A Letter

I got a call the other day from a friend who has a friend who is currently suffering with PPD.   She asked me to get in touch with her friend and offer her some words of advice/comfort/insight.  Last night, Daphne slept terribly, so I'm very tired.  I made the mistake of writing this friend of a friend this morning because, due to my sleep-depravity-induced emotion, it became quite embarrassingly long-winded. 

Who am I kidding?  I'm always long-winded. 

I put so much effort and heart into this letter to her that I felt the desire to put it into my blog for posterity's sake (or my sake).  Names have been taken out to protect the innocent:


Hi, D*******.

I'm a friend of A*** G*****'s.  She texted me the other day about getting in touch with you.  She thought maybe I could be a valuable resource for you.  I figure, there's always strength in numbers.

She mentioned you just had your 4th child (!!!) and that you may be struggling a little with PPD.  She knows I am very open about my bouts with it, and asked if I'd get in touch with you.  I had my 3rd daughter almost 5 months ago, and I think it is still lingering for me. 

I don't know if I had it after my 1st was born.  She had severe colic - the kind where the pediatrician often asked me how my marriage was since my baby was crying so often and so loud.  A chiropractor fixed it when she was about 6 months old, but then we had months of horrid sleep-training ahead of us.  Once she was on a good post-colic sleep schedule, though, she became an angel.  She is now 6.5 years old and an amazing little girl. 

My 2nd was born and my body seemed to go into a panic for no reason.  She wasn't colicky, but even the slightest little baby cry from her sent me into a spiral of anxiety.  When she was about 6 weeks old, I realized I was crying about 10 times a day and that something was wrong.  I went to a friend who's a therapist for LDS Services, and she connected me with a therapist and my OB got me onto Prozac right away.

I cried for 45 minutes before I took that first pill.  I felt weak; I felt like I was less of a person;  I felt I should be "above" all of this.

The therapy and the medication worked wonders.  But what helped even more was having the therapist tell me it was ok to let my baby cry a little in order to learn self-soothing skills.  She told me that a lot of my PPD was from PTSD from having such a colicky baby.  I was afraid of a baby crying because I felt so much guilt for letting my 1st cry at all once I had discovered she was actually in pain.    It wasn't perfect, but once I got the ball rolling, my 2nd little girl became a wonderful sleeper, and at such a young age!  Getting decent sleep coupled with an objective therapeutic perspective turned my world back around.  It wasn't all lollipops and rainbows... but I was more able to taste lollipops and see rainbows when they were there.

Because of my first's colic, I had read every sleep book known to man.  Some people thought I was obsessed.  But I am very type A and like to control situations, and putting my young babies on a routine helped combat the anxiety.

Baby #3 comes along.  To this day, despite all of my efforts and hard work to teach her otherwise, she is a terrible sleeper.  I didn't go on medication this time.  And we can't afford the therapy (last go-around, our ward covered the cost).  I've had struggles... a LOT of struggles.

There will be days when I'm fine and then she wakes early from a nap, and my blood begins to boil, my stomach twists in knots, and I'm a blink away from sobbing.  My PPD is very trigger-induced.  I'm ok until certain things go awry.

I don't know much about what you're going through.  But A*** seems to think maybe I could be a resource for you.  I'm still in the midst of it, I fear, so I don't know how much "help" I can be.  But it never hurts to feel like there are people out there who "get it."

Depression makes someone feel very lonely... because, unless someone's actually "been there," they really can't understand, can they?  They can't understand how one can be totally fine one minute, and then feel like they wish they could just vanish from existence the next.  They can't understand how one can sit there and hold and kiss and snuggle this baby they love so infinitely, but at the same time, wonder why they thought they wanted it in the first place.

I hope I am helping.  And, who knows?  Maybe we can help each other.  After all, misery does love company.  ;) 

Please don't be afraid to respond and reach out to me.  I can be a little abrasive and inappropriate and, sometimes, quite bitter and pessimistic.  But I still know, deep in my gut, there's a purpose to why some of us have to go through this.  I will not have any more children. I wanted 6.  I have 3.  It's more than I can handle, I fear.  But having this trial has taught me to be less judgmental of others.  Being a mom is HARD!  And I now look at other moms with a silent respect - even if their child is running up and down the Church halls like a psychopath.  I have no idea what they go through at home, so I've learned no to judge. 

Right now, my relationship with God teeter-totters.  But I know He knows I will never completely lose faith in Him.  I know He knows that this is something that is just so gosh-danged hard for me.  I know He knows when my breaking point will be.  I feel like I've hit it multiple times, but apparently, I haven't, because I'm still being bent.  I suppose I should take it as a compliment that He sees me as being able to withstand more pressure than I, myself, assumed I could.

One last thing:  Depression lies.  It tells you you're terrible.  It tells you you're incapable.  It tells you you're failing or weak or doing this motherhood thing all wrong.  It tells you that when you let your little baby cry for 10 minutes in order to fall asleep on her own  that you're abusive and that she's going to grow up hating you and her life will never be decent because she felt neglected at 3 months old.

But it's lying.  And sometimes, when we're in the midst of being lied to, we can't see it for ourselves. It's like the bad high school boyfriend who's cheating on you and when you're best friend tells you, you're so deceived by him you end up being angry at the best friend instead of at him.

If you need someone tangible to reach out to that you know "gets it,"  I'm just a facebook message away...

Because I "get it."  I get that, sometimes, when you're on your knees in the silence of your own tears, that the silence can be unbearable.  So I can be as much noise as you want until His comfort finally breaks through that lonely silence.

Until then... you know where to find me.

Something I Have to Say

I have to leave for Church in less than 10 minutes, but I have to say this in case I don't get the chance later (which is highly likely - having 3 kids is kicking my butt).

I seriously have been blessed with one of the highest-caliber, most amazing, kindest, good-hearted, and supportive men on the earth as my husband.

I'll wax poetic later, but for now, I just had to get that off my chest.

And he deserves to hear it.

Thanksgiving in Japan 2001

Sometimes I Cry... REALLY Hard

So, last night I cried a lot.  There are multiple reasons; all of them stemming from the fact that I have issues with post-partum anxiety coupled with a lifelong struggle with control issues... plus, I'm drama.

Thing is, I have read EVERY book on the discussion of infant sleep.  Thing is, I have aided so many of my friends with the problems their babies have with sleep.  Thing is, "I'd like to bear my testimony on healthy sleep.  I know this to be true."

Thing is, my babies NEVER succumb to my wealth of knowledge and its applications.

I think it's 'cuz they're hyper (my fault).  I think it's 'cuz they're smart (Dave's fault).  I think it's 'cuz they're not predictable, programmable ROBOTS (God's fault).

As Daphne ages, my anxiety becomes slightly more manageable, and the attacks become slightly less frequent.  But when they come, they knock me over with intensity.  

My friend, Liz, recently wrote about her panic attacks.  It was a very good read because it does give a bit of insight into the world of mental illness.  But I'm going to quote a sweet little old lady from my ward who gave me a hug a couple weeks ago and said into my ear, "People just can't understand unless they've been there."  AmIright, Liz?

It's true.  And, I'll be honest - mine is not nearly as intense as some others.  But when it peaks, I think my poor hubby just wants to go hide in a corner. 

So do I.

When I have these crying jags, Malia says, "Mommy?  Do you need a hug?" and gingerly comes to give me her comforting touch.  Sometimes, she even begins to cry a little.  It makes me feel guilty.  But I know myself enough to know that holding it in is the greater of the two evils.  CC says, "Are you crying, a-GAIN?!"  It's totally heartless and totally hilarious.  And, believe it or not, makes me laugh every time.

I cry easily anyway, to be completely honest.  I mean, PIXAR movies tear me apart.  Even the occasional commercial.  Yeah, sometimes (all of the time) I even cry at the end of "Full House" when Danny Tanner waxes all philosophical on his kids.  But these anxiety-ridden cries SUCK.

I am counting down the days until my hormones finally feel like they are finding a balance again and when Daphne is old enough that her sleep will organize into a place that finds consistency and I have more control over it (most babies do this at around 4 months, where Daphne is now.  But guess who's baby isn't?  *thumbs to self* This gal's!).

But I really do need to work harder at enjoying "the now."  I need to find ways to overcome those moments when the floodgates are bowing with the pressure of the tears waiting to overflow.  But, as anyone who has to deal with these things - these "mental illnesses" - knows, sometimes that's nearly impossible.

So sometimes, you sit on the living room floor, after all the kids have gone to bed, and you sob.  HARD.  And your poor husband sits on the couch staring at you, because nothing he says is right.  And then you go to bed with a headache.

And then you wake up the next day and promise yourself not to let it get that bad again.

And it will.

But, hey.  At least that's one consistency I know I can count on...

He Has 3

*I love, love, LOVE this article.  Read it.  It will make you cry.  In a good way.

"They say that from the instant he lays eyes on her, a father adores his daughter. Whoever she grows up to be, she is always to him that little girl in pigtails. She makes him feel like Christmas. In exchange, he makes a secret promise not to see the awkwardness of her teenage years, the mistakes she makes or the secrets she keeps."
-Anonymous-

Dear David, 

Sometimes I think I need to apologize that there are no sons to be had in our family and its future.  And then I retract that thought because I can't imagine we could be any more blessed than we already are.  But what's even more amazing?  These girls could not be any more blessed than they are to have the father they have.  If there's one thing you are better at than being a good husband, it's being a good Dad.

Happy Father's Day.

 

Dad

Tonight I will most likely post something about my husband - one of the best fathers "in every contri" (as Malia so eloquently put it on her card to him).  But right now I feel compelled to talk about my dad.

A lot of people who met me after my time moving out of the house at 18 have never met my father.  They've met my mother and possibly most, if not all, of my siblings.  But most of my acquaintances have not met my Dad. For this reason, I feel the need to introduce him to you, through my eyes, on this day that celebrates fathers.

My dad is not an emotional man.  In fact, I could count on one hand the number of times I've seen him get emotional in my 30+ years of life.  He does not like to be a vulnerable man.  He's not mushy or sentimental.  He is proud.  Very proud.  He is an extrovert.  He enjoys the knowledge and wisdom he's accrued in his 75 years.  And he especially enjoys sharing it with people.  If I were to list what I think are the things most important to him, I'd guess health, hard work, music, family, the Gospel, old cars, and Diet Coke.

My dad and I are close in a weird way.  I am not close to him in the way my brothers are, because I am not his son.  I am not close to him in the way my older sister is, because he isn't sensitive with me as he feels he should be with her.  I'm not close to him the way my baby sister and he are, because he isn't tender with me and because I am not his baby.  I'm like the son he never had and the daughter he never wanted.  I don't mean that in a negative way at all, despite how it may sound.  I feel like my dad talks to me the way a man talks to his sons, but because I am his daughter, it is still different.  There isn't pretense or caution with me.  He says what he means with me.  In fact, of all of my dad's children, I acknowledge my personality is most like his.

People have commented that this is the case for years.  I generally nod my head and laugh, and he denies it.  I'm not sure why he denies it.  I mean, come on. I'm wicked awesome.  I think he denies it because it terrifies him.  Like me, he appears incredibly confident, self-assured, and ready to take on the world.  But I think, like me, he's incredibly insecure, desperate for approval, and in constant fear of the offenses he may have unintentionally caused.  He likes to tease.  I'm easy to tease.  The combination has occasionally been volatile.

My dad is a talented man.  He is so very proud of the talents of his children.  And even though a large deal of the credit goes mainly to a stay-at-home mom who worked endless hours teaching us, I believe strongly in the influence of genetic make-up when it comes to a person's skill set.  And the gift of music comes from his blood as well as my mother's.  He plays multiple instruments and plays them well - the majority of them having been self-taught.  He has an ear for harmony and a love for the music of his youth.  He is incredibly closed-off to modern music, and I'm not sure if that's because of or in spite of his great appreciation for good music.

He's loud.  (See? I told you the apple doesn't fall far from the tree...).

He loves animals and always has to have dozens of them around.  He grew up on a farm.  This also speaks to his respect for hard work and discipline.  He's sustained multiple work-induced injuries in his life.  This aspect alone makes me feel like I need to get on writing his life story.  Oh, the stories he tells...

My father was the disciplinarian.  When we misbehaved, we felt guilt towards our mother... but we feared Dad.  Some people think that's not necessarily the best way - but 5 children who are all active in the Church and worthily hold current temple recommends speaks for something.  My dad was always the one to say "no."  Sometimes, even to this day, I think he said it too much.  But he didn't want to take chances with his children straying.  He didn't trust the world, and sometimes, maybe, didn't trust us.  It was frustrating sometimes, especially when we felt we were trustworthy, but my dad is not the kind of person who likes to tempt temptation.  When people try to tell me about their strict parents and how sheltered they were, I want to laugh, loudly, in their face.     

My dad is not openly preachy with his testimony of the Gospel.  In fact, I've heard him bear it a very small number of times.  But I've never doubted he has one.  His strict self-discipline and hard-working nature combined with the moral choices he makes in his daily life were testimony enough.

My dad is always himself.  He doesn't put on a show.  What you see is what you get.  I like to think I got that trait from him.

  

When people ask me to describe my Dad, the word I use is "eccentric."  He is an older man who works out at the gym 3-4 times a week, has an addiction to garage sales, has - very possibly - the worst fashion sense I've ever encountered without a care that that's the case, keeps an odd array of animals in his backyard (we've had pigs, sheep, cows, emus, swans, dogs, lizards, etc.), goes bottle hunting whenever he gets the chance, has no qualms approaching perfect strangers with an observation about their body and how they can improve it, gets up in the middle of Sacrament Meeting and goes to the back to jump up and down and wiggle his joints in an effort to avoid stagnation and the pain it can bring about (he's a Chiropractor), will repeat a story over and over if it has been successful at garnering laughter before, is convinced that hydrogen peroxide and exercise are the perfect prescription to any ailment, and, despite a near obsession with the health and well-being of the human body, drinks liter after liter of Diet Coke and will even consume expired food & beverages in an effort to not be wasteful.  There are so many more things I could say as evidence to his eccentricity, but I have children to take care of and a life to live...

I remember meeting the fathers of my friends as a kid, and there were definitely moments I would think to myself, "I wish my dad were more like their dad."   I think all kids go through that.  

But if you were to ask me today with the gift of hindsight and the humility of adulthood if I wished I'd had a different father, I would reply, without hesitation, "Are you kidding me?!  So much of who I am comes from who he is."

That, and I think other dads would've been boring...