Tag Archives: crying

sometimes

Sometimes You Just Have To Press Pause

 Sometimes You Just Have To Press Pause

I cried because my daughter at my breakfast. Then I cried when she yelled at me for ruining her picture. And again, I cried for something equally ridiculous. Sure, I knew my period was coming and that always makes me a bit weepy. But this was different. This felt way too familiar. The fear and hopelessness was settling in and I knew we had a problem. Hiding a panic attack from a four-year-old is impossible. So, I called my husband and he came home.

While I waited, sitting on the stairs, crying, I quickly started to cancel everything I had on my calendar for the next few days, all via text. There was no talking to anyone. And when you tell people you’ve had a panic attack, they don’t question you. And you don’t really care if they do. It happened and all you can think about is crawling into bed and shutting the world out. So, that’s what I did.

Of course, when the dust settles, it’s important to think about what brought this about. I know my triggers and some of them were definitely the culprits this time. I had overwhelmed myself with work. My marriage was a wreck. My daughter was sucking the life out of me. I felt like a horrible mother and wife. Your usual stuff.

Except for one thing. Something unusual had happened and I didn’t know until it was too late that it could have ever been a trigger.

In October of last year, I started the process of writing a book. I’m working with a publisher and editor. It is a collaborative effort with a small group of yoga friends and mentors who played a huge part in my journey toward motherhood. They taught me how to manifest my dream of becoming a mother, even at the ripe old age of forty-four. My first draft is due on April first and the release date is November first. The working title is Kula Talk.

Sounds great, right? It has been. What a treat it is to look back over the last ten years of my life and see how far I’ve come and the amazing things I’ve accomplished. When I remember who I was then and see who I am now…mother, wife, writer, artist…the transformation is amazing.

But, what I didn’t realize in doing research into my own past was that I would be reliving it. I’ve read through old journal entries, found old books I read, looked through old pictures, and struggled to remember intimate details, many of which are painful. My path to motherhood was not an easy one and although it all turned out beautifully, the way I got there was physically, emotionally, and mentally draining.

Psychologists talk about theAnniversary Effect’, which, according to Psychology Today, is defined as a unique set of unsettling feelings, thoughts or memories that occur on the anniversary of a significant experience. Now, the actual calendar date of my panic attack holds no significance that I’m aware of, but I strongly feel that the dredging up of past experiences for my book played a large part in my feelings of fear, hopelessness, and anxiety. I felt like I was there again and I was scared. Not a terribly ‘happy’ anniversary.

It’s really no wonder. I’ve been reliving bad relationships, fear of never being a mother, fights with my husband, the pain of fertility shots, pre-natal and postpartum depression, and a few other struggles to finish the long list. I’ve never been one to hold my feelings in and the evidence surrounds me in books, journals, pictures and letters.

Needless to say, I have pressed pause on my book for now. I tried to take a look at it a few days after my incident, but only felt the sadness rising again. The words looked disjointed, the story seemed incongruent. I know that it’s not and it certainly has the strength and merit deserving of a quality book, but to my eyes and heart right now, it doesn’t feel right. And that’s okay. For now.

I know I’ve got a story to tell and I will tell it. It is much too important. And I feel sure that it will touch others in a way that will make my struggle worth it. I’ll be back on track very soon.

sometimes
I wrote this several years back in response to a therapist who told me that I don’t have to identify myself by anxiety and depression. So, I took it a bit further and got really pissed at it.
throw back

This date a year ago, and now, today…

On this date a year ago, I simply posted that I had a ‘thumbs up kind of day‘. Can’t remember what that was all about, but today was pretty great between about 11 am and 3 pm. Before and after that, there was crying, yelling, throwing, and slamming. Nope. Not me. My 4 year old.

Crying because she was afraid to go to the dentist. We survived. Had a lovely lunch. Ran some errands. Bought her a toy.

Then she was reminded that her parents are going out and she has a babysitter. The devil took over with the yelling, throwing, and slamming.

Then, my husband bailed on me for our plans to see Jeff Dunham. He stayed home. No babysitter. I left and had a good time.

Thumbs up.

 

what i do

Why I Do What I Do

My heart is full today because someone reminded me of why I do what I do.

There’s a mom out there struggling with ‘severe anxiety and depression’ during pregnancy. She reached out to me via email last night after reading one of my posts. Her words instantly took me back  to my own struggle, complete with the endless crying and feelings of hopelessness. I know exactly how she feels.

I was honest and straight forward in my response, even though it felt a bit strange to do this with someone I don’t know. What I do know is that anxiety and depression are not at all safe for the mother or the baby and her doctors need to help her.

I am sending love and light to her, her baby, her family and her doctors.

reasons

Daily Prompt: Moved to Tears

Just yesterday, in Starbucks of all places. It wasn’t a movie or a song. It was my own blog. I started writing a post that I’ve been putting off for exactly this reason. I knew it was going to upset me. Sure enough. Got half way through and started crying. In the comfy leather chair by the window at Starbucks. Oh joy. I hit ‘save draft’ and just sat there covering my face with my hand. Thankfully, it wasn’t a gusher. I got over it and left. Who knows when I’ll visit that draft again.