to plan.  

The best thing to do is to roll with it.

It probably goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway, that this is much much easier said than done.  Especially since other people can be so judgy.

Add to that my own expectations, plus a huge helping of post partum anxiety, and well, I was a walking disaster.

In the beginning I just didn’t go out. Oh sure, I popped around to the corner store or down the street to pick up take out, but this was always without my daughter. The idea that I could be somewhere with her and things could take a direction I couldn’t predict was positively crippling.

But I couldn’t stay inside forever. It was good for my daughter to see the world around her and, according to the various health visitors, community nurses, and counsellors I had visiting me, it would be good for me as well.

So, with my chest feeling like it was in a vice, I left the house, with a list of questions running like a ticker tape through my mind.

What if I stay out too long and her nap is too short?

Or she sleeps longer so eats later?

Or she needs a change and I’m near a place with a changing area?

What if she cries and I have no idea what to do? 

You may think these thoughts are normal and you just adapt and do your best, and I did. But the dark thoughts would always begin.

She’s not being unpredicatable, you’re just not a good enough mother to understand her.

A good mother can tell what her baby was trying to tell her

.

A good mother would be able to make her stop crying.

A good mother would have this situation under control.

I would do my best to talk myself out of it, remind myself that it was only me that was bothered.

Then, inevitably, I’d notice the looks or I’d overhear comments like “How can such a loud noise come from such a little thing,” and I’d realise that actually people did notice. The dark thoughts would then spin into over drive:

How dare you think you’re fit enough to take care of such a helpless being?

Don’t you realise that everyone around you is miserable because of your inadequacy?

They can tell you know……………That you shouldn’t be a mother.

If you don’t figure out how to make her happy soon, they will take her away.

Nine times out of ten, my daughter was crying because she was tired.  Once she was asleep, all would be fine. For her and for all those around.

But not for me.

The thoughts would keep coming.

You just got lucky.

Your night is going to be hell now.

What were you thinking?!?!

 You won’t get any sleep.

They might still take her away because they saw how clueless you are.

As my daughter grew, I got used to the vice grip on my chest.  I found a way to bottle up and block the thoughts away so I could make it through the day.  Then, at night, they flooded over me, recreating the scene and reminding me how badly I had handled it.

I can actually feel my chest tightening now as I write this, remembering with all too much clarity, many many times when it practically broke me.

As I get better, I realise that yes, I am kidding myself if I think other people don’t notice when little miss kicks off in public, especially now that she’s two.  Hell, even the doctor let her leave with a toy from his office the other day because of the tantrum she started throwing when I told her it was time to leave.

The difference is now I’m realising I actually know my little girl and I do everything I do for her out of love and that’s really all that matters.  I will make plenty of mistakes. She will throw plenty more curve balls in my direction. Neither of us is perfect and that’s okay. We’ll get through it.

Those judgy people can raise their kids how they want and vent to others about what they may have witnessed. I took my daughter out and split a flapjack recently, but the mom who commented about it doesn’t need to hear my justification for it and it doesn’t make me a bad mom because I didn’t give her a healthy snack instead.  I know that my girl calms down fastest when give her a bit of space and let her do it in her own time, but again, I didn’t need to explain this to the mom who tried to rationalise with her in the midst of her meltdown in the museum. That mom doesn’t need to explain to me why she thought her approach would work either.

I don’t think I will ever erase the demon thoughts that haunted me. However, I hope that the cringe-worthy moments that happen from now on will not bring me to my knees. Perhaps some will be worth retelling to other parents to remind them we’re not perfect and neither are these little humans we’re raising.  I think a lot of us worry about the judgy ones and sometimes they do get the best of us, especially when they turn out in numbers. However, I realise I am doing the best I can. My daughter loves me and I love her. We’ll get through the bumps because of it.

Too Far Too Fast

It all started a few weeks ago…

Things were going pretty well.  I was taking things one moment and one day at a time. I wasn’t even thinking about being depressed or worried about the depression coming back.  I was well and truly surviving.  

Then, at a regular doctor’s appointment, I was asked a relatively routine question, “How are you feeling in yourself?”

“Okay,” I responded and then smiled because, for the first time in a long time, I was doing okay. Really okay. Not I don’t want to go into hospital okay or I don’t want to sound like a bad mom okay or any of the other versions of the putting on a positive front okay I’d used before. I was alright and had been for a while.  His next question, and my subsequent answer, had me on cloud nine.

“When do you think you started getting better?” I thought about it and smiled again. I’d been out of that weird depressive fog for a few months!  This was amazing. I was not well yet but I was certainly on my way and the changes were finally noticeable.

Then, after 16 weeks on a waiting list, a therapist finally called to administer one of those tests. 

Part one was full of questions rating how I’d felt about things in the last couple weeks. Result: I had my down days but actually it put me in the normal range. Brilliant.  I’ve taken various forms of this test since first seeking help and I had never before been even close to normal. In fact, if I’d been called a week or two after my referral, I have no doubt I would’ve been off the charts.

Part two: how does the depression affect your daily life. My results had the therapist asking me if I needed to be more honest with my questions in part one. Nope, I’d been honest. It was true, in the last two weeks I’d been fine.

But when the depression does hit, it is bad.  Of course it affects everything. In the past two years I have done little more than survive because it’s all I’ve been able to handle. Putting one foot in front of the other is all I could manage and, even though I’ve been feeling pretty okay the last few months, that is still all my life is about.

Survival.

Since I tested “normal,” I don’t qualify for one to one care I have been waiting for. I am on my own to make it from feeling better to actually being well again.  Before hanging up, the therapist was wonderful. She practically prescribed finding happiness and has sent me a series of CBT ‘workbooks’ so I can essentially give myself therapy.

She advised things I’ve been telling myself, that my husband has been telling me, and that various ppdchat ladies have mentioned to me before. I need to do things for myself and I need to do them without feeling guilty.  It’s gone beyond the small things.  I’ve been taking naps, making cups of tea, watching girly movies, reading books, and various other little things since my baby was a few days old. They have been sanity savers but they are not enough. They help me remember I am human and are immensely important but they fall short of what I really really need.

I need time to shut off and re-charge. I am either on mom duty, at work, or on my way from one to another all the time. 

Part of me knows that yes, of course I need time to myself. The other part reminds me that she naps and sleeps so well that I get loads of time without her. I’m at work four days a week so that’s even more time when I’m not around. Surely it’s not too much to ask for me to spend the rest of the time with her or with my husband or with all of us doing things as a family unit?

Apparently it is. I have only been ‘off duty’  from everything a handful of times in the past two years and each and every time I vow to make it a regular part of my routine. Then life gets in the way, my resolve wanes, and I’m not getting better because of it.

It’s been two weeks and, despite numerous suggestions from the #ppdarmy, I have still yet to come up with one thing that would make me happy.  I’m too busy feeling horrendously guilty that having a family doesn’t make me happy enough. I wish I could just get over myself, realise I have so much more than many other women that manage to make it work and to be happy doing it. 

Why can’t I feel happy with a f**king glass of wine in a bubble bath after a long day like a normal woman would?!?!?!? 

Sunday morning is now mine to do with what I wish and step one is to make it out for a run. Once a week isn’t really enough for training and it will actually be much more difficult to get back in shape this way but for now it’s not supposed to be about that, it’s supposed to be to give me a break.

I have also set aside one night a week for ‘writing as therapy.’ I tried to write on Thursday but after 1600 words of skirting the issue of selfcare, I realised I wasn’t actually ready to share how hard it is for me to do something nice for myself without feeling incredibly guilty.

I went to bed feeling low and even worse the next day. This morning I woke up with a sore throat so missed out on my weekly run. Mentally, I’ve sunk again. I feel as though I’ve failed on week one of caring about me.

I KNOW I won’t get better until I start realising I matter. Taking time out for me will actually make me a better wife and mother and yet I can’t seem to bring myself to do it. But even now, as I write this, I’m trying to type as fast as I can so I don’t miss out on quality time with my husband. I am in a mental tug of war as part of me knows if I don’t get this out, I could very well relapse and the other part of me thinks if I spend one more minute wallowing, I might lose him forever.

I’ve got two big hurdles that have become abundantly clear since I started getting better enough to think straight. I need to find to find happiness and I need to restore a relationship that is in tatters after two years of surviving with PPD.  In my eagerness to call myself well, I tried to tackle both at once this week and I’m suffering as a result. Seeing life in a normal light again makes me all the more aware of how damaging depression really is.  I want to be better. I do not want to walk the lonely road from the beginning again. I know I have to go back to baby steps but I am petrified baby steps just won’t be enough.