You can be happy

Note to Self:

You can be happy. 

This is a hard post to write and share. For that reason I'm sure it will sound scattered, but I'm going to do my best because this is important. 

*Trigger warning - mental health (I put this because I know this is such a hard topic and while my goal is for this post to maybe help someone else, I know that it may be difficult for some to read)

My husband has been gone on a deployment for 76 days now. I've been reflecting on that time a lot lately. It's been difficult - but as much as I want to, I can't say they've been the hardest months this year. The truth is that before he left I was in a really dark place and had been for months. I've talked about my anxiety quite a bit the last few years, but the first third of this year I had spiraled into a web of anxiety and depression that I couldn't get out of - even with my background and going to counseling myself. It was terrifying. 

November and December (the months following my father's death) were hard. Looking back, though, that time feels like normal grief (if there is such a thing). Lots of tears. Lots of thinking about my dad and not being able to comprehend the fact that I wouldn't get to see him again on this earth. And lots of sadness and anger surrounding the holidays without him. I honestly can't express how painful it was - you can really only understand this kind of pain if you're in the club. The club of those of us who have lost a parent - a club no one enters into willingly and one I wish didn't have to gain new members. 

The week after Christmas and into the new year I felt OK. Something I hadn't felt in months. I was sure that 2019 couldn't possibly be worse than 2018 and I was determined to make it that way. 

Then I crashed. 

I experienced depression for the first time in January of 2018. It was only for about two weeks - but I remember thinking that I would take my anxiety over depression any day. 

This year it wasn't just two weeks. It's like I had fallen into a hole and couldn't get out. Not only that, but in the bottom of that hole was a pool of quicksand and everything I tried to do to escape made me sink further. 

It was terrifying. It was agonizingly painful. During that time every day was a cycle of feeling incredibly anxious and having panic attacks, unbelievably sad and randomly bursting into tears, and then feeling nothing at all. As much as it may surprise you, that last one - feeling nothing at all - was the worst of the three. I was completely numb during those times - I felt empty. I felt like I was just a shell of a person and didn't want to be around anyone to drag them down or burden them. Every day was so damn hard - a battle just to survive. 

I felt completely hopeless. I saw no end in sight. I knew my husband would be leaving for months and couldn't believe it would be possible to get through those months without the one person who really knew what I was going through. After that it seemed like just a short time till we would come upon the anniversary of my father's death and then the holidays without him again. Just a couple weeks into 2019 and I already wanted it to be over. I couldn't see any way to stop feeling what I was feeling and just feel one ounce of happiness again. As I said, I felt completely hopeless. 

Even by just that brief description I'm sure those of you who know me and care for me are feeling extremely concerned. The truth is those are the kinds of things that cause your counselor and doctor to ask if you've thought of hurting yourself or ending your life. And they did ask me those things. I was able to honestly answer "no" to both of those questions. Partially because I would be too scared to ever do anything like that, but mostly because of my background and working with teens who have hurt themselves and even attempted suicide. I knew that even though I felt like a burden and wanted it all to be over - death wasn't an option. I didn't want life to be over - I wanted my life to start up again.

By the end of March I had been in counseling for 3 months and tried all of the things I knew to try to climb out of that quicksand-filled hole. Nothing was helping.

At this point, my counselor asked me about my opinions on medication. The truth is I had been thinking about medication on and off for a few weeks. But I was scared. I was scared because I know sometimes it takes time to find a medication that works and in that process you could potentially feel worse. Even when you do find the right one, it takes time for that medication to start working. With just under two weeks until my husband left for deployment, I was terrified to start the medication journey without him here to support me. Besides that, I didn't really want to be on medication. For years I had been on medication for my stomach issues and I hated every second of it. I hated feeling like I was broken and had to take something just to be normal. At this point, though, medication was the only thing that gave me the slightest bit of hope. So, with my counselor's encouragement, I made an appointment with my doctor the next day to see about getting on some medication. 

It wasn't a very long appointment. My doctor was surprised it had taken me so long to seek medication after I told her how I had been feeling. She prescribed an antidepressant and I started it that night.

It made me incredibly nauseous if I didn't eat often enough, after every time I ate, and nearly every hour of the day anyway. I spent nights in the bathroom sweating and just wishing I could throw up so that maybe I could feel even the tiniest bit better. I told my doctor, but kept taking it because I had read that within a couple weeks these kinds of side effects usually subsided. 

On day 13 of me taking medication my husband left for the deployment. At that point I hadn't noticed it really helping. I was so scared. 

On day 14 I visited my doctor to check in. I explained the nausea and how I didn't feel any better, but we decided I should continue taking it for a couple more weeks. 

On day 22 I woke up and it was honestly like someone had flipped a switch. I felt good. I felt happy. For the first time in months I felt like a real human being and myself again. 

In the 54 days since then it's only gotten better. My husband is still gone and that SUCKS. But I'm OK - truly. I've had time to find myself again. I've taken time to get back into my hobbies and even learn new skills. I've taken on huge projects and laughed my way through the mistakes until it's finished. I've enjoyed hanging out with friends and family, and also just staying home to snuggle my puppies. I love life again and I'm so excited to keep living it. 

Photo credit: Bethany Camille @bethanycamille16

I asked my doctor about how long I should be on the medication - but the truth is I didn't really care about the answer. If I can get off it in the near future, that's great. I can honestly say, though, that I have absolutely no problem being on this medication for as long as it takes. I don't feel broken. I finally feel whole again.

I want to share all of this with you because I believe it is important. Mental health is so important and I like to believe we're all finally breaking down the pieces of our society that make us think otherwise. You don't need to feel ashamed if you're hurting and struggling. But you do need to get help. It's OK to be terrified - I know I was - but don't give up. 

Medication was the solution for me, but I know that's not the case for everyone. I also know, without a doubt, that there is something (or some combination of things) to help each person. 

If you're struggling - keep going. I know it feels hopeless. But you're not alone and you can get through this. 

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 

1-800-273-8255

 

Crisis Text Line: 

Text CONNECT to 741741

Give yourself some credit

Note to Self:

Give yourself some freaking credit.

I've always been the kind of person that gets straight A's. The B I got in my undergrad still irks me. The one A- I got in my graduate program will probably always bother me. It's just who I am. It's not enough for me to just pass and do the minimum that you're supposed to do.

As a school counselor I work with all kinds of students. Students like me, but also students who have 0.13% in a class. (For those of you wondering, it's taken me over 5 months to see that percentage and not FREAK OUT inside). The thing you have to realize with those students is: that's probably not the only class they're failing. It's probably not the only thing in their life that points out they're a failure.

As a school counselor I get to help point out the ways in which they are succeeding.

That 0.13% means they turned in an assignment or participated in class in some way - and that's more than they did last week! The second day they don't skip their least favorite class, I point out how proud I am of them for doing something that is hard for them. Telling them they're still failing doesn't help and it doesn't make them more likely to turn in the next assignment or come back to class at all. You have to give them credit for what they're already doing, before they'll believe they can do anything more than that.

It doesn't matter that they're supposed to turn in every assignment and go to class everyday - this student starts somewhere different than the straight A student. What matters are the seemingly small successes they have each day.

Photo credit: Si Ni Li Photography

The last three months since my dad died, I've felt as though my mental health has made me a failure in many aspects of my life. My anxiety has been worse and depression has decided to make its way into the picture as well. I pretend to be fine and I go through the motions everyday, but I kind of just feel like a shadow.

Work has been especially hard. How can I possibly help this student sitting in my office when I can't even help myself? Those words I just said to them have not helped me in the last three months, so why should I believe it's helping them?

So what if I got out of bed and did my hair this morning? So what if I got to work on time? So what if I've been organizing and cleaning the house? That's what adults are supposed to do. I do those things because it's what I'm supposed to do.

Well, today I went to counseling for the first time in too long. Everyone jokes that psych majors/counselors are the ones who need counseling anyway, so no shame in admitting that's true. I think everyone could benefit from counseling at some point or another. Anyway, that's off topic. The point is, the new counselor I'm seeing gave me a wake-up call.

I talked to him about my day-to-day activities; how I go to work, sometimes make it to the gym, get the groceries, and have been trying harder to clean and organize the house - but those things are just what adults are supposed to do and I feel like I'm failing in so many ways. He told me it was a cop-out to say that adults are just supposed to do those things. I changed up the wording and said, "I mean, I have to go to work or I'd lose my job. If I lose my job we might lose our house or financial stability..."

He cut me off and said "Right. But some people do just that. They don't keep doing those things you say adults are just supposed to do." He then raised his voice and said:

GIVE YOURSELF SOME FREAKING CREDIT! 

It shocked me; first of all that he raised his voice, and second of all that I had been missing this concept that I use with kids everyday.

He pointed out that today I got out of bed, did my hair, went to work, and made it into counseling even though it was hard for me to do. He pointed out that everyday for the last three months I've worked harder than I've ever had to before, just to do what I'm supposed to... and for that I deserve some credit.

I felt so stupid. I'm a counselor - I know this! But until that moment I didn't realize I was that student with 0.13% and I was also the person telling them that they're still failing so that small thing they did doesn't matter.

I know it will take time to really believe this and put it into practice in my life. It's not that easy for me to give myself credit for the "small" things I've been working so hard to do. It's not enough for me. But at least today the counselor managed to drive home a concept that my amazing husband has been trying to get me to believe all this time:

"You're doing great."

It doesn't matter what you're supposed to do. It matters what you do even though it may be the hardest thing in the world.

I don't know who else needed to hear this. I don't know who is going through the hardest time in their life, and faking it like I have been trying to do. It's OK - people don't need to know your struggle.

To the rest of the world it might just look like you're doing what you're supposed to... but give yourself credit for the hard things you've done today - every "little" success you've had - because right now that's what matters.