I've often imagined what it would be like if I had to sit down and tell my family that I had some serious condition such as cancer or a heart ailment. I picture an outpouring of concern, lots of hugs and supportive pats on the shoulder or back. Much sympathy is conveyed in their expressions and everyone wants to know what they can do to help. Friends and neighbors stop by with casseroles or a bucket of chicken so I don't have to cook while I receive treatment. I get regular calls to see how things are going and whether I need anything.
Then I imagine what it is like to sit down and tell my family I have depression. Suddenly no one knows what to say. Some shift uncomfortably in their seats and can't make eye contact with me. The few comments made are suggestions to "buck up", "get some tougher skin" or "pull yourself together." Before long conversation turns to other subjects and I'm left alone with my thoughts. It isn't brought up again.
This isn't necessarily exactly what I've gone through with my own depression, but I can certainly relate to it in many ways. No one knows how to react to the news that a close friend or family member has depression, but in reality, those of us who struggle with it would love the same sort of response that would be given if we revealed any other health impairment. Depression is not much different than having cancer, heart disease, or any other condition. But rather than feeling embraced and supported, many depressed persons feel abandoned, alienated and alone.
For as many commercials as I see daily promising to change my life if I take the newest, latest and greatest medication, I would think that the stigma of depression would be going away. It would seem that the entire world is depressed for as many antidepressant commercials I see in a day. Yet, I don't see or feel that stigma around mental illnesses is going away. In fact, I often feel that I am Hester Prin, wearing some red badge of shame on my chest if I disclose my illness. And I hate that word, "disclose". As if I have some deep dark secret I am sharing.
The truth is, though, that people with mental health conditions have to make a decision about who and when to tell others that they have depression or another illness. Some people are incredibly understanding and supportive, while others can be very critical. I have had people tell me I am not the "same person" when I am taking antidepressants. That hurts! And it is untrue. Antidepressants don't change personality, people! This is what I want to scream. I would argue that when I take antidepressants, I am more myself than I am the rest of the time.
I rarely "disclose" my illness to employers or coworkers anymore, because it has generally been a bad experience for me. With friends and acquaintances, I wait until I've known them awhile or am comfortable that I won't be judged by the news.
The truth about depression is that it is like any other illness. Friends and family who are told the news that a loved one is depressed should respond to the news the way they would respond to any other health impairment. Employers should respond to the news the way they would respond to news of any other health impairment and do what they can to make the work environment accommodate the special needs one may (or may not) have.
I have been very private about my own struggle with depression and bipolar disorder, but over the past few months I have realized that I am doing a disservice to others who have depression by hiding it and carrying like a big, dark secret. Only through disclosure and our relating our experiences can we begin to diminish the stigma against mental health conditions. Sharing my own experiences is a really hard step for me, but I started this blog with the purpose of being my authentic self, warts and all. And although I am extremely critical of myself and my depression, I hope to contribute my own experiences to the bulk of knowledge about depression so that stigma may be reduced gradually and eventually completely. But I know it takes baby steps.
One positive influence on me has been celebrity Glenn Close. In a recent Oprah magazine, Glenn Close discussed her sister's bipolar disorder and how the family had held it as a secret for years. She was basically "coming out" about having a family member with mental illness. I was proud and saddened at the same time. I was proud that someone was stepping out in the light on the issue, but also saddened that it is so terrifying for some people to do so.
I just want people who don't struggle with depression to know that it's okay to talk about it. In one of my favorite movies, Terms of Endearment, Debra Winger gets extremely upset after dining with some of her friend's snobby friends who treat her weird because she has cancer. Winger, in frustration, exclaims to her friend, "Tell 'em it's okay to talk about the cancer!" I know exactly how she feels. Depression is like the elephant in the room that everyone is affected by, no one can stop thinking about, yet no one will talk about. I want people to know that it's okay to talk about the depression! And if you don't know what to do for a loved one who is experiencing it, Ask! Bring a casserole. Call just to check in. Do the same things for them that you would do for any of your loved ones who are sick.
It is my hope that soon mental illnesses will be treated like any illness, but I know it has a long road to go. This is my start to contributing to that transformation.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Why Can't the Answers to the Big Questions in Life Be Written in the Sky...
There is nothing I hate more than not having the answers to something. And the older I get, and the more I learn, the more I realize how clueless I really am and how difficult it is to figure out the right answers to the big questions in life.
Kyle and I will be married four years in June. I can't believe how quickly four years have gone, and how incredibly lucky I have been to spend them with someone so deeply kind, loving and generous. Since the day I announced I would be getting married, the next question everyone would ask after “when?!” seemed to be “when will you be starting a family?”. And I would usually respond with a half-joking "I thought getting married WAS starting a family." It was my own "clever" way of avoiding all-together the baby questions.
Because I've never had a real answer to them. And I am finding I still don't.
I’ve noticed that when a certain issue weighs heavily on my mind, everywhere I go I am reminded of that issue. That has been true for the baby issue, as well. The more I try to figure out the answers to my own questions about babies and parenting, the more I am constantly reminded about babies, Babies, BABIES. Everywhere I go are cute babies. Every time I walk into a store it is baby week and there are a million baby products front and center of entry. Everyone I know is pregnant. Well, technically not everyone. I mean, most men I know aren't pregnant. But the happy mothers have ultrasound photos to ooh and aww over and I can NEVER figure out where the kid is in the photo. Or they just had THE most adorable baby EVER. And have you ever smelled a newborn's head? Because even if you have never wanted a baby for a moment in your life, when you smell an infant's baby shampooed head, your reproductive system shifts into overdrive immediately.
When I was a kid, I thought anyone who would give up an amazing career opportunity to be a stay at home mom must be insane. I couldn't comprehend why someone might give up money and an interesting career path in order to change diapers and lose never-recoverable hours of sleep. When I became a teenager and slept in until noon on weekends and summers, I assumed no one in their right mind would ever give up sleeping until noon for anything - especially dirty diapers and crying all hours of the night. And of course, when as a teenager, anything to do with pregnancy, babies or the like is something to be terrified of rather than joyful.
In college I was not as anti-baby as I was just uninterested. I honestly never pictured myself even married, let alone a mom, and in my old-fashioned brain, babies didn't exist without marriage (ha ha!). I did not see myself as maternal, whatsoever. I thought I lacked patience, compassion, understanding and tolerance of children. Children seemed alien to me – I had rarely been around them in my life, and I didn’t understand them at all. And I had no patience for immaturity. So I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about whether I would ever be a mom; it almost seemed a given that is just wasn’t going to happen. And I didn't worry over it or care about it one way or another.
In the summer before my last year of college Kyle and I met and within about three months decided to get married. That was definitely one of the easiest decisions I ever made, which is incredibly strange for me because I think things through way too much and rehash it to death in my mind. Deciding to marry Kyle never felt like a decision, though. It just felt like what would naturally come next because everything was so right. Nothing had ever felt so right!
Kyle and I were about four hours apart during the majority of our premarital life. We had phone calls to each other every evening for four hours! I had never been a phone person, but suddenly I was full of conversation and I just wanted to hear his voice. After a very shocking phone bill I changed my calling plan to accommodate our insanely long conversations. Some of those conversations involved whether or not we wanted kids. At that time, kids weren't at the forefront of either of our minds. I wanted to finish school and perhaps move on to graduate school. I was still trying to figure out my depression and find the right combination of medications, and many psychiatric medications are not conducive to pregnancies, not to mention the whole other component of higher risk of postpartum depression, etc. Kyle had been alone for quite some time and had his own health concerns with his diabetes. So there didn't seem to be a whole lot more to think about as far as kids were concerned. It was not a priority. And it seemed both of us had just come to the conclusion in our lives that we wouldn’t be parents.
What has happened, though, as I've fallen even more in love with Kyle over the years, is that one aspect of his personality that I most adore is how absolutely wonderful and gentle he is with children and our "babies", our pets. He is a gentle giant, as I like to think of him. Such a big heart and hands, and so tender. And that makes me yearn to see him as a father. I know he would be a wonderful father, devoted and caring and a wonderful guide to children. And some child would be lucky to have such an amazing man as a dad.
And my own cold heart has thawed towards children, as well. Having worked with both elementary and high school students, I first thought that teaching or working in schools was the sure-most method of birth control. I saw some of the most terrifying children as well as excellent examples of no and poor parenting. In those first few months of teaching, I would end each day in awe wondering how anyone who teaches ever dares to have their own children! And yet, there are those gems of students who touched my heart in one of a million ways and I began to see the true beauty of childhood and children. Something truly special happens when children are a part of your life. It's not describable. My friend’s three year old has also sectioned off a corner of my heart as her own. Her tiny voice gives me chills when I hear its perfection, and her request to talk to “Woxann” every time I call makes me feel incredibly loved. Children, like pets, love nearly unconditionally – at least until their teens. How can I not feel special when she lights up when she sees me?
So here I (we) am/are trying to decide what to do. I'm only twenty eight, so in most cases it is not like I would have to feel pressure about whether/when to have kids. Kyle is nineteen years my senior and though that was a consideration we both addressed four years ago, it’s not something that has been an issue in any other aspect of our marriage. It is a concern when it comes to being parents, because even if I were to get pregnant right this instant, Kyle would be 48 when our child was born and 66 when he/she graduated high school. And that is if we only had one. Both of us would like to do some traveling and that would have to be postponed if we had kids, mainly for financial reasons. That means, realistically, that Kyle would be over seventy by the time our kids are in college. I don’t think it is fair to postpone having kids any later, for Kyle or the said child. I mean, sure, guys can make kids late into their lives, but just because they can doesn’t make it right. It isn’t fair to the kids to miss out on having a dad if anything happens to him. And yes, something could happen to one of us tomorrow, but ... anyways, you can see how I tend to think about things way too much!
Medically speaking, now might not be the best time for me to be pregnant, due once again to psychiatric medications for bipolar disorder and related issues, risk for postpartum depression, as well as the fact that I have about 28 pounds to go to get to my goal weight post gastric bypass surgery. And in a lot of ways, I feel a little freedom in my life to look after me that I haven’t had a lot of before. It may seem selfish, but it is nice to be able to put myself and my husband first instead of last on the list of people who need taken care of. Anyone with a baby knows that self-care is nearly impossible to accomplish most of the time.
And so I am at this crossroads in my life yearning and wishing that the right answer was here in front of me, yet knowing that there is no right answer. There is only what is best, and I do not yet know what is best, for both of us, for now and for long term. But I’m scared that whatever decision is made will be regretted.
I wonder how other people have made this big decision in life. How have others decided whether to have kids, when to have kids, and how many to have? Share your story if you like in the comments section.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Come On Get Happy...
I'm currently reading Rachel Kempster's and Meg Leder's The Happy Book: a journal to celebrate what makes you happy. Naturally, one of the first assignments in the book is to list some of the things that make you happy. I love finding out what makes people happy, because often their happiness brings other happiness, and before you know it, happiness is flowing everywhere!
So here is my current Happy List (in no particular order):
1. Kyle
2. Pip
3. Spike and anything hedgehog
4. Petrie
5. Family and friends
6. movie theater popcorn
7. writing
8. handwritten notes or cards
9. my cruiser bicycle
10. Springtime
11. bookstores
12. window seats
13. puffy clouds
14. dressing up
15. a new journal
16. a new pen
17. a new notebook
18. a new book
19. an old favorite book
20. any poem by Robert Frost
21. a new magazine
22. painting my toenails
23. a vase of flowers
24. lilac bushes in full bloom
25. soft comforter or quilt
26. bookstores
27. italian sodas - almond
28. great hotel rooms
29. board games
30. new lotion, shampoo or perfume
31. first snowfall of the year
32. an unexpected lift from a friend
33. facebook messages
34. Eileen's Cookies
35. scrapbooking
36. cross-stitching
37. quilting
38. coffee shops (the old fashioned kind, not Starbucks)
39. Christmas fudge
40. wedding mints
41. rainbows
42. warm socks
43. itunes
44. pansies
45. anything Jane Austin
46. Amelie
47. purple/lavender
48. smiles
49. snow days
50. cheesecake
51. scentsy candles
52. rain
53. amazon.com
54. Sales!
55. mom's chicken and noodles
56. little surprises from Kyle
57. naps
58. emails
59. birthdays
60. decorating the xmas tree
61. love stories - finding out how people met and fell in love
62. the mountains
63. wildlife
So here is my current Happy List (in no particular order):
1. Kyle
2. Pip
3. Spike and anything hedgehog
4. Petrie
5. Family and friends
6. movie theater popcorn
7. writing
8. handwritten notes or cards
9. my cruiser bicycle
10. Springtime
11. bookstores
12. window seats
13. puffy clouds
14. dressing up
15. a new journal
16. a new pen
17. a new notebook
18. a new book
19. an old favorite book
20. any poem by Robert Frost
21. a new magazine
22. painting my toenails
23. a vase of flowers
24. lilac bushes in full bloom
25. soft comforter or quilt
26. bookstores
27. italian sodas - almond
28. great hotel rooms
29. board games
30. new lotion, shampoo or perfume
31. first snowfall of the year
32. an unexpected lift from a friend
33. facebook messages
34. Eileen's Cookies
35. scrapbooking
36. cross-stitching
37. quilting
38. coffee shops (the old fashioned kind, not Starbucks)
39. Christmas fudge
40. wedding mints
41. rainbows
42. warm socks
43. itunes
44. pansies
45. anything Jane Austin
46. Amelie
47. purple/lavender
48. smiles
49. snow days
50. cheesecake
51. scentsy candles
52. rain
53. amazon.com
54. Sales!
55. mom's chicken and noodles
56. little surprises from Kyle
57. naps
58. emails
59. birthdays
60. decorating the xmas tree
61. love stories - finding out how people met and fell in love
62. the mountains
63. wildlife
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Comforts...
I am often amazed at all the comforts that surround me. Today I am cataloging my list of comforts because it seems I have the stomach flu and am in much need of being grateful for comforts.
1. Kyle
2. Pip
3. Daisy and Amberly
4. My many amazing friends and family members who care about me
5. Soft pillows with cool cases
6. Cool sheets
7. Heated blankets
8. Soft, freshly washed quilts
9. New books to explore
10. Old books to return to again and again
11. Homemade bread
12. Good OTC and prescription medications
13. Warm slippers
14. Favorite sweatshirts and sweaters
15. Jeans
16. A favorite stuffed animal
17. Reruns of the Golden Girls
18. Little House Books
19. Anne of Green Gables books
20. Sleeping in
21. Sleeping in with Kyle and Pip
22. Alone time
23. Crafting time
24. Holding hands with Kyle
25. Kyle's goodbye kiss every single day
26. Kyle's "I'm Home" kiss every single day
27. Talking on the phone when he's away for work
28. Fabric softener
29. A handwritten note or letter
30. A letter from a friend
31. Mom's homemade chicken and noodles
32. Good advice
33. Hot cocoa
34. Hugs
35. A hot bubble bath
36. Chocolate
37. A favorite chick flick - You've Got Mail or Sense and Sensibility
38. Hugs
39. Naps
1. Kyle
2. Pip
3. Daisy and Amberly
4. My many amazing friends and family members who care about me
5. Soft pillows with cool cases
6. Cool sheets
7. Heated blankets
8. Soft, freshly washed quilts
9. New books to explore
10. Old books to return to again and again
11. Homemade bread
12. Good OTC and prescription medications
13. Warm slippers
14. Favorite sweatshirts and sweaters
15. Jeans
16. A favorite stuffed animal
17. Reruns of the Golden Girls
18. Little House Books
19. Anne of Green Gables books
20. Sleeping in
21. Sleeping in with Kyle and Pip
22. Alone time
23. Crafting time
24. Holding hands with Kyle
25. Kyle's goodbye kiss every single day
26. Kyle's "I'm Home" kiss every single day
27. Talking on the phone when he's away for work
28. Fabric softener
29. A handwritten note or letter
30. A letter from a friend
31. Mom's homemade chicken and noodles
32. Good advice
33. Hot cocoa
34. Hugs
35. A hot bubble bath
36. Chocolate
37. A favorite chick flick - You've Got Mail or Sense and Sensibility
38. Hugs
39. Naps
Monday, February 15, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Nothing Worthwhile Is Easy...
I love that quote. I tried to research it online and figure out who said it or where it comes from, but I couldn't find a definitive answer. I hate that! It must be the English major in me, always wanting to cite my sources! Whoever said it must have been to hell and back and somehow maintained a positive attitude. I admire that sort of spirit. Sometimes I wish I had more of it, but at others I have to stand back and give myself a little credit. Most things haven't come easily to me, especially those worth having. But I kept at it until I accomplished what I set out to.
Part of my hope with this blog is to be able to share my experiences with depression, and more recently, my bipolar diagnosis. I have been very uncertain about how I feel with the "labels" of these two issues. I hate the stigma, and I fought the diagnosis of bipolar for years because of what I thought it would mean about me and for me. But part of my hope as I continue to deal with these disorders and treat them is to grow more comfortable with discussing them openly and my experiences with them. Instead of being ashamed or defensive about them, I hope I can share something that will matter to someone else who might also be struggling in silence the way I was for a very long time. Because what a difference that would have made to me!
I have probably struggled with some form of depression or bipolar disorder since around age 8 to 10. It ebbed and flowed throughout my adolescence. I didn't realize at the time what it was; I just knew I felt "different" than other children. I didn't really experience life as a kid. I was dealing with some pretty adult things in my life and childhood became a time of surviving more than playing and being a kid. I didn't realize it at the time. At the time, it was normal life for me, so I didn't realize that my life wasn't like that of most of the kids around me. I just knew I didn't fit in, and I was too serious all the time. I didn't know how to have fun. It felt frivolous and wrong in the midst of all that I had to worry about. I don't look at my childhood though as one of trouble and sadness. It was certainly challenging, but there were a lot of good times and memories, too. When I look at it now, I see that I was already depressed at a young age. But when I was at that young age, I didn't know what depression was. I thought I felt like everyone else.
I was thinking about all of this earlier tonight. Thinking about all the amazing pieces of my life story that were not easy but were worthwhile in the end. The biggest one is probably my undergraduate education. Man, life as a college student is not easy!!! I grew up on a low income, but college life gives new meaning to "making ends meet". Thanks to a major event in my college years that would take too much time to explain in full here, I very abruptly ended up on my own in college, paying rent, utilities and other expenses while trying to get an education.
I had always known that I would go to college. It was a given. I knew that if I was ever going to escape the uncertainty and poverty that haunted my parents, I had to get that high school diploma and follow it up with a college degree. I knew it would be hard, but I don't think I ever thought it would be hard for the reasons that eventually made it so.
For my first year of college, I stayed at home and went to Laramie County Community College. I loved it, and I thrived there. I was very glad to be out of high school and the pain there, and on to a new life and identity as a college student. My first year of college went smoothly and I enjoyed the experience with few problems or concerns beyond those that any first year college student endures. Though I didn't see it at the time, when I started my sophomore year, I was in an episode of serious depression. Although I had experienced episodes for about ten years at this time, I probably hadn't had one this bad before. But I didn't realize it was depression. I just felt burned out. Big time. By the third week of September, I decided I needed a time out. I dropped all my classes and started working full time.
Working while going to school compounded my depression. It was hard to find enough hours in the day to get homework done when I was also working at a property management company. I thought that I could work full time, save some money, and then be able to return to school and not have to work for awhile by living on my saved money. I am usually a black and white thinker, especially when it comes to doing my best for work and school. It seemed that if I did my best for work, then my schoolwork started slipping. If I did my best for school, then my work performance started slipping. I wanted to be 100% at everything I set out to do, and I could never make working and going to school at the same time successful for me - at least to my standard of success. I couldn't give 100% to both without burning out. And I had been giving 100% in not only school and work, but in life in general for a very long time. It was essential that I take a break at this point, and although I didn't understand why, quitting school relieved a lot of stress.
I was confused. School has always been my port in the storm. When nothing else seemed right, school was where I loved to be. Learning was what I wanted to do. I adored my teachers. I couldn't wait to grow up and be just like them. So why, all the sudden, did I have absolutely no drive or interest in school? I didn't get it.
Now I do. Depression robs one of joy in all the activities he or she has enjoyed in the past. It makes hobbies seem like chores, and it makes assignments or tasks feel like orders to climb Mt. Everest. It steals away my motivation, it squelches my interest, and it shades my view of everything, making nothing seem appealing. This is the essence of depression for me, and though it wasn't completely new, it was definitely at a new level of intensity.
Taking that year off helped, and by spring I was sending in applications to schools so I could return to college. I decided that I wanted to start somewhere new, and I fell in love with a small college in a lovely but quiet town in Nebraska. When Chadron State College accepted me, I knew it was where I belonged. As I restarted my sophomore year, a bit more nervously and certainly feeling less prepared, I also felt a renewed energy and excitement about learning. Maybe, I thought, this change was what I needed.
To be continued...
Part of my hope with this blog is to be able to share my experiences with depression, and more recently, my bipolar diagnosis. I have been very uncertain about how I feel with the "labels" of these two issues. I hate the stigma, and I fought the diagnosis of bipolar for years because of what I thought it would mean about me and for me. But part of my hope as I continue to deal with these disorders and treat them is to grow more comfortable with discussing them openly and my experiences with them. Instead of being ashamed or defensive about them, I hope I can share something that will matter to someone else who might also be struggling in silence the way I was for a very long time. Because what a difference that would have made to me!
I have probably struggled with some form of depression or bipolar disorder since around age 8 to 10. It ebbed and flowed throughout my adolescence. I didn't realize at the time what it was; I just knew I felt "different" than other children. I didn't really experience life as a kid. I was dealing with some pretty adult things in my life and childhood became a time of surviving more than playing and being a kid. I didn't realize it at the time. At the time, it was normal life for me, so I didn't realize that my life wasn't like that of most of the kids around me. I just knew I didn't fit in, and I was too serious all the time. I didn't know how to have fun. It felt frivolous and wrong in the midst of all that I had to worry about. I don't look at my childhood though as one of trouble and sadness. It was certainly challenging, but there were a lot of good times and memories, too. When I look at it now, I see that I was already depressed at a young age. But when I was at that young age, I didn't know what depression was. I thought I felt like everyone else.
I was thinking about all of this earlier tonight. Thinking about all the amazing pieces of my life story that were not easy but were worthwhile in the end. The biggest one is probably my undergraduate education. Man, life as a college student is not easy!!! I grew up on a low income, but college life gives new meaning to "making ends meet". Thanks to a major event in my college years that would take too much time to explain in full here, I very abruptly ended up on my own in college, paying rent, utilities and other expenses while trying to get an education.
I had always known that I would go to college. It was a given. I knew that if I was ever going to escape the uncertainty and poverty that haunted my parents, I had to get that high school diploma and follow it up with a college degree. I knew it would be hard, but I don't think I ever thought it would be hard for the reasons that eventually made it so.
For my first year of college, I stayed at home and went to Laramie County Community College. I loved it, and I thrived there. I was very glad to be out of high school and the pain there, and on to a new life and identity as a college student. My first year of college went smoothly and I enjoyed the experience with few problems or concerns beyond those that any first year college student endures. Though I didn't see it at the time, when I started my sophomore year, I was in an episode of serious depression. Although I had experienced episodes for about ten years at this time, I probably hadn't had one this bad before. But I didn't realize it was depression. I just felt burned out. Big time. By the third week of September, I decided I needed a time out. I dropped all my classes and started working full time.
Working while going to school compounded my depression. It was hard to find enough hours in the day to get homework done when I was also working at a property management company. I thought that I could work full time, save some money, and then be able to return to school and not have to work for awhile by living on my saved money. I am usually a black and white thinker, especially when it comes to doing my best for work and school. It seemed that if I did my best for work, then my schoolwork started slipping. If I did my best for school, then my work performance started slipping. I wanted to be 100% at everything I set out to do, and I could never make working and going to school at the same time successful for me - at least to my standard of success. I couldn't give 100% to both without burning out. And I had been giving 100% in not only school and work, but in life in general for a very long time. It was essential that I take a break at this point, and although I didn't understand why, quitting school relieved a lot of stress.
I was confused. School has always been my port in the storm. When nothing else seemed right, school was where I loved to be. Learning was what I wanted to do. I adored my teachers. I couldn't wait to grow up and be just like them. So why, all the sudden, did I have absolutely no drive or interest in school? I didn't get it.
Now I do. Depression robs one of joy in all the activities he or she has enjoyed in the past. It makes hobbies seem like chores, and it makes assignments or tasks feel like orders to climb Mt. Everest. It steals away my motivation, it squelches my interest, and it shades my view of everything, making nothing seem appealing. This is the essence of depression for me, and though it wasn't completely new, it was definitely at a new level of intensity.
Taking that year off helped, and by spring I was sending in applications to schools so I could return to college. I decided that I wanted to start somewhere new, and I fell in love with a small college in a lovely but quiet town in Nebraska. When Chadron State College accepted me, I knew it was where I belonged. As I restarted my sophomore year, a bit more nervously and certainly feeling less prepared, I also felt a renewed energy and excitement about learning. Maybe, I thought, this change was what I needed.
To be continued...
Friday, February 5, 2010
And They Called It Puppy Love....
When I was a kid I grew up on farms and ranches a large part of the time, and therefore I almost always had pets in a wide range of types and sizes. I had piglets, cats, calves, lambs, chickens, turkeys, geese, sheep, rabbits and dogs. It was fun to have so many unique pets that other kids never get the chance to raise. But it also came with a hard lesson that ranch kids quickly learn - the pets often die. Whether it be natural causes, accidents, or run-ins with vehicles, ranch life is not easy for family pets.
For most of my twenties I haven't wanted pets. I felt detached from family pets that my parents now have. I closed off my heart to most of the animals I knew of. Over the past couple of years since I got married and settled into a fairly quiet life, I acquired two oddball pets. The first is our hedgehog Spike, which I got a little over a year ago from a breeder in Loveland, CO. I first fell in love with hedgehogs when Kyle and I were dating. I had come to visit one weekend and he left an adorable stuffed hedgehog on the coffee table inside the front door to greet me when I arrived. When squeezed, it made a sweet noise. Since then we've been collecting them.
Spike has been very, very grumpy since we bought him. Although bred to be sociable, our little Spike is not at all social. But he's fun, he has personality, and I still adore him.
Our froggy, Petrie, I received from the Kindergarten teacher where I worked last year. They had raise him from tadpoles, and when school ended I took him home. He has an amazing personality and loves to be stroked and fed blood worms, and he always makes me laugh.
Kyle is gone quite often for his job, and since I am not working at present, I get a bit lonely at times. My doctor, because of the depression I have as part of bipolar disorder, has encouraged us to get a dog or cat for quite some time, but we kept putting it off. I wasn't sure I wanted to care for another animal. Mostly, I didn't want my heart to get hurt again. I have gotten really good about shutting off my heart and the attached emotions. One of the crummiest aspects of depression is that a person isn't always depressed. Sometimes, a person has no feelings at all about experiences. And that is almost worse than always being depressed. It's a sort of numbness one experiences, and nothing seems really bad, but nothing seems really good, either. The hardest part for me, is that it had been sooooo long since I actually felt excited about something. Of course I look forward to experiences, and I do enjoy life at times, but never to that level of sheer exhilaration that we should sometimes feel as part of our human experience.
Late last week, though, I saw a chihuahua that was so darn adorable I couldn't stop thinking about him. I couldn't believe how much I wanted him. I was very disappointed that he was so unaffordable. I tried to understand what was compelling me to desire this little dog so much. Why was my icy heart suddenly beginning to thaw?
I began to research chihuahua breeders in our area, as well as the surrounding shelters, hoping one would be available for adoption. I much preferred to rescue one that needed a good home. None were available at the shelters, but I did find a fantastic woman who has a chihuahua ranch. I found chihuahuas that were healthy, well cared for, and more affordable than the original chihuahua I saw (however, I am still in denial that I actually spent this much money on a DOG).
I ambushed Kyle when he got home. I was so nervous about asking if he wanted to go look at some the next day. But he was good with the idea - as always, he is content if I am content. I was so excited throughout the next day. I literally felt like a six year old waiting for Santa. I cannot remember when I felt such excitement before. I do not remember looking so forward to something in YEARS. Finally, that evening we looked at the larger chihuahuas first, and the long coats. I knew I wanted as small a dog as possible, and I wanted less hair so there would be less shedding. We found one we liked, but it wasn't quite what I had in my mind as to exactly what I wanted. In my mind's eye, I saw a tiny little fawn colored chihuahua with big ears. She told us she had three tiny teacups downstairs, so we went to see them.
Well, my heart was overtaken within the first 1.5 seconds of meeting them. Two little girls and their brother ran around us in circles and played tug of war with their mother, and they were the most adorable little creatures I have ever seen. They had such energy. I was amazed at how fast they ran and the way they played so happily with their mom. I would not have been able to pick just one. I wanted all three! Fortunately, the males are cheaper, and there was only one male, so that is how we decided which one to get.
Oh, he is perfect. I got up yesterday morning and I was simply delighted to be met with such an eager, loving and grateful puppy face. He was just so excited to see me. No judgment, no dismay. Just pure puppy bliss because his owner had showed up to play. How could I not feel amazingly loved and important with this anxious little body jumping up and down in his excitement? Yes, I thought. My heart is thawing.
My doctor was right - a puppy can change your life. And it doesn't take weeks or months. It literally takes seconds when I open up my heart and allow such amazing experiences to reside there.
I hope this is just a beginning for all the possibility of love and acceptance in my life. I am so grateful to be able to feel this experience. I am so grateful for a loving husband whose only wish is to see me content. I am so grateful for this little Pip. Mostly I am just grateful that life has a way of showing me that seemingly little pleasures are actually life changing. If I can stick around long enough and be patient, beautiful gifts are in store.
For most of my twenties I haven't wanted pets. I felt detached from family pets that my parents now have. I closed off my heart to most of the animals I knew of. Over the past couple of years since I got married and settled into a fairly quiet life, I acquired two oddball pets. The first is our hedgehog Spike, which I got a little over a year ago from a breeder in Loveland, CO. I first fell in love with hedgehogs when Kyle and I were dating. I had come to visit one weekend and he left an adorable stuffed hedgehog on the coffee table inside the front door to greet me when I arrived. When squeezed, it made a sweet noise. Since then we've been collecting them.
Spike has been very, very grumpy since we bought him. Although bred to be sociable, our little Spike is not at all social. But he's fun, he has personality, and I still adore him.
Our froggy, Petrie, I received from the Kindergarten teacher where I worked last year. They had raise him from tadpoles, and when school ended I took him home. He has an amazing personality and loves to be stroked and fed blood worms, and he always makes me laugh.
Kyle is gone quite often for his job, and since I am not working at present, I get a bit lonely at times. My doctor, because of the depression I have as part of bipolar disorder, has encouraged us to get a dog or cat for quite some time, but we kept putting it off. I wasn't sure I wanted to care for another animal. Mostly, I didn't want my heart to get hurt again. I have gotten really good about shutting off my heart and the attached emotions. One of the crummiest aspects of depression is that a person isn't always depressed. Sometimes, a person has no feelings at all about experiences. And that is almost worse than always being depressed. It's a sort of numbness one experiences, and nothing seems really bad, but nothing seems really good, either. The hardest part for me, is that it had been sooooo long since I actually felt excited about something. Of course I look forward to experiences, and I do enjoy life at times, but never to that level of sheer exhilaration that we should sometimes feel as part of our human experience.
Late last week, though, I saw a chihuahua that was so darn adorable I couldn't stop thinking about him. I couldn't believe how much I wanted him. I was very disappointed that he was so unaffordable. I tried to understand what was compelling me to desire this little dog so much. Why was my icy heart suddenly beginning to thaw?
I began to research chihuahua breeders in our area, as well as the surrounding shelters, hoping one would be available for adoption. I much preferred to rescue one that needed a good home. None were available at the shelters, but I did find a fantastic woman who has a chihuahua ranch. I found chihuahuas that were healthy, well cared for, and more affordable than the original chihuahua I saw (however, I am still in denial that I actually spent this much money on a DOG).
I ambushed Kyle when he got home. I was so nervous about asking if he wanted to go look at some the next day. But he was good with the idea - as always, he is content if I am content. I was so excited throughout the next day. I literally felt like a six year old waiting for Santa. I cannot remember when I felt such excitement before. I do not remember looking so forward to something in YEARS. Finally, that evening we looked at the larger chihuahuas first, and the long coats. I knew I wanted as small a dog as possible, and I wanted less hair so there would be less shedding. We found one we liked, but it wasn't quite what I had in my mind as to exactly what I wanted. In my mind's eye, I saw a tiny little fawn colored chihuahua with big ears. She told us she had three tiny teacups downstairs, so we went to see them.
Well, my heart was overtaken within the first 1.5 seconds of meeting them. Two little girls and their brother ran around us in circles and played tug of war with their mother, and they were the most adorable little creatures I have ever seen. They had such energy. I was amazed at how fast they ran and the way they played so happily with their mom. I would not have been able to pick just one. I wanted all three! Fortunately, the males are cheaper, and there was only one male, so that is how we decided which one to get.
Oh, he is perfect. I got up yesterday morning and I was simply delighted to be met with such an eager, loving and grateful puppy face. He was just so excited to see me. No judgment, no dismay. Just pure puppy bliss because his owner had showed up to play. How could I not feel amazingly loved and important with this anxious little body jumping up and down in his excitement? Yes, I thought. My heart is thawing.
My doctor was right - a puppy can change your life. And it doesn't take weeks or months. It literally takes seconds when I open up my heart and allow such amazing experiences to reside there.
I hope this is just a beginning for all the possibility of love and acceptance in my life. I am so grateful to be able to feel this experience. I am so grateful for a loving husband whose only wish is to see me content. I am so grateful for this little Pip. Mostly I am just grateful that life has a way of showing me that seemingly little pleasures are actually life changing. If I can stick around long enough and be patient, beautiful gifts are in store.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
"Exercise" is a Four Letter Word...
"Exercise" has always been a four letter word to me. It's not that I haven't tried to like it. It's just that I can't understand why I would want to run around panting, out of breath and then lay on the couch in agony when I can just lay on the couch and read a good book.
I've always exercised because I had too, not because I wanted to. And when I do something because I have to and not because I want to, it becomes a chore instead of pleasurable.
When I realized this, I decided that in order to bring exercise into my life that might have a chance of being done more than once every three weeks or so, I would need to do a three things.
1. Find something that actually is FUN for me.
2. Realize that I actually do feel much better when I do something for exercise, so I can reframe it to look like doing something that makes me feel good rather than exercise.
3. Stop calling it exercise.
I did CURVES for awhile, but when I stopped working I cut expenses and that was the first to go. It was fun to meet up with the other ladies there, and I liked that I was weighed and measured regularly. Well, I liked getting weighed and measured after my gastric bypass surgery. Before that I went about 4 months at a time between getting weighed and measured.
I have tried several workout DVDs, and they are fun for awhile, but get old kinda quick. And I miss the energy that comes from being with a group of people when I work out. So this month I started aqua aerobics at the community college. So far, I am really enjoying this kind of workout. In the water, it doesn't feel like exercise, but later my muscles tell me otherwise. I'm excited to find some sort of exercise that doesn't appear to be exercise. It's just playing in the water.
"Playing" is the key word here. I'm not used to "playing". I'm always so serious! Therein lies the key to finding fun in all aspects of my life, not just in the fitness arena. As adults, we can't forget how to play, and we have to remember that not everything we do has to result in some important finished product. It's okay to do things just for the sake of doing them and the pleasure within, not for the final outcome.
Now I look for ways to make exercise seem like play. So far, it seems to be working for me. Who knows what class I might take next.
Bellydance for Any Body, anybody?
I've always exercised because I had too, not because I wanted to. And when I do something because I have to and not because I want to, it becomes a chore instead of pleasurable.
When I realized this, I decided that in order to bring exercise into my life that might have a chance of being done more than once every three weeks or so, I would need to do a three things.
1. Find something that actually is FUN for me.
2. Realize that I actually do feel much better when I do something for exercise, so I can reframe it to look like doing something that makes me feel good rather than
3. Stop calling it exercise.
I did CURVES for awhile, but when I stopped working I cut expenses and that was the first to go. It was fun to meet up with the other ladies there, and I liked that I was weighed and measured regularly. Well, I liked getting weighed and measured after my gastric bypass surgery. Before that I went about 4 months at a time between getting weighed and measured.
I have tried several workout DVDs, and they are fun for awhile, but get old kinda quick. And I miss the energy that comes from being with a group of people when I work out. So this month I started aqua aerobics at the community college. So far, I am really enjoying this kind of workout. In the water, it doesn't feel like exercise, but later my muscles tell me otherwise. I'm excited to find some sort of exercise that doesn't appear to be exercise. It's just playing in the water.
"Playing" is the key word here. I'm not used to "playing". I'm always so serious! Therein lies the key to finding fun in all aspects of my life, not just in the fitness arena. As adults, we can't forget how to play, and we have to remember that not everything we do has to result in some important finished product. It's okay to do things just for the sake of doing them and the pleasure within, not for the final outcome.
Now I look for ways to make exercise seem like play. So far, it seems to be working for me. Who knows what class I might take next.
Bellydance for Any Body, anybody?
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