Hello Inspiration – Signs of Support

May 9, 2011 by ·

Since yesterday was Mother’s Day, I’m moving Hello, Inspiration to Monday this week. Hopefully that won’t throw you all off, since I’ve been doing this a whole two weeks now.

I had a variety of sources of inspiration this week, some more easy to describe than others.

It Gets Better

One of them was a video. Most people have probably heard of the It Gets Better Project, which I think is a great thing, but I saw this ad on TV and I think it’s amazing. It’s well done, but it’s a message that can apply in so many situations. Maybe that’s why it stuck with me.

[Update: Damn, sorry, they removed the video.]

Dreaming Big

I’ve always been a bit of a dreamer, and there are a lot of things I want to accomplish in my life. There are some things that are not on my life list but now may need to be. Or maybe it’s more than that. I think I have a new Definite Chief Aim – my most important goals in life. As part of exploring what that might be – or perhaps how it might come to be – I’ve signed up for Mondo Beyondo’s Dreaming Big online class.

I gave my mom one of their courses for Mother’s Day last year, and she really liked it. Here’s the description for this one:

This five week online class complete with inspiring lessons, real life stories, secret missions, audio interviews and hands-on activities will help you take your dreams from the realm of wishing into everyday motion.

I’m not generally shy about going after what I want to do, but a little inspiration and insight from others along the way can’t hurt.

The course starts May 16 and costs $99 US and right now they’re offering a 2 for 1 deal. If you want to learn more, click the image below. (Full disclosure: that’s an affiliate link so if you happen to register I get a little something. And you get a cool class and some good karma.)

Signs and the Rock of Friendship

My last source of inspiration is harder to describe. It’s a you-had-to-be-there sort of thing, but it’s worth adding to this list because it’s connected to the concepts behind both of the above and to this roller coaster of a journey I’m on.

On Friday night, two very good friends and I went to stay at a beach resort a couple of hours from here. It started as a casual, girls’ getaway suggestion and turned into something we realized we needed to do because we all needed to talk about some stuff.

“Be kind. Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”
– Ralph Waldo Emerson

I’ve seen this quote before, but it keeps coming across my path. I’m more aware of this after the last four months than I ever have been before, and I’m so grateful for being able to sit down with friends and talk about our hard battles, even the parts we haven’t told many – or any – people before.

On our way home, we were looking for a group of shops we’d heard about and wanted to check out. We found them, went in, and at first it was overwhelming. The first was a house – an actual house that hadn’t really been modified – and things were displayed on every surface, every wall, every floor. Normally those sorts of places are way too stimulating for me, but the things were so beautiful so I started to walk around. And then a funny thing happened.

I have two symbols that are meaningful to me – one that goes back to when I was pregnant that I’ve since associated with becoming a mother, and one that has come to represent what I hope to do with what I’ve learned from this PPD journey – and as I walked around these shops I saw these symbols everywhere. They were on jewelry, mugs, stickers, tea towels, bags and more. It was as though I was being told I’m on the right path.

While I was tempted to buy every item in the store, I managed to select a few things that will remind me of the power of that weekend, the power of believing things will get better, and the power of dreaming big.

Filed Under: Better world, Hello, Inspiration · Tagged With: , , , ,

Run and Hide

May 5, 2011 by ·

The first time I ran away from home I was 36 years old. This is what happened two weeks ago.

***

The inside of my head is screaming. I can’t be here. I already had one escape and it was 24 hours of sanity in the midst of a mad merry-go-round with a cackling clown taking up all the space in my brain and preventing me from finding an exit. That escape helped, but not enough. Mostly just made me realize how much I need some space to think.

Being on leave from work to deal with postpartum depression is good. Having a toddler around the house who is my trigger is bad, hence the inside-the-head screaming.

My husband understands that I need to be away for a bit and we talk about options. They’re all possible, and yet not what I need.

I feel trapped. I’m back to imagining what it would be like to live in a condo by myself. Finally, I decide to ignore my credit card balance and spend the money for another night in a hotel.

And then it comes. A message from a friend, one who doesn’t know how much I’m dying to run away but who happens to appear at exactly the right moment.

I’m going to be away for a bit, she says. You’re welcome to use my apartment if you want a break.

I come very close to crying with relief.

She drops off keys on her way out of town. I still hesitate. Can I leave my husband to be on toddler duty alone for however long I decide to escape?

Yes, he says. Really, you can.

What if I leave and decide I don’t want to come back? I worry about this.

I hope you don’t, but if you do we’ll deal with it. He has faith when I don’t.

So I leave.

***

I walked into my friend’s apartment feeling like I was intruding, but all that was there was peace. It was everything my toddler-dominated house is not. Clean. Quiet. Decorated the way I’ve always imagined my home would be if I lived by myself.

Luxurious white bedding suggested hours of uninterrupted, guilt-free sleep.

A couch with a soft blanket provided a space to sit or write or watch TV.

The kitchen made it clear I could eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and that no one else would be there to ask for a snack and then not eat it.

I walked into the bathroom to set my cosmetic case down and hung on the wall was something that made it clear I was in the right place:

I spent one night there and felt much more my keep-calm-and-carry-on self. I came home over Easter weekend when my siblings showed up from out of town. When they left, I went back to my friend’s place and didn’t know when I’d be home.

That stay turned out to be for three full days. I left for an appointment and then came back and spent a full 48 hours holed up there, blinds drawn, hiding. I finally emerged to get some groceries – across the street and back again, filled with anxiety until the door closed behind me.

I spent the time writing. I read – a lot. I took deep breaths. I cried it out. I bought fruit and forced myself to eat it. I allowed myself to eat ice cream.

I stayed up late, when the world was quiet and dark. Then I took my sleepy time pills and crashed for 12 hours at a time.

By the third day, I knew I needed to leave. I had realized I could stay there forever – not in that apartment, but in that dark place where I stay in my pajamas all day and shower at 9 p.m. Where I avoid going to sleep because I’m not ready to do all this again another day. Where every night I take a pill that knocks me out for so long that I don’t have to.

Coming home, I was ready to deal with whatever the toddler threw at me – literally or figuratively. I knew it would be challenging and I was prepared to deal with it. Or at least I thought it was.

He was practically manic from my return and we had a bedtime battle that dumped me right back into the depths of anger and despair. Turns out those triggers are deeply embedded in me and it’s going to take a lot more than three days of self-reflection to put a damper on my response to them.

But I rediscovered a part of myself in that apartment – a part I knew was there but couldn’t coax into the light. My friend thought she was just giving me keys, but what she actually gave me was a path out of the darkness.

Love you, M. You saved me during a time I really needed it and I’ll never be able to adequately express how grateful I am for that.


Mama’s Losin’ It

Prompt 2: That time you ran away from home.

Filed Under: Postpartum depression · Tagged With: , , , , ,

Helping Me Find My Inner “Good Mom”

April 28, 2011 by ·

“Write about a woman who helped you,” was the request, but who among the countless options to choose? I could write about my mother, who probably tops that list. But I did that recently. I could write about my sisters, but I can’t yet adequately articulate the gratitude I feel for what they’ve done for me. So I’m going to write about someone else – someone who helped me just this morning, in fact.

Yael Saar has actually been helping me in the virtual world for a while and then she offered to speak on the phone, which we did this morning. She gave me a welcome push toward addressing the one issue in my PPD battle I have felt I can’t solve.

I struggle with my son, who’s quite spirited (as I’ve noted). I appreciate this spirit but it triggers me, pushing me over the edge into reactions I can’t control. A lot of his behaviour is normal – throwing food, flinging his toothbrush across the room, refusing to stay in bed, hitting when he gets worked up – but he does it with a special enthusiasm.

My reaction to this has been to try to control it. You don’t want to brush your teeth? Fine, I’ll hold you down and do it for you. You don’t want me to put these clothes on you? Then we’re not going to the play date.

Not surprisingly, it’s not working. And more, it’s prolonging this battle and making it harder to fight. My biggest fear is that the ultimate ending to this saga is going to be me saying, “I love you, but I can’t live with you.”

Yael’s suggestions were a lightning bolt, shocking my brain into functioning properly. She encouraged me to think about command vs. respect, independence instead of forcing my way, and to try to understand what causes his rebellion to find ways to avoid the things that trigger him.

This perspective was a gift – perfectly timed to pull me a little further away from the hole of hopelessness. The next step is up to me, but I will be forever grateful to Yael for pointing me in the right direction.

 

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Filed Under: Better world · Tagged With: ,

Thoughts for My Mother

April 20, 2011 by ·

If my mom were a blogger I know exactly what she’d be like. She’d be the kind of person who pours her heart onto the page without worrying too much what other people think. She would start writing thinking no one would read – except maybe her kids – and then realize her ability to create a community around her would work magic in the blogosphere as well. People would read because she was a mom in the time before mommy bloggers and therefore her story is different. And yet it’s very much the same.

I could never have imagined how the advent of one small child into my life would change things, permanently. I was pretty passionate about everything I tried, passionate about business, passionate about training, passionate about travel, passionate about the mountains and skiing. So no one ever expected me to drop it all in favour of one small child.

I also could never have imagined how much time one small child took up. I think I envisioned myself getting up in the morning, dressing the small (and of course perfect) child in something becoming, and sitting, sipping tea and reading mind-expanding material to said child so that he or she grew up to be something extraordinary. The reality, as you can imagine, was quite different and a bit messier.

The day the earth-shaking child chose to make her entrance was cold and snowy… I won’t go into boring detail about the following day but it was indeed D Day and while I remember thinking, “Well, I will never do this again,” I was in for the surprise of my life. What was about to happen to me resulted in not one small child, but 4, and my life being co-opted and enriched in a way that was totally unexpected.

At 4:31 p.m. on December 21st, a child was born. She looked at me with my eyes. Then the whole world shifted.

Those of you who are members of The Red Dress Club will recognize the beginning and end of this piece as a recent prompt. My mom read what I wrote and then sent me a piece of her own, part of which is excerpted above.

“You should start a blog,” I told her.

“I wouldn’t have enough to say,” was her response.

I confess I laughed. My mom? Not have enough to say? She’s interested in everything. She could write and write and write and still not run out of things to say. She would write thoughtful posts. Insightful posts. Funny posts. She would probably write a lot of poignant posts. She would write posts that would connect to something in people and they would comment. And then she would click on links and follow tweets and read others’ writing and comment back.

That’s the sort of person my mother is – through her involvement in various things she becomes part of something. As far back as I can remember she’s been genuinely interested in people’s stories.

My mom is not a blogger, but her earth-shaking child is. And right now, reading the things I have written – especially recently – I imagine it’s hard to be my mother. So because I have, yet again, shaken her world, I will use my own blog to tell her this:

I know you’re worried.

I know you wish you knew how to help.

I know you’re beating yourself up about not noticing sooner or not coming by more. About saying the wrong things. About not knowing what the right things are.

I know you’re watching and reading and trying to understand, and I love you for it.

I know you don’t really understand though.

I actually don’t think you can. If you haven’t experienced this – especially this experience as it relates to being a mother – I really don’t think it’s possible to know what it’s like. During the times I feel good, even I can’t remember what the bad feels like.

I imagine just knowing I’m struggling, whether you understand it or not – and perhaps especially if you do not – is consuming you with stress and worry.

You might feel as though I’m not reaching out to you enough. Don’t take it personally – it’s not really anything to do with you. I just can’t right now.

I don’t know why this happened and I’m not entirely sure how to fix it, but I feel like I’m getting closer to finding the way.

You have to trust that it will be all right.

That’s what I’m doing. I’m holding on and trusting that it will be all right.

This is not to exclude my dad, but I think for my mom it’s different. And besides, that’s not what the prompt said. 😉

Linked up with Mama Kat, prompt #2: If my mom were a blogger…

Mama’s Losin’ It

Filed Under: Motherhood · Tagged With: , , , , ,

A Glimmer of Hot Pink and Hope

April 17, 2011 by ·

She was dressed all in black, by coincidence more than intent, but it seemed to make a statement.

The black tank – the one she’d slept in – stood out against her pale shoulders. The dark-as-ink yoga pants, plucked off the drying rack, were at least clean.

A quick look in the mirror confirmed her suspicion: it was obvious she hadn’t showered, but a black ball cap quickly fixed that. Where she was going, the rest – the lack of make-up, the unruly eyebrows – didn’t matter.

As she walked, the trail was peaceful and the sunshine bright. The sun had brought her out while the head-to-toe black allowed her to feel hidden.

Her canine companion paused. Looking back over her shoulder as she waited for him to catch up, she caught a glimpse of hot pink. Just a glimmer, but it was significant. A sign that underneath the darkness there is light, and life, and colour.

 

————————————————————-

Notes:

  1. I’m not sure what the point of this post is, but this silly fact filtered through to my anxiety-ridden brain today. It seemed only fair to pay it proper attention by posting about it.
  2. With thanks to Jessica from It’s My Life for the “glimmer” concept. I read it in her post from Friday, Choosing Happiness, and it stuck with me.
Filed Under: Postpartum depression · Tagged With: , ,
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