Have you ever felt anxious? I like to think that I am a fairly grounded, reasonable person. I tell myself that I am down-to-earth and that I go with the flow. These are lies. It's much easier to lie to myself than to simplify my life, let go of the things that make me crazy, and actually become that person I tell myself I already am. This week I have been feeling anxious. Not the unbearable-panic-attack kind, just the unsettled-mind-won't-stop-making-lists kind. I can't seem to turn it off. When I am sitting, I am worrying. When I am working, my mind is racing. When I am laying in bed, I am mentally creating check-lists of things I haven't done yet.
I know what real anxiety feels like. In the past three years, I have had three major panic attacks. I never knew what a panic attack even was until I found myself in the middle of one. They're not fun; I can tell you that much.
The first one was at school.
It was a pretty normal day with very little (extra) stress (I think most teachers live in a constant state of semi-stressed survival mode). I had finished teaching our math lesson, and was working with a small group of students on the floor. We were figuring out the problems they hadn't understood on the homework assignment from the night before. I was talking to one of my "troubled" students (you know, the one other teachers had warned me about) who was secretly one of my very favorite students. We had a special bond because I knew exactly what he said to me when he muttered obscenities at me in Spanish under his breath, and it shocked him every time the first few weeks of school when I could come back with witty remarks in English to release his frustration with humor. It took him a few weeks to figure out that I actually understood him, and spoke Spanish myself. It still makes me laugh as I am sitting here thinking about it. So, as I sat there, unprovoked, with no apparent catalyst to set anything in motion, I begin to shake. Then the cold and hot came. It's a really weird sensation. I felt like I might freeze to death and burst in to flames at the same time. My limbs became numb, and I realize my legs were not functioning correctly. Then the breathing. Luckily, I was smart enough to get out of there before I really lost it. I called the secretary and told her to find someone to take over my class stat, and made a mad dash to the bathroom on my barely-functioning, numb legs. The hyperventilation started there, the tears came, and the mental insanity followed. My mind started running at about 50,000 mph and I literally thought I was going to DIE. I am pretty sure it is much worse on the inside that it looks to an outsider, but I thought I was going to spend my last moments on the floor in the faculty restroom at Henry's Fork Elementary. Someone found me in there and made arrangements to drive me home in my car with someone else following to bring her back. I am pretty sure the principal took over my class...nice. I'm sure I earned a lot of professionalism points that day.
David was called out of class, and we met him on campus. He took me to the doctor, who of course told me to go home and sleep--or drink lots of clear fluids--one of the two. Thanks doc.
The second one happened in the Dominican Republic.
David and I wanted to do something to use our Spanish and travel before we had any kids, so we found a cool volunteer organization called the DREAM Project in the DR, and moved down their for two months. Overall it was a wonderful experience, and if I had it to do over again, I would. Probably. But...it was not exactly what I was expecting. While our apartment was much nicer than what most people there were living in, we still had a family (of many generations, I'm pretty sure) of cockroaches living under our kitchen sink. And another familia living in the closet of my classroom at the school I taught at. One day had been particularly draining, and hot. I had never actually dried off after my shower with the humidity, the teacher's I was training refused to stop talking about their sex lives during our planning session (another professionalism issue to say the least), and I was really tired of not knowing when we would or would not have electricity. I just wanted to go to bed and tune the rest of the world out. I had simply had enough of that day, and wanted to move on. So, I went to lie down. Unfortunately for me, some of the cucaracha cousins had made a lovely little nest in my pillow, and came scurrying out as soon as my head hit it. Panic attack number two commenced. I am pretty sure this is where our habit of eating out too often began. We stopped grocery shopping all together and never opened a cupboard or the refrigerator from that day on. No food in this house, creepy bugs.
Number three came somewhat out of the blue.
David and I were back in the good old U S of A a few months after our grand Dominican adventure. We were settled in for the night in our amazing, clean and cool sheets (very unlike the scratchy bug-infested DR ones we dealt with over the summer), and decided to find a show to watch on the laptop. Unfortunately, we chose some random Amazon River documentary or reality show that threw me over the deep end. I think I only watched about 45 seconds of the flying bug attack on their boat before I was in hysterics and jumping around to see if any of the bugs had gotten to me. Silly, I know--but so real and terrifying in my mind when the panic sets in. I think this one is where my phobia of getting into bed without a light on developed. David still makes fun of me (in his head) for the fact that I have to have a light on while I get in bed so I can make sure there are no bugs in the sheets.
I digress. Funny panic-attack stories aside, I am just having a hard time feeling calm.
This past month has been stressful. It seems like the hospital is becoming a common link to everyone important to me lately. One of my favorites ended up there again in another attempt to drink himself to death. Another favorite had chronic tonsillitis for weeks on end, and a car that blew up all at the same time, thus needing some TLC and transportation. Yet another favorite ended up in the quarantined section of the hospital with spinal meningitis of all things, and had us all pretty scared for a few days there. Myself...well, I've (fortunately? terrifyingly? finally?) been diagnosed with a disease this week. I've had recurring pain for the past three or four years. It's awkward and uncomfortable, and sometimes unbearable. So...I suppose finally finding a doctor who has seen it before and can diagnose it is a good thing, right? I hope so. Still, the idea of someone saying, "It looks like you have a classic case of Behcet's Disease" is somewhat unsettling in and of itself. Great, now I can do something about it. But, adding a disease to the list of things I might tell people, that they didn't know about me wasn't really on my bucket list. Whatever. It is what it is.
I think the best advice I've ever gotten about the lists I make was to flip things up-side-down. At Time Out for Women one year, Hilary Weeks suggested this: rather than making to-do lists (that never ever seem to end), write ta-da lists. Instead of sitting down at the beginning of the day to map out all of the things I think I need to get done and check off, sit down at the end of the day and acknowledge what I actually accomplished: TA-DA! For someone like me who nearly always feels like a failure because I didn't finish my list, this is really a revolutionary idea and sanity-saver.
I also read a blog post this week by Rachel over at handsfreemama.com.
She's my new hero. I think we would be good friends. She realized that she was taking out her personal need for perfection on her daughter, and not allowing her to really live. She says, speaking to her daughter,
“I feel mad inside a lot. I often speak badly about myself in my head. I bully myself. And when I bully myself, it makes me unhappy and then I treat others badly—especially you. It is not right, and I am going to stop. I am not sure how, but I will stop. I am so very sorry,”
I get that. I have a bully just like that living in my head. She tells me that I'm an awful mom because my genius son still insists on calling me "Dad" even though he can now form two-three word sentences and looks for me any time David asks him to look for "Mama." Maybe I'm reading him the wrong books?
She tells me that I am a horrible teacher because a few of my college students didn't agree with my ed psych philosophy at school. She tells me that my hair is too boring, my floor it too sticky, and my garage is disorganized. She reminds me a lot about the way things should run in this house, and tells me I am pathetic for not being able to keep things in order with only one child to take care of. So pathetic. She reminds me often that I don't help other people enough, and that I should be doing more. Much, much more. She constantly nags me to remind David what he could be doing better. How hard is it, after all, to work full-time, wake up for nighttime bottle cravings, maintain a house and car, keep the dishes clean, run a business, and spend quality time with your family? Sheesh. He should be able to do more too. This bully is always telling me how I fall short and should really just not try anymore because I will never measure up, and neither will those around me. She tells me I am stupid for feeling lonely. It should be easy to make lots of friends. Especially here in Rexburg where 79% of the population are stay-at-home-moms like me. Shouldn't I be able to find just one who likes me enough to be my friend? She makes up a lot of statistics like that one. She doesn't consider the fact that my friends are also stressed out from being quarantined, or managing three kiddos, or battling their own bully girls. She just tells me how pathetic I am. It is a difficult conversation to have day after day after day after day.
So, I am tired. That's all.
I am exhausted of listening to her.
But mostly, I am so sick of believing her.
She is the real liar.
Rachel continues by explaining what she did to start her road to recovery from the damage her bully had done:
The person I judged for being sloppy or disorganized at the store yesterday may have just lost a battle with her bully. That lady that was rude to me on Facebook because she thought my company's logo looked like vomit might have wished someone would have given her feedback before her company went under. Those students that told me behaviorism is for dummies may have never met Jacob--my real 5th grade bully who needed a reward and a punishment to function daily.
Today, I am going to ignore her. I am going to do what I do, and be happy with that. I am going to listen when my little guy tugs on my shirt sleeve. I am going to tell her to "STOP" when she gives me a suggestion for what I could tell David to do better.
Because all I need today, is love. And chocolate. I'll go take care of that one right now. ;)
I know what real anxiety feels like. In the past three years, I have had three major panic attacks. I never knew what a panic attack even was until I found myself in the middle of one. They're not fun; I can tell you that much.
The first one was at school.
It was a pretty normal day with very little (extra) stress (I think most teachers live in a constant state of semi-stressed survival mode). I had finished teaching our math lesson, and was working with a small group of students on the floor. We were figuring out the problems they hadn't understood on the homework assignment from the night before. I was talking to one of my "troubled" students (you know, the one other teachers had warned me about) who was secretly one of my very favorite students. We had a special bond because I knew exactly what he said to me when he muttered obscenities at me in Spanish under his breath, and it shocked him every time the first few weeks of school when I could come back with witty remarks in English to release his frustration with humor. It took him a few weeks to figure out that I actually understood him, and spoke Spanish myself. It still makes me laugh as I am sitting here thinking about it. So, as I sat there, unprovoked, with no apparent catalyst to set anything in motion, I begin to shake. Then the cold and hot came. It's a really weird sensation. I felt like I might freeze to death and burst in to flames at the same time. My limbs became numb, and I realize my legs were not functioning correctly. Then the breathing. Luckily, I was smart enough to get out of there before I really lost it. I called the secretary and told her to find someone to take over my class stat, and made a mad dash to the bathroom on my barely-functioning, numb legs. The hyperventilation started there, the tears came, and the mental insanity followed. My mind started running at about 50,000 mph and I literally thought I was going to DIE. I am pretty sure it is much worse on the inside that it looks to an outsider, but I thought I was going to spend my last moments on the floor in the faculty restroom at Henry's Fork Elementary. Someone found me in there and made arrangements to drive me home in my car with someone else following to bring her back. I am pretty sure the principal took over my class...nice. I'm sure I earned a lot of professionalism points that day.
David was called out of class, and we met him on campus. He took me to the doctor, who of course told me to go home and sleep--or drink lots of clear fluids--one of the two. Thanks doc.
The second one happened in the Dominican Republic.
David and I wanted to do something to use our Spanish and travel before we had any kids, so we found a cool volunteer organization called the DREAM Project in the DR, and moved down their for two months. Overall it was a wonderful experience, and if I had it to do over again, I would. Probably. But...it was not exactly what I was expecting. While our apartment was much nicer than what most people there were living in, we still had a family (of many generations, I'm pretty sure) of cockroaches living under our kitchen sink. And another familia living in the closet of my classroom at the school I taught at. One day had been particularly draining, and hot. I had never actually dried off after my shower with the humidity, the teacher's I was training refused to stop talking about their sex lives during our planning session (another professionalism issue to say the least), and I was really tired of not knowing when we would or would not have electricity. I just wanted to go to bed and tune the rest of the world out. I had simply had enough of that day, and wanted to move on. So, I went to lie down. Unfortunately for me, some of the cucaracha cousins had made a lovely little nest in my pillow, and came scurrying out as soon as my head hit it. Panic attack number two commenced. I am pretty sure this is where our habit of eating out too often began. We stopped grocery shopping all together and never opened a cupboard or the refrigerator from that day on. No food in this house, creepy bugs.
Number three came somewhat out of the blue.
David and I were back in the good old U S of A a few months after our grand Dominican adventure. We were settled in for the night in our amazing, clean and cool sheets (very unlike the scratchy bug-infested DR ones we dealt with over the summer), and decided to find a show to watch on the laptop. Unfortunately, we chose some random Amazon River documentary or reality show that threw me over the deep end. I think I only watched about 45 seconds of the flying bug attack on their boat before I was in hysterics and jumping around to see if any of the bugs had gotten to me. Silly, I know--but so real and terrifying in my mind when the panic sets in. I think this one is where my phobia of getting into bed without a light on developed. David still makes fun of me (in his head) for the fact that I have to have a light on while I get in bed so I can make sure there are no bugs in the sheets.
I digress. Funny panic-attack stories aside, I am just having a hard time feeling calm.
This past month has been stressful. It seems like the hospital is becoming a common link to everyone important to me lately. One of my favorites ended up there again in another attempt to drink himself to death. Another favorite had chronic tonsillitis for weeks on end, and a car that blew up all at the same time, thus needing some TLC and transportation. Yet another favorite ended up in the quarantined section of the hospital with spinal meningitis of all things, and had us all pretty scared for a few days there. Myself...well, I've (fortunately? terrifyingly? finally?) been diagnosed with a disease this week. I've had recurring pain for the past three or four years. It's awkward and uncomfortable, and sometimes unbearable. So...I suppose finally finding a doctor who has seen it before and can diagnose it is a good thing, right? I hope so. Still, the idea of someone saying, "It looks like you have a classic case of Behcet's Disease" is somewhat unsettling in and of itself. Great, now I can do something about it. But, adding a disease to the list of things I might tell people, that they didn't know about me wasn't really on my bucket list. Whatever. It is what it is.
I think the best advice I've ever gotten about the lists I make was to flip things up-side-down. At Time Out for Women one year, Hilary Weeks suggested this: rather than making to-do lists (that never ever seem to end), write ta-da lists. Instead of sitting down at the beginning of the day to map out all of the things I think I need to get done and check off, sit down at the end of the day and acknowledge what I actually accomplished: TA-DA! For someone like me who nearly always feels like a failure because I didn't finish my list, this is really a revolutionary idea and sanity-saver.
I also read a blog post this week by Rachel over at handsfreemama.com.
She's my new hero. I think we would be good friends. She realized that she was taking out her personal need for perfection on her daughter, and not allowing her to really live. She says, speaking to her daughter,
“I feel mad inside a lot. I often speak badly about myself in my head. I bully myself. And when I bully myself, it makes me unhappy and then I treat others badly—especially you. It is not right, and I am going to stop. I am not sure how, but I will stop. I am so very sorry,”
I get that. I have a bully just like that living in my head. She tells me that I'm an awful mom because my genius son still insists on calling me "Dad" even though he can now form two-three word sentences and looks for me any time David asks him to look for "Mama." Maybe I'm reading him the wrong books?
She tells me that I am a horrible teacher because a few of my college students didn't agree with my ed psych philosophy at school. She tells me that my hair is too boring, my floor it too sticky, and my garage is disorganized. She reminds me a lot about the way things should run in this house, and tells me I am pathetic for not being able to keep things in order with only one child to take care of. So pathetic. She reminds me often that I don't help other people enough, and that I should be doing more. Much, much more. She constantly nags me to remind David what he could be doing better. How hard is it, after all, to work full-time, wake up for nighttime bottle cravings, maintain a house and car, keep the dishes clean, run a business, and spend quality time with your family? Sheesh. He should be able to do more too. This bully is always telling me how I fall short and should really just not try anymore because I will never measure up, and neither will those around me. She tells me I am stupid for feeling lonely. It should be easy to make lots of friends. Especially here in Rexburg where 79% of the population are stay-at-home-moms like me. Shouldn't I be able to find just one who likes me enough to be my friend? She makes up a lot of statistics like that one. She doesn't consider the fact that my friends are also stressed out from being quarantined, or managing three kiddos, or battling their own bully girls. She just tells me how pathetic I am. It is a difficult conversation to have day after day after day after day.
So, I am tired. That's all.
I am exhausted of listening to her.
But mostly, I am so sick of believing her.
She is the real liar.
Rachel continues by explaining what she did to start her road to recovery from the damage her bully had done:
"I desperately wanted things to be different too. It was time to stop being so hard on my child; it was time to stop being so hard on myself. I prayed I could stand up to the inner bully. I knew I needed an easy first step. I decided to use one simple word: STOP.
Within the hour, I had a chance to try it. The first critical thought that popped into my head arose as I was preparing to leave the house. I looked at my reflection and thought, “You look fat. You can’t go out looking like that.”
“Stop!” I assertively thought to myself, shutting down any further criticisms. Then I quickly turned away from the mirror and recited these words: “Only love today. Only love today.”
I used the same strategy when interacting with my child a few minutes later. Before any harsh words came out of my mouth about the way she was sloppily packing her bag of things, I cut off my inner critic by saying, “Stop! Only love today.” Then I swallowed the hurtful words and relaxed my disapproving face.
Within mere days of using the “stop” technique, I noticed a change. With a more positive thought process, it was easier to let go of the need to control, dictate, and criticize. In response, my daughter began taking more chances and began revealing her true passions. She started movie making and website design on the computer. She made doll furniture and clothing to sell in the neighborhood. She began baking new recipes without any help. Nothing she did was perfect. Nor was it mess-free or mistake-free, but the moment I said something positive, I saw her blossom a little more. That is when I began to clearly see beyond the mistakes and messes to what was truly important."
I don't think I have a conclusion today. I just wanted to write. I wanted to tell some of my stories and share some of my thoughts. Life is hard sometimes. Depression and anxiety and inner bullies are real monsters that lots of people fight on a daily or weekly or monthly basis. They are not battles that can be clearly seen by others--at least not the way we see them on the inside. But they are there. Everyone is fighting some kind of battle, whether visible or not. The person I judged for being sloppy or disorganized at the store yesterday may have just lost a battle with her bully. That lady that was rude to me on Facebook because she thought my company's logo looked like vomit might have wished someone would have given her feedback before her company went under. Those students that told me behaviorism is for dummies may have never met Jacob--my real 5th grade bully who needed a reward and a punishment to function daily.
Today, I am going to ignore her. I am going to do what I do, and be happy with that. I am going to listen when my little guy tugs on my shirt sleeve. I am going to tell her to "STOP" when she gives me a suggestion for what I could tell David to do better.
Because all I need today, is love. And chocolate. I'll go take care of that one right now. ;)
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