Receiver Fatigue and getting over it

I have been in bed with the flu for a week. It was not the plan. We had organised a family trip back to Auckland to see family and friends, do some maintenance at our house and generally have a holiday. But the kids both had a nasty virus in the two weeks beforehand and despite my attempts to rest and avoid it, I succumbed the day before.

So I waved off hubby and the two kids and planned to join them two days later once I was feeling better. Two days passed and I was worse rather than better. I was grateful to be able to actually rest while sick. It felt like such a treat to have the flu alone. Oh dear what an irony. 

On the third day I woke up drenched in sweat so had to change all the sheets. I ran out of tissues and was on the last roll of toilet paper and last two paracetamol. Time to call for help. 

I am so grateful to have friends to call. We have only lived in this town for three months but through church I've made some lovely friends and even though we are still in the fresh and new phase of getting to know each other, I knew I could call. So I did. And she came with toilet rolls and paracetamol, hung out my washing and did the dishes. This is despite it being school holidays and her having four kids. Mums do get it. She then came back and got my washing in, took it back to her place to finish drying and returned it folded the next day. 

Meanwhile another friend in Auckland hosted my son's 5th birthday party that he had begged to have with his big cousins. She knew it meant a lot and offered to help even with me not there. I am so grateful. 

Over the years, especially since having kids, I have had to ask for help a lot. Sometimes it's been part of really normal transitions like moving house. My sister in law helped set up my wardrobes and linen cupboard and family helped to look after our daughter while we unpacked. At other times it has been caring for my children when I am to unwell with depression and anxiety. And at other times it has been when hyperemesis (pregnancy nausea and vomiting) meant I was bed bound and needed help. About 18 months ago I was exhausted due to adrenal fatigue and needed help with childcare and house work. Over the last 8 years I've needed help with juggling childcare and work and have asked mum friends who are home full time to look after my kids or pick them up. I feel like the last 8 years has been full of asking for help and learning to receive it.

At first it was so wonderful to receive help, to know we were not alone. At times I was so ill that help was the only option. I've never been a private person so I didn't feel embarrassed overtly by needing help but over time it got harder. Desperation meant I blocked out how vulnerable I felt and the sense of failure I had. I remember needing a friend to help with childcare one day when I had to work late. I got home late and walked into the house. She was managing her own three kids, my two, cooking dinner, had cleaned up and folded laundry. I disappeared to my room and sobbed. The sense of failure and shame was just too much. So much of my sense of worth was whittled away in my need for help and dependence on others.

I am naturally quite an independent person and pride myself on being organised and having things under control. However, Ive learned that those things are a privilege of circumstance and health rather than a measure of my value or success as a person. And I have had a lot of conversations with other Mums who have struggled on alone, convinced that everyone else was coping better than they were and not asked for help or been honest about how hard life can be. People have said to me "You seem like you are always on top of things" but others have commented "You are so good at asking for help". On a bad day both comments seem problematic. When people say I seem to have it all together I want to scream and ask what they expect me to do? Kids still need to be fed and clothed and taken places. Most of the time you can't just collapse in a heap cause everything else will collapse too. But there have been time when I have collapsed and I have desperately needed help and I have asked for it. Telling me I am good at asking can feel like I am not independent or capable or that I am somehow weaker than those who just "soldier on".

Instead I believe that most of us are stronger than we often realise. At times carrying on putting one step in front of the other, getting out of bed, keeping on parenting through what feels like thick mud and a pack full of rocks is what we do. But in other situations the strongest thing we can do is ask for help. There are no medals for going it alone. Our kids do not benefit from white knuckling it until it all falls apart. Instead help can mean we recover, it can remind us that we are all connected and that none of us is truly in control of our lives. It can show our children that helping others is a privilege and receiving from others is an important skill to learn.

I'm feeling better now. The school holidays are over. Everything is on a more even keel. I hope that when things are going well I will be in a position to help others. But I don't owe anyone and I don't have to prove anything. I am stronger than I think and in each season, day, minute and breath I remember that none of us can do this alone so why should I? And why should you?

Joy at Advent

On Sunday I had the privilege of speaking at church on the them of Joy. It was terrifying. But the process of writing what to say and thinking it all through was so good for me. I hope you find it gives you some joy or comfort in this silly and sometimes painful season.

Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.’ Luke 2:10-12

People don't tend to use the word “JOY” in normal conversation. We talk about happiness more often. There is even a growing field of happiness research. It seems that being “happy” is something we struggle with and it seems to be something that is a growing problem of the first world. We buy things, travel to places, take all manner of substances, give up gluten, take up yoga, get married, get divorced, downsize, and upsize, all in the hope of finding happiness. But it doesn't seem to stay around for long. And in the end it seems that we are all heading to the same place but flailing around quite a bit as we go there. From a less extreme stand point, happiness seems to mean the daily small things that make life easier or more pleasurable. A delicious meal, a day that went smoothly, listening to a song you like, finally achieving a goal. All good things and all make life more satisfying and fun. I had a pedicure yesterday. That was definitely an experience that made me happy. But did it make me joyful?

It doesn't seem a coincidence that happiness researchers have found that people who practise gratitude, prayer, meditation and serving others, report greater happiness than those who don't. Maybe because that is the way we were designed to live?

When Tim sent me the list of topics I could choose to speak about I chose Joy. Some that no me well will recognise the irony in this. It is something that seems to be a struggle for me. I have struggled with depression most of my adult life and severely since having children. For me, life can feel like being in a t.v show. I follow the script and laugh at all the right times, but inside I am not experiencing it. Inside I am tortured by feelings of self-doubt, perfectionism and self loathing. I feel overwhelmed by all that needs doing and feel stretched too thin. Not very joyful really. And as a Christian, something I have wrestled with a great deal. How can I be so sad when I apparently have such hope? How can I struggle to love myself while knowing how much Jesus loves me? How can having children, something I have longed for and hoped for - also bring such pain and struggle?

So I have thought long and hard about happiness. And have decided that though it is nice to feel happy, there is very little in the Bible that indicates that we can expect happiness as a normal state of being while here on earth. That is not to say we will not experience happiness, but it just isn't the point, I don't think. But there is quite a lot about joy.

Joy is deeper. Joy seems to come to the fore when things are not going so well. It is a deeper river that keeps flowing, even in suffering and pain. It allows us to touch the eternal and divine. It is experienced in death of a loved one, as we celebrate knowing and loving the person who is lost while also being torn apart by it. It is felt as we welcome a new child, despite knowing that we will now forever feel responsible for another person and possibly experience a great deal of pain along the journey. Joy is the relief of admitting we cannot do it alone and we need help, and someone taking our hand and saying you are not alone and we will do it together. Joy is sharing my pain and struggle, and instead of advice or a look of shock, the person says “me too”.

To me Joy, rather than the temporary status of “happy”, is all about the eternal. I experience Joy when I wake early in the morning, go outside and hear the birds waking, smell the fresh newness of the day and see all that God has created. There is a sense of the divine and the eternal. There is Joy.

I experience Joy when I see a student suddenly become curious and thirsty for knowledge or finally seeing how precious they are after being judged or put down by others. My joy is in seeing that they are glimpsing their God given and eternal value.

Joy for me is talking with someone and having a meeting of mind and heart. Hearing each other deeply and sharing a love and care that I know comes from God. This is a joy that goes beyond the conversation to something deeper. It reminds me that God is love and he himself is the example of community and true relationship.

Joy is new spring growth on an apparently dead tree.

It seemed appropriate to show this picture after Jesse's stump was introduced as a symbol to meditate on during advent. Some of you may remember when I led communion in the depths of winter in July. I talked about a plum tree which I was sure had died. It looked like a stick. No green to be seen. Nick and I had agreed to disagree about it. He was certain that come spring I would be proved wrong. With my typical knowing smile I said “Well, come spring I guess we will find out”. The knowing smile is me knowing I am right...

But I was wrong. Here is a picture of the tree.

Now that is a picture of joy. Despite all visible evidence to the contrary, that plum tree was alive.

We are so used to hearing the Christmas story and knowing it is a story about Joy. But if you didn't know the whole story. If you were living it as it happened, the evidence, and the way the situation unfolds around the birth of Jesus, isn't one that immediately points to JOY. And it definitely doesn't include too much happiness.

Imagine the Christmas story as a series of headlines appearing in the NZ Herald. We all probably feel like the news is the last place to look for Joy. And the Christmas story is full of apparent bad news.

Unmarried and pregnant – condemned by Jewish leaders. Mary may have been a privileged woman chosen by God to bare His own son, but it wasn't a great situation to be in. This is why the angel may have told her not to be afraid.

Heavily pregnant woman forced to travel on donkey for census – I would not have been happy to travel on a donkey at 9 months pregnant, but I guess it was better than walking.

Accommodation shortage in Bethlehem – forced to sleep with animals – sleeping in the stable would have been similar to sleeping in a wool shed. Not pleasant.

Massacre of first born sons – Thousands flea to Egypt

So it is all about perspective. Knowing who Jesus is and what God's plan was for his life means we know that even though the evidence seems gloomy, it all works out in the end.

It is all about what you are looking for. Despite her fear, Mary welcomed the angel who brought her the news of her pregnancy and that she was to give birth to God's son. She agreed to be part of God's plan without knowing how it would all work out and at great risk to herself and her reputation. She was possibly risking Joseph abandoning his promise to marry her. Her faith and knowledge of God's goodness meant she chose to have a perspective of faith and hope, despite the struggles and challenges she would face. She had no idea what it would mean to be Jesus' mother. She would only have known the hope for a Messiah that all the Jewish people were holding onto while suffering the Roman occupation. She made a choice to believe in Her God, rather than the very real risks she faced.

Luke 2:13-19

Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,
“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”
So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.

 Mary was chosen by God because He knew she was the right woman to be the mother of Jesus. This passage I think reveals one of the reasons why. She has been through the most amazing experience. I think all births are. But she had the added knowledge that her son was the Messiah. She knew that everything that happened was ordained by God. The shepherds who were visited by angels and prompted to visit Jesus and the amazing visitations by angels that both she and Joseph had experienced. In her life the practical details of travelling by donkey, having nowhere to stay and a rather uncomfortable place for a birth, must have become small in scale, compared with the eternal perspective God had given her about her life. Mary's Joy came from having an eternal perspective of her own life and experience. I think Mary's approach can teach me a lot about Joy. When I let my mind believe that the evidence around me reveals truth and reality then I let my joy and hope disappear into despair. But when I remember that God has a plan and that the story is not finished I remember Joy and I look for His hand and His movement around me. I hear His voice and I commit myself afresh to follow His prompting.

As we approach Christmas again and prepare our hearts to celebrate the birth of Jesus the reason we sing carols that say “Joy to the World” is because there are so many reasons not to feel joyful. If the world was already filled with Joy we wouldn't need to sing it. But we are in need of Joy. The evidence around us can seem pretty grim. It can seem that evil is triumphing and that we are suffering and that sometimes it is all too hard. But unlike Mary, we have the gift of knowing how the story ended. Well, actually it didn't end. His birth was one beginning. But in Jesus's death we find the true beginning.

Our Joy at Christmas is that in that little baby there is hope and the promise of forgiveness, the end of all suffering, injustice, pain or death and the beginning of a new life. That life is about living now in relationship with the creator of the universe and with Jesus who truly knows the pain and struggle we experience, but also gives us the Holy Spirit to comfort us, guide us, encourage and embolden us so that we can experience and dwell in the Joy of knowing Him and making Him known. He gives us an eternal perspective of ourselves and our purpose here on this earth. Because our lives are just the beginning too.

And even as we know this truth, sometimes it can still be a struggle. And joy seems far off. But when all seems lost and the pain is too great I hold onto this. My favourite verse:

You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand. Psalm 16:11

This is not a request. This is a statement of fact. It is not conditional on your efforts or a promise for the future. It is now. His presence now can bring us Joy. A Joy that is holy, healing and can quench a thirst that on He can satisfy.

  

I pray that for all of us this Christmas, we will know His presence, feel his hand upon us and know His deep and strong and healing love. And that by his Holy Spirit, we will know His joy.

As we go out may we also listen to his voice. He is Emmanuel, God with Us. And he goes with us as we share our Joy in Him, with those around us. Faith in Jesus is not a promise of happiness, but it is a promise that you will never be alone and that in a world that seems to have lost its way, that each person is loved and has meaning and purpose. He is moving and his promise of an end to suffering will come. Now that is something I can be joyful about.

Facts over feelings

Hi world.
This year really is proving to be hard work. No big reasons for that. Except my brain still threatens to slide back into depression. My struggles with the tension between what I want to be able to be and do and reality steal my peace and joy. I dream of some greater peace. I see glimpses of it and I keep being reminded that I am enough now. However, 35 years of feeling less than is hard to shake.

One of the questions I ask myself in an attempt to stop my negative thinking is "Is what I am telling myself, the facts, or the feelings?"
Often my feelings take me off what is really happening into a reality I am creating out of the emotions thay arise.

Yesterday os a good example. I was just exhausted. As it was Sunday, hubby was home. So after lunch I said I just couldn't keep going without a nap. As I lay in bed starting to doze off, the feelings were failure and letting everyone down. I felt that me not being up and involved meant I was a bad mother.

Was any of that true? No. But my unrealistic expectations of myself create those feelings when I have to admit I am actually human and need rest.

The facts helped to check if the feelings really reflected reality. And those facts were that I was really tired and needed a nap. Everyone needs a rest and asking for one is wise.

And checking the facts helped. I enjoyed my nap and woke up feeling much better.

I hope that in time I can have more realistic expectations and that the feelings and thoughts I have would become more gentle and self compassionate.  But in the throws of being overwhelmed by self destructive self talk, remembering to check my facts definitely helps.

Resurfacing

The suspense must be killing you! Unlikely, but after my post about struggling again with depression and increasing my dose of medication I haven't updated on how it is going. And it seems as if there has been too much happening both in the mundane of my daily life and in the massive of world events, to make space for my situation.

But busy with mundane is actually a good sign. The new dose has made a huge difference. After two weeks I was waking up looking forward to the day and with energy to actually do it. I feel like I am no longer bumping along the bottom but have resurfaced and can see the world in colour again. That first glimpse is such joy cause I forget that it really is so good, life and living and being. And so for about two weeks life felt just so awesome! I was revelling in being myself again. The real me that is often muffled and numb and so tired by it all.

But now the thrill has worn off a bit. Cause it does. Sometimes it wears off so much that it doesn't last and I start sinking. But I don't think that is what is happening. I think it is just the reality that a pill is not the whole fix. I have to keep take responsibility for the thoughts in my head. And the medication has definitely helped create a pause between a thought and my reality. It is like each thought or at least the negative and deceptive and damaging ones, has to pass through a toll booth, or a traffic light, and I can stop and ask "Is that true?" And then I can choose to replace it with something that is more real and productive. Hear is an example from my A rotation of untrue thinking.

"I cannot cope with this" (This is common at about 7:30am when feeling still tired, I am navigating the feeding, clothing and general chaos of the morning with the whole day ahead of me)

Stop light on.

"Mmm. I am coping with this. This is a normal morning with kids.  I have made Ella's lunch and I know what we will have for dinner. I am tired from being woken in the night. That is understandable. I need to eat my breakfast and have a shower. Turn on Peppa Pig so you can do that. Get dressed. Leave the mess till later." (I can remind myself of what is going well and make a plan of what to do next. I can be kind to myself)

I have such a huge collection of A Rotation lies and negative thoughts. And I also know how to address them and replace them. But without that pause, I am at their mercy and I am drowned by them.

So now that I am feeling better there is a risk that I will take the pause for granted, rely on those two little pills to keep me going, and carry on in my perfectionist patterns. But I know what eventually will happen. My energy will run down, my stress and anxiety will increase and eventually the pause will disappear again.

To maintain the pause, and the self-awareness and peace that comes with that, I actually have to do some tough stuff. It is tough because I have to have some self-discipline and some ways of doing life to keep me well. Any time I try to do that I can end up turning them into rules to beat myself with and instead of freeing me, they become a way to judge myself. So it is no small thing.

I have always been in awe of people who just decide that they are going to take up running. They decide they will run three times a week. And they do. Or sometime they don't. And their sense of self and self worth is not affected by their running status. Amazing!

For me remaining well includes getting good sleep, boundaries with my phone and being on facebook, doing exercise and eating regularly with no sugar added. Spending time alone but also with friends and spending time in prayer and reading my Bible. These are not things I should do, they are necessary for me to be ok. When I neglect these things I feel worse.

And honestly out of that whole list, I am doing none of them. Well probably sleeping pretty well, except for when little people need tending to. So it is a bit of a list and quite a bit of change to make. But it needs to happen because I do not want to go down again. And I am really to accept that I have limits and need to take care of myself.

Bumping along the bottom

I am sure you have heard the phrase "a bottom feeder". It is a metaphor for someone who feeds off the lowest and seediest parts of life. I am not that. But I am recognising that it is possible to be stuck at the bottom in life. Imagine a bottom feeding fish, swimming around in the almost dark and murky waters. All this fish sees is the mud a few centimeters in front of it's face. It is oblivious to the amazing wonders just a few metres above, where the sun's light reveals more and encourages life to thrive and grow.

In this sense I have been a bottom feeder. And the worst thing about it is you don't really know you are. You actually start to believe that all there is is mud. You lose faith that there could be anything else. Mud becomes normal.

For the last 6 months I have been on a new medication.  It is an SNRI and works to make my brain more sensitive to both seratonin and noradrenaline.   Gradually I have been increasing my dose, with the support of my very caring doctor. I didn't want to be on more medication than I needed. This new medication goes up in very small increments but the maximum dose is very high in pure grams than my previous medication. But what I am learning is you cannot compare dosages between medications. It would be like comparing 500g of beef mince with 500g of ground black pepper.  One is a good family meal, the other could be used as a form of torture.  Anyway, after multiple increases between January and March, I was feeling better.

I wasn't in that horrible blackness and having the awful self hatred or thoughts of self harm, ( the shame of sharing that I struggle with that level of depression and those thoughts is so huge). And since it had been that bad, things seemed so much better. Unfortunately with this type of medication, a positive response to an increased dose just confirms it was necessary.  But if the dosage is still inadequate, the positive side effects will gradually wear off. Slowly the water gets murkier and you sink millimeter by millimeter down into the mud.

I would think to myself as I woke up with dread in the morning, that is was just tired. As I became more and more overwhelmed I told myself that my kids weren't sleeping well and my hours at work had changed. It was understandable. And then I started thinking it was probably my fault. That right there is the powerful deception of depression. The mud and murkiness is my fault. If I just exercised more, or was stronger or calmer or like those mums over there...until I forgot that maybe it was just that my brain was broken. And not my fault at all.

I am so grateful for more objective measures of my mental wellbeing such as the Edinburgh scale. I can go it online and it gives me an indication of whether I am ok. If I am aware enough I can catch a slide downhill before it gets to crisis point. And this time I did. And two weeks after another dosage increase , the sun is out and I am swimming to the surface again. I ask myself "why did I let myself suffer for so long?" The sad answer is that if you are used to suffering from the very lonely pain of depression it is easy to put up with things being not ok for a very long time before thinking "I deserve better and I remember the light".

So now I am hoping and praying that if this increase is not enough, that I will realise and not drift down to the bottom again.

Giving up in 2014

I hate this time of year. The no-man's land between Christmas and New Year. It's not that I specifically hate the days. They are often lovely and full of fun and relaxation and a wonderful "nothing to do" vibe. But it also has that sense of approaching doom for me of another year beginning. Think the soundtrack of Jaws...

It has not always been this way. I am naturally a lover of all things fresh and new and full of possibility. I am a planner by nature and used to love to think about what I would be doing in the coming year. But over the last decade or so I have become jaded and frankly completely afraid of facing the new year as appears on the horizon.

You see, reflecting on the past year and planning for a new one is like cocaine for a perfectionist, planner with unrealistic expectations, such as myself. I guess for an alcoholic the New Years party creates its own share of temptation and risk. And for me, the list of resolutions has grown to become something I run from. This is where the alcoholic analogy falls over completely so please disregard any connection from here on.

Imagine loving to plan but becoming fearful that all a plan becomes is a trap to throw myself into and live in for the rest of the year. If I follow the plan I am "good", if I don't I am a failure. And the plan itself is only based on whatever felt important at the time I wrote it. Oh and it was written by a perfectionist with unrealistic expectations so it was also completely impossible and detailed and really was a set up for failure from the beginning. Add to this not just a plan, but specific goals that deal with specific things I want to do EVERY SINGLE DAY!

So in reaction to the obvious flaws in the above approach, I stopped goal setting, planning or really expecting anything. At least officially. I was and remain a very harsh critic and the expectations, whether written or not, still float around in my head as some kind of yard stick of "living well". Unfortunately this has led to me losing some of the joy I do find in looking forward to the future.

When I was a teenager and couldn't get to sleep I used to daydream until it turned into real dreams and I drifted off. My daydreams would be about actual things I was looking forward to or hopes and dreams I had about the future. I often thought about what my life would be like when I "grew up". This usually meant move out of home, go to Uni, get a job etc. This was the stuff which reminded me while I struggled through the angst of teenage-hood, that there was another age and stage around the corner where I would be able to make more choices, have more freedom and maybe the self confidence to be the someone I was sure I was, hidden under my insecurities and awkwardness.

And I have to say my 20s were a lot like that. My dreams didn't quite come true but I loved the decade as I grew into myself and made so many wonderful friends. I became more comfortable about who I was. But it still was never enough. Each New Year approached and I would try again. Often the same goals rewritten with a twist for 2002 or a focus on something which was becoming more important to me at the time. But every year I looked back and was disappointed in myself. After a while I stopped. Why do something which makes me feel so bad even if at its heart, I wanted to make my life better?

However, it seems this year that there is a change in the air. This week I have felt so exhausted as the weight of how hard the white knuckle ride of the last 6 months has been. I honestly feel that hibernating for 6 months is required for me to ever venture beyond my front door again. And so I find myself thinking that I better make a plan. This time the plan is not to improve myself, well not in the usual sense. I think this plan could be more about avoiding breakdown.

I think I need a plan to work within my capacity, to treat myself as fragile and to recognise that this body I am in and the person I am will actually fall apart both literally and figuratively if I keep living like I am. I am still allergic to the idea of goals and feel the tentacles of perfectionism beginning to tickle my ankles even as I stand paralysed this side of January 1st 2014. This plan will not be about being "better" or "improvement". It will be about weakness and vulnerablity, saying "No, I can't manage to do that". And being able to sit with my imperfection. I say I believe in a God who loves me as I am and has made me in his image. I say I believe that I am forgiven for anything and everything I could ever do or have done that would hurt myself or anyone else. I say I love others because I can see how fearfully and wonderfully we all are and how precious we are. But somehow I seem to think and behave as if none of the above applies to me. And this year I plan to give up. Give up on trying so hard to do things that don't matter and leave me in a pit of self loathing hiding under my duvet.

Hopefully the plan can remain a relief and not a noose around my neck. There is a glimmer of hope here but so many roads that still lead down the path of not-good-enough and unacceptable. I wonder if I can create a new path. I pray I can cause this one is a dead end. Pun intended.

Weaning Mummy

For the first time in three and a half years, I am considering weaning myself off antidepressants. It is a pretty remarkable place to be in, to be actually feeling well enough that I would see a future where popping my two miracle pills each morning wouldn't be the pillar on which my life is held together.

I have been on paroxitine since about 3 weeks after Ella was born. It was like suddenly a light went on and I could see why other people seemed so excited about life and enjoyed things. Up until that point I honestly hadn't been able to see what the fuss was all about, most of the time, even before Ella. I tried citalapram before we tried to conceive another baby but my anxiety wasn't managed well on that so I switched back. Switching back triggered a relapse and I had to increase my dose to the maximum for a while. That is why the idea of weaning is a bit scary. But the confidence, self awareness and skills I have learned through therapy, pregnancy with George and since George's birth has shown me that I am strong and that I know how to look after myself. I don't need to fear a stressful day or event and feel that antidepressants are essential to my wellbeing. Well, I am hoping that is what I am going to discover through the weaning process.

Weaning off antidepressants is not something to do without a very well thought out plan and a bit of reading so you know what to expect. Most SSRIs have quite a long half life, which means they stick around in your system for a while so withdrawal doesn't kick in for a few days if you suddenly drop your dose. But paroxitine (aropax, paxil) has a very short half life and you have to take it within the same couple of hours each day or you start to feel funny. It also has some side effects that aren't too pleasant. It makes me feel really tired about an hour after taking it, you can get what feels like electric shocks in your brain that are painless but very wierd. It also limits (over sharing warning!) sexual satisfaction. After three and a half years, I am ready to see what it feels like to be me without the chemical assistance.

Often people try to reduce their dosage during holidays or at a time when they have lots of support. I have learnt the hard way that I need to be living my normal routine and not do it when I have lots of important events or possibly stressful situations, such as Christmas, or major changes in my life. So now is actually a great time. Life is in a pretty straight forward pattern right now and I am feeling no sense of pressure to do this in a certain time frame.

So I have done some reading and am planning a very slow withdrawal process by only reducing my dose by a quarter tablet, two weeks at a time. Hopefully that way I can avoid some of the awful side effects paroxitine withdrawal can have. And I will be able to keep a close eye on my state of mind so if things start to slip I can stop and let things stabilise. If I find myself feeling down or anxious I will just stop. In the big picture, needing to take a pill or two each day is a small price to pay for wellness and joy in my life.

It is pretty confronting to think about the fact that I am physically dependent on medication to avoid going potty. It can feel very shameful and I have moments where I feel like I am flawed and pathetic. But then I remember that choosing to be well and live well is actually empowering, and if that means taking antidepressants, then that is a positive choice. Everyone has their battles and health issues. Some people take blood pressure meds, others need insulin for diabetes. It is better than using other substances such as alcohol or illegal drugs to self medicate. I still reserve the right to use food sometimes!

So after Easter the process begins. Wish me luck and hopefully there will be no going down the rabbit hole.

No more "please rescue me"

The reality of life with two kids has well and truly dawned on me. I am back at work two days a week and with a baby still waking and the other normal stuff like laundry, cooking, more laundry, keeping everyone happy and healthy etc. things are feeling pretty overwhelming. Today I remembered the overwhelming sense of responsibility for Ella that I felt when we first brought her home. And I realised that a lot of my depression at that time was due to feeling that I just couldn't do it. I couldn't be everything she needed and do everything that needed doing. And so I thought she would be better off without me.

And so now I find myself feeling the same at times. Not so much that they would be better off without me. but that there is only one Mum and its me and even when I would love someone to come and rescue me from the sense of responsibility and burden I feel at times, it ain't going to happen.

Now don't get me wrong. I love my kids. But being a Mum is tough. And I am not going to lie about that just because you somehow aren't supposed to say that it isn't much fun at times. But if I am honest, what makes it tough, apart from all the usual realities like lack of sleep, loss of time for me and hubby, kids being sick or issues with behaviour. Oh the list could go on and on...
is having unrealistic expectations of myself and my underlying fear that somehow I am going to hurt my kids  in some awful way.

And so I keep thinking I need rescuing because the pressure I put on myself is so huge. And when I am able to step back and get some perspective, I realise I am doing a pretty good job. But it is so easy when I wake up feeling bleary and tired from an interrupted night, to feel incapable of looking after my kids. And not just surviving through the day, but giving them childhoods which build them up and prepare them for life.

I hope that this is just a part of growing up. You know, putting your money where your mouth is, as it were. I chose to have kids, I love them. Now this is the time where the rubber meets the road. I have to get on and do it. Not worry about doing it "wrong" or over analyse it all. Just do it.

I keep repeating to myself "I am the Mummy and I decide how we are doing it" when I have those times of doubt and confusion and just don't know what to do or keep second guessing myself. Often I am having to filter what I have read, or heard, or the way people I know approach a parenting issue. We are all bombarded with so much advice and research and dire warnings about what we should and shouldn't do as parents, and I think especially as mothers.

I have always been so influenced by others and struggle to accept that there is not one right way to live and do things. Blame my perfectionist tendencies and Christian upbringing maybe. Ironically there is actually very little in the Bible about the details of raising kids. That explains why "Christian" parenting reflects exactly the same continuum as we see generally in Western society.

Having two kids to juggle and their needs as well as my hubby's and my own, has really solidified the fact that I need to stop considering anyone else except those who live under our roof, and that compromise is a given. Things can't stay the way they were with once child and I can't do things the same way. I thought I had made all my parenting decisions up to the age of three. Turns out I haven't. George is so different from Ella, our lives are different and we are different. So I have to choose again. And no one is turning up at the door to tell me what to do and give me a gold star for doing it "right". So that is up to me, both the decisions and the gold star.

I know deep down that this is something I have needed to truly learn for years and this may be the way I learn it. But it is hard and painful and quite scary. And at about 3pm when I am hanging on for hubby to walk in the door and rescue me, I am learning that it doesn't actually work that way. I am still Mum and I am still in charge and if I don't cook dinner, or do the dishes or whatever really needs doing, then it probably won't happen. Until tomorrow, when I still have to do it. And if hubby and I don't decide to deal with Ella taking over an hour to get to sleep each night, then no-one else is going to.

So I am hardening up I guess, in a growing up kind of way. Hopefully love and grace can be the path I follow as I build up my Mum muscles.

Footloose and facebook free?

So it has been about a month with no facebook. My feelings about it and the experience are mixed. The first week was full of the self righteous glee of self denial. Before my decision to give up FB for lent, I had caught myself thinking in status updates and instead of thinking about how I felt about something, wondering how I could post it for my FB audience. This seemed to fall in the not-too-healthy box of ways of thinking. It took a while for that to fade but it seems now that my thoughts are for an audience of me and me alone. Oh and you...

Another aspect I am loving is not having this constant distraction and checking FB every time there is a second of down time. It used to feel like I was always multi-tasking between FB and my actual life. Our computer is in the lounge and I hated the tension I created between attention on FB and attention needed for my kids and my home and for me and the other things of life. Life has felt more peaceful. A phrase I really like is "do one thing". I learned it on a course I did to help when distress and depression are becoming overwhelming. It really makes a difference to my sense of peace and well being to just 'do one thing' at a time. To not have my attention and mind constantly divided and interrupted.

Another benefit is no longer watching other people's lives unfold before me and being impacted by that. Don't get me wrong. I love FB updates from my friends about their lives and photos of what they have been up to. But it is easy to start comparing my life with others and think something is wrong with mine. Sometimes it also hurts to see how other people are living and brings out the worst in me. I am really not missing that.

One of the most wonderful bits of being facebook free is the page updates from some of the pages I have liked in the past. My newsfeed would be a great way to document the changes in my life over the last wee while. I used to have heaps of parenting page updates which all featured things I was really interested in; breastfeeding, birth, attachment parenting, healthy living etc. But since George arrived I actually find most of the posts pretty disturbing or downright upsetting. I have gradually either unliked the pages or blocked them from my newsfeed but there were still a few I liked to read once in a while. But having none of the parenting "shoulds" confronting me each day has been amazing. I feel so much more in touch with myself as a parent and so much more aware of my own parenting boundaries and values. It is not that I disagree with the sentiments of the pages I was reading, but that sometimes they were a confusing distraction. Instead of parenting with my heart and head, I was trying to parent in a way that some FB page would find acceptable. For a perfectionist like me with authority issues, that is a terrible idea.

But its not all roses. I do really miss the contact with my friends and family. I am an extrovert and it provided me with the people contact I crave when life at home with the kids can feel really isolated. And at a time in life when most of the people I know are really busy and we all live further and further away from each other, I love the chance to keep in touch. I also love the little unexpected gifts of someone's words or insights or their comments. Those little suprises are really so precious on days which feel a bit dreary or tough.

So I am FB free till Easter. Not sure what I will do from then on. I think I will be back on but with some more boundaries and hopefully with it in its rightful place in my life. I guess one of the most useful parts of all of this is that I have been able to do it. That I have the self control and commitment to actually give something up and stick with it. And that is not something I have ever been good at in the past. So that in it itself is good for me. It is growing my character I guess.

Got the Bad Mummy Blues

I think all parents would agree that we want the best for our kids. We want them to be healthy and happy. When they are sick or sad we want to relieve their pain, to provide them with comfort and security, and if at all possible, fix it.

Today I had one of those days when I stood back and felt like I had done a crap job. And I am singing the bad mummy blues.

Ella has eczema. She has had it for a long time. It has never been terrible but it bothers her at times. The chronic patch behind her knee gets pretty raw and has spread. I have not been good at managing it and she is scared to have cream put on it cause it stings. It got infected over Christmas and it has been a struggle to get her to take the antibiotics and I keep forgetting. She has also had chronic constipation and has been having treatment for this but it seems to be getting worse again.

George has been really unsettled and has developed eczema all over his wee body. He hasn't been feeding well, and he never really has. He is always windy and is waking lots in the night. This coincided with starting solids and me using bought stuff. He is also really constipated and just not his usual settled self. Went to the doctor today and she suspects the problem is a dairy intolerance or allergy. It does run in the family. So now we are trying soy formula for a week to see if it makes a difference. I am lathering him with cream and it is improving.

So that's the outside stuff. What is happening inside my head goes something like this:

Have I been ignoring a possible dairy intolerance in Ella? Am I letting her eczema get out of control and now she is waking in the night? Is her constipation related? Did I ignore this because I just couldn't deal with it? What on earth will she eat since she lives on milk, weetbix and yoghurt and not much else. Is it my fault she does eat well?

If George is dairy intolerant maybe he would have been fine if I had kept pumping breastmilk? If I had introduced one food at a time and used home made maybe I would know what caused the eczema? Now he is on Soy Milk which I really don't feel comfortable with but am I prepared to not use it even if it means he is not in pain and eating properly?

And is it totally selfish to make this all about me and how I feel as a Mum?
And this is really stressful and I can feel my anxiety coming back and I don't want to get depressed again but does that make me a useless Mum if I can't just focus on my kids and what they need without losing the plot?

Don't you love those bad mummy blues.

BUT...

 I know these thoughts are just thoughts. They take me no where. And they are my feelings rather than reality. They are the harsh and critical voice of self blame that tries to gain control by accepting blame about something which has no culprit or "baddy". Shit happens and life is what it is. What matters now is how I respond to both the practical situation and to the feelings I have.

So though I may have sung a few verses of the bad mummy blues today it is just cause I love my kids and sometimes I wish I had super powers so that I wouldn't make the very human mistakes I do and that life was simpler and easier than it is.

So tomorrow when I have to try to get Ella to take her medicine and watch hopefully as George changes to soy, I will remember that I love my kids, I do my best and they do feel loved and safe. And I might need some cuddles myself as I navigate another bump in the road.

A year I am proud of but never to be repeated

The last few weeks have been in stark contrast to this time last year and with the new year it is not surprising that I have found myself reflecting on 2012 and its impact on me. I have to say I am really proud of myself. It was a year full of challenge but also of me consciously taking on those challenges and coming out stronger with a new faith in my ability to deal with life and not succumb to the temptation of that dark pit that is depression. I definitely don't want to leave the impression that sheer will has led to this. Instead a combination of therapy, an awesome husband, family support and an amazing midwife, along with the decision to keep taking antidepressants, have all made this possible.
But in the end I chose to do these things. I chose wellness and to never go back to the horror of depression and stuck to it. I have had to make some really hard decisions to get here but I regret none of them.

Over the last year I have been in hospital three times, been really ill for the whole pregnancy with George, faced the terror of the prospect of a relapse of depression, planned to birth at home despite most people thinking I was "mental" and struggled with feeding George, eventually letting go of breastfeeding. And put my hubby and daughter through all of this too.

But I am so proud of me. I am proud of the tough decisions I have made but I have no regrets. I made decisions that were right for me and my family despite what others may think or what I may have wished for. I have had the courage to face my reality, to be honest about my fears and feelings and to stay present to what is happening right now in my life. I have had to face up to all my faults and weaknesses, many of which are still things I have to deal with every day. But through it all I really believed it could all be okay. I believed it without putting my head in the sand or leaving my life in the hands of others. I took responsibility for me and my baby and I am so proud of me.

The real test for me was the completely unexpected and very difficult time we have had with feeding George. I have had to accept that there is no "right" way and that the "best" thing to do is different in different situations. I have to look myself in the mirror and say I chose not to provide my son with breastmilk because the toll it would have taken was too high a price to pay for myself and my family and ultimately George.

Because in the end kids need parents who are ok, who are well enough to be able to loved and laugh and be present in their lives. And I am. I am well. I don't fear depression. I feel empowered to recognise the signs, to take the steps to be well and enjoy my life.

So 2013 is looking bright. I am enjoying each day as it comes. I don't have big plans this year. Just living life. Enjoying now. Cause I feel like I am living my dream. I have dreamed for so long of enjoying family life but ever since we lost our first baby that dream just seemed distant or even impossible. I thought I was faulty as a Mum and would never truly enjoy having kids. I would just learn to "cope" to "survive". Yes, I have had to learn to have more realistic expectations of myself and do less. But instead of feeling disappointed by that, I feel free. I can live how I choose without perfectionism being the monkey on my back.

So hear's to enjoying life and living. Being present in my life right now and celebrating all the simple everyday joys I appreciate so much, as I could have lost them all. And that is truly a miracle. Under all of this is God's constant faithfulness. I hope I can truly reflect the love I have been shown in my life and actions this year.

Bless you in 2013.

An apology

This post has been perculating for a while. It has been a painful and confusing time where i have reconsidered a lot and have had to look myself in the eye. I suspect that many around me may heave a high of relief when you finish reading this. And that is hard to face. I also suspect i have hurt and been insensitive to people i care deeply about and that is so awful to accept and take responsibility for.

So anyway, a few weeks ago i thoughtlessly pressed share on my phone after liking a cartoon on Facebook. (I am deliberately not linking to it). Suffice to say it expressed the opinion that children shouldn't be left to cry. A friend didn't like the conclusions the cartoon drew and let me know. My friend and i had a good talk about it and all was fine but it got me thinking about some tough truths for me as a mum and the impact depression has had on me and my parenting choices and opinions.

Before Ella was born and even before we lost our first child, i had been keen to read and learn all i could about parenting. I was, and still am, really sensitive. As a child I was very sensitive to those around me and wanted to be the best parent i could be and do everything right. By the time Ella born i had a mini library of parenting books and thought i knew how it was going to be. My friends from our antenatal class and coffee group will remember well how embarassingly well informed i was. Now there is nothing wrong with being well read and informed about having kids, but i do think you need to know what is behind your need to know. And my reason was fear of hurting my child and of not doing it "right". It really had not dawned on me that there is no right way. That would have scared me even more!

Anyway, after Ella's birth i was hit with severe depression. Picture me lying on the couch, unable to sleep or eat, panic attacks whenever i breastfed and seriously contemplating suicide. I felt completely overwhelmed by this tiny new baby who was so dependent on me. I felt unable to cope and truly believed she would be better off without me as her mum. It still shocks me to think back to that time and how awful it was.

I was very lucky, in a way, to become so ill so soon after Ella's birth as i was prescribed antidepressants and felt better relatively quickly. But the foundation was already laid for how i would mother. I think the worst fear of any mother with mental illness is that your illness will badly impact on your child. And the research shows that children of mothers with depression are vulnerable to the impact of the often disrupted attachment with their mum and are at much greater risk of mental illness themselves, not just due to genetic factors. I was so afraid of Ella suffering because of me that i did everything i could to promote attachment. I wore her in a carrier, breastfed on demand, bed shared and refused to follow the advice of leaving her to cry, even when she was waking 5 or more times a night for months on end.

Ella was and still is a delightful, outgoing and intense person. I like to say her off button is missing. She struggled to get to sleep and if left would just become hysterical. She had the disturbing habit of coming out in a rash whenever she cried and then crying in her sleep for the entire time she was asleep if she got upset while settling. She was also impressive in her spilling to the point that it felt like i was carrying an over-full mug around which would tip copious amounts of milk on me and everywhere else at any time. Our floor resembled a Jackson Pollock painting and the amount of laundry was insane. Excuse the pun. So add in my perfectionist tendencies and then a good dose of depression and being highly sensitive and it is pretty clear why we chose to parent Ella the way we did.

Now i don't regret how we have done things. It has suited Ella and certainly hasn't hurt her. But there were times where the effort to meet her needs left me completely exhausted and vulnerable to the depression I was working so hard to protect her from. George's birth and him being so settled, the choice to formula feed, the shared parenting hubby and i are doing and being well this time around are all meaning i am recognising how unhealthy some of my choices and thinking have been and in turn i have needed to believe i was right and things were black and white. And i surrounded myself with books, people and Facebook pages which would support my choices. (i am getting to my point). Hence why i was getting cartoons such as the one i posted, on my news feed. So back to posting opinionated parenting links.

For a long time i have needed parenting to be a black and white affair while there was so much grey around. My apparent confidence and certainty was as much about my own fears and insecurities as the research i had done. I do wish i hadn't been so quick to give advice or opinions, even just in my head. Nothing is certain or simple and in the end, what i think is pretty irrelevant. The mother i am now is shifting.

I am still committed to being a responsive parent but now good enough will have to do. In the past i have not been good at recognising my own needs and limits. But another tough pregnancy, this time with a preschooler, trying to avoid depression and not being able to breastfeed have all led me to climb down from my high horse and face my reality rather than a fantasy i thought i had to live up to. I don't regret my choices but i regret my attitude and assumptions. My life, my family and myself are a hodge podge of so many beliefs, experiences and circumstances and are unique. So now i see myself as a mum who is working it out as i go along and hopefully someone who is quick to empathise with other parents as we all make the best choices we can for or families.

So if you have ever felt judged by me or that I seemed to have it all together and know what I was doing...I apologise. And I hope you realised at the time and now, that I really don't know much and am just dealing with life as best I can at the time. I feel so blessed to be surrounded by so many mothers and families of all types and persuasions, who inspire me and share life with me. thank you

Boundaries

I have been MIA for the last wee while as I have been struck down with virus after virus for the last couple of months. Ella seems to pick up something just as I get a bit better and then down I go again. So last week I decided something had to change and went to a naturopath. I think they are great for when you aren't sick enough for the doctor to help but you aren't well. As a result I am on a mineral supplement and probiotics to boost my immunity as well as echinacia to ward off those bugs and a good multi vitamin. But the biggest benefit was when she drew up a timetable of my week and blocked out when I was busy. A bit shocking really. Almost all of every day was blocked out. I needed someone objective to tell me I was doing too much and that I needed to take better care of myself. I certainly hadn't listened to my Mum!


But that is the challenge for me. When I am tired and run down being around other people energises me. To a point. But it had turned into avoidance of my life and the reality that I have been burning out. And depression lurks around that ugly corner of not listening to myself and my body. So I have begun the task of dropping things and pulling back. And it is hard to admit that I can't do everything, but what I find scariest is when I am not busy I have to be with myself more. I have to sit with where I am really at and can't hide behind doing things. I am realising how unhealthy it is to feel afraid of myself and of facing my feelings. Especially those feelings which are negative, like sadness and disappointment and worst of all, fear.

When I first started to recover from PND it was so liberating to be able to leave the house and go and do things. But my new liberation needs to begin. To be able to say no and stay home and be still, well as still as you can be with a toddler.

Rewriting history and creating regret

Over the last few weeks I have been thinking a lot about Ella's birth. I think it is part of the natural process of healing and coming to terms with all I have been through in the last year. I find myself remembering a lot more about the details of the birth and questioning whether I made the right decisions. For me, having a C section made the beginning of being a Mum very tough and certainly didn't help me with developing postnatal depression. So I have been thinking about whether it could have been avoided. Did I go to the hospital too soon? Should I have fought more to avoid all the interventions?
In hindsight Ella was perfectly fine and did not seem to be in any distress once she was born, however, during the labour there were some indications that she was stressed. And at the time that was all we had to go by in making our decisions.

I have also been thinking about the last few weeks of the pregnancy and how the information I had caused me a lot of worry and fear. To be honest, I was scared during the whole pregnancy. I never really believed that we would hold our precious girl and get to take her home. I actually would lie awake at night preparing myself for losing her and having to have a funeral. I know that may seem strange but that is the only end to pregnancy which I had experienced and it seemed almost impossible to experience anything else, despite the ever present kicks and movements and healthy growth which promised she was fine. When I added higher blood pressure and posterior position to that mix of fear and grief it isn't really suprising that all I wanted was a healthy baby and I wanted to avoid any risk.

But now, on the other side it is easy for me to rewrite history and blame myself for the outcome of the labour. I do wish things had gone differently but I have to remember that Ella was fine and at the time that was the most important thing. I didn't know how hard my time in hospital and afterwards was going to be and you can only make decisions with the knowledge you have at the time.

What I have really learned or am learning, is that you cannot ignore your true emotions, not matter how uncomfortable and inconvenient they are. If I had acknowledged my fears to myself and others maybe I would have been in a better place during labour. Things may not have gone differently but there is nothing more awful than feeling disconnected from yourself at such a momentous time. I struggle to be truly honest about how I feel, especially when the feelings are negative but I need to be otherwise they do come out whether you like it or not and often in the worst of ways.

So no regrets about the birth, but hopefully some wisdom gained. And I want to thank all the mamas I know who inspire me to trust that my body, which God created and used to create and nourish Ella, is capable of doing what it is designed to do.

Remembering

I work as an English teacher with teen mums and we have 3 mums with young babies who have just started with us. It is the first time since Ella was wee that I have been around tiny new babies for more than a visit for a cup of tea. It has shocked me how much it has brought back about those first few months with Ella. I had forgotten how tiny she was and how much I was just guessing about what to do. I rocked one of the little boys to sleep yesterday and it was almost too much for me to remember my desperation when I rocked Ella, that she would sleep, that I would sleep. That I wouldn't feel so terrified and exhausted and desperate.

It is easy to believe now that I am coping well and just have to remember to take two white pills, to believe I am well. That that terrible time in my life is gone and I can pretend it didn't happen. But the awful sick feeling I had as I looked at these new mamas and their bubs reminds me that I am not okay. That I carry scars and that healing must happen.

Recently many of the Mums I know have been talking about having another child. Honestly, I feel nothing but shock at even contemplating such a crazy thing. For me it feels like a path that would lead to despair and doom. Now those are not the thoughts of a well and healed woman! So even though it is so tempting to pretend that everything is fine. It is not. I love my life now and I am content but there is unfinished business and I hope that I can have the courage and honesty to face it and not just brush it away with another two white pills.