This Lucky Mom of Five: June 2015

I used the word through in the title of this post purposely. Most of the time authors use the word with, but after some thought I decided that the word with makes me angry. Depression and anxiety aren't my partners. We aren't arm and arm working together. They are unwelcome inhabitants in my village. They are the filter that distorts the way I see life. I have to fight through them to be the kind of wife and mother I want to be.

I've suffered from generalized anxiety disorder my entire life. As a child I was described as "sensitive" and "emotional". I took everything personally and seriously. I never talked to my parents about it because I thought everyone suffered from insomnia in August (because school would be starting soon) and that stomach pain so intense it kept me from eating was just part of summer camp. Things got easier for me in college as more things were in my control: the classes I took, where I lived, and how social I was or wasn't. My first experience with depression was after my first miscarriage. I could feel it hit. I was lying on the ultrasound table listening to my Dr. apologize after not finding a heart beat. I went numb and stayed that way until the birth of my first child, Will, close to two years later.

Depression and anxiety are still apart of my life. I've learned how to cope with them better, but I still have moments where they get the best of me. After so many years I know what my warning signs are. A big signal that I'm spiraling down is when normal household noise becomes too much. I startle at Oliver crashing cars and the sound of forks on plate makes me grit my teeth. I also start to isolate and withdraw. Answering calls, responding to texts, and seeing friends are all impossible. Keeping my tears at bay and forcing myself to interact with my family "normally" is such an effort that I literally have nothing left.

This summer I've been struggling with depression. It's not debilitating, but it's there. I know all the right things to do: take my Zoloft at the same time every day, go for walks, sit in the sunshine, pray. I've been faithful in my self care but it's not budging. In the past I would have soldiered on and worn myself out trying to hide it from my kids, but last week it hit me that they need to know about this. My struggles are genetic. My mom and brother both share them just like we share our sarcastic sense of humor. It took me until I was an adult to recognize that my feelings weren't typical and for my brother and I to reach out to one another. We are now very open and honest about how we're doing, but I often think about how much easier our burdens would have been if we recognized what was happening as children or teens.

After some thinking and prayer I decided to have a conversation with my 3 oldest. I waited until we were playing in the pool to start the discussion. Even though I was a nervous wreck and agonizing over the right words I wanted the conversation to feel casual. I started off by asking them if they ever felt sad or nervous. They all responded that they did and gave very typical examples. After talking about all their responses I asked them if they every felt sad or worried but couldn't figure out why. I explained that Mama's brain was mixed up and sometimes I got sad or worried for no reason. One of the boys jumped in with his experience with anxiety and helped me talk about ways we can help those confusing feelings go away. I quickly touched on how other people in our family had these feelings too so to not be surprised or scared if they experienced them. It was a very quick and light discussion.

The last thing I want to do is plant negative or scary ideas in my children. My intent was to start creating an environment/culture where discussing struggles and feelings is normal. I want anxiety and depression to have names. I want them to develop an awareness of the signs and to feel confident about reaching out if needed. I want to help them avoid my years of struggle. Hopefully we're off to a good start.

It's the last day in June and I've not updated the blog since the beginning of May. I've written about 4 posts over and over in my head and never taken the time to sit down and write. I can tell. I use writing to process and reflect. When I'm not taking the time to distance myself and really think about where I am and how things are going my days run together and my attitude suffers. I don't notice the little things that typically make me smile and I get bogged down in diapers and laundry. The kids seem louder and messes bother me more. My new goal is to devote one evening a week to the blog.

Here's what we've been up to: