Tag Archives: depression

Pit Avoidance 101

  By Rebecca | October 3, 2013 - 8:12 am |
2 Comments

So remember a few weeks ago when I mentioned that I managed to avoid my annual Pit of Despair during the summer?  I totally promised to tell you about that.  So I am:

If you’ve read for a while or know me at all, then you know I dread summer, and it ain’t the New Orleans heat.  Summers are when my big kids have to go away for a several weeks and…

I.  Hate. It.

Like, deep depression, crying most days, eating everything in sight, hate it.

I miss those babies, what can I say?!?

This year, however, I managed to cope a bit more effectively with my summer emotions.  Here are a few reasons why:

1)  Homemade Vinaigrette.  I’m totally serious.  I got kind of interested in a bunch of homemade things and I made some awesome vinaigrettes this summer.  Most included honey and lime. (How can you beat that?)  I also made some yummy cocktails like key lime pie martini and a salty dog with fresh grapefruit juice.  So. Good.  Not to mention I kept up with my biscuit project and became a Joy the Baker disciple.  With only one kid at home and he had an age 3-sized tummy, it was easier to make grown-up food for dinner without having to coerce anyone into trying what was on the plate.  So, things like arugula pesto went down easy.  And I had fun with the distraction.

2)  Friends.  Not the TV show.  The real kind.  We have some darling friends down the street who invited us like crazy to swim in their gorgeous pool.  I learned a few water aerobics moves, but mostly had a fun place to move my body and have fun with my littlest boy and enjoy time with some great grownups.  And of course our house church friends stick close during summers.  They run straight toward the crazy.  They hover near, show up on weeknights, and call to see if I can have lunch.  I have some long distance heart friends (Christy and my sister) who also video chat and such.  It’s hard to BS when they can see my face. And then there are the girls night friends.  Friends help.  A lot.

3)  I started reading the Bible.  Ha ha!  Like I’ve never done that before!!  Yeah, I’ve totally done that since forever, but not like this.  Untangling myself from Bible reading/study as a vocational requirement has been a little awkward at times.  It all started with the “quiet time” one year at youth camp.  They taught us how to have “time with God” every day and then I had another thing I could be a perfectionist about.  Another thing to add to my “things that make me an awesome Christian” list.   Over the past few years, I’ve questioned it all and picked it all apart and set aside most of the stuff on that list.  BUT… this past April we as a home church started a chronological read through the Bible in a year.  We’re using Youversion.  This time, my journey through scripture has been compelling and nourishing AND completely disconnected from my reputation.  I’ve rarely missed a day, even though I haven’t obsessed about making it happen. It’s been so much fun to connect with God for no other reason than just… to connect with God.  He was my Lifeline, my Safety Net, my Secret Weapon for Pit Avoidance this summer.  It was so natural, so lovely, to have God and His Words to me remain when so many other things have changed.

4)  I prayed.  Again… not a new thing for me.  But this time… you got it… different.  My kids had quite a bit of anxiety about their summer and since my own anxiety nearly swallows me whole, what could I do but grab their hands and pray out loud and trust God to make it ok?  There’s this thing about praying something in front of your kids.  You kind of have to mean it or else what would that teach them?  So I did it.  I threw myself and my darling children on the mercy, the vast and amazing mercy, of God.  I gave up control.  I didn’t know whether He would resolve the anxiety producing situations or whether He would give us extra guts and grace to handle them, but I squeezed my eyes shut and jumped into trust.  I had to do it for my kids.  I had to do it because I’M a kid.  Whatever… it worked.

This is hardly a 12 step or anything.  It’s actually only one-third of a 12 step. (See what I did there? I can do math since I’m a homeschool mom now.)  Heh.  What I’m saying is I don’t mean this to be a formula or anything preachy like that.  It’s simply the real nitty gritty of what got me through one of my most anxiety producing events with WAAAAYYYYY less anxiety than I’ve felt in past years.  This is me, being real with you, about what a sincere but imperfect Christian girl does to try to cope with her dark and scary emotions.  No pie-in-the-sky here.  Nothing lofty or super spiritual fakety fake.  Just me stumblin’ and bumblin’ and grateful for any progress I can make.

So what do you think?  What keeps you out of your pits?

 

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Dat Ain’t Nuttin’ Pretty

  By Rebecca | August 10, 2012 - 9:44 pm |
1 Comment

Talk about off the wagon, honey…

Remember my last post about not abusing myself by overeating? Yeah… pride goeth before a fall.

My husbands piece o’ junk car has finally given up the ghost. So we’re a one car family right now. Today started out so well… My husband drove himself to work this morning, and I left the same time he did. I put Caleb in the stroller, put on my C25K app and started walking/jogging to work (we work at the same place about 2 miles from home but I come in about 2 and 1/2 hours after he.) I picked up the car and drove it back home. Great workout done and car problem solved! I returned home, roused the big kids and jumped in the shower. Got myself dressed, and Levi to the school bus stop on time. Came back in the house and ate a nice healthy breakfast that involved the word “bran,” made the bed, emptied the trash in several rooms, did a load of laundry and then left for work.

At work, I added someone to the waiting list, planned Assisted Living Week, did all kinds of good stuff, and used the stairs, not the elevator. Somehow, though, when I arrived home, it all fell apart. Fast forward through a series of frustrating events and here I sit, having polished off four pieces of pepperoni lover’s and three brownies.

Yuck.

Annnnnd to top it all off… examination of the above paragraphs confirms a suspicion that’s been lurking in the back of my mind: I use commas too frequently and often inappropriately. SMH…

Perhaps there’s some key in one of the aforementioned frustrating events. (Ya THINK?) But right now, I don’t care. I’m watching Poise Pads and Downey Fabric Softener commercials on the Hallmark Channel. I’m praying Caleb will go to sleep. Now. And sleep until 11am tomorrow. I’m trying not to throw up. I’m telling you this, why? Because I hope you’ll know you’re not alone next time you find yourself doing the same. (Ya’ll know I love ya!)

But I’m also doing something different. I’m letting myself off the hook. Yup. That was me you just heard… read… comin’ unhooked. Yeah, when I think back over the last few hours… as my beloved New Orleans natives would say, “Dat ain’t nuttin’ pretty!” But I’m not going to obsess. I’m going to focus on the good, focus on the blessings, take a shower, go to bed, and start over again tomorrow. (You know, that whole “new mercies every morning” thing. Yeah… I love that thing.)

Tomorrow’s a new day, friends. And even if it never comes, I’ve had a heck of a lot of blessings already. Overall, not a good night, but still… progress!

 

 

 

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Round Three: Some days

  By Rebecca | August 4, 2012 - 8:48 pm |
6 Comments

Round Three:  DING!!!  (OK, I’m getting sick of the boxing metaphor so from here on out, I’ll just tell ya stuff I’m learning, ok?  OK.)

Here’s what I’m learning:  Some days will be better than others.

One major trigger for my sadness and depression is when my kids have to go visit their father.  I miss them terribly.  It is during those moments without them that I feel most vulnerable, scared, and alone.  This summer, their leaving and then some subsequent difficulties that my daughter experienced while far away from me, had me at an all-time low.

The kids are back home with me now, and I’ve felt a small measure of relief.  The last several days since I picked them up have been good ones.  Then last night, Caleb, my littlest, would NOT go to sleep.  Until midnight I dealt with his crying and screaming.  By then, I had enough adrenaline pumping to give me some kind of super power.  Around about 2am, I finally fell into a fitful sleep.  Fitful sleep not good… since I’ve learned from my beloved counselor that REM sleep is the only time the brain produces serotonin… and honey, I NEED that serotonin.  Do you hear what I’m sayin’?  About 4am, my little insomniac climbed up in my bed, sealing the deal on a sleepless night for me.

Did I mention my husband slept through all of this???  I believe the word “comatose” accurately describes it.

Now, before you get your hackles up (YES that is a REAL expression.  Google it if you’d like.  My boss did just a couple of days ago since he didn’t believe such a phrase existed.) you must know that my husband rises very early in the morning for work.  He functions with a level of energy that would easily outrun a 20 year old.  Then he comes home before I do in the evening so most nights he has dinner ready when I get home.  You should, indeed, feel at least minor annoyance with me for complaining that he slept through this, but I’m just bein’ real here.  In spite of him having perfectly good reason to sleep like a rock, I still felt frustrated and alone and a lil’ bit angry that he didn’t lend a hand with El-Scream-o.

By this morning, I was in tears.  Dwayne was heading to his mom’s house with the kids.  He was off today.  I missed my mom.  I wanted MY mom.  I wanted to be at home with my children. Nothing made sense and the sadness was taking over.  He dropped me off at work, and I exited the car as fast as I could.  I cried in my coffee cup when I got inside, then sucked it up and started work.  Throughout the day, my head pounded and my heart weighed 1,000 pounds in my chest.  I went ahead and let myself feel it.  I refused to check out, but tried during the spare moments I had, to sort out what I was feeling.

I chalked up a good bit of today’s angst to last night’s lack of sleep.  The rest, I talked to God about, and we’re one step closer, one day closer to wholeness.

Some days, my friends, will be good ones.  And some days won’t be good at all.  Every day is still a gift, an opportunity to learn, a chance to grow.  Even the bad ones can bring breakthroughs.

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Sore Eyes

  By Rebecca | August 1, 2012 - 8:19 pm |
2 Comments

My eyes are sore from crying.  Literally, blinking is noticeable.  There’s some stuff… yucky stuff… that’s been chasing me for years.  I just can’t run anymore, so here I sit in my pirogue in the midst of a swamp full of tangled up emotions.

I’ve blogged parts of my journey in the past, and going back, you can read through the pain of my divorce, you can see the craziness of Katrina, you can witness the joy of writing a book.  You can read about the person I was, the person I wanted to be, the person I certainly thought everyone expected.  You can read how in the past 7 years I’ve been through two major hurricanes, a book release, seven moves, life threatening embolisms, a divorce, single parenting, remarriage, a life-threatening pregnancy, new baby, new job, and more.  What you can’t read is that though I processed some of my pain through my writing, I mostly got busy with life and ran as hard as I could from the hurt and stress.

For a while now, I’ve written irregularly because, frankly, I’ve often felt too depressed to write anything positive and subjecting the world to my garbage was getting old.  Somewhere… along about the time my divorce was final and I moved to Florida for a while, I got tired of feeling like a bad car accident being gawked at by passers by.  Those things have a way of causing major traffic jams due to rubbernecking, you know.  I felt like I wanted my life to myself, so I shut down.  Those close to me are nodding their heads at this because they know it.  They’ve exchanged concerned conversations over it with furrowed brows.  They’ve prayed and worried and wondered what was going on with me.  They’ve put me to bed on their couches and waited for me when I didn’t show up.  There are a few people who are severely under-recognized for their care and concern, patience and compassion for me.  If you are nodding your head as you read this, then thank you for being my friend when I couldn’t be a friend back to you.

I’ve gone on to try and build a normal life, but this summer has been especially difficult.  You see, a girl can’t run from her pain forever.  A pirogue offers little protection from swamp monsters.  (All my dearly beloved Swamp People fans know just what I mean.)  Having reached a low that not only is hurting me but my darling husband and my job and more, I’ve decided enough is enough.  It’s time to stop running from the pain, to deal with it once and for all, and to learn to fight like a grown up lady.  (Some of my dearest friends would term this “puttin’ on my big-girl panties.”)  Leery of “counseling” due to past experience, I’ve persuaded the only individual I trust who also has a counseling degree to work with me.  The journal and pen are back out on my bedside table.  The hard work has begun and… watch out world… I’m comin’ back!!!

You’ve heard the expression “a sight for sore eyes” and now I know more about what that means.  It takes a LOT of cryin’ to make sore eyes.  And when those eyes open to a friendly face, a glimpse of truth, a reason to hope, a cool cloth, a mother’s touch, a sister’s hand, a husband’s strong arms, a baby’s laugh, a friend’s understanding, or a word from God, the comfort is exquisite.  These sore eyes have seen all of the above, and I’m most humbly grateful for the friends, family, bosses, coworkers, and fellow believers who have been these beautiful sights to me.

Hear my slow, shuddering sigh as I pick myself up and head back to life.

 

 

 

 

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