Anxiety/Depression

Hope and Being Better

By / August 31, 2019 / 3 Comments

About two years ago I stopped participating in mental health themed panels at conventions. The last one I was on, was focused on helping writers understand details of what it is like to live with depression, anxiety, bipolar, OCD, etc so that they could portray the conditions well in their writing. The audience was great, my co-panelists were great, I was just so raw and worn out from living with the difficulties that the conversation sent me sideways. I was sitting in front of a room of people, filled with anxiety. Every time I spoke up, I was flooded with doubt that my contribution was useful and a simultaneous fear that I’d said too much, that I’d exposed my life and my loved ones to scrutiny in ways I should not have. And then, from the shape of the conversations it was clear that some of the audience was also seeking affirmation, validation, or hope along with writerly education. That was what stabbed me to my core, because I wanted to say “yes this is hard, but it gets better.” Only I couldn’t. Me and my family were still in the middle of hard and better wasn’t even a glimpse on the horizon. It was too hard to sit there describing the hard without having hope. So I stopped volunteering for those panels.

Today I had a contrasting experience. A friend of a friend called me because they are seeking help for their son and they wondered about a program that my son has participated in. As I listened to her, I knew exactly the emotional path she is traveling. I was able to validate and sympathize. And as I spoke describing where my son is now in comparison to where he was, I saw so clearly that “better” is all around me.

I’m still not certain I’m ready to start volunteering to talk about mental health on panels again. In part that is because I’m going through a period of self doubt in relation to teaching at conventions and events. But it is also because I’m braced for “better” to vanish again. It was so hard for so long. And every advance seemed to be followed by a disastrous crash. So part of me expects everything to fall apart again, reverting to what the emotional / mental health chaos that was our normal for six years.

Except I don’t think things can revert. We’ve all changed shape so that we can’t fit back into the old patterns. Things could fall apart in new and exciting ways, but I don’t think we get to go back. For which I am exceedingly grateful. I’m also truly grateful that this time when I was giving someone useful information, I was also able to heap on a serving of hope to go along with it.

Anxiety Shows Up

By / April 19, 2018

Yesterday anxiety and depression were eating me alive. It is strange how they seep in and take over all my reactions without me noticing what is happening. It’s like being busy with a project and suddenly noticing I’m hip deep in flood water. That has alligators in it. I haven’t been an effective worker most of the week. I’ve been wading through sadness and foggy thinking. Then last night I got hit with a series of micro panic attacks triggered by the tiniest of things.

Laundry needs to be switched = jolt of adrenaline and huge spike of crushing guilt because obviously I am failing at adulting in that spells doom for my entire future.

Daughter shows me piece of art = jolt of adrenaline and surge of worry because what if the client (who is my friend) doesn’t like it, and what if they get so angry that it destroys the friendship, and then that leads to a huge rift in the social circle which spells doom for my entire future.

You get the idea. Small event = my entire future is doomed. After half dozen or more of these, I finally paused long enough to think “hey, maybe this isn’t normal.” And then I remember that this is exactly what one of my medicines is for. It is a short-acting “rescue” medicine whose job is to cut through anxiety and help my brain re-set so it can remember that we don’t have to react to everything as if it is a life threatening emergency which potentially leads to permanent doom. So I took my medicine, and I slept it off. Then today was, by far, the most effective day I’ve had all week.

I know exactly why the anxiety and depression showed up this week. Kids have stuff going on that is legitimate cause for grief and emotional processing on my part. My job in both cases has been to let go and get out of the way so that the kids can handle their own things. I have to let go of things I pictured for their future because their futures need to be what they imagine.

Sadly, knowing the causes of the anxiety doesn’t actually prevent it. But I can re-set, recalibrate, and not let the anxiety win.

Small Triumphs and Sadnesses Swirled Together

By / April 11, 2018 / 1 Comment

Our shirt Kickstarter closed yesterday. It did better than I’d expected, which helps plug a financial gap between the last book release and the next one. The vast majority of the money will go straight into printing shirts and shipping them. However the sliver that is left will pay our bills for a month or two, so that’s significant.

My 20yo has settled into his school and last night he figured out how to order pizza using his own money and have it delivered to him. It seems like a small thing, but it is hugely empowering to him to have an income and to be able to summon food that he likes instead of being at the complete whim of the cafeteria.

I spent a few minutes talking to one of my nephews who is the same age as my 15yo and who will be attending the same high school next year. My nephew energetically described his class schedule for next year, which he picked so he could be with his friends. It is full of honors classes, AP classes, and probable after school activities. Planning my son’s schedule was all about managing stresses and trying to tune things so he could function without being overwhelmed. The contrast was stark and I’ve cried a bit about the life limitations my son has to deal with.

My 17yo is far more stable than she was last year at this time, but there have still been absences for mental health days. I looked at her grades and realized that the absences have spawned missed assignments and tests. There are a couple of grades to rescue, and the thought makes me tired. We are always rescuing grades either for this kid or for the 15yo. It makes me weary.

Weather has warmed up and we’re starting to have spring flowers. I love spring flowers, they make me happy.

On Monday I had an enormous and multi-faceted To Do list. I plowed through almost everything on it. Yesterday was less effective, but already this morning I’ve gone through several tasks. The difference is in part because I’ve semi-abandoned the task app on my phone because it simply wasn’t helping me organize and plan in ways that work for my brain. I’ve reverted to hand-written task lists in my notebook. Amazing how much productivity goes up when I stop trying to use a broken tool.

Last night Howard and I had a deadline readjustment conversation. As self employed people we are somewhat in charge of setting our own deadlines. There is always the external deadline of “let’s not run out of money” but meeting that requirement can be done in numerous different ways. Sometimes we make a plan, but then need to shift the plan based on progress and realistic assessments of work yet to be done. The next two Schlock books will now be released after GenCon instead of before. Also Howard loosened his own deadline for wrapping up the current Schlock book because he realized that he needs to give the story the space it needs instead of trying to finish it on a specific (and unnecessary) schedule. The result of this conversation is shifting some priorities on the task list, also feeling less stress in the immediate future.

I’ve been making small adjustments in my days in keeping with my January resolution to build a life that is less driven by anxiety. If I want my life to be different, then my days need to be different. So I’ve been including more reading, more handicrafts, more shared experiences like games or movies on our big screen, less Netflix on a small screen with ear buds. I do better some days than others, but small changes make a significant course correction over time.

And now it is time to get to work doing all the things.

Welcomed Back

By / March 10, 2018

I had a moment of quiet delight when I opened my laptop to enter the Wifi password and I discovered that my computer (Calcifer) had already connected. Calcifer remembers this place. So do I. This is my third visit to Woodthrush Woods. Even on my first visit the house felt welcoming and familiar, as if I’d been here before and only forgotten. The exact quote from a blog post I wrote at the time was:

I used to dream about my grandma’s tiny house. In the dreams I went upstairs and through a door to discover that her house had extra rooms and floors. Stepping into Woodthrush Woods was like stepping into one of those dreams, my grandma’s house–only different and bigger.

This visit there is actual familiarity along with that welcoming feeling. My first visit to this house is chronicled in a series of posts starting here. And my second visit starting here. That first visit was five years ago, time slipped past while I was not measuring. The switch over to cruises for the Writing Excuses retreats was the right choice for everyone concerned, but it did mean there were fewer events to draw me to visit this house.

Reading back over the posts I wrote five years ago, during that first retreat, I can see how far I have come. Back then I barely even had the word Anxiety to describe what I was wrestling with. It is so obvious now that anxiety was the issue, but in 2012 I didn’t know that. That trip was six months before the kids began hitting mental health crises. It was before all the diagnoses, tears, grief, and depression. It was back when my whole life was shaped by my anxieties and I couldn’t even see it. That trip dragged it out into the light and demonstrated why it was a problem. Since that trip I’ve traveled a long and winding emotional road. Coming back into this place shows me how far I have come. I am stronger and more fully myself that I was five years ago. My family has a nuanced lexicon of ways to self-assess and manage the now-acknowledged mental health issues that each of us deals with daily.

Pausing to acknowledge the road I’ve traveled these past five years is apparently the first work of this writer’s retreat morning. Time for the next thing.

Describing Anxiety

By / March 7, 2018

I struggle with how to describe my children’s mental issues to the professionals (teachers, doctors, therapists) who are supposed to help them. Saying “anxiety disorder” is easy, and for some professionals it is sufficient. They instantly understand the adaptations my son needs in order to function in their space. In fact, I’ve had some teachers who adapt so automatically that I don’t even have to have the anxiety conversation at all, they automatically create an environment where my son feels safe and can function. But if the words “anxiety disorder” don’t instantly garner comprehension, I’m left trying to describe how this nebulous thing impacts every minute of my son’s life. Sometimes I’m required to demonstrate the level of disorder, how far outside the norm my son is, and why “all teens have some anxiety” doesn’t cover my son’s experiences. I hate having to prove disorder because it forces me to confront the extent of the impact anxiety has on my son’s life. It rips away the illusion of normality. It requires me to re-process my guilt and insecurity about how I handle his anxiety. It makes me grieve again.

I am fortunate in that this son is my youngest. Most of the professionals I’m dealing with have already worked with me for one of my other children. These professionals have developed a level of trust in me, my competence, my assessment of what is needed. I don’t get nearly the push back that I used to get when making requests. However this has also created some disadvantage for my son that I’m now trying to rectify. I already knew about so many resources that I picked whichever was most convenient. His diagnosis was done at a university clinic. His medicine is managed by a primary care doctor. His therapy was done at a different university clinic. His schooling is partially done at home with heavy involvement from me. The diagnostic picture is scattered and, as we face high school next fall, it needs to be consolidated. He needs a psychiatrist who will use professional expertise to look at the whole picture and help us see what we need to do to help this young person navigate his way into adulthood.

So I called the psychiatrist who helped me with two other children. And I was halted by the gatekeepers at the front desk. “We’ve had such an influx of people who should really be seen by their General Practitioner, so now we require a referral from a GP first before we’ll make an appointment.” Sometimes I can talk my way past this sort of barrier when I’m certain it shouldn’t apply to me. Not this time. The receptionist was “happy to pass a message to the doctor (my ally) to see if he’s willing to waive the requirement.” Which leaves me making an appointment with the GP and hoping that the psychiatrist’s knowledge of me will cause him to knock the gates open from the inside.

And it leaves me worried that perhaps they’re right, perhaps I’m blowing this anxiety thing out of proportion, perhaps he behaves as he does because I enable it rather than getting strict to force him to overcome it. Then I remember his reaction to small life events like having a book confiscated in class or having an unexpected assignment, and I am reminded that it is not normal to react to such incidents by curling into a crying, shaking ball of stress.

My son and I have worked hard to untangle these behaviors. He’s gotten so much better at cooperating with me to analyze why his reactions happen. We hope that is a step toward making it not happen. Because when he can’t make himself face an assignment, when facing the assignment begins to trigger panic, he withdraws and begins reading in class, which looks like laziness or lack of engagement. Him reading in class creates challenges for teachers when they have to tell other kids to pay attention. And the work piles up because his brain represses it out of existence. I function as an outside check/enforcer to require him to face what made him anxious. But it can take us multiple days to dig down and figure out what is blocking him from doing an assignment. (Things that block an assignment: if it has creative writing in it, if it requires synthesis from reading instead of regurgitation, if it requires a group to complete, if it requires presentation in front of others, if it requires drawing rather than copying a diagram, if he is upset or anxious because of some other event, if he doesn’t feel well, if he is upset from forcing himself to confront a block on an assignment. Basically 3/4 of all assignments have some sort of block in them.) Given time to walk away from an assignment and come back to it, he can almost always overcome the block and do the work, but it means that assignments pile up. And I know some of the teachers get frustrated/baffled about why he won’t do them. (If he can do it after school today, why couldn’t he just do it in class yesterday?) Then we reach the last week of the term (this week) when he has to plow through work or he will fail classes. The pressure of the deadline helps him break through blocks. It also raises his ambient stress level so that any disruption to the “get the work done” plan results in full blown panic.

Which is why this week is the week I remembered that it is really time for a single professional to re-examine the entire diagnostic picture. And I make phone calls. Because I can’t run interference for him forever. And he while he could possibly build an adult life with no writing, drawing, or group work, he can’t build an adult life with no stress or unexpected events.

I don’t have answers. I wish I did. This kid of mine is so courageous every single day, in ways that look (from the outside) like he is being obstinant, disrespectful, or not trying. I know some of the people in his life get to glimpse the courage and humor inside him. Most just get to see the top of his head because he’s reading, not meeting their eyes, and not speaking. Today I go to our GP and have a conversation which will likely be short and end in a referral, but there is always the chance that a longer explanation and justification might be required to convince the GP that what I think is needed is actually needed. I have to remind myself that these outside checks are good, that having someone outside with a different perspective can be valuable. That’s why we go to professionals in the first place. But I hope that the conversation will be short, and that I won’t spend the next few days spinning in self doubt over how I’m trying to help my son.

Rising Above the Fog

By / January 12, 2018

This morning I read a post from a woman whose blog I follow. In that post she expressed how chaotic and overwhelming her life felt. She has some special needs kids, and recent political turmoil has really hit home for her. Because of all of this, and some depression she’s battling, she feels like she is flailing around in the dark. She’s written posts like this one before and probably will again as she tries to find a new balance. What struck me this time has far more to do with me than with her, because this time I did not have an instant resonance with her emotional state. I spent a long time feeling as she does: lost, overwhelmed, continuing to move forward with determination instead of real hope. Today I could see all those things in her, but I could also see how much of her state is colored by the depression and anxiety that dwells in her head. She has honest cause for grief and an emotional reset, but grief, depression, and anxiety are darkening every day in ways that make her whole life difficult. This was true with me as well, but today’s reading also showed me that I’d emerged from it, at least a little.

When I was a child, my family would drive along I-70 into the Sierra Nevada mountains. It was a winding road with sharp drop offs down steep canyons. It is a stunning (if nerve wracking) drive full of amazing vistas. One trip was beset with fog. We drove slowly and carefully because we could only see a few feet in front of our vehicle. But then from one moment to the next, the fog was gone. We had climbed up above it, and we could see sunshine and a landscape of clouds, bordered on either side by tree covered mountain peaks. It was beautiful and mysterious. Such a surprise to be able to see so far when only moments before we’d only been able to see right in front of us.

I’m reluctant to draw any grand plans or conclusions from the fact that I’ve emerged above the fog this week. Part of me would like to state that my intention to live in less fear is working, the changes I’m making in confronting anxiety are working. However, there are so many other factors at play here. My kids who have all been struggling in pairs, trios, or quartets for the past five years, are suddenly not struggling in the ways they were before. Tipping over into the next year released some funds which make me less stressed about finances this month than I was last month. All of these things combine together and the fog vanishes. Also, it isn’t completely gone. I have to remember that just yesterday morning a small event had me curled up in bed with a fort of pillows so that I could cry in safety. For an hour. That sort of thing doesn’t really fit into the “I’m all better now” theme song. I’m not “all better” but I did get up, see the anxiety attack for what it was, and then move on with my day while doing my best to not berate myself for letting anxiety win.

On that foggy drive, we dipped back into the fog multiple times as the road curved up and down the mountainside. I’d expect the same from any emotional healing process. I’m still going to get ambushed by grief or anxiety. However I’m still determined to build an existence where anxiety and depression are no longer the soundtrack of my life.

Confronting Anxiety

By / January 5, 2018 / 3 Comments

I am learning how to be less afraid. This is not an easy task since anxiety is so omnipresent in my life that I often don’t recognize I’m responding to it. This year I’m trying to take daily small steps to confront the anxiety and see it for what it is. To help with that effort, I’ve got a page in my journal where I write down small things I do to confront my anxiety. Here are some examples from the last three days:

1/2/18: I did not go back to speak with my son’s service coordinator after my son left. It would only have served to vent my fears, not provide the coordinator with additional useful info. The coordinator and my son will build their own relationship. I need to stay out as much as possible. If the coordinator has questions, he’ll ask me. But I really wanted to go back.

1/3/18: I donated a hardwood dresser even though the likely replacement will be IKEA pressboard. I don’t need to be the keeper of historical dressers. Particularly not partially broken ones from 1980 that I picked up at a garage sale. It took an hour to convince my brain I had not made a terrible and life altering mistake.

1/4/18: I sat with the anxiety of not knowing how my son is doing at his school. And I didn’t contact him or his service provider to resolve it.

1/5/18: I could hear Howard and my daughter’s voices upstairs, but not the words. Tones told me that Howard was in lecture mode. I did not go and check to make sure that Howard wasn’t making daughter upset. She’s an adult. They have a great relationship. If he was annoying her, that’s between them. No point in me showing up to referee. It is not my job to make sure all conflicts are prevented or resolved, nor my job to ensure that my loved ones always have good relationships.

1/5/18: I started the day with a vague feeling that I wanted to cry or curl in a ball. There is no reason for it. My son is not doing fine at his new school. He called and told me all the ways he is struggling, but he is struggling in exactly the ways he needs to struggle in order to grow. If I try to step in to make him feel better, I will only prevent that growth. Instead, I took hold of my own brain and focused on something that distracted me from want-to-cry, until after the feeling faded.

These are only a few examples. Many more things made me slightly or significantly anxious during each day. Keeping the list is helping me notice how pervasive anxiety is in my life. Noticing the anxiety and naming it is a step toward not letting it win.

On the Stairs

By / November 10, 2017

It was six pm and I was standing on the stairs watching my daughter on the floor of the landing while she had a panic attack. Life was too much. She could never do it all. She was failing at everything.

Every time I’m faced with one of these meltdowns, whether it be a panic attack, depressive episode, or OCD freak out, I have to choose. Do I use this moment as a learning opportunity, carefully nudging the person in front of me toward realizations? Most of the time I can so clearly see the choices they made that directly contributed to the meltdown. However, mentioning those choices often leads to lecture mode and the person shutting me out. Do I recognize the actual suffering in front of me and sit down with them in sympathy? This is more comfortable to me than confrontation, and thus I risk setting a pattern of meltdown and rescue. Except we all need rescue sometimes. Do I ignore both the sympathy and education paths to focus on management skills where they learn to set emotion aside and get stuff done anyway? Sometimes a little coaxing gets them moving, and motion makes things better. Other times, my push makes the meltdown worse, harder to pull out of. No choice is obviously right or wrong. The road is never clear.

Mostly as I stood there, leaning on the wall, I thought about how tired I was. How I’d spent several hours of afternoon helping another kid with his home school, and forcing us both to confront the fact that he is, once again, failing some of his in-school classes. That made me tired, discouraged. Because I’d thought things were going well. I’d thought he was stepping up and handling things. But he wasn’t. And we had to negotiate a carrot-and-stick agreement which hopefully will provide him with the necessary motivation to actually do the work and turn it in. I have an ongoing part in the motivational plan, a reoccurring task set, and I have to be willing to actually apply the agreed upon consequences. Even if the result is an unpleasant experience for everyone.

I also thought about how the other son has been in the depths of depression for days, completely unwilling to talk to me about it. He doesn’t want my answers. He rejects my experiences of depression and the tool set that I offer for dealing with it. He is absolutely sure that my answers won’t work for him. It is the same impasse we’ve had to varying degrees for several years now. A change is coming with the new year. It’ll be a big shift. It might finally offer him a way forward. It might be his path to a brighter and happier life. Or it might make everything much harder and darker. We have a long stretch of weeks before I can find out how the change goes. And that makes me tired too. Waiting is exhausting. Particularly when I have to watch him being miserable while I wait.

This all presses on me as I look at my daughter on the floor. The largest thought in my brain is that I really don’t want to help manage yet another emotional tangle. I was weary. In that moment, and many moments like it, I was irritated to have to deal with the excess of emotion. It was late in the day, I wanted to be unwinding and relaxing, not trading work effort for parenting effort. And I felt bad for these selfish thoughts and emotions. Maybe the right answer would have been for me to walk away. To let her figure it out for herself. I considered doing it, but I have to be completely convinced that leaving the person alone is the right course, and even then I’ll spend the time in a state of anxiety, actively preventing myself from going to them and trying to make it better. Walking away is as exhausting as staying.

So I stayed near and made exploratory statements down each possible path to see which one got a positive response. The solution turned out to be a blend: covering her with a weighted blanket and leaving her alone while I sorted a few jumbles of things in her room. Then she centered herself enough to request a reprieve from some home school assignments, which I granted. We made a plan for her to get math help the next day, and she pulled out her psychology homework. She ended up showering and heading to bed rather than completing the work, but she’ll likely be able to do it tomorrow without difficulty. We hope.

After all is sorted and calmed, I sit by myself with my computer. This wasn’t actually all that difficult a day. Not compared to days from the last several years. The ongoing struggles are real, but all of the kids are far better able to articulate what is going on inside their heads. They’re able to discuss problems and solutions with me in ways that they could not before. They’re able to listen when I explain why a situation is frustrating to me, instead of the faintest hint of my frustration turning them into curled up balls of stress panic. I can clearly see how much better off we all are than we were.
I’ll take that.
Tomorrow.
When I’ve had some time to rest.

Teens, Screens, and Mental Health

By / October 11, 2017 / 2 Comments

I’ve seen this article being linked from social media: Have Smart Phones Destroyed a Generation? I have an immediate negative reaction to the title, because I think it is a harsh judgement to call an entire generation “destroyed” when the oldest of them is a mere 22 years old. We should probably allow them to exit adolescence and become in charge of their lives before we can make sweeping judgements.

Fortunately the content of the article is far more in depth and less inclined to make sweeping judgements. It has data as well as anecdotes and is cautious about drawing conclusions based on that data. However one point it does make very clear: teens who are on their screens more are less happy and teens who are on their screens less are happier. This fact automatically puts me on the defensive because my kids are on their screens a lot and the implication is that if I would just limit their screen time we would have less trouble with mental health issues. (My brain therefore comes to the “obvious” conclusion that it is All My Fault because I was not a good enough parent.)

However, one thing that the article fails to acknowledge is that correlation is not causation. Are the teens less happy because they’re on their screens more or are they on their screens more because they were already less happy and screens are a safe retreat? I don’t think there is a clear causation either way because it depends on the teen and it depends on the day. I know that when my teens emerge from depression they automatically reduce their screen time without any intervention from me. So I’ve come to rely on screen time as an indicator. It is a piece of the puzzle as we’re trying to help everyone find a balanced life that is basically happy.

I talk to my teens about all of this as we’re discussing how to improve their lives. We also discuss Point of Diminishing Returns. Because I believe that short exposures to social media add to my life and make it happier, however prolonged exposure ends with me having wasted time and probably lowered my mood. The goal of these discussions is to teach them how to self regulate. I’ve never found much success with imposing limits on screen time. I fail at it because I can’t stay consistent. I’ve done much better when I focus my energy on luring them out into non-screen activities, reminding them of the things they enjoy doing when screens are not available.

Ultimately the generation defined in the article is going to find its own way forward. They will be different from their Gen X parents, just as the Gen X generation was different from their Boomer parents. Right now they struggle less with addictions and teen pregnancy, but more from mental health issues. All life choices are trade offs and it is up to individuals to find their own balance in life.

Seeing Growth

By / August 13, 2017

It is Sunday morning and my house is quiet. This is because when I went to bed last night, at midnight, all four of my children were sitting together in front of the TV, talking and laughing uproarously. They were watching a replay of sorts that is built into the new Zelda game (Breath of the Wild), however the game wasn’t the point. They were happy to be together, to make each other laugh, and to have a shared experience. They were so happy that I kind of wanted to stay and just listen, but it was a sibling thing and mom being in the room changed the shape of it. So I listened from upstairs where I couldn’t hear the specific words, just the bursts of laughing.

I have to pause and acknowledge this moment. We have reached a space where I can leave my children to take care of themselves and their siblings without worrying someone will have a massive meltdown. I don’t fear that the issues of one will ignite the issues of another into a big emotional fight. They are all relaxed and happy after this summer where school backed off and they all spent time working together. Then they spent time with just siblings in the house, learning how to take responsibility for themselves and the house. At this moment there are no open wounds either emotionally or physically. Nothing hurts, not even the scars.

In two weeks time school will begin and bring with it a flood of responsibilities and stresses. That flood may knock us off balance, some of my kids may go back to fighting to keep their heads above water, but I don’t think they’ll struggle as much as they did last year and the year before (and the year before that, and the year before that. It’s been four years now with them all struggling.) We are all measurably better than we were last year. We’re stronger, we have more tools to build rafts so we don’t have to swim all the time. For the first time in years I look forward to the beginning of school with interest instead of fear. Because, for the first time in a long time, I believe that they have strength in themselves to handle whatever comes without breaking.

This is a better place. I need to pause and note it before things get hard again.