The Midlife Reframe

Category: stigma

  • Musings From a Mentally Ill Mother

    So.

    It is one week past TeenThing’s diagnosis.

    Into week 2 on her meds.

    So far nothing scary in the land of side effects.

    We are keeping our fingers crossed that it stays this way.

    I have been taking time to shuffle through the boxes I have compartmentalized, because let’s face it, if I don’t, this whole household will be scattered.

    A few things have gone on since our doctor’s visit this week.  One of them being some not so supportive opinions to TeenThing being on meds.

    Let’s be clear:

    • She will be 19 in a few days (and by the time most folks read this post).
    • She is a grown human and fully capable of saying no to something she doesn’t want.
    • This isn’t something we just “discovered” and said “Hey doc, how about some dope?” (which, by the way, is not given out like candy at Halloween), we have been on this journey for at least a couple of years now.  When we got rid of the birth control (she had some female issues) 95% of the her symptoms were still there.  FOR MONTHS.

    If she had a “regular” disease like cancer, would she be chastised for having chemotherapy? NO.

    Mental illness is AN ILLNESS. Depression and anxiety are not something you just GET OVER.  Treatment is required when you have tried to fix it yourself and can’t do it alone.  There is no shame in asking for help and receiving it.  It really is about time people start thinking this way.  I know EVERYONE is saying this now, but it is true, AND NOT HAPPENING.

    I am used to the stigma surrounding mental illness.  It’s sad that I am used to it.

    BUT….the other thing that has happened is this:

    On the way home tonight I made a decision.

    Not only will my place be a safe haven of blanket forts for both myself and TeenThing, it will be an amazing world where we can both talk about how weird and awesome we are.

    No judgement.

    Full on support for sharing all the dark and light times.

    A place where when I say “OH MY GOD GET AWAY FROM ME.” and no one bats an eye or gets offended because I need my space.

    A place where TeenThing can camp out in her room all day and read, and watch YouTube, and recharge her batteries and not feel like she is isolating herself from the world, because this is just a small part of her world.

    I cannot tell you how comforting that little epiphany was.

    I was afraid I was going to go into a tailspin myself over the past little while.  But I didn’t.  All good on the Mama front for now.

    I think we’ll be okay.

    If anything, we aren’t going to be boring 😉

     

     

     

  • When Anxiety Comes Knocking….

    You Put On Your Best Face

    Okay, maybe not THIS face, lol.

    Because we, the mentally ill, it’s what we do.  Until we can’t.

    Last week was bad for me.
    My anxiety was bad.  It started on Monday.
    I woke up with it, like the bottom fell out of my stomach.  There was no reason for it.  It’s just how I started the day.
    Then, for me, everything and everyone around me changes.  I feel like I am under the microscope.  Being examined.  Secretly criticized.
    I bury myself in work, and hope that I can just get through the day without an attack.  Most times, when I get home I am good.  Home is safe.  Home has no people (well, other than TeenThing, lol). 
    I am lucky to have drugs that I can take to calm the racing heartbeat and panic.  It was used a few times this week.

    After Wednesday I was better, and by Friday I was okay.  But on Friday, I crashed.  So tired.  Tired from keeping my head above water.  It’s exhausting fighting that battle every day, working, and being a mom.
    Why do I NOT say anything sometimes?  I don’t want to worry anyone.  Funny isn’t it.  I am worrying about others worrying about me.  Guess where THAT put my anxiety, DEFCON 1.  If what I was feeling lasted longer, I would have said something.  Sometimes, I am also tired of explaining what I can’t explain.  So I keep it to myself.  Sometimes, THAT is my coping mechanism.
    It’s not that I don’t want to share it with those that care about me, it’s that sometimes sharing it is overwhelming.  

    I am happy to say that I am feeling much better now.  Fitness works well for me as a way to create balance.  I was not as vigilant with it last week as I should have been.  Movement is medicine (thanks Clara Hughes!) and I needed more movement.

    One Month Away From The Half Marathon?

    Yes, one month away!

    I was discharged from physio last week (YAAAAAAY).

    I also switched my gym membership to a spot closer to home.  I have some major ass kicking to do.
    I did get out on the trails here last week, and that felt amazing.

    (I have my base laid down for my running, so I am lucky there.  This whole calf strain had me worried for a bit.)
    I am planning some HIIT classes, some spin, weight training and some pool time until Race Day to complement my running.  
    I am glad to be running with my BRF again.
    I have TeenThing to gym it with me.
    A new week ahead means a chance to start fresh.
    Time to Giv’r.

  • The Post Where We Catch Up!

    Because I’ve Been Busy…

    Busy at my 9-5ing. 
    Busy with family stuff.
    Busy helping TeenThing start her road to running 🙂

    Mom and TeenThing on her 2nd run!
    These feet were made for runnin’!

    Busy figuring everything out.
    I am on vacation this week and have spent the first part of this week keeping myself busy with appointments and crocheting (my sanity saver) and today I am taking time to rebuild home base.
    When you are sick with a mental illness, sometimes you need to sit back and reassess your coping skills.  Sometimes you develop habits that you think are your coping skills, but they’re not.  Mostly they are distractions.
    It’s hard to keep focused when the switch is flipped.  The one track mind that takes over is hard to derail.  It has a voice of it’s own.  An agenda of it’s own.
    Funny thing is, I know it’s happening.
    I can feel the cocoon that starts to wrap around me when my stress level rises. I fidget.  I need to do something with my hands…and not necessarily the task at hand.  I need to find an escape.  Something I can lose myself in.  Thankfully it isn’t drugs or alcohol.  It’s just plain old “what else can I be doing that isn’t what I really should be doing?”.  There are times I can pull back, and times that I can’t.

    But, you’re running.  Isn’t that helping?

    Yes.  Until I strained my calf.
    The intense NEED to run away from my stress, my illness……it was overwhelming.  I ran too much too fast.
    So much for running smart!  FACE PALM.
    *sigh*
    One of the good things about running with TeenThing is that she is keeping my pace and kilometres low.  This is allowing my calf to heal and is giving TeenThing a good start to this sport.  I love running with her.  She is doing great and knows when she can push herself and when she needs a break.

    Doesn’t all this unorganized chaos inside your head make it hard to keep moving forward?

    You are damn right it does.
    Some days I just want to sit down and cry, because I can’t get things straight.
    Some days my coping skills don’t help.  These are the days I want to escape.  But I can’t.  So I have to ride the roller coaster the best way I know how.  These are my hardest days.  Days that make me feel like I am treading water and someone has a hold of my feet. The days I do and say everything wrong.  The days that people look at me like “What the hell?”.  The days I can’t say “It is not a good day for me.”   Why can’t I say it?  Because people will see THAT always.  Not the focused, driven, has her shit together me.  They will always remember the chaotic, flustered, brain dead me.  The girl at the mall, or a store, that is trying desperately to GET OUT.  The thoughts, the people, the noise, all competing for space.  Space I do not have in my head.  Space that is taken up by all the negative energy that my mental illness manifests when I am not winning the daily fight.
    Days that I am not myself.
    Even with all of the talking, all of the wonderful people coming out and sharing their stories about their struggles, all of the focus on mental health, the campaigns, the awareness, there is still a stigma.  People that will still look at me different, not want to “upset” me.
    I don’t always feel comfortable saying I am having a bad day.  People hear “bad day” and associate it with “uh oh, is she having a breakdown?”.
    There is still so much more that needs to be done.  In the community, in the workplace, within media. More Mental Health First Aid needs to be rolled out.

    Why?  Can’t you just take meds or meditate?

    Sometimes meds just keep our heads above water.  They numb our feelings.  We need help on our bad days.  Not necessarily “hospital” help.  Just someone to say “Okay, let’s head out for a few minutes, grab a coffee, and tell me how you REALLY are.  Maybe we can figure something out.  Get you back on track.”  
    Sometimes this is all that is needed.
    I know we are all busy these days.  Deadlines, appointments, etc.  But sometimes, that 5-15 minutes can help someone.  Make them feel that they matter.  Make them feel that they are not going down the rabbit hole alone.  That there is someone there that cares.  Someone that sees what is underneath the chaos.  That will not focus on the “remember when you (insert a bad day here)”.
    NOTE: You can’t “fix” us.  We are the captain of this crazy train.  We know where the brakes are.  We just need to be guided.  We need to refocus.

    We are all human.

    We all have bad days.
    We all want to escape.
    We all want to be seen for who we really are.  Not what we “have”.
    So for now, I will rebuild home base.
    Run with TeenThing to build up our kilometre base.
    Set up future running dates with my BRF, because I miss her.
    Keep sharing my experiences when I can.  Keep the conversation going.
    Not all mental illness is “scary”.  
    A lot of us are just lost, confused, and need a hand to come out of the fog to lead us home.
    Don’t be afraid to be that hand.
    #crazymamaruns
     

     

     

  • Why is my FitBit on my Dresser??

    Yes. On my Dresser.

     
    Those who saw my personal account post on Facebook know where I am going with this.
     
    My FitBit was a Christmas Gift.  I was super excited!!! Finally, I had a fitness tracker.
     
    The joy of watching my steps per day – awesome.
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    I would be so happy when the lights danced and it did it’s special little vibration. 

    Like a party on my wrist!  Plus, it could track my sleep AND wake me up!!

     
    Then, I had my knee surgery.
     
    Went off my anti-depressants/anxiety meds.
     
    My FitBit went from a device that I loved, to the “evil bitch” voice in my head.
     

    “Wow, look at his/her steps.”  

    “Why can’t you get that many steps?” 

    “Look, another challenge and your FitBit isn’t syncing your goal and steps over goal.”  

    “What are you doing wrong?”

     
    Basically, a Broken Record
     
    And so, I decided that for the month of May, I am going FitBit free.
     
    I posted it on Facebook, so that there would be some accountability.  A fellow FitBit lover questioned it, and because my anxiety was close to consuming me, I felt I had to respond.  It may have been a little over the top, but I wanted people to know that sometimes, having a mental illness can suck the fun out of fun stuff:
     
    “I’m not saying it isn’t great motivation, but when you have  a mental illness, and you are working on dealing with that med free, it becomes a problem. Part of my mental illness is obsessive thinking.  If I “think” something is wrong or “needs to be fixed”, I won’t stop until I think it is fixed.  I don’t necessarily NEED motivation to move, I’m a runner, albeit an injured one.  Instead of focusing on my strength training, I worry about steps.  Because it’s there, every day.  If my app syncs but my challenges don’t update, I obsess, syncing and syncing and freaking out when it doesn’t work.  THAT is not good for my mental health, which is a large part of MY motivation to move.  So for now, while I am in rehab mode from the surgery and strength training, no FitBit.  Until I can wear it and not “hear a skipping record that won’t shut off”, it will stay on my dresser.  I want to love my FitBit, not hate it.”
     
    So, will I wear it again?
     
    Yes.  No doubt in my mind.
     
    I will wear it when I know (and am comfortable with) the fact that I may or may NOT hit 10,000 steps a day.  
     
    When my steps do not define my day or myself.
     

    When the record stops skipping.

     
    #crazymamaruns

  • This Year I Give Myself Permission….

    To Write About It All….

    The good stuff, the frustrating stuff, the goofy stuff, you get it 😉

    Everything.

    It’s a big part of why I started this blog after all.

    Pic from http://www.snoopy.com

    And So….

    It may seem trivial….but I am back to chewing the skin off around my fingernails.

    Gross right?

    Damn straight it is.  But this is how my nervous energy manifests.  My frustration, anxiety, stress, etc., boils up and I can’t help it.  My fingers look disgusting right now.  So I have to stop it.  More meditation?  Maybe acupuncture?

    All I know is.  I have to stop it!  GAH!

    And Then…

    One of the ways I cope with my depression/anxiety is through humour.  I call myself crazy, make jokes with family and friends.

    Some folks may be offended by that.  And if I have offended anyone, I am truly sorry.  But it’s my coping mechanism and I find it helps.  Because sometimes underneath that laughter, I am breaking apart inside.  Laughing helps me.

    It helps me help others.  Let’s them see that they too can function, even on the bad days.  And then I remind myself that those that love you, they just want to help you, to love you, to hold your hand and tell you it will be okay.  So they will laugh with you, cry with you and hang out in your nest when you don’t want to leave.

    So, I’ll keep talking about it, keep calling myself crazy and keep laughing.

    I am also

    Keeping myself open.  It’s my Mantra for 2015.  I AM OPEN.

    I am going to slow down a bit more (not like slothy slow down) and notice more.  We rush rush rush.  Wear ourselves down.  Forget to stop and SEE things.  We scan and move on.

    And so I hope

    That you will continue to come along on my journey this year.  It’s going to be an interesting one for sure!

    Interesting:  I joined Earthathon!  #teamhumanrace  (this is a virtual relay race around the globe and results are tweeted daily)

    I can’t run, but I can walk.  So it motivates me, along with my FitBit, to keep mobile.

    What do you give yourself permission for this year?

    What is YOUR disgusting habit/coping skill?  We all have one!

    What is something that motivates you?

    #crazymamaruns   

  • Something Serious…

    I’ve talked about it before.

    This whole issue surrounding mental illness and it’s stigma.

    I told my story in a previous post (the short and sweet version) but still I hear of so may of those suffering and who are pushed aside.

    These aren’t celebrities.  These are your everyday people.  Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, lawyers, doctors, police officers, men and women who serve our country, and I could go on.

    To belittle a mental illness takes us back to the days where they would not bury mentally ill people in the church yard because they had “demons”.

    This illness is real.  To ask for help is hard.  To accept you are ill with something no one can “see” is harder.

    When someone shares the fact that they have mental illness, they trust you.  Trust you enough to not turn away in disgust or pity.

    And even if help is given and accepted, we have setbacks.  Just like every other illness.  Sometimes treatment is a life long thing.  The battle is a daily one.

    People with mental illness need to know they matter.

    We don’t want to be treated differently.  But we do want people to understand.

    Sometimes our bad days are really bad.  To go outside and face the world too overwhelming.

    We didn’t chose this.  We didn’t ask for it.  We don’t want to “stay that way”.

    We are sick.

    We are human.

    We matter.