I am so anxious today and really can't even form cohesive thoughts to write this blog. I have no rhyme or reason for my anxiety. It could be many things or it could just be how my body and mind are handling stress on this particular day. It is very frustrating and it makes me crazy. These are the days when I wish I was a different person in a different body with a different mind that I felt more in control of. I have been on medication for years to try to manage my anxiety and mild depression but most have either proved ineffective or caused troublesome side effects. The medication I am currently on, I have been on for several years and it helps, but not enough. It is amazing to me that I can have these days where I am calm, in the moment, energized, and excited about life and then the next day I am shaky, overwhelmed, scattered, and have a body full of anxiety. Some of this I think is linked to all the hormonal changes involved in being a woman and how those hormones interact with my predisposition to be anxious or depressed, but what can I do about that? It makes me feel very helpless. It is difficult to parent effectively when your mind and body are not cooperating and that then makes me even more anxious.
Nothing gets me down more than feeling like I am not being the parent I want to be. On these days I often wish that I could just hide in my bedroom staring at the tv or sleeping and not even have to face my kids and try to function in the way that they need. It takes considerable mental and physical energy to parent two small children on a good day and doing so on a day like today feels impossible. I manage somehow but feeling like you are just managing many days is not the way I want to live.
I have a lot of inexplicable health issues besides the anxiety that have led me to have many difficult days in the past 4 years--I have been to numerous doctors and specialists (many of whom have been less than helpful or even hurtful), kept multiple charts of my symptoms, researched, given up and then tried again to find answers and no one still really knows what is wrong with me though everyone has different theories. I will say that my symptoms have improved some in the last month or two and for that I am grateful. The biggest problem is that it is all very unpredictable and so it is hard to lead any kind of life where plans you make often get cancelled and you can't function some days to do much of anything. On my good days, I am active, energetic, present, and calm. On my bad days I am crabby, fatigued, shaky, foggy, and distant. On my worst days, I have headaches, am nauseous, lightheaded, weak, can't think, and have trouble staying awake I am so tired. I get sick easily and often I am oscillating between catching some virus and having my unexplained symptoms and being my normal anxious self--sometimes it feels as if there are no good days, though I know there are. I have always had a horrible immune system and been very sensitive to medications and changes in my body,but this all seemed to intensify after having my little guys.
And so the whole point of this is that when my health is bad, my anxiety and depression worsen because I feel like I am not being the wife, mother, friend, daughter that I want to be. It's a vicious cycle people! But life keeps plugging along and so I do too with hopes that someday things will get better or I'll find the answers I've been looking for.
And now I must be done with this post because the mental energy it took to write this is substantial and I need to go stare at a wall for an hour to recover!
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
Happy Valentine's Day--A Love Letter
As I sit writing this, my husband and two children are making dinner together--watching them is watching love in action. This blog is dedicated to my husband and our love story. It is not a love story out of a movie or fairytale, but it is ours.
We met in graduate school through mutual friends who we would go out for drinks with from time to time. What I noted about him at the time was that he was good looking, very intelligent (which intimidated me), and he always had a girlfriend. I also thought all he ever talked about was politics and therefore was not much fun. He later told me that he regarded me as a quiet, not so smart, hippie type. Needless to say, the idea that we would someday be married would've seemed laughable at the time. Long story short, we finally had a night where we got to talk and realized the other one wasn't as stupid or boring as we had thought. After that, we started dating. This lasted for about a month before I started avoiding him citing reasons of wanting to remain "independent." The real reason was that I didn't know how to be relationship with someone who wasn't a jerk so I found reasons that it wouldn't work. So, we went our separate ways and saw each other only on occasions where our mutual friends invited us both out--it was awkward.
During one of these awkward get together's, Brian was telling us how he was applying to Graduate School in another town a few hours away. I instantly felt this sinking feeling--knowing that he was going to be leaving and that the chances that we would find our way back to each other were slim to none freaked me out. I remember going out to the bars and finally realizing that this wasn't what I wanted anymore. There was an exact moment where I realized that I could love this person or maybe already did and I had let him go. As the time for him to leave got closer, I made attempts to reconnect with him. I finally got him to agree to go out for drinks with me and I was going to work up the courage to tell him I still had feelings for him. While we were having drinks, he showed me pictures of a recent trip he took with his friends and there was a girl with him in a couple pictures. He said he was dating her, but that it wasn't serious. I had another drink. I decided to still tell him about my feelings for him, but it was hard--really hard. I think he was surprised, but we kissed and held hands that night and I felt relieved.
The next day, one of the most traumatic things that has happened in my life (a story that I may tell at a later date if I ever find the courage) occurred and I had to leave town fast. I had a cat at the time that I couldn't leave alone and the only person I could think of to take him was Brian, so I showed up at his doorstep (we lived two apartment buildings down from each other) crying hysterically and asking him to take my cat for an unknown period of time. I still can't believe I asked him, of all people, to do such a big favor for me and know so much about the inner workings of my family life, that was typically reserved only for those who I had known for many years and grew up with. He agreed to take my cat even though he'd never had a pet growing up and my cat was no picnic to live with.
I came home several days later, and though things are blurry during this time in my life, I remember at some point that he told the girl he was dating that it wasn't going to work out. Never during this time though did he commit to a relationship with me. We spent his last couple weeks in town together and happy and when he left, I wasn't sure what would happen. We talked on the phone and I would get jealous if I knew there were other girls trying to get his attention. He wasn't ready to commit to a long distance relationship and I am sure the fact that I had quite a bit of baggage and already broke up with him once didn't help my cause. I went to visit him for a weekend and did everything I could think of to convince him that we should be together--housewarming gifts, chocolate covered strawberries, etc. He still didn't commit but I did see hints of jealousy when I was approached by other guys and so there was hope (though at the time he would swear he didn't get jealous--liar! LOL!). The following weekend he took me on a visit to meet his parents. After the weekend ended, he came to stay at my apartment for the night and told me that he thought he loved me. I told him I loved him too. It was that quick and we pretty much knew within weeks that we would end up getting married. We had some family members that thought we were rushing into things, though in reality we waited 4 years to before getting married, because we just knew we wanted to be together and that it was right.
After a year of living apart and traveling weekends to see each other, I finished graduate school and moved to be with him. That year apart was very hard but romantic too. It was also during one of the hardest times in my adult life and he stuck with me through all the ups and downs and loved me regardless. I will never forget that. Meeting him was the most trans formative event to happen in my life. He saved me in many ways and still does on so many days when life seems too hard. It is now 10 years later and we have been through a lot--we both have had many demons to face and our marriage has suffered at times, but we are in this life together and I hope with everything I am that this is the person I get to grow old with. No one understands me, loves me, makes me laugh, inspires me, believes in me, or drives me more crazy than him.
Love Is...
Waking up earlier than your partner every day so she can sleep in.
Making your partner food because she hates doing it.
Knowing that your wife needs a chocolate pie to make her feel better.
Loving the songs that your wife makes up and making her sing them over and over--even for the the kids.
Giving your partner endorphins when she needs them.
Taking the time to research, go to appointments, and even make spread sheets to help your partner figure out health problems.
Knowing what your partner wants and needs without her even telling you.
Going along with your wife's crazy impulses to go on trips or outings when you'd rather stay home.
Finding ways to lessen (or work around) your wife's anxiety and need to have things in order.
Making beautiful children together and doing the work necessary to make our family a happier and healthier one.
Thank you for all of this and so much more. I love you to the Oort Cloud and back.
Happy Valentine's Day.
We met in graduate school through mutual friends who we would go out for drinks with from time to time. What I noted about him at the time was that he was good looking, very intelligent (which intimidated me), and he always had a girlfriend. I also thought all he ever talked about was politics and therefore was not much fun. He later told me that he regarded me as a quiet, not so smart, hippie type. Needless to say, the idea that we would someday be married would've seemed laughable at the time. Long story short, we finally had a night where we got to talk and realized the other one wasn't as stupid or boring as we had thought. After that, we started dating. This lasted for about a month before I started avoiding him citing reasons of wanting to remain "independent." The real reason was that I didn't know how to be relationship with someone who wasn't a jerk so I found reasons that it wouldn't work. So, we went our separate ways and saw each other only on occasions where our mutual friends invited us both out--it was awkward.
During one of these awkward get together's, Brian was telling us how he was applying to Graduate School in another town a few hours away. I instantly felt this sinking feeling--knowing that he was going to be leaving and that the chances that we would find our way back to each other were slim to none freaked me out. I remember going out to the bars and finally realizing that this wasn't what I wanted anymore. There was an exact moment where I realized that I could love this person or maybe already did and I had let him go. As the time for him to leave got closer, I made attempts to reconnect with him. I finally got him to agree to go out for drinks with me and I was going to work up the courage to tell him I still had feelings for him. While we were having drinks, he showed me pictures of a recent trip he took with his friends and there was a girl with him in a couple pictures. He said he was dating her, but that it wasn't serious. I had another drink. I decided to still tell him about my feelings for him, but it was hard--really hard. I think he was surprised, but we kissed and held hands that night and I felt relieved.
The next day, one of the most traumatic things that has happened in my life (a story that I may tell at a later date if I ever find the courage) occurred and I had to leave town fast. I had a cat at the time that I couldn't leave alone and the only person I could think of to take him was Brian, so I showed up at his doorstep (we lived two apartment buildings down from each other) crying hysterically and asking him to take my cat for an unknown period of time. I still can't believe I asked him, of all people, to do such a big favor for me and know so much about the inner workings of my family life, that was typically reserved only for those who I had known for many years and grew up with. He agreed to take my cat even though he'd never had a pet growing up and my cat was no picnic to live with.
I came home several days later, and though things are blurry during this time in my life, I remember at some point that he told the girl he was dating that it wasn't going to work out. Never during this time though did he commit to a relationship with me. We spent his last couple weeks in town together and happy and when he left, I wasn't sure what would happen. We talked on the phone and I would get jealous if I knew there were other girls trying to get his attention. He wasn't ready to commit to a long distance relationship and I am sure the fact that I had quite a bit of baggage and already broke up with him once didn't help my cause. I went to visit him for a weekend and did everything I could think of to convince him that we should be together--housewarming gifts, chocolate covered strawberries, etc. He still didn't commit but I did see hints of jealousy when I was approached by other guys and so there was hope (though at the time he would swear he didn't get jealous--liar! LOL!). The following weekend he took me on a visit to meet his parents. After the weekend ended, he came to stay at my apartment for the night and told me that he thought he loved me. I told him I loved him too. It was that quick and we pretty much knew within weeks that we would end up getting married. We had some family members that thought we were rushing into things, though in reality we waited 4 years to before getting married, because we just knew we wanted to be together and that it was right.
After a year of living apart and traveling weekends to see each other, I finished graduate school and moved to be with him. That year apart was very hard but romantic too. It was also during one of the hardest times in my adult life and he stuck with me through all the ups and downs and loved me regardless. I will never forget that. Meeting him was the most trans formative event to happen in my life. He saved me in many ways and still does on so many days when life seems too hard. It is now 10 years later and we have been through a lot--we both have had many demons to face and our marriage has suffered at times, but we are in this life together and I hope with everything I am that this is the person I get to grow old with. No one understands me, loves me, makes me laugh, inspires me, believes in me, or drives me more crazy than him.
Love Is...
Waking up earlier than your partner every day so she can sleep in.
Making your partner food because she hates doing it.
Knowing that your wife needs a chocolate pie to make her feel better.
Loving the songs that your wife makes up and making her sing them over and over--even for the the kids.
Giving your partner endorphins when she needs them.
Taking the time to research, go to appointments, and even make spread sheets to help your partner figure out health problems.
Knowing what your partner wants and needs without her even telling you.
Going along with your wife's crazy impulses to go on trips or outings when you'd rather stay home.
Finding ways to lessen (or work around) your wife's anxiety and need to have things in order.
Making beautiful children together and doing the work necessary to make our family a happier and healthier one.
Thank you for all of this and so much more. I love you to the Oort Cloud and back.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Life of an Imposter: Take 2
This is a follow up to my first post where I seemed to do a lot of rambling about relationships and the influence of social media but failed to really talk about why I personally feel like I don't fit in anywhere. This subject is much harder because it is so personal and I will admit up front that it won't be the full story because that would just be risking too much, but I will try to convey enough so that this time I explain the title of the blog more clearly.
The story, of course, starts in childhood. My parents divorced when I was 3 years old and though I don't remember the time they were married really, my first memory is of a big fight they were having in our family dining room. In my memory, the fight started in the dining room with my brother and I trying to pull them apart (this may or may not be true as memories this far back tend to take on their own life but this is the truth of how i remember it). Our house was one where all rooms are connected so the floor plan created a circle and so the fight continued as a chase around this circle into the kitchen where plates were thrown and broken on the kitchen floor, my mom ran out of the house and the next thing I remember is seeing the flashing lights of an ambulance or police car out our front window and wondering what might have happened to my mother. Was she hurt, lost, run away? Was she okay? This is the first memory of my life and it is clear and dramatic--it made it's impact. After that, I remember snippets of calls from my mom (we were living with my dad) where I would ask her when she was coming home. I don't remember how much I saw of her during that time or if I cried for her or what I might have been thinking in my little 3 year old mind. Before she left, she had stayed home with my brother and I and so I am sure it was quite the change when she was gone and I was then in preschool full-time. But while I am writing this, I am still shaking--it being 30 years later and the thought that keeps going through my head is "But this is really nothing compared to the all of the other things that have happened in my life," and for that, I am terribly sad.
This story is important, I think, simply because it is when recalling this memory that I start to feel different from other people. Most people I know have first memories that include toys, favorite games, playing with siblings or parents, going on vacation, etc. And I am not saying that my story is unique by any means, in fact it is probably mild in terms of what many people have gone through in their lives, what I am saying is that it plays an important role in how I start to define myself and perceive things and people around me. It isn't often that talking about your first memory comes up in conversation now that I am an adult. There was a time, a few years back, that I was at a conference for therapists to learn new skills in working with children who have suffered trauma. Often at these conferences we are asked to participate as if we were the client doing the exercises so that we can better understand the process. If I were doing these exercises in the confines of a trusted therapeutic relationship, I would be glad to do them, but when asked to reveal such emotionally charged parts of yourself, often to strangers, it causes much anxiety. To get back to the point, in this particular conference they asked us to draw about our first childhood memory, which looking back, I think the presenters probably saw as a relatively benign exercise. I remember looking around as everyone got started right away with their drawings and there was a moment where I thought, "Do I make something up?" and I search my brain for any other memory that might have escaped me all these years. In the end, I always am true to my story but it is uncomfortable to explain this scene to a complete stranger who then talks about their favorite barbie or bike. Ugh!
And this is how it is with many parts of my life--things that I reveal to the people in my adult life about my past life are often shocking and so wholly different that I feel separated, damaged--alien. I would be being untruthful if I didn't reveal that there is also a part of me that feels special for having been through so much, odd as it may sound. I feel as if I understand things that others couldn't possibly--though this is likely not true--but this is part of my identity and one that I would feel even more lost than I am now without. I don't know if I would know how to be happy, whatever that means, or content if I ever found a way to shed the past (and some of my genetics would have to be worked out too!). I have removed much of the dysfunction from my life in the last several years, though damage still exists of course, but removing important places and people from your life leaves gaping holes and how do you fill the hole of a lost mother, the place you grew up, or a best friend? How can you live in the present when you feel you have no past to turn to, to ground you, to run back home to? It's like being born all over again but with the memory that you lived a life before this but can never go back to. It is grueling.
I want to offer an aside that though I am writing about the harder times in my life, there were many, many truly wonderful moments of joy, love, and pure happiness. My parents, who are both highly intelligent, beautiful, loving, and engaged parents did an absolutely amazing job in so many ways and I love them both tremendously. They did an immensely better job parenting my brother and I than either of their parents did and so I feel they were able in many ways to break the cycle and help me to be able to be part of breaking the cycle with my own children.
I am only realizing now that this blog is going to be one that will have to have many parts, partially because the story spans a lifetime, but also because it is emotionally draining. I had visions of just summing everything up in one neat little package of words but that feels like cheating--myself and those of you who are reading. It is hard deciding what to include and what not to, always considering who might be hurt or who might read this and know more about me that I would typically reveal. But I think telling your story is very important, it helps others not feel so alone and it helps me feel more free to be myself without feeling like I am always hiding behind this past that makes me feel like a girl between worlds--one foot in the past, one in the future but none in the present. Until next time...
The story, of course, starts in childhood. My parents divorced when I was 3 years old and though I don't remember the time they were married really, my first memory is of a big fight they were having in our family dining room. In my memory, the fight started in the dining room with my brother and I trying to pull them apart (this may or may not be true as memories this far back tend to take on their own life but this is the truth of how i remember it). Our house was one where all rooms are connected so the floor plan created a circle and so the fight continued as a chase around this circle into the kitchen where plates were thrown and broken on the kitchen floor, my mom ran out of the house and the next thing I remember is seeing the flashing lights of an ambulance or police car out our front window and wondering what might have happened to my mother. Was she hurt, lost, run away? Was she okay? This is the first memory of my life and it is clear and dramatic--it made it's impact. After that, I remember snippets of calls from my mom (we were living with my dad) where I would ask her when she was coming home. I don't remember how much I saw of her during that time or if I cried for her or what I might have been thinking in my little 3 year old mind. Before she left, she had stayed home with my brother and I and so I am sure it was quite the change when she was gone and I was then in preschool full-time. But while I am writing this, I am still shaking--it being 30 years later and the thought that keeps going through my head is "But this is really nothing compared to the all of the other things that have happened in my life," and for that, I am terribly sad.
This story is important, I think, simply because it is when recalling this memory that I start to feel different from other people. Most people I know have first memories that include toys, favorite games, playing with siblings or parents, going on vacation, etc. And I am not saying that my story is unique by any means, in fact it is probably mild in terms of what many people have gone through in their lives, what I am saying is that it plays an important role in how I start to define myself and perceive things and people around me. It isn't often that talking about your first memory comes up in conversation now that I am an adult. There was a time, a few years back, that I was at a conference for therapists to learn new skills in working with children who have suffered trauma. Often at these conferences we are asked to participate as if we were the client doing the exercises so that we can better understand the process. If I were doing these exercises in the confines of a trusted therapeutic relationship, I would be glad to do them, but when asked to reveal such emotionally charged parts of yourself, often to strangers, it causes much anxiety. To get back to the point, in this particular conference they asked us to draw about our first childhood memory, which looking back, I think the presenters probably saw as a relatively benign exercise. I remember looking around as everyone got started right away with their drawings and there was a moment where I thought, "Do I make something up?" and I search my brain for any other memory that might have escaped me all these years. In the end, I always am true to my story but it is uncomfortable to explain this scene to a complete stranger who then talks about their favorite barbie or bike. Ugh!
And this is how it is with many parts of my life--things that I reveal to the people in my adult life about my past life are often shocking and so wholly different that I feel separated, damaged--alien. I would be being untruthful if I didn't reveal that there is also a part of me that feels special for having been through so much, odd as it may sound. I feel as if I understand things that others couldn't possibly--though this is likely not true--but this is part of my identity and one that I would feel even more lost than I am now without. I don't know if I would know how to be happy, whatever that means, or content if I ever found a way to shed the past (and some of my genetics would have to be worked out too!). I have removed much of the dysfunction from my life in the last several years, though damage still exists of course, but removing important places and people from your life leaves gaping holes and how do you fill the hole of a lost mother, the place you grew up, or a best friend? How can you live in the present when you feel you have no past to turn to, to ground you, to run back home to? It's like being born all over again but with the memory that you lived a life before this but can never go back to. It is grueling.
I want to offer an aside that though I am writing about the harder times in my life, there were many, many truly wonderful moments of joy, love, and pure happiness. My parents, who are both highly intelligent, beautiful, loving, and engaged parents did an absolutely amazing job in so many ways and I love them both tremendously. They did an immensely better job parenting my brother and I than either of their parents did and so I feel they were able in many ways to break the cycle and help me to be able to be part of breaking the cycle with my own children.
I am only realizing now that this blog is going to be one that will have to have many parts, partially because the story spans a lifetime, but also because it is emotionally draining. I had visions of just summing everything up in one neat little package of words but that feels like cheating--myself and those of you who are reading. It is hard deciding what to include and what not to, always considering who might be hurt or who might read this and know more about me that I would typically reveal. But I think telling your story is very important, it helps others not feel so alone and it helps me feel more free to be myself without feeling like I am always hiding behind this past that makes me feel like a girl between worlds--one foot in the past, one in the future but none in the present. Until next time...
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