Usually breaks from school are sort of the best part of my job. There are moments of teaching that are great, but the many, many holidays are definitely a plus. For the past month or so I've noticed myself dreading the breaks. That was the first sign there might be a problem.
I've gone back and forth with whether or not the mood I'm in qualifies as depression because it's so transient. When I have tons of free time, like during school breaks, I inevitably start thinking about how very different I always thought my life would be, but as long as I'm distracted by work for most of the day, I'm ok. It probably doesn't help that holidays pretty much revolve around children, but still. I don't know that there's ever been a time when work was the thing I looked forward to. I used to try to pretend the breaks wouldn't end. Now I'm almost ready to start some sort of countdown until my life is filled with distractions again and the sadness won't be so consuming.
I realized today that a lot of the sadness comes not from the frustration of waiting like I sort of thought but from the worry that no kids now will mean no kids ever. It might be begrudgingly, but I can accept later. But when I start to think about never... that God might have deliberately chosen for me to be childless... I have no schema for that possibility. Over the past few years of being on and off meds and dealing with what that might mean for having kids I considered lots of possible eventualities, but even my worst case scenarios involved us with kids. Now that we're actually here though, it turns out that considering things in the abstract, way-off future is a lot different than considering them as possible next steps, and suddenly the idea of us ending up childless is looking like a very real possibility to me.
I've already been told by roughly everyone I know that I'm being too negative, and maybe I am. I could get pregnant any time. After all, God can do whatever he chooses... but what if nothing changes?
What if this is the path he chose?
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
plans
For the past few months I've found it harder and harder to come up with anything I want to write. Summer was totally awesome, but since I was working for a family that basically all of you know, it didn't seem right to share the stories I came home with at the end of the day. Now that school has started again, the content isn't a problem... it's the complete and utter lack of motivation.
This week will be the 10th week of the school year (crazy!!!), and for about the first 8 weeks I was completely and utterly miserable. I transitioned from spending the summer working for the best people EVER to my regular, stressful, not so fun job. Coming back from summer is never fun, but this year it was especially awful for me. I missed getting to hang out with the family I worked for over the summer, and although everyone acted like I should just slip back into kindergarten like I'd never left, that's not how it worked out at all. I was totally lost for the first couple of weeks, and then once I got my footing I still had to deal not only with all the politics and paperwork I hate, but also with the disappointment that I was starting my 8th year of teaching rather than staying home with the children I wish I had. All of that added up to a great recipe for depression, and around week 2 it hit. Hard. Luckily, after a few days I picked myself up and reached out to a couple of my favorite people, and as it turns out, all those coping strategies I've learned in the past few years work shockingly well when I actually use them.
It took a few more weeks, but things have leveled out again. The crippling anxiety that always seems to come with the beginning of school has tapered off, even without medication, and I'm finally starting to enjoy my class and not mind so much that God's plan for my job doesn't line up with what I want at the moment. It helps that my kids have said several adorable things lately, and I keep getting compliments on my fabulous teaching. Who wouldn't like that? I also got a student teacher who seems great so far, and I've noticed that unlike last year, I actually enjoy mentoring her and feel confident in what I'm teaching and modeling for her. Maybe there's hope for the school year after all.
It's also the end of October, and while September was a little rough, I'm feeling great right now... huge, huge, HUGE event considering that I can't remember the last time I felt normal in fall without medication. Maybe when I was 10 or 11? If you'd asked me this time a year ago, I'd have told you this day would never come. Luckily, in this case, God's plan doesn't always line up with mine!
This week will be the 10th week of the school year (crazy!!!), and for about the first 8 weeks I was completely and utterly miserable. I transitioned from spending the summer working for the best people EVER to my regular, stressful, not so fun job. Coming back from summer is never fun, but this year it was especially awful for me. I missed getting to hang out with the family I worked for over the summer, and although everyone acted like I should just slip back into kindergarten like I'd never left, that's not how it worked out at all. I was totally lost for the first couple of weeks, and then once I got my footing I still had to deal not only with all the politics and paperwork I hate, but also with the disappointment that I was starting my 8th year of teaching rather than staying home with the children I wish I had. All of that added up to a great recipe for depression, and around week 2 it hit. Hard. Luckily, after a few days I picked myself up and reached out to a couple of my favorite people, and as it turns out, all those coping strategies I've learned in the past few years work shockingly well when I actually use them.
It took a few more weeks, but things have leveled out again. The crippling anxiety that always seems to come with the beginning of school has tapered off, even without medication, and I'm finally starting to enjoy my class and not mind so much that God's plan for my job doesn't line up with what I want at the moment. It helps that my kids have said several adorable things lately, and I keep getting compliments on my fabulous teaching. Who wouldn't like that? I also got a student teacher who seems great so far, and I've noticed that unlike last year, I actually enjoy mentoring her and feel confident in what I'm teaching and modeling for her. Maybe there's hope for the school year after all.
It's also the end of October, and while September was a little rough, I'm feeling great right now... huge, huge, HUGE event considering that I can't remember the last time I felt normal in fall without medication. Maybe when I was 10 or 11? If you'd asked me this time a year ago, I'd have told you this day would never come. Luckily, in this case, God's plan doesn't always line up with mine!
Sunday, February 8, 2009
week two
The past week has been hugely frustrating.
By the time I picked my class up Monday morning I was pretty sure that it wouldn't go well. Unfortunately, I was right. I was emotionally and physically exhausted from the stress of the previous week, so every little thing felt like the end of the world. Not to mention the fact that my job is pretty emotionally demanding. Five year olds are needy, and they can't turn that off when I have nothing left to give. I was barely getting by taking care of myself. I was not up to taking care of 16 other people. At any rate, I survived... barely. My desk has morphed into one big pile of relevant verses, and just reminding myself to believe them has been a full time job.
As I prepare for tomorrow, I'm feeling a rising sense of dread. The weekend has been wonderful, but tomorrow I'll be back in the real world, dealing with all the stress that goes along with it. I know all the right answers... trust God, cry out to Him, immerse myself in His truth... and all of those things DO lessen the stress. I've been in survival mode for two weeks though. I can't sustain this much longer.
Despite the frustration and mood swings and fear of what they may mean for my future, I am clinging desperately to the joy I have. I heard a really great definition for joy a few weeks back: the overflow of peace that comes from trusting God no matter what. I've been repeating it to myself hundreds of times a day over the past two weeks. Trust leads to peace which leads to joy. The trust is what gives me the peace and joy I need to get through the day... so trust is what I'm working on.
By the time I picked my class up Monday morning I was pretty sure that it wouldn't go well. Unfortunately, I was right. I was emotionally and physically exhausted from the stress of the previous week, so every little thing felt like the end of the world. Not to mention the fact that my job is pretty emotionally demanding. Five year olds are needy, and they can't turn that off when I have nothing left to give. I was barely getting by taking care of myself. I was not up to taking care of 16 other people. At any rate, I survived... barely. My desk has morphed into one big pile of relevant verses, and just reminding myself to believe them has been a full time job.
As I prepare for tomorrow, I'm feeling a rising sense of dread. The weekend has been wonderful, but tomorrow I'll be back in the real world, dealing with all the stress that goes along with it. I know all the right answers... trust God, cry out to Him, immerse myself in His truth... and all of those things DO lessen the stress. I've been in survival mode for two weeks though. I can't sustain this much longer.
Despite the frustration and mood swings and fear of what they may mean for my future, I am clinging desperately to the joy I have. I heard a really great definition for joy a few weeks back: the overflow of peace that comes from trusting God no matter what. I've been repeating it to myself hundreds of times a day over the past two weeks. Trust leads to peace which leads to joy. The trust is what gives me the peace and joy I need to get through the day... so trust is what I'm working on.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
the longest week
I started this week with exciting news: as of last Monday, I'm no longer on an antidepressant. I'm still taking my other meds for now, but hey... it's a step. The rest of the week has been varying degrees of nightmarish as I've experienced basically every withdrawal symptom ever documented.
This morning I awoke to what I hope is the light at the end of the tunnel. I can stand up without losing my balance. I don't want to scream at everyone around me. I think I might make it through school tomorrow without wanting to cry. I feel like myself again, and that's a huge relief. The true test will be to see how I feel in a month, two months, six months...
Part of me doubts that my mood will remain stable without this drug (it's the first thing that had any lasting impact on my mood swings), and the rest wonders if that's selling myself and God short. I'm not the same person who started this particular medication almost 18 months ago. Even this week, as I felt so overwhelmed I could hardly breathe, I turned to Him... to His promises to give me strength and never leave me or give me more than I can handle... and I made it through.
I'm both anxious and encouraged for the days to come... to see what healing and life they will hold!
This morning I awoke to what I hope is the light at the end of the tunnel. I can stand up without losing my balance. I don't want to scream at everyone around me. I think I might make it through school tomorrow without wanting to cry. I feel like myself again, and that's a huge relief. The true test will be to see how I feel in a month, two months, six months...
Part of me doubts that my mood will remain stable without this drug (it's the first thing that had any lasting impact on my mood swings), and the rest wonders if that's selling myself and God short. I'm not the same person who started this particular medication almost 18 months ago. Even this week, as I felt so overwhelmed I could hardly breathe, I turned to Him... to His promises to give me strength and never leave me or give me more than I can handle... and I made it through.
I'm both anxious and encouraged for the days to come... to see what healing and life they will hold!
Thursday, October 16, 2008
shattered
Yesterday I started reading the book Shattered Dreams by Larry Crabb, and about five minutes in, I realized that this book was going to hit on many of the themes in my life lately including a major one... if God is truly loving, why is life so difficult?
Over the past few weeks, I've watched as the dreams I had for my life have, in many ways, shattered. In my fairy tale, by now I'd be a young, stay-at-home mom with cute kids and a beautiful home. In my real life, my friends are moving forward with starting families while I have once again begun the frustrating search for the right combination of crazy pills that will keep me sane. Despite all my work and all the programs and counseling I've done, my depression returned. Again. This just isn't how I dreamed my life would look.
I don't know how I'll feel about this book in the end, but so far I find it both challenging and soothing. For most of my life, I've heard all the "right" Christian comfort, but it feels almost offensive most of the time... like a way for the person to escape the pain that I can't escape. People want to hear that I trust that God will ultimately take away my struggles or at least give me happiness despite them, not that I'm hurting and confused and at times want nothing to do with the person who allows this pain to occur even though He could stop it at any time. They don't want to deal with the grim reality that God's plan for my life may INCLUDE this struggle. Forever. It may not go away. And they often don't want to consider that, maybe, just maybe, this is NOT a reflection of my worthiness as a Christian.
Why does God allow pain and heartbreak and shattered dreams? Maybe, like Crabb suggests, it is to draw us closer to Him... to strip us down until we can see deep in our souls that we need God. Maybe it's to teach us things we'd never learn otherwise. Maybe it's to allow us to comfort others who are experiencing that deep pain as well. Maybe it's all of these things and many others. All I know is that I can't accept that it is simply to punish us for a failed relationship with Him...
I sometimes wish that I had the seemingly easy life that many people around me have... the ones who float around happily while all their dreams come true. But, as I was reminded this week, the trade off is often a life filled with inauthentic, surface only relationships to avoid the struggle of really living life with people, of really delving into the depths of our own hearts and seeing our own weaknesses and faults.
For whatever reason, I've had more than my fair share of pain in my life thus far, and that sucks. But, the pain has definitely revealed my soul and drawn me closer to God, and even in the midst of a low time, I am still glad to have caught a glimpse of my authentic heart.
Over the past few weeks, I've watched as the dreams I had for my life have, in many ways, shattered. In my fairy tale, by now I'd be a young, stay-at-home mom with cute kids and a beautiful home. In my real life, my friends are moving forward with starting families while I have once again begun the frustrating search for the right combination of crazy pills that will keep me sane. Despite all my work and all the programs and counseling I've done, my depression returned. Again. This just isn't how I dreamed my life would look.
I don't know how I'll feel about this book in the end, but so far I find it both challenging and soothing. For most of my life, I've heard all the "right" Christian comfort, but it feels almost offensive most of the time... like a way for the person to escape the pain that I can't escape. People want to hear that I trust that God will ultimately take away my struggles or at least give me happiness despite them, not that I'm hurting and confused and at times want nothing to do with the person who allows this pain to occur even though He could stop it at any time. They don't want to deal with the grim reality that God's plan for my life may INCLUDE this struggle. Forever. It may not go away. And they often don't want to consider that, maybe, just maybe, this is NOT a reflection of my worthiness as a Christian.
Why does God allow pain and heartbreak and shattered dreams? Maybe, like Crabb suggests, it is to draw us closer to Him... to strip us down until we can see deep in our souls that we need God. Maybe it's to teach us things we'd never learn otherwise. Maybe it's to allow us to comfort others who are experiencing that deep pain as well. Maybe it's all of these things and many others. All I know is that I can't accept that it is simply to punish us for a failed relationship with Him...
I sometimes wish that I had the seemingly easy life that many people around me have... the ones who float around happily while all their dreams come true. But, as I was reminded this week, the trade off is often a life filled with inauthentic, surface only relationships to avoid the struggle of really living life with people, of really delving into the depths of our own hearts and seeing our own weaknesses and faults.
For whatever reason, I've had more than my fair share of pain in my life thus far, and that sucks. But, the pain has definitely revealed my soul and drawn me closer to God, and even in the midst of a low time, I am still glad to have caught a glimpse of my authentic heart.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
beyond my wildest dreams
Three years ago this week, my life was in turmoil.
On July 8, 2005 I was packing the moving truck that would take all my belongings to Dallas and only days away from my wedding. I was excited and hopeful and lost in my own little fairy tale dream of how perfect my life was going to be... then I answered my phone.
When I think back to that week, I remember very little, but what I do remember is incredibly vivid. I remember the exact spot where I was standing in the parking lot of my apartment when I got the call about Kim, and I remember leaning on my car and letting the metal burn my bare skin as the words I heard slowly sank in. I remember leaving a wedding shower then running for miles and miles in the suffocating July heat as tears ran uncontrollably down my cheeks because the physical pain somehow alleviated the aching in my heart. I remember racing through my bridal portraits then ripping off my veil and quickly throwing on a black dress to attend a funeral that never should have happened. And I remember moving numbly through my wedding, still a bit in shock at how life was continuing as if nothing had happened while my emotions hadn't yet caught up.
My husband and I mark our third anniversary today, and while I love my husband dearly and cannot fathom my life without him, this day is always a little bittersweet. The memories of our wedding will always be intricately woven with the memories of Kim's death... a bit of a blessing and a curse.
My idyllic bubble burst that Friday morning, and shortly after our wedding I fell into a deep depression. I was utterly unequipped to deal with the grief I was experiencing, and everyone around me expected a glowing, happy-go-lucky newlywed. I was alone in Dallas, miserable in my job, and desperately missed my friends and church in College Station. My safety net was gone, and I crashed fast and hard. Within a matter of months, I was hardly eating, and I was sleeping more than I was awake. Though I covered it well in public, I was falling apart... and for the first time in my life I couldn't run.
In the book Sacred Marriage, Gary Thomas suggests that God's plan for marriage has far more to do with our holiness than our happiness. I can't speak for everyone, but in my case, it definitely works. Though there have been moments of tremendous happiness, these three years have been filled to the brim with struggles that have pushed both of us to increased holiness. I'd be lying if I said it had been easy or even that I've recognized all along what a blessing I was receiving because, honestly, it's been rough. There have been many days that I wanted to walk away, and many more that I was angry at how hard I was having to work just to find some semblance of normalcy. It's only been recently that the balance has shifted.
Most of the first three years of our marriage have been defined by my illness. I've wished more times than I can count that I had gotten help earlier, before I involved someone else, but I recognize now that outside of marriage, I would have never had a reason to put myself through the pain that comes with healing.
I know I wouldn't have chosen this path... the path of discomfort, struggling, pain. I would have much preferred the easy road... the fairy tale I dreamed of. Fortunately, I didn't get to choose. The God who knit me together before I was born had a greater plan than I could have ever asked or imagined.
love you, B. Happy anniversary.
On July 8, 2005 I was packing the moving truck that would take all my belongings to Dallas and only days away from my wedding. I was excited and hopeful and lost in my own little fairy tale dream of how perfect my life was going to be... then I answered my phone.
When I think back to that week, I remember very little, but what I do remember is incredibly vivid. I remember the exact spot where I was standing in the parking lot of my apartment when I got the call about Kim, and I remember leaning on my car and letting the metal burn my bare skin as the words I heard slowly sank in. I remember leaving a wedding shower then running for miles and miles in the suffocating July heat as tears ran uncontrollably down my cheeks because the physical pain somehow alleviated the aching in my heart. I remember racing through my bridal portraits then ripping off my veil and quickly throwing on a black dress to attend a funeral that never should have happened. And I remember moving numbly through my wedding, still a bit in shock at how life was continuing as if nothing had happened while my emotions hadn't yet caught up.
My husband and I mark our third anniversary today, and while I love my husband dearly and cannot fathom my life without him, this day is always a little bittersweet. The memories of our wedding will always be intricately woven with the memories of Kim's death... a bit of a blessing and a curse.
My idyllic bubble burst that Friday morning, and shortly after our wedding I fell into a deep depression. I was utterly unequipped to deal with the grief I was experiencing, and everyone around me expected a glowing, happy-go-lucky newlywed. I was alone in Dallas, miserable in my job, and desperately missed my friends and church in College Station. My safety net was gone, and I crashed fast and hard. Within a matter of months, I was hardly eating, and I was sleeping more than I was awake. Though I covered it well in public, I was falling apart... and for the first time in my life I couldn't run.
In the book Sacred Marriage, Gary Thomas suggests that God's plan for marriage has far more to do with our holiness than our happiness. I can't speak for everyone, but in my case, it definitely works. Though there have been moments of tremendous happiness, these three years have been filled to the brim with struggles that have pushed both of us to increased holiness. I'd be lying if I said it had been easy or even that I've recognized all along what a blessing I was receiving because, honestly, it's been rough. There have been many days that I wanted to walk away, and many more that I was angry at how hard I was having to work just to find some semblance of normalcy. It's only been recently that the balance has shifted.
Most of the first three years of our marriage have been defined by my illness. I've wished more times than I can count that I had gotten help earlier, before I involved someone else, but I recognize now that outside of marriage, I would have never had a reason to put myself through the pain that comes with healing.
I know I wouldn't have chosen this path... the path of discomfort, struggling, pain. I would have much preferred the easy road... the fairy tale I dreamed of. Fortunately, I didn't get to choose. The God who knit me together before I was born had a greater plan than I could have ever asked or imagined.
love you, B. Happy anniversary.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
my chemical imbalance is cooler than yours...
I know it will shock some of you, but I religiously read the website dooce.com. If you're brave, you can check it out... it's one of my links. The author, Heather Armstrong, is pretty much everything I'm not: an outgoing and vocal ex-Mormon who can be crude at times.
I respect her immensely.
Last December I opened my inbox to find a link to one of her recent entries:
http://www.dooce.com/2007/12/13/because-i-couldnt-say-it-phone
I read it mostly so I would be able to have an educated discussion if that friend asked what I thought, but I was immediately hooked. Her honesty hit straight to my heart because I could relate to every word she said.
Like Heather, I've dealt with chronic depression and anxiety for most of my life. I knew as a young teenager that something was very wrong, but I chose for years not to get help. I was afraid of the stigma of therapy, not to mention a label, and I was steadfastly opposed to medication... until I finally hit rock bottom and all the prayer and Bible study in the world couldn't pull me out of my darkness. I realized I had a choice: treatment or death. I went with treatment.
For a long time, I kept my choice a secret. In fact, to a number of people I know, it's still a secret, and that saddens me. I consider my experience in therapy and my relationship with my therapist to be one of the greatest blessings in my life, and though I'm still not a fan of needing daily medication, I'm thankful for the stability it provides. I've learned a tremendous amount about grace and what it means to love like Jesus from the people who've walked through treatment with me. I've finally begun to see myself as He sees me. Recovery has been excruciating at times, but I have never experienced God as tangibly as I have during these months. I couldn't be luckier.
Unfortunately, in the conservative Christian circles I run in, far too many people still believe that mental illness and particularly being on psychotropic drugs makes a person less of a Christian. This ignorance deeply saddens me. So many aching people are isolated from the mainstream church because we hide our hurts, habits, and hangups for the sake of looking like the picture perfect congregation. So many others hide within the church for fear of being ostracized if people knew who they really were. That so many might miss out on the healing God can bring because admitting their imperfections would open them up to ridicule breaks my heart.
I hope that as mental illness slowly loses its stigma in society in general, the body of Christ will follow and envelop the hurting in its loving arms. Until then, I pray that the hurting people around me will find the courage to seek recovery even if it's not easy. I did, and it is a choice I will never regret.
I respect her immensely.
Last December I opened my inbox to find a link to one of her recent entries:
http://www.dooce.com/2007/12/13/because-i-couldnt-say-it-phone
I read it mostly so I would be able to have an educated discussion if that friend asked what I thought, but I was immediately hooked. Her honesty hit straight to my heart because I could relate to every word she said.
Like Heather, I've dealt with chronic depression and anxiety for most of my life. I knew as a young teenager that something was very wrong, but I chose for years not to get help. I was afraid of the stigma of therapy, not to mention a label, and I was steadfastly opposed to medication... until I finally hit rock bottom and all the prayer and Bible study in the world couldn't pull me out of my darkness. I realized I had a choice: treatment or death. I went with treatment.
For a long time, I kept my choice a secret. In fact, to a number of people I know, it's still a secret, and that saddens me. I consider my experience in therapy and my relationship with my therapist to be one of the greatest blessings in my life, and though I'm still not a fan of needing daily medication, I'm thankful for the stability it provides. I've learned a tremendous amount about grace and what it means to love like Jesus from the people who've walked through treatment with me. I've finally begun to see myself as He sees me. Recovery has been excruciating at times, but I have never experienced God as tangibly as I have during these months. I couldn't be luckier.
Unfortunately, in the conservative Christian circles I run in, far too many people still believe that mental illness and particularly being on psychotropic drugs makes a person less of a Christian. This ignorance deeply saddens me. So many aching people are isolated from the mainstream church because we hide our hurts, habits, and hangups for the sake of looking like the picture perfect congregation. So many others hide within the church for fear of being ostracized if people knew who they really were. That so many might miss out on the healing God can bring because admitting their imperfections would open them up to ridicule breaks my heart.
I hope that as mental illness slowly loses its stigma in society in general, the body of Christ will follow and envelop the hurting in its loving arms. Until then, I pray that the hurting people around me will find the courage to seek recovery even if it's not easy. I did, and it is a choice I will never regret.
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