Dear Readers, I hope that you are well and safe and taking every precaution while self-isolating to help flatten the curve on Coronavirus. These are unprecedented times and I know that fear, stress and anxiety are rampant. I wanted to write sooner, but I’ve been struggling myself as I’ve attempted to adjust to this new normal.
Things are scary and there is a lot to worry about on top of natural emotions like loneliness, sadness, and boredom. It’s a recipe to trigger any disorder or addiction. I know I’ve been drinking too much, eating too much (which is triggering my disordered behaviors and thoughts around food), sleeping too much, working too much, reading the news too much, watching too much TV… too many unhelpful things too much of the time, of which there is simply too much.
I’ve allowed it with minimal self-judgement though because I understand I’m adjusting to a situation I’ve never experienced. I have a lot of helpful coping tools for my anxiety, disorders, and addictive tendencies, but it feels like I’m being given the ultimate test. We’re all being asked to build something we’ve never seen and for which we have no instructions. We’re all blind here, learning as we go.
So I’ve taken the past few weeks to feel my way around my emotions and this new way of life. I’ve allowed myself to give in to my emotions and fall back on old unhelpful coping tools like sleeping, drinking, and eating.
It’s funny in a weird sort of way; how many times I’d wish to be able to stay at home. How much I’d accomplish! I guess that’s why they say to be careful what you wish for. Granted, I didn’t wish for it to be under these circumstances. But here I am with an overabundance of hours in the day struggling to find the motivation to do much of anything, other than what I absolutely have to. Shit, I’m not even showering every day.
I’m impressed by those who are doing well under these circumstances. I’m not. I am weighed down by fear and loneliness, two exhausting waves of emotion lapping against the shores of my depression threatening to pull me in.
That being said, if I’ve learned anything over the past six years of this wellness journey it’s how to recognize when I need to course correct. The time is now.
Correcting Course
As I struggled with emotions that are triggering my disorders and addictions, I thought I’d reach out to someone whom I know continues to thrive. Jennie Claire has overcome more than most people, including a stroke last year that left her half-paralyzed. She’s since recovered and opened Rooted Yoga and Wellness, a yoga studio centered around holistic wellness and giving back to the community.
I asked Jennie, as someone only six months sober, to share with me how she’s managing and to offer some advice to people who are struggling with their own addictions or disorders. She answered, using alcohol as an example, but we can substitute any behavior or substance: food/disordered eating, sex, drugs, gambling, shopping/hoarding… anything that is part of our addictive pattern.
Jennie, Owner of Rooted Yoga & Wellness
“A global shut down provides us two opportunities: to get good old fashioned drunk, or to stay, or perhaps even become sober. Addiction is often a disease of loneliness, a disease of dysfunction, a disease of feeling inadequate. When we drink, the question we should be asking ourselves is why? What caused us to approach this toxin as a form of self medicating? What are we running from? What are we hiding? What are we afraid of?”
Distraction and avoidance. We turn to substances or behaviors to numb and distract ourselves from what we don’t want to/can’t face: fear, discomfort. That’s exactly what I’ve been doing.
Although Jennie is six months sober, she has been in and out recovery for 21 years, replacing one addiction with another.
“But today I am free,” she said. “Free from the fears, the burdens, the shackles that brought me into the patterns. Today I understand how to be alone, and that being alone doesn’t cause loneliness. Today I understand how to explore the emotions I am feeling instead of running and medicating.”
“This global pandemic to me is an opportunity to dive into yourself, your self worth, your fears, your frustrations, your why. And, chances are if you’re wondering if you should stop a behavior, you should. So today is a perfect day to take the first step. To breath in a new life free of chains, and full of hope.”
Today I took the first step. It’s a new month and self-isolation is mandated for at least 30 more days. Whether we like it or not, this way of life is our new normal. I have two opportunities, like Jennie said. I can continue to sink into old destructive patterns and behaviors or I can go inward, face my emotions, sit with them rather than numb them, and work toward doing more of that which brings me peace.
Today I went for an early morning bike ride and practiced yoga. I showered. I started reading a new book and wrote. I ate three healthy meals. I created a habit tracker for healthy habits I’d like to re-cultivate. I made a list of projects I can tackle throughout the month.
I know some days will be harder than others and on those days the best thing for me may be to stay in my pajamas, nap, and watch television. And on those days, I will do that. But I’d like for it to be by conscious choice, not because I am subconsciously hiding from my emotions.
We humans are incredibly resilient. But as we acclimate to our new environments, I urge you to be gentle with yourself and focus on your mental well-being. Many of us struggle with motivation on even the best of days. I’m not looking to make progress on my novel or come out of this a size smaller. I’m just trying not to come out of this worse than I went in. And I think if I can manage that, then I know I will at the very least come out stronger.
And so will you.
Rooted Yoga and Wellness is offering donation-based classes online! Classes include meditation, Yoga for Recovery (which complements the 12 step program), restorative yoga, yoga nidra and “Angst Away Asana.” Click here to view the class schedule.
How are you coping with the emotions triggered by this new way of life? I’d really like to hear from you.
As the clock ticked down on not only another year, but an entire decade, I wondered when and if inspiration to write would strike. Thankfully, my desire and tradition to chronicle yet another new year with a post both reflective and anticipatory brought me home to this blog and myself.
Where have I been all year?
Truth be told, I have been working a challenging job and sinking deeply in to an eating disorder. Yes, when the 365 pages of my 2019 flip book flash by, that is the majority of what I see. After an unexpected promotion thrust me in to a leadership position, it seemed that overnight I became a “career” woman; a “professional” whose job required the majority of my brain capacity and decision-making abilities. What little I had left went to a continued and deepening obsession around food and negative self-image. A destructive pattern of restricting and overeating emerged worse than ever before and quickly escalated out of control.
Professionally, I flourished. But mentally and emotionally, I withered under the increasing weight of fear and anxiety around food and my appearance. Professionally, I exuded confidence. But behind closed doors, a single surprise lunch could induce crippling panic and self-doubt. Ashamed of my body, I occasionally cancelled plans with friends or people who made me feel exceptionally self-conscious. I couldn’t understand why I was so respected at work because in my mind, I deserved no respect. How could I when I couldn’t manage to lose weight or resist my food cravings?
These words are devastating to write.
Eating Disorder Diagnosis
Managing my weight has been my number one priority as far back as I can remember. I had been addressing my weight, food and self-image issues for many years with my psychotherapist with some success. But finally, in November, she leaned forward and said, “I think it is time you sought more intense, specialized treatment for your disordered eating.”
Her words were a revelation. This was bigger than a desire to lose weight – more serious than yo-yo dieting – more dangerous than critical thoughts toward my body.
I desperately needed help.
I went to one of the leading institutes for eating disorder treatment for a long and emotionally painful assessment. In the end, they confirmed my “severe” eating disorder (ED) and recommended a minimum of six weeks in-patient residential treatment. Afterward, I drove home exhausted. My only thoughts revolved around what I would eat to comfort myself after such an ordeal.
I spoke with my husband and we both agreed in-patient treatment was completely unrealistic for multiple reasons. We’d explore outpatient and/or another counselor specialized in eating disorders. In the meantime, I turned to books in an attempt to understand how things had gotten so out of control and what I could do to help myself. I created a secret Instagram account and joined an ED recovery network and began documenting my recovery journey.
Eating Disorder Recovery
My wise Buddhist friend Paul once said to me regarding my weight loss efforts: “You’re banging against a door that opens toward you.” I finally understand that now. Over a decade of dieting has brought me nothing but weight gain and profound sorrow, frustration, and disappointment. I’ve lost cumulative years of my life to these efforts. I’ve missed out on so much. I’ve treated myself so harshly. I’ve sacrificed so much by tabling things for “after I lose weight.”
I’m done.
I am so done.
Through reading I have gained an understanding of how my ED emerged, which I may go in to in more detail in a future post. Essentially, I had systematically created it through years of repeated and prolonged restriction.
Being diagnosed with an eating disorder made me face the truth and shifted my perspective. It was the intervention I so desperately needed. I am incredibly grateful to not be starting a new year and decade unaware of this reality.
What Else I See in 2019
Although work and disordered eating are the majority of what I see as I look back on 2019, it’s not all I see. I also see my first trip to California where I saw (and swam in) the Pacific Ocean for the first time. I see the elephants at the San Diego Zoo. I see a weekend away at a women’s retreat in New York immersed in sisterhood. I see the bounty of my garden that provided me with great joy this past summer. I see a beautiful baby, my “niece” who was born to great friends in October. I see my husband’s professional successes, of which there were several. I see Cooper, my thirteen year old mutt who is blessedly still with us.
Looking Toward 2020
As I look forward to 2020, I feel lighter… hopeful. I am starting a new year differently than I have started any other in my adult memory – not on a diet. In fact, I forgot to weigh myself this morning. I also had a bagel sandwich for breakfast, something I would have never dared start my year with.
I still have a monkey on my back. I still want to lose weight. I have a lot of work to do to repair my relationship with my body. But I’ve stopped banging against a door that opens toward me.
I’m excited to see what my life will look like now that I have more mental space for other pursuits. I’m going to keep kicking ass at work, that’s for sure. I also have a lot of travel coming up (7 trips, in fact), including my first trip to Europe and my first visit to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter.
I’m excited to see what else is in store for me.
Thank you for reading. Happy New Year.
P.S. Weight loss has been one of the “themes” of this blog. I apologize for my participation in perpetuating diet culture. I’m not sure yet what I will do with all those posts I’ve written. But please know that going forward my weight loss journey will be focused on recovery and I will no longer be contributing to diet culture.
I’m in a dark and scary place on my journey. A beast creeps around every tree, its presence surrounding me like fog. I struggle between finding the strength to be my own light and succumbing to the darkness, laying down on the damp earth, and letting it consume me.
Despite everything I know, believe and practice, I am not immune to depression. Depression is not the flu; there is no vaccine. But there are so many similarities. I feel like I’m coming down with a virus. I’m tired and unmotivated, weak and uninterested. I want to block out the sun, pull the covers over my head, and sleep.
I don’t know why I’m depressed. We don’t ask people with the flu why they have the flu. It just happens. I’m waiting and hoping this sadness runs its course. But unlike the flu, depression is not a legitimate excuse to call out from work or miss a meeting or blog post. So everything I do feels forced and exhausts me. I do what I have to do, go where I have to go, but my heart isn’t in anything. I know I am a passionate, excitable and energetic person. But lately, I feel two dimensional, flat and empty.
Like the flu, no one wants depression. It’s awful. But unlike the flu, the support and understanding from loved ones often just isn’t there, increasing the sense of loneliness, which tends to intensify the symptoms.
I know I’ll be okay, but right now I feel awful. I know I’m loved, but right now I feel alone. I know there are things I can do to feel better, but right now none of them interest me and I’m too tired. I know that right now in this very moment nothing is hurting me, but right now I’m hurting anyway.
This is my blog post this week because I am committed to writing one and I am committed to sharing my journey with you. This is where I am. I do not suspect this leg of the journey will last long, and if it does, I know I have resources to help me. I’ve seen this setting before, but I won’t say I’ve been down this road before. That’s because my journey doesn’t go in circles. And although the scenery is eerily familiar, I know it is not the same. Because I am not the same. And I know this is depression and not something someone did or something broken inside of me. Depression is the beast in the woods that is often content to leave me alone, but sometimes treks a bit too close to my trail.
My brother, Joey recently visited from Colorado. We took it easy his last day here and lounged around. I caught up on journaling. If you’ve been reading this blog a while, you may remember I keep several journals, two of which are 5-year journals. One is titled One Line A Day: A Five-Year Memory Book and the other Q&A a Day: 365 Questions, 5 Years, 1,825 Answers. Both only require a sentence or two be written a day and each entry goes underneath the previous year’s so I can reflect on the past. I find them a simple and effective way to journal.
I explained them to Joey and read him a few simple examples. For May 23rd: What’s your hairstyle? May 3rd: If you could have a superpower just for today, what would it be? (In 2015 I answered ‘teleportation so I could see so many incredible things.’ For 2016 I answered ‘healing, so I could help Mom.’) In this example alone, I can see I’ve become less selfish over the course of one year.
I also explained that some questions were more intense and thought-provoking, and as for the one line a day journal, I write down something significant from each day.
Joey’s response was one of confusion. “Don’t they keep you living in the past,” he asked. “Aren’t they full of stuff you’d be better off forgetting?”
His question caught me off guard since I am a proponent of living presently. I had to think. Was I living in the past? I was learning from the past, and remembering things worth remembering.
“No,” I answered. “First of all, there’s great stuff in these,” I said, tapping the books with my pen. “Little things easily forgotten that make me smile. Also, they help me see how I’ve grown. Sure, there’s painful stuff, but I don’t want to “forget” anything. I want to understand and accept; identify the good in the bad, and not be caught off guard or made to feel uncomfortable by lingering thoughts and memories, because lets face it – do we ever really forget anything completely?”
Joey seemed to consider what I said, then shrugged with indifference and went back to his phone as if the conversation no longer interested him.
But the topic interested me, so I thought about it more. I know some people certainly want to forget, but they go about it by denial and avoidance. I’d like to forget things, and not all of them are bad. Some memories are incredible, but thinking of them hurts my heart and fills me with a bittersweet sadness and longing because a friendship ended or a love was lost. We are advised to express gratitude for the experiences and the memories, but it’s not always easy.
I love Jeanne Safer’s suggestion that we “celebrate” to compensate for our loss in these instances.
When there is something meaningful to retrieve from a past relationship, celebrating it is a genuine compensation for loss. If anything in your love was real—imperfect, ambivalent, obsessive, or selfish in part, but tender and true at the core—it is yours forever, even though the one you loved loves you no longer or never fully returned your devotion. The authentic core of love is eternal, even if the person who inspired it will never return to you. But you have to hold fast to it and fight through your despair and disappointment to find it, resurrect it, and claim it.
These memories of past relationships remain our property despite their demise. We have every right to hold on to them in order to celebrate what was, and to look back with a smile and grateful heart for the experience.
Other memories I’d like to forget because they trigger shame, embarrassment, and are altogether pretty horrible. For example, the memories that a building near my home evoke.
I drive past this particular building two times a day. Years went by when I couldn’t even bear to visit the town, let alone see the building. But the passing of time helped me heal and I learned to accept what happened there. Some days, particularly during the winter, the season when I lived in the building, a memory strikes me like a flash of lightning and I shake my head to dissolve the materialized image. I know I’ll never forget what happened, but at least the memories don’t trigger anger or anxiety or cause me pain and suffering anymore. That’s because I allow them to exist.
I recognize the behavior from those who choose the way of denial and avoidance when dealing with their past. They are easily triggered; defensive, anxious. I’ve witnessed people shut down conversation at the mention of a seemingly innocent subject because it triggered a memory or feeling they’ve gotten so used to ignoring. A lack of acceptance is at work.
Keep in mind that when I write of acceptance in this context, I don’ t mean we should resign ourselves to what happened to us or that we are helpless. By acceptance, I mean allowing something to exist, like a building, and accepting that these memories are part of who we are and our lives. Zindel Segal, Professor of Psychology in Mood Disorders, wrote that denying a negative mindset is taking place can be riskier for mental health than allowing negative emotions to exist.
In accepting negative emotions, allowing them to exist, we can begin to increase our self-awareness. Instead of lashing out after being triggered and not understanding why because we block out our memories, we can understand what’s happening (cognitive therapy). We can learn to understand our responses to certain triggers because we can identify them. Like Segal says in the article linked below, “Ah, fear is here.” Rather than experience impatience and irritability when at a red light next to the building that triggers me, I understand what’s at work – fear and discomfort. So instead of getting upset, I tell myself, “You are safe.”
What’s my alternative? Drive miles out of my way to avoid what boils down to bricks and concrete? Drive past white knuckling the steering wheel? Neither are viable options to me. If you’re avoiding something or someone and find yourself holding your breath or wanting to disappear into the wall, ask yourself: What’s really at work here? What is it I don’t want to exist?
Perhaps it’s shame and you could go the rest of your life without seeing someone who triggers it deep within your core. Try giving yourself much needed self-care, love, and forgiveness. Your shame is not written across your forehead, even though I know it may often feel like that. Allow it to exist, and the person who makes you feel that way, and be mindful of your feelings and what you need, even if it’s leaving the space. The point is to be aware and good to yourself, not deny what is happening and behave in a way that will further add to your shame.
Whether good or bad, remembering is healthy. Allow for opportunities to reflect and see how you’ve grown, how relationships have changed, how less or more important things that were worthy of preserving at the time have become. Get comfortable with the past. Allow it to exist.
See for yourself how healthy remembering can be. Enter my raffle for a chance to win a 5-year journal of your own.
From June 3 – 9 you can enter to win the five year memory book so you, too, can capture a line or two a day for five years and reflect back on your experiences.
Please share this post (or one of your favorites) right now for a quick and easy three entries in the raffle. Just don’t forget to enter your name and e-mail address at the link above so I know you did it.
When losing weight is your number one goal, there isn’t much room for other priorities. The only time in recent years when this wasn’t my number one priority was when I was in school, and guess what, I gained a lot of weight during that time. Other than that, it’s been my focus. That’s a whole lot of energy, time and work that has gone into one thing with far too few results, other than preventing me from gaining even more weight.
Imagine if I had devoted all that space and energy to something else, something I was good at. Who knows what I could have achieved by now!
When I finally figured out I couldn’t lose weight because I was focusing on the wrong things (diet and exercise instead of cognitive thinking), I redoubled my commitment to losing weight with a new approach. My counselor recommended The Beck Diet Solution: Train Your Brain to THINK Like a Thin Person, by Dr. Judith Beck. Her father, Aaron Beck is regarded as the Father of Cognitive Therapy, so I figured she knew a thing or two on the subject.
The book claimed it would help me change the way I think about diet, eating and weight loss “FOREVER.” I’d learn how to abolish my cravings, resist temptations, deal with emotional triggers, end emotional eating, and conquer excuses to overeat, according to the book’s description. I believe that if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is, so I was skeptical. I’ve been trying to do these things for twenty years; no way was one book going to get the job done. But with an open mind and trust in my counselor, I loaded it onto my Kindle.
The book is broken into 42 lessons. My first task was to write an Automatic Response Card (ARC) listing all the reasons I want to be thin. The idea is that when you’re staring down chocolate cake or want nothing but to eat your weight in french fries after a hard day, you have something to whip out and read to remind yourself what’s more important and why the food isn’t really what you want.
I had never really thought before about why I want to be thin. We all want to be rich, right, but seldom think of the specific reasons why. We usually just have some broad sense of increased happiness and quality of life. That’s what I thought when it came to being thin. So I had been dedicating the bulk of my time and energy to a goal that I didn’t even know specifically why I wanted! How ridiculous is that!?
So I thought about why I want to be thin and twenty specific, damn good reasons tumbled out of my brain and onto a piece of paper as fast as my hand could write them.
#1 on my list; the very FIRST thing I thought:
Being thin will free up space in my life for other goals.
I didn’t think much of that being the first thing I thought until this month, when the space showed up.
Let me back up.
I dedicated the entire month of January to cooking and eating right, exercising daily, and practicing my newly learned cognitive thinking skills. I read The Beck Diet Solution and beyond these things and work, I had little time for anything else. I was excited and enthusiastic; happy to devote so much time and energy to my goal. But January turned into February and I began to lose steam. I got sick, too. On February 10, I wrote “The Part When We Quit” to process all that I was feeling, and ultimately acknowledged it was normal and to keep my eye on the prize.
But then everything got even harder… and darker.
Here’s the thing – there is no instant gratification in weight loss. It is a slow, grueling process. I am a spinning wheel, something my friend, Kathy affectionately called me recently, and detest being stagnant. My husband has accused me of having shark syndrome. “When you stop swimming, you die,” he’s said. For me to work so hard on something, and make such slow progress, is downright depressing.
By the second half of February I was in a dark place. There was something else at work, too. When you eat to process and/or mask your emotions and then you stop, you need to replace it with something. We as people love to tell people to stop doing things; stop drinking, stop smoking, but we don’t tell people what to do instead. We drink, smoke, and eat for a reason! Take those things away and we have no choice but to feel really uncomfortable emotions we’ve tried so hard to hide from.
That’s what happened to me. I didn’t replace my eating with a healthy alternative and I was left feeling rundown, raw, and really fucking sad. I desperately needed something else to work on, but was too depressed and tired from working so hard. I was also afraid that if I shifted my focus, I’d lose any progress I made.
“What you’re doing is really, really hard,” my counselor said sympathetically as I sat across from her quiet and crying.
We agreed I could use some help from my Prozac, so I decided to take it every day, at least for a little while, instead of only the two weeks before my period to ease my PMDD.
Within a week, I felt better. And then March was upon us and the urge to create this new website overcame me like a virus. I was sick with excitement and desire and motivation. And so for two solid weeks I spent every spare moment working on this site. I was overjoyed. My need to NOT be stagnant was being met. I was moving forward, making progress, and it was happening quickly.
Once I finished the site, I realized that after two solid months, weight loss was no longer my primary focus. I had shifted my priority to the website and the most incredible thing happened. I didn’t gain weight. The weight loss efforts went on auto pilot and ran in the background. I had created space for something else.
I was able to do this because I spent two months creating habits and for once, they took! I cooked, I meal planned, I exercised. But since those things were habit, they didn’t require so much thought and energy anymore! I almost gave up that second month, but I stuck with it. Now, I am beginning to reap the benefits, and it’s glorious.
Earlier this week I sat in a benefits meeting at work since we have a new provider. I wondered about our mental health coverage, but figured I should wait to ask until after the meeting as to not publicly announce my interest in these services.
But then as I looked around the room, I had another thought. There’s no way I’m the only one wondering about this. So I raised my hand and asked, letting anyone at the table think whatever it is they wanted to think about me and/or my mental health. It’s called mental wellness for a reason, and I’m interested in being well. What I’m not interested in is contributing to the stigma of mental illness; the taboo that makes people hesitant to reach out and speak up when they need help, the same one that causes others to look upon someone who experiences an illness with disgrace.
My friend, Kathy has another great guest post coming up about an interesting article she read in Psychology Today. She found the article in the first edition of the magazine that she ever bought personally.
“I had been skimming through the magazines in my therapist’s waiting area for over a year,” she wrote. “I finally worked up enough courage to buy a copy for myself—and then a subscription—something I had wanted to do for a long time, but I had to work on my feelings of shame surrounding my desire first.”
Kathy hadn’t purchased the subscription because she wondered what other people would think.
“What is the cashier going to think? Will I feel comfortable reading it on the train? My God, I was acting like someone buying condoms for the first time.”
Despite many magazines suffering declines in readership over the past several years, Adweek, in 2013, noted Psychology Today‘s 36 percent increase in readership (source). What that says to me is there are a lot more people interested in mental health or a lot more mental health professionals. If so, there must be demand for those professionals. I’d like to say that Kathy’s fear was unfounded and exaggerated in relation to the increased popularity of the magazine, but I can’t. Because there is still that stigma.
“Mental Illness is such a taboo phrase; yet everyone has had moments or days or weeks or months or even years when they didn’t function at their best emotionally or mentally, Kathy added. “Why is this something that is so wrapped in shame? I’m still uncomfortable admitting I see a therapist to most of my friends, unless I know they have used the same resource for themselves.”
Kathy’s right. There are a lot of people walking around who are not functioning at their best. People hear “mental illness/disorder” and think things like Bi-polar Disorder, Schizophrenia, PTSD and of sociopaths. But do you know what the most common disorders are? They are:
Alcohol/substance abuse/dependence
Anxiety disorders
ADHD/ADD
Depression
Eating disorders
I’m willing to bet you have experienced one of these disorders or have at least one close friend or relative who has. So why the stigma?
According to Vince G. Sparks, who wrote one of the best articles I’ve read on this subject, “The stigma exists because of a lack of understanding, knowledge and education about mental illness.”
Like Kathy often says, mental illness can happen to anyone. “We are just balancing on the beam, and we can all teeter over the edge.” Mental illness isn’t anyone’s fault. Life is hard. Emotional and mental well being is an absolute necessity, just as important as diet and exercise in my opinion.
Those who live with mental illness deserve our kindness and compassion, just like someone fighting cancer. We dub cancer patients as fighters and find them inspiring. Cancer patients are celebrated every year in rallies and races and all number of charity events. Once people beat cancer, they wear their survivorship like the badge of honor that it is.
But imagine for one moment if there was so little understanding about cancer that it had a negative stigma. Imagine a world without all the weekend fundraisers and rallies and races, without all the support groups, without all the encouragement, without all the commercials and treatment centers and research dollars and overwhelming desire to find a cure. If you can imagine all that, then you can imagine what the state of mental illness in this country is.
The hurtful stigma and judgements only result in shame and isolation, which prevent people from seeking the help they need. Wouldn’t it be nice if there were more weekend rallies and commercials and inspiring stories and research money around mental illnesses, I guarantee that would help the stigma because it would demonstrate the prevalence of these illnesses. Once people understand this is common, they may not be so willing to undermine their intense emotions or startling thoughts, and reach out to someone just like people do when they have a pain in their stomach that won’t go away.
We can all do our part. Let’s not judge so harshly things we may not understand. Let’s keep talking about this!
Please also know that the holidays can be the most difficult time of year for those who live with depression. Depression is not something that can be snapped out of. The holidays are a time of year when people miss their loved ones, have high expectations that often lead to disappointment, and generally feel lonely from the constant bombardment of advertisements featuring happy families. It’s also a stressful time for nearly everyone. Let’s look out for another and offer a hand or an ear. Pay attention to your loved ones. Do your part to ensure they know they are supported.
The day after I was diagnosed with PMDD and prescribed Sarafem, an anti-depressant specifically geared toward treating the symptoms of PMDD and that can be taken for two week stints leading up to menstruation, I had an appointment with my wellness counselor. I explained to her that I didn’t want to take the pills and that maybe I should work harder on a more holistic approach. “I could give it a month. Really mark out the calendar so I know when to do what. Inversions, more vitamin B, more carbs and protein, more naps, more meditation, more avoidance of emotional triggers.” We agreed I should give it a shot. She also pointed out that sometimes having a diagnosis makes a big difference in and of itself because there is a better understanding of what’s happening.
A few days later, I confided this latest development and my plan with my friend Kathy, who immediately whipped out a piece of paper and started drawing a calendar.
“Here,” she said, enthusiastically circling a square on the impromptu calendar, “is when you need to start increasing your magnesium. Pumpkin seeds and Epsom salt baths. Here,” drawing an arrow, “is when you need to start putting legs up the wall. It is so good for your body. Make sure you have plenty of healthy junk food in the house. And here,” voraciously circling a square repeatedly, “is when you need to be extra gentle with yourself. Dr. Christiane Northrup says that in a perfect world, women would stay home and rest their first day of menstruation.”
I had my plan and shared it with the most important people in my life, the ones directly affected by my behavior, and had their support. I would insulate myself against PMDD with sleep, the right food, vitamin B, meditation, yoga, and magnesium. It would be great. I would defeat the beast with graceful shoulder stands, indulge in healthy junk food and meditate whenever destructive emotions arose within me. I would be poised against the storm.
Things were going okay. Until they weren’t anymore. After a particularly hellish morning, another one in which getting to work was a victory in and of itself, I was distracted and emotional. I could hardly wait to get home to start my medication, desperate for some relief from myself. The holistic approach clearly wasn’t enough. I was going crazy. But like my counselor had suggested, knowing what was wrong was a little comforting. Countless times I had wondered, what is happening to me!? Not this time. This time I knew. And even though I didn’t think there was any room in my toolbox for medication, I started to think that I had been wrong. Maybe needing a little extra help wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Maybe it didn’t mean I was a failure and a fake. Maybe I had been denying myself a very useful tool that had its place amongst the other tools. I am no stranger to depression and anxiety. I had exhibited great strength at times overcoming those emotions. One of my past yoga teachers once said that going into child’s pose, a resting pose, takes great strength because it requires you to admit that you need rest. I decided when I got home that evening and took my first antidepressant in over a decade that it wasn’t a sign of weakness, but one of strength. Here I was admitting I couldn’t do it alone and I needed help.
I was only on the pills for three days the first go around. I am a big fan of the placebo effect, and even though the pills were no placebo, they had an instant calming effect on me.
I recently finished my second go around taking the pills (this time for 2 weeks) and I noticed a difference. I spoke to my Mom briefly once my period had started. We agreed after my diagnosis that since our relationship is on the mend, it may be best if we didn’t speak leading up to my period. “You sound good!” she said. “I feel good. I slept a lot, which is unfortunate, but I don’t think forcing productivity would have been very successful. I prefer to sleep when my body needs it rather than be awake and emotional. The pills help me think clearer. Everything doesn’t seem so hopeless.”
I decided that I’m okay with needing a little help. I only feel better – emotionally and about myself – because with the help of this mild antidepressant, I have more control and can see a little more clearly and not be so reactive or destructive. I can still feel. Before going to see my doctor, I was downright scared of what was happening inside of me. I had a therapist who said, “That’s the thing about preventatives. You never know what you may have prevented.” She’s right. I consider my pills a preventative that have earned their place alongside my vitamin B.
Please keep in mind that in no way am I undermining the holistic approach that I had tried. I still continue to do these things every month and I do believe that they are beneficial. But right now at this point in my life, while I am cracking my nut open and wounded, it unfortunately just isn’t enough.
I am fortunate that I only feel this way a couple weeks at a time. For countless people, this is their daily life and there is no escape from their black pit of despair. If you have no idea what I am talking about, then I am happy for you, but I ask that you please have some compassion for those who have depression, mood and anxiety disorders, because the struggle is real.
I was torn as to whether or not to tell this story and admit all this to the world. I am worried what you all will think of me. But I went a long time without any help and seeking it out is now part of my journey to becoming a gentler, happier woman, and I am dedicated to sharing that journey. Also, I think it is important that we keep the dialogue open about mental and hormonal health and prescriptions and work on breaking down the stigma that medication is bad or for the weak-minded. Also, if you or someone you know, like your spouse or girlfriend, appears to be a different person before her period, maybe this story will encourage you to talk about PMDD.
I don’t plan to need these pills forever. I do believe that as I continue to crack the nut on my suffering and work toward a life more reflective of the one I want that I will be happier. Right now, I am rubbed raw, so the lemon juice hurts. Maybe in the not so distant future, new skin will have formed and things won’t be so painful.
But for now, this is where I’m at and I am meeting myself in the present.
This journey thus far has been an exercise in cracking the nut on my suffering; letting the light in to allow me to see better. I don’t always like what I find. But I’d much rather see, than continue to live my life with blurred vision, never really being able to make things out for exactly what they are. Through mindfulness and self-awareness I am finally seeing more clearly, and have detected some patterns in my emotions and behavior.
I have always been an emotional person, but at times those emotions are volatile. As a teenager my mood swings were chalked up to a chemical imbalance and I was diagnosed as bi-polar and prescribed medication that I rarely took because I thought it made me inauthentic. Over time, I just seemed to grow out of it, except for the one to two weeks leading up to my period, and then it was chalked up to PMS. I wonder now if my problem had always been hormonal…
Some months are better than others, depending on my life at the moment. PMS is an intensifier, like lemon on a wound. If life is going okay and stress is under control, it’s like a scratch, and a little lemon juice isn’t so bad. But if life is painful, an open wound, then PMS can make it downright unbearable. Nothing experienced during this time is disingenuous, just exacerbated. For women who are already emotional on a good day, this monthly roller coaster ride of hormones can be debilitating and destructive, disrupting work and damaging relationships.
Back in February, I experienced one of my lowest points so far this year. My mood changed directions like a weather vane in a tornado and a sense of sadness permeated my soul. On a regular day, I wake with energy and a mission before me, maintaining a fairly positive attitude as I work out, enjoy a healthy breakfast, prepare for work, fix my lunch and walk my dog, Cooper. I am focused and productive at work and my energy stays up through the evening as I continue to be productive. But some days, like back in February, getting out of bed requires monumental effort. I am exhausted, filled with dread and hopelessness. Nothing has meaning. I lay in bed as my tears soak my pillowcase and conjure possible call out excuses. Only maturity and the reality that work is a valuable distraction and that not going will only increase my anxiety gets me to slowly swing my legs out of bed. Working out doesn’t even cross my mind. By now, I will most likely be late for work anyway. I have no appetite so I skip breakfast and figure I’ll just buy lunch, something I don’t like to do, but I don’t care about money or routine. Cooper gets walked because he has to, but I don’t enjoy it, and I feel fatigued after 20 minutes. Driving to the train station, I daydream about car accidents and Cooper being left without his Mommy, and wonder if anyone would miss me…
This particular day back in February, no tool I had learned – meditation, yoga, nor positive thinking combatted the intense hopelessness and frustration that was interfering in my life. Everything was wrong. Desperate, I did something I hadn’t done in a very long time. I called my Mom and sobbed into the phone and explained every ugly emotion I was feeling. I needed sympathy, understanding, and advice. Out of my desperation came a phone call that would single handedly bring our relationship back from the brink of destruction, because she was everything I needed.
“I am so, so sorry you’re just like me,” she said. Together, we identified what might be going on. It was the same thing she had dealt with since she was in her early thirties: Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD), PMS’ larger, uglier, angrier sister. Since underlying depression and anxiety are common in both PMS and PMDD, it’s possible that the hormonal changes that trigger a menstrual period worsen the symptoms of mood disorders, hence why emotions are so intensified. It made sense. I exhibited every symptom.
My mom listened and consoled, and urged me to see a doctor. “You have to call tomorrow,” she said. “If you don’t, in a few days you’ll feel better and then you won’t think it’s a big deal anymore. You need to see him while you’re feeling this way. You can’t go through this every month.”
“Can I ask for a hysterectomy?” I cried, dead serious. “You can ask, but menopause is no picnic, either.” We talked until exhaustion set in.
With some reinforcement from a friend (because the next day I felt better and the matter lost its sense of urgency), I did call the doctor. The morning of my appointment I was a mess. I sat in the chair, holding back tears. When the doctor arrived and asked what brought me in, I choked on my words. “You have no control of your emotions.” I don’t know if it was a question or an accusation, so I just nodded and let the tears stream down my face. “We can fix this,” he said.
Within minutes I was given a diagnosis of PMDD and a prescription that burned in my purse. I was back on the elevator heading down to Walnut Street, my mind reeling.
My feelings have been medicated. There wasn’t even any discussion of alternatives. Sure, what I’m feeling is extreme, but these are my feelings, and I want to FEEL them. I don’t want to be numbed! Pills kill creativity and passion – they will change me. How can he prescribe me so quickly? This isn’t just a prescription, but a stigma. What will people think? I have endured for a long time through emotional turmoil and I have done it without medication. There is no room in my toolbox for medication. Healthy, happy people don’t take medication. This isn’t who I want to be…
Already as vulnerable as a seedling during a frost, I struggled greatly with this development and all my preconceptions against medication that would never even cross my mind had anyone but myself been prescribed. But despite the struggle, I still felt a desperation. A desperation that pulled me to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription. The bottle would sit in my purse for a few days, and then the medicine cabinet for weeks… unopened.
One moment I was making a sandwich, the next I struggled to catch my breath. Heart pounding, I gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles white against the cream laminate, vision blurred by fat tears that streaked my fresh eye make-up. It was a random morning and I was getting ready for work. Preparing my lunch, anxiety struck. Thankfully, I’ve since learned how to mange my anxiety.
Anxiety wasn’t an unusual thing. Anxiety attacks have brought me to my knees, seemingly out of nowhere. All I could manage was to wrap my arms around myself, rock gently and cry until it passed, whispering to myself, “sshhh, it’s okay.”
Understanding Why I Was So Anxious
The thing is though, my anxiety attacks didn’t come out of nowhere. I know now that they were invited by my stress and imagination; created by my overactive mind that worried incessantly about the future.
That morning in my kitchen, a thought burst through the chaos in my brain, loud and clear.
All you have to do right now is make a sandwich. Just make the sandwich, sweetie.
I took a deep breath, looked down at my partially made sandwich and continued its assembly, letting my tears do the seasoning as I grew calmer. I made my way back to the present.
Managing My Anxiety
I haven’t had an anxiety attack since I made that sandwich. Not because my problems have gone away – far from it. But because I know that no life decisions need to be made at 7 am on a weekday; that the conversations I have in my head never turn out in real life the way I imagine them; because I cannot tell the future; because I am learning to trust that things happen when they are meant to; that they have a way of working out in the end, for better or for worse and no amount of mental agony on my part is going to change that.
Life happens one thing at a time.
My dear friend, Kathy shared with me that one morning she was helping her three year-old go potty when he got very upset and sobbed that he didn’t want to go to school. “Right now,” she said, “we’re just going potty. That’s all.” He immediately calmed down.
I still worry and feel anxious sometimes. But now I have the tools to not let it get out of hand to the point that I am not in control of my body. I catch myself getting worked up and I say to myself, “Just make the sandwich.”
One thing at a time. Whether you’re making a sandwich, or just going potty, that is all that requires your attention at that moment.
