Archives for April 2011

You’re a Firework

April 7, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

This post is not about me. It’s about Kim. And so is this one and this one and this one. Because when life beats on one of our PPD mamas, the rest of us rally around her.

Kim, I know you’re hurting. I know what that’s like – to not want to fight anymore. To feel like you can’t fight anymore. I’ve been there. Very, very recently. I know it sucks. I know all the stuff you have going on right now feels like it’s just too much for one person to bear. And it is. If the rest of us could split up all that pain we’d each take a part of it for you. In a heartbeat.

The best way we can do that right now is to be here. To announce to the world through this series of blog posts that you are loved. That you are strong. That you will win.

Because, baby, you’re a firework. This one’s for you, with love.

Filed Under: Postpartum depression · Tagged With: community, depression, spreading the love, we're not alone

The Battle

April 6, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

This battle is a mental one. It’s not physical. It’s mental. I can do it but part of me doesn’t want to. But I can. I know this.

Running. The sun is shining and the path in front of me is clear. I’m here because I want to be here. I need to be here. I know being here is part of what’s going to get me back on to the right path. A better path. A healthier path.

When I want to quit, I evaluate. I consider honestly how I’m feeling: Tired, but not ready to give up. It would be easier to stop, to give up, but that won’t get me where I need to go.

One foot in front of the other. One step at a time. The sound of my footsteps on the trail is the sound of progress.

Most people don’t do this all at once on their first try. They work up to it. They get help and support from people who know how to best get to the finish line. I need to remember that. It’s a journey, not a giant leap.

There are distractions. Stopping for my dog to pee breaks my rhythm but others’ needs have to be taken care of too. The stop is brief and we keep going. 4 km down, 1 to go.

Sometimes it feels like I’m never going to get there. Like I’m going to be struggling and pushing to the end forever.

Where’s the $%!@!! marker?!

I’ve been here before and I’ve given up before. Not this time. This time I’m pushing to the end.

I’m never going to get better if I don’t push past the hard part of the run and realize I can do it. My dad told me that when I first started running.

In running as in life.

The marker – the end of the path – is there. Partially hidden but I can just barely see it. I keep breathing, knowing I’m going to get there. Knowing when I do I will finally breathe easier and be able to pause and appreciate what’s around me.

I got there today. 5 km in the sunshine. I didn’t stop when I wanted to stop because that’s how you get to the end.

This post is linked up with Mama Kat’s writers’ workshop, prompt 4: “What battle are you fighting? Write a poem overcoming.” This is as close to poetry as I get 😉

Filed Under: Postpartum depression ·

Featured at The Mom Pledge Blog

April 6, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

You may have noticed that I have the Mom Pledge button on my sidebar and I wrote a post about why I think it matters.

I’m honoured to be featured today on The Mom Pledge Blog. Wander over and browse around to see some of the other moms who have taken the pledge – the community is growing!

Filed Under: Postpartum depression · Tagged With: community

Finding Some Fun

April 5, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

If you're going to make a mess you might as well be naked

The result. Note some help from Dad.

They're eating it!

Oh so much fun

Filed Under: Happy things · Tagged With: favourite activities, moments, photos

Escape, Part 2

April 5, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

[See part 1 of this story here.]

Checking into a hotel is normally a fairly simple process. Except when your brain has had a spaz and screws you over in the process.

This night in a hotel was courtesy a gift card I got for Christmas 2009 and hadn’t used yet. (I know, dumb. You’re welcome to slap me.) I looked at two websites in trying to find the hotel’s reservation number – the first was a hotel booking site and the second – the one I wanted – was the hotel’s site. I found the number and called to book the room, giving the friendly man on the other end of the line my credit card number when he asked for it to hold the room. At no time during this conversation did he say he was going to charge the card or that it was non-refundable. <Insert ominous music here>

I discovered my brain spaz when I told the woman at reception I’d be paying with the gift card. She informed me the room was prepaid through another company so I couldn’t use it.

I distinctly remember looking at the hotel booking site and discarding it. I distinctly remember looking at the hotel’s site – the branding, the hotel features, the drop-down menu with the property I was looking for. I have no idea how I screwed it up but this was absolutely the last thing I needed. I didn’t want to have to argue about it. I didn’t want to have to sort it out. And I didn’t want to suck it up and just pay for the room and use the gift card later.

I called the company and informed them I didn’t realize I was booking through another company, that I never agreed to have my card charged and that I certainly didn’t agree to – in fact, wasn’t informed about – a non-refundable booking. The oh-so-helpful response? “But it’s non-refundable.”

Force down panic, repeat story. Demonstrate full will of a mama struggling to hold her shit together instead of completely losing it in a hotel lobby: “I DON’T CARE. FIX IT NOW.”

Last weekend was just too much. What was originally intended to be a nice break had become, truly, an escape. I need to go somewhere and close the door behind me and not talk to anyone. I need to figure out what’s going on in my head that’s allowing these waves to keep crashing over me, totally unexpectedly. I need him to fix it.

He fixes it.

The woman at reception must sense I’m on the edge, because she upgrades me to a room with a king bed and a harbour view. And then, embarrassingly, I do start to cry.

Once I get into the room things are better. I drink Coke with ice in a wine glass and that alone makes me feel like I’m somewhere else. I read a bit, write a bit, breathe a bit. I listen to music. When I’m feeling more calm, I throw on my workout gear and get sweaty. I pull up one workout on my computer and when that’s done I do another one. Exercise is a sure thing, every time, and when I’m done I feel like me again.

The rest of the night was heaven – a carpet picnic, a hot shower, pajamas and cozy socks. A conversation with a dear friend who called to make sure I was okay on my own. A delicious chocolate dessert while I sat at the desk looking out at the lights coming on around the harbour. A solid sleep in a bed with fluffy covers and puffy pillows.

I am grateful for this. I am. I can afford to do this for a night and I have a husband who is not only supportive, he tells me to go. I have a laptop I can take so I can read and write and stay connected.

I sat there that night and took deep breaths and felt that gratitude wash over me. But behind it the usual tension was still there – a tightness in my shoulders, a twitchy foot and a brow that remained furrowed so that in the morning I woke up with what appeared to be a permanent crease in my forehead.

The events of Saturday, including a call to the psychiatrist at 10 at night, led me to what I sincerely hope is rock bottom. Things cannot continue like this – it’s been over two years. Almost three. I’ve taken so many steps that seem like the right ones and it doesn’t feel like it’s getting better.

Maybe this new medication will kick in (please oh please) and things will start to improve. But it’s clear to me now that I need to take charge of this. I need to do something different. I need to do something more.

So that’s what I’m going to do. As of this morning, the wheels are in motion. Stay tuned.