Month: May 2017

As I’ve mentioned before, I was given a very low dose anti-depressant upon my diagnosis back in March, which I call my happy pills (because I think that  sounds much less stigmatizing than anti-depressants).  Within two days, it was as though a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders.  The tears stopped flowing and the desire to hide out in my house left me.  My husband has actually told me more than once over the past couple of months that it’s good to have me back.  Things are all unicorns and rainbows now, right?  Not exactly.

Anxiety is still ever-present.  Granted, the happy pills have certainly taken the edge off; I no longer find myself questioning everything someone says and reviewing all conversations I’ve had to see if I said something stupid (just a few, here and there).  So, that’s been a relief.   Who knew I talked so much?!? Oh, wait…  Also, I am still comparing myself to others constantly; that is something I’ve done forever and can’t see myself not doing any time soon. However, I am trying not to let the negative talk that comes with the comparisons overwhelm me anymore.  God made me this way for a purpose, and I’m trying to embrace that more.  Finally, I can still get wound up over seemingly inconsequential things, but I am able to talk myself down off the ledge more; I like to think my sane, rational side is starting to overtake the slightly less sane, irrational side.   Progress is being made, for sure!

I don’t think my therapist can quite figure me out (not sure what that says about me- especially when she talks to crazy people for a living!).  The first session went something like this:

Therapist:  Why are you here?

Me:  Because I feel like a crazy person who is losing her mind.

Therapist:  What do you hope to get out these sessions?

Me:  To not feel like a crazy person?

Tick-Tock-Tick-Tock….Cue the crickets

Our second session wasn’t a whole lot better.  She talked with me about how I’ve clearly worked with anxiety for YEARS and now that my kids are grown, I have more time to perseverate on things- and thus work myself up into a tizzy on a regular basis.  So, I spent that whole second week keeping myself busy. On week 3, she asked how my week went.  I proudly told her that I really thought about all that we’d talked about and worked to keep myself busy; it was amazing what I got done!  She looked at me and said, “THAT’S what you took out of our last conversation?”  Apparently, I had missed the boat that session; I’ve always been good at hiding my feelings, and keeping busy made that a snap.  LOL!

After that, though, I settled in and the sessions got better; by better, I mean that I started to let down my guard, share my feelings, and try to really listen to where she was trying to guide me.  We’ve talked A LOT about how constantly comparing myself to others increases my anxiety (and can lead back to depression).  On the flip side, we’ve also figured out that I can attribute many of my successes to those comparisons and the drive I feel when I don’t measure up to some standard that I see as ideal.  Does that even make sense?  I am constantly comparing myself to my colleagues, for example.  Because I don’t ever feel like I am as good a teacher as they are, I am always reading and taking online classes to help me be better than I am now.  I am not striving to be better than them; I am striving to be in the same ballpark as them.   See?  It’s both positive and negative.  On the one hand, I am bettering myself as a teacher by constantly striving to improve.  At the same time, the comparisons often leave me feeling wholly inept.  It’s like a Catch 22.  The therapist asked me  last week what kind of person I wanted to be.  What is the “ideal” person that I can’t ever seem to measure up to?   I didn’t have an answer.  I could see her thinking to herself, “Well, WTH?!?”  I mean, here I am feeling like I don’t ever measure up- yet I can’t even tell you what it is I am trying to measure up to!   She probably has a glass of wine after every one of our sessions.

I have really pondered that question this week.  What kind of person am I trying to become?   That led me to ask myself, “What kind of person are you?” When I look at things from a totally rational point of view, I see myself in a positive light; I know ( and even my irrational side knows) I am a good person.  I see myself as someone who puts my family first- always.  I love my little unit of 5 (soon to be 6, as my daughter is engaged)  more than life itself and would do anything for them.  I see myself as a daughter who always (still) strives to make my parents proud- and to make sure that they are happy and well taken care of (though they do that themselves now, I am totally ready to take over when need be).  I see myself as a sister who looks up to her little brother and loves to hang out with him and his family.  I am a granddaughter, niece, aunt, cousin, and in-law that loves my extended family and has enormous fun hanging with everyone.  I am a teacher who loves her students each and every year (even the ones who are tough to love) and always strives to do the very best that I can do for them.  I see myself as a faithful friend who has the backs of those I care about; when they call, I am ready to respond.  I see myself as a caring person over all.  I want others to enjoy life and be happy- and I’ll do what I can to make that happen.  I am the person who wants to give money to every person I see begging in the streets and have been known to hand out food to those that are homeless whenever possible.  My rational self knows I’m not perfect, but I try my hardest always to put my best foot forward.  Who do I want to be?  I want to be me- just the way I am  (says my rational self).

My irrational self sees a wife who could learn to cook for once without burning down the kitchen and look like Cindy Crawford (because what husband wouldn’t want that, right?!?).  A mother who probably should have been less of a grouch while operating on 5 hours of sleep when my kids were little- and who probably should have let them spread their wings a bit more without hovering so close by.  A daughter who probably shouldn’t have moved 1000 miles away (even if it was for a selfless reason) and who could probably do a better job being involved.  A sister who will never fully measure up to my hilarious, saving lives every day, life of the party, extroverted brother and his equally amazing wife.  The teacher who needs to give more to better reach those struggling babies who want to learn but find it oh-so-difficult.  The friend who needs to call more and make more of an effort to get together.  My irrational self constantly tells me to give more- I am not doing enough, being enough, giving enough- I’m not good enough.  That self leads me to want to be like this person and that person- any person but the person I currently am. Thankfully, that self is being pushed to the back to make room for my rational (and infinitely more fun) self.

Things are still a struggle for me- even though my day to day is easier and filled with much more happiness. For example, this weekend, we went away for 2 days and 2 nights with my son’s soccer team.  I was DREADING this weekend, as I felt like it was going to be a social nightmare.  I’ve known these parents for 3 years, but had only really talked with them during soccer games.  I had no idea how I was going to survive hanging out with them all socially for 2 nights.  What would we do?  What would I say?  As it turns out, I had a fabulous time.  They were hilarious and swept my husband and I up in the group.  I was careful to (in turn) sweep up those who were hanging on the fringes.  In fact, I was sad to leave yesterday.  However, I was also exhausted on the ride home.  I needed a day to recharge my batteries and don’t plan to leave the house today- and that’s ok.  That is probably what it is going to take for me to be social in big groups- and I can handle that; it beats making up excuses to not go.  Hell, I feel this way about hanging with my family sometimes.  I love, love, LOVE family gatherings; they are my favorite thing in the world to do.  The bigger, the better.  About 2 or 3 hours in, however, I need some me time.  My daughter tells me I start to zone out.  I used to keep pushing myself, but now I know I just need a little time and then I can be right back in it- and that is ok.  Another example is that this week the school where I teach is hosting two big social events back to back (Thursday and Friday nights)- and I don’t know if I can mentally handle doing both.   I really want to do both- and did last year, but the thought of putting myself out there 2 nights in a row fills me with dread.  So, I may have to pick one and forego the other- and be ok with that.  People who know me well will understand.  Those who don’t shouldn’t matter, right?  Yup…I can’t quite go there yet- so I’ll say we already had other plans- and move on.  I have to do what I have to do for me- and those who have to live with me.  Ha!

So….there you have it- my progress thus far.  My rational side is starting to make a reappearance and I am learning to put myself first- two very important break-throughs.  One thing my therapist told me that has really stuck with me is that you can’t base your happiness on that of others.  It is ok to want to make others happy- but don’t measure your self worth by whether or not you are successful in that; you can’t control how others feel about you, a situation, or the world in general.  You can be a good and kind person to everyone you meet, but leave it at that.  And sometimes, you just have to put yourself first- and that is TOTALLY unselfish and ok.

 

Anxiety, I have learned, can ratchet up so slowly that you don’t even realize how bad it’s gotten until you are drowning in worries- about anything and everything!  Or, it can hit you full on like a linebacker.  I think both stink, but the first is the most insidious to me because you aren’t even aware it’s happening- not really, anyway.

I have always been a worrier.   I think that most of my worries are normal- I just take it to the next level for some reason.  For example, I have jokingly (not really) been banned from webmd because I have convinced myself I have some terrible disease on more than one occasion (brain tumor, anyone?).  I am so over-protective of my kids that it’s a wonder they ever dare to leave the house (I have offered to pay future therapy bills; it seems like the least I can do).   I always jump right to the worst-case scenario because then I can try to mentally prepare myself- even though it likely won’t happen ( and my rational self knows that).  Fairly normal worries, right?  When we moved down south, I googled all the poisonous insects and snakes that I needed to watch out for- and then didn’t dare to leave the sidewalk for a long time.  I also googled crime rates and what to do in case of a tornado.  Google is my friend; it gives me answers that I need when I need them.  Once, I even googled what makes a good friend….because I needed some and couldn’t seem to make any ( and this is where my anxiety has a field day- in social situations).  As it turns out, you have to actually leave your house and make eye contact with people.  Houston, we may have a problem.

I always thought that as you got older, you started to care less about what other people thought of you, like some sort of right of passage,  you know?  I seem to be going in the opposite direction.  I am in a constant state of worry about what people are thinking about me.   I make self-deprecating jokes all the time because I’d rather cause people to laugh at me than have them do it of their own accord.  It’s a revolving door of thoughts and questions in my head every…single…day.  Did that person just give me a funny look?  What did it mean?  Does that woman think I look ridiculous in this outfit?  Are my neighbors judging me as I walk the dog because I’ve put on weight?  Did I say something stupid to my colleague?  What is that student’s parent saying now?  Is admin wondering why my data looks like it does?  Am I working hard enough?  Why is she so much smarter?  For as long as I can remember, I just have never felt good enough.  I’m not smart enough, thin enough, funny enough, friendly enough, pretty enough- you get the idea.  I try not to be noticed, but at the same time, I am constantly measuring myself up to others and falling short.  That’s a lot to chew on, right?  My self-esteem is currently sitting somewhere around the basement level- and I know it’s been a long, slow descent.  As pathetic as all that sounds, things got even worse.

For months before my diagnosis and my happy pills, I constantly replayed texts, emails, and conversations in my head to see what I said or did that was wrong- or to be sure that it was right.  I just cannot have people be angry or upset with me; it literally makes me panic.  So, if I texted something to someone, for example, and they didn’t reply right off, I worried that I said something wrong and they were mad- and I’d send another text to clarify…and then fret over that one.  On my drive home from work, I would go over every conversation I had that day and analyze it.   I would iron clothes and make lunches while continuing to analyze.   I would half listen to my family as the analysis continued.  All the while, on the outside, I appeared to everyone to have my *bleep* together.  IT WAS EXHAUSTING!!  Not only was it exhausting, it was chipping away at what little self-esteem I had left and made me want to crawl into a hole and never leave- and it also left me crying at the drop of a hat.  Things were heading south quickly…and that’s when my pal, depression, moved in.

I have always been a doer.  I love to be outside doing anything.  I love to putter around the house.  I love to read.  I love to scrapbook.  I love to be with friends and play games.  What I typically don’t do a whole lot of is watch TV.  About four months ago, I found myself not wanting to leave my house more and more.  I’d go to work and put on my “normal” face, but I couldn’t wait to get home, put on my pj’s, and watch TV.  That was all I wanted to do.  I wanted to shut the outside world out and just hole up at home.  My son and husband would want to go do something, and I would prefer to stay in my safe zone.  People would invite us places, and I’d make excuses as to why we couldn’t.  As if that wasn’t bad enough, I was crying nearly every day- I mean full on, snot flowing, curled in a ball with heaving sobs kind of crying.  My poor husband.  He literally had a basket case on his hands and was constantly talking me off the cliff, figuratively speaking (he will be up for Sainthood upon his passing).  Home was normally my safe and happy place- only I wasn’t happy there anymore, either.   One day, my husband looked at me tearfully and said, “You’re always just so SAD.  What can I do?”  I finally looked at him and told him that I think I needed some help.  I was in a tailspin of epic proportions and didn’t see a way out by myself.  I called the doctor the very next day- and I am so very glad that I did!  My head is still a scary place to be at times, but I see light where before there was only darkness.

 

I would like to start by saying that I have no idea how this happened.  My childhood was fabulous.  My family has always been supportive.  I could not ask for a better husband, and my children make me prouder every day.  I am fairly successful in my job, and my life has had no serious traumas.  I’d even go so far as to say that I’ve always been beyond blessed in every area of my life.  I don’t appear to have mental illness running through either vein of the family tree, either.  I am, I suppose, the perfect example of “it can happen to anybody.”

What is “it,” exactly?  My recent diagnosis of anxiety and depression.  It’s official; I have a mental illness…or two.  I wanted to ask the doctor if that was all one diagnosis or if it was two separate ones, but that seemed to be splitting hairs- and I didn’t want her to think I was crazy.   Ha!

I’ve spent the past month and a half researching anxiety and depression; it’s what I do when I get anxious about something.   I’ve read lots of blogs.  I’ve talked to lots of people- and I’ve seen a therapist regularly.  The therapist even has a white couch I sit on (very stereotypical, I know…and I refuse to EVER actually lie down on it).   I’ve been trying to come to terms with all this.  There is such a stigma around mental illness; not a tag someone struggling with self-esteem issues needs hanging around their neck- that’s for sure!  Nothing really changed with the diagnosis, however; I am still the same person, more or less.  I did get some medication to help me be a happier person- and probably much easier to live and work with ( a win, win for all involved, right?) while I sort things out.  Other than that, I’m still me- a middle-aged (yikes!) mother of 3, wife of 1, friend to some, and teacher to many.

Why am I blogging about this?  I’m essentially shouting it from the rooftops.  It would seem like the last thing a person who struggles with what others think of her would do, right?  There are actually many reasons- most altruistic, but some purely selfish.  The biggest reason is that I love to help others; I make it my mission every day to make other people feel happy and successful (which, as it turns out, is not such a great thing for one’s psyche , according to my therapist…but I’ll save that for another blog).  I have taken great comfort in reading others’ blogs and knowing that I’m not alone.   I also now know that more people than one would think share many of my same feelings; maybe by sharing some insights I learn on this journey back to balance, I can help others who might not have the same resources available that I do.   Additionally, people have told me that they think my Facebook posts are funny, so maybe I can approach this heavy subject with some humor and help someone smile. That’s my biggest hope- to help others through this in some small, minute way.  Maybe I am being totally narcissistic and no one will care one flip about my journey or be helped by it.  I surely hope that is not the case, but who knows?

My other two reasons are definitely more on the selfish side.  First, writing helps me to sort things out-and make light of a situation that otherwise might send me directly into the fetal position.  Second, I guess I want to introduce people to the real me.  I will explain this more in posts to come- but suffice it to say that people have told me that I seem to be the picture of confidence, when my confidence level is probably running near to empty on a fairly regular basis.  How can I feel one way and come across in a  totally different way?  Maybe it’s the resting bitch face that I’ve been told I have.  Did you all know that that is actually a real thing?!?  A psychology major once told me that!  Call me crazy (not really), but that doesn’t seem like such a good thing to be tossing around in psychology circles.  Anyway, I digress…

As I start on this journey to find my balance (insecurity, be damned), I invite you all to ride along.  I hope I don’t scare anyone off; I am still me- my doctor has just given a name to what I’ve always jokingly referred to as my type A, anal, perfectionist, overly-cautious, and/or neurotic personality.   So, feel free to comment, share, or ignore.  I just ask that you be nice.  This world could certainly use more nice in it.  Stay tuned for how I knew I needed some help…

 

This is my first ever blog- and I am not exactly a technological whiz.  I ask that you bare with me as I sort through how to use this format.  Welcome!