This week I uncovered some of my lost soul. The part I lost through my toxic marriage. I found my love of learning, my love of self discovery, and my desire to move forward.
I have started reaching out to the universe. I have decided that I WANT to be seen. I am going to stop using certain words that will limit my self growth. I have learned that self protection is holding me back.
This is a lot, and I know that with my mental illness it won’t always be easy to put myself out there, but I am going to try my hardest to be the woman I know is inside.
I am reclaiming my power. The power I lost when I let someone take it from me. I let someone dictate who I was, how I looked, and what I did. I reclaimed a bit of it when I left that toxic relationship with my then infant daughter, but I never fully owned it again.
I am owning it now.
Recent events have made me realize just how resilient I am.
Moving forward means shedding some skin, which will be uncomfortable. Growth is uncomfortable, but I am willing to take the risk.
I have had to stop asking myself “What will today bring?”
The past few months have had it’s bad, and it’s good.
The world is still in a pandemic and my neighbours to the South are imploding.
I am glad the big orange cheeto is on his way out the door, but holy moly guys. I mean, I am not saying that couldn’t happen here, because it sure as well could. The world is just becoming freaking scary.
Every day brings with it more of the unknown, and I already have a problem with my OWN unknown. If I could sleep through all of it and wake up on the other side I probably would. But, I can’t, so I maneuver my daily mental illness around whatever the chaos de jour is and hope I don’t implode.
I am trying yoga again, and hoping that leads to running more consistently. My flexibility and balance need a lot of work. I am pretty tight, so keeping up with the yoga WHILE I am consistently running will be key. I just need to keep moving to relieve my stress and anxiety.
Sleep? Now there is an area I do not have a problem in right now. My depression keeps me sleeping like a log. I guess I am thankful for that, because if I didn’t have my sleep it would not be good.
I know I usually do a post ushering out the old year and one post ushering in the new, but the whole pandemic and what not have really frigged with my brain this year and I just couldn’t.
I am not on the negative train here. I am just so overwhelmed and out of whack with all the turmoil that I am guarding all my joy. I am keeping it tucked away and peek at it when I really need it.
I will be sharing some joy, I promise. It’s just going to take a while for me to let my guard down.
I woke up on Monday morning with a chest cold and a cough.
I took the online Covid assessment of my local health authority and was advised to get tested for Covid.
I booked my test online and was lucky to get an appointment that morning, within 2 hours of the assessment.
I told my daughter, which was a little scary, and get myself ready to go.
I got to the assessment centre and checked in. I was assigned a number and given a socially distanced seat to sit in. I was registered and into the testing pod in 5 minutes. The health practitioner who was going to administer my test was very nice, explained the test and showed me the swab. The swab was teeny, so I relaxed a bit. He then made a joke about amnesia and we had a good laugh. It definitely broke the tension.
The test took about 3 seconds. It was a little uncomfortable, but not as bad as I thought.
I was told it could take up to 3 days for my results. I was let go and followed the path out, sanitized my hands and went back out to my car.
I read the pamphlet I was given on self isolation and went directly home. I had to avoid common areas and choose which bathroom to use until my results came in.
Luckily, my home office is in my bedroom, and I hunkered down to work. (My daughter got ready and went to work as well. She works retail, so she checked in to make sure she was okay to go in, and away she went.)
It was very hard to focus while I was waiting for my results. I had supper delivered to my room by my daughter and had to announce every time I left my room.
I slept, which was surprising.
When I woke up Tuesday, the first thing I did was check my email. My results were in!
I logged in with my health card. The results were NEGATIVE.
I was so happy. I let my family members know and
I immediately sent an email to work to let them know and to advise I would work from home until I was better.
My self isolation was short lived, but I still had the stinking cold.
Thankful that is wasn’t Covid, I worked from home (with some time off to get rest) for the rest of the week.
Then, the cases started to rise and the places of possible exposures started to increase.
My anxieties were on the rise again, and the thought of going back into lockdown ate at me. My psoriasis got worse. I started chewing the skin around my nails again. Sigh.
I live in the Atlantic Bubble. We’ve done so good up until now. Our mandatory masking and the travel only within our 4 provinces seemed to keep us safely wrapped in a low cases blanket. Our restrictions in my area have been tightened up for the next 4 weeks to see if we can get things under control. If not, I fear we’ll be back into another lockdown around Christmas.
For now, I am going out only when I need to and follow the public health protocols to keep those around me safe.
For now, I’ll keep myself busy with crocheting and housework to slow the anxieties.
For now, I’ll hope for a Covid free Christmas.
For now, I’ll hope you’ll all stay safe and healthy.
Basically, I am telling my depression to go fuck itself right now.
This is like a fog lifting, or a weight being taken off my shoulders.
I feel more “normal”, more like myself. I don’t experience imposter syndrome. My self doubt takes a back seat.
It feels good. It feels liberating.
I will hold onto these feelings for as long as I can, because I never know when the other shoe will drop.
Usually, I would feel extremely guilty for feeling this way, especially if I know of others who are suffering their own depressive episode while I am riding the “happy” wave.
I’ve learned that I NEED to savour this time, because it’s for me. It’s ME time. It’s also time to be there for those who have been there for me when I was festering in the suck hole of depression.
So, if you need an ear, hit me up. I’ll listen, I won’t divert to my own experiences, and I can give great virtual hugs.
We have to support each other when we can.
We have to look out for each other.
We have to remember that it won’t always be awful, and there will be good times for us.
So, for now, I’m okay.
And that, for now, is a good thing.
Until the next depressive episode, I remain on the “happy” wave.
(Let’s hope that doesn’t happen anytime soon, because I kind of need this right now, lol.)
I never thought that my smile would hide the demons inside of me.
That I would fight daily to keep myself from falling apart.
That I could be so tired.
That my body could hurt without injury.
That my darkest days would be when I was raising a daughter. I remember when I finally told her what was wrong. She was so understanding at such a young age. Who knew she would later experience similar demons.
That what society makes out to be “living your best life” isn’t really living your best life. Having it all can be just as overwhelming as not having enough.
That getting help was what pulled me out of the rabbit hole. I realized that I could no longer get through this alone.
That drugs (not running, or exercise, or “changing my mindset”) was what helped my brain. Does running help? Yes, it helps me cope, but it doesn’t cure my mental illness.
That people I thought were there for me, were not. That I had to make peace with that. I finally knew who my people were. They stuck with me through my depression.
That I would accept myself as I am, no matter what. That has taken me YEARS. I never thought I was good enough. Now I know different. Do I still have self doubt? Fuck, yes. But I know who I am, and what I am truly capable of. I try and remind myself of that on my bad days.
That I would come to terms with daughter being diagnosed with a mental illness. I blamed myself, as I have said before. I was pretty sure I gave it to her. Like through her breathing my mentally ill air,or something. Once I battled that demon, I was able to be there for her.
That I would see my mental illness as a pro, and not a con. I see things differently than other people. I can give a different perspective. I can offer insight.
Anyone can have mental illness: youth, women, men. It doesn’t discriminate.
Reminding myself daily that I didn’t choose this is what gets me through. Other days it’s also something small, like a song or a line from a book.
I just have to remember to keep looking forward, because looking back is not good for me.
That is when I falter. That is when I need my strength, because I never thought it would be this way.
I had lunch with a good friend today, the other co-founder of Road Warriors, Shannon (check out our website here: https://battlewithin.ca/).
During our conversation we talked about the stigma still associated around mental health, and speaking out about our struggles. It still makes people uncomfortable. They don’t know what to say, or how to act around us when we’re in a bad place.
Here’s the thing. Without other people sharing their stories, their feelings, and their innermost demons, I would have not found the courage to speak out myself.
Hearing that other people were in the same struggle as me, was a comfort. Knowing that I was not alone was a really big deal.
Becoming “comfortable” with acknowledging my feelings has not been easy. Being okay with NOT being okay is a struggle. As Shannon pointed out today, if people know you’re not well, they want to make you well right then and there. It’s not as simple as that for people with mental illness. Sometimes we ruminate on something for weeks (sometimes months). It’s the nature of the beast.
I know that sharing my struggles does make people feel uncomfortable, but I feel uncomfortable feeling the way I do. Bottling that up just makes things worse later on. It’s like trying to hold in vomit. It needs to come out and I am not going to stop it.
Education is key. First hand recounts are key. If you know/love someone with mental illness, try to find resources online for caretakers/family. Reach out to your local mental health associations.
Making mental health/mental illness part of normal conversation is something I will always continue to work towards.
One thing I have come to accept is that mental illness is NOT a personal failure.
I have felt that way for years. That I had somehow caused it. That I was responsible for it “showing up”. I also put the blame on myself when my daughter was diagnosed. It must have been my fault. What did I do to let this happen?
The answer is nothing. I did nothing to “let it happen”. Chemical imbalances are just that. Imbalances. My brain needed help. I needed help. My daughter needed help.
Once I was able to make peace with this, then it became a little easier to fight the negative voice inside my head. Do I always win? No. But I try my hardest to not listen when it tells me what a failure I am.
I am who I am, and I will always try to share my good and bad days. People need to know that just because I appear happy go lucky, it doesn’t mean I am not hiding the fact that I struggling. On my bad days I am trying my hardest to fight “the voice”.
Sometimes I will admit defeat, and even though it may be hard, I let myself go through what I need to go through. Keeping the bad days at bay are not always the best solution, and we shouldn’t feel bad for having them.
Being able to navigate this thing called depression is not easy, but I’m doing my best. My daughter is doing her best. I know that everyone diagnosed with mental illness is doing their best.
We’ve made it through some of our worst days, and we’ll make it through many more.
So, I recently took a little break from all of my social media for a couple of weeks so I could focus on some things that needed my attention. It was well worth it, and I think I will do it a little more often.
While I was off, I started to evaluate my priorities, and take note of what was important to me. This lead to me having to accept some things about my life, and about myself. It was a humbling experience, but definitely worth it.
I started to accept the fact that my body is changing, just like it did when I went through puberty. Sucky part is, nothing really prepares you for it, because every person’s experience is different. I have struggled with body image in the past, and it played a big role in my mental illness. Part of me accepting who I am, right now, was to accept my weight gain. Society has really given us a big mind screw when it comes to what we “should” or “shouldn’t” look like. I have learned to love the body I am in. I am still active. Still healthy. I am just a different size now.
I am also accepting my flaws. We all have them, and by ignoring them, I was doing myself no favours. So, I accept them and work with what I have. I am still pretty awesome, flaws and all.
I am really, honestly, and truly, accepting my mental illness and all the thing that come with it: the depressive episodes, the chewing the skin around my nails, the self negative talk, the anxiety attacks, and all the other fun things that come with it. I have to. It’s a part of me like everything else. When I am feeling good I try to push it away, and that is not working. Once a depressive episode hits, I am super hard on myself. By accepting it, baddies and all, I can work better with it, I hope.
And, I accept all my decisions in life, good or bad. The good ones have given me great things, memories, and experiences, and the bad ones (even the REALLY bad ones) have taught me lessons. I have to stop regretting things in my past, for all of my decisions have brought me to where I am, in this moment.
There are LOTS of other things I have come to accept, but then this blog post would be a short novella, and I wouldn’t do that to you. Let’s just say I am still working on some things, as I am always a work in progress
My priorities have shifted for certain. I am working to readjust my life to these priorities and start living a more engaged life. To be present. To not have my nose in my phone all the time (which is hard, because when my anxiety and depression is bad, I reach for my phone). To enjoy moments and spend time with the people I care about.
So, if I disappear from social media for a few days, or a couple of weeks, I am prioritizing myself. Living life off the Internet to gain some serenity. But, I always come back. I start to miss all my pocket friends and look forward to catching up with you all.
Remember, you are important and need to recharge your batteries every now and then, and there are people who enjoy seeing your face in real life. Get out there and show it off!
I’m on a bit of a social media break (which will be ironic, because I’ll be posting this on social media, lol) so I can be present and show up in my life.
I’ve been absent for quite some time. Detached from things since COVID-19 reared it’s ugly head. Been living in fight or flight for far too long. So I am taking a step back for a couple of weeks to readjust and be with my family, and getting used to physically being back in the office full time.
I am sitting back, watching, listening and learning. I am reconnecting with myself during this little disconnect. It’s good for mind and body.
I need this. Being distracted and not focused is not good for my brain. I need direction and goals to work towards, and I’ve lost that.
I may be doing these little breaks more often, to stay engaged and aware. I think we all need a disconnect every now and then.
So, the next couple of weeks will be my reset, then I am going on vacation. I plan on taking lots of videos and pictures to share, so stay tuned.
Until then I am channeling my energy to the things that matter most, to me.
I ran my first race (a 10k) 3 weeks before I was diagnosed with depression. I was numb. I ran out of pure spite. I had no idea I was on the road to a breakdown. I thought this was just a finish line.
I never thought running would be the thing that saved me.
I used to watch people running and think “Why are they doing that to themselves?” Who would want to run by choice?
I thought runners were some weird breed of human that loved self torture. Maybe they are, but not in the negative way I thought before.
You see, my perspective changed…
I was diagnosed with depression on June 17, 2011. I had become a shell of my former self. I had been going through the motions, yelling at my daughter for no reason, and slowly retreating into the shadows.
When talking about a treatment plan, my doctor told me it was important that I keep moving. Moving was hard. Moving hurt. Getting out of bed was this insurmountable task. How could I keep moving when all I wanted to do was sleep and not get out of bed?
I kept working with a personal trainer for a while to get my mobility back (depression robs you of so much, even moving), and got out for walks with family and friends.
Eventually I started running again. Running felt good. When I ran, I could easily work through situations and events that were troubling me. Yes, those first few kilometres are killer, but the feeling afterwards, it’s definitely a rush. Runner’s high is real, and it’s a great motivator.
Running is a gauge for my mental health. When I start to lose interest, and when I don’t want to lace up, I know I am possibly beginning a journey down the rabbit hole again. Sometimes I can catch myself before I get too far down that rabbit hole, but there have been times that I am more than halfway down before I try to climb back up. It is those times that lacing back up and getting out is harder.
Starting over again is always hard, I won’t lie. Everything hurts and my brain is usually working against me. But once I get over the initial hurdle, I get that feeling again. The one where I feel free. Like I CAN get through the clouds and fog, and work through what it is that is holding me back.
I am very lucky to be a part of the running community. It is somewhere that I can lay out my soul and they are there to support me and love me through all my ups and downs. They are my cheerleaders when things get rough, and a board to bounce things off of when I am riding high.
When I am in my running groove, I feel like I can make it through anything. On my not so good days, a run can be just what I need to give myself that mental boost.
It’s not always that way, but even my bad runs are there to teach me something, and I try to find the lesson so I can move forward.
That is what running is for me, a way to keep moving forward, when depression keeps wanting to hold me back.
It is running that made me feel comfortable speaking about my mental illness. It was a running injury that started my blogging journey. It was my blogging journey that led me to using other forms of social media to share my story. We are not alone in our battle. We are a collective voice, and we are stronger than we think we are.
Running, it’s my way to feel unsinkable.
It’s not always easy.
It’s one foot in front of the other.
One step at a time.
We are capable of so much.
We just need to be kind to ourselves and remember our resilience.
The Midlife Reframe 