Not My Story To Tell

Happy New Year, friends!!!

I have a few exciting things going on to ring in 2020 this January.  First of all is school.  I've been in the process of transferring to Western Governors University to finish out my degree in accounting.  It was a big decision.  A hard one.  But I think it's the right move for me and I'm excited to hopefully wrap things up in 2ish years.  Orientation opens tomorrow and I officially start 2/1.  So yay!!  Second of all is strength training.  Yesterday was my first evening in a women's strength class.  It was hard and I am oh-so-sore today, but I think it will be good for me.  Don't panic, it's not some maniac weight loss ploy.  It's just getting stronger, which is going to be good for my overall health.  So we'll see how that goes.  And the third exciting thing that January 2020 has brought me is the opportunity to share my story with a group of women at my church!

The women's ministry director asked me if I would be willing to share my story at a Chapelgate WM event on January 25th.  I took a day or so to think about it, then agreed that it's a good fit and said yes.  Then I got worried like, "Oh my gosh, I've only ever shared my testimony as an advertisement for Mercy and I actually have no idea what I'm doing in real life."  Mercy gives you 5-8 minutes.  At Connect I'll have up to 20.  How in the world am I supposed to turn my 5 minute Mercy testimony into a 20 minute story about what God has done in Brittany's life?  Yikes.

Then I remember that I HAVE done this before.  I shared my testimony on a Thursday night at CR when I was on leadership at LifePoint.  Score.  So then I started digging around my hard drive and dropbox looking for that document.  Turns out I did that in 2013.  Wow.  That's 7 years ago.  And a lot has happened in 7 years.

So I started reading through my 2013 testimony and it brings tears to my eyes.  For multiple reasons.  Both good and bad.

It's crazy how easily I forget.  I get so caught up in the day-to-day life that I forget where I've come from.  I forget the pain, the struggle, the trauma, the tragedy.  Which is good.  I mean, I shouldn't dwell on that.  But if I forget about that, that means I also forget about the miracles.  The transformation.  The healing.  The freedom.  And that's something that I don't EVER want to forget.

So it's good to look back and remember where I've come from.  And when I say that, I mean like...now compared to 10 years ago.

But it's also important to look at where I am.  And when I say THAT I mean like...now compared to 7 years ago.  2013.  When I wrote the testimony I'm currently editing.  Because boy am I editing it.

Right now, in this moment, I'm mostly sad.  I'm looking back at this 26 year old Brittany and I want more than anything to be her again.  She was filled with so much passion.  God was so real.  She had genuine meaningful friendships.  She was plugged in.  Her life had a purpose.  And all of those things seem so...not me right now.

I'm mostly blah.  I have a hard time connecting with God.  I don't have many friends.  I'm trying to get plugged in but I just feel like it takes so much effort.  I'm not entirely sure where I'm headed...I feel like my work has purpose, but as a human I'm not so sure.

So I'm having to edit my 2013 testimony to account for reality and what I'm seeing as several steps backward.  Which is rough.  Which then makes me question why I'm even doing it.  Like given that last paragraph, what do I have to offer by sharing my story?  Should someone like me really be given access to a platform like that?

Yikes.

And I know the answer.  It's always the answer.  The answer is yes.  Yes, I should.

Because if I told Judie no, what would that mean?  That would mean I fail to recognize the miracles, the transformation, the healing, the freedom.  All those things I never want to forget.  If I say no to Judie, I would be denying their existence.  Because even though I'm not 2013 Brittany, I'm definitely NOT still 2010 Brittany.  I'm somewhere in the middle.

And if we're really being honest...that's where most people are.  Somewhere in the middle.  And I think that makes me relatable.  My 2013 testimony is awesome.  But I don't identify with that girl today.  And if I take a step back, I'm not sure that many people would.  And how would that help?

I believe sharing your testimony serves several purposes.  First of all, it's personal.  It's like a memorial.  It reminds you of where you've come from, what God has done, and who you are as a person.  And that's important.  Second of all, it's public.  It shows other people what God is capable of doing in a person's life. Third of all, it lets people know that they are not alone.  All 3 reasons are extremely important, but I am a strong believer in reason number 3.

Number 3 is what gives me the confidence to speak truth, even when it's embarrassing or shameful or difficult.  Because people need to know they are not alone.  I believe that this kind of vulnerability literally saves lives.  So I do it.  Even though it's uncomfortable and itchy.

So my 2013 testimony is on the pottery wheel slowly being shaped into something more representative of my life today.  Something I'm hoping at least one person will relate to.  I've read it out loud a few times.  There are moments when my voice shakes.  My eyes get damp.  My fingers tremble.  Sometimes it happens because I'm recalling a tough memory and sometimes it happens because I'm reading a scripture that just speaks so much truth that I can hardly believe the words are real.  I think both are important.

Overall, I think I'm feeling pretty good about where I am.  And it leads me to a fourth reason to share my testimony.  Because the preparation for it has spurred me into action.  Or at least contemplation.  It's brought to my attention the fact that there are some things I'd like to change about my spiritual life.  Life in general, even.  I'm not sure what that looks like, but I know what it DOESN'T look like.  And that's a start.

I like to think my story is inspiring.  The theme is redemption.  And I hope it's relatable enough that people think "hey, maybe I can get access to a miracle, too."  Because if I'm really being honest with myself, that is what my life is.  A miracle.  My God is a god of miracles.  And if one can be worked in my life, it can certainly be worked in yours.

A lot of people think they know my story.  But most of you don't.  You know pieces.  The ones I choose to share in an effort to drive home a point or paint a picture or explain a decision.  On the 25th I'll share the whole story and you'll see that the story really isn't mine.  It's God's.  The story of how he redeems the broken and heals the wounded.  How he makes something beautiful out of ashes.  And if you live around here, I hope you'll be a part of it and learn that you are never alone.

(this is a girls only event, so sorry dudes...maybe next time)

because maybe…

Anxiety.  The kind that makes you want to stay in bed with the covers pulled over your head.  Because maybe someone I love will fall and their life will change forever.  Because maybe I'll get in a car accident with my brand new car and have to buy a new one with no money left for a downpayment.  Because maybe my thumb will get sucked between the blades of the mixer as I make a batch of brownies.  Because maybe.

It's crazy how powerful a single word can be.  "Maybe."  It doesn't matter whether the chance is one in a million or 99%.  The fact that it's a maybe gives it so much power.

How does that happen?

How do we go from managing stress just fine to being paralyzed by fear of something that may or may not happen?  Like in the blink of an eye?

For me it happened with an actual car accident.  An actual fall.  Don't ask where the finger in the mixer fits in there, that's how I knew things were getting out of control.  Makes.  No.  Sense.

But the devil dangles those actual real life disasters in front of our eyes.  Even behind our eyelids as we sleep.  Until we don't need his help to make us play the tape over and over again in our minds.  And the tapes play.  And the fear builds.  And that's when you've gotta put a stopper in it.

Because it's normal to be a little more vigilant after a car accident.  I mean, that's a normal fear to have, right?  If you were in an accident, of course you're going to be a little bit on edge.  If you saw someone fall, of course you're going to be aware of the potential hazards in a room.  There is something to be said for a healthy dose of fear.

So how do you know when things are starting to get a little bit too much?  A little bit excessive?  Something to be concerned and do something about?

For me it was the finger in the mixer thing.  I'm standing there making brownies nearly in tears out of the terror of my finger getting sucked into the mixer blades and me not being able to take care of my family the way they need to be cared for currently.  I mean terror.  I can hardly breath.  That's when I noticed there might be a problem.  Then I started realizing all the moments in my day that I'm holding my breath. Like perpetually not breathing for the majority of the day.  Visualizing myself falling down the basement stairs carrying a box in 15 different ways.  I mean how many times do I look both ways before backing out of a parking space or crossing the street?  I don't even know.

I was and am still functioning.  It wasn't keeping me from getting out of bed, going to work, making my appointments, or finishing Christmas shopping.  But it was stealing joy from every one of those moments. And it did leave me exhausted.  I mean I wasn't sleeping well before any of this went down, so my sleep is pretty much a hot mess at this point.

So what's a girl to do?

Talk about it.  That's what I do.  Because talking about it gives it way less power.  Fear lives in the secret thoughts that you entertain laying in bed at night.  Fear lives in the dark.  Ya gotta shine some light in those dark corners.  You want that fear to scream "I'm meltingggggggg."  In that wicked witch of the west kinda way.

It isn't pretty.  And it isn't over the moment you call it for what it is.  I started by telling my therapist.  I have a new therapist because my old one left me.  Sad face.  So I'm still establishing a rapport with this new person.  She kind of chuckled at me when I started rattling off the list of what was giving me anxiety.  She was like "Brittany.  Seriously?  That's like a one in a million kind of chance.  You can't possibly be scared of that."

"I knoooooow.  It's ridiculous.  I know.  I'm out of control.  Please stop laughing and help real me back in from what I KNOW is insanity."

I also told my psychiatrist.  She prescribed me some anti-anxiety meds to take as needed.  No benzos, just something low key to take the edge off.  Help me remember the whole breathing thing.

I'd gotten careless with my bedtime routine.  Gotta straighten that back out.  Fill the pill case so I know whether or not I've taken my meds so I don't take them more than once or miss a dose in its entirety.

You know, take care of the little things that give my life stability and offer a sense of control.  That makes the bigger things a little less wobbly.  Makes the maybes a little less dramatic.  Makes life a little more manageable.

So that's what I'm doing these days.  That and accepting every hug that I'm offered.

One more thing, guys.  The songs and television tell us it's the most wonderful time of the year.  But for a lot of people, it's not.  I've seen physical pain and emotional despair.  I've seen tears and looked in the eyes of people carrying heavy burdens this holiday season.  It's not all joy to the world and jingle bells.  Some people aren't laughing all the way.  So if you're the kind of person belting out Christmas carols, remember that there are people out there who just need a silent shoulder to cry on.  That, despite what Elf says, there is more than one way to spread Christmas cheer.  Offer a hug, offer a shoulder, offer a warm beverage.  And if you're the person who is struggling this December, know that it's ok to do so.  No one is saying you have to be merry.  Just promise me one thing.  Don't forget that it's Christmas.  The season of miracles.  You might be waiting for a Christmas miracle and it may or may not come.  But the greatest of miracles is already here.  Jesus was born.  He came to save you and one day bring you home.  So despite the pain and the sorrow, you can rest in that.

Merry Christmas, friends.

Been There, Done That

Well I just sent an email that I figured wouldn't send but I was hopeful but it didn't and I'm a little bit bummed.  My posts don't seem to bounce, so I figured I'd turn to the blog for some reflection.

I have some old readers and some new ones.  You old-timers might want to skim to the end, but there's enough of the newbies to do a quick recap of my experience with all things hip.  And I'm not talking "hip" as in cool or rockin.  I'm talking hip as in the body part.  I know, I know.  It's exciting stuff.  But seriously, it's worth the read.

I broke my good hip in January of 2005; my freshman year of college.  No, seriously.  It was my good hip.  My right hip was the one always giving me trouble as a high school cross country runner.  It even kept me from running my senior season.  But one day in college I woke up with excruciating LEFT hip pain.  I was on the university sailing team, so my coach sent me to the trainer and I was diagnosed with bursitis and put on crutches.  A couple of days later it was pouring down rain and the elevator was broken, so I attempted to take the steps to get to class.  Needless to say, I slipped and fell and ...well...the rest is history.  It took them a long time to discover that I had broken my hip.  After all, I was only 18.  What 18 year old fractures her femur, anyway?  But we finally got them to x-ray me and SURPRISE.  It turns out my bursitis was most likely NOT bursitis, but a stress fracture from over-training.  The fall just completed the fracture and changed my life forever.

It sounds dramatic, but it's mostly true.

I went from training for countless hours a day to being non-weight bearing and walker-bound for 3 months.  I developed depression and an eating disorder to cope with my predicament.  Both issues that still give me trouble to this day.

And that's not all.

So I had surgery that day in January down in Norfolk, VA.  As I said, they had me non-weight bearing.  I went a long time between the original fracture and the actual surgical repair so they were worried the ball of my femur would die.  So I guess that's what was in their minds.  They failed to take into consideration the fact that the sliding screw they used to put me back together relies on pressure to bring the two broken sides of the bone together.  So instead of the pieces being drawn back together and healed to one another, the bone healed to the screw, leaving a gap between the pieces.  So that May I had the procedure repeated.  This time with a team of surgeons who knew what the hell they were doing.

Looking back, there is one thing I would have done differently.  And that was I would have GONE HOME in January.  Everyone told me to do it, but I was stubborn and had a god complex.  I thought I could do anything.  So I did.  And it nearly killed me.

Anyway, after surgery #2 in May, I threw myself back into training asap.  I wanted to be back on the water more than anything.  And in my desperation I re-fractured my hip.  Right through the new bone.  I pushed through the fall of my sophomore year as much as possible, but took my finals early and came home in December to have surgery #3: a bone graft.

Life got the best of me after that, but that's a story for another day.

Fast forward to 2013 and my left hip (that's the one that I broke) started bothering me again.  My orthopedist didn't really have much to say about the situation, but he prescribed physical therapy.  I happened to have an AMAZING physical therapist who recognized the signs of a labral tear.  I got an MRI and sure enough, I had torn the labrum of my left hip joint.  I had had too much trouble to just let whoever operate on my hip, so I dove in and did some research and found Dr. Ochiai.  He's out of Arlington, VA, so it's a little bit of a hike.  But HE IS WORTH EVERY MINUTE I SPEND LOST AND ON THE ROAD.  I scheduled an appointment with him and it's like he just knew.  He knew exactly how I felt, where my pain was, what the intensity was, and HOW TO FIX IT.  Score.

So I had hip surgery #4: labral repair.  And then I re-tore it so he repaired it again.  And then I re-tore it so he did a labral reconstruction.  And then he removed all the hardware from my previous surgeries.  Well.  Almost all the hardware.  One of the screw heads broke off, so now I just have this random screw floating around mid-femur.  Hey, nothing's perfect.

And through it all I had Rick.  Rick and Seamus.  Rick was my physical therapist and Seamus was a PT assistant.  They were AMAZING.  I mean I worked with them on and off for 3-4 years.  I spent so much time at the clinic, they were like family.  They knew me and my body so well, we worked perfectly as a team.  Even once I was discharged, if I felt something out of wack, Rick would squeeze me in and straighten me out.  The clinic was bought out by a franchise, though.  And within a year I'd say 85% of the staff had left.  Including Rick.

But that was ok.  I hadn't really needed him.  Until this week.

Remember how I told you I broke my good hip?  The left one?  Well over the last several months, my right hip has been bothering me more and more.  The inside, the outside, and my lower back.  I kept putting it off, but I finally scheduled an appointment with Dr. Ochiai and I saw him yesterday.  Because the outside of my hip was bothering me so much, I was hoping I had bursitis and we could knock it out. Hoping, but not convinced.

Dr. Ochiai took some x-rays and did a thorough exam and came up with this.  I have FAI, which is a bone deformity that causes the bones to rub against each other in the hip joint.  Which means I probably have a labral tear, as well.  Joy.  All of my other symptoms are a result of this.

Dr. Ochiai wants an MRI, which I have scheduled for next Wednesday.  Then I see him again on October 1st and we'll come up with a plan.  No matter how you slice it, I'm guessing I'll need a physical therapist.

I will say that after Dr. Ochiai and Rick had done everything they could for me, I was still having issues and I saw a pelvic floor physical therapist.  She was ah-m-a-zing.  She did what the other guys couldn't and it was a total game changer.  But I'm not sure that she's what I need in this instance.  I might check with her and see, but I'm still putting my research cap on and doing some recon.

Which leads me to the email that just bounced.  You know who I want to talk to the most right now?  Rick.  He would just GET IT.  I know he would.  So I drafted a message to his old email and hit send, knowing it wouldn't go, but still hoping.  And it didn't.  And now I'm even more sad.

I think people look at me and think I'm fine.  I'm walking, right?  I'm not in tears.  I'm not popping pain meds.  I'm fine.  But it's a burden that weighs on me.  It makes me exhausted when I get home.  It crushes my patience and grates on my nerves.  And it really does hurt.  But guys, I've had 7 hip surgeries, ok?  I'm good at managing this.  I'm an expert.  But that doesn't mean it's not an issue that disturbs my day-to-day life.  It doesn't mean I'm not in pain.  It doesn't mean my quality of life isn't impacted.  It doesn't mean I don't lay on the couch icing my hip at night.  It just doesn't.

I don't know why I wrote this.  I guess it's because the people I interact with most don't really know the whole story.  They haven't been part of the saga.  They just see this piece and give me pointers on what makes a physical therapist a good physical therapist.  I know that, ok?  I've worked with the best.  They just don't know.

So now you know.  I don't know what Dr. Ochiai will say and I don't know what I'll do with what he ends up telling me.  There's plenty on the Bowen plate, so we'll take things as they come.  But if you're in Carroll County and now of a super stellar physical therapist specializing in hip injuries, please please please send me their info.

I guess the moral of the story is just that.  You never know a person's story.  I mean, would you have known that I broke my hip as an 18-year-old college athlete?  Unless you see the scars on my leg, you'd sure as hell have no way of knowing that I've had 7 hip surgeries.  Or what I struggle with today.  You wouldn't understand why I sit in super awkwardly weird positions at my desk or do back bends as I answer your questions at the copy machine.

You never know a person or why they do what they do until you ask.  Or until they just word vomit on you and make you read a ridiculously long blog post.  One or the other.

So I didn't write this to make you feel bad for me.  I wrote it for 3 reasons:

1. To try to find a new physical therapist.  Seriously.  I need your help.

2. To show you that you really don't know what goes on within a person unless you ask.

3. Let's be honest, I also did it to vent so people know where I'm coming from.

Cuz most people just don't get it.  And I've learned to be ok with that.  But it won't stop me from sharing my story.

I don’t even know

I have this intense desire to write, but I don't really know what I'm writing about.  I have a couple of ideas, but no real direction.  So I'll just start and see where we end up.  Sound like a plan?

Last weekend we broke out the photo albums.  You know we're looking at old pictures when we're breaking out albums.  2 huge ones.  From 17 years ago.  Gosh that's an eternity.  And it is.  At least it feels like it.  It feels like an entirely different lifetime.

This time 17 years ago, we were finishing up week 2 of a 3 week trip to Australia.  The trip of a lifetime.  From the outside looking in, I was one lucky girl.  I was involved in an organization called Job's Daughters International and I had been selected to represent the young women of Maryland in 2002.  There was a lot involved.  It was a big commitment.  At the time I would have told you that one of the greatest honors and responsibilities was to compete in the Miss International pageant.  That year to be held in Australia.

I took my role as Miss Maryland Job's Daughter very seriously.  I was super involved. Very dedicated.  Extremely invested.  Everything you'd want in a Miss Job's Daughter.  And I desperately wanted to represent my state well in Australia.  A lot of people believed in me.  Put their confidence in me.  Thought that I had a fighting chance.  And so did I.  The pressure was immense.  A lot of that pressure I placed on myself, of course.  But I'd be lying if I didn't say there were outside pressures, too.  A great deal of it.

I don't know if I've ever told anyone this, but I made God a deal the morning of the Miss International Job's Daughter pageant.  I told him that if the interview, written test, and recitation would not win me the crown, that I did not want to be in the top 10.  I didn't want to have to answer that final question if I didn't have a shot at winning.  Well he held up his end of the bargain.  I didn't make the top 10.  And I'll never know if it was because I wouldn't have placed or would have been a runner up or if I honestly just wasn't good enough to make the cut in the first place.  And I'm okay with that.

You know I only have one regret from that trip.  And it's not losing the pageant.  And it's not disappointing my state.  My biggest regret is not having more fun.  For being so invested in a competition that I missed out on the ocean.  The architecture.  The wildlife.  And the billions of stars that I'll never see again.  Sure, I made memories.  I had fun.  I loved it.  But I can't help but believe that it could have been a more enjoyable experience if I had made the trip without the weight of a cape and crown.  Both literally and figuratively.

That's all I'll say about Job's Daughters today or any other day, really.  Because that's enough.

Anyway, as we sat looking at old photos, I was reminded of the promise that God fulfilled for me 17 years ago while halfway around the world.  And it makes me tear up.  It makes me think of all the moments I've felt God the closest.  The moments I was comforted by his embrace. And I'm not talking about a lost title.  I'm talking about hurt and loss.  Failures, divorce, illness, pain, motherhood.  Real.  Life.  Stuff.

And it makes me realize just how distant I am from him.  Now.  Here.  In this moment.  This year, even.

I've faced many struggles this year.  My bipolar, my eating disorder, and now this debilitating dizziness that makes me barely able to drive and causes me to miss work.  I can't even think.  I'm waiting a month for testing and answers.  All I can do is wait.  And cry.  And wait.  And have I called out to God even once?

No.

After all the times he's fulfilled his promises and comforted me in my pain and suffering, I have yet to turn to him in the middle of this trial.  And that's a difficult thing to admit.  Especially working in a church.

Why don't I do it?  Why don't I cry out?  I don't know, really.  I have no good answer.  It's not like I doubt his ability to comfort and heal me.  I don't doubt it at all.  I know I need him.  I know this distance is slowly killing me.  My heart is hardened and my soul is weary.  I know that.

Yet here I am.  Alone.  With no one to blame.  I'm the one choosing to be alone.  Failing to cry out for help.  Failing to admit my need for Jesus.

So here I am.  Ready.  Finally.  Crying out to my comforter.  Even if he doesn't bring healing to my body, I know without a doubt that he can bring healing to my soul.  He has before and he can again.  And that is what I truly need, isn't it?

I thought I'd write more about how awful I feel right now.  The injustice of it all.  How great my struggle is.  Blah blah blah.  But my struggle is really no more or less than yours.  So it's pretty pointless to write about it.  At least today.

I don't know where to go from here.  I've fallen away and then come back into God's presence enough times, you'd think I'd know what I have to do.  But I don't.  I'm open to suggestions.  Every time is different.

How we went from photos, to crowns, to struggles, to healing, to confession in only 1,000 words is really beyond me.  And if you've stuck around until now, I'm impressed.  So thank you.  Thanks for listening.

What I really want to say is that you all inspire me.  As I watch my friends live lives that echo the heart of Jesus, it makes me desire that passion for myself.  That relationship with my savior.  That intimacy that fuels a life worth living.  So thank you for unknowingly proding my towards Jesus.  Like I said; you inspire me.

Madness.

This is a real life story.  I wish there was another way to tell it.  But it wouldn't be real, then, would it?  I've gone back and forth with myself on whether or not to write this.  How detailed to go.  Who would read it.  What they would think.  And on and on.  I don't like the word "trigger."  But I wouldn't betray the plot of Endgame without a spoiler alert, so I guess I'd better say "trigger warning."  Don't read on if you're in a fragile place.

I woke up at 5:15 on the morning of Friday, June 14th feeling like complete and total crap.  I'd been surviving on squares of Life cereal, chicken broth, and Sprite for over a week.  I was lightheaded, weak, and starving.  I wanted to eat but I couldn't.  I was tormented.  Mom and Skylar were on vacation in Illinois, so it was just Dad and me.  I didn't feel safe to drive to work, so I woke Dad up and asked if he'd be willing to drive me.  I'm truly blessed to have a father who said of course.

I'd been doing IOP for a week and the team had finally convinced me that I needed a higher level of care Wednesday night.  They wanted me to do my intake on Thursday.  Friday, even.  But I told them I couldn't do it until Monday.  I needed more time to prepare my coworkers for my absence.

But Friday didn't get any better.  At one point it got so bad that I laid on the office floor for a few minutes.  Trying to summon the energy to finish training my coworker.  But I was desperate.  My doctor is off on Fridays, but I called and asked the office to contact her anyway.  And then the phone calls started flying back and forth.  They wanted me to come in at 11.  I told them no.  I had too much to do.  Then they wanted me to come in at 1.  I told them maybe.  Then they didn't have a bed.  Then they wanted me to go to the ER.  At 12:30 they called and asked if I could be there by 1:30.  They could put me on a cot for the night.  I didn't have my car, so Dad jumped in the Mini, picked me up, and we flew off to Towson.

I can't remember a time of ever being so desperately aware of my need for help.  I wanted to eat so badly, I just couldn't.  And half the time that I could, I wound up throwing it up in a coughing fit.  I was not in a good place.  At all.

The hospital finally got some food into me.  I wasn't sleeping a wink, though.  Up all night.  And my heart rate was out of control.  I couldn't stop trembling.  I was a mess.  But I got on some meds and things simmered down.

It's amazing what some nutrition will do for you.

My insurance kicked me out of inpatient after a few days.  My labs were normal and even though I had dropped weight quickly, I wasn't underweight.  I didn't need to be in the hospital 24/7.  So I've done PHP for the last 5 weeks.  7am-7pm.  I've been able to take Tuesdays and Thursdays off so that I could come in to work.  And I've had the occasional weekend dinner or Sunday off towards the end here.  I wake up at the same time to go to treatment as I do to go to work, so I really haven't had a day off.  It's exhausting.

It took me a while to get up to the full meal plan.  I was on 50% for a while, then up to 75%, then finally at 100%.  I was ready to go at 50.  Then certainly finished by the time I hit 100.  I had gone from eating like 10% and figured 100 was pretty darn good.  I had done what I came in to do and I was ready to go.  But it's never that simple.

We started switching medicines during my stay.  Seroquel had always been magical for me, but it elevated my A1C years ago, so I came off of it.  We had yet to find an adequate replacement.  My team and I decided it was worth it to try the Seroquel again.  So we added the Seroquel and backed off of my other antipsychotic.  Bad news bears.

Let's just say this.  There are parts of bipolar disorder you talk about and parts you don't.  I ran head first into the latter.  This is the part I'm having trouble with.  Do I talk about it or do I let your imagination run wild?  I'm not sure which is worse, really.

I read an article in Time magazine that puts things really well.  Here it is:

“You spend your life just an inch from madness.  You don’t know it-but that’s one of the tricks with madness.  You break a leg, you know it.  You get the measles, you know it.  But madness-the drift of the rational mind into the irrational, the lucid to the delusional-is not always easy to see as it’s happening.  At what point does joy become mania, sadness become depression, apprehension became anxiety, fear become phobia?  We value imagination but not hallucination.  Yet they’re close kin....madness still stalks our species, but increasingly, we are stalking it right back-and slowly driving it into retreat.”

— Time Magazine

An inch from madness.  But sometimes the inch becomes half an inch.  And then it slowly blurs to a quarter.  Rational.  Irrational.  Lucid.  Delusional.  Imagination.  Hallucination.  And who knows what else.

I spent some time in a scary place inside my mind and I wasn't always honest about it.  That's my bad.  But I was transparent enough to make my struggle known and compliant enough to follow recommendations and so I found my way out.  And that there is a miracle.

It was an unfortunate course of events, but it really highlights my strength, honestly.  It tells the story of just how far I have come.  Of the reserves that exist within me.  Of the resilience that resides in my spirit.  Of just how much I have to live for.

So I've come out the other side and-as always-I'm a better person for it.  There's still some work to do.  We resorted to damage-control medication wise, so we need to figure out a more long-term solution.  I'm still experiencing symptoms of my bipolar disorder.  Brittany had decided not to do IOP, but psychiatrist has other opinions and she usually wins.  I feel like food is good.  That's what I went into treatment for, after all.  But she wants to keep a closer eye on me and tweak my meds.  So I discharge from PHP Monday and start IOP on Wednesday.  IOP is 3:30-7:30 Monday-Thursday.  It's a step down, but actually a longer day for me than PHP even is.  So hopefully it won't be for long.  But I understand the reasoning and will do it with a good attitude.  I'll give it my best shot.

So there you have it.  The honest-real-life-story of Brittany.  At least for the last 5 weeks.  I felt I owed it to my readers.  To my family and friends.  I fell off the face of the planet following a rather concerning post, so I figured you deserved a story.  A true story.

Is there a lesson to be learned from this story?  I mean there usually is.  If there's a lesson to be learned, I believe it is this.  That relapse can come from anywhere.  Even from allergies and a randomly prescribed antibiotic.  That it can happen fast.  That it's ok to ask for help.  That defeat doesn't mean the end of a story.  That you can face demons and slay them.  That darkness passes.  Always.

I'll end with one more quote.  This time from my favorite; Brian Andreas.

“There is always a moment right before dawn, when the sun gathers itself for the new day & then it steps into the dark world & everything is so filled with light that whatever doubt there was in that long night is barely a memory & I hope you remember this in these days, because it is the way of all things that the night ends & the light returns.  The light always returns.”

— Brian Andreas

I don't know that we're to a new day yet.  And the night isn't quite a memory.  But the light is there and it's returning.  There is always hope.

Desperate

Well I'm about to get super real.  I don't like doing it - or rather HAVING to do it - but I'm a writer and it's just what I do.  So here it goes.

You haven't heard from me in a while.  I took 2 classes for the spring semester and that kept me fairly busy.  One was online and one was hybrid, so I wasn't on campus too much.  Overall I'd say it was a pretty good semester.  I learned a lot and pulled 2 As out of the hat, so that's not too shabby.

My plan was to take a summer class.

Until.

I got sick.  Not super sick.  Probably just allergies.  I was hacking up a lung and lost my voice so I went to the doctor.  She prescribed some allergy meds and an antibiotic.  And that was the end.  The cough was so bad it sometimes made me throw up and the antibiotic made me super nauseous.  It was so hard to eat, but I told myself it was just the antibiotic and I'd feel better once I was finished.

Well it didn't get any better.  It just got worse.

It makes me mad that a week of being sick is enough to send me into a spiral.  I sit there and stare at my plate and just feel sick to my stomach.  I don't want to throw up, so I don't eat very much.  I don't feel well because I'm not eating enough.  It's a vicious cycle.  And it only took a week.

I have worked SO HARD this last year to maintain recovery.  I've been vigilant, followed the meal plan, taken my meds, gone to my appointments.  I've done EVERYTHING.

And a WEEK of being sick sets me back how far???  It really ticks me off.  I mean I am ANGRY.  I cry.  Because I don't want to do this.  I don't want to sit at my plate and have an anxiety attack.  I know that I'm better than this.  I've come too far to get trapped in my head again.

Why???  It's something about the pathways in your brain.  Yeah, I've been working really hard to form new pathways, but 15 years of unhealthy pathways are hard to ignore.  Give my brain the opportunity to revert to the ruts and it sure as hell will.

I broke down and called my doctor today.  She called me back like 20 minutes later being like, "Brittany, what's wrong??"  I explained everything to her and she was really sweet about it.  She was worried about all the weight I've dropped in the last several weeks.  She said for me to start with just 50%.  Start with 50 and go from there.  And we'd try to do it outpatient, but I wasn't a failure if I had to do IOP again.  I don't want to do that.  I know I can do this.  If it took a week to get here, surely I can claw myself out of this mess fairly quickly, right?

I'm not trying to catastrophize.  I don't know that I'd call this a complete relapse.  But I am jumping on it fast because it's SCARY.  I'm terrified.  I hate feeling this way.  I'm exhausted.  I'm shaky.  I can't concentrate.  I'm hungry and nauseous at the same time.  It's horrible.

I don't think I've ever been in a place like this before.  Where I've been aware enough to see things go to shit so quickly and been so desperate to break out of the cycle.  And I am.  Desperate.  I don't want this.  I want to be free.  So so badly.  Gosh do I want to be free.

It makes me angry.  It makes me sad.  It makes me defeated.

I don't really know what else to say.  It is what it is.  I have no words of wisdom or insight or victory to share.  Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and everything will be ok.  Or maybe it'll take a little while.  I know it will get better, though.  It has to.  I'm not giving myself any other option.  I have a feeling it's going to be painful, though.  For some reason, this really sucks.  Hardcore.

Why did I write this if I don't have anything cheerful to say?  I don't know.  I guess I figured I can't be the only person who has found themselves in a situation like this.  Maybe it'll let someone else know they're not alone?  A lot of times I write to hopefully help other people.  Maybe this time I write to help myself?  I don't know.  I'm just writing.

So I dropped my online class, I made an appointment with my doctor, I packed my lunch for tomorrow.  I'm doing what I can and hoping for the best.  Hoping for that whole neuroplasticity thing to be true.  Apparently the brain is always changing and can learn new pathways.  We're not trapped in one way of thinking forever.  It's science.

So please, Lord, reroute my brain and free me from this cycle.  I sure can't do it myself.

Love Fiercely

I can't believe it's spring break already.  I've passed 2 midterms with flying colors and I'm halfway through the semester!  Wahoo!!

I started back at school last spring.  I took one class.  Then I took a summer class.  Then I registered for 2 fall classes.  Then life happened and I dropped both fall classes.  I tried it for about a week and then I freaked out.  My intermediate accounting class required a tutorial of everything you learned in 101 and 102.  I was failing every module.  I was going through some mental health stuff.  I decided to take the semester off and get my head straight.

Well my head isn't exactly straight, but it isn't on backwards either, so I figured it was worth it register for some courses again.  I'm an accounting major and I work in accounting, so no matter how I sliced it I was going to have to take that stupid intermediate accounting class.  So I decided to go ahead and register for that one along with a decision science class.  I dreaded it the whole month of January.  That tutorial haunted my dreams.

But this professor used a different tutorial than the one last fall and it was actually more of a refresher tool than a "make you feel like a complete and total idiot" kind of thing.  We had 3 weeks to do it and I sat down the Saturday before classes started and knocked the whole thing out in an afternoon.  It was a long day, but I did it.  The thing I'd been dreading since August was over and intermediate accounting could begin.  Bam.

Well.  I think it was week 2 or 3 when I just started crying in the middle of my bedroom with my textbook open in my lap.  "I HATE this," I sobbed.  "It's SO BORING."  "This is what I've decided to do?!?!"  "I can't do this for the rest of my life!!"  "What have I done?!?!"  "I'm going to be miserable."  "I thought I knew what I wanted to do and now I have no idea."  "I don't know what I want to be when I grow up but I have to do SOMETHING."  "I can't stay where I am."  "I'll never amount to anything."  "I'm wasting my time and money."  "What am I doing with my life?!?!"

Total.  Freakout.  But it's true.  I like what I'm doing, but I can't support my family on my own off of it.  I need more education to advance, but if this is what advancing looks like, I don't want to do it.  I'll keep doing what I'm doing.  I like what I'm doing.  This stuff sucks.

But I can't stay where I am forever.  I need to figure something out.  I'm almost 33.  I need to pick a road and walk down it.  And this road makes sense.  I'm told I'm good at it.  And no matter what road you pick, you have to wade through the theory.  Theory is boring.  And there's theory wherever you go.  You have to stick it out.

So I did.  And a few weeks later we're working on deferrals and accruals and journal entries and discontinued operations.  Oooooooo.  Finally something fun!  Maybe this isn't so bad after all.

You know it's really easy to get depressed.  If I am able to maintain the pace of 2 spring, 1 summer, and 2 fall classes year, it will take me at least 4 years to graduate.  4 YEARS.  I look at my degree plan and there's still so much to do.  But then I remember.  I'm 2 classes closer than I was this time last year.  And I'm halfway through 2 more!  You're required to have an undergraduate degree and 150 credits to sit for the CPA exam.  For most people that means getting a masters degree.  I don't know whether it's a good or bad thing, but I'll have 150 by the time I'm finished my undergrad without having to take any graduate level courses.  So I'll take a CPA prep class after I graduate and hopefully sit for the exam.  The CPA exam is in 4 parts and you must pass all 4 parts within 18 months.  So MAYBE in 6 years or so I MIGHT be able to do what I actually WANT to do with my life. By age 40.   Maybe.

And right now I'm not even sure it's what I want to do with my life.

All this work.  All this money.  All this time.  And I don't even know.

But not doing anything isn't getting me anywhere, so I've gotta do something.  Might as well get my learn on.

Life is stressful right now.  I'm working full time, going to school part time, parenting a 9 year old, volunteering, trying to make friends, maintaining recovery, and I'm in the middle of some serious medication management.  And I'm not sleeping at night.  It's exhausting.  Some days I get to the end of the day and I'm not really sure how I got there.  I get home from work and the last thing I feel like doing is breaking open a textbook.  And then my 9 year old has a complete meltdown.  Her screaming.  Her tears.  My tears.  My complete lack of faith in my ability to raise a human being.  More tears.  From both of us.  Sometimes with a hug at the end and sometimes it's just crying ourselves to sleep.  So we can do it again tomorrow.  It's exhausting.  And I'm not entirely sure how it's happening.  But it is.

That's the part I have to remind myself about.

I'm not sure how it's happening, but it is.  We make it through each day.  Somehow.  Some days are full of laughter and others we're limping across the finish line, but we're making it.  And that has to be enough.  We're not winning any trophies.  That's for sure.  But who needs a trophy anyway.  They just collect dust.

If there's one thing I'm learning, it's this.  We are fighters.  Skylar and I.  Sometimes that means we fight with ourselves and sometimes that means we fight with each other.  Both of which are hard and unnecessary.  But you know what else it means?  It means we fight FOR each other.  It means we fight for life.  It means we don't give up.  On ourselves or each other.  It means we're there for our people.  It means we're resilient.  It means we're warriors.

And to me that makes the other stuff a little less important.  It's ok that we both suck at spelling.  And maybe math isn't her strong suit.  We'll figure it out.  We always do.

I keep saying I'm not cut out for this.  I'm in over my head.  I'm out of my element.  And it's true.  All of it.

I have not been adequately prepared for this journey.  And it's no one's fault.  Just like it's no one's fault that Skylar has trouble managing her emotions.  We just have to accept where we are and take the next right step.  And right is a very subjective word.  Right today might be wrong tomorrow.  You've just gotta do the best with what you've got.

So I take what I have.  I draw on the resources around me.  I talk to the people I respect.  I study.  I work.  I learn.  I rest.  And most importantly...I love.  Fiercely.  Because when it comes down to it, Jesus isn't going to ask me how long it took me to become a CPA or if Skylar ever learned to write her cursive "b" correctly.  He's going to ask me how I loved.

So I'm in this season of life where there's a lot to work on.  A lot of things require my time and energy.  And sometimes sacrifices are going to have to be made.  And I don't like sacrifices.  And I'm going to have to decide what can be sacrificed.  Historically, I have sacrificed myself.  I've come far enough to know that's not an option.  So how will I decide?  How will I know what can slide and what simply cannot survive without my undivided attention?

I think it's the thing that breaths.  That has to be fed.  The thing that requires love.

I think that thing is Skylar.

Skylar makes me a better person.  Even in the moments of pain and rage, she shapes my heart and molds me into a more compassionate, patient, loving human being.  In fact, it's especially in those moments.  Sometimes she brings out the worst in me, but I think that's so I can take a look at myself and say, "Brittany, you are straight up unreasonable.  You need to change."  Sometimes it takes me a while to get the hint, but I get there eventually.  So I'm better next time.  I'm trying to become the person she needs me to be.

I'm quite certain that she is teaching me far more than I am teaching her.

If there's one thing I know it's that life isn't fair.  Usually that's said in a negative connotation.  All this shitty stuff happened to me and it's just not fair.  I've definitely uttered those words.  But you know what?  Life isn't fair in another way, too.  It's not fair that I got Skylar.  I don't deserve her.  She deserves far better than me.  But she's mine.  And I'm going to give her my very best.  Some days that looks like studying by myself in my room so that I can provide for her financially in the future and other days that looks like a Harry Potter marathon on the couch with the family.  Some days we are camping with Girls Scouts and other days are spent working on science fair projects.  And some days are covered in tears.  And that's life.  That's love.  That's our best.  And that's all anyone can ask of us.

I Wish For You…

Well it's that time of year.  2018 is drawing to a close and 2019 is less than 2 days away.  Wahoo.

I'm going to talk about several things here, but I'm going to start with a pet peeve of mine.  Something I really can't stand.  Before and after pictures.  I hate them.  And you see a ton of them this time of year.  People advertising their It Works endeavor or fitness coaching business.  All with before and after pictures.  It drives me crazy.  And in the before picture their client is on vacation with her family in a bathing suit.  Or holding her 6 month old baby.  And in the after picture the client is taking a selfie at the gym in short shorts and a sports bra.  Like seriously?  You'd rather be working out in the gym than on the beach with your family?  Really, now?

And maybe it drives me crazy because it's been me.  I've done that before.  I've set those goals.  There's nothing like a news years resolution of loosing weight.  Eating "healthy."  Spending more time working out.  We buy a nutribullet and sign up to eat nothing but shakes.  We purchase gym memberships.  We buy a bikini hoping it will motivate us to keep with our resolution to be fit by summer.

But why?  Why do eating "better" and exercising more top the list when it comes to new years resolutions?

I mean what even is a new years resolution?  What's the point?  I can do with or without them, but I think the reason why they're so popular is the opportunity for a fresh start.  People like the idea of a do-over.  2018 sucked, but I'm going to rock 2019.  And here's how I'm going to do it.

I'm going to loose weight.

What?  How is loosing weight going to make 2019 rock?

How?  Here's how.  We think it will make us happy.  We've been conditioned to believe that loosing weight will make us happier.  All the skinny people are happy.  Successful.  They have fun.  Boyfriends.  They're just better off.  But it's all a lie.  I can tell you from personal experience and from that of the girls I've been in treatment with.  Skinny does not equal happy.  If frequently equals misery.  Self-hatred.  Even death.  So why make that a goal?  Why dedicate an entire year towards something that will only bring temporary joy.  If that.  On a day when you can pick anything in the world to work on, why pick something that can destroy you?

And did 2018 really suck, anyway?  Was it really all that bad?  Why are we putting so much pressure on the new year?  On ourselves?  It seems like a recipe for a disaster to me.  A huge opportunity for failure.  I don't need that kind of negativity in my life.

Sure, there were parts of 2018 that weren't so great.  I had to take a semester off of school, I had to go into treatment, I had to have surgery, I struggled with my bipolar disorder.  But did it suck?  That's a pretty strong word.  I'd have to say no.  No, 2018 did not suck.  I FINALLY went back to school, I bought my dream car, I took steps forward in recovery, I took on new responsibilities at work, I got some of my writing published.  See, there was some good stuff in there, too.  And I won't diminish that good stuff by saying 2019 has to be better than 2018.  Why can't they both just be?  They're just years.  Right?

So I'm going to say that 2018 was decent and here's what's going to make 2019 rock for me:

• I'm going to keep moving forward taking classes toward finishing my degree.

• I'm going to be more intentional with my time.  No more wasting the 6 hours I have between getting home and going to bed.  I'm going to be intentional.

• I'm going to spend more quality time with my daughter.

• I'm going to finish knitting the blanket I've been working on for a year now.

• I'm going to read a book for fun.

• I'm going to journal more.

• And yes, I'm going work towards becoming a healthier version of myself.  But that doesn't mean hiring a fitness coach or drinking shakes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  It means...

  • Moving my body.  Taking my dog for a walk.  Doing some gentle yoga.

  • Following the meal plan.  Having well balanced meals.  Eating salad and apples and cookies and chips.

  • Not punishing myself.

  • Not basing my worth on the number on the scale or the size of my pants.

  • Accepting myself as I am without trying to change and manipulate my body to fit some idealistic image I have created in my totally distorted mind.

  • Actually doing what my therapist tells me to do.

  • Staying OUT of treatment.  The whole year.

  • Unfollowing all those toxic social media accounts.

I don't really see these things as resolutions.  Together they compose a general image of the kind of life I'd like to live.  And some days I'll succeed at some and other days I'll succeed at others and other days I'll fail at them all.  But that doesn't mean 2019 will suck.  Nothing is perfect.  Certainly not an entire year.

Maybe 2018 did suck for you.  Maybe you lost a loved one or got fired from a job or got diagnosed with a life changing illness.  Those are all legit reasons for a year to suck.  And for you, I hope that 2019 is better.  I'm not saying it can't be better.  It can.  Life can always be better.  There's always more to strive for.  There's always hope for the future.  This isn't as good as it gets.

So go ahead.  Make a resolution.  Set a goal.  Strive for better.  But don't forget that it's just another year.  Another number.  And nothing is perfect.  And please don't make your goal be to shed a few pounds.  Because that's just wasting a resolution.  And you deserve better than that.

I wish for you laughter.  Joy.  Purpose.  Knowing that there will also be tears and sadness.  But that's what makes the sweet parts sweeter.  I wish for you the ability to appreciate the journey and not just the destination.  Because the journey is all we've got.  And while we should always yearn for more, there is something to be said for the satisfaction in what we have.  That's what a year should be about.

So let the hand strike midnight.  Let the ball drop.  And let me find a way to scribble over my 8s and make them 9s as I adjust to dawn of a new year.  Let me appreciate 2018.  And let me bathe in the wonder of an entire year and what it might have in store.  Because every year is a gift.  Nothing is guaranteed.  So let's make the best of what we have and just go from there.  Ok?

Oh, and PS.  You don't have to wait for a new year to hit the restart button.  Every day is an opportunity for change.  Every hour.  It's all about the choices we make.  And we always have the ability to make a different choice.  The ball is in your court.

Now go and be awesome, ok?

One in One Thousand

I've seen my psychiatrist 3 times in the last 7 days.  And I don't mean a friendly wave in the waiting room.  I mean 3 grueling 30 minute sessions of face to face problem solving.  He's not even my real psychiatrist.  Well he was until he stopped seeing patients.  Turns out he's filling in for my current doctor while she's on vacation.  So like a blast from the past he tried to help level me out.

Good luck.

I'd say it was a little over a month ago when I took notice of things.  But no one likes to admit to feeling "too good."  Not when depression is frequently your norm.  But I was feeling like I could rule the world.

It's a general feeling of restlessness.  Like something needs to change.  And it needed to change yesterday.  It starts with looking at new jobs in new cities.  It moves on to seeing an old school bus for sale and wanting to purchase it and paint it hot pink.  It morphs into a need to buy something every day of the week.  I wind up chopping off all my hair.  Always with an underlying hyper productivity at work.

Limitless.

No consequences to been seen.

High on life and all that it has to offer.

Too good.

And before too long, you begin to call it for what it is.  Mania.

It's a chemical imbalance and one that's just as serious and detrimental as depression.  Only it looks good.  People don't think anything is wrong with you, because you're happy.  You're productive.  You're enthusiastic.  You're fun to be around.  How could anything be wrong?

But it is.  It's not normal.  And it's certainly not sustainable.  At some point in time, you're going to crash.  And the thought is terrifying.  Knowing it won't last and how you've never come down from a high without crashing and burning.  Hard.  And it can be a real shit show.

So I was able to identify what was happening, which is saying something.  I don't usually identify with my bipolar diagnosis.  I don't really remember ever being super manic.  I mostly experience the depression side of the house.  So feeling manic is like an out of body experience.  It makes my diagnosis real.  It means they were right.  It means I was wrong.  And man do I hate being wrong.

But hey.  My name is Brittany.  I have bipolar disorder.  And I am currently experiencing an episode of mania.

So my doctors increased one of my mood stabilizers.  Twice.  Then the other one once.  Even though I was already on the maximum dose.  Then they started decreasing my antidepressant.  Terrifying.  That stuff saved my life a year ago.  Now you want to take me off of it?  Apparently that's my only choice, though.

So now I exist in a "mixed state."  Sometimes I'm super up, sometimes I'm paralyzed with anxiety, sometimes I crying in a ball, and sometimes I dissociate.  Yeah, I'd call that mixed.  He also says I'm "cycling up."  Which isn't good.  He's trying to get me to cycle down.  If that's a thing.  Basically bring me down without the crash.  Something he's even said he's not confident we can accomplish.  Joy.

Somewhere along the line, I made a correlation.  One I'm quite proud to take credit for.  If you're a boy, you might be tempted to skip over the next part, but I would encourage you to suck it up and read on.  You never know when a girl in your life might need a little bit of this knowledge.

I saw my GYN in mid-May and my pap smear came back showing abnormal cells, so I had a colposcopy, which confirmed the finding.  My GYN also talked about using an IUD (Mirena) to help regulate my cycle.  I was scheduled for surgery to remove the abnormal cells and insert the Mirena.  That was about 2 months ago I think.

So I've been trying to figure out what changed.  I've been stable on my meds for a long time now.  Everything's been working well.  I'd even call myself normal.  Now I just feel crazy.  So what happened?

I started tracing things back.  I think I've been heading down this road for a while now, but it definitely started getting worse since my GYN inserted the Mirena.  So I sent him an email and asked if there could be a correlation.  He got right back to me and said yes.  There is a 1/1,000 chance that the hormones emitted by the Mirena could effect women with mood disorders.  He's had to remove 3 in 15 years for mood changes.  I'll make 4.  One in one thousand.  Of course that would be me.

I couldn't get in to see him for a few weeks, but he said that wouldn't do.  I need it out asap.  So I have an appointment with his PA on Wednesday to have my IUD removed.  I guess a crazy cycle is better than a crazy Brittany.  You win some you loose some.

No one is guaranteeing that removing the Mirena will solve all my problems, but it certainly can't hurt.  There will probably still be some medicine tweaking.  Some more experimenting.  Some more rollercoasters.  But maybe this will bring me down softly.  Maybe...just maybe...we can avoid the crash.  Is that too much to hope for?

What is this experience teaching me?  It's teaching me how important it is to know myself and listen to my body.  It's important to know my normal and be able to identify when I deviate from it.  To admit to feeling both too bad AND too good.  To ask for help.  No, to demand it.  To speak up when I notice something.  To play an active role in my treatment.  In my life.

So I've seen my doctor 3 times this week and I'll see him again next week.  I have a really great doctor.  That helps.  A lot.  He listens to me and wants to help me just as much as I want to be helped.  Sometimes more so.  I'm lucky.

So I'll see my doctor regularly.

I'll increase my mood stabilizer.

I'll decrease my antidepressant.

I'll have my Mirena removed.

I'll start eating normally again.

I'll do my part and that's the best I can do.

Who knows where I'll end up, but they can't say I didn't try.

Dancing

Well yesterday was Easter Sunday. Easter is my favorite holiday. The birth of the King is great and all, but there's something about His sacrifice that really strikes a chord in my soul. It's beautiful to me.

So I'm standing there in church and we're singing some songs. And I don't know why, but my natural position is to stand with my arms crossed. And suddenly I hear Lauren screaming in my ear.

When I was at Mercy, we started every morning with Bible reading, prayer, and song. One day after we were finished singing, Lauren walked to the front of the room and started in on one of her speeches.  She pointed out how many of us were worshiping with our arms crossed. She asked us how we could accept Jesus and open our hearts to him with our arms crossed across our chests. How could we truly be free to worship like that?

It really hit home with me. Every time I'm standing up singing, my arms naturally fold across my chest and I hear Lauren yelling in my ear and I quickly drop my arms to my side and open my hands. Ready to receive. Ready to worship.

And it makes a difference. It really does. It makes me listen to the lyrics. It reminds me of my brokenness. It encourages me to surrender. It lets me embrace the love of Jesus.

Crossing my arms creates a barrier. It's like I put this wall up. I don't let anything in or out. And that's no way to live.

And it makes me think: if I do this while I'm worshiping, whose to say I'm not doing it when I'm talking to a coworker. Or my daughter. Or my friends.

Whose to say I'm not living my life with my arms across my chest? Wall up. Armor on. Ready to fight at the drop of a hat.

Whose to say I'm not letting people in? Isolate. Push away.

Whose to say I'm not giving back? Selfish. Miserly.

Whose to say I'm not embracing the good? Pessimistic. Unforgiving.

Whose to say I'm not accepting love? Unworthy. Alone.

All because I walk through life with my arms crossed.

I think Lauren was talking about more than just worship when she gave her speech. I think she was talking about love and surrender. Which I guess is what worship is all about. So maybe she was just talking about worship. I don't know what was running through her head. But I do know that she was watching out for us that day. Because posture is important.

Worship is about love. It's about expressing and accepting love. You express your love for Jesus and you embrace God's love for you. It's as simple as that.

When I was at Mercy I was introduced to a worship team from Bethel Church. They perform some of the most moving songs that I have ever heard. Here are the lyrics to one of my favorites:

“You steady me
Slow and sweet, we sway
Take the lead and I will follow
Finally ready now
To close my eyes and just believe
That you won’t lead me
Where you don’t go

When my faith gets tired
And my hope seems lost
You spin me round and round
And remind me of that song
The one you wrote for me
And we dance

And I’ve been told
To pick up my sword
And fight for love
Little did I know
That love had won for me
Here in your arms

You still my heart again
And I breathe you in
Like I’ve never breathed ‘till now

And I lock my eyes
With the one who’s ransomed me
The one who gave me joy for mourning
And I will lock my eyes
With the One who’s chosen me
The one who set my feet to dancing

It’s nice to know I’m not alone
I’ve found my home here in your arms”

— We Dance by Bethel Church

This song is about a dance between lovers. And that's what Jesus is. My lover. He spins me round and round. He gives me joy for mourning. He sets my feet to dancing. I am not alone. And in his arms I am home.

The world tells us that we must fight for love. Jesus gives it freely.

So I will open my arms and let down my wall. I will surrender. I will let love flow in and out. And I will dance.

“This Is Me”

I know I'm a little bit late to the game, but I don't go to the movie theater very often, so I had to wait to see this one until it came out on DVD.  We watched The Greatest Showman the other night and I must say that it lived up to the hype.  I was thoroughly impressed.  There's no need for a spoiler alert because I'm not going to spill the plot.  But I am going to share the lyrics from one of my favorite songs:

“I am not a stranger to the dark
Hide away, they say
’Cause we don’t want your broken parts
I’ve learned to be ashamed of all my scars
Run away, they say
No one’ll love you as you are

But I won’t let them break me down to dust
I know that there’s a place for us
For we are glorious

When the sharpest words wanna cut me down
I’m gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out
I am brave, I am bruised
I am who I’m meant to be, this is me
Look out ‘cause here I come
And I’m marching on to the beat I drum
I’m not scared to be seen
I make no apologies, this is me

Another round of bullets hits my skin

Well, fire away ‘cause today, I won’t let the shame sink in

We are bursting through the barricades and

Reaching for the sun (we are warriors)

Yeah, that’s what we’ve become

And I know that I deserve your love
’Cause there’s nothing I’m not worthy of
When the sharpest words wanna cut me down
I’m gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out
This is brave, this is proof
This is who I’m meant to be, this is me”

— This Is Me from The Greatest Showman

It's like a fight song to me.  I love it.

"I am brave, I am bruised, I am who I want to be, I am me."

It's true. I am bruised. I have been beaten up by life. By people. By circumstance. But these things have made me who I am. And I like me. I am who I want to be.

I am brave. I don't let my bruises define me. I get up and fight anyway. Every day. I fight my diagnoses. I fight the haters. I fight the negative voices in my head. I am brave. This is me.

"I'm not scared to be seen, I make no apologies, this is me."

For a long time, all I wanted to do was disappear. Anything to vanish from the face of the planet. I was filled with shame. Unworthiness. Self-hatred. But no more. I'm not scared to be seen. I don't apologize for my existence. I am proud of who I am. This is me.

"Another round of bullets hits my skin, well fire away, 'cause today, I won't let the shame sink in."

There are haters out there. Lots of them. People who don't believe in a changed life. People who will hold your past against you. People who look for flaws and point them out to the world. You know, the haters.

Their comments and looks used to filled me with shame. They used to prevent my from doing the things I loved. They used to make me embarrassed for my very existence. But no more. They can fire away. My voice will not be muffled. I won't let the shame sink in. This is me.

"And I know that I deserve your love, 'cause there's nothing I'm not worthy of."

This is where the lyrics really become my fight song. For a long time I didn't believe these words. I still have trouble accepting them as truth. They're difficult things to believe. But it's true. I deserve to be loved. I am worthy of love. I am worthy of respect. I am worthy of success. I am worthy of a life worth living. This is me.

"I know that there's a place for us, we are glorious...we are warriors."

I've met a lot of people along my journey toward mental health. And they are warriors. We are all warriors. Do you want to know why? Because we get up and fight. Every day we fight. We fight the haters. We fight the stigma. We fight the voices in our heads. We fight. And our fight makes us glorious.

In the movie, Mr. Barnum fills his circus with oddities. And I am one. I am an oddity. But I don't think that's a bad thing. Oddities are different. They bring joy. They fight for their right to live a meaningful existence. They make the world a more interesting place. They are special.

The world needs oddities. And I'm happy to fill that need.

Because this is me: I am brave. I am bruised. I'm not scared. I'm unashamed. I am loved. I am worthy. I am glorious. I am a warrior. This is me.

Week 4 & Other Random Stuff

Well I'm on my 4th week of having no voice and I'm getting a little bit concerned. So I finally made an appointment with an ENT. It was supposed to be tomorrow, but snow is in the forecast, so I moved it to Thursday. Watch me have my voice by then. Wouldn't that be something. I'd still go, though.  I lose my voice twice a year and this time it's been for over a month. I think I should probably have it checked out.

So it's the first day of spring and it's snowing like crazy here in Carroll County. It's kind of ridiculous. They even sent us home early from work. Spring whaaaat?

Speaking of spring, this week is spring break. I can't believe how quickly the semester is flying by. I've had 2 tests so far. The first one I got 100% on and the second one was last week, so I won't get it back until next Thursday.  I am very encouraged. It all makes sense to me (I think) and it's "so far so good."  I registered for 2 summer classes, but I think I'll drop one of them.  They are 8 week courses, so I think 2 might be a little bit over-ambitious of me.  I definitely plan on taking 2 classes in the fall, though. I'm still fairly bored at home. I need more to do. Plus I want to finish my degree sometime this lifetime, so I need to get a move on.

I'm going to get my hair done in the next few weeks. Thoughts? I want to try going grey again, but it didn't last for very long :( I'm open to suggestions, so fire away!

This past weekend Skylar went to a skating birthday party. Those things terrify me. I did better this time, though. Last time I went to one I was borderline panic attack. It was awful. But the other parents didn't skate this time, so I didn't feel like a bad mom for not skating. Except I was. A bad mom, that is. Skylar wasn't talking very nicely to one of her friends and I discreetly said something to her about it and she burst into tears and started sobbing. Then everyone was like, "what's wrong with Skylar???" So the bad mom award goes to Brittany. It's ok, though. One of the other moms said that means I'm doing the whole parent thing right. Whew.

Anyway, I hate skating parties. I'm always worried that someone is going to get hurt. I mean, Skylar is a straight up disaster on skates. I don't know how we left in one piece. But she has a ball and loves every minute of it, so I guess that makes things worth it. Plus the music is super loud, which makes it difficult to carry on a conversation. Especially if you can't talk above a whisper. Plus I just think skating rinks are sketchy. I never want to put my stuff down anywhere. Basically, I think everything about it plays into my social anxiety. BUT. Skylar wanted to go and I took her and we both actually had fun :) The cake was good, too. Karina knows how to put on a good party! So as long as I don't have to be the one skating, I guess I don't actually hate skating parties.

I know that this post was random. I even picked a random picture just for fun. I just wanted to catch ya'll up on the day to day life of Brittany because I haven't done that in a while. Things aren't super exciting (besides my new car, of course), which I guess can be a good thing. It means there aren't any fires that I'm putting out. Just an average life. I'll take it!

Let me know what you think I should do hair wise and I'll keep you posted on my voice. Good thing I'm not a vlogger!

Love ya!

Brittany

My New Wheels

So...I got a new car!  I haven't broadcasted it on Facebook or Instagram for a couple of reasons.  Mostly because I was worried what people would think.  I was embarrassed.  But I shouldn't be!  I should be excited!

I shouldn't have to put out these disclaimers, but I'm going to do it anyway.

1. I've wanted a bug for as long as I can remember.

2. I've been saving my money.

3. I finally found the car of my dreams.

4. I haggled the hell out them.

5. I weighed my options.  A lot.

6. I bought it.

End of story.

I'm worried that people will think I'm irresponsible or frivolous.  I didn't need a new car, so why did I get one?  See above.  Plus, as my boss says, if you have to drive you might as well have fun doing it.

It's pretty sweet.  It has heated seats, integrates with my iPhone, displays maps and playlists, reads my texts to me, and has a backup camera.  Plus it's my favorite color...orange.  I love it.

So why do I feel embarrassed?  Why do I feel like I have to hide my new car?

Well that's an easy answer.  Because I'm afraid of people judging me.

That's a common fear of mine.  I worry what every single person is going to think about every single thing that I do or say.  I'm always worried about what other people are thinking.  I'm a people pleaser.  And it's exhausting.

Why?  Why do I care so much?  Why do I care what you're thinking?  Why do I care if you're judging me?  Why?

Hmm.  Well, I think it has a lot to do with insecurity.  I'm a very insecure person, which means that I look to other people for approval.  If I think that you're judging me, that means you don't approve of me, which means I'm a bad person.

I'm only worthy if you think I'm worthy.

Blick.  I don't like how that sounds.  But when you boil it down, I think that is what it's all about.  Insecurity.  I feel like I have to prove my worth.  When I feel like I'm not doing a good enough job proving it...well, let's just say my mind is not a pretty place to be.  I reeeeeeally beat myself up.  I feel like I'm about an inch tall.

Insecurity creates this constant need for approval, which can make me very codependent.  Relying on others to validate worth can really be hazardous to your health.  I mean, I'm all about needing people in your life, but when you need them to justify your existence, that is not a good thing.  You shouldn't need other people in that way.  Plus it puts a lot of pressure on them.  That's a lot of responsibility to put on a person.  That's not really all that fair.

Insecurity is basically mind reading, which is never helpful.  If I think that you think that I'm irresponsible, then I feel worthless.  I mean, how crazy is that?  "If I think that you think."  How am I supposed to know what you're thinking?  I don't even know what I'm thinking.  I'm putting thoughts in your head without you even knowing it.  Again, how fair is that to you?  Not fair at all.

Insecurity means always looking for the worst.  Rarely do I think you're thinking good things about me.  I always jump to the worst of conclusions.  I'm never looking for the good in myself.  I only see the bad.  Which means that...

Insecurity is a breeding ground for failure.  If you're only ever looking for the bad, that's what you'll find.   All the ways I screwed up.  All the ways I fell short.  All the ways I failed.  And who likes a failure?  No one.  Which means no one must like me.  What a bummer.

A bummer.  That what this is.  I mean, insecurity really sucks.  Literally.  It sucks the joy out of life.  I mean I can't even enjoy my car because I'm so insecure about myself.

I need to stop caring so much about what other people think about me.  I need to start finding worth in myself instead of looking for approval from others.  I need to stop feeling like I need to justify my existence to the world.

My decisions are mine and I make them for a reason.  I am not an irresponsible person.  I take money seriously.  I am not frivolous.  I am not impulsive.  I am rational.

These are things I have to believe about myself.  Things I don't need other people to tell me.  Things I just know to be the truth.  Because they are.

So here we go.  Unashamed.  Not fearful of judgement.

World, meet Nemo.  Nemo, meet world.

Self-Compassion

Well I've been voiceless for over 2 weeks now and it's a real inconvenience. What started out as the flu has morphed into some other rather annoying illness. I have this cough that sometimes makes me throw up and I can't talk above a whisper. Like I said, it's a real inconvenience.

In other news, my professor still hasn't graded my exam. I was supposed to take it 3 weeks ago but I was sick, so I took it 2 weeks ago. And last week I got to class and asked for my exam and she said, "Oops! I forgot about that!" So I have to wait even longer to get my score. And our next test is THIS WEEK!!! Uggh.

The last 5 days at work have been crazy. Playing catch-up always is. I didn't realize how far behind I'd be after taking a week off. It wasn't until 2:30 on Friday that I felt like I was finally back on top of everything. But I've sworn I'll never be sick again.

All of this to say...being sick has tested me. I don't do sick very well. I'm not good at resting. I don't like taking a break. But being sick is exhausting. You have to take care of yourself. Or you won't get better.

So being sick is teaching me patience. Patience with myself. I'm learning that it's ok that I can't do it all. No one can. That resting isn't a weakness. That it's ok to take a day off of work. It's ok to postpone an exam. The world won't come to an end just because I needed to ask for help. That special circumstances exist for a reason and it's ok to be one.

I tend to be pretty hard on myself. I expect more from myself than I do from others. Why is that? Do I think I'm better than other people? That I'm capable of more than the average joe?

No, I don't think that's it.

I think I'm just wired that way. I want to do my best, but I don't think I've ever defined what my best is. It's an elusive definition. So I never know if I've achieved it. So I always think I can do better. So I always think I've fallen short. So I always feel like a failure.

A failure. Gosh. I mean...isn't that a terrible way to live? Feeling like a failure? Just because you're worried you didn't do your best? No. No, I don't think it is.

So what's the solution? Does it mean defining my best? Hmm. I don't think so. Defining my best still means that I could fail. And I don't want to feel like a failure anymore. It's no way to live.

So...(this is me pondering)...I think the solution is...(still thinking)...living in the present. Just accepting the moment for what it is without judgement. Not dwelling on the past or predicting the future. Just being. Yeah, I think that's it. Accepting the moment without judgement. It's the basis of meditation, actually.

I'm really good at judging. It's embarrassing to admit, but it's the truth. I can be judgmental of others in the form of comparison, which is horrible. I hate that about my character. It's something I'm working on. But I'm particularly judgmental of myself. I'm always judging myself.

It's exhausting and it's not very beneficial. It doesn't make me any better. It just puts me in a bad mood.

So I need to get rid of that judgment stuff. It's gotta go. No more judging.

What does that look like?

Well for me, it looks like self-compassion. You see, it used to be a lot worse for me. I used to be a whole lot more judgmental. I used to really dwell on the past. I used to agonize over the future. It used to be completely unmanageable.

But last time I was in treatment, my psychiatrist had me read a book on self-compassion. And it was really a game changer for me. I didn't realize how critical I was of myself until I started reading this book. I really didn't cut myself any slack. In anything. Ever.

One big example I can think of is saying the wrong thing in a situation. I would say something and then feel stupid and ruminate on it for DAYS.  I mean it was this all-consuming feeling of inadequacy and stupidity. I would feel like I was an inch tall.

Reading this book helped me let go of that kind of stuff. If I say something I wish I hadn't said, I just shrug my shoulders and say oh well. The person I said it to probably forgot about it 5 minutes after the conversation, so why can't I do the same? Why can't I show myself some compassion? It really lightened my load.

Self-compassion. It's the opposite of judgement. And it's just what the doctor ordered. If I can use self-compassion to help me out in simple conversations, why can't I use it on my perfectionism?

Hmm.

Well there you go.

Could it really be that simple?

I think it's something I just have to practice. Until it becomes a habit. Saying, "That's ok, Brittany. It's good enough." It doesn't have to be my best, it just has to be good enough. And if I'm being honest, it usually is. Good enough, that is. It usually is good enough. And there's no reason I can't be compassionate with myself and accept it for what it is.

Well we've covered a lot of ground here. From the flu to laryngitis to patience to judgement to meditation to self-compassion. Whew, I'm exhausted just saying it. But I think it's all important.

Being sick has taught me that I need to practice more self-compassion. It's reminded me that I have seen the positive effects that self-compassion has brought to my life. And that there's no reason I can't apply the same principles to broader aspects of my world. That I can be free from judgement and self-critiscim. That I don't have to feel like a perpetual failure for not doing my best. That good enough can be good enough. And that I can be happy.

Face Those Fears

By the time you read this I will have taken my first exam of the semester.  It was supposed to be last week, but I was busy battling the flu, so this week it is.  Here's the funny thing.  You know what I'm most anxious about?  Not being anxious.

I feel adequately prepared.  Comfortable with the material.  Questions answered.  I don't feel anxious.  And it's terrifying.

I have dealt with anxiety for as long as I can remember.  Whether it was school, an extracurricular activity, or simply hanging out with friends.  It all brought me anxiety.

For a while I was pretty high functioning.  I didn't let my anxiety stop me from doing the things I wanted to do.  But somewhere along the way I gave in.  I let my anxiety rule the day.  Somewhere along the way I lost myself.

Anxiety is a form of fear.  It makes every task a mountain and steals joy away from the little things in life.  Here's what anxiety looks like for me:

• It looks like staying at home when I'm invited to a party.  Because I might get lost on the way.  I might not be able to find a parking spot.  I might not know anybody.  I might not know what to say.  I might not like any of the food.  You name it, I'm anxious about it.  So I just stay home.

• It looks like not going back to school even though I really want to.  Because I might get overwhelmed.  I might not know what the professor is talking about.  I might not understand the material.  I might fail a test.  My research proposal might get denied.  So I withdraw before I even get a chance to start.

• It looks like not applying for a job or a promotion even though it might be a good fit.  Because I might be rejected.  I might make a fool of myself in the interview.  I might get in over my head.  So I let my resume collect dust on my desk.

Anxiety is composed of a long list of "mights."  Some would call them irrational "mights," but to me they are completely rational.  They are plausible possibilities that are likely to happen in any given situation.  And the uncertainty of them makes me anxious.

Besides preventing me from doing things, anxiety causes me a lot of other issues.  Issues like biting my nails, being late, not speaking up for myself, sleeping excessively...among other things.

But I have a job.  I'm going to school.  I'd say I have a few friends.  I mean I do still bite my nails.  I'm late sometimes.  I get more than my 8 hours of sleep in.  But I'm still doing things that give me anxiety.  How?

1. I get my nails done.  Some people think this is a waste of money, but for me it's not.  First of all, it's a form of self care.  Second of all, it gives me confidence in the way I look.  Third of all, it prevents me from biting them.  Overall it's a win win win.  So to the salon I go.

2. I give myself some extra time.  I set a ridiculous amount of alarms.  Some people might call it excessive, but it works for me.  It reduces my anxiety about waking up on time or being late to an event.  So beep beep beep goes my alarm every 5 minutes.  Deal.

3. I surround myself with supportive people.  Everyone needs a few cheerleaders in their lives, especially when it comes to doing tough things.  I have a few close people that I share my challenges with and they support me in conquering them.  Knowing I don't have to face my demons alone makes things a little more manageable.  I'll take all the help I can get.

4. I meditate.  I try to get to work a few minutes early so that I have time to sit in my car and do a short meditation before heading into the chaos of the day.  It helps me calm down and focus my energy on the positive.  I'm a chronic worrier.  Meditation helps me let go of the past, stop predicting the future, and focus on the present.

5. I face my fears.  Let's get real.  Some of this is just exposure therapy.  You have to do it anyway. I equip myself with as many tools as I can and then I just go into the world.  I have a job, I started school, I go to parties.  I don't necessarily like the process, but I like the results.  So that's what I have to focus on.  Use my tools and think about the results.  Then I can conquer my fears.

The "hows" are great, but what that last point is really saying is you have to find your why.  Why do you want to do the things you're anxious about?  Is it to get more friends?  Secure your dream job?  Earn a degree?  Build your confidence?  Start a new hobby?  Date again?  Become a writer?  A musician?  An artist?

Why do you want to face your fears?

For me, it's because I'm tired of being chained to the wall.  Anxiety has placed me in a prison.  All I get to do is watch the world happen around me.  Terrified.  And I'm tired of it.  I'm tired of watching other people have fun and be successful while I just watch from the sidelines.  And if getting in the game means doing things that make me anxious, then that's what I'll do.  I'll do it with a manicure, a bunch of alarms, and a short meditation, but I'll do it.

Because I'm tired of being a slave to my fears.

Finally Free

I want to write a poem,

But I don't know where to start.

Life before you, life without you,

Or when it fell apart.

You've stolen oh so much from me.

My worth, my heart, my time.

You've stolen my identity,

It's like I've lost my mind.

I used to be so brave and strong,

The smartest of the smart.

My future was bright and hopeful,

But you made it fall apart.

You swept in and promised me the world,

You told me we could win.

My problems, they could disappear,

If only I'd let you in.

So I did, I welcomed you with open arms.

I offered you my life.

At first you were my friend and pal

You helped me live my life.

But slowly you destroyed my soul.

You were a parasite.

You stole my joy, my hope, my goals

You took away my fight.

My future--you erased it all.

I was left with nothing but you.

You, who lied and spun the truth,

It's like you already knew.

Knew that I was left with nothing.

That you had won the war.

That I was no longer what I had been.

That I was helpless on the floor.

But was I helpless?  Was I gone?

Had you really won the fight?

Or was I resting while you reigned,

Gathering my might.

I wasn't going to let you win,

And neither was my team;

My family, friends, and loved ones, too

We all were battling.

I'm stronger than you think I am.

I am a warrior.

I'll fight for my life, if that's what it takes.

For all of this and more.

You stole it all, but that's ok.

I can take it back.

It's not the same, it will not be

I know that it's a fact.

But I can make something new

Out of the old that you destroyed.

It can be more beautiful

Than the evil you employed.

My future can be bright again.

I can reclaim my life.

Your presence has no business here.

You've caused me too much strife.

No longer will you rule my world.

You're not victorious.

It's time you leave, it's time you go

You really, really, must.

I want to feel the sunshine

Upon my glowing face.

I want to know what joy feels like.

True love I want to taste.

You promised me and told me lies

That you could not fulfill.

I'm going to say goodbye to you.

Go flee beyond that hill.

I'm finally free, you'll only be

A story from my past.

You've made me who I am today,

You played a role in the cast.

You were the star for far to long,

But now it's time to leave.

This story's mine, I'll take it back

I finally believe.

That life is good and happiness

Can actually exist.

That I deserve these things and more.

That I can taste the bliss.

Speechless

Well I have the flu and I've lost my voice.  I know I blogged yesterday, but I'm tired of sitting around doing nothing, so I'm going to write again.  But about what?

Hmm.

I love quotes.  They speak to things I'm unable to put words to.  And since I literally don't have a voice right now, I figured it'd be a good time to go through my notebooks full of quotes and record the ones that speak to me when things get tough.  So...for your reading pleasure...here they are :)

“We don’t seek the painful experiences that hue our identities, but we seek our identities in the wake of painful experiences.  We cannot bear a pointless torment, but we can endure great pain if we believe it is purposeful.”

— Andrew Solomon

“You can never lose while you’re fighting.  You only lose when you stop.”

— Birch Street Gym

“There is always a moment right before dawn, when the sun gathers itself for the new day and then it steps into the dark world and everything is so filled with light that whatever doubt there was in that long night is barely a memory and I hope you remember this in these days, because it is the way of all things that the night ends and the light returns.  The light always returns.”

— Brian Andreas

“Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they’re wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It’s all in how you carry it. That’s what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you’re letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.”

— Jim Morrison

“What is stronger than the human heart which shatters over and over and still lives.”

— Rupi Kaur

“I lied and said I was busy.  I was busy; but not in a way most people understand.  I was busy taking deeper breaths.  I was busy silencing irrational thoughts.  I was busy calming a racing heart.  I was busy telling myself I am okay.  Sometimes, this is my busy—and I will not apologize for it.”

— B. Oakman

“All I can tell you is there are people who see how much love and care and heart it takes to bring your whole self back into the world and we will walk here beside you for as long as it takes.”

— Brian Andreas

“‘You,’ he said, ‘are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world, and that, I believe, is why you are in so much pain.’”

— Emilie Autumn

“Sadness gives depth.  Happiness gives height.  Sadness gives roots.  Happiness gives branches.  Happiness is like a tree going into the sky, and sadness is like the roots going down into the womb of the earth.  Both are needed, and the higher a tree goes, the deeper it goes, simultaneously.  The bigger the tree, the bigger will be its roots.  In fact, it is always in proportion.  That’s its balance.”

— Osho

“It is being honest about my pain that makes me invincible.”

— Nayyirah Waheed

“Come to me whole: with your flaws, your scars and everything you consider imperfect.  Then let me show you what I see.  I see galaxies in your eyes and fire in your hair.  I see journeys in your palms and adventure waiting in your smile.  I see what you cannot: you are absolutely, maddeningly, irrevocably perfect.”

— Ariana

“Now and then, when the world becomes too much, I see the wind and rain and lightening flash in your storm eyes and then it passes and for a moment I see you wonder if there should be an apology and how do I tell you there is only the wild and vast heart of you and there are those who cannot see what that demand, but I am not one of them.”

— Brian Andreas

“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day, saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’”

— Mary Anne Radmacher

Why do I like these quotes so much?  They're not necessarily motivational.  And they may not be inspiring in the traditional way.  You may, in fact, view some of them as a downer.  But to me they speak truth.  Hope, even.  They're real.  Raw.  Authentic.

A lot of them speak of pain.  Scars.  Sadness.  Darkness.  Life is laced with these things, after all.  It's these things that drive me to seek out quotes, in fact.  When I don't have the words to express these deep feelings of despair, it's comforting to know that others do.  It makes me feel less alone.  It reminds me that it's all part of the human experience.  And I am, above all else, a human.

But these quotes also speak of happiness.  Fight.  Purpose.  Love.  Courage.  Life is sprinkled with these things as well.  It's easy to forget these things in the midst of the darkness.  That's why I love these quotes so much.  They blend the darkness with rays of light in a realistically elegant way.

They're realistic.  With a hint of optimism.  And I call myself a realistic optimist.  So I guess it makes sense, eh?

Well that's it.  That's all I've got.  What about you?  What quotes inspire you when times get tough?

When Recovery Gets Boring

"I'm bored."  That's what I told my therapist.

"What's boring?" she replied.

"Recovery.  Recovery is boring."

And it's true.  When I was in the throws of my illness, I was enveloped with insanity.  My mind was a battleground.  And there's nothing boring about a war zone.  There's always something going on.  A bullet to dodge, a grenade to outrun, a bomb to disarm.  There's always something to do.  Your mind and body are busy trying to keep you alive in a dangerous environment.  There's nothing boring about that.

But now...I mean...I know I'm not out of the woods yet.  The world is a treacherous place.  But compared to life in the war zone?  This is boring.

I'm not going to the hospital every evening for treatment.  They're not playing with my meds every week.  I'm not going to bed every night hoping I won't wake up in the morning.  I'm fine.  Good, even.

And it's weird.  This whole good thing.  I'm not used to it.  I don't know what to do with it.  It's foreign to me.  How do I exist in a world that's ok?  That doesn't require daily damage control?  How do I thrive in boredom?

I know it may sound twisted.  I'm not romanticizing my illness.  Believe me.  I know that it wasn't a good kind of exciting.  War never is.  It nearly killed me.  More than once.  So I have to find something else that's exciting.  Something not quite so dangerous.

Here is what I'm doing to fight the boredom and find something exciting in recovery:

1. I write.  Obviously.  It's just what I do.  Journal, blog, scribble.  It doesn't even matter what I'm writing about.  As long as I'm writing.  Writing keeps my mind from racing.  It makes me slow down.  Focus.  Find perspective and purpose.  It makes me feel productive.  It passes the time and I have something to show for it at the end of the day.  It satisfies me.

2. I learn something new.  That's why I enrolled in school this semester.  I figured it was time to get back out there.  I always feel better when I'm exercising my brain.  It makes me feel less stagnant. It gives me a sense of growth.  Of movement.  That's the kind of thing that fights boredom.  You have to use your mind.  And that doesn't have to mean you enroll in a college course.  It means you find something that interests you and you learn about it.  Home improvement?  Crafts?  Cooking?  Watch a YouTube video.  Check out a book at the library.  Just look for ways to nurture your inner curiosity and learn something new.

3. I use my creativity.  This can look like a lot of different things.  It can mean painting, drawing, sewing, knitting, weaving, collaging, taking pictures, singing, playing an instrument...the list goes on an on.  Doing something creative means thinking outside the box.  It means looking at the world through a different lens.  And you get to pick whatever kind of lens you want to use.  So pick an interesting one!

4. I go outside.  It sounds simple, but it's harder than you think.  It's difficult for me to make this one a priority, but it helps to have a dog.  She practically begs me to go for a walk when I get home from work.  With those big puppy eyes.  It's hard to say no to that.  But getting outside means going on an adventure.  Even if it's just around your neighborhood.  And even if it's a cloudy day, the fresh air wakes you up.  It catapults you out of zombie land and into the world.  It awakens you to the possibility of the day.

5. I daydream.  I know, I know.  I just talked about fresh air waking you up and now I'm telling you to dream.  But I think it helps.  It helps to dream about the future and all its possibilities.  It inspires me to take action in the present to help those dreams become a reality.  And that usually means doing something exciting.  Something out the ordinary.  Something outside my comfort zone.  Something that defies boredom.

And you know what?  I couldn't do any of those things when I was in my illness.  I constantly had writers block, I couldn't focus for school, I had no desire to engage my creative side, I hid from the sunlight, and I feared the future.  Sure, I was living life on the edge, but was I really living?  It was more like I was fighting death.

Recovery doesn't have to be boring.  It's just different.  You have to find excitement in other things.  Like nature.  Art supplies.  A classroom.  The future.

The future.  Recovery has given me a future.  My illness chained me to my past and caused me to do nothing but survive the day-to-day struggle of the present.  Recovery gives me permission to be ok.

Ok might sound boring at first.  Especially when you're used to the excitement of a war zone.  But recovery can have its own type of excitement.  Because you know what these 5 things help you do?  They help you find yourself.  The illness strips you of your identity.  You have to go out there and find it again.  And what could be more exciting than that?

Why I’m #donewithdieting

Project HEAL has started a #donewithdieting campaign and it's got me thinking.  I AM done with dieting.  But why?  And how?  I mean it's one thing to say it, but it's another thing to back it up.  So it's time I stepped up to the plate and did a little explaining.

To put it simply, dieting destroys lives.  End of story.  It becomes all-consuming.  It takes over every aspect of my life until I no longer do the things I love.  I no longer surround myself with the people I care about.  I become a shadow of a person.

My brain is filled with nothing but numbers.  Pounds, calories, sizes.  It's all I can think about.  I don't have room in my head to think critically and perform well at work.  Or understand what I'm reading for school.  Or play a game of checkers with my daughter.  Those damn numbers take up too much space.

I become hyper-focused on my appearance.  Do these pants fit differently than they did last week?  Is my shirt too tight?  Can you see my muffin top?  Are my boots too snug against my calves?  It gets to the point that I don't want to wear anything but sweatpants and oversized t-shirts.  It's the only way to turn off the self-criticizim.  And there's no way I'm going out into the world dressed in pajamas.  So I'll just stay in my room.  Under a blanket.  Taking a nap.

If I'm not taking a nap, then I'm in the basement.  Working out.  Burning off the few calories that I did consume that morning.  And it's not a choice.  It's a requirement.  Unless I want to spend the rest of the day wallowing in guilt and shame.  It's a compulsion.  A "have to."  Don't let me fool you when I lie through my teeth telling you that it's fun.  It's not fun.  It's torture.  But I don't have a choice.  This is it.

Isolation.  Depression.  Compulsion.  And for what?  I never reach my goal.  And even if I do, I'm too miserable to enjoy the victory.  The goal changes every time I reach it.  It's never good enough.  I can always do better.  There's still more weight to lose, more calories to burn, more sizes to drop.  I can never get enough.

Dieting holds me hostage in my own body.  I become controlled by fear.  Fear of a number.  I let this little box on my bathroom floor tell me whether I'm allowed to have a good or bad day.  Forget the A on a test or the positive feedback at work.  Forget the hug from my daughter or the dog's tail wagging as I walk through the door.  Forget the moment when my favorite song comes on the radio.  None of it matters if the scale tells me what I don't want to hear.  None of it matters.

I think that's what gets me the most.  The overbearing thought that none of it matters.  None of my life matters when I'm on a diet.  Not my work.  Not my people.  Not my hobbies.  None of it.  And I know it.  I know it as it's happening.  I see myself becoming this shadow.  But it doesn't matter.

I'm fading.

Fading.

Into nothing.

Dieting doesn't cause me to lose weight, it causes me to lose myself.  And in the process, it causes me to lose everything I love.  Everything.

You know what I regret the most about my pursuit of the perfect diet?  The number of years that I've lost to it.  The time with my loved ones that I'll never get back.

My loved ones.

Which leads me to my how.

How do I ditch the diet mentality?  It's not easy.  When I've spent half my lifetime trying to control my weight, it's a difficult thing to leave behind.  But what it really comes down to is people.  My daughter, especially.

I want more for her than I've settled for myself.  I want her to be free from the compulsion to diet.  I want her to bathe in self-love, not self-criticism.  I want her to focus on her friends, not her food.  I want her to dress herself in kindness, not the perfect outfit.  I want her to find her worth in Jesus, not a scale.  I want her to count her blessings, not calories.  I want more for her.

And to give her more, I have to be more.  I have to be more than a number on the scale or the size of my jeans.  I have to be more than the food on my plate or the growl in my stomach.  I have to be more than miles on my bike or the tread on my sneakers.  I have to be more.

But dieting makes me less.  Less human.  Less loving.  Less compassionate.  Less less less.  And I want to be more.  I HAVE to be more.  I guess that means I'm ditching the diet, eh?

It's the only way.

I am done with dieting.  I want more for my daughter.  I want more for myself.  I want more for the world.  I'll shout it from the rooftops if I have to.  Dieting doesn't work.  It destroys lives.  It comes to kill.  It comes to steal joy.  It comes to drain the light from your eyes and the spunk from your soul.

So what about you?  Are you through being told you're not good enough?  Tired of believing you're unlovable?  Over the isolation?  The depression?  The failure?  The only things that diets bring?

Me too.  So join the movement and be #donewithdieting

This post was republished by The Mighty as Dieting Doesn't Make Me Lose Weight, It Makes Me Lose Myself ...check it out and give it some love at The Mighty!

Remember, Hope, Pursue

I have some exciting news!  I've been submitting my work to a website called The Mighty for awhile now and I always get turned down.  But I've kept at it and guess what?  They've decided to publish one of my pieces.  I am soooo excited, guys!  So go ahead and follow them on Facebook or keep an eye on their website for an edited version of my post "An Open Letter to My Psychiatrist" :)

I got the news just before a therapy appointment, so naturally I mentioned it to my therapist.  She asked what it was about.  Oh gosh.  Why didn't I see this one coming?  Now I had to tell her that I blog about my treatment team.  Great.  She said, "What, did you blog about your entire treatment team abandoning you?"  Well.  Sort of.  I didn't mention the fact that my therapist went on maternity leave at the exact same time that my psychiatrist decided to stop seeing patients.  Just my luck.

Anyway.  The bad part of telling your therapist that you're about to be a published blogger?  She tells you to blog about stuff.  Sigh.  But blog I shall.

It's time to write about something that's been on my mind for awhile now.  Something I haven't said out loud.  Something I've kept to myself.  Mostly because I didn't want to offend anybody.  Or scare them.  Definitely because I didn't want to scare them.  My treatment team, my family...you name it.

So here it is.  I don't really see the point of going to therapy anymore.  There.  I said it.

Therapy is great and it's helped me out a lot in life.  I've worked through a wide variety of things.  Through therapy, I have learned how to manage PTSD symptoms and urges to self harm.  So much so that they don't even cross my mind anymore.  I mean that's powerful stuff, folks.  Really powerful.  And therapy helped me journey that seemingly impossible path towards freedom from those things.  It's a miracle.

Therapy helped me navigate difficult relationships.  My divorce was messy.  Coparenting with my parents is tricky.  Sharing pieces of my struggles with my coworkers is necessary.  But therapy has helped me manage all those things.  Without loosing my sanity.  Another huge milestone.

Therapy helped me believe in myself.  It helped me realize my potential.  That I could be more in life than a statistic.  That I could hold a job, serve as a leader, thrive as a mother, and be a successful student.  Therapy helped me believe in and execute these goals.  Another thing to celebrate.

Therapy has helped me out a lot.  But I'm kind of at a standstill.  I've accomplished all these things and I feel like there is nothing left to do.  We basically spend our sessions catching up on the week.  Sure, we do a lot of problem solving, but isn't that something I could do by myself?  Why do I need to travel to Towson once a week for a brainstorming session?  I feel like there is nothing left to fight for.  In a good way.  I've overcome so much.  Faced so many fears.  Fought so many battles.  What else is left to conquer?  In the therapy world, that is.

Is therapy meant to be a lifelong thing?  Do you ever graduate?  Do you ever get that hour of your life back?  Or is it forever?  These are the questions I ask my therapist.

Hmm.  Good question, she said.  It depends on the person.  Do you think you still have things to work on?

Hmm.  Good question, I said.  Do I?

Yes.  But...I mean...don't we all?  If that's the case, shouldn't everyone be therapy?  Maybe.

I do have things to work on.  I will always struggle with believing in myself.  There will always be difficult relationships to navigate.  And there will always be a vice I wrestle with.

Am I really ready to be done with therapy, or am I just hesitant to dig into more difficult things?  I've existed in crisis mode for so long that being in the green means things are great.  Are things really great, or are they just manageable?  Am I satisfied with "ok" because I haven't been ok in so long?  Does therapy have the potential to make things great again?  Is that really even possible?  Maybe my doubt leads me to believe that I don't need it anymore.  Maybe I doubt its effectiveness.

But therapy has given me so much.  Why should I doubt its capabilities now?  After all of that?  After all that it's proven?  Why doubt its potential?

The truth is that therapy is work.  It takes effort.  Time.  It's more than just an hour of your life once a week.  It's hard.  And I haven't been doing it.  I haven't been putting in the time or the effort.  I've just been going through the motions.

I feel like I don't need therapy because I feel like it has lost its point.  But what if it's not therapy that has lost its point.  What if it's me?

Therapy is only as good as what you make of it.  And I haven't been making very much of it recently.

Therapy is definitely necessary when you're in crisis mode, but the real work starts when things get ok again.  You have to work on skills that will keep you out of crisis mode.  You have to work to obtain the life you've always imagined.

It's easy for me to forget how far therapy has brought me, which makes it easy for me to doubt its purpose in my present life.  But it can have a purpose if I give it one.

I think therapy is a journey.  It changes with time.  My journey might mean going to every-other week to give me more time to work.  Or it might mean taking a break sometime.  Or it might mean therapy forever.  Who knows.  All I know for now is this:

Today I choose to remember.  I choose to remember all the great things that therapy has helped obtain.

Today I choose to hope.  I choose to hope that great is possible.  That I don't have to be just "ok."

Today I choose to pursue.  I choose to pursue that hope.

And (for now) I choose to use therapy to do it.