Lies

-Would having someone here have helped?

-Would any amount of support have gotten me through this one?

-I feel like they would all be fine without me-obviously-but these weeks just prove it to me.

-Why am I always the burden?

-What do I do now?

I found these questions and statement in a note that I had written on July 30, 2019. This was one of the hard weeks. I felt lonely, scared, lost, hopeless, unloved. It was a dark and a scary place.

I often took to writing to try and keep myself out of my head. I would write out my prayers so that I could stay focused, I wrote letters to people whom I felt had neglected or hurt me (I never actually sent any of them). This particular note I remember I had written out as a prayer. These were questions I was asking Heavenly Father.

Often times people of faith have a hard time understanding people with depression because they feel like if we would just turn to Jesus and give Him our burdens, all things will be made right–that faith could pull us out of these pits if we just had enough of it.

I was of that same belief. And so I prayed, and I pled, and I fasted, and I studied, and cried. And when I didn’t receive relief I felt even more like a failure. Obviously I hadn’t made enough good choices for His help. I was unworthy.

As I look back, almost a whole year from that time (🙌🙌🙌) I see SO MANY LIES. (I will only address a few here).

I was not alone. I was not unworthy. It wasn’t my doing. God’s been by me all along.

They funny thing about these particular questions is that none of the people I was referring to had any idea that something was wrong. Ok, maybe one or two. But my depression had convinced me that the people I loved not only knew about my darkness and loneliness but that they didn’t care.

The day I opened up about suicide was the day I realized they had no idea.

If you are feeling so sad, and if depression is telling you that everyone you love knows about it and they just don’t care:

DON’T BELIEVE THE LIES.

Open up. Ask for help. Let people love you.

My son burned his hand this last weekend and he didn’t tell me. MY TWO YEAR OLD #momfail. So he suffered it without any consolation or pain relief or anything because he was afraid of a bandaid.

How ridiculous is that? Very. So is staying quiet when you’re drowning in your own mind.

May 21, 2020May 21, 2020

Not a Bad Mom

This story is from a friend of mine who has sacrificed tremendously to bring children into this world. I think she is the only one whose gestational diabetes ended up being, in fact, the life long battle of type 1 diabetes. I think of her every time I take one of those tests. Here is her story, one that reminds us that struggling with mental health DOES NOT MAKE YOU A BAD MOM.

I know everyone says that the birth of a child is supposed to be beautiful and special, but [for me] it wasn’t. It was the worst day of my life… I almost died.

I have type 1 diabetes (thanks to my first baby – not gestational, straight up type 1), and that means I have big babies. The second time, I had a team of specialists and I’m sure glad I did because, sure enough, big baby.

Once they broke my water, Jackson came too fast for an epidural. But his shoulders got stuck and the emergency team was called in. I was on oxygen, doctors literally shoved him out, and for weeks after I could still hear myself screaming whenever I closed my eyes. I didn’t sleep for several days and I dreaded any visitors or going back to church because I knew people would ask about his birth and I could not bring myself to talk about it.

A lot had happened, like going hypotensive twice, needing 2 blood transfusions, and having multiple IVs in each arm that just made my experience just awful. Needless to say, I was diagnosed with PTSD and started seeing a therapist. I eventually reached a point where I could talk about it without becoming a hysterical mess.

Some days all of those feelings and fear, and resolution to never put myself through that again, make me feel like I’m a bad mom… but that doesn’t mean I’m a bad mom. It just means I’m human and I’ve had to accept that there is only so much I can handle and to be happy with the blessings I have.

I just try to be happy that I’m still here to experience life with these little people who rely so completely on me.

Some days are better than others. But the bad days don’t mean I’m a bad mom. They mean I’m human. No one is perfect, and I take comfort in remembering that.

May 13, 2020May 27, 2020

Epidural

I have kind of a strange relationship with epidurals. I suppose that the fact that I have one at all is strange.

My first pregnancy I was scared to death of an epidural. I had started the hypnobirthing course because nothing about an epidural sounded like a good idea. Huge needles in my back? That could paralyze me? (I have since learned that that is impossible these days), give me headaches, again-huge needle IN MY BACK. No thank you. I was only going to get one if the pain really was bad enough that that option sounded better and I honestly doubted that it would.

But then I was told that I would be delivering a dead baby NOW. I didn’t get 9 months to prepare. I was told that in a moment when I was in so much physical pain that I broke mentally and emotionally. I could not even pee without every muscle involved screaming in protest. Like, not the burning uti pain, but pain receptors I didn’t know existed in muscles and organs I didn’t think could hurt.

I had broken ribs, broken thumb (which causes more trouble than you’d think), bruised arms and apparently bruised every organ inside my body. The thought of GIVING BIRTH under those circumstances was not even fathomable. I was going to die.

So when I was forced to make that decision, it was an easy one.

Don’t be deceived, it was not perfect. The nurse anesthetist gave me some narcotics before beginning (hallelujah) maybe because of the bruising, maybe because he could tell I was terrified. Either way I’m thankful.

After that I don’t remember a lot of details. This is do remember- my blood pressure dropped to a number I didn’t think was possible. To get it up fast they put my IV drop all the way to the ceiling. Then I got a crazy headache but I couldn’t stop shaking. (You’d think these memories would bring back fear or dread or something. They don’t. This was probably the least traumatic part of that whole weekend 😂). Suddenly I had ice on my head and lots of heated blankets everywhere else. Sheldon was rubbing my head. That’s about all I remember. Maybe I was nauseous?

But then it worked! For the first time in 72 hours my whole body wasn’t in so much pain! Coughing still hurt everything above, but nothing below! Maybe I should note that I was recovering from the flu, so coughing was a part of that weekend too- that was a HUGE relief. I could laugh if the chance arose. I wasn’t required to sit myself up. I could relax for the first time in days- literally. I didn’t have to pee in pain. No one was forcing me to get up and walk in pain. They were doing everything they could to relieve as much of the pain as possible and they were the first to do so. I just got to lay there. I seriously could still cry of joy just thinking about the amount of peace that epidural brought me. There are no words. I have never loved a doctor more nor been more grateful for God-given medical procedure. It saved my life.

So yes, I have gotten an epidural all 4 times I’ve labored. Maybe I feel a moral obligation to the thing that saved my life, I don’t know. But I’ve loved them all! Rather than spending my labor trying to mentally escape the pain so I can endure, I am brought to a place of peace before the storm, a place where I can mentally and emotionally be present. I CAN focus on the pain (mine always leaves plenty), and the movements of my baby, the work they are doing, I can think about the process and the spirits who are undoubtedly surrounding me. I can have conversations with my baby that I’m about to hold, I can feel my Jax who started this whole relationship with epidurals, I can feel grateful.

Maybe one day I’ll try the natural route, I hear it’s pretty awesome, but I’m afraid that sacred moment of peace would be taken away, that focusing on my breathing or other endurance techniques would blind me from the minuscule moments I find so beautiful. Although, no doubt something just and special and beautiful would would take their place. No woman can bring a child into this world without a sacred moment.

*Disclaimer: labor is not all sunshine and rainbows with an epidural. My first experience was one of stark contrast. It doesn’t take away all the pain-I still cried through my back labor even that first time. It doesn’t take away the need for your body to push the baby out-literally the same amount of physical work is involved (W=FxD) whether you have an epidural or not. It doesn’t take away the nausea, or the glorious, unspeakable moment of holding that perfect baby in the end, or the recovery afterward.

May 9, 2020May 9, 2020

After the Fall

This past week I had a whole lot of emotions.

I had made the choice to stop taking my medicine for reasons not understood by medical professionals and other around me. I was doing so great! And feeling really good about that decision.

Then when I mentioned it all to my therapist, she kind of freaked out-and rightly so-my decision was not completely based on scientific/medical evidences. But I was also diagnosed with another mental illness and I emotionally took a blow. I was doubting my progress, my spirituality, any happy spells. I felt like I would never be free, that my life would always be an existence to view through depression glasses. And it broke my heart.

I was in the midst of these feelings when I received a book from my incredibly insiteful sister:

AFTER THE FALL.

I cannot tell you all that is in there, but know that if you are dealing with depression, PTSD, or mental illness in general, you should read this book. It is short and sweet, and very powerful. Even my dear Sheldy teared up, knowing how bogged down I was feeling.

*As an Amazon Associate, I receive commission from qualified purchases

May 8, 2020May 8, 2020

Choose Your Own Adventure- salad edition

After a few days of eating crappy, my body could not handle any more!
So I decided to go low calorie tonight, while making it fun!

I started by cutting and washing a head of green lettuce.
While that dried ( I DO NOT like dripping lettuce, it is kind of a pet peeve of mine), I cut up vegetables in rainbow order, because it’s pretty.

The I put lettuce in the bowls, the chopped veggies on the cutting board, and all the dressing options. The kids then decided WHAT to put in, which makes them WANT to eat it more!

Knowing full well that a salad would never really fill us up, I also made a fruit and protein smoothie that I think was a hit. 🙌

May 5, 2020

Diagnosis

My first diagnosis was PTSD. I started having funny symptoms about a year after my accident: unreasonable fear of the dark, night terrors, the obvious car terror had been going on the whole time. I started seeing a therapist then.

It wasn’t the best experience. The things he said made me feel like I was just an outlet for him to share his scary stories, but I do acknowledge that talking about the accident, which I did, was a really great thing and I left our visits more in tune with my own status.

I did make leaps and strides during that time even if the therapist didn’t help a ton, processing rational thoughts vs irrational ones. I think acknowledging that I had a problem was a big step. Sheldon was a huge help as we learned to face my fear in the car. One practice he came up with was to stare down semi-trucks as we passed them instead of hiding my face. I still try and do this when my anxiety is a bit heightened.

it got to the point where I thought I was on top of it! Life was grand. I was a mom again. I would still cry and mourn my baby, especially on important days: the accidentiversary, his birthday, his due date, etc. But I was no longer terrified of the dark or having night terrors, and I could survive nice-weather drives without an attack. I was back in school, living close to family, and had a great friend support system.

Then I got pregnant again. And all of a sudden I dipped lower than I ever had before. That was the first time I had suicidal thoughts and it scared me to death! I was not going to have that. So I talked to the OB and got on medication really quickly with the diagnosis of depression.

Fast forward to my next pregnancy and it happened again. This time it was sparked (I believe) by an incredibly stressful 22 hour drive across the country. I knew it because I was surrounded by loved ones and felt unloved.

when I got back home I wanted to try therapy before medication because I was sure it was tied to my PTSD and I wanted to BE DONE WITH THE STINKING ACCIDENT.

so I started therapy again and it was SO MUCH BETTER. We tore apart my experience and I found several things that I had not processed. Parts of my memories returned like brick walls that I had shut out for years. I came face to face with anger and forgiveness I had withheld. I still have a hard time realizing the things I had forgotten.

I’ve learned so many lessons that I hope to share sometime.

But the depression didn’t go away fast enough. I was suicidal again, and this time was worse. The thoughts didn’t seem as foreign this time around. It was BAD.

So I was medicated again! And I am so thankful!

I’ve recently decided to stop my medication. And I have been doing great! I feel empowered with the coping mechanisms I have been given and honestly, have just felt more in control of my emotions. I felt like it was time.

My therapist was not happy. She blamed my happiness on placebo and is sure I’ll be crashing. After we talked she concluded that I probably have cyclothymia- another diagnosis.

Since then I’ve thought about the power of diagnosis.

It is so relieving to know that it “isn’t me,” to have something to blame. It helps take guilt. And it especially helps to know how to effectively medicate.

But it is also hard to feel in control when a diagnosis is made. In a way, it feels like my agency is gone. That I can’t “choose happiness” if I have a disease that makes it so I can’t. And now, even my happy days are a part of that diagnosis. Could it be that my hard work at coping, and my productive successful days are of no credit to me but this new disease?

When I told my mom she said: well that sounds like “personality.” And it got me thinking differently and I have decided to just let it be. I may have cyclothymia, and I will see someone about it, but it will not be a part of who I see myself as. I can’t. I don’t expect to live life void of hard days, that would be ridiculous. And I fully intend to feel good about myself when I have good days.

No diagnosis changes our identity. No diagnosis voids out our hard work. We are children of God with unique challenges and many ways to deal with them. What a wonderful time we live in!

April 29, 2020April 23, 2020

Kids Table

I’ve been wanting a little kid craft table for quite some time but finally decided to get one after we had a family over for dinner and we didn’t fit very well at our dining table.

So off to Walmart we went! We purchased the cheapest one there and WE LOVE IT.

It really is nice to have a table that the kids can really see what is going on (we haven’t used booster seats in a while, so the kids pretty much eat dinner on their knees) and that they know is theirs.

For Sundays, I put some crayons, paper, and snacks on it, we use it for game, we even let them decide if they want to do dinner on it. And one day, when we can see each other again, we will invite their friends over to share it with them!

If you are in need of one, I have got the link to one similar to ours in the shop! Click here.

April 28, 2020April 28, 2020

There is Hope

I came across this story in a group I am a part of on Facebook and I knew it needed to be here. It has not been quite a year since my own close encounter with suicide and that is a story I have not quite been able to write out, but Shantelle did so beautifully. She has put into words feelings that I have not been able to. Here is her story:

April 27, 2019 was the scariest day of my life. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first or last time something like this happened, but it was probably the worst. My husband, Kyle, was on a campout with the boys in our church, and I was all alone with my kids. This shouldn’t have been a big deal, except that I was in the darkest depths of depression imaginable for weeks before that, so taking care of the basic responsibilities by myself for a whole extra day was so overwhelming. Our bishop asked me if I would be okay before inviting my husband to go along. I wanted to give Kyle this opportunity and I wanted to believe that I could be okay, so I told the bishop it was fine.

I only got a couple of hours of broken sleep the night Kyle was gone between my lonely, scared, overwhelmed sobs. The next morning, I thought he would be home around noon, so I turned on show after show for my kids, trying to survive until he would get back. Noon came and went. My house was a disaster, but I couldn’t clean it. I couldn’t do anything. I was so overwhelmed and overcome with depression.

And then something happened. Something in my brain snapped, and I thought of a very specific plan of how to die. It seemed perfect. I knew it would work, and then I would be free from this unbearable weight that I was currently carrying on my own. I was not capable of remembering in that moment how devastated my husband and kids would be without me or the possibility of feeling better someday, so I moved forward.

I knew my kids needed to be taken care of, so I thought of someone I could leave them with. I started getting them ready to drop off at this person’s house when the thought came into my mind, “Give someone a chance to save you.”

“Give someone a chance to save you.”

I stopped getting my kids ready to leave, went to my room, and laid in my bed for the next hour trying to formulate the words to tell someone how much I was struggling. My whole body was shaking, and I was so scared to tell anyone what was happening inside my mind. I didn’t want to tell my husband, because I desperately wanted him to still be able to enjoy doing something I knew he loved without worrying about me. So I finally worked up the courage to send a group text to three trusted friends and then curled up in a tight ball, sobbing in such bitter pain. Almost immediately, one of these friends called me and said she was on her way to pick up me and my kids and would be there soon. I knelt down and asked God to give me just enough strength to survive until I wasn’t alone anymore. The tears flowed, and I couldn’t imagine enduring even one more moment. Pretty soon, my friend arrived and wrapped my shaking body and broken heart in love. I stayed with her for some time before returning home to my husband.

The weeks following this dark day were so hard. I felt broken, like my heart could never heal, and I would never be the same again. I felt like a hollow shell of who I once was, like I was going through the motions of life with no purpose or feeling anymore. This feeling lingered for a long time, and sometimes I wondered if my light had gone out forever.

Fast forward one year to today. Looking back on this day still brings tears to my eyes and pain to my heart, but I don’t feel broken anymore. I’m not magically healed or completely fixed, but I’m not in that dark place fighting for life every single day. If I could have known one year ago how good life would be today, I would have been amazed and full of hope, trusting in better days to come. But I couldn’t see that one year ago, and in the instability of my mind at that time, I almost acted on an indescribable pain with a permanent solution. I never would have made it to this wonderful time in my life when I feel happiness, how much my family loves and needs me, and the desire to live again.

If you are in the place I was in one year ago, please hold on. Please. There really are better days ahead. I couldn’t feel that for myself for several years. I relied completely on other people repeating that truth to me. But now I can feel it again for myself, and I want to share it with anyone who needs it. Choose to stay. Choose to reach out to someone for help. You are loved and worth saving. You’ll never know how good life can be a year from today unless you stay to find out. It’s worth it. I promise.

April 23, 2020May 4, 2020

ESA- An Observation

We got a bunny last week!!
We were planning on getting one for Easter because my parents have had some baby rabbits the last little while and my little girl started saying she wanted a pet rabbit every time we saw them on FaceTime. But when we went to get one just before Easter, they were ALL GONE EVERYWHERE. They were sold out from every store that would possibly have them. So, the Easter bunny came a few days late.

He is SO fluffy and has the funniest personality.

As I held that bunny and pet it I thought about ESAs: Emotional Support Animals.

I have owned 3 different pets since I was diagnosed with depression in 2017. None of them were specifically acquired to be emotionally supportive, but they have all, in their own way, helped and occasionally hurt. Here are my current observations.

Sassy:

Sassy was a cute, teeny tiny rescue we bought when we bought our first house. We were finally out from under an apartment contract and that was the first thing we wanted to do with our freedom! She was really small, practically potty trained when we got her, and very snuggly. She didn’t love kids, but she didn’t hurt them either so that was good. Because of her size our two year old could handle her on a leash.

When we took long car trips Sassy sat on my lap. It didn’t take long for me to realize that my panic attacks were not nearly as frequent when she was on my lap. In fact I caught myself as one was just beginning and consciously pet her to get out of it. It was AWESOME! Nothing I had tried up to that point had really worked to tame the attacks.

Gabe:

Gabe is a cockapoo we got from a friend of mine dealing with her own intense struggles. They had just lost a dog that had become family, she was newly pregnant and very sick, and let’s just say- POTTY TRAINING A DOG IS NOT GOOD FOR MENTAL HEALTH. So in an effort to help her, and because that face, we took him in.

We were all really excited, but Sheld was ecstatic, it felt like Christmas for him.

At first things DID NOT go very well. I too was newly pregnant, and sick, and Sheldon was really busy with school, and we were renting a house with all carpet, no fence, and a busy street in front. Potty training, and training him in general under those circumstances ended up being very stressful for me. He never came when we called, he peed on EVERYONE who came to the house, and he barked at anyone who came by. I had heightened anxiety and frustration.

After a couple months though, a visitor mentioned to me how good of a dog Gabe was and for the first time I saw it! He was good! We had finally potty trained him, once he got out when we were gone and we came home to find him on our porch-he isn’t a runner, and he has always been very tolerant of the two toddlers harassing him.

When my depression got the worst he always knew. He’d follow me around and lay at my feet or snuggle up next to me. It is incredible to me how they just know! His nearness often brought me comfort. It always helped to ground me when things got too crazy.
He is such a fun, quirky, and loyal companion. He makes me laugh, protects the home (or at least thinks he does), and is always close by when I’m down.

Cookies:

Meet our newest friend! This is Cookies, who was first named Rabby, and then Cotton, but finally Cookies. He is HILARIOUS. Maybe all bunnies are this way? But watching him explore our house and clean his face and hop has brought me way more joy than I would have imagined! Seriously, even just watching him eat makes me smile.

Also, petting a rabbit is incredibly calming. I have not had very many bad days lately, which is awesome, but I could feel a difference just holding and petting him. There is something to calming a bunny down-you can’t help but be calm.

Once in your arms, as long as they feel safe, they don’t try and jump away. They just sit there and take all the love.

Also, his care regimen is surprisingly simple. We fill his water once a week, and his food every couple days.

He doesn’t love us yet, so that isn’t particularly helpful emotionally, but we just got him. Also, I am allergic to him but it will just help me vacuum a bit more!

Conclusion:

The best emotional support animals are bunnies. But a potty trained dog will do the trick!

April 20, 2020April 28, 2020

How Great Thou Art

This is a re-post from several years ago. The original is here.

Six weeks ago, we found out I was pregnant. We were thrilled, you see, because we had been planning on a baby for some time now. As a matter of fact, last August, I had decided to make some changes in my life and really prepare myself for this baby. I have had trouble with bad hips in past pregnancies and so I decided to make a real effort to exercise regularly to try and strengthen myself. I wanted to be ready to have another little one. I exercised faithfully, six days a week from that time on, rarely missing. This pregnancy was going to be different. I was feeling so good, and had made so much progress, that I decided to run a 5k- pregnant or not. I signed up for one that same week we found out we were expecting. I was ready.

For some reason, though, during the next couple weeks, I began to doubt. I didn’t understand it, but I was unable to pray for our baby and its safe arrival in our family. I began to bleed a little here and a little there, and resigned myself to the probability that we would miscarry and lose the baby. And so in anticipation of the miscarriage, I decided to lie low for a couple weeks. I had one miserable day of cramping and headed to the doctor. It was soon confirmed by an ultrasound- there was no baby in the uterus. It was only a matter of time before I would lose the baby and bleed everything else out.

I mourned. I was upset to say the least, but understood that it was all part of the plan for us. I had experienced this before. My prayers were now that my body would be able to take care of what it needed to take care of, so that we could try again. And so I waited.

February 26^th I began to cramp again. Only this time the pain was so intense that I could not get rid of it. I talked with Matt and we just didn’t know what to do. Finally, I called Mom. She thought things sounded suspicious and recommended that if I had any question, just to go in to the ER. And so within the hour Matt and I made the decision, and we were on our way. We went through a series of tests and another ultrasound. Within a short time I had another IV placed and monitors placed on my heart and lungs. By this time, I knew something was seriously wrong. We were told that I was being prepared for surgery for a ruptured ectopic pregnancy. At that time I had no idea what that exactly meant. My greatest fear was that it meant I was never going to have another child. I was terrified and could only ask Matt to call our families and ask them to pray for me. I was too shocked, and it hurt too much to cry. Matt gave me a quick blessing and I was whisked away.

Upon waking from surgery, I learned that I had lost 1 ½ liters of blood into my abdomen from a ruptured pregnancy in my left Fallopian tube. In order to save me, they had to remove my Fallopian tube. But my life was spared.

It is hard to describe what has happened in my mind and heart the last three weeks. The mourning process has been much more difficult than I thought it would be. For weeks, I could not even really cry because of the pain. In the moments when I was alone, or when just Matt was there, my thoughts would turn to everything I had lost, and my heart broke. But I just kept telling myself to be tough, just hang in there, and I’d be OK. Mom and Sam, and Rachel and Dorian were so helpful the first week of recovery. I felt so much strength from the prayers of the family, even though some were so far away. Recovery was slow, but it was coming. When I was finally able to have a good cry, I felt so much an increase of the love of my Father in Heaven. Little by little I began to see with new eyes. I am healing a little at a time, and the spirit is strengthening my heart.

I still feel like I lost so much that day. I lost my health and strength that I had worked so very hard to gain over the last six months, I lost a baby, and I lost part of myself. I still have moments when I think about it and weep. My heart still breaks. But I was given LIFE that day. I was spared. I now cry in gratitude.

This week we decided on a change of scenery and took a trip to Southern California to stay with Matt’s brother. I sang my babies to sleep one night, and as I was going through a whole bunch of our favorite primary songs and hymns my very favorite came to mind- “How Great Thou Art”. I have sung this to my children and my sisters more times than I can count. (My sisters lovingly call it the “fall off the mountain song”) It always reminds me of my loving Great-grandma Evans.

But as I sung this to my little ones this week, I felt like everything came into focus. As I looked at my precious children, I had an overwhelming love and understanding wash over me. I was reminded once again that HE, our Heavenly Father is in charge. He knows exactly what we need to pass through. He loves us more than we can understand. His greatest “Art” is us– who we are becoming. He gave me a second chance at life. Life, that is so full of so much joy. Life that is full of sticky fingers, slobbery kisses, noisy dinner tables, and sweet bedtime prayers. Life that is full of families that love each other enough to pray, fast, and spend time together. Life is his greatest art and so I hope that I can proclaim “How Great Thou Art” for the rest of my days and bring honor to HIM who has given me everything.

-Heather

Since then I’ve thought about the power of diagnosis.

Sassy:

Gabe:

Cookies:

Conclusion:

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