back in the saddle

Since the last time I blogged, much has happened. I say that every time I take a hiatus from writing but it's true. Life continues and things progress whether I write about it or not.

But this time we added a whole new family member to the group. Calvin Scott Hunter was born a month early on February 21, 2019. He came out after 3 pushes with the cord wrapped around his neck twice. Luckily, it was only loosely wrapped and the bigger concerns were that he couldn't regulate his body temperature and his blood sugar was dangerously low. 

However, he's not one to stay down and after only 2.5 days in the NICU, he came home, looking like a baby doll in his big car seat, weighing in at only 5lbs 13 oz.

Yesterday we celebrated his 1st birthday and he is thriving. He's on the cusp of walking, pulling himself around furniture and climbing on things. He is a joy of a baby but he will definitely let his opinions be known when he wants something.

This year has been filled with other things too. We went on a family reunion trip with Jason's family to Colorado in June, I had a hysterectomy in November, a Thanksmas trip to Dallas in December and then I had carpal tunnel surgery last week.

Busy, fun and necessary describes this last year.

And through it all I've had very few mental health ups and downs. My medications have kept me incredibly steady (except for an incident with a breast feeding medication that I'll talk about later). I've had the normal hormonal issues that come from having a baby and a hysterectomy but I've stayed stable.

2019 was an incredible year and a great blessing to our family. So many wonderful and needed things happened. I know 2020 has already begun, but I'm excited to see what the rest of the year will bring. 

the struggle of Sundays

I've talked about this before, how being a mom, every day, hour, minute, can be a struggle. Luckily for me , my medications have been working and, except for a week after Christmas, things have been going well for about 8 months.

I'm doing well {knock on wood}. Well enough that I've even begun looking forward to situations I usually shy away from. I'm not 100% in every circumstance but the anxiety has gone way down. 

Except for Sundays. 

That day seems to be the exception to every anxiety rule I follow. And it mainly centers around church. It just about breaks me every week. 

On Saturday nights I give myself a pep talk; you can do this, it's only 3 hours of church! Then we get there and the panic attacks start threatening. I am certain of where it comes from and I hate to place blame but - 

 

It's Everett.

I know he's only three and a half and still learning how the world works around him but that first 70 minutes of time before Sunday School is like a waking nightmare. His boundless energy and independence is the exact antithesis of what is required to sit still and be reverent for that long. We've tried explaining what Sundays are all about but all he understands is that, eventually, he gets to play with his friends. So the first bit with talks and songs seems like an eternity for him. 

And us. 

I understand that it's just this stage and this too shall pass and he'll never be this age again so enjoy it, etc. 

I get it. But Sundays are supposed to be a recharging day for me and instead it just starts the week out on a misstep. 

My anxiety finally starts to calm by Sunday School but then flares again as church ends and I have to chase Everett as he runs wild around the building. By the time we get home I'm so frustrated and overwhelmed I just need space and a nap. Instead, it's time for dinner, baths and bedtime routines. All of which is a fight because his adrenaline is still up. By the time 7pm rolls around and the kids are finally in their beds, if not asleep, and I have a minute to think, it's always the same thought - 

Why are Sundays so HARD?

They're supposed to be a day of peace and contemplation. Not hard feelings, exasperation and panic attacks.

So I'm making a pledge to be better on Sundays. Me. Not Everett. He's going to be the same no matter how I feel. He's him and I can't control his emotions. But I can control mine and how I react to him. 

We're going to a different church schedule now that will begin at 9am instead of 1pm. I'm hoping that means I'll still be fresh and awake, ready for whatever Sunday wants to throw at me. Because I am in charge of my thoughts and actions. My anxiety is not my master. And each week I'll do a little better because, sometimes, a little better is all it takes.

it's not a decision

Before I was even through unwrapping my Christmas presents, the dread began. The excitement and anticipation of the holidays was wearing off and my depression was beginning to build. Hard enough that I stuck my head into the sand (literally my pillow) and didn't emerge for three days. 

Jason and I have noticed that this happens with other overly anticipated events. I'm not disappointed with what occurs, just sad that it's over. After a few days of zombie-like behavior I swap into manic mode. This means I can't stand to be still, I'm impulsive and want out of the house at all costs. 

Going through these cycles makes me feel so lost. It feels like a huge set back when I had been doing so well. I know I have no control over when these episodes hit but it feels like I should have been more prepared. I could have battened-down the hatches, so to speak. Instead it hit me like a storm and swept me completely out to sea - to finish my sailing metaphor. 

I sink. And inevitably Jason and my parents take up all the slack. Living with bipolar and anxiety is not easy. Every day, landmines are laid, ready for the right sort of pressure to detonate them. 

Will I wake up manic and angry? Will I even get out of bed when the kids are complaining that they want breakfast? Will I quietly sob in the bathroom after snapping at Penny for something inconsequential?   

These demons I fight may only be in my head, but they are oh so real. 

Writing and thinking about this exhausts me. I want to go back to bed even though I barely left it yesterday. I'm slowly digging myself out of the trenches. Today I actually felt more like myself even though I got zero hours of sleep last night. My anxiety brain wouldn't let me rest, regardless of how many pills I took. 

I have to remember that today was better. Tomorrow will be better still. I look forward with hope that each day will get a little easier until I'm back on stable footing. I have to remind myself that this disease isn't me; it's just a part of who I am. And who I am is stronger than what my brain wants to throw at me. 

a firm resolve

I really dislike New Year's resolutions. You wouldn't know that from my history of making them though. Every year, when this time rolls around, I find myself giving in to the idea of overhauling my life. Instead of "trying a little harder to be a little better," I plunge into the deep end without learning to swim first. 

This year I want it to be different than all the other years. Yes, I want to make some goals, but I want them to be reasonable and realistic. Not selfish rules that come and go. I want them to better my life and contribute to the happiness of the people around me.  

Be patient. Patience has never been my strong suit, to say the least. I want to practice until it becomes second nature. Patience with my children, my husband, and with where I am in life. 

Choose to be happy. Happiness is not something that happens to you. I want to choose, every day, to put the heartbreak, sorrows and anxieties behind the curtain and see the things that make me happy. 

Have hope. I have to believe that the "hard times" won't always be the "hard times." I want to bring hope and faith into aspects of my life where I struggle. I know change is possible - I can stick to the budget; I can lose that weight; I can raise my kids to be healthy functioning adults. 

Try hard things. Stagnant and immovable are two concepts I don't want to be associated with.  I want to put effort into doing hard, not just new and different, things. Difficulty is part of everyday life and I want to conquer my anxieties about the challenging and unfamiliar.

Be more active. This one is probably on every resolution list ever created. But this doesn't mean just more exercise. It means I want to stop being lazy when it comes to things I don't want to do. I want to be more actively engaged in my life. To be more present and functioning, even when things are hard. 

See the good. The flip side of this one is to forgive the bad also. This goal applies mainly to my children. I'm too quick to judge and assume the fault in them when really it is all in how I respond to them and the situation. I also want to be charitable to my fellow man and assume the good instead of the worst when dealing with others. 

Give service. It doesn't have to be a huge project or demonstration of how I can serve others. Maybe something as simple as folding laundry the same day I do it instead of waiting a week so Jason doesn't have to dig through the basket to find a clean shirt. 

Read more. This is pretty self-explanatory but I want to branch out and read different things, not just fiction. I want to accumulate knowledge and wisdom from all kinds of sources. 

Enjoy the now. "The days are long but the years are short." I want to savor every moment I can in each season of life. This time in my life seems very difficult right now but time passes swiftly and these days of youthful play will be gone in a blink. I might not always appreciate each minute but I want to focus on the now instead of looking ahead to an "easier" time. 

I plan on printing the image I made above and hanging it somewhere I will read it every day. These goals are not just about the new year. They are lifestyle changes that I want to make permanent. I know this won't be an easy fix, something to change overnight. And I sometimes resist change. But I have a palpable desire to integrate these resolutions into my life. Maybe that will make all the difference.

learning together

 

Reference this blog post, 5 and fighting.

Penny and I have started going to a family therapist together. It began as a way for her to express the anxiety she seemed to be displaying at school. It's quickly turned into therapy for me. If you've read any of my posts before, you know I'm no stranger to therapy. I just hadn't expected these sessions to be so cathartic for me. 

Penny has been doing mostly play therapy, where there is a sand tray and figurines of all kinds. She makes up a story each week and I try to figure out, with the therapist's help, what is going on in her mind that day. Hearing how she sees the world has confirmed many things I thought I already knew about my daughter. She smart. Whip-cracking smart. And funny. Kind, very empathetic and values fairness above most things.

And she can read my moods better than I can. I've learned she feeds off my anxiety a lot of the time. I've learned that she is quickly growing into her own personality, with strong likes and dislikes. She's very passionate about her feelings which can translate into a dramatic meltdown at the least little thing. This is her. 

I, on the other hand, don't handle the dramatics as well as I should. But I'm learning. I'm learning to calm myself before interacting with her tantrums. That seems to be the key. It's not as easy as it seems because my first instinct is to snap out in anger and yell. But that only compounds the heightened situation. 

So I have begun giving her options - ones she may not like but can live with. Sometimes I have her make up her own options just to give her a chance to problem solve on her own. She's wickedly smart so most of the time she comes up with better choices than I do. 

I'm also learning that I have to forgive myself for things that haven't happened yet. My biggest fear for my children is that they'll inherit my bipolar disorder. I don't want that for them. But as the therapist says - it hasn't happened yet so I should stop creating more anxiety for myself. 

Since starting weekly therapy about two and a half months ago, things have gotten better. The world is not suddenly rose-colored but Penny's daily anxiety-induced stomachaches have stopped and the frequency of tantrums has dropped. It's become something we both look forward to. 

I don't know how long we'll need this, but I'm glad to have the resources available to proceed. She's my strong, warrior child and I want all the best things in the world for her. Even if that means learning now that the world is hard but there are ways to get through it.  

this stage of life

Let me make something clear. This is not a cry for help or meant to be a woe-is-me post. More of just an observation two people had about their lives.

Today I had an interesting conversation with a good friend of mine. The subject was on making new friends. And not just any new friends, but close friends. She lives in Arizona, in a new house, with a new church family, new everything. She made the observation that by our stage of life, most people (especially women) have already found their close friends. Their tribe. Their support through the good and bad and mundane. 

This can make it hard to interweave yourself into that established group when everyone already knows their parts. 

Now don't misunderstand. I have some very close friends. Who happen to live not so close. One's in Phoenix, one in Canada and one, though in Utah, is 40 minutes away. These three amazing women have been my friends for an average of 15 years. I don't get to see these awesome ladies nearly as much as I wish. We text or Facebook and sometimes write letters. But it's definitely not the same as having them in your house. 

And there's the rub. I've known these women for YEARS. Am I past the stage where finding new life-long friends is over?

That's where I hit a snag. 

We've been in Utah almost two years and in our new house a year and a half. And I still haven't made any very close friends. It might have something to do with the fact that I'm home all day and making new friends is hard when you almost never leave the house. However, I have been making a concerted effort. I've joined two book clubs and have attended most church activities. 

But it still feels more like Facebook "friends" or acquaintances than bosom friends, as Anne Shirley would say. And Facebook makes it really easy to keep people as acquaintances. 

Am I past the age where making fast friends was fast and easy? I know that I'm must more introverted than I was 20 years ago. That's just a fact. And I'm sure my crippling social anxiety also plays its part. But there has to be an easier way of doing this. Am I making it too complicated?

If you're in the same boat, I'd love to know. I know we can't be the only ones who feel like this.

once more with feeling

I want to start blogging again. Regularly. But after all this time, I almost don't know where to begin. My last post was over a year ago and then two years for the post before that. 

Somewhere along the line I lost my confidence. I can blame it on the bipolar but it's probably just laziness. Laziness and a lack of feeling that my blog mattered.  Even to me.

I didn't write about Everett being born, which I regret immensely. I didn't write about my second foray into the mental hospital which was just last October. That was something I wanted to post for future reference. I haven't had the energy, the purpose or the words to document my life the way I wanted to when I started this blog. I had such high hopes for it back then. I'd write every few days, even if it was just a little, expressing my thoughts and feelings with great aplomb. 

Instead, a self-consciousness overcame my brain and I began worrying more about how people would view me as apposed to how I wanted to see me.  

I began comparing myself to others who had better pictures, better words and better lives. 

I sit here contemplating what to write about. My life isn't the most exciting. I'm an anxious, bipolar, stay at home mom who doesn't have grand adventures anymore. 

That last sentence makes me a little sad. 

I love my life and the people who share it but sometimes I feel I've lost my purpose. The gospel speaks of talents and gifts but I don't know that I've ever found mine. If I have, maybe the many medications have washed them from memory. 

So here we are again.

I know I've repeated myself in a dozen different posts about doing better at writing, but this time I mean it. Even if it's just being a little bit better. 

 

the first and the ninth

Back in September of 2007, for our first anniversary, Jason planned a surprise trip for us to Vegas. He arranged the flight, hotel, dinners out and even a Cirque du Soleil show, all without me knowing. It was supposed to be this incredibly romantic getaway celebrating one year of marriage. And it was thoughtful and romantic. Until I ruined it.