Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes....

It's been a summer of change.

My health had been poor, but I'm on the mend after having my gallbladder removed and starting with some healthier habits. (Thanks to my dear friend Jess introducing me to Fit Girls Guide. It's an amazing program and the Instagram community is so positive and full of love.)

I'm still working on getting in to an exercise routine that works for me, baby steps.

I've switched one of my meds and started on over the counter sleep aids. It all seems to be working out well and I feel more balanced than I have at any other time in my life.

My house is a disaster and it's on my list of things to take care of now that life is settling in for the fall and winter. We'll be spending a lot of time in here soon and I want it to feel cozy, not suffocating.

The biggest change that has occurred is Cass coming out as Transgender. It was a surprise (but not a shock) when he (now she) came out. We love Cass for who she is no matter what and I'm so proud of her for being strong enough to tell us how she is feeling.

I've spent weeks finding an appropriate pediatrician, getting a referral to an adolescent endocrinologist, and finding a Trans affirmative therapist. It's been overwhelming. I've had no real idea what I was doing, but with the positive support from family and friends and the advice of my psychiatrist and the amazing social workers at the Utah Pride Center I feel like I've gathered a great set of resources for Cass.

She's also started attending a support group for gender nonconforming teens at the Pride Center which has been really good for her.

This journey will be a new and interesting one for sure.

It's times like these that I'm so grateful that I took steps to take care of my mental health. I don't know that I would have been able to adjust and react to these changes in such a calm and controlled way before. I would have been totally overwhelmed to the point of coming to a standstill.

Living life the way we do (unschooling, peaceful parenting, compassionate living) has been one of the greatest choices I've ever made. It leaves space for change and growth both for the adults and children in our family. I can't imagine coping with how our lives are going if we lived more traditionally.

To everyone out there dealing with the Big things that come in life:

Remember to give yourself the space and kindness you need to adjust. Give those same things to the people around you. We're all in this together.

HeArt to Recover

For years my step mom Colleen and I had a difficult relationship. I was suffering from mental illness and in those difficult teenage/early adulthood years. Colleen struggled with alcoholism.

It was a volatile combination and for a while I didn't think our relationship could be salvaged.

I even felt I needed to remove myself from the situation because of the stress and pain our relationship was causing everyone around us.

It was hard, but necessary.

Then something amazing and wonderful happened. I sought treatment for my brain mush.

Colleen went to rehab. She's been sober almost 18 months.

I cannot explain the joy our renewed relationship brings me and my family.

She has used art as an outlet for coping with difficulty and for expressing joy for a long time.

This week, for the first time ever, she opened her very own art show at a local library.

I am so proud of her and how far she has come in recovery.

After all the difficulties in our relationship in the past I feel so lucky to have the amazing woman that is Colleen in my life.

(If you're local to Salt Lake City you can see her show here.)

Doctors and Everything Being Fine

I might be a hypochondriac. I'm also crazy.

I have moments when I genuinely question what my body is telling me. Loudly. Painfully.

Eventually, if my body persists in being a dick, I bite the bullet and schedule an appointment.

My reproductive system has not been treating me well since Dot was born nearly 3 years ago. I've just been buying stock in Advil and Tampax and Always. (When your periods are as brutal as mine you need two forms of protection at. all. times.)

I finally got around to seeing a doctor about it a couple months ago. It looked like my ovaries were misbehaving, rudely.

Here's where things get weird with me:

I felt relief when the doctor told me something was wrong. Relief. What the hell, Beckie?!

It felt like all the pain and hemorrhaging finally had an explanation. I finally had "proof" to explain my suffering, to justify it.

I was not just being crazy.



I got referred to a specialist when things didn't look quite right. She didn't see the same things wrong that the first doctor saw, but she at least thought she could help ease my suffering.

After an endometrial biopsy and a fine needle aspiration on one of three thyroid nodules and both tests coming back benign, there was relief.

Weirdly, crazily, after all the pain and the stress of the unknown it was almost... anticlimactic?

I mean I didn't want to have cancer, obviously! I just felt like, "You produce lots of healthy follicles every cycle and they leave these painful functional cysts behind on your ovaries. Oh, and your periods suck because once when you were 12 you looked too long at the moon so the powers that rule the female reproductive system decided to wait 21 years than shit on you. Or something. We don't really know. Here have an IUD and we'll see if that helps. Or makes things worse. Whatever. Also, you need pelvic floor physical therapy*." was a pretty crappy non-answer answer.

Couple that with the neck and shoulder injuries from a car accident that aren't bad enough for anyone to do anything about and I've been having a hard time reconciling the way my body feels with what I'm being told is happening inside it. Deep in my brain there is a piece of me that wants to go back again and again and again until a doctor diagnoses me with something, anything, that has a sure fire treatment to make me feel relatively normal again.

I want a magic pill. I know there is no magic pill for anything in life. Even with my psych meds I'm still constantly working on acknowledging and controlling my emotions and my knee jerk emotionally driven reactions.

Nothing is perfect. I will never feel just right.

I have to learn to be okay with that.

Everything is a lesson. Some lessons are easy, this is one is not.

Learning to be okay with being perpetually mentally and physically abnormal is hard. It will be hard.

I know all of this is very "first world problem"-y. I have access to amazing healthcare and the resources to use it. I am so lucky that nothing is dramatically wrong with me.

But:

I'm crazy and I might be a hypochondriac.

I warned you in the beginning.


*pelvic floor physical therapy is TOTALLY A THING and I didn't know it was until I got a referral for it! It's like having a massage therapist for your junk, but not in a sexy way. In a painful, "Oh my god, this better work because this hurts like a mo-fo." kind of way. Or so I hear.

Socially Nuts

I post on Facebook. A lot. Actually, if you're reading this it's probably because I posted it on my Facebook page. That means that my friends, acquaintances, childhood pals, ex-coworkers, relatives, and people I met through homeschooling all know a whole lot about my life.

I am obviously not bothered by this. It's actually kind of freeing to be "out" about my mental illness, specifically. I don't feel like I'm hiding anything. I don't feel like I'm perpetuating the idea that it's something shameful.

It helps to know that if I'm out with people and I need to leave it's not necessary to come up with some excuse. I can just say I have to go and hopefully they'll understand.

I don't get invited out much anymore (except to homeschool events for the kids) and it's probably a combination of things that led to this. I have small children and not a lot of options for sitters. I have spent the last four years or so declining invitations under the guise of "oh, small kids, can't sorry!" when about half the time I really just wasn't up to leaving my house.

I wish I had gotten help earlier so I could have told people it's not personal, I'm just struggling right now. I'll get back to socializing like a normal person eventually. Please keep offering. It'll happen.

It's one of those things that no one tells you about being on the other side of diagnosis. You look back on all the things you could have done differently had you known what was happening. All the relationships you self sabotaged. All the awkward escapes from parties that left you mortified to see that group of people again. All the people who took advantage of you, but you kept letting back in because you thought being a good friend meant being a doormat.

Most people around me have been kind and accepting of who I am, now that I have more information about myself to give them. A few have reached out to tell me about their struggles and to express gratitude for being open about my own which has made them feel less alone. I hope it makes all of us feel more comfortable going out in to the world and wearing our crazy on our sleeves.

Go out when you can. Invite others over when you can't. Be open. Tell the world if you're comfortable with that. Tell your friends, if the world is too much. Tell your family, if they're the good kind of family. It'll free you to seek companionship without pretense. It'll give you the space to be yourself no matter who you're with, knowing that you have someone who is aware what you're coping with that has your back.

Post about it. Write about it. Talk about it. It's you and you're awesome.

The Sick

Two of my four kids are sick. Not the "I'm so tired and warn out I just want to lay around all day" kind of sick. The I'm going to barf all night, have horrible diarrhea in the morning, and act totally fine the rest of the day easing you in to a sense of security so you feed them a real dinner and then they barf all over their bed and then your bed that night kind of sick.

When you're the main caretaker of said sick children through the night and all through the day it's exhausting. Lack of sleep can cause crankiness in even the most calm and rational parent, not to mention the toll it takes on the sick kids.

For some of us also struggling with keeping the fine balance that is our mental illness in check it can be especially trying. Irritability and being quick to anger are some of the worst qualities that come out in me when I'm sleep deprived and run ragged by 24/7 care of other people without a break for days on end.

Finding a way to combat the knee jerk responses I have to my children's constant needs during bouts of prolonged illness is paramount. A lot of times I'll ask one of the older kids (if they're well) to keep an eye on the little ones for a few minutes while I escape to wash the smell of blueberry vomit from the night before off of me. I don't hesitate to put Netflix on and create a sick kid sanctuary complete with snacks and soothing beverages.

I try not to let the Guilt sink in. The land of the internet is really good at making parents feel inferior for not making ginger and garlic infused caffeine free roobios tea with sweet potato puree patties fried in coconut oil with cinnamon and cardamom as a snack while the sick children soak in a bath of epsom salt and lavender oil while listening to Shakespeare's complete works on Audible.

The biggest problems come when I am also struck down by The Sick. My ailment does not stop the children's need for me, whether they are also sick or not. There is no break. There is temporary relief from my spouse and older children, but it only last a short time before it is me and only me who is needed and no one else will do.

When you struggle with mental illness as a parent The Sick sometimes looks nothing like the flu or food poisoning. Sometimes it looks like being unable to lift your limbs to make cereal for breakfast or brew a pot of coffee to try and pull yourself up. Sometimes it looks like frantically trying to fix everything in the house all at once flitting from one project to the next haphazardly creating more messes than you're fixing all while barely keeping up with your kids needs because the floors are so gross and I can't remember the last time I cleaned out the fridge, but this pile of mail is sure to have a medical bill I forgot about in it and who left this crockpot full of split pea soup for three days?!

When things fall apart try to remember that you're trying. That no one is going to remember your kids watched a marathon of all the J.R.R. Tolkien movies because everyone loves a good movie about dragon's, orcs, and elves. You're kids will remember that you did the best you could even if they lived off of popcorn, popsicles, and ginger ale for two days. Even if it took you 45 minutes to make pb&j's because you were vomiting every 5 minutes and had a fever of 102. Even if you were frantically trying to fix everything wrong in your life and only slowing down to feed them and break up fights. Even if you couldn't get out of bed and instead cuddled under the covers together for as long as you could convince them to stay.

You're trying. You're doing your best. The Sick can't last forever.

*Side note: Vomit comprised almost exclusively of blueberries is disgusting and stains, badly. FYI. You're welcome.

7 Things That Make Me Anxious: A Poorly Formatted List

This isn't one of those Buzzfeed lists where I'm trying to say "EVERYONE IS LIKE THIS!!! OMG CLICK THE BAIT! CLICK IT!!"

This is a list of awful, stupid, and ridiculous things that make me anxious. Here we go!

1. Tests, of the medical variety. If I finally feel something is wrong enough to go to the doctor to get it checked out I automatically assume I'm either crazy and imagining everything or I'm dying. There is no in between.
 It's actually kind of hilarious because I always end up with some sort of "in between" diagnosis. Like "You sprained your ankle enough that we think you should get an MRI." "We got  the results and your ankle is messed up, but not enough for us to do anything about it unless it gets worse. Good luck!"
This happens all.the.time.

2. People. Pretty much all of them, except the ones I'm related to, married to, or the few friends I consider family. Acquaintances are probably the worst, next to large groups of brand new people, of course.
You don't really know where you stand with them. You know each other well enough to say hi at the grocery store, but just not quite well enough to feel comfortable asking about their recent bout of stomach flu or if they ever got that mole looked at. You also can't ask about their kids or pets or spouses because there is a really good chance you can't remember any of their names.
 Unless your friends on Facebook and they, like me, post often. Then you might seem totally creepy when you ask if their mom is recovering okay from her surgery for her gout or if they remember where they got the duvet cover on their bed because it's gorgeous but you've never actually been inside their house.
Strangely, after an initial meet and greet with a potential doula client I didn't already know I'm pretty good. I'm also kind of ridiculously calm while dealing with medical professionals as a doula or as a patient.
I just wait to over analyze every single part of those interactions when they're over and feel awkward about every single thing I said or did or could have done.

3. Driving to places I've never been before. Even with GPS to guide me I'm a neurotic mess the whole drive. This is exponentially worse if it's dark out. Also, you can't take Valium and drive so it's all deep breathing and therapeutically playing Hozier's album on repeat.

4. Explaining my parenting choices. It's awful. We don't do traditional school. (See the other blog) We don't even attempt to avoid GMO's or eat organic. We rarely eat out. Unless we eat out almost every day in a week, because reasons. We breastfeed well past the first year. (Dot's almost 2.5 and still nursing.) We vaccinate. We had two home births. We don't spank. We don't only use "natural consequences".
I guess it's hard because we aren't traditional parents and we aren't totally outside of the box either. Every time I open my mouth about any of these topics I am immediately convinced that I have either offended the person I'm talking to or I've come off as condescending and judgmental.
In all honesty, I don't really give two shits about what other people are doing with their kids as long as there is no abuse involved.
I don't care if you formula fed your traditionally schooled, cesarean section born, gluten-free, organic only, vegan children.
Seriously, no shits given.
But I automatically assume everyone thinks I'm a total douche bag no matter what part of our parenting choices I'm talking about. Also, I can't even coherently explain WHY we made the choices we did unless I've had 2 glasses of wine.

5. Internet fights. I will stew over things strangers on the internet said to me or about things I feel strongly about for DAYS. Literally days. I will be embarrassed about every comment I wrote, thinking and rethinking the million different ways I could have responded better or justified my belief more eloquently or regretting some random stupid insult I posted.
Seriously, this shouldn't bother me OR ANYONE. They are non-people in the wide world of the internet. It doesn't matter. (As long as you're not internet bullying people, that's a different story.)
At 1am on Tuesday more than a week after the conversation had taken place I'll still be convinced that was the most important conversation on the internet I've ever had!

6. My kids social lives. I know. I know. I can't control my teen's relationships, but I've tried really hard to help them learn appropriate boundaries and how to interact politely and with respect to everyone around them. When things go awry I feel like a failure and I try desperately to think of what I could have done differently as a parent to help prevent the situation. I'm mortified to interact with any parents involved in the situation. I, sorry not sorry for the language, brain fuck it to death. It'll keep me up at night for, well, longer than I'd like to admit.

7. Nothing. Sometimes I freak out for absolutely no reason at all. I'll be at the park with the kids joyfully running around and I'll feel like I'm going to barf and then my chest will get tight and then my heart will be going about 4000 beats per minute and I can't breath and I'm dying, I'm sure I'm dying. Deep breaths. Locate water. Small sips. Better? No? Gum or tic tacs. Better? No? Gather children. (Please no melt downs please no melt downs please no melt downs) Get to car. Get in. Close doors. Turn on music. Deep breaths deep breaths deep breaths. More water. A new piece of gum or more tic tacs. I'm not dying. I have to drive. I have to get home. We'll be okay when we're home. Drive. We're not going to die in a horrific car accident. Dot is not choking to death in the back seat on the sucker I gave her to bribe her to leave the park. I didn't leave Al or Cass at the park. Emie is strapped in. I'm not having a stroke. Almost home. Close. Drive slow. White knuckles on the steering wheel. So close. I can make it. We'll make it. Don't hit a kid walking home from school. Stop totally at the cross walk. Wait. I'm not having a heart attack. It's okay. We're here. Kids in house. Screaming toddler. Movie. Valium. Water. Breath. Breath. Breath. Okay. I'm okay. We're all okay. Pulse slows. Stomach settles. Cuddle littles. Thank Al and Cass for understanding and helping when I was kind of losing it.

Breath.

up again, down again, in again, out again

You would think after finding some medication(s) that works for you it'd be smooth sailing.

No.

Just no.

I'm still fairly new at this "being crazy and appropriately drugged" thing. I got a proper diagnosis less than a year ago. So I'm seriously not an expert, but I'm starting to think this might be a permanent work in progress.

Doctors warn you about this. In the beginning it's about finding the right meds and the right dosages. It's a roller coaster that sometimes feels worse then the illness itself.

When you finally get the mix right the relief is amazing. I'm not saying it's all roses and walks on the beach and laughing while eating salads with the family.

You still have bad days. You're allowed to have bad days. Sometimes I have bad weeks. It's okay.

Before I knew why I was such a mess when things got rough I just flailed around like a fish out of water. Things fell apart. How to you know to ask for help when you don't know that what you're experiencing is abnormal. It feels like asking for help when everyone else seems to handle their stress just fine would make you look weak and incapable.  (Here's a little hint: Everyone is a train wreck. No one has it perfect. Even the rich and famous. Just look at Kesha.)

It's a little extra hard when there are kids depending on you to keep going or when missing work is just not something you can do. Curling up under the blankets watching Parenthood on Netflix just isn't an option most of the time.

BUT:

 Sometimes we have no choice but bow out and admit a temporary defeat.

Sometimes we push through and make ourselves keep going.

Either way: We are brave. We are strong. We are fighters. We got this shit.

We're in this together.

*Disclaimer: Before anyone gets their panties in a bunch, I asked Al permission before writing this post. There is no way I would damage our relationship by writing about my perspective on his struggle without his approval.


Teenage and adolescent mental illness is bullshit. I don't mean that it doesn't exist, just that I really wish it didn't. In 2014 in the United States suicide was the SECOND leading cause of death in people age 12-18. (Source: 2014 CDC WISQARS)

There are some traits I'm so pleased to have passed down to Al. My blue eyes and great complexion. My love of music and good books. My inappropriate sense of humor. What I didn't expect or want to pass down was my shitty brain chemistry.

I struggled with depression (which was actually misdiagnosed bipolar ll) throughout my adolescence. I spent some time medicated for it. It didn't really make me feel better, just numb. So, you'd think with that background I would have picked up on the signs with my own kid. Nope. Add it to the list of things I've messed up as a parent which includes feeding Dot cheesecake for breakfast then abandoning her with Travis, leaving Cass alone with a sharpie, and telling Emie to shut up once.

After going through some rough, but fairly normal, teenage relationship struggles and acknowledging he was fighting a bigger internal battle we had been unaware of before then, it became clear that Al needed to see a professional. He filled out some questionnaires, we spoke with his primary care doctor together about our concerns, and he started medication with the understanding that therapy would happen too.

Now that he's properly medicated for what seems at this point to be clinical depression and is seeing a therapist Al is back to being the funny and bright kid I always knew was there.

From the time I got a diagnosis and started medication I have been extremely candid with my older kids about my broken brain. I told them what the diagnosis meant and what kind of medications I was going to be taking and their possible side effects. I warned them when I was altering dosage or adding a new medication in case I started acting differently so they could tell me I was being crazier than usual.

Perhaps my openness about my own struggles made it easier for Al to come to me when he realized he wasn't capable of dealing with things on his own anymore.

Some parents might disagree with that decision, but they aren't me. If I want honesty from my kids I need to show them what honesty looks like. I need them to know that sometimes honesty shows the less than perfect side of you and that it's okay.

Other members of my extended family struggle with being nuts. Those aren't my stories to tell, but the fact that it's not a secret from me or anyone else in our family is one of the things that taught me that to acknowledge your burden is to have people there to help lift some of it's weight when things get rough.

I hope I'm teaching my kids that honesty is a gift both to the person receiving it and the person giving it. I hope I'm teaching them that I'm a safe space. I hope I'm teaching them that being crazy may make things harder, but that it also makes you stronger. That you can live with it. That sometimes you can even laugh at it.

This is for me. And you. Maybe.

I've been thinking about starting this blog for a while. My own mental health struggles have started to seep over in to my kids/homeschooling/parenting blog. I want to try to keep these two kinds of musings separate or it might just end up sounding like I can't handle my kids or my family or my life or my dogs. All of which is true. Sometimes.

They are not separate things, though. Bipolar Disorder effects every aspect of my life from how capable I am of making dinner on any given day to whether or not I'm able to poop. (Thanks drug side effects.)

Writing about this part of my life feels important. Making it public feels like rebellion. I am living with mental illness. Putting that out there shouldn't feel any more uncomfortable than saying "I am living with diabetes." Except it does, mostly because I don't instantly hear "mental illness" in Wilford Brimley's voice and also because people don't generally make shit like this public.

Well some people do talk about mental illness. Mostly people with an actual platform to make actual change. Jarad Padalecki. Jenny Lawson. Wil Wheaton. Brooke Shields. Demi Lovato. Some of my dear friends speak openly in groups of friends about their struggles or post about it on social media.

There is a chance that this little blog might help someone. It could help someone find the courage to open up to a friend, partner, or parent about not feeling quite right. It could start them on a path to seeking help and getting treatment.

I hope that, if nothing else, this blog leaves someone feeling a little less alone in their brokenness.

So, here's me. Here are my guts and my brains and all the other goo that makes me up. Be gentle.

(This post took me almost a week to write. Because children. Also- this might come as a shock- I'm kind of a train wreck about 70% of the time so don't be surprised if posts come in weird bursts.)

**Insert witty and memorable sign off here**