I cannot believe where we were last week versus where we are today. You no longer throw your food at the dinner table and when you are finished, you give us whatever food is left and usually say, "all done!"
We have not seen a temper tantrum since last Thursday. Not even really a whimper. You are paying more attention to things we say and I can't believe the things you are able to understand. Our babysitter says you are very smart and even though I really believe all children excel, at this point, with one thing or another, I am beginning to think you are smart!
You love getting stickers and seem to be so proud of most things you are able to do, or show us. Like putting your sippy cup away, putting things away when we ask, and you can blow your nose. When did that happen?
You are such a more joyous little boy now, and it has been incredibly fun.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Thursday, October 17, 2013
The Awesome Side to Parenting
What a difference a little stern parenting and 24 hours can make.
You did not cry when I picked you up from daycare and you came home with me willingly. You went on a short walk with your dad, and ride nicely in the wagon.
You ate dinner like a champ. You played after dinner like a champ. When you got your stocker for your "good job" at dinner and tried to eat it, you didn't cry when I took it away and said no. I gave you another stocker and you stuck it on your board with a big ole smile!
When you wanted to go outside after dinner and I told you no, you whined. Until I told you no whining and then you stopped.
When we went to Menards to buy a new toilet, I gave you such a stern talking to that the words, "you will sit in the cart, and you will not cry when you cannot push the cart'" actually made you whimper with a pouty lip.
And behold, you were an angel, which warranted another sticker when we got home, which you were more than happy to put on your board!
I guess I just needed to take back that control. We will see how the rest of the week and this weekend will go!
You did not cry when I picked you up from daycare and you came home with me willingly. You went on a short walk with your dad, and ride nicely in the wagon.
You ate dinner like a champ. You played after dinner like a champ. When you got your stocker for your "good job" at dinner and tried to eat it, you didn't cry when I took it away and said no. I gave you another stocker and you stuck it on your board with a big ole smile!
When you wanted to go outside after dinner and I told you no, you whined. Until I told you no whining and then you stopped.
When we went to Menards to buy a new toilet, I gave you such a stern talking to that the words, "you will sit in the cart, and you will not cry when you cannot push the cart'" actually made you whimper with a pouty lip.
And behold, you were an angel, which warranted another sticker when we got home, which you were more than happy to put on your board!
I guess I just needed to take back that control. We will see how the rest of the week and this weekend will go!
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
The Ugly Side to Parenting
Last week, it was like you flipped a little switch and decided the best way to voice your frustrations was through temper tantrums and they have escalated since. Last night you ran through the aisles of Target screaming. Tonight, you were in such a state of hysteria that you actually exhausted yourself in your timeout corner and fell asleep. I took you upstairs, tucked you in, said our prayers and you fell asleep. No bath, no diaper change (you had one an hour before) and no music.
Tonight, my son challenged me to a battle of wills, and I decided for the both of us, and for future benefit, that I was going to win.
It all started when you wanted to go out in the garage to be with your dad. You see, your dad is your bestie, and quite frankly, I am a distant second. A very distant second. So you went out and were playing, and somehow your dad thought it was a good idea that you push your stroller around in the garage. Good thinking at the time, as it was going to keep you busy. But when you push things, you go hard and fast and when you couldn't do that, you immediately got frustrated.
Combine that with the fact that your bedtime was in 45 minutes and the outcome was one of the biggest tantrums I have ever seen.
Most opp laces tell you to ignore tantrums. But our babysitter, who I very much respect, said there's another way to nip it in the bud even faster. What?! Sign me up!
Its called telling your kid to man up and quit being a baby. Week, in over nice, mommy lingo.
So after ignoring him for about 5 minutes, I proceeded to grab him by him arms, look him in the face and say "I know you're frustrated, but the way to behave. Let's go sit in timeout until you can calm down."
That is where the battle of wills ensued. We sat on the bottom platform of our staircase and he writhed and screamed and hicupped and got snot all over the carpet.
And I won. After almost 20 agonizing minutes of saying to him that I knew he was frustrated but this was no way to behave while rubbing his back (in between grabbing him as he made a beeline for the stairs) he calmed down. And promptly fell asleep.
So I took him upstairs, hauling this 30 pound ball of anger in my arms and put him in his crib. I rubbed his head, tucked him in, did our nightly ritual and left.
And then I cried.
This is exhausting. Its hard, it makes me feel like a terrible parent. But its what's best for our family. Yes, my life is all about what James needs. But not what he wants. And he needs to understand that to be frustrated is OK. But to be out of control is not.
So I guess this is the ugly side of parenting. But I will take it, because at the end of this ugliness, there is still my sweet, sweet baby boy.
Tonight, my son challenged me to a battle of wills, and I decided for the both of us, and for future benefit, that I was going to win.
It all started when you wanted to go out in the garage to be with your dad. You see, your dad is your bestie, and quite frankly, I am a distant second. A very distant second. So you went out and were playing, and somehow your dad thought it was a good idea that you push your stroller around in the garage. Good thinking at the time, as it was going to keep you busy. But when you push things, you go hard and fast and when you couldn't do that, you immediately got frustrated.
Combine that with the fact that your bedtime was in 45 minutes and the outcome was one of the biggest tantrums I have ever seen.
Most opp laces tell you to ignore tantrums. But our babysitter, who I very much respect, said there's another way to nip it in the bud even faster. What?! Sign me up!
Its called telling your kid to man up and quit being a baby. Week, in over nice, mommy lingo.
So after ignoring him for about 5 minutes, I proceeded to grab him by him arms, look him in the face and say "I know you're frustrated, but the way to behave. Let's go sit in timeout until you can calm down."
That is where the battle of wills ensued. We sat on the bottom platform of our staircase and he writhed and screamed and hicupped and got snot all over the carpet.
And I won. After almost 20 agonizing minutes of saying to him that I knew he was frustrated but this was no way to behave while rubbing his back (in between grabbing him as he made a beeline for the stairs) he calmed down. And promptly fell asleep.
So I took him upstairs, hauling this 30 pound ball of anger in my arms and put him in his crib. I rubbed his head, tucked him in, did our nightly ritual and left.
And then I cried.
This is exhausting. Its hard, it makes me feel like a terrible parent. But its what's best for our family. Yes, my life is all about what James needs. But not what he wants. And he needs to understand that to be frustrated is OK. But to be out of control is not.
So I guess this is the ugly side of parenting. But I will take it, because at the end of this ugliness, there is still my sweet, sweet baby boy.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
17 months!
Right now, you are in the basement throwing a colossal fit. You have been for the past 5 minutes. I figure that you'll probably be down there for another 5 minutes or so, so I've got time for your 17 month stats.
You are the king of colossal temper tantrums. I'm not sure exactly when, or how, that happened, as I pride myself (and Eric) in being one-time parents. You throw your food on the floor, it's a time-out. You don't want to do something we need to do (because, let's face it, it's not about what we want to do anymore), we won't put up with it. Maybe this is the terrible two's that we have heard so much about?
(I just checked on you, you're lying at the foot of the stairs, on your back, arms and legs spread, crying. You're fine.)
You had a double ear infection earlier this week, which was hell on your dad and I. I finally took you to the doctor on Wednesday and you weighed 29 pounds and were 32" tall! Long and lean, holy smokes.
Everything with four legs is a "dog" and whenever we announce it's "BATH TIME!" you happily run after us, up the stairs, saying "bath! bath! bath!" Although it sounds more like "bat! bat! bat!" If there's one thing you absolutely love, it's baths.
(Just checked again, you're standing at the foot of the stairs, head on the second tread, still crying. I tried to coax you upstairs, but you ran away and out of sight. Not sure why I'm the bad guy here...)
You are starting to get very picky about your food. You don't like eating things two nights in a row, and it seems as though your palate is getting smaller. But good lord you LOVE french fries. It must have been all the salty foods I ingested when I was pregnant with you.
(You've made your way up the stairs, but you're still crying. You're relentless.)
Outside is the place to be, which terrifies me to think what will happen when the cold weather hits and you can no longer play outside. You love pushing your wagon, rather than riding in it, and you're very particular about where it needs to go. You are very good at sticking to the sidewalks, which I think I can attribute to daycare (thanks Christy)! But you aren't so good at riding in the wagon. It's an anomaly, but I just go with it.
(You have finally made it to me, stopped crying, and want to type on the keyboard. So, because I love you, I'm going to let you. The last time you touched daddy's computer, you turned the screen 90 degrees adn we had a heck of a time getting it back, but hopefully this time, it won't be so bad... below will be your scribblings.)
You are growing so quickly - out of the 12 month, into the 18 month, and for some of the clothes, out of the 18 month and into the 2T. I bought you a little Columbia fleece, size 2T and it fits you perfect! Which worries me because I want it to fit you next spring! But your dad already ripped the tags off and it's got a nice sprinkling of applesauce (as does the interior of my car) on it, so I guess taking it back is out of the question.
You're starting to really understand the world around you and how things work. Like when I leave you in the basement to throw your temper tantrum, I really am not going to come and get you. You have to make your way upstairs because I am not going to raise a whiner or a fit-thrower. I have seen too many people too many times put up with it, and I will not.
So with your whining, that is happening right now, I'm going to put you to bed, as I think you're tired, run-down from the cold you've developed and getting rid of your ear infection, and quite frankly, I'm exhausted as well. I love you little man, and thank you for making me realize I have a wealth of patience!
My Temper Tantrum, by James Thomas Engels.
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gbbvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv b bb bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb.b.vf;/
You are the king of colossal temper tantrums. I'm not sure exactly when, or how, that happened, as I pride myself (and Eric) in being one-time parents. You throw your food on the floor, it's a time-out. You don't want to do something we need to do (because, let's face it, it's not about what we want to do anymore), we won't put up with it. Maybe this is the terrible two's that we have heard so much about?
(I just checked on you, you're lying at the foot of the stairs, on your back, arms and legs spread, crying. You're fine.)
You had a double ear infection earlier this week, which was hell on your dad and I. I finally took you to the doctor on Wednesday and you weighed 29 pounds and were 32" tall! Long and lean, holy smokes.
Everything with four legs is a "dog" and whenever we announce it's "BATH TIME!" you happily run after us, up the stairs, saying "bath! bath! bath!" Although it sounds more like "bat! bat! bat!" If there's one thing you absolutely love, it's baths.
(Just checked again, you're standing at the foot of the stairs, head on the second tread, still crying. I tried to coax you upstairs, but you ran away and out of sight. Not sure why I'm the bad guy here...)
You are starting to get very picky about your food. You don't like eating things two nights in a row, and it seems as though your palate is getting smaller. But good lord you LOVE french fries. It must have been all the salty foods I ingested when I was pregnant with you.
(You've made your way up the stairs, but you're still crying. You're relentless.)
Outside is the place to be, which terrifies me to think what will happen when the cold weather hits and you can no longer play outside. You love pushing your wagon, rather than riding in it, and you're very particular about where it needs to go. You are very good at sticking to the sidewalks, which I think I can attribute to daycare (thanks Christy)! But you aren't so good at riding in the wagon. It's an anomaly, but I just go with it.
(You have finally made it to me, stopped crying, and want to type on the keyboard. So, because I love you, I'm going to let you. The last time you touched daddy's computer, you turned the screen 90 degrees adn we had a heck of a time getting it back, but hopefully this time, it won't be so bad... below will be your scribblings.)
You are growing so quickly - out of the 12 month, into the 18 month, and for some of the clothes, out of the 18 month and into the 2T. I bought you a little Columbia fleece, size 2T and it fits you perfect! Which worries me because I want it to fit you next spring! But your dad already ripped the tags off and it's got a nice sprinkling of applesauce (as does the interior of my car) on it, so I guess taking it back is out of the question.
You're starting to really understand the world around you and how things work. Like when I leave you in the basement to throw your temper tantrum, I really am not going to come and get you. You have to make your way upstairs because I am not going to raise a whiner or a fit-thrower. I have seen too many people too many times put up with it, and I will not.
So with your whining, that is happening right now, I'm going to put you to bed, as I think you're tired, run-down from the cold you've developed and getting rid of your ear infection, and quite frankly, I'm exhausted as well. I love you little man, and thank you for making me realize I have a wealth of patience!
My Temper Tantrum, by James Thomas Engels.
cccccccccccccccxc
gbbvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv b bb bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb.b.vf;/
Monday, September 9, 2013
16 Months!
Holy cow, where is the time going?
You are 16 months, and we are beginning to understand each other more than I thought possible. Just the other day, I asked you to pick up your cup and set it on the table. You did.
You get your shoes when we ask. You go to the door when we say the word "outside." Which may or may not be relative to the fact that we are going outside, or if I just ask your dad, "Did you take that outside?" Big mistake. We're going to have to become those parents that spell everything.
In turn, you tell us when you want to go "owsigh." You grab your shoes and hand them to us, letting us know that, indeed, it is time to go outside. Even tonight when it was 95 degrees outside (on September 9, really?). You grab things and say, "Hee-uh-go" (here you go), and the other night when you were extremely mad with your mother for not getting your way, you said, "Wan dad." Yeah, I know you wanted your dad, but your dad was busy and I was all there was left.
You are adorable at dinner, when you laugh and laugh and laugh at absolutely nothing. You try to burp, you use your fork, you love eating with us.
You can run run run and never lose steam. I lose steam after the first block, but you walked all the way to the park, which is about a quarter mile. Holy smokes! Your little legs can book it!
You are talking so much, and it's so fun to hear you try and form sentences and tell us things. You are getting so big, so much so it's hard to pick you up!
You give me a run for my money as a mom, and just when I am starting to feel like I simply cannot do anything right, you come and give me a hug, or share a cracker with me, or want to cuddle.
I love you little man. More than you know!
You are 16 months, and we are beginning to understand each other more than I thought possible. Just the other day, I asked you to pick up your cup and set it on the table. You did.
You get your shoes when we ask. You go to the door when we say the word "outside." Which may or may not be relative to the fact that we are going outside, or if I just ask your dad, "Did you take that outside?" Big mistake. We're going to have to become those parents that spell everything.
In turn, you tell us when you want to go "owsigh." You grab your shoes and hand them to us, letting us know that, indeed, it is time to go outside. Even tonight when it was 95 degrees outside (on September 9, really?). You grab things and say, "Hee-uh-go" (here you go), and the other night when you were extremely mad with your mother for not getting your way, you said, "Wan dad." Yeah, I know you wanted your dad, but your dad was busy and I was all there was left.
You are adorable at dinner, when you laugh and laugh and laugh at absolutely nothing. You try to burp, you use your fork, you love eating with us.
You can run run run and never lose steam. I lose steam after the first block, but you walked all the way to the park, which is about a quarter mile. Holy smokes! Your little legs can book it!
You are talking so much, and it's so fun to hear you try and form sentences and tell us things. You are getting so big, so much so it's hard to pick you up!
You give me a run for my money as a mom, and just when I am starting to feel like I simply cannot do anything right, you come and give me a hug, or share a cracker with me, or want to cuddle.
I love you little man. More than you know!
Friday, August 16, 2013
15 Months!
Last Sunday marked your 15 month birthday and holy cow, you're a big one! Your daddy took you to the doctor and you are officially in the 96th percentile for weight at 28 pounds, and the 61st percentile for height at 31 1/2 inches. I have qualms about the way they measure you, especially because the first time they did so, a week after you were born, your measurements told us you shrank... by two inches! So I always wonder about Miss Nurse's measuring skills when we visit. But my own measurements mark you at 32 1/2, so maybe we can say you're a happy 32 inches?? Either way, you're a bruiser. And you act like one too!
You are always running places and can't ever seem to stand still. This reminds me so much of myself. But you sleep like the dead, which reminds me so much of your dad. You have your mom's hyper-focus when you're concentrated on a task, but you have your dad's mischievous gleam in your eye that tells me you're about to do something really naughty. Which usually turns out not to be that naughty, but I'm always wondering how far you're willing to go.
When we say no, you have learned that we mean no. You know that mom has the big, loud voice when you are touching the burners on the stove, and you know that dad has the pushover voice that doesn't change when you run out into the street. Haha. But seriously, Eric needs to work on the formance in his voice.
You love to throw things off your food tray, and it kills me. We have given up until a few nights ago, when we started to ask you "All done?" in sign language about every bite. When you weren't "all done" you pointed to the dish that held the food we were giving you. When you were all done, you smiled and nodded!!! It was incredible to watch and thus far, our dinners have been much more pleasant.
You are starting to become fascinated by books, which warms my heart! I love reading and I hope that you will learn to love it too! You love your big picture books, or your touch-and-feel books. The other night, you took your book and set it down across the room. I then asked you to pick up your book. Normally, when I ask you to pick up your milk, or your toy, you do right away. When we asked you to go pet Kinnick, you did. When you close the door you do. But you didn't go get the book, and it dawned on me that you don't know what a "book" is!!! Hilarious! So we're working on that.
You are breaking out new words every day. "Kinnick" is "kit." Dad and mom are staples now, and usually in that order, which breaks my heart slightly. You say "dat" and "dis" for that and this. You point and try to say things. I try to talk to you like a little human being as much as possible, and the dr. said you are doing just fine developmentally.
In the last month, you had FOUR teeth pop through, and I can see two more bottom eye teeth coming in. Poor guy. We gave you homemade waffles, which the batter held one lone egg and you didn't have a reaction. So I think I feel better about the allergy and I hope you're growing out of it.
You are the most fun in the morning, and I love waking up to your squeals. You are a happy, funny, silly little boy and I love that you are learning so quickly. Like the other night, you learned that if you walk around teh tree, the bark covers the whole thing. And you walked and walked and walked around that tree, and then your dad and I laughed and laughed and laughed when you finally straightened out and couldn't, for the life of you, keep your balance! HILARIOUS to watch!!!!
I love you so much, I never even knew it was possible.
(In other news, it's my dear friends' due date today. Dad, please watch out for her and I hope Sydney makes a speedy, safe entry into this world. Induction is Thursday if she doesn't show her head by then!!)
You are always running places and can't ever seem to stand still. This reminds me so much of myself. But you sleep like the dead, which reminds me so much of your dad. You have your mom's hyper-focus when you're concentrated on a task, but you have your dad's mischievous gleam in your eye that tells me you're about to do something really naughty. Which usually turns out not to be that naughty, but I'm always wondering how far you're willing to go.
When we say no, you have learned that we mean no. You know that mom has the big, loud voice when you are touching the burners on the stove, and you know that dad has the pushover voice that doesn't change when you run out into the street. Haha. But seriously, Eric needs to work on the formance in his voice.
You love to throw things off your food tray, and it kills me. We have given up until a few nights ago, when we started to ask you "All done?" in sign language about every bite. When you weren't "all done" you pointed to the dish that held the food we were giving you. When you were all done, you smiled and nodded!!! It was incredible to watch and thus far, our dinners have been much more pleasant.
You are starting to become fascinated by books, which warms my heart! I love reading and I hope that you will learn to love it too! You love your big picture books, or your touch-and-feel books. The other night, you took your book and set it down across the room. I then asked you to pick up your book. Normally, when I ask you to pick up your milk, or your toy, you do right away. When we asked you to go pet Kinnick, you did. When you close the door you do. But you didn't go get the book, and it dawned on me that you don't know what a "book" is!!! Hilarious! So we're working on that.
You are breaking out new words every day. "Kinnick" is "kit." Dad and mom are staples now, and usually in that order, which breaks my heart slightly. You say "dat" and "dis" for that and this. You point and try to say things. I try to talk to you like a little human being as much as possible, and the dr. said you are doing just fine developmentally.
In the last month, you had FOUR teeth pop through, and I can see two more bottom eye teeth coming in. Poor guy. We gave you homemade waffles, which the batter held one lone egg and you didn't have a reaction. So I think I feel better about the allergy and I hope you're growing out of it.
You are the most fun in the morning, and I love waking up to your squeals. You are a happy, funny, silly little boy and I love that you are learning so quickly. Like the other night, you learned that if you walk around teh tree, the bark covers the whole thing. And you walked and walked and walked around that tree, and then your dad and I laughed and laughed and laughed when you finally straightened out and couldn't, for the life of you, keep your balance! HILARIOUS to watch!!!!
I love you so much, I never even knew it was possible.
(In other news, it's my dear friends' due date today. Dad, please watch out for her and I hope Sydney makes a speedy, safe entry into this world. Induction is Thursday if she doesn't show her head by then!!)
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Rock Bottom
PTSD is born from fear. It's natural for people to feel the "fight-or-flight" response when faced with fear. In people with PTSD, that "fight-or-flight" response is changed, or damaged, and essentially, becomes simply,"flight." In a lot of cases, "flight" during PTSD episodes is simply dissociating.
You don't know when you've hit rock bottom, until you've seen rock bottom in hindsight. In my case, rock bottom was October 15, 2010. I had had several dissociation episodes at school, and after a horrible meeting with a counselor that worked for my school, I remember calling my best friend. I couldn't stop shaking, crying, or getting "out of my head," so-to-speak. I can't remember what I said, but I can't imagine it was a great conversation. When I got home from school that day, I relayed my day to Eric, again, shaking, crying, and essentially, feeling like I was losing my mind. In hindsight, on October 15, I had already lost my mind. I had lost it to PTSD.
I don't remember the conversations I had later that day, I don't remember what I did. But I will never forget the intense fear that I felt. I couldn't stop my mind from racing, I couldn't stop moving about my house, and I couldn't focus on any one task. I just wandered aimlessly, crying, shaking, and wondering if maybe someone should take me to hospital. To say I was emotionally distraught would be an understatement.
I felt like I was staring at the shambles that was my life. I once was confident, I once was excited about teaching, I once was a person people wanted to be around. With PTSD, you don't succumb to fear. Instead, fear envelopes you. It's not a shallow fear, it's a deep-seeded terror that you absolutely, cannot escape.
I don't remember if I ate dinner that night. But I do remember after dinner, there was a knock on my door. Sitting on the couch, my anxiety was sky-high, and that knock sent me running into the kitchen. I remember looking in at myself - my eyes red from crying all day, my clothes hanging off me because I had lost so much weight. My hair a mess from dragging my fingers through it all day and my make-up long gone. I stood in the kitchen, hiding from the front door, terrified of what that knock would bring.
I remember hearing Eric let someone in as I stood huddled against the kitchen cabinets, hands cupped around my mouth and nose, breath held. Who was it who was it who was it? When my best friend rounded the corner to my kitchen, I remember losing it. I sighed out a huge breath and instantly began convulsing with sobs that wracked my body. She carried a basket of goodies, like bubbles for a soothing bath, and a mug with a smurf on it that said, "I Love ME."
I think in that instant, when she saw me, she knew that no basket was going to fix what was going on in my head. So she hugged me, and held me, and told me I was ok. She had driven 45 minutes on a Tuesday night, to simply make me feel better. But the basket, the hugs, the pats on the back, wasn't enough ammunition for the war I was waging in my head.
I was able to calm down enough to talk to her. I don't remember what we talked about, but I remember she didn't stay long. Sometimes, I wonder if it's because what she saw scared her. It scared me.
When she left, Eric and I talked about going to the hospital. I felt like I was losing my mind. Instead, I called into work, sick, for the next morning, and told myself, and Eric, I was going to make an appointment with the family doctor the next morning.
I cried throughout the night, barely slept, and the next morning, made that appointment. I truly believe that appointment is what saved me. When I finally met with the doctor, I remember telling him that I thought something was wrong with me. Something was very, very wrong with me. I remember him probing me with questions, and I remember finally telling him everything that was going on. I started from the beginning, gave him the Reader's Digest version, and he patted me on the knee. He told me he'd be right back, and from there, left me, curled up on the exam table, still crying. When he came back, his exact words were, "We're going to get you in to see someone who will be in your corner." And with that, he made an appointment for me to see a psychologist across town, and filled a prescription for what a friend jokingly calls, "Little Blue Crazy Pills."
In hindsight, that was the worse day of my life. People will say the day they lose a loved one, the day they lose a job, the day they lose a pet is the worse day of their life. But the worse day of my life was the day I felt like I could not get away from the immense fear I felt. It was overpowering, more-so than the grief I felt the day my dad died, and the days thereafter.
After several appointments with the psychologist, psychiatrist, and a lot of more Little Blue Crazy Pills, it was determined that my fear stemmed from self-fulfilled prophecy. If someone tells you something enough times, you begin to believe it. For three years, I had been told I was a horrible teacher, a horrible person, and I should leave. And I began to believe it. From there, that thought bubble grew until it was consuming my entire world and all thought processes.
My psychiatrist wrote on a piece of paper, "This situation does not define me as a teacher or a human being." I took that piece of paper and copied the mantra on post-it notes. Bright orange post-it notes that adorned any place I would look in my house. On the mirror in the bathroom, by the closet where I dressed in the morning, at the bottom of the stairs, and tucked safely inside my wallet.
As time went on, as I was exonerated, and as I began to take down the beasts that had taken root in my mind, those orange post-it notes began to lose their stickiness. As they fell, one by one, off the mirror, wall, door, steering wheel, and anywhere else I had posted them, so did the monsters that lived inside my head.
The mind is a powerful thing, in the fact that even after fear had enveloped it, it was able to bounce back. My confidence returned, my personality returned, and a love for life returned.
In hindsight, October 15 was rock bottom. But with rock bottom comes another direction, and really, the only direction.
Up.
You don't know when you've hit rock bottom, until you've seen rock bottom in hindsight. In my case, rock bottom was October 15, 2010. I had had several dissociation episodes at school, and after a horrible meeting with a counselor that worked for my school, I remember calling my best friend. I couldn't stop shaking, crying, or getting "out of my head," so-to-speak. I can't remember what I said, but I can't imagine it was a great conversation. When I got home from school that day, I relayed my day to Eric, again, shaking, crying, and essentially, feeling like I was losing my mind. In hindsight, on October 15, I had already lost my mind. I had lost it to PTSD.
I don't remember the conversations I had later that day, I don't remember what I did. But I will never forget the intense fear that I felt. I couldn't stop my mind from racing, I couldn't stop moving about my house, and I couldn't focus on any one task. I just wandered aimlessly, crying, shaking, and wondering if maybe someone should take me to hospital. To say I was emotionally distraught would be an understatement.
I felt like I was staring at the shambles that was my life. I once was confident, I once was excited about teaching, I once was a person people wanted to be around. With PTSD, you don't succumb to fear. Instead, fear envelopes you. It's not a shallow fear, it's a deep-seeded terror that you absolutely, cannot escape.
I don't remember if I ate dinner that night. But I do remember after dinner, there was a knock on my door. Sitting on the couch, my anxiety was sky-high, and that knock sent me running into the kitchen. I remember looking in at myself - my eyes red from crying all day, my clothes hanging off me because I had lost so much weight. My hair a mess from dragging my fingers through it all day and my make-up long gone. I stood in the kitchen, hiding from the front door, terrified of what that knock would bring.
I remember hearing Eric let someone in as I stood huddled against the kitchen cabinets, hands cupped around my mouth and nose, breath held. Who was it who was it who was it? When my best friend rounded the corner to my kitchen, I remember losing it. I sighed out a huge breath and instantly began convulsing with sobs that wracked my body. She carried a basket of goodies, like bubbles for a soothing bath, and a mug with a smurf on it that said, "I Love ME."
I think in that instant, when she saw me, she knew that no basket was going to fix what was going on in my head. So she hugged me, and held me, and told me I was ok. She had driven 45 minutes on a Tuesday night, to simply make me feel better. But the basket, the hugs, the pats on the back, wasn't enough ammunition for the war I was waging in my head.
I was able to calm down enough to talk to her. I don't remember what we talked about, but I remember she didn't stay long. Sometimes, I wonder if it's because what she saw scared her. It scared me.
When she left, Eric and I talked about going to the hospital. I felt like I was losing my mind. Instead, I called into work, sick, for the next morning, and told myself, and Eric, I was going to make an appointment with the family doctor the next morning.
I cried throughout the night, barely slept, and the next morning, made that appointment. I truly believe that appointment is what saved me. When I finally met with the doctor, I remember telling him that I thought something was wrong with me. Something was very, very wrong with me. I remember him probing me with questions, and I remember finally telling him everything that was going on. I started from the beginning, gave him the Reader's Digest version, and he patted me on the knee. He told me he'd be right back, and from there, left me, curled up on the exam table, still crying. When he came back, his exact words were, "We're going to get you in to see someone who will be in your corner." And with that, he made an appointment for me to see a psychologist across town, and filled a prescription for what a friend jokingly calls, "Little Blue Crazy Pills."
In hindsight, that was the worse day of my life. People will say the day they lose a loved one, the day they lose a job, the day they lose a pet is the worse day of their life. But the worse day of my life was the day I felt like I could not get away from the immense fear I felt. It was overpowering, more-so than the grief I felt the day my dad died, and the days thereafter.
After several appointments with the psychologist, psychiatrist, and a lot of more Little Blue Crazy Pills, it was determined that my fear stemmed from self-fulfilled prophecy. If someone tells you something enough times, you begin to believe it. For three years, I had been told I was a horrible teacher, a horrible person, and I should leave. And I began to believe it. From there, that thought bubble grew until it was consuming my entire world and all thought processes.
My psychiatrist wrote on a piece of paper, "This situation does not define me as a teacher or a human being." I took that piece of paper and copied the mantra on post-it notes. Bright orange post-it notes that adorned any place I would look in my house. On the mirror in the bathroom, by the closet where I dressed in the morning, at the bottom of the stairs, and tucked safely inside my wallet.
As time went on, as I was exonerated, and as I began to take down the beasts that had taken root in my mind, those orange post-it notes began to lose their stickiness. As they fell, one by one, off the mirror, wall, door, steering wheel, and anywhere else I had posted them, so did the monsters that lived inside my head.
The mind is a powerful thing, in the fact that even after fear had enveloped it, it was able to bounce back. My confidence returned, my personality returned, and a love for life returned.
In hindsight, October 15 was rock bottom. But with rock bottom comes another direction, and really, the only direction.
Up.
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