Day 93: Respite

Today went much better.

Probably because a billion people were praying for me.  Including my HH and his never ending love, patience, and faith in  me.  He talked with me until late into the night until I was okay enough sleep.

I hoped I would feel better in the morning.  But I didn't.

And the kids weren't exactly well-behaved either.

But, HH and I talked this morning and he shared with me the results of his praying and what we can do to better our situation.  And it gave me hope.

And we all know that hope is the key to pressing on.

A friend encouraged me to join her and other friends for lunch.  Darling A and I needed a place to go anyway because there was a showing going on at the house.  It was a lot of effort being out among the living, but I think it helped.

And then, miraculously, the kids were fairly well-behaved tonight.  We had a nice peaceful dinner, during which everyone ate their food--including their vegetables.

We had time to read a couple of stories.

We had our share of time outs as well.  But, we survived them.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but I'm grateful for the relief of today.

Now I just need my HH.  I wish he could wrap me in his arms and I could feel safe in his strength and optimism.  We're 1/7th of the way through this.  I know it will get easier, but I hate it anyway.

Day 92: When Satan Thinks You Have A Good Idea

HH started his new job yesterday.

Which meant that he left here on Saturday, so he could be there by Sunday night.

And it's been kind of rough ever since.  I mean, we have some normal moments.  And even some good moments.  But overall, we're all struggling in his absence.  And all of the continued stress from everything else going on.

Darling A does alright until dinner time.  At which point she has sat down and cried her heart out that Daddy hasn't come home yet.  So, today I printed this photo and covered it in contact paper for her.  It is all bent and beat up from being carted around everywhere, kissed, and loved on.  

And she did much better at dinner tonight.

Each of the three mornings since HH left, I've managed to reach a moment of peace and optimism and strength.

Sunday that only last about 30 seconds.  

Fortunately, yesterday and today have been better.

But, I'm so exhausted and discouraged by the end of the day.

Today I had therapy appointments with my therapist and then with Baby B's therapist.  They both had some really great ideas.  And I was so optimistic.  And at the outset, things were going so smoothly.  Our evening was structured and peaceful, the kids knew where they were supposed to be and what they were supposed to be doing.  We had some really great bonding time together.

And then it all went to hell.  For real.

And I'm pretty sure it's because following this new plan will make the days go better, will bring the bonding and relaxing time we all need, will bring us closer together, and will get us through the next four weeks.

It's really a good plan.

And, apparently, Satan agrees.  Because he pulled out all the stops tonight to destroy it.

So, at least I know we're on the right path.  Or, something like that...

Anyway, tonight was awful in the worst way.  I can't tell you about it.  Because I can't bear to relive it.

So, those negative coping habits came back.  And are trying really hard to break through my resolve.  And to be quite honest, I'm  not really sure I have any of that left.  My crazy is really trying to take over right now.

And I don't have HH here to hold me until it passes.

So, I'm here.  Blogging instead.  And hoping and praying that it's enough.  That I'll get through tonight and wake up tomorrow and, somehow, find that peace and strength and maybe even the optimism again.

Day 91: Touch

I can't believe I had to go clear back to December to find a photo with both HH and I in it.  This is sad.

Things have been absolutely nuts over here these past couple of weeks.  It's been a whirlwind of activity and stress.

And I've learned something.

When I get stressed out, I get manic.  And then I go crazy working as hard as I can all day.  And by the time HH gets home from work, I'm sort of in a frenzy.  And still stressed because my mind keeps racing over all of the things that still need doing.  And in the process of preparing a house to sell, those things are endless.

So, HH gets home and I'm in the middle of getting dinner on the table.  Stressful even on a good day.  But now, I'm bugged that I have to do this ridiculous task every day because it's not something I can ever really check off.  I have to do it again tomorrow.  Where is the progress in that?  Plus, it's taking time away from the thousands of other things that need my attention.  And it's creating a mess I'll have to clean up.

Did you ever realize what a waste of time meals are?

Don't worry, that's a joke.

Mostly.

Anyway, I digress.

So, HH gets home and wants a hug first thing.  Not just the quick kind I try to get away with, but a real, longer than 3 seconds, hug.  With both of my arms involved in the hugging, not slicing strawberries or stirring a pot on the stove.

And a lot of the time, especially lately, he doesn't get it.

And I didn't realize it until last week, but thus begins a downward spiral.  He (inexplicably to me) feels guilty that I'm so stressed and wonders if I'm mad at him since I didn't take the time to hug him.  So, he's kind of hurt and becomes more critical as a defense mechanism.  I'm exhausted and definitely overly sensitive to criticism right now, plus I think, "Can't he see how much I'm doing?  Why would he be critical?".  So, I get hurt and mad and put up my walls.

And we have a fight.

And he's feeling guilty and defensive.  And I'm feeling hurt and exhausted.

And I absolutely don't want him to come anywhere near me.  Even if he apologizes.  Because I'm so tightly wound right now, I just have a hard time switching it off and letting those walls back down.

But, after a couple fights in which he mentioned being frustrated because I never wanted/had time to hug him (and I'm seriously just talking about hugs here, people--it's not a euphemism!), I had this revolutionary thought--"What if I take a minute every day when he gets home and give him my undivided attention and a real hug?"

So, I tried it the next evening.  And I decided to really go above and beyond and do things like squeeze his hand, or touch his shoulder.  Whoa.

And guess what?  I think we've had one fight since.  And it wasn't even a big one.

Maybe there are some other factors involved as well, but making time for hugs and other physical contact has been sort of a magic pill for our marriage.  And it's not been at all trying for me, like I thought it might be.  Dinner still makes it to the table, but I feel less stressed after hugging him.  And we are closer and more united.

And that's a much better place to be at with all of this stress and craziness surrounding us.

Day 90: Which Direction?

So, we're moving.

Out of state.

Back "home".  Closer to family.

Except that this place has come to feel a whole lot like home over the past 5 years.  And our friends here have become our family, too.

People assume we're moving because HH got a new job.  Which he did.  But, he got that new job for me.  So that, in a crisis, I can have help.  So that, when I get overwhelmed with life, someone can come help me handle it.  So that, if/when I need to go to the hospital again, someone can take care of the kids.  And I see the good and the logic in that.

But, it feels like defeat.

Instead of choosing where we want to live based on "normal" reasons, this is yet another choice that feels like it's just been made for us.  Because of my mental health.  Mental illness.

Don't get me wrong, I'm excited to live close to our family again.  Ever since the kids were small, we've felt a pull to get them closer to their cousins and other extended family.  I love and enjoy being around my family and HH's family.

And I'm excited about the location.  I get to be in the mountains again.  We can take the kids camping without dying from the heat and humidity.  We can teach the kids to ski.  We can show them where we grew up.  We can hike.  We can maybe enroll them in sports where all the games won't be played on Sundays.

But still...

I just wish I could feel like this is happening because it's what we fully want.

But, we looked at other locations.  Places closer to family, but that had other appeal as well.  Climate, new places to explore, fun things to do.

Ultimately, we kept coming back to this though.  Knowing it's what we have to do because it's what I need.

And I'm tired of making choices where my needs supersede everyone and everything else.

Not to mention the fact that I am desperately going miss all of these people I've grown to love and trust.  Especially, the few that I've recently grown close enough to to really let down my guard and trust them with things only HH and my therapist have known.  That's something invaluable.  And I know I can still call them, but there is something about being in the company of someone like that that is renewing.

So, I know I should be excited.  And some of me is.

I hope I haven't hurt or offended any of you that I will be moving closer.  Like I said, I am excited about that prospect.

It's just that, it's complicated.  This is me we're dealing with here.  And if I'm good at one thing, it's making things complicated.

Day 89: Reassurance Being Found

Me and Baby B when he was actually a baby.

I wish I could always hold him and make things right in his world.

Thanks for your kind reassurance.  I actually went from one reassuring person to the next during my day yesterday.

The drop off was rough.  I held it together until I got in the car and then I bawled the whole way home. But, it was April Fool's, so I got to keep myself busy making fun prankster foods for the kids.  (And Baby B got his wormy apple on his way home that night).

The pick up went well and he was so well-behaved all evening.

While I have great faith in this program, I know better than to believe his improved behavior was a sign of progress.  Not yet, anyway.  I think he was just relieved to be home.  The caregivers told me he had a pretty good first day.  He even earned a prize to take home from his good behavior.

He told me he did nothing all day.  Except go on time out.

That made me want to laugh and cry at the same time.  Laugh because I know it wasn't true and because he looked so cute with his mad pouty face.  And cry because, well, he's my baby.

Anyway, it's still hard and I've missed him so much yesterday and today, but I'm choosing to focus on the fact that I know this program is the right thing right now.  And not on how sad it makes me.

As with so many things, I got so worked up beforehand because of all the unknown and uncertainty.  But now that we've begun down the path, a lot of my concerns are already at rest because I can see where we're headed.  And it definitely looks like higher ground.

Day 87: Reassurance Needed!

I love being a mom.

Saturday night I was able to attend an amazing meeting for women, and for the first time ever, my Sweet P (on the left) got to come with me.  Every few minutes I would look over at her sitting by my side and tear up a bit at how fabulous it is to have her growing up and being a part of things with me.

Motherhood has been one of the most amazing experiences of my journey here on earth.

But, sometimes, I feel like I'm doing a really terrible job of it.

Some of you know, Baby B was a crazy easy baby.  Then right around 16-17 months he became just plain crazy.  A flip was switched and our sweet baby was transformed into a bit of a monster.  Sometimes we still see that sweet little guy, but the monstrous part seems to be getting worse.  He's getting violent and aggressive.

And he has become one of the most significant triggers for me in my struggles.

Not the best combination.

So, I took him to the pediatrician, thinking maybe a diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome was in order.  However, he *can* have pretty good social skills and he's verbally advanced, so we've mostly ruled that out.  Although, a sensory processing disorder does seem quite likely.  Which is something I've suspected for a while, so it came as no surprise.

Because she witnessed his aggression in the form of him  knocking poor little Darling A around during our appointment, our doctor referred us to a sort of "daycare/preschool" facility that focuses on behavior modification.  Mainly through positive reinforcement.  But, the program is facilitated by specialists and therapists and the like, so it's actually covered by insurance as a mental health treatment.

I felt really strongly that this was the right decision for us at this time.  So, I began the process a couple of weeks ago.  Initially, excited at the prospect of helping him not only change his behavior, but also learn to take in the world in a way that allows him to be happy, rather than overwhelmed and stressed.  Plus, there's a weekly family therapy session that will help all of us know how to help him (and, I'm guessing/hoping) improve our overall family dynamics.

But, as his start date drew nearer, that optimism has been completely overshadowed by feelings of doubt and guilt.  Mostly guilt.

I keep thinking about all of the activities and moments he will miss out on.  He will still attend his regular preschool twice a week, but he will spend the majority each day at this behavior facility.

And it makes me sick with guilt.

I feel like a terrible mom.  Shipping him off because I can't handle him.  I keep thinking that it's ridiculous.  Aren't I supposed to be the one best suited to teach him and mold him and to help him grow and develop?  If only I were more patient/strong/happy/stable/etc., then he wouldn't have to do this.  

He'd be free to have play dates with his friends.  For me to tell stories to at nap time.  To have a silly April Fool's Day snack when the other kids get home from school tomorrow.

Because his start date is tomorrow (it was supposed to be today, but I pushed it back so he could have one final lunch play date with a bunch of his friends, and thankfully, he had so much fun).

And I've been fighting of tears and feelings of self-loathing all day.

I ran 6 miles this morning.

Twice as far as I should have.

As if I could run away from how much I hate that I am doing this to him.

All the while feeling like it really is the best thing right now.  And that it could be a life changing opportunity for him.   And maybe for our whole family.

And maybe an opportunity for me to be able to heal and recover a bit myself.  But, that brings with it its own bag of guilt, so we'll save that for another day...

I'm just so sad for him.  Not just about all of the things that he'll miss.  But because I keep picturing him there, wondering why he's there all day.  Every day.  Abandoned.  By the mom who is supposed to nurture him at every turn.

And I'm sad for me.  Because in between the fits and the anger and the frustration, he can be the sweetest sweetest child.  He'll give me huge bear hugs and non-stop kisses and tell me I look beautiful. And he says the funniest things.

And I'm going to miss him.

So, tell me that I'm not a terrible person.  That this is not a sign that I've given up on him.  That this really is a good thing.  The right thing.

Day 86: Safety First

I'm going to have to keep this short because I sorely need a nap.

I've been feeling better from the mono.  Finally.

But now comes the challenge of learning to let life back in without over doing it.  If I get a nap every day, I think I can do that.

But, that's not really what this post is about.

What is it about?

Well, when I sat down to write it, I discovered a partially written post from a few weeks ago.  If just having a title counts as a partially written post, that is.

Okay, so I'm stalling.  Because I'm not sure how to articulate, or where exactly I want to go.

The unwritten post was about an epiphany I had a few weeks ago while reading the account of Abraham being asked to sacrifice his son Isaac, in the bible.  Not that I'm at all equating my experience with his, it got me thinking about sacrifice in my life.

I've been really angry these past few months as my health just continued to deteriorate.  I felt like I was giving up more and more of the things (hobbies, activities, responsibilities) that make me me.  Like I was completely losing (or sacrificing) my very self.

But, on the morning of the epiphany I realized that I wasn't losing myself at all.  In reality, those were the things keeping me from knowing myself.  Those were the things I did to try and gain approval and admiration of everyone.  Including my Father in Heaven.  Instead, I was so busy with them I allow myself the opportunity to feel my Father's love and approval for the me that I really am.

Does that make sense?

I don't know.  But, I'm moving on.

Now that I've let go of so many things, I'm finally seeing progress.  Well, I'm pretty sure my new medication is helping a ton, too.  But, whatever the source, progress is happening.

• I don't care nearly as much (sometimes not at all) about what other people think.
• I'm not so hard on myself.
• I accept that I can't do it all
• I accept that I can't do it all by myself
• I accept that I can't do it all perfectly
• I not only know that I need others, but I'm loving it
• I have a couple friends that I trust fully and don't feel insecure with--meaning I can call on them for help and/or a listening ear, without feeling guilty that they'd rather be doing just about anything else and are only helping me because they are good people.
• I nap almost every day, even though it means that sometimes my kids come home to a messy house and dinner is not amazing and sometimes even late.
• I don't hate myself for all of my mistakes and shortcomings.
• I know that my actions don't change my worth, for better or for worse

Those are probably the main points of progress.

And I'm proud of them.

The problem is, somewhere along the way, I developed some not so good habits when it comes to dealing with stress.  And stress is kind of a natural part of life.  And I'm kind of hypersensitive to it.

So, yesterday's therapy appointment was about creating a "First Aid Kit" to intervene when things start to get stressful, but before I get completely overwhelmed.  It's basically a container full of things to help me break the stress train of thought.  Like good quotes, an essential oil scent that always makes me feel better, songs I like, sudoku puzzles, or whatever else might get me back to a better state of mind.

I totally see the reason for this.  And it makes sense.  And I can see that it can help.

But, I'm still really angry about the fact that it's something I need.  I just feel really stupid about it.  There are a lot of reasons about this.  But, when I tried to explain it to HH last night, I don't think he really understood.

So, it's probably just because I'm still struggling with denial.

I've been known to spend excessive time with denial a few times over the years.

So, there you have it.

Super short post, right?

Nap time.