how far we've come

"This is my blog. A mere attempt at organizing the chaos in my brain into something coherent and rational. Or at least aesthetically composed. I will write of what I know and what I feel. There will probably be moments of brutal honesty and honest feeling. I will withstand the urge to write about my job (except in the broadest of terms) and my families, unless someone really pisses me off. Then they're fair game. But I don't feel I should have to apologize for how this could make you feel.
Life does not come equipped with subtitles. Sometimes you just have to guess at what [the person is saying]."


Way back in August of 2008, this was my first blog post. If you can't read between the lines a bit, I was angry. Always angry. I thought a blog would be a great place for me to compose my thoughts and feelings into "something coherent". Something I could conserve on "paper" for posterity. Instead, for the first few years at least, what poured out was anger. Oh, it might have been disguised as humor or self-deprecation but that wasn't what it boiled down to - I was angry. At life, at the world, at random people. And it all stemmed from my bipolar disorder though I didn't know it until 3 years later.  

Once I received help and medications for my bipolar disease (because it is a disease), my posts changed. I was able to express, through words, that happiness that had been hidden inside for so long under all the anger. 

At the beginning I thought I would become famous because of the blog and that I'd find some self-worth through it all. I longed for recognition for my writing and craved an online community I could interact with. Because I was lonely. And horribly angry. I thought looking outside myself would solve both those problems. As you can guess, neither of those things happened. My blog is still only read by family and close friends. I'm not famous. But my words are still my own. I'm not lonely anymore nor am I angry. Medications went a long way to helping that. But so did REAL friends and a closeness with family. 

All this to say - if you're new here - Welcome. I'm glad you stopped by and hope you'll stick around. If I'm not your cup of tea, that's fine too. Maybe down the road we can meet again. 

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. 

guest post

I have been asked to guest post on an amazing blog called See The Happy. My post is entitled Surviving Bipolar and is located here. 

I'd love it if you hopped over there and gave it a look. 

why so serious?

"Mommy, listen to this!"

Tells joke they just made up and isn't remotely funny. 

~light chuckle~

"Mom - that was funny! Why didn't you laugh? Wasn't I funny?"

Ouch. 

Kids can really cut right to it. Why hadn't I laughed? And why don't I laugh more? 

The thing is, I love to laugh. Some of my fondest memories with friends and family are ones filled with laughter. Great deep belly-laughs that cause tears to stream down my cheeks. Moments that cause inside jokes that last for decades. I love those kinds of laughs.

So why don't I laugh more with my kids? I've become too serious and stern for no good reason - other than the fact that I became a mom. Motherhood has changed me. Some for the better and some definitely for the worse. My bipolar issues also certainly don't help the matter. Since my diagnosis, I've found myself the quietest that I've ever been. In my high school years, I was seriously, obnoxiously loud and silly. Laughing all the time. Now, silence and polite laughs have become my forte. And I know it's all me. When my kids want to be silly, all I can think is "Please stop interrupting what I'm doing. I'm busy."

Too busy to laugh with them....how awful is that? 

I could blame it on the stressfulness of being a parent but that's crap. Everyone knows laughter can relieve stress. So it comes down to me. How do I want my home to sound? Silent as my perfect children of the corn while away hours playing by themselves? Or do I want to be part of their sweet laughter? As I've mentioned before, Jason plays the silly games and laughs at the thousandth joke. He makes them laugh. I crack a smile. Or half. 

That makes my heart hurt. That I find it hard to join in.

I want my home to be a welcoming place where the kids can feel relaxed and as happy as possible. And I know that includes mommy laughing more. 

So that's my goal this week, this month, this year and all the years to come. I want their memories full of laughter. Mine included.

perfection

 

Perfection. So many unhealthy thoughts come to mind when I think about being perfect. Twelve years ago, when my husband and I married, I thought I would be the perfect wife and mother. I was all set to have the perfect Instagram life even before Instagram existed. 

When we got married I was bubbly, energetic, optimistic and out-going. Over the years, and in some part due to my Bipolar Disorder, I've become introverted, overly serious and even pessimistic, though I like to call it realistic. 

I was striving for perfection in an imperfect world. I know that real people are never perfect but that didn't stop me from wanting it. I don't believe anyone is the same after 12 years of life experience, but I know I can do better. I can try to look on the positive side more instead of dreading and expecting the worst. 

 

I want my home life to function a little more smoothly and I think that needs to start with me. I don't need to be perfect, just better. I think optimism will follow from there. I want to have joyfulness for myself and for my family. Things may never be perfect but that doesn't mean we can't make it work.

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. 

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.  

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.