From the day I stepped out of my classroom two months ago, I hadn't been back inside my classroom or school. Simply driving by the school (we are rural and unless I take a nearly 45 minute detour, I must go by the school) caused me nausea to the point of nearly vomiting. The thought of going back caused such intense fear in me that I even skipped my kids' Christmas concert (see prior post), which caused major mom guilt. Thankfully, my amazing husband went to the concert and taped my kids' performances. These fears of being back at school overwhelmed me to the point I couldn't even pick up my kids early from school two weeks ago for dentist appointments. I ended up cancelling the appointments and rebooking for after school so my kids could just take the bus home. Avoidance is so much easier.
I had been talking to my therapist about these feelings of fear, guilt, shame, and disappointment for a few weeks now. I had been wanting to talk to my principal, but the fear was overwhelming and avoidance is my temporary medicine. What would I say? How would she react? Would she respond to my email or text? Would I be welcomed back? Would I see any of my students? Other teachers? My own kids? My brain is a professional at the "what if" game.
At my last therapy appointment, I sobbed opening up to my therapist about several traumatic events from early childhood. My earliest memory is a very traumatic one; I believe I was about three years old. My patient therapist (no pun intended) listened and empathized well over my one hour time slot. Once I started pouring my heart out, I couldn't stop. I felt relieved to get this out and have someone indeed agree and validate that these examples were traumatic and abusive. It was my normal so up until a few years ago, I just thought we were a "dysfunctional family," but then again, most families seem to have their dysfunctions. I now have confirmation from a professional that this is not the case. Even though my own personal and professional experience in the education field knew that this was "abusive," I had someone validate that for me. Had I heard some of these stories from my own students, I wouldn't have thought twice about calling Children's Aid Society. My "logical brain" knew that these were abusive and not normal experiences. My "illogical brain" made excuses for my parents.
So back to facing my fear. With the encouragement from my therapist, I emailed my principal. She answered me the next day, ending some of my "what if" scenarios, but it opened up a whole new set of "what if" scenarios. I wanted to meet her after school hours, but with the impending holiday coming up, I knew that would be difficult, if not impossible. To my surprise and then immediate worry, she asked if I could meet her during the day. It was better to just get it over with and move on with my day.
With my detailed list of things I wanted to talk to her about in hand, I headed out to my school, about a 15 minute drive. I cried nearly the whole drive there, and the closer I got, the more rapid my heart rate became. Pausing in the parking lot, doing some deep breathing, and positive self talk, I headed in the school. I pushed the buzzer to be let in...no answer. OMG, one of my "what ifs" I missed. Damn it. I probably said something a little more colourful in my head, but you get the point. After a few more attempts at the buzzer, nothing. Either I was going to sit on the floor behind the solid metal door so I remained unseen or go back to my truck to text her. I decided with the latter, and thankfully I did, because shortly after the mail lady came in....probably not the sanest thing to see at a school. I texted my principal and went back in, taking in a few more deep breaths and feeling intensely hot (temperature hot), she saw me and opened the door. I bolted right into her office.
Thankfully, she was extremely receptive and let me get out everything on my list. She was kind, empathetic, and reassured me that my students were in good hands. She was thankful and appreciative for my forward thinking so she could plan appropriately for my absence. Despite not wanting to cry, of course, I sobbed right away. Obviously, it was apparent I would need more time off to continue my healing process. Upon leaving, she gave me a hug, which touched my heart and meant a lot.
Driving back home, I cried a lot more. I felt an immense weight lifted off my shoulders and the fear of going back to my school lifted...somewhat. Being back inside the building was a huge first step, but there will be a few more first steps to go before I feel 100% ready to go back to work. Baby steps. I faced a fear, and for that, I am proud of myself. My worst fears did not come true, thankfully. Avoidance will continue to occupy me until I feel ready to face those next fears.
Anxiety is exhausting When I arrived home, my husband wanted to know how it went. I had no energy to explain to him, only mumbling that it went well. I went to my bed and wrapped myself up in my duvet and had a rest. At that point, I hadn't had a good night's sleep in a few days. Anxiety is mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausting. I needed an hour or so of just stillness.
My therapist would be proud that I faced this fear, but moreover, I am proud I faced this fear. I feel like this was a huge step in the right direction towards my healing. I still have a long way to go, but I am getting there. Avoidance is no doubt easier, but when one is ready, facing fear is necessary to heal.
Friday, 21 December 2018
Thursday, 13 December 2018
Idling...but Making Progress
Roughly two months ago I hit rock bottom in a mental breakdown. I don't like the term "rock bottom," preferring metaphors like "spiralling out of control," "falling to the bottom of a well so deep there was no light," "my pot simmering and boiling over putting out my pilot light," or "treading water while holding my breath trying desperately to keep my nostrils above water." Each of these metaphors have been extremely helpful for me during different parts of my healing process. Currently, I am "idling." I am not revving, but I am not in reverse. Progress.
Looking back, the breakdown was bound to happen eventually. I knew I was spread way too thin, although I wish I could say I was literally thin 🙄(I had gained nearly 20 pounds over the course of two years...and at barely 5'2 that's like two sizes 🙄). I had way too much on my plate for way too long. I knew my pot was on simmer for quite a few months and was bound to boil over. It was just a matter of time. I did not pay attention and/or choose to ignore the consistent panicky feelings and constant anxiety as just "my mind being my mind" whenever I thought about work. I should have listened, but then again, knowing me, I would still be "high functioning" and doing too much, had I listened. Or worse yet, playing the "what if" game or listing the "pros and cons" in my own head, which can go on for seemingly hours.
I am not in the mood to go into details as to the events that led up to my pot boiling over, but I am sure I'll eventually get there. However, I think it is important to note that this was not the first time I have had to deal with anxiety and panic. It had been nearly two decades since I had dealt with the severity of these issues previously. Although, do not assume I was all peachy for the last two decades...anxiety is a demon that crops up sometimes when you least expect it.
The feelings of despair, shame, hopelessness, and guilt were so overwhelming and intense at the time, I never thought I'd find my way out of the downward spiral. The physical symptoms from anxiety and panic attacks were so skewed that, at times, I have to look back at my journal to remember the exact sensations my body and mind were going through. I guess that is how our minds protect us from "trauma." Or at least, how my mind helped me glaze over the severity of my situation at that time, like I was looking through a opaque glass. Perhaps if I'd kept a journal over the last few years, I could have referred back to those feelings and realize I was crashing. Now I refer back to my journal when I crashed a few months ago; it gives me perspective as to how far I've come. It also gives me credit for the progress I have made so far.
Coming across A Simple Mental Health Pain Scale while mindlessly scrolling Pinterest a few weeks after my meltdown was incredibly helpful. It was an "aha" moment of sorts because it really helped me identify the severity of where I was, where I had already come about three weeks after going on sick leave from my teaching job, and where I am now. Daily fluctuations are a part of my "new normal," but nearly two months later, my present self has come so far. I am also hopeful that I will get out of that well; I can finally see a glimpse of light at the very tippy top. I understand that it likely won't be anytime soon, but it will be eventually--considering I was at a level 9 (minus the self harm part) but am now functioning at a consistent level 6 with moments of a level 7. I am okay with that. I know now that this will take time to get back to a healthy mindset. It's kind of like gaining that 20 pounds...I didn't gain it overnight so I can't expect it to leave overnight. However, this turmoil I've been through over the last two months I did lose ten pounds, so I guess it's only ten pounds to go...or not. 😏
A Simple Mental Health Pain Scale
Looking back, the breakdown was bound to happen eventually. I knew I was spread way too thin, although I wish I could say I was literally thin 🙄(I had gained nearly 20 pounds over the course of two years...and at barely 5'2 that's like two sizes 🙄). I had way too much on my plate for way too long. I knew my pot was on simmer for quite a few months and was bound to boil over. It was just a matter of time. I did not pay attention and/or choose to ignore the consistent panicky feelings and constant anxiety as just "my mind being my mind" whenever I thought about work. I should have listened, but then again, knowing me, I would still be "high functioning" and doing too much, had I listened. Or worse yet, playing the "what if" game or listing the "pros and cons" in my own head, which can go on for seemingly hours.
I am not in the mood to go into details as to the events that led up to my pot boiling over, but I am sure I'll eventually get there. However, I think it is important to note that this was not the first time I have had to deal with anxiety and panic. It had been nearly two decades since I had dealt with the severity of these issues previously. Although, do not assume I was all peachy for the last two decades...anxiety is a demon that crops up sometimes when you least expect it.
The feelings of despair, shame, hopelessness, and guilt were so overwhelming and intense at the time, I never thought I'd find my way out of the downward spiral. The physical symptoms from anxiety and panic attacks were so skewed that, at times, I have to look back at my journal to remember the exact sensations my body and mind were going through. I guess that is how our minds protect us from "trauma." Or at least, how my mind helped me glaze over the severity of my situation at that time, like I was looking through a opaque glass. Perhaps if I'd kept a journal over the last few years, I could have referred back to those feelings and realize I was crashing. Now I refer back to my journal when I crashed a few months ago; it gives me perspective as to how far I've come. It also gives me credit for the progress I have made so far.
Coming across A Simple Mental Health Pain Scale while mindlessly scrolling Pinterest a few weeks after my meltdown was incredibly helpful. It was an "aha" moment of sorts because it really helped me identify the severity of where I was, where I had already come about three weeks after going on sick leave from my teaching job, and where I am now. Daily fluctuations are a part of my "new normal," but nearly two months later, my present self has come so far. I am also hopeful that I will get out of that well; I can finally see a glimpse of light at the very tippy top. I understand that it likely won't be anytime soon, but it will be eventually--considering I was at a level 9 (minus the self harm part) but am now functioning at a consistent level 6 with moments of a level 7. I am okay with that. I know now that this will take time to get back to a healthy mindset. It's kind of like gaining that 20 pounds...I didn't gain it overnight so I can't expect it to leave overnight. However, this turmoil I've been through over the last two months I did lose ten pounds, so I guess it's only ten pounds to go...or not. 😏
A Simple Mental Health Pain Scale
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Now to get back on track...this is kind of my style...drifting from topic to topic or thing to thing. My wonderful husband often calls me "Sally" as in "Sidetrack Sally." This pain scale is something I have forwarded to several friends and family who have struggled with mental health. I find solace in knowing that I am NOT alone in this struggle and that if I can be a face for mental health and it can help others, then so be it. I'm over the self consciousness of the stigma of mental health. --Sally a.k.a. SeekingCalm |
Tuesday, 11 December 2018
Parenting Sucks Sometimes!
I swear parenting is the hardest job on Earth!
I love my kids to absolute pieces, like so much sometimes it hurts. Parenting is like the "best of times, the worst of times." At this moment, I cannot remember which novel that quote comes from?! Anyone?
My son has had issues at school since about...kindergarten; he's now in grade four (or as my American side of me says, 4th grade). He can be introverted at times yet a social butterfly other times. He's always had friends at school, usually one or two that he is closest too. He just often seems so sad. He doesn't struggle academically, and honestly, has always been about a grade level higher than his peers. He's also one of the oldest students in the class. Most of the kids in his class he has known since kindergarten and even a few much longer than that. He just seems to struggle socially sometimes. He is quite sensitive and easily upset. Did I mention he is sad nearly everyday?! It breaks my heart that I can't "fix it."
So now for two days in a row (and most days prior to this week), he gets off the bus and just sort of falls apart. It's like he keeps it together (or at least I think he does) all day, then gets home, in his "safe zone," and just falls apart. Today, he literally collapsed in the driveway walking back to our house crying, which is about a third of a kilometre from the bus (again, for my American friends, that is like one lap around a standard track). It just breaks my heart and makes me feel like such a failure as a parent.
He is often not "flexible." Not flexible like as in like "he's good at gymnastics" but mentally flexible. The teacher side of me knows what to do in a classroom setting (at least I think I do), but as a parent, it is NOT easy! He easily gets upset if his friends or his sister do not want to play "his game" or if we want to do something as a family but he just wants to draw. It can be a battle to get him to cooperate or "be flexible." When he does not like an activity (for example, gym is a big trigger) or finds something difficult (anything athletic), he is quite reluctant to try it again sometimes even reluctant to try it to begin with. As a young child, many things came easily to him. We seemed to skip over the "spelling out words so we could talk in front of him phase" because he started reading so early. He is artistically gifted, creating drawings that blow the minds of everyone that sees them. Yet his mindset and self esteem can be so poor.
I worry so much that he has inherited my mental health fucked-up-ness and unlike me at his age, feels very comfortable to share his thoughts with me. I don't know if I "fell apart" this much at his age, but I do know that I was bullied A LOT in elementary and middle school. I struggled silently, maybe saying a few things to my mom here and there growing up, but certainly never to a teacher. BTW, the advice of "just ignore them" DOES NOT WORK! I am pretty sure he has anxiety and probably panic disorder as well. Symptoms have been present for a few years now, and he was in counselling for few months. Then he was deemed "normal" and comparable to his peers. Ugh. He would fall apart as soon as we got to the car in the counsellor's parking lot!
Parenting is the hardest job ever. There's no "quitting time;" the shift just never ends. There's no reprieve. It's just so damn difficult. Being a kid these days just seems a thousand times worse than when I was a kid....and it certainly wasn't a picnic then.
My husband is waiting for a flight tonight so we chatted via FaceTime. Often, I feel so alone and like this "parenting" thing lies solely on my shoulders. So if my kids don't end up perfect, I failed as a parent. He doesn't do a lot of the disciplining or making them really do anything (like help out with chores), so I am often the "bad guy" and he's often the "fun parent." I do understand being that he's out of town a lot for work so he doesn't want to come home to be the "bad guy." Have I mentioned that parenting fucking sucks sometimes?! End Rant.
I love my kids to absolute pieces, like so much sometimes it hurts. Parenting is like the "best of times, the worst of times." At this moment, I cannot remember which novel that quote comes from?! Anyone?
My son has had issues at school since about...kindergarten; he's now in grade four (or as my American side of me says, 4th grade). He can be introverted at times yet a social butterfly other times. He's always had friends at school, usually one or two that he is closest too. He just often seems so sad. He doesn't struggle academically, and honestly, has always been about a grade level higher than his peers. He's also one of the oldest students in the class. Most of the kids in his class he has known since kindergarten and even a few much longer than that. He just seems to struggle socially sometimes. He is quite sensitive and easily upset. Did I mention he is sad nearly everyday?! It breaks my heart that I can't "fix it."
So now for two days in a row (and most days prior to this week), he gets off the bus and just sort of falls apart. It's like he keeps it together (or at least I think he does) all day, then gets home, in his "safe zone," and just falls apart. Today, he literally collapsed in the driveway walking back to our house crying, which is about a third of a kilometre from the bus (again, for my American friends, that is like one lap around a standard track). It just breaks my heart and makes me feel like such a failure as a parent.
He is often not "flexible." Not flexible like as in like "he's good at gymnastics" but mentally flexible. The teacher side of me knows what to do in a classroom setting (at least I think I do), but as a parent, it is NOT easy! He easily gets upset if his friends or his sister do not want to play "his game" or if we want to do something as a family but he just wants to draw. It can be a battle to get him to cooperate or "be flexible." When he does not like an activity (for example, gym is a big trigger) or finds something difficult (anything athletic), he is quite reluctant to try it again sometimes even reluctant to try it to begin with. As a young child, many things came easily to him. We seemed to skip over the "spelling out words so we could talk in front of him phase" because he started reading so early. He is artistically gifted, creating drawings that blow the minds of everyone that sees them. Yet his mindset and self esteem can be so poor.
I worry so much that he has inherited my mental health fucked-up-ness and unlike me at his age, feels very comfortable to share his thoughts with me. I don't know if I "fell apart" this much at his age, but I do know that I was bullied A LOT in elementary and middle school. I struggled silently, maybe saying a few things to my mom here and there growing up, but certainly never to a teacher. BTW, the advice of "just ignore them" DOES NOT WORK! I am pretty sure he has anxiety and probably panic disorder as well. Symptoms have been present for a few years now, and he was in counselling for few months. Then he was deemed "normal" and comparable to his peers. Ugh. He would fall apart as soon as we got to the car in the counsellor's parking lot!
Parenting is the hardest job ever. There's no "quitting time;" the shift just never ends. There's no reprieve. It's just so damn difficult. Being a kid these days just seems a thousand times worse than when I was a kid....and it certainly wasn't a picnic then.
My husband is waiting for a flight tonight so we chatted via FaceTime. Often, I feel so alone and like this "parenting" thing lies solely on my shoulders. So if my kids don't end up perfect, I failed as a parent. He doesn't do a lot of the disciplining or making them really do anything (like help out with chores), so I am often the "bad guy" and he's often the "fun parent." I do understand being that he's out of town a lot for work so he doesn't want to come home to be the "bad guy." Have I mentioned that parenting fucking sucks sometimes?! End Rant.
Monday, 10 December 2018
Mom Guilt is the WORST!
So here I am...
sitting on my sofa, feeling like crap, pretending to have an "upset stomach" because heaven forbid I be seen in public looking "normal," albeit looking like I need to wash my hair. All because I am too anxious, too panicky, too nervous, too worried, too fearful, too guilty, too angry, too ashamed, too frustrated, too resentful, too pissed off to be seen in public by people who know me. Ugh!
So here I am...
almost eight weeks after having a "breakdown." I've called it a few different things...mental collapse, mental come-apart, spiralling out of control, whatever. It's all the same thing to me. However, I really like the term "spiritual awakening" as I learned when reading Brené Brown's book The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are, that my therapist recommended I read. Spiritual awakening is more of a "cup half full" way of saying "I fell to the bottom of a well, can't see the light, and no matter how much I try to claw my way out, the well just seems to get wider."
So here I am...
having massive amounts of mom guilt while my wonderful and amazing husband took our two kids to their very first Christmas concert. In fact, it's the first time they've ever been on stage in front of a crowd. All I can seem to focus on is that I am missing it. They aren't as upset as I thought they'd be, probably because I cannot think of anything that I've ever really missed that 100% of moms are expected to be at. They bought my pathetic story of having an upset stomach. Mom guilt. It's honestly the worst. I don't think dads get "dad guilt" nearly as much as moms get "mom guilt." I don't know, maybe dads to get it from time to time too.
So here I am...
constantly watching the clock....5:59PM, the concert is to begin in exactly one minute. My son, age 9, came home from school today very nervous and pleading with me to not make him go to the concert. With lots of cuddles, encouragement, and a bribe of playing Minecraft before bed, he went, and he went seemingly happy. My daughter, age 7, is the one that rarely gets nervous and loves being in front of a crowd. It's 6:01PM...the concert has begun. I worry about my 9 year old that he doesn't get a stomach ache...which since he takes after me, will highly likely get out of anxiousness. Oh My God 6:02PM, time is a standstill.
So here I am...
diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) since my early 20s with a smattering of panic disorder and obsessive compulsive disorder, although never formally diagnosed with the latter two. Now in my early 40s, diagnosed with complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). I can't even have just "regular PTSD," I have the complex kind. Typical. My therapist would say I am "catastrophizing," and she's probably right. Anxiety has been a part of my life as long as I can honestly remember. I thought I had it under control (with the help of meds) until it reared its ugly head once again almost two years ago. Anxiety would pop up every now and again, and I'd remind myself of all my strategies I once learned in group therapy way back when. However, a year ago, those strategies stopped working like they once did, and eight weeks ago, I hit rock bottom with anxiety and panic attacks so bad I didn't want to leave my bedroom.
So here I am...
after nearly eight weeks of therapy, prescription changes, forcing myself to exercise with my good friend who pretty much makes me, meditation, reading as much as I possible can, and writing, I feel like I am slowly putting my life back together. My best friend says I am so good at being vulnerable. I say if I can put a face to mental health then so be it. This blog is to empower all the women who are faced with mental health challenges, faced with the judgement and ridicule, faced with the facade of being perfect, and faced with the constant guilt of not being enough. This blog is for all the women, who like me, felt the need to put on their armour daily to face the world. I am starting a revolution.
sitting on my sofa, feeling like crap, pretending to have an "upset stomach" because heaven forbid I be seen in public looking "normal," albeit looking like I need to wash my hair. All because I am too anxious, too panicky, too nervous, too worried, too fearful, too guilty, too angry, too ashamed, too frustrated, too resentful, too pissed off to be seen in public by people who know me. Ugh!
So here I am...
almost eight weeks after having a "breakdown." I've called it a few different things...mental collapse, mental come-apart, spiralling out of control, whatever. It's all the same thing to me. However, I really like the term "spiritual awakening" as I learned when reading Brené Brown's book The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are, that my therapist recommended I read. Spiritual awakening is more of a "cup half full" way of saying "I fell to the bottom of a well, can't see the light, and no matter how much I try to claw my way out, the well just seems to get wider."
So here I am...
having massive amounts of mom guilt while my wonderful and amazing husband took our two kids to their very first Christmas concert. In fact, it's the first time they've ever been on stage in front of a crowd. All I can seem to focus on is that I am missing it. They aren't as upset as I thought they'd be, probably because I cannot think of anything that I've ever really missed that 100% of moms are expected to be at. They bought my pathetic story of having an upset stomach. Mom guilt. It's honestly the worst. I don't think dads get "dad guilt" nearly as much as moms get "mom guilt." I don't know, maybe dads to get it from time to time too.
So here I am...
constantly watching the clock....5:59PM, the concert is to begin in exactly one minute. My son, age 9, came home from school today very nervous and pleading with me to not make him go to the concert. With lots of cuddles, encouragement, and a bribe of playing Minecraft before bed, he went, and he went seemingly happy. My daughter, age 7, is the one that rarely gets nervous and loves being in front of a crowd. It's 6:01PM...the concert has begun. I worry about my 9 year old that he doesn't get a stomach ache...which since he takes after me, will highly likely get out of anxiousness. Oh My God 6:02PM, time is a standstill.
So here I am...
diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) since my early 20s with a smattering of panic disorder and obsessive compulsive disorder, although never formally diagnosed with the latter two. Now in my early 40s, diagnosed with complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). I can't even have just "regular PTSD," I have the complex kind. Typical. My therapist would say I am "catastrophizing," and she's probably right. Anxiety has been a part of my life as long as I can honestly remember. I thought I had it under control (with the help of meds) until it reared its ugly head once again almost two years ago. Anxiety would pop up every now and again, and I'd remind myself of all my strategies I once learned in group therapy way back when. However, a year ago, those strategies stopped working like they once did, and eight weeks ago, I hit rock bottom with anxiety and panic attacks so bad I didn't want to leave my bedroom.
So here I am...
after nearly eight weeks of therapy, prescription changes, forcing myself to exercise with my good friend who pretty much makes me, meditation, reading as much as I possible can, and writing, I feel like I am slowly putting my life back together. My best friend says I am so good at being vulnerable. I say if I can put a face to mental health then so be it. This blog is to empower all the women who are faced with mental health challenges, faced with the judgement and ridicule, faced with the facade of being perfect, and faced with the constant guilt of not being enough. This blog is for all the women, who like me, felt the need to put on their armour daily to face the world. I am starting a revolution.
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