This I Believe – Guest Post By Yael Saar

I am absolutely, joyfully, dancing-ly happy to have Yael here today sharing this amazing post. She added this as a page on her blog, PPD to Joy, not long ago and I just ate it up. I’m excited to share it here today because I think you’ll be able to relate.

This post is about postpartum depression, and about motherhood. But it’s also about relationships and hard days and things that suck. So it doesn’t matter if you’re not a mom or haven’t suffered through PPD – I still think this will speak to you. My suggestion: find a quiet spot, wherever and however you can, and read this. Really read it. Allow it to sink into your brain. I bet your breathing will be deeper and your shoulders lower when you finish.

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Love is a renewable resource, a self-fulfilling prophecy.
The more you love, the more you love.

This can be hard to feel, and even harder to believe.
Love is magic.
It works regardless of whether you can feel it.
Regardless of whether you believe in it or not.

Being kind is underrated.
Being right is overrated.
When in doubt, choose kindness.
Especially to yourself.

(Go slow and you’ll get there faster. Baby steps will take you farthest.)

About Motherhood

Motherhood is the hardest job on the planet.
Even if you’ve climbed Mt. Everest, you know kids can challenge you more than the tallest peaks.
Miraculously, unbelievably, (thankfully) this is, somehow, all worth it.
But why does this have to be so hard?

My kids are the best kids ever. And so are yours.
The fact that they can drive us crazy is beside the point.

Kids, especially toddlers, are physicists and social scientists.
They test the limits of gravity, safety, and patience.
They yank our chains for a living.
This ain’t easy on the mom.

Yelling at children is unavoidable.
Striving to yell less is important, learning grump-management is helpful, but let’s not kid ourselves, raising our voices at our loved ones is not about to go extinct.
Giving ourselves permission to yell when we are at the end of our rope just might keep yelling from turning into screaming.

Hugs are more important than food.
If we hug our kids more often than we yell at them, all of us will turn out all right.

(Baby steps will take you farthest.)

About Postpartum Mood Disorders

You are not broken.
You are not damaged.
You are struggling.
Every struggle is an opportunity for growth.

You don’t have to like this to survive this.
You don’t have to like this to learn and grow from this.
This sucks, so of course you don’t like this.
You have a right to be angry. How could you not be?
You have a right to be scared.

When you allow your anger and fear to be heard, they cannot rule you.
Interacting with them gives you power in situations you don’t have power over. Running away from your emotions means you can never rest.

If you fight your anger tooth and nail, it will turn into rage and guilt.
If you fear your fear, it will turn into anxiety and panic.
Fighting your emotions only feeds your demons.

Healing cannot happen in a war zone.
Permission-Based Healing is far more effective.

You are not lazy.
You are exhausted.
So is your partner.

Until you get enough sleep, try to respect your capacity, or lack thereof.
Accepting that being grumpy is unavoidable helps.
It is possible to be grumpy without being mean.
Yes, this is hard.

Trust turns caves into tunnels.
When you can’t find the light at the end of your tunnel, dare to ask someone to light a candle and hold your hand.

Asking for help is hard. Very hard. And scary.
And it is the first step to recovery.
If you only learn one thing from having to deal with this darn mood disorder, let it be how to ask for help effectively.
No, you will not be good at this right away. And that’s OK.

(Baby steps will take you farthest.)

About the Role of Community in Recovery:

Community is my favorite word.
I wouldn’t be alive without my family and my community.

Every single person has skeletons in their closet.
Well, these things only look like skeletons, because it’s so dark in there.
When we dare to bring them out into the light, we discover that the skeletons are simply our very human, very scared selves.
Inviting our scared selves out to play can be petrifying.
Sharing our scary stories with others creates community while connecting all of us on the deepest level.
In my experience such trust is always rewarded handsomely.

This is how we trust in the healing power of community.
When we allow ourselves to be vulnerable and human, we allow others to do the same. And we all get stronger together.

Words build community.
When fighting doesn’t bring peace, writing does.
I believe every one of us is capable of writing for healing.
Not ready to write yet?
Read. Speak. Cry. Sing…

(Baby steps will take you farthest.)

***

See? Is that not one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever read? In one post she manages to address all kinds of things that have lurked in the shadows for me.

One of the links above, to Yael’s Permission-Based Healing page, is another new resource on her site. I’ve talked to a lot of people about accepting whatever threatens to overwhelm you – anxiety, rage, grief, whatever it is – and letting it in. Most say I can’t. I’m scared to. I’m afraid if I do I will sink. I know. I was too. I did too. But this approach is the thing that finally allowed me to get better, and one of the people I have to thank for that is Yael. She knows, because she’s been there too. Have a look at that page and let Yael know what you think. (But be gentle with her, she asks – it’s a subject close to her heart.)

Yael is also the one behind the PPD SpeakEasy support calls. When I first heard about these I told Yael (before I really knew her) that I couldn’t really imagine talking to strangers on the phone about my struggle with PPD. I got over it and joined in (I’ve even hosted) and in an upcoming post I’ll tell you about the last call, because it really was a very cool experience. (And if you have a site where you share PPD resources, consider posting Yael’s badge? Pretty please?)

Thank you, Yael, for all you do for our community. We love you for it.

xo


On My Anniversary

Personal crises do funny things to relationships, as too many of us know too well. We go through these things, individually or together – or together-but-individually – and almost always, I think, something changes.

Our journeys become harder when we’re faced with something other than the chosen road. Doubly so, perhaps, when we’re fighting against the current, thereby using energy we previously put into our partners, our relationships, our life-as-we-knew-it.

This extra baggage we carry isn’t always something we acknowledge. We don’t pick up rage or grief or illness and turn to our companion and say, I’m sorry. I have to carry this for a while. For now I’m going to have to put down your need for time to yourself / some of the things I do around the house / my ability to be a nice person to live with. 

We just don’t.

Or at least I didn’t.

My baggage was an extra weight, strapped to me like a backpack, that I couldn’t identify. I questioned it constantly, turning around and around in desperate attempts to identify it. But it was a part of me, and so it turned with me, always just out of sight.

I picked up that backpack when no one was looking. When I wasn’t looking. It was just there, and it became part of me. My husband could see it, but he didn’t realize it was unidentifiable to me, and unwanted.

To him, it had become part of me.

He didn’t want it in our lives either. He didn’t like that backpack, and he hadn’t agreed to let me bring it on our journey. He thought the backpack and I were inseparable and, not satisfied with that, he gave me a choice: ditch the baggage or get off at the next station.

I chose to ditch the baggage, of course. I hadn’t wanted it in the first place.

As it turned out, it wasn’t so easy to set down.

In the end my husband had to help me. It was too heavy a weight for me to deal with on my own. So as I sat down in the middle of the path, like a stubborn child unwilling or unable to go on, he started loosening the straps so I could walk on. Slowly, bit by bit, he moved things around to adjust the load. He held my hand for a while. He kept me going.

It wasn’t enough.

When I said I needed to stop – just stop – he didn’t blink. He called in others on our path to help support the weight of my baggage and slowly, gently, he helped me take the pack off.

That baggage is gone now, though my body still bears the evidence of its weight – the marks it has left on me, the ache of having borne it for so long. My husband sees these scars, as only the one I’ve chosen to travel with me on the path of life truly can.

I’m less afraid of that extra baggage now. I know what it looks like, what it feels like to carry. I know more about where it came from and what it almost cost me.

I said almost.

Today is our 7th wedding anniversary. We’ve been together 13 years.

I’m feeling lucky.

Black & white wedding photo

I love you, my love.

On the Move: Being a Theta Mom

Yes, I’m elsewhere again today, trying on a different hat. Yesterday I was scary, which was really fun, and I appreciate all the kudos for writing honestly about how hard it is to have a newborn.

If you’ve been around here before, you’ll know I’m all about telling it like it is.

If you’re new here, well, I’ll just send you right to the really hard stuff as an example of just how honest I’m willing to be. (And also, hi! Welcome.)

Yes, being a mom is great. But sometimes it also sucks. I figure we should be able to talk about that.

Heather created her site to be about the real deal when it comes to talking about motherhood, and my reaction when I first found her was, “Sign me up!”

Today I’m really happy to be guest posting over there about – what else? – blogging and the benefits of brutal honesty.

Come and visit!

Tele-porters and Virtual Hugs

I woke up on Friday to a barrage of tweets for one of my fellow #PPDChat mamas and immediately knew something had happened. Something good.

Our dear friend Pam reached out earlier this week on Twitter and Band Back Together for help. I’ll admit – the depth of her despair freaked me out. I spent a whole lot of time tweeting, sending DMs, and replying to her post. I just needed to do something. Anything. And it felt like it wasn’t enough.

Pam isn’t the only one I’ve desperately wanted to help. If I had any aptitude for inventions I would invent a tele-porter so I could go and see these beautiful mamas when they need a hug. I can’t fix these problems for them – each of us has to work at that ourselves. But a big part of being able to do that is having support. And that is something I can provide, even if that hug is just virtual.

So that’s what I did for Pam – sent hugs and love and support. And then I stalked her Twitter stream, because when someone’s in crisis it’s hard not to do that. I also had the #PPDChat stream open in Tweetdeck and it was constantly scrolling with new tweets, almost all of them directed at Pam. It was like watching a wave of love roll up the screen.

I’ve written about #PPDChat before. It’s an amazing and beautiful thing, and it saved me on a few occasions over the last few months when I needed help RIGHT NOW. It’s so powerful I don’t even know how to put it into words. We have a private Facebook group, which is a great place to share some of the stuff we don’t want in our Twitter streams. But often when one of us needs someone we go to Twitter because we know, without a doubt, that there’s always someone there. We can call on that army, even in the middle of the night, and someone – another mama who can’t sleep or someone in another time zone – will answer. It has never failed me.

It didn’t fail Pam, either. She got that love and it got her through.

So Friday morning, when I saw the #PPDChat stream fill up again with tweets for her, I smiled. She did what she needed to do – she’s going for help, and we’re all going with her.

I don’t have a tele-porter, so I couldn’t get to Pam to give her a hug before she walked through the hospital doors. But the events of this week made me realize that I don’t need to panic about not having some weird device to get me there. (It would probably splinch me anyway.)

We are enough.

Our love is enough.

Our words – our virtual hugs – are enough to save a life.

The Be Enough Me link-up is especially powerful right now – for one month, starting Aug. 22, Bellflower Books is sponsoring us to provide memory books for women fighting breast cancer. Details here – please write about your Be Enough Me feeling and come and link up! 

A Picture of Love and Laughter

I remember our wedding fondly. We had so much fun planning and putting little touches of ourselves into it. Instead of clinking glasses to get us to kiss we made people write us a haiku, and we still have them all. When we came into the reception the song we played was “Somebody’s Getting Married” from The Muppets Take Manhattan. It was totally us, right down to me bawling down the aisle. (“Oh dear,” said the woman who was marrying us when she saw me coming. “Does anyone have a tissue?” Unfortunately she was mic’d and you can hear it on our wedding video…)

All that crying evidently made something in me decide we needed a moment of levity. I started to recite my vows, which we wrote ourselves, and got to this line: “I promise to love you the way you are.”

And I laughed.

I’d apologize to my husband, but he knows exactly why I laughed. He is 100% his own person, right down to his goofy sense of humour (which is what I was thinking about in that moment), and I’d never try to change him.

It was a good moment.

We have a lot of totally amazing photos from our wedding but because of that moment, when prompted to pick my favourite wedding picture, I chose this one:

That ability to laugh got us back up the aisle (no tissue required) and played a big part in where we are today. At the end of the month we’re celebrating our 7th anniversary, and we’ve only just begun.

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Because we all need more Muppets in our lives:

Linked up with Mommy of a Monster & Twins for: