Great Company For Great Strides

After my visit from Depression and Anxiety Labor Day weekend, this past weekend was about taking some time back for myself. For me, this meant socializing a bit better, so immediately I arranged breakfast brunch type things with two of my favorite women.

Breakfast is my favorite. My husband and I used to make epic breakfasts that lasted through lunch and we would be lazy in our jammies, drink too much coffee, sometimes have mimosas and loved every minute of it. This was pre-baby of course. Usually my SOLE request for Christmas morning is breakfast quiche or just plain breakfast and mimosas. 

Hubby is not a breakfast person unless breakfast happens at lunch time. He refuses to eat when he wakes up. I usually eat right after a workout but it's usually small and calorie conscious, rather than a delicious plate of pancakes and sausage. When you throw in great company and great conversations, breakfast out is healing, and this past weekend it just was.

Not only do I like trying new places but being able to be myself and talk a bit about the general goings on outside of my therapy sessions are incredibly healing. I also never get to indulge in going out to eat or not worrying about what I'm eating. I am very much a mindful eater now. 

Mostly taking some time to get me out of kid mode and have a little social time to myself was essential. I forget this often because I'm forever the mom, but I need some adult interaction from time to time. I also very much need my tribe.

Some people can be more independent of their socialization but not I. I can hermit quite well but I need to know that not only do other people exist outside the confines of my home, but I need to join them and have conversations, actively listen, laugh, get real and have some shared emotions and exchanges. When I miss these things, I start to wobble.

I find I am at my best mentally and emotionally when I cultivate the company closest to me carefully. I've had so many conversations about this lately in terms of cutting "toxic people" out of lives. For me, I've noticed that my behavior is either enhanced or depleted based on the company I keep. Let me explain a bit better.

If I'm around a friend that only whines, and is only listening to me so they can speak instead of wanting to share a conversation and maybe a meal with me, I get bratty, rude, cynical and more sarcastic than usual. If I'm around a kind-hearted sympathetic supporter of me that wants to share food and life stories, I feel calm, at peace, rejuvenated and grateful.

I leave these friend dates and take a moment to take in how fortunate I am to have beings around me that care. I especially am grateful when they give me the gift of their time and consideration. These are things I don't take lightly in this day and age.

We have those moments of out reach when we hit a wall and we try to find someone to break us out of the funk and go play. More often than not people are already scheduled, already busy, or don't have the budget and where-with-all to up and drop money on an activity. These moments suck! So when I have a friend that schedules with me and plans and we jointly commit, even an hour to each other, I just wanna pop all the champagne! It's a huge deal to me!

Call it a product of being a wife to a hospitality man but I'm always so grateful when someone thinks I'm worthy of their time. It's my Sally Field "You really love me moment."

When I get to be around my friends in great circumstances and calming conversations, it makes me feel more capable to deal with other stresses and life woes. Their great company gives me the confidence to make greater strides and I hold that dear to me. I've learned how to hold onto the ones who keep me growing and keep me going and I don't want to let go.

Friendships can come and go. They can move through seasons and life phases or they can just be a "single serving" type of situation, Fight Club style. I'm paying closer attention to where I am, where I've been and whom I've shared time and conversation with as to when I'm ready for these great strides and steps in growth. It's been an interesting part of the journey but keeps me more and more grateful.

It's hard to put yourself out there. It's hard to share. So when you find a friend that can grab a breakfast with you and talk about all things in life over coffee, keep that great company close so you can just be greater in change. For me it is one more part of my self care, but we all need some socialization from time to time anyway. Make yours count!

Coloring Myself Calm And Collected

Long before adult coloring books, gel pens and artistic coloring, I was just the 14 year old with a Barbie coloring book and a box of Crayola crayons on an airplane. Someone once asked me if I wasn't a little too old to be doing such, but coloring, and especially when traveling on planes, kept me calm. To this day, coloring still keeps me calm. It doesn't matter what is happening around me. Coloring requires all my focus and attention and I can just breathe, concentrate and create.

Looking back, through times of strife and uncertainty, I used to paint canvases, make collages, make care packages or re-decorate things. I'm not so great at step by step "make it like this" crafts but anything purely imaginative or with room for alteration and mistakes artistically is very much for me. With coloring, sure you're supposed to stay in the lines, but there is still plenty of room for creativity.

When adult coloring books first became "a thing" they were expensive and so were the colored pencils or markers or gel pens to go with them. Now that they are more mainstream, we have more options. One of my oldest and best friends gave me many coloring books and my most current and favorite coloring book entitled, "Go F*ck Yourself, I'm Coloring." It is coloring swear words and phrases. It is awesome.

For what I've been going through lately, this is beyond perfection. I spent both nights this past weekend coloring in my bedroom with my pile of gel pens and a movie on in the background. Ideally, I would like to color whilst listening to amazing tunes, but I had to work with what I had available.

Coloring somehow shuts off my brain and I just get lost in the whimsy. You can pick anything you want, any picture, any color. When my office moved locations last year, I packed all my coloring supplies away and like most things in life, they got shuffled around and inadvertently left in a bin in the garage. I finally remembered this and dug them out Saturday. 

For a long time I used to color in my downtime at work but I had this nosy, over-the-shoulder lurker of a co-worker that made the swearing one impossible to indulge in and anything else so interesting to her that she had to know what I was up to. I really just wanted to color and answer the phones lady! Back off!

Now, I feel as though this will be a good at home evening activity. I've professed repeatedly just how difficult self care is for me. Coloring is one way for me to do that. It's practically therapy for me. I think I've taken pictures of most of my creations if you sift through Google photos and the bulk of them end up on my Instagram.

This past weekend I did a before, some progress, and then an after shot and it felt awesome. I actually got some cool responses from friends. The thing about coloring is, it's an insanely simplistic activity that I think just gets lost in growing up, but is totally creative and healthy. I've never felt badly after coloring, like "gee I should have started more laundry." I always feel a sense of accomplishment.

Not all people are artistic, so I get that, but the coloring therapy was a "lost art" for me, pun intended and I realized what a nice therapeutic value it had. I couldn't wait to just sit and color. I was so happy curled up and using all my gel pens. Instead of obsessing about running out, I was just so happy to create. 

My daughter loves to draw and create also. I have always encouraged her creativity for this because I think it really enhances your imagination and art is just kind of amazing. My grandma used to do watercolor painting. She used to set me up a little station near hers and we would paint together. This memory I hold closely for her.

My sisters are super creative also and we all seemed to love to detail and get inventive with things. I think that outlet is expressive and extremely healthy. Coloring gives me clarity and a good focus point for me when I'm anxious or feeling blah.

This weekend I wouldn't say that we did anything special and after my mental relapse the weekend prior I tried to be easy on myself so putting in the coloring as a priority made a pretty wonderful difference. I rested well, I felt more calm in general. My daughter thought it was cool that I was doodling, so to speak. It just made me happy.

The irony of the swearing coloring book is just that, making something pretty out of really inappropriate commentary and phrases, was just plain fun. I'm that person who thinks that getting upset about swearing, unless you are around small ears, is kind of a waste of time. Swearing is just a bunch of ridiculous words we give value to because they are so taboo. It's your first "rebellion" like when you're 7 and you say something smells like shit and you get in trouble. Swearing is a false sense of force and power, but sometimes I feels really good as some kind of anger management exercise. Who doesn't love to scream the "f word" when someone cuts them off?

So making the work "dickwad" all cool and colorful is hilarious and freeing! I definitely don't mean to offend but sorry, not sorry!

This weekend I took my mental health and my self care back. I colored myself calm and collected and felt more me again. As life stresses you out and makes you very frantic, something a simple as an hour coloring in a black and white image can be fantastic, in my personal experience. I've known men and women who color and love it. I also understand if it's not your thing. 

For me it was a good lesson and a good practice in paying attention to myself. It allowed me to relax a little and feel way better. Okay, the getting out of the house with adults helped too, I can't lie, but when I was feeling grateful for supportive interactions, the coloring kept that vibe going strong.

So my musing this Monday is that, getting colorful helped me get out of the grey muck and back into myself. Find what does that for you this week if you can and definitely report back! 

Sore Makes Me Less Sorry For Myself

I had an old friend check in on me yesterday. Whenever life mentally beats me down, I kind of go hermit and hide from people. I start to refrain from checking in and just kind of try and keep afloat. We have become better in the last year of the every few months check in and as someone who I would consider one of my closest friends and someone I admire in life and motherhood, her check in came in right on time.

Having confessed to her last year my personal struggles with all things life and then finding out hers was similar and not all smiles and cute kids, she always asks about my big struggle. Yesterday I told her "I work out, A LOT, to burn off some of the stress."

I added an "LOL," to lighten the heaviness that might come with that commentary and realized this morning how happy I'd felt all week being so sore and sleeping so well, because I had kicked my butt physically. I think being sore made me feel less sorry for myself after my relapse of high anxiety and deep depression last weekend.

I think it's something that can be hard for people to grasp but because my mind is often like a hamster spinning on a wheel to nowhere, a focused workout or even a treadmill run takes all my mental energy and harnesses it for good, leaving me able to rest at ease later. I wish I could call it a vanity thing like I wanted to be "hot" and "slim" but that has almost nothing to do with it. I like to look healthy, which has a wide definition, different for everyone, but skinny is not my goal.

When I had my first realization of how deep my depression and anxiety where I was about 22 or 23. I had lost both of my grandparents within a year and my mom had a cancer scare with a large tumor removed. I had been through a lot with personal relationships and was mid-college trying to figure out this thing called life. In my therapy they emphasized the importance of routine, physical activity and structure. 

I would say I religiously follow that rule about my personal struggle with depression and anxiety that physical activity is tantamount to my mental recovery. I always feel badly when I don't work out and the sore is better than the sorry for myself. I always catch myself being at my worst when and if I'm not moving around enough.

Working out has always been my therapy, especially when we couldn't afford someone for me to talk to. When I work out it's usually just myself and my music. Music is therapy part two. There is nothing I can't do, and no mental anguish if I have the perfect play list, even if that play list is all depressing stuff.

I rest better at night, both physically and mentally, when I know I have physically exhausted myself. This can sound kind of masochistic but I actually just love that sense of accomplishment. I know plenty of people who live on protein shakes and hardcore diets and serious fitness goals and I'm happy that works for them, but I like knowing I can indulge in ice cream guilt free because I kicked my ass throughout the day.

When I feel sore, not only am I far less sorry for myself in general, but I know I did something right to keep feeling that work out as the day goes on. Yesterday I was laughing out loud at how much it hurt from soreness to run and to do other exercises because I had given myself consistently great workouts throughout the week. 

This morning I realized how imperative my workouts are for everything. I recently started taking my daughter to the gym with me. Not only is she old enough to actually take in what I'm doing, but she can sit and chill while I get my workout in, and if it's slow enough, join me a bit. Now my mom gave me a huge complex about my body, which I am fighting tooth and nail to NOT to do my daughter at all. I always tell her she's fantastic. "Fat" is like a swear word in our house. I want her to understand health and happiness, so I try to lead by example.

Some people may view my twice daily workouts five days a week as excessive or obsessive. But one could also say the same for Keto-dieters, taking all kinds of supplements or meal-planning, weight watchers and so on and so forth. To each their own. For me it is 90% mental health practices and 10% fitness related.

Also, I like working out. It is something I actually enjoy. I don't "enjoy" running but I'll do it sometimes. I do my best to make anything that makes me sore, at least less of a chore than other things. We all have workouts we like, and workouts we don't. I try and keep a decent mix.

For me working out is part of health care. It's preventative and part of a healthy lifestyle. Look I eat cookies, and cake, and many "unhealthy" things but all in moderation. So working out is meant to bring me some balance, both physically and mentally. It's what I strive for.

I think it would be easy to see my posts and say I'm a work-out-aholic. It could be easy to exchange one form of obsession or compulsion for another, but I think the work out obsession may be safer than a binge-eating situation. Some of the most functional people I know have a good workout routine and decent eating habits, even if they have a cheat day from time to time.

After my recent mental mis-step I'm just taking pride in the fact that I'm very aware of what to do to get myself back on my feet, so to speak. I know what my mind and body need and I'm not afraid or ashamed to share that. I love that being sore keeps away the "sorrys." I don't need to throw myself a pity party because we all have our mental woes. I need to continue to heal, and continue to grow. My fitness regimes feed that growth and healing and keep those endorphins flowing freely!

Also, Elle Woods is my girl so, I kinda like to follow her life model. Happy Friday!

When Your Lot In Life Is To Play "That Bitch"

There's an amazing monologue in the movie "Mean Girls" where Tina Fey starts talking about this "Burn book," where all of the girls in it are called names and she says "Well, I don't know who wrote this book, but you all have got to stop calling each other sluts and whores. It just makes it okay for guys to call you sluts and whores." "Bitches" is in that same category. And yet, "Bitch" has now become slang and as women we kind of took it back as our own.

This isn't really a feminist rant thing but while I wish we could take these common words out of our vernacular and especially out of the mouths of men, I will admit that ever since I was about 12 I realized that even though "bitch" is technically a "swear" or bad word, that if you own it as a strong title of being unafraid or even brave, it seemingly loses it's negative connotation. 

My first experience being "that bitch," was facing off with my mom. I had to stand my ground and there was no room for weakness. This is something I learned with anyone with addiction or substance abuse issues as they can prey on you and attack if you cannot muster the energy to be "that bitch" in most scenarios with them. At least that way my personal experience with it.

Ironically, when you really know me, even when you first meet me, you probably wouldn't get the "bitch" vibe from me. Nor do I try and carry around with me any type of feeling of "If you cross me, you'll be sorry." Regardless, I am often cast the starring role in all productions of being "That bitch."

Sometimes this can serve well, and sometimes it really takes it's toll on me mentally.

I've learned with my mom to accept that with any situation that she disagrees with when it comes to me, it's because I'm "that bitch" in her eyes. There have been a few employers who have brought out that role in me because I'd been backed into a corner and refused to compromise myself or in some cases, my marriage, just because they wanted me to better play the role of "quiet, compliant and does what she's told with a plastic smile."

This whole secondary persona that has followed me, is often quite haunting. Being the "controlling" one, the "planner" the "arranger" and the "mess cleaner upper" aren't "fun" things to do. You win no favors or affections doing these things. Sometimes I wish I could be the person who doesn't care. I wish I could not pay bills without a care or worry. I wish I could just arrive at work late and leave early with no consideration for anyone else. I wish I could go buy what I want, when I want to, but alas, I have other responsibilities.

So wait, has responsibility and adulthood just morphed me into "that bitch?" I was violently shoved into growing up before I was ready, so did that bring me in to my "that bitch" ways? Interesting thoughts on this thoughtful Thursday.

I've said in therapy and owned it over and over that I truly believe I will just always be "that bitch" in the eyes of many close to me. I wish that I wasn't painted into that but:

  

I think what makes me sad sometimes is I feel I rarely have the chance to prove myself otherwise. When you're cast in role early you get typecast, no? Won't Elijah Wood always be Frodo and Matthew Perry will never not be Chandler Bing? Thus, just call me "that Bitch."

I'm not so sure if you screamed that name on the street I'd turn around, but there is a large part of me that owns the fact that part of me is just engraved within my core. I think the people who have known me the longest know it's under there, but have rarely awakened it. There are definitely a few things that bring it out immediately.

When I was a nanny, anyone that was about to harm the kiddos in my care, in any way, shape or form, saw me as "that bitch." I was not putting it out there that I was nice. Sometimes they had friends that I didn't like and with those friends, I was very much "that bitch." When it comes to my friends being hurt or taken advantage of, I will come out swinging if necessary and most recently you can see me do an award-winning performance when it comes to my daughter. I will be your worst enemy if you mistreat her or do anything around the realm of harming her.

There are some things I'm extremely rigid about, but in other ways I think I'm just a big softy. My recent brush with depression and anxiety just reminded me though, that in some villainizing ways, I will always be "that bitch." If it comes to a good cop bad cop thing, I will always be the bad cop.

I'm the "ruiner;" the one that squashes the fun. I'm the rule-keeper and the one with all the budgets, schedules and plans ready to enforce! Some days of this are better than others. I like to think maybe I'm kind of similar to Deadpool, that not-so-super hero comic character. He's lovable but rude, sarcastic and kind of a mess. He is well-intentioned and ultimately saves people but in a very unorthodox and unattractive way more often than not. 

While there is a part of me, and especially after my mental relapse, that wishes the obverse was true, my ability to handle all of the things, plan, create rules, goals and be "that bitch," ultimately serves everyone around me, whether they like it or not. While I know how my controlling tendencies drive my husband insane, I also keep us out of major debt and in good standing with all of the bills we pay on time.

Because of my rigidity with routines and my stick-to-itive-ness on schedules, my daughter seems to be thriving more with the new school year, even if she complains when I take things away and make her do homework and chores. 

And lastly, my being "that bitch," was the beginning of my mother's "rock bottom" that inevitably got her sober so it's hard for me to have regrets. Mostly, right now, I regret the fact that I step into that roll so well and so easily. I regret that the shoe fits, so I wear it.

I've found myself wondering if I had the opportunity to be a little more relaxed and free, who could that be? What would that even be like? For this thoughtful Thursday, while owning my lot in life as "that bitch," a girl can also dream that one day the world would soften her and make her "that fun friend," or that "sweet soul," or even that "big ol' softie." It could come with growth, with age, or just with exhaustion but maybe one day I can retire that roll and master a new one!

The Definition Of Relapse

Relapse, by definition is "a deterioration in someone's state of health after a temporary improvement." When you grow up with an addict, the word relapse pertains directly to using drugs or drinking alcohol again. In mental health, a relapse could be anything from engaging in behavior you felt you had control over once again, having a bad day of anxiety, or a weekend of depression. Okay, that is my mental health definition of a relapse, and also, an interesting segue into this post.

I have said that things were going good, going well and calm. I was feeling pretty okay with the flow of things in general. I wanted to blame my anxiety on the drama of the whole Hurricane Dorian watch. I wanted to say it was induced by the bad moods and general hysteria of the people around me in the world. Now that I have my head above water again, I can call it what it is: "a relapse."

My relapse was born of many triggers. Triggers are so strange. Some of them make sense when you look into them. Some of them blindside you and seemingly come out of nowhere. While the hurricane stuff did push my anxiety high, I had something come up in life on top of it all that felt as though the rug was pulled from under me and I fell down hard, left to get up with no help. This unplanned thing, this new information, sent me spinning with no focal point or way to stop from spinning out. 

I tried to stay calm and use that internal dialogue to talk myself down, but the thing about talking to yourself is, it can be kind of one-sided. With other circumstances overruling schedules, I was left alone with myself, with no one really to talk to besides my six year old and I started to shrivel. My six year old is fantastic company, but these forces made feel sad and shrinkable. You know that scene in The Little Mermaid where Ursula shows you the weird shriveled plant people? Yeah that was me, the poor, unfortunate soul. 

I reached out to some people as a sounding board but I had to be selective on who could handle my situation. In my upset I wondered how much of this internal uproar was my anxiety, how much was a bout of depression, and how much was me just overreacting. I needed someone to check me a bit and give me a real answer. There was validation the response that I got, which was my feelings were not only valid, but what I was going through was really unfair. This validation victory was short lived.

The thing about relapse, is it's familiar. When you're healing and focused on progression and you're pushing towards your goals, it's easy to look back at where you were when you were in a less great place and be like, "I hope I don't go back there. I hope I don't feel that way again. Things are so much better now, I'm not going back." When the relapse happens then you get this cloud of "How did I get here?," above you; a fog if you will.

That fog left me disoriented. Maybe it was the hurricane's fault because much like Dorian, over the weekend I just churned slowly wreaking internal havoc mentally. It came out in random crying jags, and often. I'd be in the kitchen thinking I should eat something and just think about the situation and be crying into the sink. I couldn't focus my eyes when talking to my daughter or her playdates from time to time. I felt so damned blah.

I let my daughter see me through this, though. She asked about it and I said, "Mommy is having a hard time." The one time this weekend I lost my temper, the one time I became so unhinged wasn't even at my daughter, but rather in proximity to being pushed to my max. I immediately felt like shit because I scared her when I let out a yell about being done with things and how much I just tried and kept feeling like I failed. When we both calmed down and started to re-tell the events and how mommy lost it, my daughter said, "Turns out Labor Day is a bust." Somehow this just made everything in my heart light again. Not only was it completely accurate but she made it fun and sweet.

Yesterday I was half lifted out of things. I felt a baby step forward but was still not far enough out of everything to call it, "moving on, moving up." Today, though, I feel like I'm starting to process everything more constructively. Full on steps are happening for Wednesday.

Depression and anxiety are beastly. You can go for months using your coping mechanisms, therapies, tools for self care and everything else properly and then boom, something trips you up. It's the same with drug and alcohol recovery to where you can be sober for days, months, years, and experience something that just triggers you or throws you from your cadence, and before you know it you're using again. 

It shows me how delicate the balance is. It shows me just how careful you have to be with everything. It was difficult for me to reach out and to explain the whole scenario and talk about it. It still is, honestly. It feels multi-faceted and filled with back story; overly-complicated much like Shrek with onions having layers. 

I feel as though the past 5 days for me have just been the epitome of a relapse. In my personal therapy quest my therapist reminds me that this is okay and it will happen from time to time. This is all part of the growth process and recovery from trauma, but also just a part of life in general. Not being hard on myself is a struggle. I have to admit though, this particular relapse just completely wrecked me for a couple days there.

Everything felt futile and I felt extremely alone. I started feeling slightly insane as though I had made something into a "bigger deal" than it was in reality. That's a jarring feeling, in my humble opinion. It made me feel out of control, which is something I don't do well.

There are times when your patience and "go with the flow" abilities are essential. It is all you can do. There are other times when taking control, when gripping the wheel and getting back on course is essential. This is another delicate balance.

I don't like feeling as though I have no say in things and life just happens upon me. I no longer want to be just a viewer watching my life go by. I strive to be an active participant. I no longer just succumb to the whims of "not having a choice," or feeling like I can't have an opinion, a plan, goals and even dreams. I stayed quiet too long so now I feel like, "I'm very much allowed to say what I want to say!," at least in situations in my home and personal life.

While I feel as though this trip up in my mental health was really sucky and unfair, today I feel less wobbly about labeling it as an important learning experience. This relapse took me down for close to a week from beginning to end. Only last night did I start to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I felt as though I had been staying so positive that I was bound to feel a bounce at some point. After all, it is only fair because what goes up must come down.

Relapses are rough! I don't care who you are or what your definition of relapse is but any recurring flair of uncertainty and uncomfortable-ness is less than desirable. I don't pretend to be immune. As for this particular bout, I had a pretty good run beforehand. I have some more work to do now, some "extra" added on. This is my time to really plant my roots firm and push on the growth because it is situations like this one than can make those better days sweeter when the bitter days are overly sour. 

We easily take things for granted, whether we know it or not. The bad days put the good ones in perspective so I want to give myself that win. For anyone reading this who wants to reach out and talk, I hope you do. I may have felt super alone in my down time but I know that in reality, I'm not, and neither are you. 

Thanks to my readers for being patient with me for all of this and I'm so glad I was able to share. On this September Wednesday morning, I'm grateful we have just a couple more days to the weekend! We got this!

An Update On Posting

Hey Readers! I really appreciate you guys. I've had a pretty rough few days mentally and today in Florida is a hurricane day, so my daughter will be coming to work with me. I plan on getting back to normal things tomorrow and appreciate you sticking with me! Happy September!