Posted on Sep 13, 2022
Where did September sneak in from? Seems like moments ago it was hotter than Hades outside. Now the air feels crisp in anticipation of what’s to come. I personally love the changing seasons—fall being my favourite. I love the changing colours, cooler temps, and autumn scents. And fall fashion has always fascinated me: the rich colours, the texture of the fabrics. It will get monotonous as everything else does; but for now, it’s fresh and new—a sense of readiness is in the air.
Back in June, I wrote about writing akin to breathing. I find I am revisiting that concept as I attempt to write for “my public” once again. What shall I write about? My mind defaults to subjects and musings that would benefit clients. Then I am reminded that this writing exercise is for me. It somehow is a different question to ask myself, What do I want to write about? What part of me needs expression?
I experienced an odd a-ha moment of sorts earlier this week when I realized one of mental illnesses keeps doing its thing even though the symptoms are masked by medication. My dysthymia operates like an undercurrent in a river or ocean: can’t always be seen or felt, but it’s there none-the-less. And my ‘low mood disorder’ did one of its dips end of last week.
I didn’t recognize it at first, thinking it was a Chronic Fatigue crash. But something “twigged” (is that a word?) when I thought of calling my sister and didn’t “feel like it.” Since when do I not want to talk to my sister? And I realized I had lapsed into a depressive episode, not a CFS crash.
Now in the past, these dips were catastrophic in comparison. The Netflix series, MAID, did a fantastic job portraying a major depressive episode using visual imagery. I do not miss the abyss, nor what it took to crawl out. And for the longest time, I blamed myself for these episodes and would over analyze every detail to figure out what I had “done wrong.”
Looking back, major depressive episodes always felt like punishments. Likely influenced by my conservative Christian upbringing. By the way, I highly recommend A People’s History of Christianity: The Other Side of the Story by Diana Butler Bass, if you experience inner conflict about your faith and what it looks like “en masse.” But that’s for another time of writing and reflection.
I will have to sit some more with depression as punishment; but the previous realization is that I have these slumps on a semi-regular basis. These slumps are “just” my illness and in no way a reflection of my personal worth, value, or capabilities. Before being properly medicated, I did learn to ride them out. Like a surfer riding a wave. I think I have lost touch with that coping strategy and have reverted somewhat to over analysis.
This is not situational depression with an attendant sense of powerlessness. Although that can develop if not kept in check. This is an ebb of a tide. I can no more control its existence than I can interrupt the moon’s influence on the ocean. All that being said, there are usually triggers for these episodes.
I suspect it was my participation in the 4P Festival events. I put myself “out there” and conversed with strangers, which is draining at the best of times. Hence my initial assumption I had “over done it” and was crashing. My limited energy (mental or physical) didn’t return. I was concerned about my diminished ability to play my morning word game. My sleep was interrupted. And of course, all signs associated with CFS as well.
It’s tricky having illnesses with overlapping symptoms; but the difference was the overall malaise, with the sister phone call averseness cuing me in. I can talk to my sister during a crash, I just slur the occasional word and have poor word retrieval at times. This was different. And led to realizations and reflections.
I have dysthymia: a chronic low-mood disorder (also referred to as Eeyore Syndrome) with periodic major depressive episodes. While these episodes don’t look or feel like they used to, they are still there. Dips still happen periodically (but not with any predictability). I am grateful for the medications that help manage the symptoms; but I am remiss to think I’m cured or out of the woods, or more aptly, deep water.
The meds are like a life jacket that keep me afloat when my boat capsizes—which it does when the undercurrent pulls too strongly. When simply floating in my boat in calm-looking waters, my meds (aka life jacket) remind/reassure that I will be okay if/when I fall into the water. So the life jacket (meds) serve a purpose during calm as well as turbulent times. Without the meds, my mind is chaotic and my boat is easily capsized. I drown and resurface repeatedly.
Did I know this is what needed expression when I began this entry? Nope. Just had an inkling of where to start. And that is the hope I extend to you—that you find your starting point. Too often we worry about “the end” before we even begin.
Happy Travels! Barb
By the way, I’m still having troubles with images in my blog. If I want it seen via mobile or tablet, I get doubles in desktop view. If I set featured image, it doesn’t show up in mobile or tablet views. If you know code and how to change it, I’d love to hear from you. Or even better, if you know Word Press and how to fix this double image in desktop view, I’d love to hear from you! I’d also love to hear about your adventures in life, so feel free to comment.
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Posted on Aug 19, 2022
Being a person who is considered small in stature (and once upon a time in girth), the first description is quite apt—especially considering the context in which this musing developed. I have been known to be lively given the right circumstances. Determined and courageous definitely fit my personality in general. There is not much I let get me down—at least not for long.
However, having OCD, PTSD, GAD among my alphabet soup of conditions, I am easily triggered at times. The most frequent shame message to surface is that of being in trouble or getting in trouble. And not the mischievous kind. 😉 Most recently, I interacted with a new case manager at an insurance company on behalf of a client. I couldn’t read his response for a few days because of this shame message. It took a bit of time to process. In the end, as per usual, the trigger was all for naught as his response involved a version of backpedalling rather than further provocation or recrimination. Whew.
But I misspoke. The internal struggle was not all for naught as it prompted me to reclaim my feistiness. As said person who is short of stature (and once upon a time of girth), I often heard the infuriating phrase: You’re cute when you’re mad. Talk about not being seeing or heard! But that’s for my memoir. The point is, once upon a time, I was feisty. Full of spunk. Had a strong will and was unafraid of showing it in difficult circumstances or when challenged. I remember that younger version of myself. Even though pathologically shy, I somehow managed to be feisty when circumstances called for it. Due to my shyness, this spunk often took people by surprise.
At the time of writing, I was working through a meditation book on self-compassion, using it more for journalling prompts. Quiet reflection is a form of meditation; I just don’t follow a structured approach. Here are some of those reflections from that time of processing my getting-into-trouble shame message…
“I did well, not poorly, speaking up for my client. His quick reply (which I haven’t read yet) triggered my internal shame message of being in trouble. And what the hell is wrong with being in trouble? It means I stood up for someone or something. I no longer need to fear being in trouble. I need to embrace it. To raise a little hell! My spirited, feisty self has nearly been squelched twice—first in my adolescence and then in my marriage…I need to own /re-embrace being feisty—not disavow it…Well, I gotta say I was NOT expecting that in this journal entry [about being receptive to good things including opportunities]. Self-compassion at its finest. 😊 I do miss that feisty girl. She was (and is) pathologically shy; but she did have spirit and gumption.”
In my youth, my world was a weird mix of “I can do anything” and debilitating insecurities (along with undiagnosed anxiety and depression). I had this sense of untapped potential, if only people gave me a chance/believed in me. Somehow, I was expected to believe in myself when that was never modelled for me. No one showed me how to do that. That actually stayed with me for a very long time. Even when I was studying for my Master’s degree in counselling there was this sense of: “If only I could get my shit together…”
Well, my poop is no longer in a group. I think a better analogy would be that it’s been spread liked fertilizer. My life has expanded and grown. I have evolved from someone who had no idea who she was to someone who is getting the hang of owning her own life—however it looks or whatever it entails. This also involves reclaiming my feistiness and seeing “getting in trouble” through a whole new lens.
What character trait do you struggle owning? What lens may need tweaking to see it in a different light?
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Posted on Jul 26, 2022
So. For those interested in the follow up to my comment on Facebook about a nasty trauma trigger, here goes.
When I handed my business card to a tradesman so he could have my email address to send me an estimate, he commented on my profession of counselling therapist. When explained what I did, he replied that you just have to have faith. I replied something to the effect that it would nice if it worked that way. He then made a comment about believing in science and made a reference to everything being in the good book.
Now I have heard comments like these my entire life. I was raised in the proverbial “Christian” home. I have even been prayed over in my early twenties and sent many desperate pleas heavenward during my teens to relieve me of my constant depression (read: self-hatred and suicidal thoughts).
I did not receive any help managing my depression until my mid-twenties when I finally had a good medical doctor who sent me for a referral to a psychiatrist and a trial group for women with depression. My diagnosis of dysthymia didn’t help much though. Anti-depressants managed the daily “low mood” but not the dips into major depressive episodes; and I didn’t remain on them long. I also didn’t understand my diagnosis until I studied counselling at the Master’s degree level. Then lights came on and reading about bi-polar resonated with me even though I do not have manic episodes.
Dysthymia is on the bi-polar spectrum, but remains on the depression end. I am at risk for developing manic episodes if I am not careful and must be aware of drugs (including cannabis) that can trigger a manic episode. No, thank you. The depression is enough to contend with along with my other diagnoses of General Anxiety Disorder, OCD, and PTSD. I also have social anxiety that hasn’t been officially labelled, but my symptoms fit the criteria. This last one is likely one of my most disabling mental health conditions that I have had since early childhood (aka pathological shyness). Add to all that my Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, and you have quite the alphabet soup that impacts my daily functioning.
Anyways. This tradesman’s comments about having faith and everything being in the good book is what triggered me. I am still fighting the internalized shame messages associated with those words. My mental illnesses of depression and anxiety made my life exceptionally difficult during my teens and early twenties. The inner struggle was real. Growing up in a religious environment with an attitude of “the devil made me do it” and satan being blamed for human wrong doing and/or illness added to the pressure. I was led to believe that I wouldn’t have these terrible thoughts and feelings if I wasn’t oppressed by demons or plagued in some way. I was cursed due to some unconfessed sin or lack of faith. Didn’t matter how hard I prayed or good I tried to be or to “get it right” (still a compulsion of mine), my thoughts and feelings didn’t improve. Worsened in fact.
It took a long time before I finally had the right doctor who recognized symptoms and took action. It also took more trauma. After my dog, Gracie, died, I spiralled downward. Functioning was seriously impaired. I was working as a therapist at this point already. I had seen psychologists as part of my training (plus one in my early twenties and participated in that depression group). I could not get anyone to take me seriously or follow my train of thought. One therapist mistook my anxiety body language for anger and declared I was an angry young woman and beyond help.
Anyways. My point is, science has been my life saver. If psychopharmacology hadn’t developed effective medications to treat depression, anxiety, and OCD, I wouldn’t be here. I’d either be in the loony bin (pardon the expression) or dead. And don’t start me down the path of “if faith could’ve saved my mother…” The science of mental health wasn’t developed enough in the 1970s to help her either. I, thankfully, have been more fortunate.
I must add that I am very much a woman of faith. But does my faith look like that of my childhood? Not in the slightest. I had to open my mind (which I was able to do thanks to meds) and my heart to explore my faith deeper and in different directions. I don’t use the religious language of my childhood and adolescence (it is, in fact, triggering). I have found words that reflect my spiritual existence much more accurately and add to my life rather than detract. I no longer feel like a worthless, hopeless sinner (aka piece of shit). Although yesterday’s encounter certainly brought up all those old thoughts and feelings of not being good enough and never able to get it right. The emotional turmoil is indescribable to someone who hasn’t experienced it. Utter anguish and despair is a start.
But “blessings-and-curses” is an archaic worldview that does not reflect what we know in today’s technological age. And what we believe now will likely have to adapt for future discoveries. Theological arguments during Jesus’ time on earth were already about older versus newer ways of thinking. Open minded people even have to accept that what Darwin believed is outdated and reflective of another day and age. Think the Dark Ages and the Renaissance. Worldviews are in constant flux.
Anyways. How does any of this help you to understand my trauma trigger yesterday? In a nutshell, those closed-minded and judgemental comments triggered a shit storm of dormant messages in my psyche that rose like a many-headed beast. I have to remind myself that I am a whole and complete person, capable of making my own decisions about my life and what I want to do with it. I am not all those things that I was led to believe in my youth. And I have to remind my amygdala that I am not in any danger. That’s a tough one when faced with dangerous, closed-minded thinking. I am still working on helping my amygdala recognize I make my own choices that do not include those old thought patterns.
I have braved the storm of a faith crisis and surfaced with a deeper faith that looks nothing like its origins. It will not be understood by many. Only by those who have braved similar storms and surfaced as well. When what we hold to be true contradicts lived experience, we experience a faith crisis. My world was filled with these paradoxes. It took a long time to let many of them go and embrace the Great Mystery. Then “the world” and the bible and my faith began to make more sense.
Your faith journey will be your own. Kind of like the hero’s quest. By the way, I watched the movie Rango last night. Always a pick me up. And your encounter with the Great Mystery will be unique to you and provide just what you need—if you’re open to it. I also worked out what I could say the next time some man tells me my profession is useless and one just needs faith.
“Before we have a discussion on faith or theology, you might want to know that I have a Bachelor’s degree from a bible college and a Master’s degree from a seminary. I have read the bible in its entirety at least twice, front to back. I might be willing to listen to what your faith means to you, but not to your thoughts on mine or my life’s work.”
Now will I have the courage to actually say it when it happens again? And it will. I have no doubt of that. I do need to own my power, my life experience, and my education. One of my triggering responses to shaming messages is to shut up and back off. So I will have to work on that next time. I had a blog on feistiness ready to go for July. I need to tap into that when it comes to trauma triggers which shut me down. Something to ponder and process. ‘Til next time (and the blog on feistiness)…..Barb
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