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.