Emotional Pacing

Two weeks ago I felt an overwhelming feeling of empowerment.  I realized that my sisters (and mother) tell themselves a story of being a victim.  In this story, there is nothing they can do to change their situation--everything is shitty in their lives and everything that happens is viewed through this lens that will always enforce the story they tell themselves.  I feel so blessed/lucky to have a therapist who has helped me learn to be creative about finding solutions to the problems I face in my life. 

For the most part, I refuse to play the victim.  However, when it comes to my dissertation experience, I was eviscerated and I get physically ill even thinking about it.  But a couple of weeks ago I was talking to my therapist and both issues (my sisters and my dissertation) came up.  Suddenly there was a shift in my thinking and I clearly understood that I've been playing the victim card when it came to my dissertation and subsequent job hunting, etc.  The story I told myself was “you can’t do it; you only got your degree because they felt sorry for you; you aren’t really a scientist; everyone will know you are a fake; no one will accept your papers for publication” and so forth.  I've been feeling so sorry for myself because I had a horrible, nasty, undermining thesis adviser.  It's been 2 years since I graduated and I have barely been able to think about what I went through to get my degree.  Whenever my adviser's name came up I literally got sick to my stomach.  But the other day, talking with my therapist, I realized that I have a choice--I can take responsibility for how I react to the situation or I can let the situation define me.  And in that moment I decided that I wouldn't let Dr. ** asshole ** have power over me anymore.  Wham! That was it.  And I felt more empowered than ever before.  It is amazing.  Since then I've dusted off my dissertation chapters and am working on getting them ready to be submitted to some journals for publication.  Guess what?  They aren’t half bad.  I even looked up my old prof on his webpage (without getting sick) and was able to see him differently--I see his flaws and weaknesses and realize that everything he said to me was actually a reflection of his own feelings of inadequacy. 

This is not to say that all you have to do is think happy thoughts and all will be well in the world.  I believe that I was able to make that shift due to the work I've been doing in other areas of my life.  My therapist has told me, many times, not to believe this professor; she's told me in a myriad of ways to choose to believe differently.  And while I understood and agreed with her on an intellectual level, I hadn't been able to internalize it, until now.  Why now?  I don't know.  My guess is that these shifts happen when we persistently try to see our lives and live our lives in healthier ways.  Just like geological processes—wind or water consistently wearing down a rock, until it erodes away into sand.  I suppose if I truly understood why I'd make a billion dollars--because no one really understands it but everyone wants to.  I just know it's not simply a pill, or simply going to therapy, or simply exercising, or simply thinking happy thoughts, or simply not eating gluten (I actually eat gluten, though).  It is a combination of things and it takes consistent work, repeating the same small things over and over, sometimes for years.  

That being said, I'm experiencing some interesting things from feeling empowered. 

It feels like I’m a little overwhelmed with feeling so good.  It may sound strange, how can someone feel overwhelmed by feeling good?   But it’s kind of like putting a starving person in a room full of food and at first it’s so exciting and you feel giddy and grateful and excited; but then it becomes overwhelming—what do you eat first?  How much do you eat without getting sick?  That’s sort of where I’m at.  I kind of need to pace myself.  But I’ve never felt this good before, so I have no idea of where to start pacing myself.  I’m pretty sure I’ll figure it out.  One of the real tricks is to not get anxious with feeling overwhelmed by it all—just because I’m feeling overwhelmed, I’m not on a downward spiral.  I must tell myself this and not be afraid to feel tired by it sometimes.  I’m finding a new equilibrium, a new normal (to quote my friend Birdie) and it will take some time to normalize myself to it all.  I’m in new territory and it is okay to feel both excited and nervous. It’s okay to want to jump in and also to want to move cautiously. 

So I'm moving on to a different set of difficulties to figure out--emotional pacing.   It should be interesting.  I do know that I feel so grateful that I am feeling emotionally strong; strong enough to give back to people who have helped me and to others who just need some understanding and encouragement.  It's time to repay those who helped me and also to try and pay it forward.

When Death Comes

My mother passed away in January.  I was able to be there with her when she died.  Now both of my parents are gone and it's been really interesting to see how my different siblings deal with it.  I'm the youngest, by 11 years, but the role I play in the family is to be the calm, reasonable one; the one who validates all the feelings my sisters are having; the one who understands where they are coming from; and the one who offers up possible solutions.  I'm okay with that role, but I find it interesting that my sisters are so self-absorbed that they can't even see how all of this may be affecting me.  None of us had a real emotional attachment to my mother, so I don't feel like I've lost much, by way of relationship, with her death.  But there are definitely things that are difficult to deal with, pain I suffer from that none of my siblings seem to be aware of.  

Actually, it's kind of interesting because things are following the same old pattern they have been for as long as I can remember.  My parents referred to me as the child who raised herself, who didn't need anyone.  I learned at a early age to be the keeper of my mom's emotions/moods; I learned not to ask for anything; I learned that I couldn't really count on anyone to take care of my emotional needs.  No one really ever asked me about my feelings or about how I was doing.  I think this has impacted my mood quite a bit--I'm realizing that I grew up believing I was all alone, that I could only count on myself emotionally speaking; I was well-cared for and well-loved, but very isolated.  It's actually had a big impact on my marriage--it is really hard for me to let my husband in, to allow him to help me when I struggle.  I feel like I have to do it alone.  But that's another story.  For now, I see this pattern being replayed with my sisters.  One is the sister with the shittiest life and anything I say about my difficulties are always topped by her difficulties.  She always has had it worse.  So I usually don't say anything about how I'm feeling; partly out of guilt, because how dare I feel bad when she has had such a terrible life?  My other sister and I aren't as close and not very open with each other, but it's a situation in which no one thinks much about my feelings or needs.  

Another interesting thing is how much both of my sisters are like my mom, despite the fact that they loath the way my mother acted/reacted.  I'm not sure either of them can see it, but it's there.  They both love to be the martyr, although in different ways.  One is very vocal about how horrible her life is and she puts the blame of her crappy life squarely on my mother's shoulders.  But she doesn't realize that, like my mom, she is not accepting responsibility for her own happiness.  She loves to dwell on how the world and everyone in it is out to get her, to take advantage of her, to make her life miserable.  My mom wasn't able to take responsibility for her emotional health either.  The other sister gets really passive-aggressive and makes everyone around her have to tip-toe around her and her depression.  She doesn't take responsibility for her depression either.  Of course, to protect my relationship with both of them, I can't point any of this out to them.

I've told my therapist that I am relying on her to point out behavior that falls into the same patterns that my mother lived.  She agreed and our code phrase is "Holy shit, Kim!"  When she says this, I know to snap to attention.  :)  But despite all of this, despite my mom's short-comings and her emotional paralysis, I have gained some good things from her--I've learned empathy, I've learned to put myself in other people's places and try to see things from their point of view, and I've worked really hard at having a different type of relationship with my children.  My kids know they can come to me about anything.  We have very open conversations and I share with them some of my trials with depression, among other things.  We cuddle, we laugh together, we cry together.  I'm pretty confident that their experience with me, as their mother, is so very different than my experience with my mom, and I feel good about it.  And really, it's something good I got from my mom, in a round about way.  And from my dad I've learned about persistence and hard work.  I couldn't have gotten through my depression without both of those.  So, even though my parents weren't perfect and I lacked a lot of emotional connection with them, I don't blame them for my life.  I see how they modeled for me the ways to act in life but I also see how I learned from wanting things to be different.  I guess the pain and suffering brought me growth and strength.  And one of the most important things I've learned is that I am responsible for my own emotional health.  I don't blame anyone for my problems (usually) and I work hard to change my behavior and ways of thinking in order to find greater happiness and health.   I realize this is similar to what I wrote in November, but it's obviously something I've been thinking a lot about.  I just have this sense of "rightness" about it all.

A friend shared this poem by Mary Oliver (my favorite!) with me when my mom died.  I love it. And it's how I hope to live and die.

When Death Comes 

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it’s over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world

-Mary Oliver

Long Time No Write

It's been a long time since I worked on this blog.  But I'm finding just how appropriate the name of this blog is--it is taking a lot for me to relearn happiness.  When I first started the blog, I didn't think a lot about the name, but during these last 6-12 months I'm finding out how accurate the name is.  I'm finally out of the abyss of severe depression, but as I've been feeling better I find that I've been in a state of anxiety every time my mood takes a dip.  When my mood goes down I get so scared that it's the depression coming back.  There have been a few short periods of depression, but nothing as disabling as what I was battling for 5 years.  And now I have more good days than bad; I'm learning that having some down days is "normal" for "happy" people.  When I get down or stressed, I'm learning that I can fight my knee-jerk reactions of fear and the desire to run away.  And I'm learning about the ebb and flow of the energy it requires to be happy, social, involved in other people's lives.  Currently I'm coming down off of a 4 day high and I'm allowing myself to feel lazy, to spend time alone, to not try and force myself to take on issues that I don't have the energy for.  It's good, but the real effort comes in being mindful.  



The other day I saw the woman who prescribes my meds.  She said “I wish we had a group session where you could talk about your success with medication.  People need to hear how you’ve done it, how it takes more than just taking a pill—it takes therapy, exercise, constant vigilance, etc.”  She said that too many patients expect a pill to solve everything, to make it so they no longer feel any sadness.  Anyway, that was nice to hear.  I do feel like I’ve worked damned hard to get where I am.  It has been a really long and arduous journey.  And in truth, I still have to work at it every day.  It’s getting easier, but I have to be really mindful of how I’m thinking, and I have to make myself get out jogging every day.  I also have to work really hard at not getting overly-anxious when I do have bad days.  I really am learning how to be happy, how to be normal.  And I'm becoming more comfortable with the ebbs and flows of my relationships--with my husband, my children, my siblings, my faith community.  I guess what is happening is that I'm learning how to break out of the all-or-nothing thinking that dominates depressed thought patterns.  So I really do believe we can relearn ways of being, ways of interacting in the world, ways of thinking.  That's what this blog is really about, for me, to document the journey out of depression.  Now it's time to document the journey into happiness (although I sort of cringe at the word "happiness" because it's not really a state of being happy that I'm talking about, it's a state of good mental health). 

Believe and Do the Hard Work

My mom is dying.  Not very gracefully, but that's her problem.  I've just spent a week at her house as she got out of a rehab unit.  She's been in and out of the hospital or rehab since August.  Since I live in a different state, this is the first time I've been able to spend some time with her.  And it was hard.  Talk about emotional whip-lash!  Several times a day I'd got from feeling sorry for her and compassionate, to being irritated and angry with her for not trying to make her own life better.  But, that's okay.  I'm always reminding myself that it is not my responsibility--I've done everything I can to help her find some reasons to work at getting better, but ultimately she is responsible for the decision to do the hard work and get better, or to suffer for these last few months of her life.  I’m okay with her dying and not really sad over having her gone.  That may sound cruel or unfeeling, but I think it's really just coming to peace with what I've had and haven't had with her. What I am sad about is that I never got the connection with her that I always wanted.  But no one did—not my sisters, not my brother, almost definitely not my dad.  The positive side of this, for me, is that I have created a very different relationship with my children.  

Whenever I feel myself slipping into depression, I remind myself how differently I interact with my kids.  I try to be open and honest with them.  I try to let them know what I’m feeling and how I feel about them.  So, even though my mom has failed in her relationships, I am doing better.  And I am not destined to have an end-of-life experience like hers.  During all of this--watching her get old, I've feared the aging process and what it will look like for me.  But it will be different.

My sister was talking to me about how different dad was at the end of his life.  He would go out walking every day, despite the weather, despite how fast he could go, despite how much he hurt.  And it dawned on me that even though I am like my mom in my emotional make-up, I am also like my dad—I have his persistence and drive to do the hard work.  I told my therapist about this and she commented that I have really gotten the best of both of them.  From my dad I have his perseverance and work ethic, but unlike him I am empathetic to people who struggle, particularly with depression.  From my mom I got the depression, but it has helped me gain empathy and compassion.  So I have the tenacity to keep fighting my depression, which my mom never has had, and I have the empathy/understanding, which my dad lacked.  He never understood depression and from what I can tell was never sympathetic to my mother’s state (at least while I was around; maybe he tried to be sympathetic early in their marriage but didn’t make any connections with her, who knows?).  Anyway, I feel good about it.  I feel good about what I’ve learned from both of them.  I feel good about the strengths I’ve gotten from both of them.  I feel proud of myself.

I was thinking about my fear of becoming like my mother—how my depression has scared me and how my knee-jerk reaction to difficult problems is to think “I can’t deal with it.”  But I’ve stopped myself long enough to realize that even though my initial reaction is to feel overwhelmed and like I don’t want to deal with anything, I don’t let that stop me.  Yes, it has taken me a long time to overcome some of my depressive episodes (this last one in particular).  But I did it.  I didn’t give up.  Even in my darkest moments, I was aware of my depression, I was aware that I could eventually change things, I was wanting to change things.  Even when death seemed like the most preferable option, I kept persisting, if only for my kids’ sake. But I found a reason to keep working and trying.  I was always grasping at ways to deal with my depression better than my mom did (Hell, my mother isn't even aware of how depressed she is--funny side story:  I mentioned something to her about how I knew it was hard to do things when you're feeling depressed and she said "you think I'm depressed?"  My jaw dropped.  I said "mom, you lie in bed all day and stare off in space.  I think that is a really good indicator of depression."  She is completely out of touch with her own feelings! It is astounding!).  Anyway, I will be the first to acknowledge that I wasn’t always super effective in dealing with the depression and some days were definitely worse than others, but I never stopped trying, even when just getting myself out of bed was the most effort I could muster.  That persistence and awareness is what sets me apart from my mom.  I don’t have to be afraid of being like her—I am nothing like her.  I am strong, I am honest, I am a hard worker, I am empathetic to other people and their struggles, I am aware and continually trying to be a better person (to be the best I can), and I don’t give up and expect everyone around me to cater to my pain. 

 

I can’t quite explain how important this is for me to recognize, and to really believe.  I feel like I’m at a turning point in my healing process—I’m finally believing and knowing that I’m not like my mom.  I feel myself being freed from that fear.  It’s a really good feeling.  I’m not expressing it very well, but it is profound.  I’m feeling it in my bones, not just on an academic level.  So I guess that despite the difficulties of dealing with my mom and siblings and the end-of-life process that is so tricky, I am benefiting from it all.  Maybe this is what it was going to take to help me recognize that I am a very different woman than my mom, despite our shared experience of depression.  I feel like I am being freed from the fear that always bound me to her.  It’s exciting and refreshing and comforting.  

It has taken a long time to get here.  It is something that my therapist and I have talked about and worked on for the last 8-9 years!  Yikes, that’s a long time, but at least I’m making progress.  My persistence has paid off.  And I am really beginning to believe my therapist when she talks about all the hard work I’ve done to get where I am now.  It has been hard work, and I have done it.  No one can take that away from me and I’m better off for it.  And my family is better off and my relationship with my husband is better off. 

Anyway, I’m emotionally exhausted, but I’m also confident I can get through this.  I’m confident that my husband and I can work through all of this together, that I’m not alone.  He and I have also spent the last year working on our relationship--we were both so very unhappy, but now we're more connected to each other than ever.  It is really difficult to explain how significant knowing that I'm not alone and that I can work through this is.  I’m in such a different place than I was a year ago.  

I wish I could say there was a magic moment or a specific thing that has helped me relearn happiness.  But really it's just been a collection of moments.  It's been persisting, not giving up, trying over and over to find the right anti-depressant combination, being willing to try a variety of avenues to reach a healthy place.  It's been continuing in therapy, starting daily exercise, and having a small but significant network of loved ones, friends, family, therapist, that didn't give up on me either.   If you're reading this and in the middle of a depressive episode, I hope that my experiences will give you confidence, or even just a glimmer of hope, that things can get better.  Just don't give up.  Believe and do the hard work.