Keeping My Promise

 5 1/2 years ago, I made a big promise to God.  We were preparing to move across the country, and I was absolutely terrified.  I was struggling with so much depression, and the thought of leaving my support group behind, the people who knew the "real me" without depression because they had seen the sudden transformation within me from productive to often debilitated, was overwhelming.  As the move came closer and as my fear grew stronger, I told God that if He would give me people who would love, support, understand, and care about me through my darkness, then I would do EVERYTHING in my power to use my struggles for good.  God has definitely kept His end of our promise, so I am trying my very best to keep mine.

A few days ago, Lora Barajas told me about a big display going up in Salt Lake City, Utah featuring unique service opportunities being done around the world to lift and bless others.  She suggested that I submit my Christmas Socks for Hope project.  Anytime these opportunities come up, I remember my promise to God and feel compelled to try, even if it doesn't end up going anywhere.  

For the last several days, I worked to gather the necessary parts for my application, including pictures that someone took from a big service event last year that I didn't know about and were exactly what I needed (such a huge tender mercy), and officially submitted it this morning.  Like I said, I don't know if this will go anywhere.  I'm sure there will be so many applications, so the chance of mine being chosen is probably very slim, but at least I can tell myself that I did my part and the rest will work out however it is supposed to.  

Every time something like this happens, I am once again humbled to see what God can do with brokenness.  How He can make beauty from ashes.  How He has given me the most incredible people to help me when I've needed it and the most amazing opportunities to spread the light and hope and love He has for each person.  How He has taught me the value of each individual life and has lit a fire in me to try to show that to others, especially those who are fighting through their darkest hour.  I'm just so so thankful.  I'm especially thankful for all the support that makes this project possible each year as I could never do it on my own.  Life is a beautiful gift, and I'm beyond thankful to be on the end where I can see and feel that for myself again.

Swimming

 This -4 degree weather has got nothing on me, the wimpiest of all wimps in the cold. 🥶😜 Why?  Because I *have* to prioritize my mental health, and there's not just one magical thing that keeps me in a good place.  For me, there's medication, counseling, good sleep, healthy eating, drinking enough, getting out of the house, spending time with good people, and very importantly, exercising.  Going swimming is non-negotiable for me (except for circumstances like sickness or things of that nature).  It breathes life into my soul when I feel weighed down by the heaviness of darkness and sorrow.  Too much time without it and I can feel a physical difference inside my body.  The gym has become a happy place for me, and I'm so so thankful for the warmth and indoor pool it provides that allows me to keep swimming even when it's frigid and quite honestly miserable outside.

#JustKeepSwimming 

#WorkingForHappiness 

#NoMoreGoingOutToday

Spokesman Review

 I had the really wonderful opportunity of sharing my story and my Christmas Socks for Hope project with the The Spokesman-Review.  I feel so humbled to be able to watch this project grow and bless more lives each year (this year we will be able to donate to the adult behavioral health units at Kootenai Hospital and Inland Northwest Behavioral Health, as well as the crisis center, behavioral health detox unit, and the ER for patients waiting for a bed to open up to be admitted to the inpatient unit at Kootenai Hospital, plus two friends are taking on this project in their own area to spread more love).  I'm thankful for the support, both the generous donations and effort given, that allow all of this to happen.  I'm even thankful for the difficult circumstances that led to having an awareness of the people in this unit of the hospital on Christmas, the scratchy hospital socks that could be replaced with warm and comfortable socks, and the messages that might be able to uplift and help someone in a time of great need.  

Here is the link to the article if you want to read it: https://www.spokesman.com/stories/2023/dec/07/after-her-own-experience-being-hospitalized-post-f/?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTAAAR06SSGJxOZugrblZGkXvnWbOprBxLXusPd35eosRDr45358UGJ2GksTJaI_aem_ARJ3rUZhG-gEPrpotEfQ_p2AszdVdMhE5o3SeC2LW3qCD_7Lbhr70vNR5D6-ALi9LijlLaKz3XHgknIOvizXAReK

Better Days Come

 Two years ago, our family was stuck in a living nightmare. I was in the hospital for the second time in two months and it really seemed like it was only an unrealistic, unattainable dream that I would be okay again. That there was a world ahead of me, waiting for me, that would not involve the seemingly unbearable amount of anxiety and depression that I was experiencing at that time. Seeing this memory pop up brings so many thoughts and feelings. 

First and foremost, there's the feeling of absolute gratitude for Kyle who didn't give up on me, who loved me and sustained me through that horrific time, and who had the faith to believe in and vision to see happier, more peaceful times to come. I literally could not have gotten through that time without him. He was the only one who had the ability to bring any bit of calm to my tumultuous heart.

Then, there's the overwhelming feeling of gratitude for how far we've come together. I never knew life could be this good again. There are definitely still ups and downs. There's still a lot of trauma that I'm working through in counseling and sometimes it throws me to the ground. But overall, life is good. I will admit that I miss the old me before all of this. Sometimes my heart feels the agonizing pain and I desperately wish I could go back to that pre-2016, pre-severe depression version of myself who seemed to have so much potential and who loved myself for who I was at that time. But I'm slowly learning how to accept and love this new version of myself too. The version that is so much more compassionate and understanding than I ever could have been before. The person who has overcome mountains and can help others overcome mountains too. 

But mostly, there's the desire to tell every single person who is currently living in a nightmare, who wonders if their dark night has an end and the light will come again, that YES, there are much better days ahead. We went through absolute hell for 4 months, but somehow we've come out on top and can see breathtaking views from where we are now. Oh how I wish I could hug every broken heart and share my hope for the future. My life is far from how I imagined it would be, and there are so many things that feel like no one can understand or that feel far from "normal," but this life is beautiful because it shattered but now it's slowly being put back together.

Rainbows

 I've had all of these thoughts swirling around in my mind for such a long time and haven't known how to articulate them, but I have to get them out, so I'll try my best. These thoughts have brought such waves of emotion, this lump in my throat feeling that I could cry so easily, but I haven't wanted to because I know it won't change anything about our situation.

It started with Garrett's birthday. For some reason, that day brought this unexpected, overwhelming reminder that we will only ever have two kids, that he will forever be my youngest. I never thought it would be this way, and it often feels like it was never supposed to be this way.

Then, I had this vivid dream one night that I had just had a baby. I was so happy in the dream. I can't put into words what that happiness felt like. I couldn't wait to show my sweet, perfect baby to anyone and everyone around me. I knew they would be so surprised and excited with me. Everything felt right and complete in my world. It all seemed so tangibly real. And then I woke up, and it felt like my heart shattered into a million pieces again. I couldn't help but cry on and off all day long.

Next, it was National Rainbow Baby Day. I couldn't help but think of how I will never get that rainbow baby I've dreamed of. I remembered how the day after finding out our baby (#3) no longer had a heartbeat, a beautiful rainbow filled the sky. It felt like this sign of hope that our rainbow would come. The next three weeks brought six more rainbows. I had never seen so many in my life so close together. On the day I had surgery to remove that perfect lifeless baby, another rainbow filled the sky. There it was. Another promise, I thought, that our rainbow was coming. I just had to be patient and wait. A while later, I went through the excruciating process of going off my depression medication to try to have that one last baby to complete our family. After three months, I found out I was pregnant, but no sooner had I found out I was pregnant when we lost that baby too. And yet, as I took a step outside to get some fresh air that day, another rainbow appeared. It seemed so clear. Our rainbow would come. It had to. I couldn't comprehend my life going on any other way. I decided I would wait a while and then try one more time and it would work. I was certain. But unfortunately, my whole world came crashing down before then. After being in the hospital three times in four months for depression and anxiety, it became abundantly clear and we were very strongly directed not to have any more babies. My risk of developing postpartum psychosis was very high given my history and the fact that my depression is caused by a hormone problem, so it simply wasn't going to be a possibility to grow our family anymore.

Today the memory popped up on my Facebook that on this day in 2019, I had that surgery and saw that beautiful rainbow. 

I've thought so much about rainbows in the last while and have come to the conclusion that maybe all the rainbows I saw weren't meant to be promises or bring hope for another baby, although they seemed that way at the time. Maybe instead, they were God's way of telling me that He was there through my heartache. That I wasn't alone. That better days were sure to come, and they have.

Now when I see a rainbow, I mostly feel peace. Peace that I have two sweet, beautiful kids who bless my life beyond measure. Peace that everything happens for some reason, even if that reason is still very unclear to me. Peace that everything will still be okay, even if it gets bad again for a time. Peace that everything that feels unfair in this life will someday be made okay. Peace that this isn't my fault. And peace that it's okay to grieve and feel heartache when it comes, because that's all part of the healing process.

Postpartum Psychosis

 Lately, I've told myself that I want a fresh start at life. I don't want to be the "depressed person" anymore. A few weeks ago, I vowed to myself that I would no longer talk or write about depression publicly, because I don't want anyone to think of that as part of my identity. This resolution has come with a price. I've felt conflicted because I don't want anyone to think they are alone in struggling with mental health and haven't known how to maintain that connection for people while also attempting to change how I am perceived. But then this happened, and I cannot bear to be silent about it, even though my writing about depression will still be much less frequent than in the past. 

My heart is completely shredded reading articles about Lindsay Clancy, a woman who recently killed her 3 children and then attempted suicide but survived. She had postpartum psychosis. She was treated inpatient for a while and then was being treated outpatient 5 days a week while her husband worked from home as to not leave her alone. He left for a short time to pick up dinner for the family one evening and came home to his entire family being gone in an instant. It's gut wrenching to say the least. He has since spoken out saying that he has forgiven her and he has attempted to reassure anyone who didn't know her that she was so loving and cared deeply about her kids, but there was something very wrong inside her brain that took over her ability to think anywhere close to rationally. She was trying so hard to overcome this, but ultimately the very real chemical imbalance in her brain won. At some point she is going to wake up from where she's at mentally now and will have to come to terms with what she did. She will live the rest of her life in hell because she was mentally sick and did something without being able to think clearly about what it was she was doing. 

Despite his beautiful words, so many people have criticized her harshly saying things like, "she's a monster," "how could anyone do that to their own kids?," or "she knew what she was doing and continued with it on purpose." My heart aches reading these words. These people clearly don't know what it is like to be in such a dark hole, backed into a tight corner, not sure how to escape and not being able to see that things can and will get better. 

I suppose the reason this hits so close to home is because this is why we can't have anymore kids. The hormone doctor I met with at the hospital in 2021 adamantly warned that given my history and extreme reaction to hormone changes, my chance of developing postpartum psychosis is very high. We've taken extra precautions to make sure that there is no possibility I can get pregnant, and while there are times it breaks my heart that this is our reality, I read stories like this and think about how I can't let that possibly be me. 

Please please PLEASE, I'm begging you, please find it in yourself to feel compassion for this mom. It doesn't make sense what happened, but I completely believe she didn't understand.  She probably thought she was doing what was best for everyone and now her and her family's lives are forever changed. Please check on your postpartum friends. Please reach out if you are ever struggling. I will always be a safe place. You are so loved, needed, and wanted, and the light will always come again. I'm proof of that.

Coeur d'Alene Press

 I'm so excited and humbled.  An article about my Christmas Socks for Hope project made the front page of the Coeur d'Alene Press!!!  I love getting to share something that means so much to me.  I was also called by two other news stations in Spokane, but they didn't realize that I don't get to deliver the socks personally, so they were hoping to feature my project in action and interview me on Christmas day.  They will cover it next fall/winter instead.  I'm so thankful to see this grow and to be able to hopefully warm more feet and hearts in the future.  

Since these pictures are hard to read, here is a link to the online article: https://cdapress.com/news/2022/dec/29/more-just-socks/

Rocky

 The thing I despise very most about Rocky (my kidney stone) is how he has affected my mental health more and more as time has gone on.  Because of the pain from him and my surgery to aid in my process of getting rid of him, I've had to stop swimming, standing/walking for too long, and driving.  (Thankfully the last couple of days have been better so I've been able to do a little more.)  Because of the infections he has caused, I've had to stay away from people and germs to try to get this all cleared up so I can get the surgery done to take him away forever.  All of these things combined make a perfect recipe for depression.  And then it's all compounded by the fact that it's Christmastime and my depressed brain tells me that I'm the crummiest mom ever, my kids will never have good memories, they need someone else who can give them a better life, and I'm simply not good enough.  All the tears this week have been exhausting.  

One good thing is that I can clearly see the impact exercise has on my mind, which gives me even more motivation to do it when I'm a able to again. 

Another good thing is that I have a sweet boy who is willing to share his most prized puppy, blankie, and blippi bear when I can't seem to stop the tears from flowing. 😍 

And the last good thing is that I have an appointment tomorrow with the urology clinic.  I had a urine culture on Monday and not all of the infection is gone yet, but hopefully we can still schedule to get rid of Rocky forever!!!  🤞🤞🤞

Finished Socks!

 Thanks to Birdie's Pie Shop and Thrivent and other generous donations, along with LOTS of willing hands, we finished all of our socks and messages for this year!  I can't wait to take them to the youth and adult inpatient mental health units for Christmas morning. 

Free

 Free.  

It's the best word I can use to describe what I felt this day last year.  It was this day that I was able to go home from the third time of being in the hospital.  Quite honestly, I was terrified.  The last two times I had gone home, I left the "safety" of the hospital and came home only to find out both evenings that the severity of anxiety was still ever-present and ever-painful.  I had grown convinced that this was my new life, a life that I simply could not bear.  I wondered if I would forever have to live in the hospital, away from my precious family, because that would be the only place where I could be okay.  I had never felt something like this before, and there continue to be no words to explain how excruciatingly painful all of it was.  

This time, I came home ready for the panic attack that was sure to rear its ugly head that evening.  Literal miracles had occurred that third time in the hospital, but I still wasn't sure if they would last or if I was still living on the high of having hope in a better life than I had before imagined for myself.

I got home, we finally celebrated my birthday since I had gone back to the hospital on my birthday, and we snuggled on the couch to watch a movie.  I continued to tell myself that this time was different, that I wasn't going to panic like before, that I really was okay, but this huge part of me didn't know what to believe, and I was beyond scared.  If those physical symptoms of anxiety manifested themselves again, especially to the intensity I had been enduring for so long, I knew we would have to make some very difficult decisions about my long-term wellbeing.  

But that evening, there was no panic.  I still wasn't convinced that I wouldn't end up back in the hospital within a few weeks or months,  but an evening without panic felt like maybe, just maybe, I had finally woken up from the nightmare I had been stuck in for 4 months.  

The next day was the same.  No panic.  Still fear that this wouldn't last, but no physical anxiety like before.  Day after day, this continued.  There were many ups and downs, but they were different.  I could tell that the cocktail of medications I was taking was working.  There were powerful triggers that would leave me crippled, but Kyle helped me through those, and I remained out of the hospital.  

This last year has been difficult in ways that are equally impossible to describe, but we are moving forward.  The hard days are spreading out farther.  The good days are becoming more of the normal.  I am finding peace.  

This is the day I gained a second chance at life, because I was finally free.