Mommy’s Busy.

It has been a HOT MINUTE since I last blogged.

You guys, I’m working again and it FEELS SO GOOD.

Going into this transition, I was worried it was going to throw me and my family for a loop. I worried the house would get cluttered and shit wouldn’t get done and I wouldn’t have time and I’d get stressed and anxious and start yelling at everyone. And that’s just on the home front. For work, I worried that I’d be drowning in imposter syndrome and what the hell am I doing and all the new shit I’d have to learn and oh my gosh I’ve forgotten how to do therapy go away I can’t help you.

But…it honestly hasn’t been that bad. The transition as a whole has been overwhelmingly positive, actually. Has the laundry sat for a week…or two…or more…without getting folded and put away? Yup. Have the dirty dishes sat overnight…or for the rest of the next day before I got to them? Sure. Did it bother me? You bet. But I got it done. Eventually.

And I had forgotten, but when one is first starting to build a caseload, it means that every new client one sees is new (duh). But that also means that it’s an assessment, and a diagnosis, and a bunch of documentation. All on an electronic charting system I had never used before. For my first two weeks of work, I was walking around with a glazed look on my face, and I had to stay up late most nights so I could finish my documentation before seeing several more brand new clients the next day. Whew. The dishes had to wait.

But oh man. My schedule is flexible and I get to do a hybrid of in-person and telehealth and I got to choose which populations and what ages I wanted to work with, all of which I’ve never had before. Before, if some of you remember, I worked at a nonprofit where we had little choice what hours we worked, there was no telehealth, and we tried to serve the most in-need populations with the fewest resources as best we possibly could. I am so thankful that I have landed where I am.

It feels so good to be making a contribution to my larger community, especially after the shared trauma of Covid and social isolation and depression and anxiety, etc. It feels so good to be making my own money, and to be contributing financially to the running of my household in addition to all the unpaid, visible and invisible labor I’ve always done. It feels so great to have my own time and my own space to focus on doing ONE. SINGULAR. THING. WITHOUT. INTERRUPTION. And that thing is honored and recognized by those around me. Ooh, mommy’s busy. She’s got a job.

I’m learning and I’m growing and that feels fantastic. I’m seeing more couples as clients and I’m so excited to get more training in that area. I’m using my brain, I’m using my degree. My DSM is dog-eared again, y’all.

Pair all this with great weather finally hitting the PNW, summer vacations are just around the corner. In the past year, I’ve made several new friends and my kids have grown SO MUCH both in school and out. My littlest one can read now!! Beyond exciting. I stepped up to be the main Girl Scout leader for my daughter’s troop, and while this unfortunately happened exactly when I began my new job, this is my dream come true and I’m doing everything I can to make sure these younglings have a fun and inspiring time learning new things and making new friends.

On this Mother’s Day, I’m thankful. I love my babies and I love my life. Lately, I’ll often find myself surprised that I feel so excited about my day and happy as my baseline. To keep things in perspective, I can’t help but compare this to how I felt a year ago, even 2 years ago. The difference is staggering.

I’m so glad I’m here right now.

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So do you feel different?

I’m 40 now, you guys.

And yup, this one feels different, for a number of reasons.

One, I’m sure, is because it’s a milestone birthday and for that reason I want it to feel different and so it does. Another reason is that going through Covid – and coming out of Covid – has changed my perspective and my priorities. Another is that I emerged from the worst depression and anxiety of my life this past year. Sitting here and now, I can remember just how shitty I felt and how content I feel now by comparison.

My life is changing. This past Fall, I finally started job searching. I interviewed for jobs the week before Christmas (do not recommend) and accepted a position in January. I start in two weeks. I haven’t worked outside the home in NINE YEARS y’all. Holy crap, do I miss it. And, as I told one interviewer, this long break from doing therapy has simply reinforced my feeling that this is what I want to do professionally. I’ve craved it.

Backing up for a second, another indication that I’m feeling different these days is how I approached interviewing for this job. Granted, my position in life is different since I last interviewed for jobs 15 years ago. Back then, I was out on my own for the first time, attempting financial independence. I needed the income to live. I felt I had something to prove. Everything to prove, in fact. I felt like a kid playing house, playing dress up. Mommy’s too-big heels and stolen smeared lipstick. This time around, I find myself with more privilege. I’m financially secure, I don’t need this job, and I don’t have anything to prove.

One job opening asked for a cover letter, and I hate writing cover letters, so I just sent in my resume and wrote a short email introducing myself. They requested an interview. During interviews, I blurted out true answers and I wasn’t afraid to be honest about what I’m good at and what I’m not. I was still thoughtful and respectful, of course, but I was also authentic. I don’t want to work for anyone who wouldn’t respect me and accept me as I am, here and now, anyway. Here I am. Take it or leave it.

It felt so liberating.

I’m all the feels about going back to work: excited, terrified, anxious, curious. I know it’ll be a big adjustment for everyone in my house. We’ll have to see how it goes, but I know we’ll all find a new normal sooner or later.

Working aside, lately I’ve been mindful about not making room for bullshit and drama. You have feelings about how I conduct my life? Cool, you get to keep those. They aren’t mine.

I suppose I owe 40 a huge thanks. Thanks for giving me permission to be myself and to experience joy and to set healthy boundaries regardless of how others may feel.

So far, 40’s been pretty great.

What if it all works out

It’s been a hot minute.

I’m happy to report that I am feeling so much better overall, and have been feeling better since around…June?

It’s weird to look back on one’s own mental health journey because my memory is all warped and anxiety/depression lies. I notice little things that are different (which are really big things), like feeling excited for the day instead of dreading having to leave my house.

I’ve made serious gains and had a few breakthroughs in figuring out how to heal from trauma and self-regulate and reparent myself, many of which are hard to describe. One recent example is realizing just how triggered I am by chaos/loud screaming/joyful play by children. To back up, a few years ago, my friend and I were watching our kids play together. It was loud. There was running and screaming and throwing and mess. I was tense. I was on alert. I was gritting my teeth. (but I wasn’t aware of this at the time.) My friend turned to me and said, “Isn’t this great?!” I looked at her like she was nuts. No. No, this was not great. This was the opposite of great.

Fast forward to when I told my therapist this story and she declared that chaos felt unsafe to me. Holy shit. We unpacked this and she introduced the concept of “healthy chaos.” My mind latched onto this phrase. It sounded so foreign. It was an oxymoron.

Anyways, I’ve worked on this enough to be able to, 1) realize I’m being triggered, 2) name my feeling, 3) identify the situation for what it is. (is this truly unsafe? am I ok? are my kids ok? yup, we’re all ok. 4) label it as healthy chaos and self-soothe.

Whaaaaaaaaaat.

Trauma survivors, I see you.

The best part about all of this is that I’m able to take these skills and apply them straight to the raising of my kids. It brought me to tears when I realized that I am saying things to my kids that I, myself, desperately needed to hear as a kid. It’s all connected.

And so, I find myself thankful and more optimistic as of late. Heck, I even bought a shirt that says, “What if it all works out?” because shit, that speaks to me. It’s about time I bought a shirt with a positive saying on it instead of “leave me alone,” “dead inside,” “go fuck off.” You know what I mean.

Even so, there’s a part of me that’s always a bit scared. Scared the bad will creep back in again. With the coming of Fall and cold and darkness, comes this feeling of panic, if I’m honest. But. I have more tools this trip around the sun. I have more insight. I have things to look forward to.

Am I ok? Am I safe?

Right now: yup.

Fool me once

2021 really sucked. This year was extremely rough, even moreso than 2020. I’ve never been so bogged down by depression and anxiety before. I’ve never been physically injured so badly before. I’ve never felt so profoundly burned out. The word “exhaustion” doesn’t even cut it.

I worked on myself a lot. Physically and mentally. Felt like most of the time I was struggling to break even, to keep going. To get through the day. There were definitely bright spots. Traveling, as simple as getting out of town for the weekend, either with friends or family. That’s the crux, really – the word simple. As the sequel to 2020 in a shitty franchise that goes on forever, I’ve had to focus on the simple pleasures, and honestly that’s been nice.

I really hope 2022 is better. Dear lord I need that, we all need that. I’m also hesitant to place a bet because this rollercoaster has fooled us all multiple times now. Fool me once.

In 2021 I read the second highest number of books in one year in my adult life. This year I read 25 books, three of which were Harry Potter read out loud to my kids, a few pages each night, complete with all the voices. Man, that was fun! Such a joy to read a Quidditch match as fast as I can to try and spark excitement and action. It’s amazing reading Fred and George’s lines and getting laughs. Books are the best.

This year, I made a point to choose some books with the aim to educate myself on race and the black experience.

• White Fragility – Robin DiAngelo

• I’m Still Here – Austin Channing Brown

• You Are Your Best Thing – Tarana Burke and Brene Brown, editors

All were informative in their own way. You Are Your Best Thing was the most emotional, as a collection of stories and essays from black authors.

I finally finished Barack Obama’s book, which was tough to consume as bedtime reading. Perhaps I should have invested in the audiobook – his voice is quite soothing but would that have made the experience even longer?

• A Promised Land – Barack Obama

I read a bunch of titles that were just meh for me. I wouldn’t really recommend them. I suppose I enjoyed Anxious People the most out of this bunch.

• Anxious People – Fredrik Backman
• Welcome to the United States of Anxiety – Jen Lancaster
• The Sanatorium – Sarah Pearse
• Hush – Dylan Farrow

Here are the other non-fiction titles I read this year.

• The Power Worshippers – Katherine Stewart
• Year of Yes – Shonda Rhimes
• Burnout – Emily and Amelia Nagoski

Power Worshippers was about how evangelical and fundamentalist Christians are working in America (and overseas, actually) to infiltrate the public school system and get people elected to public office, among other things. I had no idea how many churches use public school buildings to save on costs, and in an attempt to recruit young members. Anyway, I saw the book on a shelf and grabbed it and it was an infuriating read. Yes was fun to read and learn more about the woman behind all those hit shows on TV like Grey’s Anatomy and Scandal. Burnout was a self-help book, but SUCH a good one. It speaks to women in context of the patriarchy and explains what burnout is and how to complete the stress cycle in our lives. I’m pretty sure it was written pre-Covid, but my glob, it was exactly what I needed.

This year, The Bloggess, aka Jenny Lawson had a new book come out and it did not disappoint. That woman is skillful at chronicling her experiences with mental illness in such a way that is honest, humanizing, and extremely funny. It’s beyond validating to read.

• Broken, In The Best Possible Way – Jenny Lawson

For my Halloween book this year, I stumbled across Grady Hendrix and he is masterful. He created a slasher book that reads like a movie with exquisite dry humor woven in. I identified with the anxious, protective, badass, sarcastic leading Final Girl and wanted more.

• The Final Girl Support Group – Grady Hendrix

I am a huge Brene Brown fan. I love her work and I love her, both as me the clinician and me the person. Her podcasts have helped me cope over the past 2 years and her new book should be required reading for being human. I’m fascinated with language and how it’s used, and how that shapes our thoughts, feelings, and behaviors. We need a fan club. What are her fans called? Brownies? Friends of Brene?

• Atlas of the Heart – Brene Brown

I won’t list every single book I read this year, but these last four are my top four fiction books of the year.

4. Outlawed – Anna North

A friend recommended this one to me, and I knew enough to take her up on it. It’s an alternate history western that is after the “Great Flu” and is feminist AF. Very fun and interesting to read.

3. The Whisper Network – Chandler Baker

Recommended by the same friend, this one is Big Little Lies meets The Morning Show. It’s a group of women working in corporate America dealing with all the shit women deal with…and it’s a whodunit. It’s good, y’all.

2. The Tattooist of Auschwitz – Heather Morris

This one was recommended by a different friend, one who knows my love of WWII civilian life. This is based on the true story of two people who meet and fall in love living in the Auschwitz concentration camp, if you can call that living. It is an awe-inspiring account of the horrors of war and the resilience of the human spirit. Brought me to tears.

1. The Alice Network – Kate Quinn

By far the best book I read all year. I couldn’t put it down. This one intertwines the storylines of two different women in two different time periods – one is a spy in The Great War and one is pregnant out of wedlock in post-WWII Europe. The way the characters are written are detailed, nuanced, full of trauma. I was on the edge of my seat, and afterward I researched just how true to life the story was. Several of the spies in this book were real people. Real badass ladies.

So there you have it. 2021 was definitely the year to get lost in a good book if there ever was one. Happy New Year, all, and happy reading.

You don’t know me

Today I went for a walk.

I reeeeeeally didn’t want to. It’s raining, and it’s super cold. Which is shitty because if it were just a few degrees colder, it’d be snow, and that would make all the difference.

But no. It’s cold and wet and I forced myself outside because I’m told it’d be good for me and because I’m desperate to feel better.

I wake up most mornings these days feeling like there’s a sack of flour on my chest. I don’t know why. It’s become automatic at this point. Sometimes, a lot of the time, I forget what it’s like to feel relaxed. Truly, simply, relaxed. Calm. Peaceful. Content.

It makes me sad. It makes me frustrated. It makes me feel despair. It makes me feel broken.

It makes me feel like my anxiety and depression is my fault. Because I’m type A, numero uno on the enneagram, I like feeling in control (or at least having the illusion of control). And if I’m in control, that means that things are my fault. That I should be able to feel a certain way or not feel a certain way if I want to. That if I can’t feel a certain way, then I must be doing something wrong. Only I’m doing ALL THE THINGS. And I still feel this way. And I’m fucking exhausted.

So, clearly, logically, it’s not my fault. Go figure. I think that’s been the single most impactful intervention my therapist has said to me in the past 6 months. That my anxiety is not my fault. You know what? No one had ever told me that before. I don’t think it had honestly occurred to me until then. Well, shit.

At the same time, the part of me that knows this isn’t my fault wants some more fucking credit for all the shit I’ve been doing. And when a professional implies that I should be doing more, or that I’m not doing enough, I implode. Do you know how hard I’m working?! I want to scream, Don’t you get how much effort I’ve put into getting healthy?!

My therapist asked me if I’m journaling. Fuck you, was the response in my head. You want me to do one more thing? Like I’m not already doing enough? You don’t know me. (Those of you who are Brene Brown fans and follow her podcasts will especially get that last line.)

My psychiatrist wants me to get some kind of exercise every day, if I can. Is that good advice? Yup. Is it always feasible? Nope. Do I want credit for busting my ass to get to 3 classes a week and taking walks in the freezing rain? You bet I do.

I’m realizing that I want to be taken care of. As a mom and a woman, I take care of everybody else’s shit. All day errday. I don’t get people cleaning up my messes or kissing my boo-boos or telling me what a great job I’m doing. And I’ve been seeking that out from paid professionals in my life. In the past 6 months, I’ve employed a physical therapist, a chiropractor, an individual mental health therapist, a psychiatrist, a couples therapist, two yoga instructors, a pilates instructor, and a partridge in a pear tree. That’s me asking for help. That’s me getting the care I need and I deserve.

And through this process, I’m realizing just how closely linked to shame my anxiety and depression are. I’ve never had them stick around so long before, and it’s freaking me out. It’s exhausting. I am depleted. Something must be wrong with me. And I want a parental figure to say I’m doing a great job. Look at all the hard work you’re doing! I see it and I give you credit. It’s such a primordial need; such a young and vulnerable feeling.

I took a walk today in the freezing rain. I closed my rings today. That good enough for you? Am I good enough?

You want me to find time to journal on top of everything else?

Here’s your fucking journal entry.

Just a minute

I needed a minute

To gather myself

Picking up the pieces I dropped along the way

I made it here in one piece

Only one piece of the jigsaw puzzle

–

I needed a minute

Before you noticed me

And yelled at me to come inside

Let me find my grit

And smear some on my face

For you

Or for me

I’m not quite sure

–

I needed a minute

To breathe

To think

To not breathe

To not think

–

I needed a minute

Without you

Just a minute

Stare the unbearable in the face

I found this article shared by a Facebook friend, titled: There Is No After. This quote jumped off the page at me:

In the place of a shared sense of reality or collective expression of mourning, I see a torrent of advice on how a person who managed to survive can feel more self-actualized once they return to the shuffle between the office and after-work drinks. To me, this looks like denial, the first tentative step towards what I’m told are seven distinct stages of grief.

Molly Osberg, Jezebel

This. THIS. I haven’t been able to put my finger on it, but this feeling I’ve had of being “left behind” as things open up and friends gather and vacations are planned…..all as I am still at home, watching the case numbers rise. AGAIN. And this article defined it for me – maybe it’s not that they aren’t affected, but perhaps it’s the opposite, that the masses are so desperate/traumatized that they are willing to deny that this isn’t over – to claim that there is an “over” – to avoid feeling the tidal wave of overwhelming grief and loss. Loss- of life, of safety, of community, of normalcy. I feel alone in my grief.

It’s unbearable, and I’ve always been the type to stare the unbearable in the face. Look at this! Look at how terrible things are! Let’s dissect and marvel and wallow and grieve this terribleness! Who’s with me?!

To be clear, I feel the urge to deny as well, because one can’t bear the unbearable for too long, uninterrupted.

When I was little, I remember having this recurring nightmare. Do you remember that wolf with the glowing eyes from The Neverending Story? It represented The Nothing – fear, destruction, depression. It terrified me. In my nightmare, it would hide in the darkness, under my little brother’s crib. All I could see was its eyes, glowing and staring right into mine. I could hear it growling, threatening me. I was terrified and frozen. I wanted to run but was physically unable. My only option was to stay and stare it down. I mirrored it. I was down on all fours and growled back, even though the first few tries wouldn’t produce any sound.

And that’s it. That’s the whole dream. I still have it, sometimes, even now. That’s what I do, even in my dreams.

Posterboard versus hand signals

I just got Jenny Lawson’s new book in the mail A DAY EARLY – the postal service must really know what they’re doing when the tracking number tells me my beloved package will be here on Saturday, and since I am a creature whose mental health depends on expectations being met or exceeded, they, well, exceeded them because today is indeed Friday (at the time this was written), a survey of my peers confirmed – and I’ve already dived into it, even though I have a library book that’s due soon and it can’t be renewed and I don’t like to read two books at one time so now I’ve gone and fucked everything up but who cares because nothing matters anymore.

Her book inspires me to write in gauche run-on sentences that include lots of italics and all caps because her writing just speaks to me. She also inspires me to write about my own struggles with mental illness, among other things.

I hesitate to write about depression versus anxiety for a number of reasons. First is that anxiety is my main course and I usually only order a side of depression, and not all that often. Also, depression just seems scarier. More dangerous. When I write about it, I always feel the need to add that I’m not suicidal (because I’m not). Depression is so much more than that, anyway. And it’s different for everyone.

Lately, I’ve been struggling to decide to go to social events because things I try to say come out wrong because my depression manifests as extreme irritability. While I want human connection and know that it will be good for me, my worry is that my depression will say something horribly rude and piss off my friends and I’d like to keep my friends. But, if I stay away from my friends for their sake and express myself only with one liners and emojis via text, I fear they’ll think I’m trying to ghost them and I swear I’m not.

My depression also manifests as a profound lack of energy. If you’re seeing me outside my house wearing pants lately, be sure I’ve used up my energy just getting to that state. Another reason I worry about group events is that I’d rather not burst into tears if someone asks me how I’m doing. See, I’m a horrible liar and I don’t want to lie but I don’t necessarily want to discuss every last detail about how I’m feeling with a group of people – partially because I don’t always know what or why I’m feeling. BUT- I do appreciate people asking. I do. Even if I suck at answering. And if I did burst into tears, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. I also don’t want people to be afraid to ask – again, because I suck at answering – mainly because I don’t want my depression to become this huge, ugly elephant in the room (but not indoors in any room, because covid. the proverbial room). Lastly, I’m extremely cognizant of the fact that I don’t want the topic of my mental health to hijack the festivities. I don’t want to be that sick person who sucks all the fun out of the [metaphorical non-covid-filled] room, but I don’t want to ignore the obvious, either. I’d love to strike a balance between totally ignoring the huge elephant I’m riding in on versus bursting into tears and becoming the focus of an impromptu group therapy session.

Nobody, firstly me, wants to have to tiptoe around the issue of how I might be feeling on any given day. I’ve often thought about how I might cut straight to the chase. I’ll arrive at the please-wear-pants garden party and loudly shout I’M AT A 4 TODAY. I MIGHT CRY. I’M GLAD I’M HERE BUT I ALSO MIGHT LEAVE EARLY. GOOD AFTERNOON TO YOU ALL. But, to be realistic I should probably put all that on huge white posterboard and go through them one by one like the Walking Dead guy does in Love Actually when he’s totally trying to steal his best friend’s wife. (Who does that?!) Cuz if I’m actually at a 4 (out of 10), then there’s likely no way I’d be able to say all that without crying. Either posterboard or hand signals. Hand signals would be more environmentally friendly.

Hand signals it is.

I’m here. I made it.

It’s dark in here. And cold. I don’t like the cold but the dark is kinda nice. It wraps me up so your pity cannot see me.

I’m not sure how I got here or how long I’ve been. I have no idea how long I’ll stay or how I could leave if I wanted to.

Do I want to? I don’t even know what’s outside anymore.

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I want to drive and meet people.

I don’t want to drive and meet people.

I need to pack.

I’m excited to pack?

Leave me alone so I can pack.

What do I need again?

Put things in the car. Don’t forget.

Get gas. Wait.

Run errands. Hurry.

Maybe coffee will make me feel…how I’m supposed to feel. Why, I have no clue.

Remember. Don’t forget.

People are waiting.

Pull over. It’s too much. I can’t see.

Breathe.

Driving fast. Novel sights, new smells.

Stimulation.

Breathe.

Get there.

Missed turn. Racing heart.

Drained.

Engine cuts out, so do I.

Resist the urge to run. Keep driving.

Moving fast feels like standing still.

I’m here.

Get out of the car.

I made it.

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Say hello to my new Depression Translator.

Me: “Hi. Where’s the bathroom?”

DT: “Hello, friends. I am happy to be here but I’m depressed, exhausted, and fear human interaction. I’m going to go hide in the bathroom for a moment and try not to cry and/or hyperventilate. It may take me a while to calm down and warm up to this social situation. I’m sorry if I seem weird or rude. I know how this must look. I can’t seem to fix it. But I’m here. I made it.”

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I feel the need to accompany content like this with disclaimers because I’m aware that I’m writing for an audience. I want to normalize depression and anxiety and I want to suck the stigma out of it. I want to normalize expressing depression and anxiety because that’s healthy. I fear judgement for writing stuff like this, but I feel compelled to do it nonetheless. Take from it what you will, and leave your advice at the door. Thanks.

The World Is Not Ending

I’ve realized I need to remind myself that the world is not ending.

Somewhere along the way, I figured all the stores are closed and school is closed, so I should be too.

This is it. Accept it. We don’t get nice things anymore.

But then I hear other people are going out.

Having experiences.

Seeing people.

Doing things.

Living their lives.

And then I remember. Huh. Maybe I should too?

Staying home is nice.

Safe.

Warm.

Comfy.

But is this what I want?

I’m so tired.

Weary.

Sad.

Numb.

But is this what I want?

Sometimes I don’t know what I want.

Oftentimes I change my mind.

Or my mind changes me.

Just remember, self: the world is not ending

And neither are you.

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Day 22: Pepper Day!