Yesterday was the first ‘completely healthy’ day I’ve had in a very long time. I got my exercise. I ate three healthy meals without purging. I saw my therapist via telehealth (at the beach, no less!) I took my meds. I took time to breathe. I felt great.
So why is it so hard for me to stay on track? Honestly, if you know the answer please tell me. I’m so tired of fighting this battle every day. I’m on the defense against a multi-front war. My head is spinning trying to address issues from all angles. I’m busy all day, but at the end of it I haven’t really done anything at all.
I’ve got my bipolar disorder sending me up and down, manic high to ultra depressive low. I have anxiety about homeschooling Jacen, and the pandemic in general. I have friends and family that I miss so much that it hurts. I have this body that I hate. I mean really, really hate. I’ve got these kids and a husband that I love. I mean really, really love.
I make a lot of plans, schedules and lists. I’m always trying to trick my brain into making good choices by convincing myself that things have been predetermined with no wiggle room. It works when I can get into a routine. If I repeat the same list every day, I have the most consecutive healthy days. Right now that’s not an option. The pandemic has shaken everything up. I don’t even know what day of the week it is. We have a routine written out, it just seems impossible to follow.
There is so much on my mind these days. When I imagine what’s inside my head, it looks less like a brain and more like alphabet soup. Sometimes I can’t even gather the floating letters to form simple words, let alone big thoughts. I guess that’s why this post is coming off so rambly and unorganized.
Yesterday was a healthy day, and I wanted more than ANYTHING to repeat it. We spent 30 minutes getting ready to go outside to be active, and opened the front door to rain. My heart sank. I unpacked the stroller I had just put SO much time, thought and energy into preparing. It knocked me off my rails for three hours. Yes, you read that right. THREE hours. Over the rain. I didn’t get my activity in. I didn’t get my fresh air. I let things get on top of me, and didn’t take time to breathe. I missed lunch. I slept when the kids napped, instead of being productive. I did, however, take my meds. So, one point to Catherine.
I want to have more healthy days. I want consistency. I want to see results in changing this awful body, and I want to feel good. I want every day to be like yesterday. I want to rewire my brain so I can be a problem-solver and not a train wreck. But what am I going to do? Write these things down? Journal? Make a list? Schedule them? Honey, I do that every day.
I usually like to wrap up my posts by taking this part to ask what small changes YOU can make to feel better. This time, I’m looking for help. What suggestions do you have for me? How do you stay consistent, especially through all of the changes the pandemic has caused?
Wash your hands. Don’t touch your face. Stay home.
Get ready guys, because this post is dedicated to my all-time favorite phrase:
You can’t pour from an empty cup.
What the heck does that mean?:
Pouring from an empty cup is the same as getting blood from a stone. You can’t fill a second vessel if there’s nothing in the first one. It’s a lot like when the flight attendant tells you to “secure your own oxygen mask before assisting others.” You have to help yourself first. If there’s no oxygen for you, you’ll pass out (or die) without being able to help your kids. The same can be applied to self care. You have to be a functioning human being to care for your children.
What fills a cup?:
Your cup is full when your needs are met. This is physically taking care of yourself like eating, sleeping, getting rest and exercising. Mental fulfillment like getting love, attention, peace, and happiness. Socially it will look like connecting with friends, family and peers. It may also include affection, security, feelings of success and productivity, or doing things that you like to do. Overall, you want to fill your cup with things that make you feel well.
What empties a cup?:
Cups are drained by negativity. Stress, rejection, loneliness, isolation, fighting, being insulted, failing and fatigue will all empty your cup.
What happens when your cup isn’t full?:
Usually, if your cup isn’t full, it’s tempting to steal from other people’s cups. This could be putting down others, fighting, or purposely making others unhappy.
Sometimes, we want to draw attention to our empty cup to remind others to fill it. This could show as children acting out or adults who are irritable or passive aggressive.
Some people seem to have bottomless cups. They need constant contact and attention. (she might kill me for saying this but-) My sister has a bottomless cup. In an adult this is a daily need to “check in” with friends, and be reassured no one is mad at you. In person she is super affectionate, and gives us all the love, hugs and kisses. She is thoughtful down to knowing and understanding all of her friends’ schedules, and has some serious FOMO- fear of missing out. She is social and loving, and wants that in return.
Sometimes we can sit still for refills- especially moms. This results in burnout, and can be avoided by taking time to ourselves, even if it’s just a moment to ‘top off’ our cup here and there.
Moms are also guilty of being too busy filling other peoples’ cups to realize theirs is empty. We tend to stretch ourselves thin by making sure everyone else’s needs are met, neglecting our own needs.
What fills my personal cup?:
Rest, taking a shower, venting when I’m full of emotion, blogging, my family, my dogs, my friends.
What do I do to make sure my cup does not run empty?:
I ask for help when I need it. This skill didn’t come easy, but it has changed my life. I take time to rest, I make myself feel better by being clean and taking a shower. I blog because I love to write, to vent, and to help others. I connect with my peeps- even if it’s just on Facebook. I love seeing pictures of my friends’ happy kids, their funny parenting stories, and who doesn’t appreciate a good meme?
What fills my kids’ cups?
Jacen tells me his cup is filled with “love, affection, friendship, family time, play, succeeding and kindness.
What happens when their cups are empty?
When Jacen’s cup loses ‘friendship’ at school, like the days he is bullied and feels isolated, he tends to lose play. His kindness turns to irritability, and then affection starts to drain. He usually tells me he needs a refill by crying. He is looking for us to replenish his affection with a hug and love. When he can go back and squash his fight with his friends, he will find his friendship and play again. Empty cups aren’t forever. There’s always a way to fill ‘em back up!
I am a die hard believer that it takes a healthy person to raise healthy people. Take care of yourself first, keep your cup full, then share with others.
Here are some sounds that keep me calm. One sound that keeps me calm are the soothing sounds of thunder. The second sound that calms me down is the faint sounds of the whistling winds. The third sound that calms me down is “Asriel’s theme” from ‘Undertale.’ And the fourth and final sound that calms me down is the nice sounds of crickets. And those were some sounds that keep me calm.
What kinds of sounds keep you calm, or help manage your anxiety? Let us know in the comments!
Keeping a consistent routine is one of the basic and most useful therapies in managing bipolar disorder. Obviously COVID-19 has not made that easy. I haven’t been getting out of the house with the younger girls, we’ve been adjusting to “distance learning” for Jacen, and our custody schedule for Arielle has been all kinds of stressful. When I lost our routine, it felt like someone pulled a Jenga block from the bottom of my emotional stack: everything is pretty wobbly, I’m praying I don’t get knocked down, and I’m definitely fearful of what will be taken from me next.
My OCD is running high. I’m checking the stove burners and the locks on the door several times an hour. My husband tries to make light of it by saying things like “Kate, you’re getting your steps in today” and mockingly “wait, have you checked to see if the door is locked?” It’s really embarrassing to be aware of a strange habit but not be able to stop yourself.
By far the absolute worst part of staying home has been my anxiety. I feel completely out of control- crying spells, massive panic attacks, vomiting, restlessness, irritability. All of it. All the time.
I try to remind myself that this time is actually a gift. This is more time with the kids, and at the end of my life I know that more time with them is all I’ll be wishing I had more of. There’s just a huge difference between receiving a gift and enjoying it.
I want them to remember this time as calm, safe, and loving. I want them to remember how strong mom was when the world was scary. I want them to remember fun things we did together, and things they learned at home that they wouldn’t have been taught in school. I want to enjoy this time. I fear they will remember me crying myself dry, anxiously vomiting, pacing, and worrying. I fear I won’t be remembered as the super mom that I always aspire to be, but a weak woman who fell apart in crisis. I fear the memories we make during this time will show me as overwhelmed, anxious, confused and stressed.. And all of these fears end up feeding my anxiety, making me fear even more. It’s an endless cycle.
In both my OCD and my anxiety, I’m aware that my actions are unnecessary, but I’m unable to stop myself. I have to touch the door knob. I can’t just remind myself it’s locked and walk away. I’m aware that I appear preoccupied and unapproachable when I’m sobbing and stressing, but I just can’t stop it, no matter how much I would rather be laughing with my kids. I just want to stop. I want to change things. I want to enjoy the gift of time with my children.
This pandemic has been hard on everyone. We miss socialization. We fear for our businesses, our finances. We fear for the education of our children. We miss our family in healthcare, first responders, front liners, and essential employees whom we have not seen nearly enough of lately. We stress about getting sick, or getting someone else sick who can’t fight the virus. We fear of going without; of running out of food, soap and toilet paper. There is so much fear and sadness in the world.
I know there has to be a way to turn this around. I’m fighting every day, trying to claw my way out of the hole I’ve dug myself into. I’m still seeing my doctors via Telehealth. I take my meds. I think of the kids. I think my next small step needs to be carving out a new routine. I do better when I know what to expect next, no surprises. No stress or guilt at the end of the day due to forgotten tasks. Organization.
I know I’m not the only one scared. I’m sure you are, too; to some degree, and in some regard. The world is a crazy place right now. I’m going to start small and get into a daily routine, because I deserve to feel better than I do right now. And so do you. No matter your reason, diagnosis or situation you can feel better. What’s your next step? Think about it. Tomorrow is a new day, and a perfect day to start turning things around.
The weeks before my birthday gave me so much anxiety. I mourned that the ‘exciting’ stuff of my 20’s were behind me- getting married, having kids, etc. – and I felt I had nothing good to look forward to. My self confidence has been shot since having Lucy. Postpartum body doesn’t make me feel very good, and I’m obsessing about the number on the scale. Planning to go out seemed like a labor intensive task on its own. I didn’t have anything to wear, needed a sitter for four kids, I hadn’t drank in about 18 months and didn’t know how alcohol would make me feel, and I carried a lot of guilt over leaving my 2 month old with my mom for a couple of hours. I was dreading the whole thing.
At the same time, I genuinely felt like I needed a break from the kids. Only a couple of hours, not all night. I forced myself to get excited. I put on my ‘going out’ boots, eyelashes, and the bravest smile I could muster. Twenty ten years old, ( you know, the number that comes after twenty nine..) and this was the best it was gonna get.
I actually got a little nervous when my ride came to pick me up. It was my last chance to cancel, but as I opened the front door to leave my sister ran toward me with a gift bag and a big old hug. How could I turn away from that? I opened the car door to find two of my long, lost friends. All of a sudden I felt a change in my chest. I was excited! I was happy.
For a while now I have wanted to build a friendship with a friend of my sister. This girl is awesome, hilarious, and we actually see eachother for most big events and holidays. When we invited her out it was 50/50. Does she know me well enough to come? Are we close enough to count as friends? My social anxiety gave my little spurts of heart palpitations. Seeing this girl in the car shot a lightning bolt of happiness through me, and I started to feel less guilty about leaving the kids. I genuinely felt like I needed to spend my mama-self care time on strengthening our friendship. I want more friends, specifically someone who makes me laugh as much as her. She is a breath of fresh air from my little gremlins at home. I truly feel that having more friends like her will round me out as a person, and make me feel like more than just a mother.
As expected, alcohol didn’t go over well. It just tastes so bad! How do people get it down? I literally ordered three drinks and only took a couple sips of each. I really AM getting old. No more falling down drunk for me! It was still so nice to sit down at the hookah bar, relax, and spend time with adults. My sister and brother in law bring me so much comfort, and make me feel incredibly loved. The two friends that came out kept things interesting, and I got to catch up on new gossip. I love hearing about the exciting lives of people without kids. (I’m not kidding.) They have the best stories. By 11:00 these wild and crazy kids were exhausted, so we headed home.. I think in the club world most people are just leaving their house at this time. (insert face palm) Still, I was more than happy to be heading toward my bed and some Tylenol.. And of course some baby snuggles!
I woke up that morning by turning twentyten. I mourned my younger days, and the things I’d missed out on in my 20’s by having my kids young. I harboured negativity. I was irritated with my husband for not taking time off of work to spend the day with me. I was annoyed that the kids made birthday cake pops, and left chocolate all over my stove. I dreaded going out, and wondered if my favorite boots would pinch my toes. I was overwhelmed with the thought of getting ready with all four kids running around, and then rounding them up to get in the car. I’d sum it up in three words :Anxious. Irritated. Overwhelmed.
Crawling into bed that night, things had changed for me. My husband (who had been sleeping when my brother in law dropped me off) sleepily gazed at the clock and noticed it was a few minutes past midnight. “It’s not your birthday anymore, you can relax again.” We both kind of laughed. I was pretty silly about this whole twentyten thing. I’m thirty. It’s dumb to think that the fun stuff is behind me. Sure, I won’t be a princess on my wedding day again, nor that glowing mama holding her new born baby, or even the kind of girl who can stay out past midnight. Those things are gone, yet fondly remembered. The fun things to come outweigh the past anyways! I get to watch my four babies and beautiful niece grow up. I’ll get to see my girls dressed as princesses, and give them all of my attention. In many years- and i do mean MANY years- I’ll hopefully be a glowing NANA holding my newborn grandchild. I won’t be the center of attention anymore, but that’s okay. I’ll be the one pointing the spotlight at the girls when it’s their time. I, of course, was disappointed my husband didn’t get to come out with us, but the silver lining was that I could focus on my friendships and try to put my mama/wife pot on the back burner. We spend plenty of time together anyways. The chocolate on my stove? It actually came off quite easily, and in the end my kids had made me birthday cake pops. They really do love me. The older kids helped out with the younger girls so I could get ready. It was such a relief, and I actually felt pretty for the first time in a very long while. And no, my boots did not pinch my toes, they just made me feel pretty sexy. If I had to sum it up in three words: Relieved. Comfortable. Accepting.
So, This is thirty? I can take this. I can handle this. I can own this. I am 30, and I’m going to try my best to make it my best chapter ever. Luckily I have the biggest and best team supporting me than ever before. I’ve got this.
Over the summer I wrote a post called “I’m Back, Baby!” and you know what? I really tried to be back. I really tried. In said post I shared that someone in my life had used my blog posts against me. They took my very real, very vulnerable recounts of my worst mental health moments and tried to make me out to be a bad mother. I wanted so badly to overcome it. I wanted to prove them wrong, rise above, and keep doing what I loved. I couldn’t. At that time I just wasn’t strong enough.
Next month I turn 30. That’s 30 years of a whole lot of crap that I’ve lived through. Really dark stuff, really difficult stuff. I’ve felt really terrible about myself but the one thing I always felt like I had going for me was that I was a good mom. Having someone cherry pick my worst moments and represent me as a horrible mother got in my head. I started to believe them. My depression worsened, and I questioned our choice of having another baby. I started spiraling out, needing validation from others for even the most simple of tasks. I chased sleep to escape my own thoughts and quiet my anxieties. I canceled plans consistently and isolated myself from the people I love. I latched on to my husband and prayed he would face my battles for me. I couldn’t blog. I couldn’t think. I could barely even survive.
I only had so much energy, and when it was gone there was no finding more. I prioritized the kids. I tried to keep the family areas clean and food in their bellies.I neglected myself because there was just nothing left to fuel my body. All the gas was used up on the kids. I stopped showering every day. I didn’t exercise. I went so long without leaving the house that my car battery had to be jumped before I could drive it postpartum. I frequently walked into my office/work space, got overwhelmed and walked away crying. My desk was no longer a place of creating and healing, but a place I dumped the things I didn’t want to deal with – both physical clutter and my own feelings.
The negative repercussions of my blog posts have died down. My children have reconfirmed how much we love each other, and that (in their opinion at least) I AM a good mother. Really, their opinions are the only ones I care about anyways. I gave birth to baby Lucy on November 27th, and my health complications started to resolve almost instantly. The miracle workers at Women’s Behavioral health have helped me come back into good mental health. I’m back in counseling, seeing an eating disorder specialist, taking my meds and (hopefully) back to blogging.
As we come up on two months postpartum, I’ve made a lot of progress in taking care of myself. I’m back to showering, working out and trying to stay on top of the chores – but seriously a family of 6 makes a whole lot of laundry. I’m not a god. Yesterday I walked into my work space and those familiar overwhelming feelings came flooding back. For the first time in months I didn’t turn away and ignore them. It was time to face the mess, and take back my space.
Self care has become a little misunderstood. It’s trendy to grab some Starbucks and an expensive face mask and tell everyone on snapchat you’re taking care of yourself. (Not that there’s anything wrong with those things if they give you the boost you need.) Self care doesn’t need to cost a thing. It comes in many forms, and sometimes it isn’t easy. Sometimes it isn’t relaxing. Sometimes it isn’t fun.
My self care this week was taking back my space. It was difficult, it was time consuming. It was hard work, especially with the kids calling “mamaaaaa” every three seconds. Most of all, it was necessary. Clearing out the clutter has lifted me up and renewed my spirit. I have more confidence in myself, more pride in my home, and my desire for writing has already come back.
My bipolar disorder makes maintaining consistency very difficult. Having four children seems to make maintaining a routine impossible. Between the two it feels almost impossible to keep blogging, but I do this for myself. Writing is my self care, and a way to manage all of the emotions that come with parenting and mental illness. As a perk, my readers give me motivation and validation. Hearing stories about others relating to my journey makes me feel a little more normal, and gives me a boost of self worth. I look forward to the posts my future holds, and continuing to bond with my readers. Just know I’m trying my best over here, and I’m thinking about you all even when blogging is impossible.
When I made the decision to start blogging, I had every intention of sharing the aspects of wellness that applied to my whole family- including my children. As time goes by, I find myself saving posts about the kids as drafts, unable to publish them. We all have our fair share of obstacles. We are working individually and as a family to be our best version of ourselves, and most of the time I think sharing our stories would help the masses. On the other hand, my children ARE children. They are learning every day, but also make mistakes every day. It’s hard to balance respecting their privacy while sharing their progress. When something is posted on the internet, it’s there forever. Even if it’s taken down or deleted, someone, somewhere, is able to find the deeply hidden shadow of the original post. The last thing I want to do is embarrass them or write something that I later regret sharing. In the current age of cyber bullying there is a risk that their classmates and peers may get a hold of my posts, and use them as ammunition to torture the kids. With that being said, our family is finally ready to move forward and be more open. We plan to choose our words carefully, and all be active in the writing process. Don’t be surprised if we blog about things that have happened long ago. I’m going to give the kids as much time as they need to re-read, and reprocess. We are a family and a team. We are in this together, and I’m not posting anything without their approval.
As a parent, it can be extremely difficult to identify issues or struggles in your child. It’s even more difficult to accept help. For a long time, I wore my rose colored glasses and chalked issues up to “kids being kids.” Going way back to 2013, Jacen first started showing signs that something was ‘off.’ He was melting down on a regular basis, afraid to go new places or try new things. We once took him to the Mystic Aquarium in Connecticut, and missed half of the park because he refused to walk into one of the dimly lit buildings. We tried to explain that it was only dark by the door, and would get lighter inside. No dice. He absolutely refused, even lying on the floor and clawing at the carpet. If we tried to carry him in, he would grab on to anything he could- walls, door frames, other people- anything to get traction and stop us. We tried to get him to talk to us about how he was feeling, or what was scaring him, but all he could muster was a frustrated, “I don’t know!” Finally it got to the point where I could see that this was no longer normal fear of a three year old child. There was absolute, extreme terror in his eyes. It was interfering with his life and social progress. My heart broke for him. I just wanted to make things better. I wanted him to be able to participate in more, and be open to new experiences. I just didn’t know where to start.
We tried to handle this behavior on our own for far too long. We tried exposure therapy, bringing him new places on a regular basis to try and get him to be more comfortable with new experiences. He started dreading things ahead of time, making the days even longer and more painful. We tried just picking him up, and carrying him into scary places to “bite the bullet.” We hoped that once he got through the worst part, he would calm down and enjoy himself. He started questioning his trust and safety with us. Sometimes we got angry. I’m embarrassed to admit that more than once I had yelled at him to “get over it” or exploded over the money I had wasted on admission, only to not enjoy our experience. My anger made him feel ashamed of his own emotions, and he started turning to other people for comfort. My husband and I were failing him, and he ran to Nana or Auntie whenever he could.
My heart broke. He was the most important person to me, and he felt like he couldn’t trust me. I wasn’t able to comfort him or make him feel safe. I was failing him as a mother. The old “buck up and be a man” method was not working, and I could see the emotional toll it was taking on him. I desperately wanted to fix our relationship. I knew I needed to be his rock, and moving forward relied on BOTH of us getting some professional guidance. I wanted to be close to my son again, and finally welcomed help.
I reluctantly reached out to a therapist. I was still holding back, not wanting to admit how much I had failed my child. It was tough to let an outsider in, but I was definitely interested in having him evaluated. I wanted a professional opinion about what was going on. Were these feelings organic, something chemical like my own mental health? Or, were these issues something I created by my own parenting? Maybe these things were completely age appropriate and normal- maybe they would just tell me he didn’t need intervention, that he would grow out of it. I sucked up my pride, and let the therapist in. It was the best thing I’ve ever done for Jacen.
At first, he passed his evaluation with flying colors. He was friendly, outgoing, and very intelligent for his age. At just four years old, he was asking very grown up questions. He would ask how your day was going, or about things you were looking forward to. He knew how to ask open-ended questions and engage in conversation. They were about to close out his file and send us on our way when his therapist asked to try just one more, unorthodox eval method. The therapist had one of his trusted, vetted interns come by the house. She was a college student on the younger side, and a new person to Jacen. When she first showed up to the house, he was his typical, friendly self. She asked to take him outside to blow bubbles in the yard and he enthusiastically agreed. He was even okay walking up and down the street with her. In familiar places he was welcoming and happy, even borderline flirting with her. He had zero issue with new people. She asked if we could all go to her favorite playground, one Jacen had never been to. The three of us were planning to drive there in her car. Even though I was there with him, he started to get nervous about being in a new car. She didn’t want to push it, so we ended up driving separately. It was the first time his nervousness was seen or documented.
She got to the park before us, and was waiting in the parking lot to greet us when we pulled in. Immediately, Jacen started frantically looking around, clutching his seat belt to his chest. She opened his door, and used a playful, excited voice to try and coax him out of the car. He blocked the safety belt release, and would not let her unbuckle him. His cheeks were bright red and hot. His eyes were darting quickly between the open car door, me, and his seat belt button. He started breathing in quick and shallow, holding the air in his chest without releasing. She tried to back off, to give him space and time to calm down. It was too late. As soon as she stepped back from the car, he fought to pull the door closed. The tears flowed, the yelling started. There was no reasoning with him, and he refused to listen to anything we had to say. We had to turn back and go home, but his anxiety attack was finally documented. It was painful to watch, but also an important step in getting a diagnosis.
The first thing they worked on with Jacen was identifying the way a panic attack felt. I liked that they didn’t put words in his mouth. They asked him to describe what he felt in those moments. He didn’t use the words anxious or panicked. In four year old terminology, he described feeling “nervous” and “scared.” Those became our go-to words to identify his attacks, and his care felt personal and tailored to Jacen. They asked him to describe how his nervousness physically felt in his body. He described it as “a storm in my belly” and “a balloon in my chest.” We were finally getting some information on where to start, and the break through felt amazing.
Jacen often hyperventilated when he was feeling nervous, sucking in air but not breathing back out. His body tricked his mind into thinking he couldn’t breathe, so he would take in as much oxygen as he could, then try to save it as a reserve in his chest. He needed to learn deep-breathing exercises and self regulation, but those are not easy tools to teach a four year old. Coping techniques have to be learned when the patient is not currently suffering an anxiety attack. The skills are practiced and perfected while calm, so they can be applied correctly in times of panic. It was hard for Jacen to hold interest in learning, or to connect the skills with his ‘nervous feelings’ when he wasn’t currently experiencing them. It felt like he was deflecting therapy, and not absorbing the help.
I was starting to feel frustrated again. The adults were working hard, so why wasn’t he getting better? At the time I didn’t have the insight that I do now. After all of the work my family has put into mental health, the most important thing I have learned is that if therapy is not working, it’s not the right type of therapy for the patient. We had to change it up. If we couldn’t make Jacen fit into the textbook, we had to change the textbook to accommodate Jacen.
He had a habit of rushing through his deep breathing. He didn’t breathe deep enough or slow enough for it to be used as a coping mechanism, and we were not seeing a difference in the hyperventilating. We started making the deep breathing into a game. He held up four fingers (for four years old) and pretended they were birthday candles. He would take as deep of a breath as he could, “blowing out the flame.” When his breath was completely out, he put his finger down and moved to the next candle. At first he thought it was silly, but then began looking forward to it. He even asked if he could make a wish every time all the candles were blown out. It ended up being an unforeseen benefit. The candles were a success, even during the worst panic attacks. After four breaths, he was usually even calm enough to speak. If I asked him what his wish was, he often replied something to the effect of, “I wish it wasn’t so dark in here,” “I wish we could leave,” “I wish I knew what that loud, scary noise was coming from.” His wishes helped us identify the sources of his anxiety, and improved his care. We started being able to zero in on his triggers, working through what we could. He spent about 9 months in therapy. They discharged him in hopes that his new breathing tools and communication skills would be enough to help him grow. They made it clear that the office was always there if we needed to come back, and I could even just call with any questions or concerns. By discharging him, they returned the comfort and coping skills back to us, (as parents) and Jacen started to realize that we were there to help him. Our relationship has strengthened every single day, and we have grown together.
Jacen has witnessed my own anxiety attacks. He now knows how to identify them, and even tries to help me. Just hearing him say, “Mom, try blowing out some candles” can be enough to pull me out of dark thoughts. He will stop and breathe with me. He watches my effort and progress, and I watch his. We motivate each other to work through issues, and have bonded over new therapies. He loves trying different calming methods with me, like Yoga and meditation. We talk about mindfulness, and have rebuilt our trust in each other. We have seen rapid success in his anxiety recovery, and his willingness to try new things. He now knows that I would never put him in danger, and I will always keep him safe. He still loves his Nana and Auntie, but Mama is back to being his number one.
Mental illness can be isolating. It’s easy to feel like no one understands, and hard to forget when your symptom create frustration in the people you love. It can make you feel like a burden. I’ve felt this way myself, and it’s terrible. I never want Jacen to have these thoughts again. I never want him to feel alone. Reaching out and getting help was everything. If we had continued down the path we were on, we may never have recovered from our trust issues. Asking an outsider to intervene can feel like you’re giving up control of the situation to a stranger. In reality, it’s REGAINING control of the situation. It’s recovering in a way that will allow you to move forward. Parenting is fucking hard. It’s okay to not know what you’re doing from time to time. It’s not okay to ignore problems and let them grow. When you can get help, you can get better. You can all get better, as a family.
Don’t fear intervention. Welcome it, embrace it. We all want the best for our children, so utilize every resource you can to make that happen. Let’s grow together- as a household, as a family, as a community, as a whole. All of us, together.