I absolutely love this perspective from a friend of mine! And have felt it benefit my attitude and motivation, I hope it can help y’all.
“I had a good conversation with David this evening about how I tend to want to push myself to the breaking point because I feel like that’s how I show that I’m doing all that I can. And I had the image of a fuel gauge come into my head. And with it was this analogy:
In life, I for some reason have this notion in my head that I need to use up every last drop of fuel in my tank before I can stop to refill it. Yet in reality that’s not the smart or even a responsible thing to do. I have this part of me that says I have to push myself as far as I can go to prove that I tried my hardest.
But what I need to to when the low fuel light comes on is to pull over at the next gas station so I don’t end up running on fumes and risk getting stranded on the side of a road. I need to learn what my warning signs are and heed them instead of pushing through them. Or better yet fill up earlier, before the red light turns on, and save the time it would take later in getting a tow truck, or the stress of wondering if I can make it to a gas station in time.
Also if you think about it in terms of distance, or growth, who will move the farthest the quickest; the person who always stops ahead of time to get fuel or the person who drives on fumes and had to get a tow truck all the time because they end up stranded in the middle of nowhere?
In my future home I want to put a sign on the wall that says something like “how is your fuel level today?” And have a fuel gauge below it. That way I can be reminded everyday to take some time to recharge. As David said, he likes to fill up his gas tank when it’s 1/2 full on our long trips because we never know how long it will be until we find another gas station. In life we never know when an unknown challenge will hit like a child getting sick or a friend needing help. We need to be ready and have enough fuel to make it through a trial. Like the parable of the ten virgins we need to have oil in our lamps and gas in our tanks.”
What sort of things do you do to “fuel up?” Do you STOP when those warning signs appear? Do you know those warning signs?
A HUGE part of coping is KNOWING where you are emotionally so that you can plan your life accordingly.
“Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing” is a form of therapy that I just recently learned about and I am just blown away. A friend of mine recently posted about how it completely changed her life– she had suffered from intense anxiety for a long, long time. And that was with the usual coping mechanisms! Then she found EMDR and it changed her life.
I didn’t really get what it was at first, so I reached out to someone from my hometown that is now an EMDR therapis, to learn about what it REALLY is and how it works. I am so glad I did! This process is INCREDIBLE and so many people’s lives have changed because of it. Here is what she had to say:
Hi, I am an MSW who specializes in Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) therapy. Maybe you have heard of EMDR as an effective therapy for PTSD. Besides PTSD, EMDR has been found effective in treating anxiety and panic attacks, depression, stress, phobias, sleep problems, complicated grief, addictions, pain relief, phantom limb pain, self-esteem and performance anxiety. EMDR is effective in resolving any negative thoughts a person might have about themselves. Common negative thoughts such as “I’m not good enough,” “I’m unlovable,” “I’m not worthy,” “It was my fault,” etc. are beliefs I target and resolve with EMDR.
The body has the natural ability to heal itself, but sometimes disturbing events can overwhelm the body’s ability to cope. This is often referred to as a traumatic event. Some people like to categorize traumatic events as big T traumas such as a motor vehicle accident, exposure to war, physical abuse, sexual assault or losing a loved one versus little t traumas such as neglect, divorce, interpersonal conflict, illness, infidelity, or financial troubles. I do not like to make the distinction, because what may be a little t trauma for one person might be a big T trauma for another and vice versa.
When the body’s ability to cope is overwhelmed by disturbing experiences, the memories are not able to be processed by the brain. Memories and feelings are stored in an emotional form in the limbic system of the brain, which is linked to emotions and physical sensations and is disconnected from the logical part of the brain which uses language to store memories. This is why EMDR is so effective compared to talk therapy–it accesses the limbic system, reprocessing disturbing memories which are stored in the nervous system and after they are reprocessed, they are no longer disturbing. My clients report changes in thoughts, feelings and images, which often result in new insights that resolve the disturbance. The body is also able to release tension that was stored in the nervous system.
The mechanism that facilitates this healing is not certain, but the theory is that the eye movements or other bilateral stimulation (BLS) such as tapping or auditory stimuli are similar to REM sleep, the portion of the sleep cycle where your brain processes the events of the day. As I ask my clients to recall disturbing images, I administer BLS and then ask them what they notice. They may notice a new image, thought, emotion or bodily sensation. It is not necessary that they report the details of the disturbing memories. The resolution comes from within the client themselves and I do not make suggestions unless they become stuck. I sometimes incorporate inner child work if it is needed for healing past childhood issues, and I find this is very effective in helping my clients heal themselves.
When a client comes to me for EMDR therapy, the first session is very similar to a session of talk therapy. There is a lot of history taking, but in a very trauma-informed way. Next, I teach the client coping skills for any anxieties that may come up in between sessions. I teach grounding skills so that clients won’t experience a full flashback or other dissociation during the session. Within a few sessions I can usually start desensitization and reprocessing with BLS. EMDR is generally a brief therapy and some clients only need a few sessions to resolve trauma. Clients with more complex trauma sometimes require more preparation before desensitization and reprocessing can begin. If you are interested in learning more about EMDR and the research emdr.com is a good source. If you want to locate an EMDR therapist near you go to emdria.org and search for a certified EMDR therapist. If you have questions, feel free to reach out to me at cwallemdr808@gmail.com or you may find me at @emdr808 on Facebook.
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.
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.
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 26th 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.
This is a beautiful story of hope, of angels, of love, and of never giving up. It is for those especially, who feel like they have gone too far, that there is no coming back. This is a testimony that there is always a way back! That our Savior can reach all who turn to Him in faith. When I read this, I was reminded once again that there are those we cannot see who are here rooting for us and doing what they can. Here is Cherie’s story in her own words:
I am bipolar. Lots of people may know the symptoms of depression, which are part of bipolar disorder. Bipolar people experience alternating depression and mania, which is less common. Symptoms of mania include:
Feeling abnormally upbeat, jumpy or wired
Increased activity, energy or agitation
Exaggerated sense of well-being and self-confidence (euphoria)
Decreased need for sleep
Unusual talkativeness
Racing thoughts
Distractibility
Poor decision-making — for example, going on buying sprees, taking sexual risks or making foolish investments
Basically, mania feels like your thoughts and impulses are completely out of control and you can’t think past your actions to their consequences. Manic people tend to do a lot of selfish and impulsive things that get them in trouble, which makes the following depressive episode that much more full of regret and despair.
I had a manic episode recently that took a large toll on my family and could have had very bad consequences for my life if it weren’t for the gospel, my sweet husband, and the healing power of the Savior’s atonement. I’m not an eloquent writer, but here is what I wrote at the time:
“I have been struggling for a long time. I had a manic episode after taking celexa even with lamictal 200mg daily. I got too into the gym. I got into the best shape of my life and it felt great but I started to obsess over it. I started talking to a guy there and got attached. I did stuff that was very wrong. I forgot that I loved [my husband] Andrew. I got used to Andrew and lost any kind of connection. I said horribly mean and shallow things to him. I was embarrassed of him. I didn’t want him to “mess up” what I had at the gym. I just felt nothing for him and despised him for holding me back. I love my kids.
After a lot of discussion, we decided divorce was the only way to get out of this trapped arrangement that both of us were completely miserable in. We told the kids and they fell apart. It was awful. It was the worst feeling in the world. I couldn’t stand to see them crying and feeling so alone. We felt like we just couldn’t do that to them.
I read my patriarchal blessing to try to get some answers about what I was expected to do about Andrew. It did not sound like me at all. I was very depressed. I started to doubt the church for the first time in my life because I thought there was no way I could ever be the person in my blessing so something must not be true. I felt suicidal at times. So did Andrew. I called people in my family who had been through divorce and my parents and closest friends to get advice. I explained that I didn’t love Andrew romantically and didn’t want to pretend to be happy with him out of obligation. I saw him as a brother. He was so sweet to me through all of this. He held on when I pushed him away so blatantly and without emotion. He went to his family for advice and out of love for him, they supported divorce if that’s what we chose. I was truly abusing him and realized that our relationship had always been very one-sided. He serves me constantly and I just felt above him. He loves me so much.
We both knew that if we separated, I would spiral into a dark place without the gospel and eventually regret my choices. Andrew could not let that happen. I didn’t know which option was worse and kept telling myself that maybe it would be ok or at least better than a marriage without love. We talked to the bishop in Maricopa. He was so understanding and supportive. He showed us nothing but love. Andrew went to the temple seeking guidance and had an experience in which he felt that his grandparents as well as my grandpa Eddington were all there in spirit. Grandpa pleaded with him not to let go of his Cherie.
We went to counseling and discovered that my not being able to connect during intimacy was the result of the rape I experienced at 17 years old. I had been going emotionally numb every time and blocking him out to protect myself. I didn’t believe that could ever change. I got very discouraged and wanted to give up on trying to be happy with Andrew but I kept reading about how in the end of the Book of Mormon the Nephites were left to themselves because they had rejected Christ and He no longer sanctified their actions or guided their choices. They began to fall. Hard. I knew that could happen to me and was terrified because I know I am shy and struggling to get a preceptor for my PMHNP program and need so much help for life in general.
I kept going to therapy and they did retro-therapy to change the rape in my mind. I felt different afterwards but I wasn’t sure what it would translate to in my relationship. It took weeks for anything to happen. Every day was a painful struggle trying to be patient and have faith. My medications had to be changed a few times because depakote gave me a rash and 2 anticonvulsants together really messed up my folate metabolism. It was a long process trying to do everything I could in the secular sense to get my mind in the right place.
I prayed that I could love Andrew. I needed to. I also prayed that I could be healed from the terrible damage the rape had left me with. I cried a lot. I knew that God loved me and wanted to believe things could improve but nothing happened for a long time. I was constantly second-guessing but I just stayed. I kept thinking and wondering and hoping and praying. Then one day it just clicked. I connected with Andrew. I felt something. I felt a lot actually. It was a rush of the Spirit and of love. Love for Andrew and an overwhelming sense of love from God for me. I felt that the Atonement was healing me. I can’t describe how amazing I felt. I remembered loving Andrew. Maybe I loved him more. I was suddenly so, so happy and appreciative that he didn’t let go and for everything sweet he did for me during that hard time.
We had a move to Gilbert in the works. Our bishop called the new one and told him about us and that we were coming. We texted the elder’s quorum president with only 2 hours notice that we would be unloading the truck and 20 guys showed up to help. Kate also came to take the kids to the park so we could work. Everyone was so nice and welcoming. 5 people brought us food within the first day here. Church was amazing. Almost everyone is our age and so down to earth. So many people offered help with whatever we need and were genuinely interested in getting to know us. We went out to dinner with Jana and her family across the way the very first night we were here. The bishop was at an airport when he heard we were moving in and was probably concerned that he couldn’t be there to help, then saw how much help we got and was so glad that his ward had welcomed us like that. He teared up when telling the story.
I feel like everything is meant to be and will be amazing. I feel like we are being treated as ‘the one’ like Grandpa would have wanted. I think he may have pulled some strings. There are so many tender mercies happening and I feel like this is a whole new leaf and everything will be ok and so much better. Blessings are pouring out and I think it’s because we were patient through our very difficult trial. My limited faith turned into a miracle so much bigger than I could have ever imagined. This is only the 3rd day here and I feel like things are going to be amazing. I hope I can do my part to accept new friendships and give back however I can. I also hope that I can keep the spirit and this love for Andrew in my heart all the time. It’s such a contrast; it is unbelievable.
It seems apparent to me that there is a WHOLE lot more mental illness now than there used to be. I am sure some of that is a result of more visibility for the topic, but after reading this story I think perhaps one reason the increased instances of PTSD are due to the medical advances that save souls who have traveled to the edge of mortality. We survive harder things. This mom I met as a missionary and have looked up to from day one. She is strong and beautiful and has always just exuded joy and love. Here is Sydney’s Story:
The Source:
I feel like there are a lot of factors that brought on PTSD, anxiety, and postpartum depression; just as there have been many factors that have brought on my healing.
There was definitely a big event that triggered the PTSD, but I have always mildly struggled with anxiety. Plus, I had never had much experience with newborns so I was terrified of anything happening to my son. These things culminated and resulted into me being a complete mess but it was a time of growth and learning. Just as a warning- my story gets graphic in the delivery room so feel free to skip it.
It started when I was pushing, delivering my baby boy. The pregnancy and most of the labor had gone smoothly and I was so excited to meet my baby boy! As I was pushing, the midwife decided that I needed an episiotomy. As soon as the cut was made, my son came through insanely fast. Turns out the episiotomy should have been made a lot earlier and my son’s head was also in the 99% percentile. Not only was there a cut from the episiotomy, but I also ended up with a third degree tear, a peri-urethral tear, and an artery had torn so I began bleeding out right away.
(Thank heavens I felt strongly prompted to get an epidural when I did, if I did not I feel like the mental scarring would have been a lot worse.) My boy was suddenly on my stomach and I was so happy! But I couldn’t get him up to my chest. I asked myself: “why did they put him so low?” I noticed his umbilical cord was pretty short… “why were they not asking me to push again to deliver the placenta?”
After the initial moment of pure bliss of admiring my baby, I took a look around to figure out why they still weren’t asking me to deliver the placenta. I wanted to hold my baby closer, and it was annoying that I couldn’t. There were a lot of people in the room rushing around that I did not notice before. There was a lot of blood on the floor and even on the wall behind the midwife. The midwife was shaky and I heard her tell her assistant “I cannot find the bleeding”. I looked at my mom (who is an RN and worked in deliveries at the time) and my mom was sheet white. I asked her if everything was okay and my mom nodded and weakly said yes. I knew right away she was lying. I heard someone tell me (which after all the chaos I now realize it was the Spirit) “just let them do their work. You cannot feel anything so you just enjoy your baby.”
I got to enjoy my baby and look into his eyes and relish in the bliss with my amazing and supportive husband. But still, I could not bring my baby closer to me. I finally heard the midwife on the phone with someone in the OR saying “there is a torn artery and we cannot stop the bleeding”.
I felt myself growing weaker and weaker. I started getting scared and immediately thought that this might be the only time I would ever have with my baby. I asked my husband for a blessing. One of the nurses in the room heard my request and went to ask for another priesthood holder to help my husband with the blessing. But I asked my husband to start the blessing anyway because I felt so weak and started wondering how much time I had before going unconscious. I do not remember the blessing, I just remember two things that happened after the blessing: I heard someone tell me once more (again, it was the Spirit) say “just take this time to enjoy your son.” (Which kind of scared me cause it made me speculate on how much of “this time” I had left. ) And I also heard the midwife on the phone with the OR saying “we have found the bleeding and the bleeding has slowed down considerably.” That seemed like a miracle in itself.
Since they found the bleeding and the midwife had the damaged artery clamped with her hand, they had me deliver the placenta and they cleaned up my son and weighed him. Shortly after, a second priesthood holder came in and helped my husband with a second blessing. After that blessing, I felt that everything would be okay. The midwife had to keep the artery clamped down for over 40 minutes while they waited for the surgeon to come in to stitch me up because the damage was so great. Clean up and stitching took over 2 hours. I lost a lot of blood and had a lot to recover from. I couldn’t recognize my body anymore.
They took me to the bathroom to clean me up. The nurse told my husband to wait with me in the bathroom while she helped the other nurses with the soaked sheets. As my husband was trying to help me in the bathroom, I passed out on the floor. I woke up looking at the bathroom ceiling, the nurse holding my legs high above my head and another nurse near my head. DeGrey was next to one of the nurses, trying to help. Panic set in. “WHERE IS THE BABY? WHO IS WITH THE BABY?” They reassured me that he was swaddled and in his crib sleeping. I did not believe them. I told Grey to sit with the baby. If I could have gone from fine to bleeding to death in a matter of minutes then that meant my helpless baby could die any second- at least that’s what my mind convinced me to believe for the next year.
The nurses, as well as everyone else, would mention how scary the last bit of the delivery had been and told me that I went through a lot. I was told that once I got home, I should not leave the house for at least 3 weeks because if anything were to happen like a car wreck, I would not have enough blood to survive.
Recovery:
For the next couple of weeks I did not sleep- even when my son was asleep. I would stare at my baby the entire time to make sure he was breathing. My mom and my husband would force me to sleep and would sit and watch the baby sleep so I could sleep. They became my greatest supports. It was really hard when my mom left for home (she and my dad lived out of state at the time.) The next several months I struggled mentally worse than I ever had in my life.
My mind started messing with me. I would wake up screaming, scouring through the sheets and blankets convinced that my son was tangled and trapped in the sheets- when in reality he was safely sleeping in his crib. At one point if I saw a spider (we lived in a basement at the time) I would not smash it because I was convinced that the spider’s life force was somehow connected to my son’s and if I killed the spider then my son would die, too. I would have nightmares that I died in delivery and that I could not be there for my son. I would have nightmares, or just be convinced while I was awake, that my son would stop breathing and would die.
When I started getting my period back, the cramps would send me into panic attacks because it reminded me of when I was in labor and would make me re-live those scary moments and “what if’s” in the delivery room. Intrusive thoughts came all the time, whether it was about my own demise, my son’s demise, or thoughts about harming my son or myself. I would never ever act on those harmful thoughts, but the intense and dark thoughts would come so often and were so disturbing. I had lost my mind. I feel like I cried every day for the first year of my son’s life.
Healing:
I got blessings what seemed like every day. I began seeing a therapist. A big turning point was when I was in a community play about 6 months after my son was born. That helped more than anything because it got me feeling like I was myself again. The character I played (her name was Ida) was not afraid to take risks, she loved and enjoyed life. She was so brave. Ida became an inspiration to me and I was the one who brought her to life- just like my son was an inspiration to me and I was the one who brought my son to life. That play helped me feel like a mother.
Creativity has always been a healing factor in my life, and it still is. I began drawing again after that play and made creativity a priority. The second year of my son’s life became easier although panic attacks happened still. I tried to have more meaningful scripture studies and prayers. I prayerfully made changes in my life to forgive things that happened to me in my past. I went back to therapy and ended up taking medication. I wrote in my journal and began seeing patterns in my life that God has given me and helped me through.
Healing is not a linear thing, there are ups and downs and lessons to be learned.
Now that my son is approaching his 3rd birthday, I finally feel like I am back to normal. Well, not back to normal, but that I have grown and healed into a better person. I have learned (and continue to learn) to trust my Heavenly Father to control things that I cannot, to trust that my son will cry or signal me for his needs, and to trust myself and my motherly instincts. Although I still have fears of having another baby when that time comes, I know that I have gained the experience and tools to help me through more challenges in the future. I have a wonderful support system, talents that I love to focus on, the rewarding feeling of being a mom, and my Savior- Jesus Christ who has taken this journey with me every step of the way. Healing is not a linear thing, there are ups and downs and lessons to be learned.
My healing has taken a lot of time and a lot resources, but it has made all of this a very long yet sweet journey so far that I hope can tell to help others some day.
This post is from an incredible woman I met during college, my dear friend: Jerica. She is one of those people that you meet and know you will become a better person just by knowing her, the kind of woman that I will always hope to become.
Here is a bit of her story:
“I was standing in the kitchen holding my crying toddler and my crying newborn. We were living at my parents at the time and even though there were four adults living there I was the only one home at the time. I don’t know what happened but a switch flipped in me. All of a sudden I couldn’t handle it. Tears started flowing, my breathing was going out of control, and I knew I needed help. I had heard of those stories of people being prompted to drop by a loaf of bread or just go visit someone who they hadn’t thought of in a while. I prayed that someone would think of me and stop by.
But no one came.
I sat by the window sobbing and looking for someone, anyone. I didn’t care who it was. Even a hug from the neighbor who I hardly even know would have been a saving grace.
But still no one came.
The thought of that made it worse. Why isn’t anyone coming to help?! The tears started turning into uncontrollable sobbing, hyperventilating and I couldn’t move my hands at all. They had contracted in such a way that even with all the energy of thought I gave I couldn’t move them. I now know it was a psychosomatic response to my anxiety attack.
I called my husband who was on his way home from work but he was still 30 min away. I texted my mom who was at a meeting and said “I think I am having a panic attack, I just need a hug”.
It was getting worse and worse. The more I cried the more my kids cried in my arms.
My husband Carston, stayed on the phone with me trying to walk me through it, but he could tell it wasn’t going to get any better. He called his parents, they came but still it took 21 minutes to get to my house and I counted every second of it. My mom had called my brother who was at his house celebrating his birthday and just had blown out his candles, but he rushed over. My mom stopped her meeting and rushed home. My in-laws were the first to get there. I must have looked horrible. I was laying on the couch sobbing unable to talk holding two crying kids with my hands in a distorted position unable to move them. My brother soon after arrived and then my husband and then my mom.
Carston held me, my in-laws watched the kids and my brother massaged my hands until I could move them again.
“These are your people, these are the people that came to rescue you.”
It was then, when I could open my eyes again and see all the people surrounding me that I had the thought “These are your people, these are the people that came to rescue you. You didn’t need a stranger to come and save you. You have people that love you but sometimes we just need to give them a little time.”
Looking back I can tell that I have struggled with anxiety my whole life, but never to this extent. I sincerely hope that that scenario never happens again but if it does I know who to call. My people.
I have learned to recognize the times I can feel it coming on and I tell someone. Meditation, deep breathing and Marco Polo (an app where I can chat with dear friends) have saved me numerous times.
I’m glad a stranger didn’t come that day, because I wouldn’t have realized what I had surrounding me the whole time.”
