But I Know What It Feels Like

This post is going to be awfully vulnerable and hard for me, but I really want to finally say it out loud. I got permission for my daughter to post about it.

My oldest has had some big hurdles thrown her way. She was diagnosed with unilateral hearing loss at 6 weeks old. Then she was diagnosed with ADHD in 1st grade. We were able to manage this with medicine fairly well, and we saw some improvements.

Then, puberty happened.

Not only did it make her ADHD medicine less effective, she was showing signs of other things. I've been asked by several parents if Jill has Autism. None of her teachers have every asked, so I don't know how I feel about being asked that multiple times. I know ADHD and autism can have overlapping signs, so I don't think we'll go through the process of getting her an official diagnosis unless she asks in the future. Even if she was on the spectrum, she would be dealing with mostly social/emotional issues. Jill was showing signs of something far scarier; depression and anxiety. 

She began picking at her bumpy skin on the back of her arm. Then she would just refuse to interact with anyone except for her brother. Then something happened in March.

The last day of school before spring break, I was subbing. Jill had done something rude to her teachers the day before, so Phil made her apologize to both of them in front of him so he knew she did it properly. Once school was done, we left for Dallas for a Taekwondo tournament David was competing in. About 40 minutes into our trip, I got a call from the school counselor telling me Jill had mentioned killing herself sometime in the future to a few of her classmates. I almost threw up. We talked some more, then Phil and I pulled over to talk. We spoke with Jill, and determined she was safe per the moment. I called my sister-in-law who is a psychiatrist for a hospital. She talked me through everything, and I felt like we had a solid plan. The whole Dallas trip was a blur between getting David ready and keeping my eyes on Jill at all times. We had a good trip, but I worried about going home. What would happen then? Could I still keep my eyes on her? Could I trust that she would be ok?

Over the next week, we talked ad nauseum to Jill. The three of us came to the conclusion that Jill was overexaggerating to show just how deeply she felt. She was so embarrassed about the apology we made her do that she just figured that was the only way to stop feeling that. Jill hates feeling any emotion that is not joy or calm. Anger and sadness are a weakness in her eyes, and she just wants to shove all those things down. It took 4 months, and a bajillion phone calls to get on waitlists, but we finally found a counselor for her that she seems to enjoy talking to. She has had those types thoughts two other times since March, but we were able to talk her through them. She told me that they are usually a fleeting thought, so she never makes a plan or anything like that. I hope she's being honest with me.

In full transparency, I've struggled with those thoughts too. I have always hated pain, so I knew I'd never go through with it. Even to this day I have thoughts that my family would be better off without me and I should just disappear and start over somewhere. These thoughts have been with me for as long as I can remember, so I understand them. Feeling things deeply is my every day reality. The difference is I never struggled with impulse control the way Jill does. 

I'm going to be really honest and say that I am terrified. I am so worried that whatever we do won't be enough and I will lose her. My faith is being tested in a way I never thought I'd have to. I don't know if I can trust God to keep her from making a fatal impulsive decision. I don't know if I ever will. All I can do is take a single step forward everyday. Some days it's only my big toe that goes anywhere, while other days I take a big step. I just hope what we are doing will be enough to give her the support and help she needs.

- Courtney

"Papercut" by Linkin Park

*Mic Tap*

Hello there, old friends!

It has been quite awhile since I last came to this space I call home. Much has happened, and I couldn't even have a fighting chance of knowing where to start. So I'll simply start here.

I have contemplated coming back multiple times, but I always stopped. What stopped me?

1) I have the tendency of assuming that, if the people I care about seem to be doing well in my absence, then my reappearance would only hinder them. It seems silly, I know. I've been working on it, truly. However, I just couldn't handle it if someone I care for suddenly starts struggling once I'm making an effort to be in their life again. I would decide it is entirely my fault, and back away again. I'm even crying as I type this because I know it's not 100% true. I just want what is best for people, and it easy to assume that I'm not that.

2) As a family, we've had a lot of things happen/change in the last few years. The main things are we have official diagnoses, and a few that are not official. Our kiddos struggle a lot socially, and it can take up most of my emotional and energy stores for the day just to make it to bedtime. It's the burden of having to navigate really tough situation with their social lives and emotional health. I feel very depleted at the end of the day, and I just couldn't find it in me to write anything. I also am still trying to recover from disordered eating. I got to almost 300 pounds, and now I'm just under 250 for the first time in years. I still struggle with believing I am worthy of nutrition even if the number isn't budging. It's hard to be hungry and want to eat, but to be afraid of it. That's why teaching proper nutrition and making food morally neutral for my children is so important to me.

3) Due to some big challenges I've faced the last 4 years, what was once music in me turned to noise. I lost my love of singing and music. I lost my confidence in my ability to serve in a church capacity. I began to question my entire life path from the last 10 years because I had to. My confidence in myself as a person, as a worker, as a volunteer, as a human being worthy of love was just flipped in the air. And the worst part about all of that was I was then made to believe that I was just overreacting to these things and no one truly did anything wrong. I am still flabbergasted. 

4) I didn't know if I could. I didn't know if I had enough in me to write. 

I truly missed writing, and we've had some goodness along the way. I am a completely different person than I was when I began blogging, but this is especially true of the last time I posted. I'm almost afraid of who I am now because I'm still getting to know her. She is wounded, and way more cynical than past Courtney, but past Courtney is still in there somewhere. I still love people and wish them all the best and happiness in the world. 

So here's to the new me, the one who is reappearing. The nearing-40 year old who wants to feel and give as much love as she can. I hope this post find you well <3

- Courtney

My Hair

I have a weird relationship with my hair. 

I rocked the bowl haircut for years, and years. Around 3rd grade, I tried having a perm, (that was quite an experience). After that, my hair went from mostly straight to wavy. Then I began doing this habit of growing it out, then cutting it short. I only did a perm one more time before deciding it's not for me. 

In 9th grade, my hair changed naturally from mousy brown with red low lights to almost jet black. Once I was in high school, I was allowed to highlight my hair. I did this until I was in college. Then the growing it out and cutting it cycle began again. My hair would get super duper long, then I'd cut it really short. This was in part because of my inability to decide how I like my hair. Also, as a young married couple still going to college, we didn't always have money for haircuts, so I just didn't go. I would box dye my hair from time to time, but nothing major. I never dreamed of bleaching my own hair. I'd help friends do their hair, but not mine. I trimmed my bangs once or twice, but never just cut bangs on my own.

The summer I had an ectopic pregnancy, I dyed my hair for comfort. Due to my wacked out hormones, my normal hair color looked way more purple than I ever intended for it to be. {Actually, I never intended it to be purple at all. Imagine my shock...} In an attempt to have control of something while I was putting life on hold to dissolve the ectopic pregnancy, I did Color Oops. I do NOT recommend this. It made my hair change texture. It went from mostly thick and wavy to coarse in places. Not everywhere, mind you, just in random spots on my hair. In hindsight, my hair was becoming more coarse than the hair of my youth. However, this coloring process really sped it up, and I was not aware of what was happening. I would notice the coarse hair and pull it out, trying to bring my hair back to the state I was used to.

Over the years, one of the things that started as a bad habit was pulling my graying/white hairs out. I starting having white/gray hairs pop up around 2016/2017 since I have naturally dark hair. It was so much easier when I was 32 because there was not as much there. I would do a few here and there, and that would be that. Now they are everywhere. In an attempt to have control/something to do/accomplish a goal, {noticing a theme about me?}, I was sit for hours and pick out every hair I could.

Can you guess where this is going?

I was creating bald spots. I even tried stopping at various points with no long-term luck. That's when I decided I would cut my hair short. It would make it hard to pull out the hairs, and my hair would grow out a bit more even again.

Nope. That helped for a bit, but I started using my tweezers to pull out the hairs. TWEEZERS y'all. Ugh. This was a habit, an OCD issue, and a nervous tick. It was always worse when I was stressed out. I would do it brazenly in front of Phil who would beg me to stop. I kept thinking, "Just this last bit of hair, and I'll be done." Was I ever done? No. Phil would have to grab my hand to stop me. 

I started to play computer or video games to get it to stop. Well, that just became a giant time suck that made me feel guilty, which in turn stressed me out, and then I would pull my hair again.

Between having it grow out due to the pandemic, not having money for it, and feeling like I looked like an 80's pop star, I got it cut on my birthday. The issue was, I went to a cheap place that's known mostly for men's cuts. It came out shorter than I wanted, and I can see some uneven sections.

As I'm reminding myself of who I am, I miss my hair so much. (Ugh, why am I crying again?!?) I miss being able to use a ponytail holder without looking like Alfalfa. I miss being able to blow dry it with a regular brush and dryer or my brush/hair dryer. I miss being able to straighten my hair without it looking strange. 

This is me telling myself to NOT cut my hair except to help with the growing out process. If I want to think about what kind of color I may or may not want to do thanks to the white/gray hairs, that's ok. Otherwise, work on taking care of the scalp and hair, and it'll all grow back.

Detox

I'm in the middle of detoxing.

Let me be clear: I am not doing a fad diet. 

Oh don't even get me started on that.

I started taking Lexapro the second time about a month before I gave birth to Lottie in July of 2016. I first took this medicine when David was about 3 1/2 months old. I realized I had postpartum depression, and needed some help. It was such a blessing because soon after starting, Phil injured himself and needed to have knee surgery. I was taking care of two small kids, and driving him to and from work until that fall. By that point, I felt comfortable enough to start weaning off of the Lexapro. It worked out so well!

The reason I started taking it before Lottie was born was due more to anxiety than depression. The month she was conceived, I was rear-ended on my way to handbell practice. It's so weird because I had convinced myself I wouldn't be pregnant because the car accident clearly bumped me too hard for the egg to implant. Wow, that's one of the few time in my life I was not fully correct {HAHAHAHAHAHA} Between he pregnancy being vastly different from my previous two, and that memory, I got incredibly anxious about being in the car. I had convinced myself that I was going to be rear-ended again, and this time it would cause more damage to me, the kids, or Lottie. I had a hard time being in the car, and it made me so anxious I would cry every time I had to leave the house. My doctor started me on Lexapro again, and that made it easier for me to leave the house. I stayed on it because of my history with PPD/PPA, and then I was unexpectedly pregnant again. It would have been too hard on Lexie to stop or wean off of it, or so we understood at the time, so I stayed on it through Lexie's pregnancy, and beyond. 

Around the time I was starting to wonder if I could go off of it, my life on a personal level spontaneously combusted. I say that, when really it was just lots of little things, then a few big things, and I was having an incredibly hard time sorting out my feelings about all of it. It involved church trauma, budget issues, feelings of betrayal, hurt, and sadness... it was a lot. With my doctor's advice, I even added a second medication to help with anxiety. 

Then, well, you know...

So fast forward to a few weeks ago. I was feeling a sort of way that made me decide I won't get any better without having counseling on top of this medication. I had a counselor for a while in 2019, but she stopped working to be at home. I still haven't successfully found someone my insurance will cover that is not insanely expensive. It also doesn't help that both my oldest two need counseling as well. I can't justify doing it for me and not them, so I do it for them and not me. {Obviously not the best choice...}

Then the first week of June, I was supposed to have a telehealth appointment to go over my medication. I accidently missed it. Last time, I was late to the appointment, and that was tough enough. Then to miss it? I felt so ashamed and embarrassed, (why is this making me cry typing it out?!), I just didn't say anything and didn't call them back. {I'll have a whole post about this later. I've got a soapbox to mount}  I had 7 days of my prescription left before I needed a doctor authorized refill. With 4 days to go, I forgot to take a dose due to being exhausted. The next night, I could only find one pill and not the other, so I skipped it on purpose. That turned into a full week before I confessed to Phil what had happened. I was given two options: call and ask for a refill and new appointment, or continue to stop taking the medication. 

I chose the latter.

At first, things were okay. Then this past week, I've been having withdrawal symptoms. I'm incredibly dizzy, I had to parent from the porcelain throne most of day Saturday, (when Phil was out of town for a church retreat), and I couldn't even drink regular tap water like I normally do. I had a breakfast sandwich, and two large fruit punch Gatorades to eat on Friday. The toughest day was Saturday, and Phil and I think that might be my peak. We're going to give it another 2 weeks, and will contact the doctor to see about weaning off instead of doing it cold turkey like I did. 

Despite the physical symptoms, I am feeling pretty good emotionally! I'm having periodic moments of joy without any intrusive thoughts. I am able to function again. I cooked dinner AND breakfast in the last 24 hours by myself! The fact that I was able to work outside of the home for a bit this school year was also a big step. 

Now, I am having other side effects. I am still easily angered, and I'm working on my reaction, especially towards my children. I am also crying a LOT easier than before. {That one makes sense though, because I would have times of being mad or upset and wanted to cry but could not.}

I have more to share, and I WANT to share. 

Let me rephrase that: I've always wanted to share, and now I feel ready and able to again. 

I never wanted to be that person that is always complaining about their life; 1) because I don't want to have a fuss over me, and 2) because there are plenty of others in worse places in life, and my problems are figure-out-able {my favorite phrase for my children}.

More to come, but know I'm still here. I've always been physically here, but mentally/emotionally/spiritually, that's a whole 'nother story.

Blessings,

The Luckiest

Today was a hard day for me.

My parents were able to come visit for a few days this weekend. They drove all day Thursday, and left this morning. It was good to see them. In fact, I had more of an emotional reaction than I was expecting.

You see, no one thought what happened in 2020 would happen. Not on anyone's radar. (Well, I'm sure someone somewhere, {like an epidemiologist or something}, had an idea something like this would, but certainly not to the degree that it did.) We got together with my folks for Thanksgiving in 2019, knowing we would probably have to wait until mid-March at the earliest before we would get together in person again. 

Then the world shut down. 

In fact, my brother and his wife had my nephew in mid-December. I was supposed to meet him around my birthday. Nope. They live in an area that was hard hit in the beginning of the pandemic, so that trip was cancelled.

As things start to calm a bit, and the world feels like we've figured out how to leave our homes momentarily, my parents made the decision to come down in early July. We rented a trailer to have in our driveway where they stayed for a few days. 

Both of my parents have jobs that deal with lots of people. They also are not spring chickens anymore, no offense mom and dad! It wasn't until I was 24 hours from seeing them this week that I got very emotional. The release of adrenaline and anxiety knowing that they were actually going to come was intense. I heard "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac on the radio and became a blubbering mess. That was the song I danced to with my dad for my wedding. I would get to hug them. I would get to laugh and cry and eat with them. I would get to watch them being grandparents to my crazy, but lovely gaggle of children. They are fully vaccinated, as Phil and I are. The thought washed over me, "We made it."

It is not lost on me how lucky we are. We all worked hard to stay healthy and get vaccinated as soon as we could. Even the extended family that did contract COVID-19 were able to recover at home. The weight of pain and suffering that so many people experienced was heavy because I could only do so much on my part to help. It was incredibly frustrating to watch people refuse to do the bare minimum for others. It was no question for me. To come on the other side of this relatively unscathed seems unfair for all those who lost so much. I'm not saying I wanted us to suffer more! No no no no. I just felt a bit guilty for where we stood. 

Of course, we're not completely out of the clear. India is still having an awful time, and there are variants that continue to appear. Our world is so different than it used to be. However, I know as my parents continue their journey home today that I get to see them much sooner than last time. 

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a bag of cheese curds with my name on them. Time to eat my feelings with cheese :)

Forward

I feel l

I h

No words feel like the right way to start. Not only has so much happened in the last 2 years, I feel as if I have lived multiple lifetimes since then. I won't get into big details about certain things for privacy, and especially because it involves my kiddos. As much as I love sharing things about them, there are some things I feel I don't have the place to divulge too much.

First and foremost, Jill was diagnosed with ADHD. After struggling to find the right medication for her, we have found a good one. Is it perfect? No. It is not such a high dosage that she's a different kid either. We also have her seeing a therapist once a month to have a space of her own. 

Second, David recently, (as in October of 2020), developed a form of epilepsy. He is ok, and on daily medication as well. They are not the type where he shakes, but he does have some atypical symptoms. 

Third, I had some church trauma happen that apparently I still have a hard time with. This one will be the hardest to explain, if I ever do. I guess I'll see where the Spirit takes me.

Throw in all the normal stuff that has happened, including a GLOBAL PANDEMIC, and you just made a perfect shitstorm that has put me in an awful place. I have gotten so good at masking my pain that even I don't realize the true depths at times. 

One foot in front of the other. Baby steps. Crawl. Keep moving forward.

This Easter

Something I need to share here is the fact that I have been struggling with my mental health.

As you may recall, I was diagnosed with Post-Partum Depression after David's birth. After a few months on some medicine, I was able to successfully get off the medicine.

Just before Lottie was born, I was suddenly getting extremely anxious about being in the car. I honestly think it had to do with the fact that I was rear-ended just before I found out I was pregnant with Lottie, then I had my subchorionic hematoma that made me nervous. I started taking medicine for anxiety, and ended up having to stay on it for my pregnancy with Lexie.

Despite being in the care of a trusted nurse, and then a new Primary Care Physician, I was still feeling extremely tired, and that I was just not getting a handle on the whole I-am-caring-for-4-tiny-humans thing. At my annual check up with my OBGYN nurse, she told me that I was no longer considered post-partum, and was suffering from regular anxiety and depression. I don't know why, but that was extremely hard to hear. I'm sure it had to do with my wanting to hide behind the "post-partum" label to convince myself it was temporary.

After getting on some different medicine, (which is actually the medicine I took after David's birth), and seeing a psychologist, I'm starting to feel more like myself again!

This Easter, I feel joy!

Not that I didn't feel happy the last 2 years. I had moments where I felt happy, loved, and thankful. This year is different though. We had a very busy weekend filled with family activities, birthday parties, church, etc. By the end of the day yesterday, I was completely wiped. But all weekend long, I felt joy. I felt able to smile at every picture. I felt able to get through Lottie's major meltdowns that were happening once a day all weekend. I felt able to say I was happy, and feel that all the way down in the depths of my soul.

I am a little sad to think that I missed out on 2 years of feeling like this. Mostly, I feel thankful, free, and positive. I think I've been functioning at such a low level of energy and joy that I am still pretty tired at the end of the day. This is a good tired though. I feel like I'm able to look at my life, and enjoy even the sticky parts.

This Easter, I am more thankful than ever for the sacrifice of Jesus, and the promise of a clean slate, and everlasting life.

He is Risen! He is Risen Indeed!

{David, Lottie, Jill, and Lexie}
{Easter 2019}