Mommy Thoughts

From the two tiny whispers of noise I hear upstairs, I know that it's you who is awake and not one of your siblings. I hear from that small, "oh" that you're in need of help in the bathroom. 

I run up the 18 stairs to see that I'm there a little too late. Oh well, no problem. It happens sometimes. 

I pop you into the tub and start the shower as you remind me in a small voice to make sure that it's not too 'hot-y' or too 'cold-y'. You rub your eyes, not sure if you need to cry or sleep or trust that mommy has got this under control.

I can't reach your towel so I grab my fluffy yellow one and ask in a silly voice if it's Eli or a burrito in there. Your eyes light up with a smile and a flash of fun before staring off, smile fading, as shadows of sleep invade your little face. 

I carry you to the door of your room where daddy crosses our path, mop in hand. He asks who the person is that has stolen mama's towel. You smile and whisper, "daddy..." in a tone that shows you know full well daddy is teasing. "Are you a baby again?" Daddy asks. You take a breath and think about saying, "no, a big boy" like you've been insisting these past weeks, but instead you surrender with a sigh. "Yeah."

Together we sit on the rug on the floor. I hold you and think how you will forget this night, these moments. The monotony of every day life that moulds a mother's heart. You stare at the wall behind me, eyelashes moving down and up, down and up, slowly inviting sleep. I kiss underneath your left cheek, knowing you hide a tickle in that spot. You giggle and wake enough to ensure that it's the sheriff pyjama top and red shorts that are chosen and then, instead of putting you in bed, I scoot back-against-the-wall and cradle you in my arms. Just as I've always done. 

I kiss your head through tufts of brown hair. Your breathing settles into a slow deep rhythm. Downstairs daddy makes a loud noise. He's fixing a door that won't lock, ensuring that our home is secure before bed. The noise makes you jump. I move my hand from my knee to your back. You twist your tiny body closer to mine and sigh one big sigh. 

I kiss your head 20 times more then, lifting you up and squeezing you tight. I bring you to the the bed that you and your brother have turned into a tent, while I thought that you were sleeping.

I lay you down and with eyes still closed you find your teddies and settle down. "A cuddle, mommy." Your voice muffles from behind your dodo. Once, twice, three times you adjust your little arms ensuring that the hug is tight and close. "I love you" I whisper. Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone. "Love you. Too. Mommy." Sleep envelopes you. Your arms relax. I slip away. You will forget these moments, but I will not. 

International Women's Day

I sat down this evening, finally stealing some minutes to indulge in an idea I had earlier in the day. It was simple. Today, international women's day 2016, I would look through my friends list and select all the women who have inspired me and tell them why. Easy, right? Wrong. 

The problem is I have a finite amount of time and energy and as 11:50pm comes and goes I realise I have WAY more inspiring women in my life than time in the day. I started at the top of my friends list, and systematically began writing to each of you, only realising with heavy heart that I don't want to miss anyone and discourage people who had seen me write to mutual friends and not them.

So I had another idea. I scrolled through my list and paused to write descriptive words for people who stuck out. I filled a page. A whole page, you guys. I hope my technologically challenged self can stick it to this blog. 

I got to thinking about women who had encouraged me over the years. Given me a word of comfort when I needed it. Stood by me when times got tough. Trusted me with their story and honoured me as a friend in honesty and vulnerability. Laughed SO hard with me/at me. Had babies at the same time as me.

There are neighbours, aunties, cousins, sisters, fellow mothers, dear and well missed grandmothers this is only a small number. There are too many things that each of you are or have been to me. I am simply overwhelmed by the positive impact fellow women have had in my life. And here's the thing, I am only one person armed with one, relatively small, list of friends. We as a body of women are half the population of the world!

On this day, or what's left of it, I propose each of you who are reading this pick a handful of women who have inspired you or gave you encouragement, support, love or friendship - whatever it is that they have taught you, and tell them! This isn't just for the women, you men are invited to take this up too. You never know how much it will mean to say to someone, 

"when this situation happened, you had the wisdom to tell me this, and it gave me such courage/made me feel not so alone/helped me realise someone understood." 

It's just an idea, and it certainly doesn't have to be public, but there is so much value in building one another up in love and support. You'll be glad you did it.

I'm so privileged to have you ladies in my life. You are brave and you have what it takes. You are strong and wise. You are funny, smart, determined and valuable. You are people who have seen and gone through hard things and come out the other side changed and stronger. I am thankful to call you sister and friend.

I also have no idea how to stick a picture to a blog.

Depression diaries - Remembering

I can't sleep. I've never been able to sleep after an argument if it hasn't been resolved, and so, I lie here awake thinking and remembering. 

I'm becoming aware of this nauseous feeling filling my heart rather than my stomach. I don't think I've had a nauseous heart before! It causes me to run the numbers and find, to my disbelief, that it was on Valentine's day last year that I walked to our highway and planned to not come back. My heart is pounding now, probably in the same way every person's heart who cared for me at the time did. I wish I could speak to last-year me. I wish I could draw along side her and comfort her. I would hold up a looking glass to the year to come and watch her expression change from confusion to surprise. From despair to hope. From pain to disbelief with how things would change, how *I would change. She would take a deep breath and sigh the weighty sigh of one who had seen the impossible and dared to believe it could be true. She would look into the eyes of the year older, stronger and peace-filled me and know it was true.

I remember how that day went. Remember making Valentine's Day crafts with the kids, keeping my "normal" on as their sweet voices sang out the reasons they loved each of our family members. I remember being slain by Jason's note to me, "I love that you're always here for our kids." I used that little red heart note as a bookmark over the days I spent convalescing at my pastors house in the days following. I allowed it to judge me terribly. (Silly last year me, forgive yourself.) I mourned the fact that I was too "weak" to stay with them over that time. (Exhausted last year me, rest.) I filled those days reading and tentatively trying my hand at drawing. (Timid last year me, draw, draw, draw! You're better at it than you think!) 

I lie here so very thankful for those who stood up, like a hedge about me, and blocked out some of the darkness with their love. I thank God for you. I thank God. I am so thankful I don't live in that heavy mist anymore. Please give me grace when I say I am not sorry I went through that time. I don't say it lightly, as I am keenly aware that some of you reading may still be in that place of depression and desperately want a reprieve from it. When I say 'that time' I mean my whole lot. That year and a half of change and difficulty were the labour pains that gave birth to the person I am now. (Thank you last year me, in your weakness you were made stronger than you believed you could be.) 

This year has birthed confidence and clarity of thought. It has birthed new ideas, artwork, increased love and understanding. It has been a year of nurtured relationships and rest. It became the year I struck something off my imaginary 'list of impossible' and travelled back home, alone! It has been a year of SO.MUCH.HOPE. Perhaps there had been plans for harm, but there were better plans set before me on the table. Plans for hope and a better end. I chose them.

**If anyone is self harming or thinking suicidal or despairing thoughts, tell someone. Do it now. Much love to you, dear heart. ❤️ **

For Better And For Worse...

This time last year, I was wondering what I could honestly write on our anniversary to my love. I made a card for him that declared on the front that he was "My Favourite," because he was - still is! We had just survived our first difficult year in the 17 we had been a couple. It was our 11th anniversary and I felt like writing, "Happy Anniversary! Well, we had a good solid 10 years and then this one...It will be better again." Of course, I didn't write that. I think I wrote something like, "this year was awesome because it brought us Eli." This was true, but not the whole truth. It was (is) a challenging season in our relationship.

I came across an old blog entry. You can take a look here if you like. I wrote this three years ago and, I don't mind telling you, it made me cry a little at the sweet memories of how things used to be. It's not like we hadn't had troubles before now, just not ones that divided us so painfully.

In the year since last, things have gotten better for both of us and if not better, at least different - not worse. I can safely say it was a "not worse" year, apart from the brief time where I wanted to kill myself, but apart from that, not worse. (Too soon to joke? I have a problem with inappropriate humour...) We're still sorting ourselves out, still wading through stuff and getting to know our new selves and each other better in the process. I can safely say, we like one another better than last year and we're still very much in love - that never changed.

When I hear couples say things like, "we had a few rough patches - every couple does," I used to think, "not us!" We did just fine for a huge chunk of our lives so this "excrement smacking the fan moment" was a steep learning curve for both of us. I told jay I was going to tell you good people what we have learned from this time. He laughed at the idea we had learned anything...so I continue speaking for myself, haha! ;)

I have learned that we have the ability to hurt each other terribly...so be kind. Empathy. I can't tell you of its importance. Even when you think you know what's going on with someone, you might not. I'm not sure how empathy is even possible without a deep understanding of each other and open, honest communication. 

I have learned that we all need somebody to share hard times with...so we need more people than just us. (Hi friends, I love you! Sorry about the inappropriate joke - you are literal life savers.)

I have learned that honesty is better than bottling things up...but that it's good to chose your timing wisely. Every moment is not a good time to share your deepest thoughts and feels.

I have learned that when you come to an impasse, you should probably seek outside help. Communication is SO important. It is also probably the most cliché thing to say when talking about marriage, but it's true. You would not believe how fantastically terrible Jay and I are at communicating when we disagree. (Mostly Jay, but sometimes me too 😉) I'm pretty sure we need help in that area and since we both want to improve we will work it out.

I have learned that love is pretty powerful. Jason is a great many things to me, and I to him. *We are not our disagreements. Our differences don't get to define our relationship. Outside of those things, he is my best friend, the best parent tag-team member for our children, the hottest man around (at least in my eyes.) I love talking to him, I miss him when he's not here, basically, I really really like him. There's no one else for me, he is unique. I truly love him and because of this, we'll do what we said we would. I continue to take him to be my treasured husband, to have and to hold, for better AND for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health to love and to cherish till death us do part.

I love you babe, happy 12th anniversary!

Depression Diaries - Getting Better

Eleven weeks ago today, I was going through the paces of what might have been my last day.

I know it's eleven weeks because I counted it and was shocked at how little time has passed and how very different I feel. I hadn't methodically planned to kill myself or thought the plan through fully, but there was a vague plan that had been brewing and being modified in my mind for the weeks and months before hand. 

It's funny how clear hindsight is. It's like not realising you would miss something until it's gone or not valuing freedom until you've been enslaved (figuratively or literally.) This is how I feel about clarity of thought after being banished to confusion and half truths for a time. I don't know quite how long I had depression for before I recognised it for what it was. I found a poem in my journal yesterday dated almost a YEAR ago. The date surprised me more than my own words:

She stops. Shocked by the reflection that catches her eye.

Slowly, deliberately, she touches the cheek of the woman before her.

She looks closer, deeper into her eyes.

She recognises that feeling.

Look away.

Keep going.

Don't stop to feel or wonder.

Get

To

The

End

Of

The

Day.

One day I'll sleep forever.

The fog of confusion that has plagued my mind for God-only-knows how long appears to have left. I don't know exactly when but I think now that there are only shadows of it left. Thankfully shadows are evidence of darkness leaving and light being allowed in. The shadows themselves are not the darkness I felt, but reminders of what was and where I no longer want to be.

I imagine surviving to the other side of depression is a different process for everyone, but I thought some of you might like to know what I did and perhaps it might help you or someone you love.

The first thing I did was recognise that another trusted person looking in on this situation might have better judgement than me at that lowest point. This particular someone came to my house and, with Jason's permission, took me away to stay at my Pastor's house for a few days. I honestly had no idea of the seriousness of my actions and ideas until many weeks later.

I rested. Painfully and forcefully I submitted myself to rest. I started a medication that caused me to sleep all through the night and then during those days away, I journaled and doodled and read. I met with people I trusted from my church and they encouraged me, prayed for me and gave me practical advice and guidance. They allowed me to sob out my feelings and confusion without judgement. I can't express the value of having people listen with love and empathy.

I was as honest as I could be with Jason and worked out some steps to take, for our relationship, for our family life and for our future together.

I truthfully told some of my girlfriends what was going on. You can't know what a relief it was, during the worst times, to have them tell me, "if you feel like you want to self harm, text me. I'll come right over." Something that stopped me trying to work out how to hurt myself without detection was one of them saying, "it won't matter what 'accidents' you find yourself having. I will suspect you did it on purpose." Tough love is still love.

I stopped blaming myself for things that were beyond my control. I took responsibility for things I was guilty of. I got help to decipher the difference. This wasn't comfortable - no one likes to be in the wrong. I tried (am trying) to right my wrongs.

The reason I waited so long to talk to someone was that I didn't believe I was depressed. I knew why I was feeling the way I was - and since no doctor or therapist can change my circumstances and because I didn't feel like I had words to explain what made the circumstances hard, I didn't ask them for help. I only went to the doctor after taking an online mental health test...(not recommended - the internet told me I had many mental health issues including bi-polar.) Dodgy diagnoses aside, I knew by answering some of these questions that something was wrong. My friend told me to get off the computer and see a doctor. So I did. Who knew "reactive depression" was a thing? I do now.

One other thing I did was stop taking the medication I was initially on. I found that after a few weeks, I was having extreme and regular panic attacks that I didn't previously have. I can't recommend coming off medication that your doctor has put you on. I can, however, recommend listening to your body, reading the leaflet that comes with the tablets and involving others in your decision to take them or not. In my case, Jason could see the day-to-day change in me and was more objective than me in identifying the behaviour I was exhibiting and feelings I was having pre-medication versus the time I was taking it. Your doctor should be able to advise you how and when to transition off medication.

There are other practical things I did and am doing to stay mentally healthy. I know now the circumstances that will invariably cause me to sink into despair again and so I try to avoid them if possible or when faced with them, try to work out a better plan of action (and plan of thought, where necessary) to keep things clear.

I exercise to burn off adrenaline and release endorphins.

I draw, paint or write - anything creative releases something in me and brings me contentment.

I pray and find peace and hope.

I worship and practice deep thankfulness to change my perspective.

I take time off to rest.

I date my husband to revive and keep moving forward.

I realise this is long. I'm not through yet, but it is getting better. It will for you too.

Depression Diaries

I keep having this thought that *one day* I will blog about all of this. One day, when I feel better and I'm not confused or hurting and it makes some organised sense and I can share how it got better and give hope to others. You know what, though? I've read articles like that, but none that say, "I HAVE depression." Like, *right now,* I'm wading through the stinking debilitating mess of it - because depression is rude like that. Like pain, it can be dulled, but it refuses to be ignored. I suspect that if I write about this and post it in public, people will want to either console me or silently judge me for over sharing personal information. I'm not trying to get consolation and, for once, I find myself not caring if anyone judges me. I want to have a record of how frustrating depression is, and maybe I need to write that in the middle of it, because I can't not feel what it is like.

Right now I'm trying to stop my anxious thoughts shooting miles ahead of myself, drawing wrong conclusions along the way. Jay has to go away for work in a few days - 'I'd run away from me too,' are my thoughts about that. He's been tied up in work most of this week. He must not want to be near me. (I realise that this is not true, he tells me the truth of how he feels about me. I find it hard to accept his guaranteed love.) It is stressful to live with me these days. I withdraw from him. I know I'm doing it. I can't not do it.

My empty (decaf) coffee cup sits beside me - decaf by necessity rather than choice. It sits next to a pile of scrunched up tissues from my latest anxiety moment when I couldn't stop panic bubbling up and my heart pounding, my face flushing and tears effortlessly gushing. Gasping air to calm myself, covering my face, embarrassed and wanting to be alone but simultaneously wanting to be comforted...that's the confusing reality. I want to be better. I don't know how to be better.

I look at my body in disgust and wish I had've had the self control to not eat the seven peanut m&ms I just ate (yes, I counted them to make sure I wasn't eating too many - knowing full well 1 was too many.) I catalogue what I've eaten today, wondering when jay will be back so I can run my 2 miles. I've been running two miles every day this week. My tablets have increased my weight suddenly and rudely and I'm angry about that. Stupid medication. 

Must fight the medication. Maybe I'll just not take it. It hasn't made that much difference anyway. Sure, I'm not hurting myself or willing myself not alive anymore, but aside from that, it is NO GOOD because it made me fat and, if anything, I am *more* anxious now. I wouldn't want me. I feel disgusting and embarrassed of myself.

I think about how people still think today that depression is all in your head and how I should snap out if it. I half believe it and judge myself so very harshly for not doing just that. Catch a grip and stop going on about yourself. Think of others for once, will you? And so I think. I think about frustrating and frightening things happening to people all around the world, like little Febrina who just had her 4th birthday. She is a few months older than Sophia, but her birthday means she is too old to have the privilege of sitting in an air conditioned room for a few hours a day. Instead, she has to get used to 40C heat in a frightening and unsafe detention centre tent on a water ration, indefinitely. I think about my brave friend, a wonderful mother who battled cancer, and is still recovering from its unfair attack. I think about my dad, living with all the pain and frustrations of going blind... "What have you got to be depressed about?" I try to jolt myself out of it with shame, but that response appears to be broken. Comparative studies just make me feel sad. Sad for those people. Sad for myself. Sad for the future of everything and everyone. I am cynical. I am pessimistic. I just *know* everything will eventually go to crap. Time passes through me and I wait for these feelings to diffuse and fade as it goes. 

One day I'll write the 'feeling better' blog. Today is the 'it will get better' blog, because despite myself, I find a hope anchored in rescue. Hope for laughter without fear of the future. Hope for a better end.

Advent - The Silent Wait

Friends and family have asked what we will be doing for Christmas this year. The answer has been, "I don't know." We've never done Santa and I don't plan on buying back into the commercialism that the season brings. I don't have a tree, I do have fairy lights and some dodgy sharpie art.

We don't have an advent calendar, we do have a pay it forward calendar.

We plan on buying the kids a few presents each, like we did last year. We also plan to spend Christmas Eve in a long established "friends Christmas" tradition that we got adopted into last year by our Aussie family. Part of that will be a handmade gift exchange. Expensive only in thought and time. 

I'll do some reading of the Jesus Storybook Bible with the kids and maybe we'll attend a Carol service. That's about it for the things that we're doing but it's not all that is happening in me. 

Much has happened this year in and to my heart and it feels ready to rest. To rest. In this the crazy season of presents and cleaning and shopping and cooking and busyness and, for us, moving house too. I listened to a podcast about the silent years. About what it meant to wait for God before Jesus came. He talked about the parallel between those silent years and the advent period. To silently wait for God in the 'most wonderful time of the year' seems almost impossible, but it's what I'm doing this season. 

I was alone last week - and by alone I mean, Jay was travelling, I was very much still surrounded by children! Anyway, I was alone-ish and I took time to think and pray and sit in peace and just be still. I listened to music and wrote a bit and read and slowly the fog that has plagued my mind for months has begun to lift. 

It has been a hard year. I am so weary and so very ready for it to be over. It has brought me to dark places that are hard to speak out loud. It has brought me to the end of my faith and a tentative beginning of faith. Maybe I can talk about things more deeply when I'm rested. It's important to talk about mental health, because when it's broken it can lead to death, just as poor physical health can. This year hasn't been devoid of joy, it brought me my littlest son and kiddie birthday parties and family visits and close friendships and peace and love increased. These things are good. These things are necessary.

I haven't worked anything out. Except that I desperately need this Advent. I need the silence and the hope. I need Immanuel. God with me.