My Own Damn Self

A few weeks ago, Maylene's class had a special presentation night and as I was sitting there, surrounded by the families, the couples and the children--completely out of nowhere, I had a severe anxiety attack.

While the kids were up on stage, I casually scanned the room and happened to glance at one of the performing children's parents. They looked at each other and smiled, as if to telepathically say, "we done good." An absolutely beautiful moment.

And to be honest, one I've never had.

From there, my thoughts started to unravel at warp speeds and before I knew it, I was sitting there fighting back a stream of tears and emotions.

In that moment, I just wanted to know what it felt like. To have the validation, to have the reassurance.. coming from someone else.

You see, as most single parents, my survival is dependent on my necessity to be my own cheerleader.

When the going gets tough, I don't get to send her off to dad to ease the pressure. When we run out of bread at 9pm and Maylene's asleep, I can't leave her with dad while I make a grocery store run. There's no, "go ask you dad." There's no one to split the driving, cooking, cleaning, disciplining, teaching, playing, homework, or bills with. And there's no one for me to glance over and smile at in a moment of pride, for our child.

For a moment there, I was feeling sorry for myself. I tried to imagine how different everything would be if this wasn't the way it had happened.

That's when it all came full circle for me. I realized, I don't think Maylene would be the same child that she is today without our given situation, however tough or imperfect it might be. Because of my sole income, she has never been spoiled. Because she has watched and helped me do it all by myself, she is independent. Because I'm the only one she's around most of the time, she's got an impeccable sense of humor. Wink wink.

Quickly, I looked up and saw my daughter on stage. Happy, entertaining and full of life. I realized that she was the one I needed to take a meaningful look at. I needed to take a moment to deeply reflect on who she is. To recognize, yes, she is a kid and no, she isn't perfect. But her heart is kind, she's growing, learning and healthy.

She makes me a proud mother and I realized that it is okay to pat yourself on the back, to tell yourself you've done good. It's more than okay, it's absolutely necessary.

It doesn't matter whether you're a single parent or not, or even a parent at all for that matter. You can't ever forget to be your own cheerleader. Don't let the absence of someone else keep you from telling yourself what you need to hear most. Honest reflection in parenting and any aspect of life is so important, but you have to make sure that your goals and shortcomings do not block the way for the most critical self-reminders: you are doing a DAMN good job and that does NOT change based on whether someone else is there to recognize it and tell you on a daily basis.

xo

Don't Blink

As you probably noticed, I've been on a bit of a blogging hiatus. I've gone to write so many times and I have stopped myself. As a single mother and an empath, it is often my first instinct to turn to writing when life gets tough. Not because I think that I am unique in my hardships or because I want to focus on the negatives, but because I know that my struggles are what have shaped me. Strengthened me. Made me who I am and shown me what I am capable of. What's that thing they say? "A smooth sea never made a skillful sailor." Well, I believe it. Writing helps me see that.

It has been almost exactly one year since my last post and, in reflection, I've been thinking about what has changed. What hasn't. What got easier, and what became more challenging. Either way, it's been helpful to acknowledge that, even when it doesn't feel like it, I am evolving. I am growing as a person and a parent and I am not the same mom that I was a year ago or five years ago.

My baby May isn't a baby anymore. I look at her and all of the cutie baby chub is officially gone. Just a few months away from 1st grade and it feels impossible, surreal.

It feels like yesterday I was lying in the operating room sobbing tears of joy, "let me see her, let me see her!" At the same time, I truly don't remember what life felt like before motherhood. I don't remember the way my heart loved or the way my soul experienced life. Of course it changed me, but I truly can't remember what it felt like to not love like this. Worry like this. Ache like this. Grind like this. Sleep (or not) like this. Care like this. All of that, but mostly love.

A fun little side note and tidbit about me, if you don't already know, is that I love quotes. I have a quotation mark tattoo on my back and I love that it confuses the hell out of people. The words, wisdom and experiences of others have always inspired me and stuck with me in a special way. Plus, I'm not always so eloquent, so I'm also a firm believer that "Someone else has already said it best." (American History X reference ftw!).

One of my favorite quotes that I read this past year is, "Motherhood: the days are long, but the years are short. Don't blink." There are few things I relate to more. Sometimes the reality of those words feel painfully true, and sometimes they feel wonderfully true. The days fly by and you don't even notice. You get to see your child growing, learning, evolving, changing, becoming. Who they are and who they are meant to be. But you also get to reflect on your shortcomings and failures as a parent. So many days I took the "lazy way" out. So many times I should have played with those stuffed animals on the bedroom floor before she grew out of them.

Parenthood is full of regret. For me it is, anyway. But I am learning too. It doesn't have to be a bad thing. My regrets have fueled growth. My shortcomings have sparked change. My failures have humbled me: I am not perfect, I will never be. But every single day I am trying. That is life. That is human. And that is the most important reminder of all: parents are still [just] humans.

xoxo

Signing off for a bit..

My heart feels heavy lately. I don't know if I can really find the words to explain it.

I look at my Facebook memories and I see 9+ years. But 9+ years of what? At first, MySpace and Facebook were a fun addition to life. I could chat with friends after I came home from school. I could share pictures and, at first, it felt like a way I could say the things I didn't have the courage to say in person.

But now, it just feels like a facade that I hide behind. Bluntly, social media has been devastating to my anxiety, depression, self-esteem and confidence. It has been devastating because I have allowed it to be.

I need some time to get away and clear my mind, so I am signing off for a bit. I need my real life back. I need myself back.

Likes do not make me a good person.

A beautiful face, a beautiful picture do not equate to a beautiful soul.

Arguing over issues from behind a keyboard has not changed anyone's mind in the history of EVER.

I am still passionate about the issues and movements that mean a lot to me, but I have been using the wrong platform.

Posting a status about it does not help the problem.

Gloating about my accomplishments and receiving "cyber praise" does not make me feel better about who I am.

Comparing myself to other mothers online does not make me a better mother.

It is a platform that is meant to show the surface, but I long for the depths of life.

We all have good intentions. But for me, it has been destructive. And I need a break. I long for more friendships. True, wholesome, raw friendships and relationships. I have unknowingly and unintentionally consumed my life with a social platform that has brought very little positivity into my life. I have used it as a crutch for my general and social anxiety for far too long. And now I feel that I can't get those years back.

Please call me, please text me, please show up to my house. If you run into me, please come up and chat. Please hang out with me. I want the realness and rawness back in my life.

I'm ready for a change.

Thursday Thoughts

Did your mom ever tell you, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"? She was right, and talking nicely also applies when you're talking to yourself, even inside your head.

Just yesterday, my brother was telling everyone about the time my daughter said, "I look so beautiful. Tell me how beautiful I look!" And even though it gave us all a good laugh, I wish I could take that confidence, save it all up and somehow keep her from ever letting go of that. Ever.

As a parent, one of my biggest fears is watching my child go through the same things that I struggled with. As I watch this world become colder and more critical, I want to ignite a confidence in my child that can't be dulled. No matter what anyone has to say to her.

More important than confidence, though, I want to instill in her a a genuine sense of self-awareness. For when you are self-aware, you truly can't be cut down by the words and thoughts of others. When you know your strengths and weaknesses intimately, you can take pride in what you do well and work on the things you lack. When you know yourself, others' perceptions of you cease to matter. This is what I want--for myself, for my daughter, for everyone. No one's words can hurt worse than the ones you tell yourself, so speak kindly and honestly.

"It all begins and ends in your mind. What you give power to, has power over you." --Leon Brown

Untitled

I've spent a long time going back and forth on whether I wanted to publish this post or not. I have felt embarrassed, ashamed and weak. I finally decided that I'm just going to put it all out there because a) I have no reason to be ashamed and b) if there is even the slightest chance that I can help someone going through a similar situation, I am JUMPING at the chance.

I've dealt with depression for years. I've always been pretty open about it. I've mentioned it a few times in previous posts. It has been a part of who I am for as long as I can remember. Up until a few months ago, my depression was ~sufferable but endurable~. I lived with it. It got hard sometimes, I struggled through. I cried a lot. Felt completely numb other times. Was exhausted, always. And I had many, many times that I felt I just wanted to die.

In November, I was admitted to the hospital for four days because I was suicidal. I hit a new low that I had never even fathomed before. I did NOT want to endure the pain of living for a single second longer. In my mind, there was absolutely NO chance that things could get better.

I felt doomed. Like there was absolutely no hope.

I felt guilty. I would tell myself, "This is against my religion. This is a sin. This is wrong. I am a bad person for having these thoughts. Only bad people find solace in death."

I felt like a failure as a parent. I felt like my daughter was better off without me, that she deserved a mother who could be more present, a mother that could be happy, like I was "supposed to be."

I felt defeated. So unmotivated that I didn't even want to move.

I felt selfish. Like I was letting my daughter down. Spending too much time worrying about myself.
I felt ungrateful. I knew I had a wonderful life and so many things to be thankful for and happy about.

I felt embarrassed. I felt weak. I felt like I was less of a person because I had "allowed myself to get so bad."

To make a long story semi-short, I spent four days in the hospital with no connection to the outside world whatsoever, aside from my Mom coming to visit me during the evening visiting hours. I fought it, I had no desire to stay. I had no faith that any of it was going to get better. My loved ones pushed me to stay and take care of myself. It was, by far, the hardest thing emotionally, that I have ever been through. But it was, EASILY, the most important thing I have EVER done for myself. The doctors took amazing care of me, and got me to the point that my depression is now manageable.

However, my whole experience still leaves me feeling a bit uneasy--and here's why: The stigma of depression and other mental illnesses is just unreal. If someone is in the hospital with a broken leg, they receive an outpouring of love and support. When someone suffers with depression, the fact that the sickness cannot be seen seems to give people the idea that it is make-believe.

I have a chemical imbalance in my brain.
I didn't DO anything to myself to create this chemical imbalance.
I am not less of a person because my brain's chemicals are imbalanced.
I am not looking for pity or attention because the chemicals in my brain are imbalanced.

At a time when people NEED love and support more than ever, they are met with shame and embarrassment. I am blessed beyond words because I have a wonderful, wonderful family and a few, select friends who have been overwhelmingly supportive. My fear is for the people who don't have that support. Because, even when you do have it, battling depression is still excruciating. Belittling what someone is going through just because their illness is not physical or visible is WRONG. More importantly, it cultivates the stigma and makes it harder for all of those dealing with depression to recover or even just treat it.

I hope this post is not met with any ill understanding, because I am just hoping to give light to an issue that I have dealt with (and continue to deal with), personally. Though my hope is that I will never have to see anyone in my life go through these things, I want to use this as an opportunity to share my hope to help anyone, in absolutely any way I can.

xoxo

"Happiness. Not in another place, but this place..

...Not for another hour, but this hour." --Walt Whitman

Too many times in my life have I waited and waited for the "big day" to find happiness. I'll be happy if I can just graduate. I'll be happy if I can just get a job. I'll be happy if I just have a clean house.

Today I was driving home from the store. Dave Matthews Band was playing on the radio, the windows were down and I looked in the rearview mirror at a smiling May, reading her new Barbie book in the back seat. I thought to myself--this is it. This is pure happiness. This is what it's all about.

For me, it's the moment when the Keurig starts to gurgle, signaling a full fresh cup. It's the moment when Maylene says to me, "I knew you could do it, mom. My mama never gives up!" (talk about a heart melter). It's lying down in freshly clean sheets. It's feeling the grass under bare feet. It's the pains you get in your stomach from laughing too hard. For me, happiness is finding the pure, unadulterated beauty in the little moments. Looking back, it's easy to see. My hope is to recognize these moments more frequently and to bask in them for as long as I can. For, too often, I'm looking to the future instead of embracing what I have right now. And that, my friends, is a very full, good life.

To The Person Who Has Never Lived With Depression: a PSA

There are just a few things that us, the collective "us," want you to know about our depression:

We would like you to stop telling us to be thankful for what we have. Being depressed doesn't mean we aren't thankful for our lives, our families, our friends, our homes, our belongings, etc. In fact, we feel things in such a way that we are so thankful for these blessings that sometimes we feel a heavy sense of guilt and undeserving. Our appreciation for the more meaningful things in life is sometimes the source of, and not the remedy for our depression.

We are going to push you away. We are going to test the limits of your love. We want to know how much we mean to our loved ones, we think it defines our worth. We wish we didn't have to be this way.

We have good days, too. We laugh, we smile, we joke. It doesn't mean the depression is "cured" or gone. It just means that maybe that day had clouds, but no rain.

I'm going to say it bluntly--sometimes being alive is exhausting. When your mind is endlessly running a million miles per hour, it is mentally draining. Every movement can be a stressor. Conversations can be overwhelming.

We're sick of being embarrassed and ashamed of something that we have little to no control over.

We're so glad that you're happy. Though we might be jealous of your happiness, we want you, more than anything, to be happy. Never in a million years would we wish you to feel the same as we do. We wouldn't wish it on our worst enemies. Though, all we want is someone to care enough to try to understand, try to understand that this is real.

And try to understand that we are trying. Every day, we are trying.