Stress-Free Year

According to Charlotte, if I can get to one year of mental stability, then I am considered in "remission."  If I can get to five years, then I am basically "cured."  The depression is coming up on one month of stability.  The anxiety (physical symptoms of anxiety, not the worrying thoughts of anxiety) are still holding on, so that time hasn't started yet.  I hope we can get that part under control soon.

Basically, I have to try my very hardest in the next year to avoid any additional stress or certain triggers that could cause a relapse.  This means postponing a spring break vacation to Arizona and southern Utah, not having a big family gathering (or really any family gathering) for Brooklyn's baptism, and not pushing myself too hard or committing to too many things.  

This is really hard for me.  Sometimes I feel like I am ruining my family's life through my struggles, and that hurts me deeply.  Sometimes I feel like I'm missing out on such sweet, critical years with my kids, and that hurts me too.  More than I can put into words.  Sometimes I miss being able to push myself hard and accomplish great things, or being able to commit to a variety of service and social events.

But when I feel the discouragement start to settle in, I remind myself that I am doing all of this BECAUSE I love my family and want to reach my year of stability for them.  I remember that my heart is still healing, and that's okay.  It's okay to take the time I need to push myself harder.  I still wish this could be some other way, but I just have to think how much sweeter all of these things will be when my darkness is finally far behind me.

190 Days

I think I'm finally ready to talk about this.  We'll see if I can have the courage to keep the post up and not take it down.

On August 1st, 2021, I got in my car and drove away from the safety of my home and family with no plan of returning. I felt like I had to escape the relentlessly powerful panic I had been experiencing constantly, and it seemed that there was only one way to do that. I tricked my husband into going to get his shoes on to take a walk, grabbed the keys, and left. The sky was dark and gloomy, but nothing compared to how I felt inside. I got on the highway as my mind was racing about how I was going to proceed. I knew exactly what I wanted to do. But for whatever reason, I kept driving, somehow unable to stop.

Then my phone started to ring. It was my husband. I ignored his call. I was sure that neither him nor anyone else was capable of helping me at that point. All of this had gone too far, and I couldn't bear any of it anymore. My phone rang again. It was my husband again. And once again I ignored him, still thinking that I was beyond saving. Finally on the fourth or fifth call, I hesitantly answered. He begged me to come home. In a voice that I did not recognize coming from myself, I told him that he had to let me go. After a while, he finally convinced me to meet him at a park. He grabbed my completely numb hands and took me to the hospital.

That, my friends, is why my heart and mind are packed to the brim with trauma right now. That is why any semblance of anxiety or depression brings out a response in me like never before.

But that is also why I made this video. Because 190 days later, I've made so many good memories with my family. Maybe less memories than what I would hope if I wasn't still sick much of that time, but little memories and moments nonetheless that I would have missed out on if I wouldn't have stayed, if I wouldn't have trusted in the love of my husband who told me that I was worth saving, if I wouldn't have seen the tiniest glimmer of hope when I realized that maybe there was still an option to live and to not be in so much constant pain.

We have learned in the last 190 days that magic doesn't exist. We're still trying to figure out how to help all of this get better completely, but things are better than they were, and I feel hope that they will continue getting better. I'm so glad now that I didn't give in.

Moving Forward

I have to share a thought I've had the last few days. But first a little background. I've been sad recently. Not the depressed kind of sad, but the sad that comes from the pain of realizing what my life is now compared to what it used to be. All the broken pieces, all the missed years of learning and growth and progression, and all the missed opportunities with my family and friends and in my community have really gotten me down. Kyle has tried to point out that I've grown, I've been able to reach tens of thousands of people all around the world through writing openly about my depression, and I've started an unofficial non-profit for the psych unit of the hospital because of these struggles, but I've repeated that I would trade all of that for what I once had going for me. 

But I realized something a few days ago that has lifted me up. I realized that a portion of the good that happens in the world has come from bleak circumstances. I can think of so many examples. An organization created to teach self-defense was started by someone who had been kidnapped and sexually abused. A family who lost their daughter to drowning wrote about their grief and delivered hospital stay goodie bags in honor of their daughter to help others in their same position. Another family who lost their sweet little girl to diabetes consistently share the warning signs and use their voice to try to make sure another family won't go through the same horror. A family who lost their son after he was hit by a car at an intersection host a bike safety day for the community every year and give away free helmets. A woman who lost her husband to suicide shares her story and her pains as well as the pains of her children to help others know how important it is to stay. The list could go on and on. No one wanted these things to happen, but the bad opened their eyes to a need that they were prepared to fill through their understanding, and most importantly, they chose to fill it.

I wish so terribly that I wouldn't have been severely depressed for so many years and now carry the trauma of all the things that came with that, but the fact is, I was, so now I have to decide what I'm going to do with it. All of the people I mentioned before inspire me to continue to use my past darkness to do good, however that might look.

Do I still wish that I could go back and somehow stop everything bad from happening? YES! But am I learning to look to the future and do what I can to use these experiences for good? Also yes. It's hard not to wish for different circumstances, but we don't often get to choose those. So I'm doing what I can to be thankful for my ability to choose how to move forward from this now.

Face of Depression

 I was so depressed at the time these pictures were taken, so very depressed, but no one would know looking at them.  They would think I was living a wonderful dream, and in many ways I was with my sweet little family, but depression got in the way of that dream.  

I wish, probably more than anything else, that people could understand the face of depression.  Sometimes it looks happy.  Or put together.  Or even peaceful.  But sometimes hidden behind a smile is pain and heartache.  So... don't forget to be kind.  Remember that everyone has some weight they are carrying, whether or not that is depression.  Check on your seemingly happy friends.  Don't be afraid to give a compliment or express love.  You never know how much it could mean to the person receiving it.  Don't assume that your smiling friends have a perfect life.  They might be snuggling their people close just hoping for better days to come eventually.

Also, a lot of people have asked how I have been doing recently, and the answer is good (for 8 days, which is a long time for me).  Who knows if that will last or if there are more bumps in the road ahead, but right now is good and so I'm truly happy and peaceful.  I hope more than anything that it will stick around.

Puzzle Pieces

 When I got home from the second time of being in the hospital, my whole life felt like it was laying before me in a million shattered pieces. I still wasn't feeling well at all, and I hardly knew where to start in trying to put my life back together. So Kyle and I made a list. We called it our "puzzle pieces," each piece outlining some part of my life that I hoped I could get back at some point. We knew that it would take time, effort, patience, and lots of little baby steps before I could feel that my old life was restored, but it felt good to get all of these pieces written down. After getting home from my third hospital stay, I was feeling so much better than before and was really ready to start getting to work on the puzzle of my life. Some parts were easy to add back in at that point like eating, being at home by myself, and taking care of my kids. Others were more difficult like doing my hobbies again (crocheting, photography, piano), grocery shopping, making dinner, or making commitments. And one (doing our family's budget) I just started yesterday, nearly two months after getting home.

Through it all, I've learned that healing and progress are not linear. Sometimes I still have some rough days and Kyle has to make dinner or help more with the kids, but overall, my puzzle is coming together quite nicely. I'm going to be so proud of this one when it is finished.

Incredible People

 Somehow in this big, long, often difficult journey with my mental health over the last several years, I've crossed paths with some of the most incredible people, people who have been willing to give of their time, effort, knowledge, and love to try to help me. It instantly brings me to tears when I think of these special people in my life. And sometimes I've wondered why? Why do they do it? Why do they care so much about me? I'm just one ordinary person, but somehow that doesn't seem to matter to them. Somehow they feel that I'm needed, that my life is irreplaceable, that I am worth getting better. I'm so thankful beyond words for these good people. I am here and slowly healing because some really smart, caring people and my sweet family have not given up on me.

Struggle

 I'm struggling so much right now. I've had a few very rough days and nights recently, and that is so discouraging and frustrating to me. I feel pains that are impossible to explain and that it seems no person is capable of understanding, and that leaves me feeling incredibly alone. I wish all of this "getting better" could be over at once, but it's a process, sometimes a painfully slow process. I think things are progressively getting better. I want to believe that they are. But my heart is also very afraid, afraid to feel hope, afraid that everything will suddenly come back and I will be stuck in my hellish nightmare again, afraid that I'm going to lose everyone around me because my darkness is too much for them to handle, and afraid that my broken heart is beyond healing. I hope 2022 is a year that I can look back on and see just how far I've come. I pray that it will be the year I will finally find a peace that will be here to stay for a very long time. I'm practically begging God to make this my year to find myself again, the me that feels buried in pain and trauma and scars. I want to find the light that used to fill my eyes. I may not be able to do it on my own, but when I am in Kyle's arms, I feel that somehow I can get there again.

Christmas

This Christmas is one that our family will never forget. During Thanksgiving week, I got a call from the Post Falls police department informing me that our family was nominated and chosen to participate in the Holidays and Heroes program. This program allows families in need to create a Christmas list of three wants and three needs for each member of their family, the police officers do the shopping, and then they show up at your house with wrapped boxes of presents. I tried to tell them that we were doing okay financially, even after our rough few months of hospital bills, and surely this could bless another family more than ours, but they insisted that if anything our family needed to know that we were loved. A couple weeks later, the officers showed up with more gifts than we could have imagined, along with boxes of food, crafts for my kids, a handmade quilt for Brooklyn, and more. We were not in need of all of the food, so we were able to pass some on to families in need in our community. It felt good to be able to bless others because we had been so blessed.

Then a friend at our church nominated us and we were chosen to receive 15 beautiful books for our kids' personal library. Once again, we felt loved and noticed. 

When we were going through our rough patch, both Kyle and I often wondered where God's love was or if He was aware of our family at all. It was hard not to feel like we had been abandoned in a time when we needed God most. When all of this happened for Christmas, Kyle mentioned that it was like God's way of showing us that He was there and we were loved all along. Maybe we didn't "need" everything we were blessed with, but we surely felt loved, so if that was the goal, it was accomplished.

We are going to contribute to both of these programs next year to spread love to other families who may just need to know that they are not forgotten and are loved.

Life Isn't Fair

I see these memories pop up and every time my heart physically aches and tears automatically well up in my eyes. I can't help but question why? Why does our family have to end here? I wanted so badly to prove to myself that my broken body was still capable of producing life. I wanted to announce our sweet double rainbow baby and finally get to celebrate a pregnancy that wouldn't end in miscarriage. I wanted to feel the miracle of life growing inside my body again. I wanted to snuggle my newborn close and smell that sweet, fresh smell. I even thought having another baby could help heal some of the parts of my heart that hurt so terribly because the innocence of a new life seemed to have the potential to soften past pains. I don't mean to complain or sound pessimistic. I'm just expressing the human emotions that come with unmet expectations and dreams. I never thought half of my pregnancies would not make it. I never thought our family would end at two. So while I'm thankful for my two beautiful kids, there's still a piece of me that feels like it's missing, and that gap may never be filled.

But if there's one thing I've learned in the last few years, it's that life isn't fair for anyone. It isn't fair that we had to lose two babies and can't have anymore, but it's also not fair for someone else that they don't get to have the supportive marriage that I have. It's not fair that I have struggled with severe depression for so many years, but it's not fair for someone else that they don't have a home or the financial security that I have. The list could go on and on. Nothing about life is fair, so we feel the pain and hurt, and then we go on, helping each other through our own unique unfairness. I'm certainly thankful for the people who have helped me through mine.

My Dark Night

 Everything I wish people could understand about suicide summarized in one quote posted by my new friend Katelyn: “They didn’t want to leave; they just didn’t know how to stay.”  I wish beyond anything that people could understand that.  Nothing has ever hit so close to home as reading that quote.

I want to share a story, one that would have been too painful to share just a week ago before working through this in EMDR.  Please use caution in reading this if you are struggling.  I don’t want it to bring any unnecessary pain to anyone who is already suffering.

The night before I was admitted to the psych unit for the third time this fall, I spent an excruciatingly long, lonely night in the ER.  I cannot really begin to explain the level of pain I experienced that dark night.  I will suffice it to say that I was in so much emotional pain that it was beyond anything that is possible to put into words or to comprehend.  I truly felt that no one could help me anymore and that the only way I could feel peace again was to die.  I felt beyond any sort of hope, but at the same time, I knew that I had two beautiful children and a loving husband who needed me.  So I was torn.  Torn between two very painful worlds, a world of suffering and heartache and a world of peace but separation from my family who I loved so much.  I knew my family would be devastated to lose me.  I knew it would cause them so much pain, but I could not see any other option.  I couldn’t keep living in such terrible pain.  I was completely conflicted.

That night, I hardcore grieved for my family.  I pictured their devastated faces finding out that I was gone and hurt so terribly at the thought that our lives had come to the point.  I prayed that there could be some other option that could open up for me so that I didn’t have to be torn between these two worlds and could have happiness and peace with my family here again.  

For some reason that I don’t really remember, I opened up my phone and started looking at pictures.  I saw a video I had taken of my son just a few days prior of him dancing during the credits of a movie.  I started to ugly cry, gasping for air between bitter sobs.  I couldn’t miss all of these little moments.  I couldn’t bear to watch my family grow from the sidelines.  But I couldn’t keep going through such pain either.  I wanted so terribly to find a way to be okay again, while feeling that it was really completely out of reach.

Looking back on that night, it was painful, but sacred, a night spent with God, openly sharing my pain and fears and begging for just the slightest bit of hope.  Little did I know what God had in store for me in just a couple of days by sending me Charlotte.  I picture now Him hurting so terribly with me that night, while trying to whisper to me, “I’m listening.  Hold on just a little longer.  The answers to all of your prayers is coming.  You will be okay again.  You will live a happy life with your family again.  It’s coming.  I promise it’s coming.”  And it did come, all because of Charlotte, my forever angel and answer to my most heartfelt prayers.

This Christmas, I feel the deep pain of what could have been.  The pain at the possibility of my family spending this Christmas without me, my husband trying to figure out how to provide for our two kids and how to comfort them and how to give them the happy Christmas they would have desperately needed.  But instead, I get to be here with them.  I get to experience the real healing that can only come through Jesus Christ.  It will likely take several more weeks for my hormones to completely balance out, as well as several months of counseling to overcome the trauma of what I experienced, but I am here and my prayers truly are still being answered.  I don’t have to contemplate leaving or staying anymore.  My dark night is over, and I am slowly finding my peace again.