My Forties Reboot

A Life in Just a Paragraph

My dad passed away on January 3rd. Pancreatic cancer. We found out the week of Thanksgiving, but dad knew months before we did. I think we had just under 6 weeks to get in all the visits and time we could. It wasn’t nearly enough.

While everyone went about planning the funeral and celebration of life, I was tasked with writing the obituary. Having never written one, I wasn’t sure where to start or what to include. How do you condense 81 years into a short paragraph? Eighty-one years of a very full life is impossible to condense into a few adjectives, titles and interests. Avid reader, tinkerer, husband, father, grandfather. His life was so much richer than that.

I will try to do him justice.

My dad was the oldest, and smallest, of four boys–Forrest Ray (Frosty, my dad), Phillip Richard (Dick), Daniel Robert (Bob) and David. He was born in Wichita, Kansas but lived in Washington for most of his childhood. He was raised by both his mother and, at times, his grandparents. He was a bit of a wild child with a mischievous streak and regularly had adventures that bordered on dangerous. He was quiet and shy growing up. Nothing like he was later in life.

He joined the U.S. Marines and the mischievous nature was not quelled. If anything, it was amplified. He was proud to serve as a Marine and served for 5 years–from 1959 to 1964. He shared stories of the men he served with as well as the things they did and the trouble they caused. He was always a kid at heart.

He had a short marriage to my biological mother (who had a daughter) and had me. After they divorced, he raised me and my sister on his own. It was the 70’s and dads rarely got custody, but mine did. It wasn’t too long after the divorce he met Linda, my step mom (just mom). He loved my mom. He wasn’t much of a romantic, but when you saw them together, his love for her was always apparent, in his words and deeds. With mom came two kids that he raised and loved as if they were his own. Blending a family is never easy, but they did the best they could, and all their kids turned out pretty well.

Dad was an avid reader. He loved politics and history, science and space. He devoured one book and moved to the next. He read magazines and newspapers and online news resources. He loved learning and studying. When he was in college, he was studying to become a history teacher. Life happened and he never became a teacher in the traditional sense, but he did spend his life teaching–how to repair things. how to build things, how to best grow plants in your garden, etc. There wasn’t a lot he didn’t know or couldn’t figure out.

One thing everyone agrees on is that my dad could talk. He talked about everything. He loved a good conversation and he could talk to anyone. Everything he read about, he talked about. My sister and I can talk a lot, but when my dad would get going, he could beat us both.

He loved his yard and loved keeping it beautiful. He taught us, and anyone, really, what would grow well and the best way to get the various garden and yard plants to grow. His mother was a magician when it came to her garden and greenhouse, and she passed that gift on to my dad. Up until he got sick, he mowed his own lawn and kept his yard immaculate.

My dad was a generous man. While he never had a lot of money, he was always generous with his time, assistance and attention. All anyone had to say was, “I need help with xxxxx”, and my dad’s response was “I will be there in 20 minutes.” He would drop whatever he was doing, gather the necessary tools and go to wherever there was a need. He never hesitated to help his kids, grandkids, neighbors and strangers. Dad to the rescue, too many times to count.

His home was open to anyone–we often had “strays” in our house. Yes, there were stray animals, but I am referring to the human strays. Anyone who needed a meal or a place to stay, they were welcome in our home. When I was a single mom and my oldest son was tiny, my parents would often give me their last $5 to make sure I had enough gas in my care to make it to payday and I don’t know how many times they would go through their pantry and fill up a grocery bag to make sure my son and I had enough to eat.

He loved his kids, but oh my gosh, did he love his grandkids. He doted on them. He loved talking to them, spending time with them and sharing with them. Whether it was his art, his stories, a skill he had picked up or his lunch. I don’t think anything made him happier than his grandkids. Except for Mom.

His life was rich and full. He was happy-go-lucky and not much got to him. He was not a worrier. I miss his laugh. I miss talking to him. I miss his stories (that he told over and over again). I miss his sarcasm. Every time I go see my mom, I expect to see him in his chair watching the news, the weather channel or some history program. Life will not be the same without his presence. Rest in peace, dad. I love you.

Staycation Wake Up

So, I wrote a staycation post back at the end of June about how stressed I was and how I really wanted and needed a vacation. I had never needed one so badly. I wrote about all the things I wanted and planned to do, but of course didn’t and mostly rested instead.

To give some perspective, in the last year or so, I have dealt with the remnants of covid crap, work stress, a lot of overtime, the death of my grandfather, the approval and purchase process of buying my own home, my dad having a heart attack and multiple heart related hospital visits, my parents getting covid and almost losing my dad, my middle son’s school schedule, a minor bout of covid (for the second time), demo of my upstairs to replace the flooring, every piece of which was defective and required ordering new stuff, and spending money I didn’t really have, a car accident and managing my depression and dealing with my son’s and preparing for my middle son to graduate and go off to college. There has been a lot going on.

I was enjoying my staycation, doing very little, when, On June 30th I woke up to a hell of a surprise. The right side of my face didn’t feel right, kind of like when you go to the dentist, get shot up with a bunch of Novacaine and your face starts to wake up. It felt cold and I couldn’t move my right side facial muscles. My first thought was Bell’s Palsy because my sister had it a few months prior, and my symptoms were the same. The scary part of that is that a stroke can start out with those symptoms. I didn’t think I had a stroke because other than the facial muscles, I felt okay. I did have pain behind my ear and experienced some mild dizziness when I tried to get out of bed that morning. My 18 year old was pretty concerned and insisted that I should go get it checked out. My co-workers/friends were also very concerned and told me to go to the doc. So, begrudgingly, I went.

I went to an urgent care type of clinic since they take walk-ins. The PA took one look at my face and told me she couldn’t diagnose me (don’t have the proper imaging equipment) and that I needed to go to the ER right away. She offered to call me an ambulance. I had driven there, and the hospital was about 2 miles away, so I opted to drive. When I arrived at the hospital, they were waiting for me and whisked me back to examine me and rule out a stroke. There was a team within about 2 minutes that went to work preparing me for an MRI. It was a little surreal to have that whirlwind of activity going on around me. The doc was pretty sure it was Bell’s Palsy but they did an MRI anyway just to be safe, and that confirmed the diagnosis. They immediately started me on prednisone, and I was able to go home.

I started researching Bell’s Palsy and found that stress can activate a dormant virus and the inflammation from that can mess with the facial nerve, causing temporary paralysis of one side of the face. It could take two weeks to start to see gradual improvement which is just about exactly how long it took. And gradual it has been. As the muscles started to work, I went through ear pain, pain behind the ear, and excruciating pain in my right eye. As the muscles start to communicate with the nerve again, it can create some “discomfort”. I felt like there was a sharp spike in my eye–it hurt to open it, it hurt to close it (I tried to hold it closed since the lid would not close yet) and eye drops wouldn’t touch the pain. I ended up having to call in sick at work–the only time in the process that I did. My facial muscles are still weak. It is most noticeable when I eat because I cann0t use my mouth and lip muscles the way I need to to clear the food from a fork or spoon, and I cannot whistle anymore. My hearing is like listening to someone speak through water. That is getting better, but it is not back to normal and may not ever be.

The whole experience was a bit of a wake-up call. My work/life balance was crap. I wasn’t taking care of myself the way I needed to. I have been tired all the time and I put on weight. I wasn’t taking my medication the way I needed to. So much was wrong, and it could have been so much worse. A stroke could have been devastating. Bell’s Palsy was certainly not comfortable, and it was definitely inconvenient, but I am thankful that is what it was. I can see how important taking care of myself really is and I have been taking some small steps to improve my situation–Eating better, eating less and moving more. I still love Coke Zero and that will take a lot more effort to ditch, but for now, I will keep taking small steps that benefit my health. I have a long way to go, but I am on my way.

Empty Nest, Full Life

Twelve years ago, my oldest son graduated high school. My middle son graduated last week. My youngest finished his sophomore year Friday. I used to panic at the thought of an empty nest, especially after the divorce. I have been a mother for 30 years. By the time my youngest graduates, it will be 32 years. That is a long time to do something. Long enough that you get so used to being “mom” that you forget everything else. You lose sight of who you are, who you want or wanted to be and the things you wanted for yourself. When you are a parent, you have to put a lot of things aside, and sacrifice a lot of what you want. Not that I am complaining. I love being a mom, I love my kids and until recently, I wasn’t sure I really wanted anything else.

Maybe it is menopause or maybe it is the light at the end of the tunnel illuminating my possibilities, but a few weeks ago, my fear and dread of an empty nest all but disappeared. It was a frustrating week demanding a lot. I had been in a car accident, I was having flooring installed in my house and it was defective, I am working graveyard shift and I was having to break up my sleep to drop off and pick kids from school and work. I had to go get estimates for my car and shop to replace the flooring I waited 2 months for the factory to have available. I have been putting in 5-10 hours per week of overtime at an already stressful job. I was so tired, so frustrated and so moody. I came to a realization–I have been putting myself on the back burner, scratching out bits of time for myself for 30 years. More than half my life.

I went from changing diapers and losing sleep, to temper tantrums and losing sleep, to children asserting independence and losing sleep. I am on the third round of teen years and all the angst that goes with it. And the loss of sleep. In coping with all the stress and fatigue and worry, I have lost interest and inspiration to paint and create. I don’t socialize. I work. I watch Netflix and I work.

It is not any more of a sacrifice than any other mother has made. I am sure most of them hit a breaking point at some point in their timeline of existence and realize they miss themselves. As a person. As an individual. Something beyond being a wife or a mother. Something, when you become a mom, goes dormant because otherwise our selfish nature with selfish needs would take over and would conflict with every want and need our children have. It doesn’t feel like such a sacrifice. Until it does. A few weeks ago, it did.

As much as I love my children, I am actually looking forward to the empty nest. I have focused so much on everyone and everything else, for such a long time, it will finally be my turn. I can enjoy the freedom that comes with the empty nest. The worry won’t go away. Our kids will always be our kids, but the worry will change.

All the things we view as selfish when the kids are home will no longer be selfish, but something tells me that I will have to constantly remind myself that I have earned it and it is finally my turn. The simplest of things will change–the grocery bill, the utility usage, the use of space. I will be able to travel without having to worry about who will take the kids to and from school and work. More money available for travel and to invest in my house. The dishes in the sink will be mine. The only messes will be mine. I can turn one of the bedrooms into an art studio and paint to my heart’s content. I need to start that before the empty nest though.

I can see possibility over emptiness. Peace over silence. Opportunity over absence. And joy over dread. The coming change is a welcome one.

New Year, Cautiously Optimistic

While 2020 was eventful, to say the least, 2021 was not lacking in that department. World events carried over from the year before and 2021 was a series of ups and downs.

The year started out with my son and I recovering from covid. It took several months before I felt even remotely close to normal. I still have weird holes in my memory and my brain picks the strangest times to block information. It is frustrating, but I have developed a sense of humor about it. It is disconcerting for sure, and I am not sure if my sense of humor about it is real or a defense mechanism to keep from crying over it. Maybe both?

By about March, I was quite over my shitty neighbors and decided that I wanted to buy a house. My first choice of real estate agent and mortgage lender were quite disappointing, but their apparent lack of interest allowed me to reconnect with a friend and she and her team were active in helping me get where I wanted and needed to be. I set a deadline of August for myself and set out doing what I needed to do to get there. I worked overtime, took hours from people and did instacart and UberEats to get debt paid off and closing costs into my bank account. On August 30th, I closed on my house. A cute 1940’s house with 1824 square feet of space. I have a nice yard that will be perfect for a garden. The neighborhood is, for the most part, quiet, with the exception of a rooster that crows every morning and a couple of goats that are quite vocal. I will take their noise to inconsiderate neighbors any day.

Work has been insanely busy. About the third or 4th week of January, everyone decided they had had enough of being cooped up and decided to book travel. New travel, changes in plans, covid cancelations, schedule changes and weather have had us busier than ever. Like, non-stop craziness. Lots of overtime and people aren’t always kind or patient. Most days, I love my job and I love helping people. Some days I just want to cry.

In October, my grandpa, who had been living in a memory care facility because of dementia, passed away. He was 91 and had lived a nice long life. I would like to think he is taking care of my grandma now. He lived his life to take care of her and after she passed, he just wasn’t the same.

In November, my parents, who are both vaccinated, were diagnosed with Covid. It was like a cold for both. Until, for my dad, it wasn’t. A couple days away from their release from isolation, my dad found that he was too weak to stand or do anything for himself. My mom rushed him to the hospital and he was in respiratory distress. His oxygen was at 60% and had she not gotten him to the hospital, we would have lost him, too. Thanksgiving dinner was cancelled and we each did our own thing. Dad was eventually released from the hospital with oxygen, a walker and a healthcare team to help him get back to “normal” or as close to it as possible.

I had the audacity to think that 2021 was going to be better/easier than 2020. In some ways it was. In some ways it was more challenging. I am cautiously approaching 2022, because, God forbid we be too optimistic. There will be good and there will be bad. I will roll with it, whatever happens. I am a survivor and I will not only survive, but I plan on thriving.

This year, my only plan is to be better and kinder to myself than I have been. What that looks like, I am not sure, but I want to take better care of myself physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. That means doing things that make me feel better and make me happy and bring me joy. It also means pruning the circle of people that kill my joy and steal my peace.

Here’s to finding me again.

Depression is a Lying B*tch

Warmer weather of coming summer is upon us and I have mixed feelings about that. I love warmer weather, but I prefer the comfort of hoodies and jeans. I prefer the coverage of hoodies and jeans. I see women my size and larger rocking their confidence in the same things fit women wear and they look stunning. Sexy. But I can’t bear to look at myself in those things. I can’t bear to imagine myself in those things. Know why? Because life can be a bit of a bitch and Depression is a lying, ugly bitch.

On the tougher days, Depression sneaks in and winds her way into my brain and tells me lies. Lies that have been told to me my whole life. That I am not good enough. I am not pretty enough. That I am not feminine enough. That I, the way I am, am not enough. I try to fight those lies, but, oh my gawd, Depression can be loud, stubborn and pushy. She brings up every flaw I have. Every flaw I have ever had. Every trauma inflicted that told me I wasn’t enough. Lately, there have been a lot of tougher days.

A childhood steeped in verbal, emotional and physical abuse. A mother plagued by her own abusive past that didn’t have the tools or skills to deal with a willful child and repeated the hurts and traumas. Being told “I don’t want you anymore.” Not worthy of love, not enough, too much to deal with.

An angry child of divorce that no one even tried to understand and instead tried to correct (both physically and verbally) and criticize and diminish. I didn’t do things the way a girl is “supposed” to. Cut my hair, criticize my taste, tell me my clothes make me look like a balloon, call me other names for fat “as a joke”, my interests are a waste of my time and you will choose “her” over me. Not enough, not girly enough, too fat, not worthy of protecting, unlovable.

Bullied for being smart and awkward and not pretty and wearing glasses. Nerd (which is no longer derogatory, but old applications stick), walking dictionary, four eyes, ugly, soooo not stylish no matter how hard I tried (quite pathetic really), weird, fat (a horrid size 7) completely invisible to the opposite sex when they were not mocking me.

Sexual trauma, assault, rape. Damaged, broken, worthless. Feeling dirty. Lower than whale shit at the bottom of the ocean. Who could love the broken? Being teased that I was easy after my rape. Garbage.

Naive. Inexperienced. Being lied to and used to become someone’s ticket to America. Cheated on. Conceiving a child with said user. A means to an end. A piece of paper, a piece of ass, a piece of trash.

The constant criticism and judgment for being a single mother. Never wed. Slut. Easy. Trash. Whore. All those things unlovable, unworthy. Bad mother.

I got married to someone I thought loved me. Someone that could look past the damage, the hurts, the trauma and love me for me. What happened is that I might as well have been wallpaper for all the attention paid after marriage. Intimacy only took place upon my initiation. Years of passive rejection. The last 5 years celibate. Not worth the effort, unloved, unlovable.

Crushing on someone who seemed good, kind, funny and smart. He paid attention. He listened. I felt like I could have talked to him forever and not run out of things to say. He made me feel seen. Suddenly he stopped speaking to me (for the most part anyway), then he stopped responding to messages and stopped reading them. I drove myself crazy trying to figure out what I did wrong. I’m wrong. Not pretty enough? Not thin enough? Not good enough? Perhaps all of those things. Now I just kind of feel stupid and foolish. Because I still like him.

I have wonderful friends that are always trying to build me up, but Depression is fucking loud and intrusive. On the bad days, the rough days, she is in my face. Taunting me with words and images that hurt. She is relentless. There are so many wounds and so much damage. It is easier to hide it/me in baggy, full coverage unfeminine clothing. I want to hide the ugly. I want to be seen, but not seen if that makes any sense. Not all days are rough days though. I have some amazing days. Most of them are great and my medication does its job. Most days, those thoughts are kept at bay. But medication doesn’t “fix” the problem. It just makes it manageable. The trick is to figure out what WILL fix it. Or, if nothing else, finding someone who understands and can help me get through the bad days and celebrate, enjoy and appreciate the good ones.

For me, I think the first step is to shed the hoodie and wear something that doesn’t hide me. It is time to be brave. It is time to take steps that make me seen, even if it hurts in the beginning. It is time to close the wounds, heal and get comfortable with my scars. And it all starts with a shirt.

Happy New Year?

Well, 2020 wouldn’t have felt complete without a whopper of an ending so to finish it off right, we got covid. My kids were with their dad when he was asymptomatic and the day after he brought them back to me, he was under the weather. He didn’t think much of it until, on December 23rd, he woke up with no sense of taste or smell. Knowing that testing positive was likely just a matter of time, we quarantined and planned on doing so for 14 days. Our symptoms showed up on Christmas day and I got tested the day after.

Fatigue was the first visitor to show up without welcome. My youngest son and I both started with fatigue that had us sleeping anywhere between 12-18 hours per day. We were too tired to get up and get something to eat or drink. If we did get up and walk to the kitchen or bathroom, it would necessitate a nap upon our return to the couch and Netflix.

Fever wasn’t really bad, but it was bad enough that every time I would wake up from one of my many daily naps, I would be drenched in sweat. I would fall asleep feeling chilly and covered in a blanket and wake up a mess.

Body aches were the worst I have ever felt. Like the flu times ten. It hurt to be touched, even with the lightest touch. The weight of clothing draped over the skin hurt and finding comfort in any position was impossible.

My lungs burned every time I inhaled and I would cough when I exhaled. Finding a position to sleep in that did not initiate a coughing fit, was a challenge. I found that sleeping on the couch on my side would give me an angle that allowed for sleep with minimal coughing. When I actually made it to my bed, I would have to have a pile of pillows at my back to create the needed angle.

There were headaches, nausea, vomiting (only Aidan), lightheadedness, nasal congestion, much like a bad cold, and loopiness. Any activity at all would make my muscles burn like I had just worked out.

Most of our symptoms were gone by the time we were released from isolation. The day we were free to leave the apartment, we went to the grocery store for a few things and my walking speed was that of a snail, it took what felt like forever to get about 12 things and our efforts resulted in a much needed nap when we got home.

We were released January 5th and it has been 3 weeks since then and fatigue is still a thing. Not as bad, but bad enough to cause issues. I will wake up and feel motivated to do something and an hour later I am ready for a nap. Some days I feel close to normal and others where I have no desire to move. We are also feeling “off”. I don’t feel like myself, but I can’t pinpoint what is wrong or what doesn’t feel right. Aidan and I are both being treated for depression and the medication had us feeling normal and happy for the most part. It feels like covid undid what the medication corrected. We have continued to take our medication, but for Aidan, the apathy is back and I am overly emotional and reactive and then apathetic. Neither of us has any motivation to do what we love or what needs to be done. I have also acquired a case of the dumb. I occasionally have what I call “dumb” days normally, but I find that I am struggling with everyday things on my job that I have to really think about to be able to do them and when I call other agents for assistance, they point out the obvious.

We have been careful. We wear a mask, social distance, sanitize and wash our hands often. We still got sick. And while our case was pretty mild, it was straight up misery I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I was blessed to have friends check on us every day and deliver meals and instacart to deliver a few groceries a couple of times. I have a job that allows me plenty of sick time so the 2 weeks I had to take off were paid and I didn’t have to worry about how I would pay for rent or groceries.

There were a few things that were tremendously helpful in providing some comfort. 1. Rest. a ton of it. 2.aspirin for the aches (didn’t get rid of them, but did somewhat take the edge off. 3. A hot shower was everything. Nothing brought more relief than a long, hot shower. 4. Hydration. Drink as much as you can. On the days I was awake long enough to consume a semi decent amount of food and water, it made a huge difference in how I felt.

I have a super difficult time with giving myself time to heal and, quite frankly, I am near tears often because of the frustration of how long I have felt like this. I hear it can be months before I feel completely normal. I am struggling with that because I am a single mom with just my income and I can’t do my side gigs feeling like this so I am missing out on earning money I need. I know I will feel better, but I have no patience for that long of a wait. I hate this. It suuuuuuucks. Covid can go kick rocks. I am done with it.

Don’t be a twit

Don’t be a twit. That is what my friend told me. Don’t be a twit. If you need help, ask. You really are a twit about asking for help (yes, I know. I will drown before I will ask for it).

I love her for that.

Sometimes you just need someone to tell you something you already know but don’t want to acknowledge. She is the person that loves you enough to do just that. Let me explain.

This year has been rough to say the least. For everyone. In addition to the same shit everyone else is dealing with, I have had plenty of personal stuff piled on top of everything Covid related. In my past, I have dealt with depression. I know what it feels like when it starts creeping in. I have felt it coming and winding it’s way around my brain, stealing every bit of joy from me. I have been fighting it but after everything, it really is a losing battle, when fighting on your own.

Two months ago, my friend was working on making me masks and I went to her house to try the one she had completed to see if it was comfortable. She took one look at me and asked if I was okay. For the next two hours, I sat on her living room floor, bawled like a baby and poured everything out. I completely lost my shit and quite frankly, it was long overdue. This year has been challenging and it followed a very challenging 2019. Struggle has just been my season for what seems like forever. Anyway my friend, Kari, sat and listened without judgment and didn’t try to fix me. She did, however, tell me that I needed help. I already knew that, but denial and a fair amount of shame kept me from seeking it. I knew the signs. I have been here before. I would never shame anyone else, but somehow when it is me, I struggle with shame until my brain works right. I didn’t do anything wrong that caused me to have Hashimoto’s disease or Celiac disease, depression is no different. I didn’t do anything to earn that badge, but somehow it feels different.

I never see anyone. I talk to my coworkers on the phone (it seems I can fake happy really well), text friends and rarely see family. I have isolated myself. If you were to walk into my apartment, you would see the affects of my depression everywhere. That is why I never invite anyone over or let them in if they do stop by. Dishes are in the sink, my art supplies are everywhere. It is like a craft store barfed in my living room. Laundry stays in the basket after it exits the dryer, and stays there until we all dig out what we need. Bills are piled up. I pay them, but I have not had the energy to deal with the evidence. My situation has overwhelmed me and even now that I have my depression and anxiety under control (Thank you Lexapro), I am having trouble sorting out and cleaning up the chaos. I am still overwhelmed which will trigger the anxiety. I am not sure where to start. I no longer fluctuate between being fighting mad and crying all the time, but one or the other still happens on occasion. With cancer or some other medical issue there is usually presenting evidence so it is “real” to the rest of the world. When it comes to things like depression, if often appears to the rest of the world as though you just have a bad case of laziness. In reality, fatigue steals all of your energy and motivation so a lot of things go undone. I would describe the level of tired as walking through waist-deep tar and, while you can push it away from you, it pushes back in from the sides and that is every waking moment. It. Is. Exhausting.

And if dealing with my depression and anxiety wasn’t enough, my youngest son has been diagnosed with the same thing. My oldest son was too, when he was 15 (he is now 28). We saw the changes in his behavior but didn’t know what to do about it so we watched and prayed. Eventually he blew up and I took him to the doctor. On the suicide risk scale, he scored 98/100. When my youngest, who has always been a straight A student, was failing all his classes, we knew we couldn’t wait. I watch him like a hawk and bug the shit out of him about how he is feeling. I am now 8 weeks into my meds and he is about 3 weeks into his. I am feeling pretty great, other than being overwhelmed about where to start reversing the chaos I have created. My son genuinely laughed tonight and I wanted to cry.

To those of you that are struggling–

there is no shame in asking for help
Medicine can be such a godsend
So can therapy
Join a support group on facebook or some other social media where you can be heard, be supported and support others.
Talk to others who have been there.
Take it one day at a time. You can’t fix everything at once. Baby steps are steps.
It is not your fault. You didn’t do anything to deserve it. You are not being punished (that is one I struggle with) and you are not mired in sin/guilt (there some religious folks that like to use that one)
Don’t let your internal voice lie to you. Despite what it says, you are loved, you are worthy, you are important and you matter. I promise you. I know it may not feel that way, but it is true. The world is a better place with you in it.
Vent, cry or rage if you need to. Melting down on occasion is okay. Just don’t take up residence in that place.
Give yourself some grace. You will need it.

To those of you that know or love someone who is struggling–

Listen without judgement.
Don’t try to fix it. You can’t.
Just love them. Tell them you love them. Show them they matter.
They are not weak for seeking medication. You have no clue how strong they have to be to get through each day and each week without having a breakdown.
If you can help, please do, but don’t make a big deal out of it. Clean something, take them out for coffee, go for a walk with them. They will probably vehemently resist your efforts, but do it anyway. Help is so needed, even though most of us are ultra independent (thank you trauma)
Don’t be afraid of tears and super personal stuff. If someone comes to you and unloads, chances are they truly trust you. Please just suck up the discomfort.
Again, listen without judgement.
Don’t take offense if they don’t initiate conversation or return texts. It is not personal and they don’t do it on purpose. When you are exhausted and every thing, every obligation, every responsibility is swirling around in your face and your brain can’t sort it out, responding sometimes just takes too much. Keep trying.
Encourage them to get help.
Never give up on them. You being there for them might keep them from giving up on themselves or their situation.

If there is one thing that is needed in all this mess, it is grace. We all need it. And transparency. If we all treated mental illness the same way we treat disease, more people wouldn’t have the fear of judgement and they would be far more likely to seek help. With as much as we know about mental illness, it amazes me that people still view it differently than any other medical ailment. It’s not.

Tired of the Chaos

I am overwhelmed. I am bone tired. I am kind of sad. I am struggling.

There is a lot coming at me at once and there has been for a while. Constantly being in the line of fire while having no one for support, no one to lean on and no one to share the load, everything gets really, really heavy. And right now I feel kind of like I am suffocating under the weight of a giant boulder.

Earlier this year, my ex and I had our 16 year old son evaluated for ADHD because, as smart and capable as he is, he was facing some challenges. I have always known he is different. He sees things differently. He responds differently. He learns differently. We knew that was probably the diagnosis, but we had said for years that we didn’t want our kids medicated. We always felt kids were over-medicated and we didn’t want to be “those” parents. Everything came to a head earlier in the school year and to give our son a fighting chance, we (me, my ex, my son and our doctor) decided medication was probably the best option.

We had him evaluated and made sure the school got a copy of the paperwork so they would have his diagnosis on file. My son was attending the high school he started in as part of the open enrollment program, since we had moved out of the boundaries. His grades were not good so the principal decided to drop him from the program right before his junior year. Right about that time, all hell broke loose and pandemic erupted in the U.S. The kids were under a lot more stress, dealing with a lot of uncertainty, forced into online school under less than ideal conditions and that is when the principal decided to remove a vulnerable kid with a newly diagnosed learning disability from the school and programs he loved and where all his friends were enrolled. Compassionate of him, right? Well we fought to keep him there. Our pleas were ignored by the principal so as a last ditch effort, I emailed the school district and Nathan emailed his debate teacher and his teacher went to bat for him. All those efforts paid off and my son gets to stay at his school of choice and the administration will be sharing the resources they so freely give to others. We have also come to realize that he may also be on the autism spectrum (he has lots of signs/symptoms of Asperger’s). So we will be having him evaluated for that as well.

I have two kids in high school, each of them will be attending different schools in different cities. Maybe. It all depends on the direction this damn virus goes. They are starting out remotely and will probably end up in the actual school, but as to when that will be, it is anybody’s guess. So much uncertainty. I have to work (I am lucky to work from home) so I will have to figure out how to keep the kids on task and make sure they get their work done, while trying to avoid the battles over getting a teenager to do anything. Or I will have to find a way to make sure each child gets to their respective school on the days that I have them. A lot depends on what shift I am working and what days I have off and that changes every couple of months and I have very little control over that. I am not sure how we will do that without me losing my youngest son living with me 50% of the time. Not having my kids here on their dad’s days is hard enough, but I don’t know how I will deal with him not being here during MY time if it comes to that.

My living situation has been quite stressful. I live in an apartment managed by a company/individual who does not really seem invested in making sure the living environment is comfortable. I love my apartment. I love the layout. I love the personality. I like the area that it is in. Those are not the issue. I live in a fourplex. I occupy the top floor. I have one neighbor that occupies half of the groundfloor and part of the basement, one neighbor that is half of the groundfloor and one that is half of the basement. The two car garage attached to the building is part of my apartment as I am the only one that has access to it. Long story short–I can’t park in the garage. They couldn’t program the opener for the door I asked them to and instead they programmed the side where they let my neighbor park. According to the manager, the only thing it has ever been used for is storage so that’s it. I can’t park in the garage I pay for. The hot water and water pressure situation in the kitchen has never been great, but last year it got to the point where I was getting a little more than a trickle and we would only get water that was slightly warmer than room temperature and we were having to boil water to do dishes and actually get them clean. I reported this to the manager and he told me to check the hot water valve in the kitchen. The second time I contacted him about it, he said they would check it during the biannual inspection that has never taken place in the year and a half we have lived here. In June there was a pipe leaking in my kitchen that was raining into one apartment and dripping into another. It caused a lot of damage as it had been leaking for quite a while. Galvanized pipes wear out and this one looked like Swiss cheese. I can’t help but wonder–if he had actually had someone check out my issue when I told him about it, perhaps damage could have been avoided. Also last year my refrigerator went out. I lost over $200 worth of food, most of which I had just spent the last of my money on. I had a friend that had a refrigerator he was willing to give me (a really nice one), but the manager told me no, that he would replace it. The replacement came 6 days later and it is much smaller than the original one. I appealed to the manager via email about perhaps giving me a break on rent since I needed to feed my kids and now couldn’t because of their broken equipment. He never answered me. My neighbors in the ground floor apartment are young and seem to have no concept of just how loud they are. Yelling, screaming and cheering until 3 am over a video game that is so loud it booms in my apartment. Music so loud it vibrates my floor and desk (while I am trying to work) and requires that I turn up the volume on my TV so I can hear it. When I was working graveyard shift, I would get off work at 4 a.m. and by 5 a.m. they would already be up and singing at the top of their lungs or listening to loud music. And the manager says that I should call the cops because he can only “suggest” that they turn it down. At the end of my lease I will be scrambling to find something affordable to rent or purchase and that will not be an easy task.

I am a social person and when all the lockdowns and stay at home orders began, it was only supposed to be for a couple of weeks, so no big deal, right? Two weeks turned into a month and then two months. And so on. No going anywhere unless it is absolutely necessary. Everything except major grocery stores closed indefinitely. Wear a mask. Stay 6 feet apart. Don’t get together with friends or family. Don’t go to church. Don’t touch anyone. No hugging friends. It has been a miserable 6 months, not just for me, but for my kids as well. One is very social and being without his friends has been very hard on him. My introverted son struggles too. He doesn’t have a huge circle of friends, but he needs time with the circle he’s got.I am constantly worrying about them and, with my history with depression, looking for signs of it in them. Worrying about getting sick. Worrying about my parents getting sick. Being quarantined when my youngest got sick (not uncommon for him) and having to wait for a negative test to come back. And then I see my friends at odds with each other over masks. One side screams that you want to kill grandma if you don’t want to wear a mask. The other side screams that you are a sheeple if you are fearful and wear one, and that you are trampling on their freedom. It is nothing but a shouting match and no one is listening.

I never thought I was super sensitive, but all the unrest in this country is taking a huge toll on me. It is absolutely heartbreaking to see people angry and fighting, to watch cities be burned to the ground and all the violence that seems to be happening at all the protests and demonstrations. Some days it looks like the U.S. is a war torn country far from the place I grew up. I don’t like confrontation. I don’t like discord. Right now there is such division and meanness even between friends and people are so angry. I just hurts my heart.

Celiac disease is the bane of my existence. I hate it. It is inconvenient. It is painful. It complicates being social. When I get stressed, it activates the symptoms, even if I don’t eat anything I am not supposed to. Stress does that to my Hashimoto’s symptoms as well. So along with dealing with all the other things in my life, I am dealing with being sick and in pain most of the time as well. I wish my family took it into consideration when making plans but often, it is not even a blip on their radar. It seems that not including me in family stuff is much easier than working with it or even considering it and that has become so frustrating for me. I hate being left out of things, but I get that I am kind of a pain to deal with.

And then there is my job. I love my job. I love what I do. I love helping people and I am great at customer service. I love the company I work for. Even as much as I love my job, it is way more stressful than I ever thought it could be under normal circumstances, but add the pandemic, and some days or weeks it is off the charts. All this upheaval and fear is making people not want to travel and as a result the airlines have been hit super hard. There has been monumental loss and with that a lot of restructuring. As of a couple weeks ago, I am officially on a furlough list. That does not mean I will get furloughed, but there is the possibility that in a little over a month, I may be unemployed, at least temporarily. The airline I work for is a strong company and it has a lot of very loyal customers who are absolutely itching to travel, so if I do get furloughed, I don’t think it will be for long. And right now, my employers are doing everything they can to avoid furloughs. Even if furlough is a remote possibility, it is still a possibility, and that is quite heavy since my income is the only income. I still have to worry about how I will pay the rent and feed two teenage boys with voracious appetites and pay all my bills if I don’t have a job.

I am overwhelmed.

I have a lot coming at me at the moment and most days I handle life and stress just fine. But this year is different. It is on overload. It is not without its blessings too, though. I have had a lot of time with my kids which has been nice. In a few months, I may have more than I want. Ha ha. We have done road trips and gone fishing and done UberEats and Instacart together and we have had some great conversations. It is definitely not all bad, but honestly I just need a break. I would love to fly somewhere, preferably somewhere with a beach, but everywhere I want to go is pretty much shut down so using my flight benefits isn’t even a possibility right now. I will have to make due where I am and today, I am going boating with one of my besties and I can’t wait. I need time with her and I need to be near/in the water. Today I get to escape all that stresses me. Just those few hours will have me feeling like a new person. At least for a little while. And I have some awesome friends who are a constant source of joy so time with them is a must.

Too Much Information?

I have wanted to post about something, but I have been hesitant. I have always been a pretty modest person and I really don’t like sharing certain details of my life. Anything that I consider embarrassing I have trouble talking about, so really talking about some of the more unpleasant aspects of my auto immune diseases has been off the table. With this post, I want to sort of come clean about them and lay it all bare because autoimmune diseases are, for the most part, hidden diseases that are not necessarily well understood by those unaffected. In this post I am going to talk about fun things like bodily functions so if that makes you uncomfortable, I would recommend stopping here and going back to sunshine and rainbows.

First, I would like to explain what autoimmunity is. Basically, your body detects something normal and confuses it for a foreign invader. To fight off this foreign invader, your body sends out antibodies to attack the body or a specific part of your body. With my first autoimmune disease, Hashimoto’s Disease (also known as chronic Lymphocytic Thyroiditis) my body sees my thyroid as the foreign invader. It attacks the thyroid which causes a whole slew of problems since the thyroid is responsible for some very important functions, which I will address a bit later. The second disease is Celiac Disease. With this affliction, the body detects any gluten (a single crumb of bread can set off the autoimmune reaction) and the antibodies are sent to the small intestine to attack it, resulting in a lot of unpleasant and painful reactions. There is no cure for an autoimmune disease. With the Hashimoto’s, I take hormones to replace what the thyroid is not producing or not producing enough of. With celiac disease, there really is no treatment, only a dietary overhaul removing ALL gluten. Both are unpleasant, but things are what they are and we live with what we are given. I mean, what choice do we really have?

Thirteen years ago, when my youngest was about 8 or 9 months old, I started to have some issues. Some of them are the same for depression but I was already on Prozac for post partum depression, so I was pretty sure they were not depression related. The first one was fatigue. I was so tired all the time. I was the mother of a teenager, a toddler and an infant so being tired would be expected to I dismissed it as motherhood. But, I would be so tired that it felt impossible to even get off the couch. Not really just “mom” tired. Then came the cold. I could never get warm. One of the symptoms of Hashi’s is an intolerance to cold but this went way beyond intolerance of cold. It would be 80 degrees and I would be in sweatpants, a t-shirt and a hoodie and be wrapped up in a fleece blanket and I would still be shivering and my teeth would be chattering. The thyroid is responsible for your internal thermostat and your metabolism so when it underperforming, those things go a bit wonky. Even with those things being very obvious indicators that something was wrong, I denied that there was. After Aidan was born, I was doing well at losing the pregnancy weight and then at about 6 months weight loss came to a screeching halt and the gaining started. My hair was dry and my skin was so dry and itchy, I would scratch until I bled. I have scars all over from all the damage done from trying to relieve the itching. My monthly cycle got really bad. I would bleed for 3 1/2 weeks out of every 4. I would bleed so much I thought I would bleed to death. The biggest tampons I could find and I would use pads as back up at the same time and I would change about every hour or two and I would bleed so much that it would necessitate changing my pants and underwear at least once or twice a day. I did a lot of laundry. That still didn’t send me into the doctor. Want to know what did finally get me into the doctor? My hair. It started falling out in chunks, similar to but not quite as bad as a chemo patient. I have always had amazing, thick hair and so much of it. When it started falling out, there was no denying that something was wrong with me so I finally went to the doctor.

With a list of symptoms, I went into the doctor and he knew exactly what it was–hypothyroidism. If I had gotten a more definitive diagnosis I might have never found out about the Celiac disease. You see, 90% of hypothyroid cases are the autoimmune disease, the other 10% are dietary, and with most, if not all, autoimmune diseases, gluten is a huge factor. But, all I got was a prescription and the suggestion to cut some carbs out of my diet. Within a few weeks I started feeling a bit more normal and that felt amazing.

In 2014, around the time farmers market was starting in April, some unpleasant issues were starting again. My marriage was falling apart so I felt, and so did my family, that I was just a bundle of nerves. Again, there were some smaller symptoms that I brushed off–more headaches than normal (and normally I had them several times a week), depression settling in again (I have been medicated several times for bouts of it), fatigue. All of it could have been me as an emotional mess, but the biggest and most obvious symptom was the diarrhea. Normally, I would be somewhat constipated (also a symptom of Celiac disease), going 2-4 times a week, but when the diarrhea showed up, it was all day every day and not just that, it was always an emergency. When the urge hit, I would need to bolt for the nearest restroom immediately. It go so bad that I would need to know every single public restroom between point A and point B whenever I stepped out of the house because I never knew when the urge would hit and the urgency was crazy bad. I went from less than every day to 20 or more times per day. There were times I was in between public restrooms or between the last one and home, and I would be in tears in my car, afraid I wouldn’t make it to the bathroom. And with that diarrhea came the pain. Abdominal pain like I was being stabbed. It. Was. Awful. Another problem was abdominal gas. My gut was always making noise, ungodly, loud and gross. At times it was uncontrollable. And–bodily function warning–the smell. With undiagnosed/untreated Celiac disease the smell is like you are rotting on the inside. My kids can always tell when I am in the middle of a Celiac flare. When I am in the middle of a flare, I need my own bathroom. Not only do I spend an inordinate amount of time in there, but nothing covers or stifles the smell and it is unpleasant.

When I finally went into the doctor, after 8 months of suffering, she knew what it was immediately. A simple blood test confirmed that I did, in fact, have the antibodies for not only Celiac disease, but also Hashimoto’s disease. I immediately cut gluten out of my diet and let me tell you, cold turkey is a difficult way to do it. My first shopping trip ended up with me in tears with no groceries. Trying to find things that were gluten free was hard. No pasta, no bread, no crackers, no cookies, nothing breaded or batter dipped and many things like processed meats contain wheat. I cannot eat anything that is processed on the same equipment as items containing wheat or gluten (that includes rye or barley) which eliminates just about everything in Walmart that is the Great Value brand. Something I was not aware of when I went cold turkey is that removing gluten is a lot like going off a drug. You are basically detoxing your system. For about 3 or so days, I was angry, agitated and irritated. My anger scared me. I wanted to smash things, punch walls and rip people’s heads off. I am not an angry person and it was completely out of character for me to feel or respond that way.

There are so many symptoms that are random and I can trace them back to my 20’s. Things like headaches/migraines, dental issues, being lightheaded, fatigue, muscle and joint pain, bruising, depression, brittle nails and lots of other issues, as illustrated in the above poster. From my research, I have found that stress can activate symptoms of both diseases which is just awesome because we are in the middle of a pandemic right now and because of it I may be furloughed from my job come October. Nope, no stress there.

These diseases, especially the Celiac disease, effect other aspects of my life. I can’t just get together with friends for lunch. I first have to find out if the restaurant serves gluten free/celiac safe food. After that I have to worry about what the kitchen looks like, did they clean and sanitize the surface of where they are preparing my food, did they use a new/clean pan and new/clean utensils. Did the cook wash his hands or change his gloves. Did anyone accidentally touch the food with a utensil that touched something containing gluten. Does the staff understand that Celiac disease is not a trendy food elimination, but an actual medical condition? At work there are reminders that there are people have peanut allergies and avocado allergies and to please be mindful of them when eating lunch. Most people can contain those things but don’t think twice about leaving bread and cracker crumbs all over the tables.

Dating is another area that is impacted by Celiac disease. Sacrifice is hard and dating someone with Celiac disease requires sacrifice. It means you also have to be careful of all those food and contamination concerns. I am up front about having it when I am getting to know someone. It saves some awkward conversation that has to take place before the first date happens. Kissing someone that has eaten anything containing gluten can result in a flare. If they have a tiny particle of gluten on their lips, mustache, tongue or teeth and you kiss them, that particle could transfer to my body and set off the autoimmune response and it can mean up to two weeks of digestive hell. Gluten has to be off limits when you are dating someone with Celiac disease and you are spending time with them. Being gluten free sucks and having to be so careful sucks so it is easier for people to just ghost you than sacrifice anything for you. Why bother investing time and effort if it requires that you eliminate beer, pretzels, pasta, etc? I may be worth it, but they don’t stick around long enough to find out.

These things are not made up. It is not a trendy diet. They are not fun. I would love to go back to normal and eat what everyone else takes for granted: real pizza, regular pasta, fish and chips and a freaking Big Mac. God, I miss having a Big Mac. I would kill for one right now. But it would get me back a little later.

I would encourage anyone reading this to ask questions. I am happy to answer any questions you might have. This is very basic information and there is so much more to these things. I encourage anyone reading to do some research to find out more about autoimmune disease. There are many more than just the two in this post: asthma, type 1 diabetes, MS, Rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, fibromyalgia, etc. There are a lot and I would be willing to bet that at least a few people in your circle of friends has one or more they don’t talk about.

All Good Things…..

I have come to the end of my leave of absence. Well, the last official day was June 2nd but today is my regular day off so we are counting today. I went into this thing with big plans and a schedule to keep, but as per usual with everything else in my life, nothing ever goes according to plan.

I wanted to blog about what I accomplished each day and keep myself accountable and do what I set out to do. I wanted everything in my life organized, clean and neat. Anyone who knows me or even knows what a creative person is like (or most of them that I know anyway), that is a fantasy. I am, by nature, a disorganized person, whose life is full of clutter. I always have the best of intentions, but we all know what the road to hell is paved with.

I also wanted to take control of my health and plan and prep my meals and eat only healthy things and stop eating out (CupBop Korean Barbeque will be my downfall). And excercise every single day. I wanted to establish new and better habits. Again, that road to hell.

Something unexpected that did happen while I was on my leave of absence was that my Etsy store got more orders in the last 30 days than I have gotten in the last year. That kept me pretty busy, but the kind of stress free busy. I love painting and all the orders, save one, were hand painted glass or tea set orders. Those are blissfully calm and therapeutic for me.

I didn’t read, sketch, clean or organize the way I wanted to. I didn’t make a single piece of jewelry. I didn’t walk or hike. There is a lot I didn’t do.

What I did accomplish, if you can call it that, is a new found love (albeit frustrating at times) of fishing. The main frustration for me is that my reel is different than the one I used when I was 13 and tangled my line a lot. I didn’t catch any fish, but my boys did. We have plans over the summer to try and go once a week.

I had lots of down time with my kids with great conversations, a few meltdowns and plenty of take out dinners. We failed miserably at fishing. We got on each others nerves, argued some and spent plenty of nights driving for Uber eats and listening to good and less than stellar music.

We suffered through a crappy last month of online school with plenty of tech problems and failures of communication. We celebrated good news for my son who has ADHD, when our (his dad and I) advocating for him and taking on the school resulted in getting what was best for him. I do not like confrontation and would just as soon walk away rather than attack, but I used my voice and I was not nice when I needed to be not nice and walked away feeling kind of badass. I realized that fighting isn’t always a bad thing when you are fighting for what is right for someone you love.

I napped when I wanted to nap, we went for drives when we got bored and pretty much did whatever we wanted every single day.

I came into this leave of absence stressed, worried, exhausted, angry and fighting off depression. I had one month to do whatever I wanted. An unpaid vacation. We really didn’t accomplish anything by society’s standards or what mine used to be. Probably still are, but for one month they were forgotten. I am coming back to work a much more relaxed, calm and content person. I am looking forward to having a normal schedule again. There is still the possibility that I may get furloughed come October and I am at peace with that. I don’t believe that God brought me this far just to take it away. But if that is the plan, then so be it. I hope not, but I am at peace with whatever happens. Until then I will do my job, plan for the worst and keep hoping for the best. And I will keep doing things that make me happy. And, damn it, I am going to catch a fish.