Having Thin Skin

During an argument recently I was told "Katie, you need to stop being so thin skinned"- which honestly is probably the dumbest way to try to resolve an issue with anyone, especially me, because yes I have thin skin, and I know that. I feel everything soo deeply- and you know what I'm ok with it. 

 TV commercials make me cry, emotional movies haunt me for days,  I have to work extra hard to see the "constructive" in constructive criticism, I struggle to make everything I work on perfect so it can be appreciated by others, I care deeply what other people think. Sure these all sound like negative things, and while the person working to insult me obviously sees my "thin skin" as a weakness I can tell you it is one of my strengths. Being thin skinned makes me sensitive and I wouldn't give that up. 

Being sensitive lets me feel everything, not just the soul crushingly terrible things in life, but the absolute beauty of Adeline's laugh- a sound so beautiful I feel as if my heart is being squeezed. I feel pride so intense over Cordelia's creativity I feel as if I might stop breathing for a moment. I feel love so deeply I would give anything for my family.  

 My sensitivity is one of the things that makes me a good friend- I care when my friends hurt, I notice when I come home and the people I share my home with are lonely- making it so that even if I am rushed and have 100 things to do- I stop and talk and try to make them feel better. My sensitivity makes me a good mother- allowing me to feel and understand the emotions of my five year old when she is tired or my four month old when she cries and cries. I give my all to relationships, and I am proud of that.

Nanea Hoffman said "if anyone ever dismisses you for being too sensitive, ask yourself this: who is more fragile? The person who is brave enough to say when something hurts? Or the person who cannot apologize or admit to having caused pain?" 

I am glad I am not as "thick skinned" and as insensitive as those who lash out at me and seek to make me feel bad. I will not apologize for being sensitive, I will not apologize for being willing to show or express my emotions- because my sensitivity and my emotions make me who I am, and honestly if you don't like who I am I'm really just fine seeing you go. 

Postpartum Depression and Anxiety

                  

I have never considered myself a writer- in fact when I started therapy as a teenager I was always so annoyed when the therapist told me to journal. However, now, and especially this past year, I have found comfort in putting my words, my thought, my feelings,  out there. I'm afraid that it makes this blog less cheerful, and maybe a little bit odd since I still blog sewing things, but this is me, and today I need to tell another part of my story.  

When Cordelia was born I was amazed by how tiny, and beautiful, and perfect she was. She had the sweetest nose, the perfect new baby smell, and the most darling fingers. I felt awed and amazed that I had grown this tiny, perfect little thing. 

The days were long, and I don't think I took much time to "check in" and see how i was doing. I knew I was at risk for Postpartum depression- because I had  a history of depression- and it was something my Dr had warned me about and something I had told my friends I was worried about when I was pregnant- but honestly I wasn't thinking much about it because there is just so much to adjust to with having a new baby. I forgot to check myself for the warning signs- depressed mood and mood swings, anxiety, trouble sleeping, crying, appetite issues, problems concentrating. 

I was able to more or less stay afloat until about three months- well sort of, I couldn't sleep at all, I was soo lonely and I worried all the time. Breastfeeding saved me because it was the only time I didn't worry- if I worried while feeding Cordelia she wouldn't eat. But at three months I got so depressed I didn't want to get out of bed, I was just so sad. I loved my baby, but I was fairly positive that there was someone else  who could be her mother who would do a much better job than I was. I really thought killing myself was a better option then letting my perfect, beautiful, baby girl live her life with a mother as flawed as I me. I didn't want her to ever know me to know how sad and broken I was.

 I didn't understand why I could have such a happy thing come into my life and yet feel so incredibly miserable- and the guilt from feeling like I wasn't "enjoying every moment" was incredible.  I found it almost impossible to make decisions because I knew that whatever I decided it had to be wrong, and what if whatever I did hurt my baby? 

 So I started to cope in the only way I knew how, I started to self mutilate again. At this point Brendon stepped in and took me to see a therapist- however when we told the therapist about my cutting she told Brendon if I did again he needed to bring me to the hospital and have me committed. I refused to go back to see her. I told Brendon I would get better on my own because I was petrified that if I went back they would decide I was unfit and they would take my baby away- or that eventually Brendon would decide I was unfit and have the court take my baby away from me because I was crazy. 

So I worked through the cutting on my own, I struggled through the depression without professional help, out of fear. Eventually, the depression eased, and I bonded deeply with Cordelia, I didn't want to kill myself anymore- but the anxiety never really went away, and I'm not sure I ever felt like a good mom.  

  

A little over a year ago I decided that I didn't have to live with anxiety- there had to be another option, I mean, normally people don't walk around feeling like this all the time? So we switched our insurance so I could have better access to care, I saw a Dr. and I started medication. 

A month after starting my meds I went to take Cordelia to the dentist and was told she wasn't insured (there was a paperwork problem) I called Brendon and kinda laughed about it- and then I cried because I realized that it wasn't my fault- bad luck didn't make me a bad mother and I 100% knew that in my heart. It was amazing, after five years I could finally feel like me again- a mistake was just that, a mistake, and not a sign that I was never supposed to have a kid. 

Not too long after that we got pregnant again, and that felt like a miracle. I had been feeling like God wasn't going to give me a second child because I just wasn't a good enough mother and couldn't handle having another one.  In this wonderful moment I realized that I would need to stop my medication while pregnant. During my 8.5 months of pregnancy I felt my anxiety creep back into the corners of my consciousness, my bed rest might have been a blessing because it allowed - me not to have to fight the panic cause by leaving the house.  

Things are different this time around and most of the time I can identify my emotions as irrational and as hormonal side effects. This time around I understand that mental illness is not a personal defect, and that life does not always have to feel like this.

 Regrettably knowing whats going on only helps so much, I struggle to remember to eat, I often can't sleep, I get angry and anxious, I have an extremely hard time calling people back and talking to them, and the depression can be so soul crushingly bad I sit in my empty bathtub and cry, and I often have to fight the idea that my family would be better off with a mother who didn't struggle so much just to keep her head above water.  But I know I will make it through this, my family loves and supports me, and I know that after i figure out what on earth happened to my insurance I can go back to taking a medication that helps correct the imbalance in my brain. 

However, here comes the part of this post where I ask you to do something:

Please, please, know and understand the symptoms of Postpartum Depression and Anxiety. Help the mama's in your life out by being present- visit, call, check in with them, let them know that everything will be OK, share your own struggles with PPD but don't ever tell  their feelings aren't real or they should just "get over it". Bring them a meal, invite them on a walk or ask if you can just sit on the couch and stare at the baby with them. People ask me all the "what can I do to help" and honestly I have no idea what to tell them- but just be there. I have a wonderful support group, please, please be part of that support group for someone else too.

 And if you are a Mama who is struggling, know that you are enough, know that no one loves you as much as your baby, know that you are stronger than this, know that you are important, and know that I will always be here for you. 

Just Look At The Flowers

Have you ever noticed that when one thing goes wrong it seems like everything goes wrong. February started by taking Cordelia to the Dentist only to be turned away because her health insurance wasn't active. It was embarrassing but I totally handled it with good humor. Then came the hours on the phone to fix it- followed by a glitch in the system that caused Brendon and I to become uninsured. I didn't take this as well. 

 I spent hours and hours and hours trying to fix it. The people who made the mistake treated me like a liar, and in the end, after a great recommendation from a neighbor, I contacted my delegates office. Hours and hours were still spent for a mediocre solution, but I am incredibly grateful for the assistance of my delegates office because I am convinced it wouldn't have ended up resolved without them. 

In the middle of this I received a letter from my school informing me that I was not accepted to the program I have been working towards for the past two years.  Then I had a scare because my beloved Cat's tooth broke. 

I have to admit, that at this point I was wondering when Carol would show up and tell me that it was ok "just look at the flowers". 

I think that this is the first time in my life I haven't had a goal for the future. I've had plenty of goals that have failed- but normally I have a second goal by the time I realize that what I am doing is totally the wrong thing for me. It's hard not to take this time to regret the time I spent busting my behind just to be left back at square one.  I feel a little restless, a little lost, and honestly- way behind in life. 

That's ok to admit right? I mean, one of the things I have learned about being an adult (and at 28 it still feels strange to call myself an adult) is that most people don't feel as "grown up" as we think they are. Many of the people we truly admire for being successful, intelligent, awesome, people go through periods of time where they feel lost. 

Many people sit and look at the people around them and think "man, why am I not as talented/successful/intelligent as all these other people in the room". The truth is - the house could always be a little bit cleaner- or more "finished", we could always do with some more money, work is often stressful. Life is hard, and we are all doing the best we can- including those people we think have it all together.   

I ran across a quote from Winston Churchill that goes "Success is stumbling from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm." This really spoke to me in a way that "when one door closes another opens" really hasn't. It reminds me that no matter how often I am hit by what seems like failure I can choose to fight to keep my enthusiasm and move forward. It reminds me that in life you can't control everything, but you can control your outlook. 

So while I don't know what's next, I do know that I am grateful for this smiling little girl, my strong supportive husband, a cat who turns out is perfectly fine with a lopsided smile, a roof over my head, and the realization that I don't have to figure it all out overnight- I just have to mover forward and enjoy the flowers. 

Where Does The Time Go

Some days I wonder why time won't move any faster. I'm sure you know what I mean, the days you pray you make it till nap time, or you watch the clock and wonder why 5 o'clock wont hurry up. As someone who suffers from depression some days I can't put my finger on what makes the day so long- why is seems that smiling and focusing on what someone is saying is painful, and hard. Some days are like walking through quicksand.

Some days time moves too fast. 

It's really weird how time can speed up in leaps and bounds. If I sit and think I can clearly remember what baby Cordelia smelled like. I can remember how she would wobble when she would try to pull herself up to sit. Her silly giggle, her funny faces when she ate, how tiny her fingers were. She was always so warm that when we would fall asleep together I would wake up covered in sweat. I remember how we would read "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" to her over and over, and when we would turn to the part when the caterpillar turned into a beautiful butterfly her eyes would get so big and she would look soo surprised. 

I wish I could slow time down. Sure it's nice to sleep all the way through the night, but I can remember how peaceful it was rocking Cordelia to sleep in the middle of the night, when it was just the two of us. I try not to dwell on these things too much. I cannot slow time down, I know that. At least one person stops me each day to remind me to enjoy my daughter while she is young because she will be a teenager before I know it. 

Next year I wonder what I will remember about this year. I hope I remember the look of determination on her face whenever she unwraps a crayon, or when she trys to open her fruit snacks by herself. How insanely independent she is, and the way she can make strangers laugh. I know I will remember how she grabs both my checks when she gives me kisses, how she hugs tight with both arms now, how when she is tired she climbs in your lap and snuggles like you are the most comfortable thing in the world.