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 Oct 19, 2021
Today is my 50th birthday. While that is a non-event for some, for me it has significance beyond the culturally conditioned issue with women aging. But let’s start there. In today’s society, there are plenty of mixed messages to choose from regarding women aging. At one end we can embrace it, or, we can purportedly fight it with the proverbial potions and lotions as well as supplements, medications, surgery, and a host of other treatments. It is a billionaire’s dream industry. I find it sad that we, as women, literally buy into this phenomenon, trying to make ourselves into someone that we are not: nubile. Young and sexually desirable.
The first point of contention is objectively undeniable. We are no longer young according to the calendar and passage of time. The second is subjective. Sexual desirability is personal and age exempt. What turns on one person won’t arouse another. There are young people with libido issues as well as aged. Desirability is what you make it –for yourself being desired as well as what you desire. Emotional connection based upon consistent attention and affection is the foundation for a satisfying sex life, which includes knowing what is arousing to you and your partner. Chemistry and desirability between a couple includes appearance (which we know changes over time and circumstances) as much or as little as you choose. Hygiene notwithstanding. 😉 It is not a sole question of finding certain physical traits appealing—again subjective. What is appealing to one person is repelling to another.
My point is that we are buying into a lie when we chase “nubility” as a legitimate course of action to accommodate aging. That would be denial. We are in denial about aging and succumbing to shame messages that we are not valuable unless we are youthful looking and sexually desirable as per an industry or cultural standard. It is a sad state of affairs.
I just finished reading a book entitled On Turning 50: Celebrating Mid-Life Discoveries by Cathleen Rountree that was published in 1993. I found it engaging, inspiring, informative, and in one aspect, disheartening. For the most part, I had to remind myself the book was published 30 years ago given the relevant content. In all likelihood, some of the women who participated in the book are now deceased, or at the very least, octogenarians. What saddened me was how little has changed in 30 years. We, as women, face the same challenges and obstacles today. The only advantage we have is improved access to information about aging and the openness to talk about it. So thank you to all the women who have shared their experiences and paved the path for all who follow.
In mythological terms, women are usually categorized as the maiden, matron, or old crone. Personally I look forward to being an old crone: the wise old woman who lives in the woods. 🙂 Some days, I feel like I embody her already. Other days I feel my mid-life. I think we mistakenly view our 50s as the halfway point of our lives (I certainly do no wish to live to 100!). I have come to perceive our 50s as the midpoint of adulthood given our brains are not fully developed until the age of 24 or so. I can see myself living another 25 years, maybe a bit longer. That in itself is a revealing statement given my struggle with depression and childhood trauma.
There was a time I could not see myself living past my mid-thirties—the age my birth mother died. After reading Motherless Daughters by Hope Edelman, years ago, I was somewhat prepared for this and able to normalize it contextually. Sometimes it still is a surprise to think I have made it all the way to age 50. And there are, admittedly, days when I do not want to live out a full adult life when the depression seeps in and steals my joy. Those days remain very real for me. Thankfully not as frequent as in my youth—a stage of life I would not return to for all the billionaires in the world!
I, personally, have no desire to be nubile. I was going to say ‘once again;’ but at my core, I have never seen myself that way. However as I look at old photos, I can admit that I was young and desirable, in the stage-of-life sense. I have always struggled with fitting in, being appealing to the masses, socially acceptable. However, like many women, I learned early on that “nubility” makes you vulnerable to being taken advantage of and/or traumatized for a lifetime. It is a catch22 to be desired. Our sense-of-self may require it until we learn better; but it also puts us in harm’s way as well as steals our power and authenticity.
I much prefer being 50. I quite enjoyed my 40s. I think the subtitle of the book says it well: celebrating mid-life discoveries. Something I have never done before: look forward to what’s ahead. My struggles with depression included suicidal fixation in my adolescence; which I was fortunately able to downgrade to a tiredness-of-life-in-general: wanting the end to come sooner than later, simply because I tired of the ongoing struggle. But after a near-death experience in my late twenties, I realized that my end would come when it was “time” and not a moment sooner. I was spared for a reason. Even now, on the low days, I ponder about that reason being fulfilled and hence the end can come whenever my allotted time is complete. When all is well with my mental health, I look forward to what is left to discover about myself and the world around me.
If I struggled with believing I am a person of worth and value in the first half of my life, I hope in the second half of my adulthood, I can celebrate more of life’s discoveries. A significant part of embracing aging is being our authentic selves and knowing what we have to offer. Understanding we all have the gift of life, it is up to each one of us how to make the most of that gift both in what we receive in this life and what we give. May your life have purpose and meaning rooted in a strong inner core/sense of self—not defined externally by industries and shame messages.
My birthday wish today is that you all experience a wonder-filled aging process—wherever you might be on that path.
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Posted on Aug 17, 2016
“The most essential factor is persistence — the determination never to allow your energy or enthusiasm to be dampened by the discouragement that must inevitably come.”
~ James Whitcomb Riley (American writer, poet, author)
The Olympics. Can’t say I’m a big fan. I watch a bit on TV with my husband here and there. Prefer winter Olympics over summer. Maybe because I live in a country with a long winter. Canadians take great pride in their winter sports and activities.
I’m also not an athletic person. I have never enjoyed, let alone excelled at, sports or physical activity in general. The only reason to move more as an adolescent was vanity: to be thin. Fitness was not a motivator. However, once my husband and brother introduced me to hiking and mountain biking in the Yukon, my interest changed to the pleasure of the activity, communing with nature, pushing physical proficiency, and sharing the experience with others. Of course, I was usually a bit behind the others which either spurred me on or frustrated me to tears.
As a child, I was the last one picked for teams. I was very un-co-ordinated, crossed the finish line dragging after the others, and struggled with performance. Teachers got frustrated with my tears and reluctance to participate. I hated running or any form of physical exertion. I was jealous of the classmate who had asthma and didn’t have to participate as fully in Phys. Ed. Now looking back, with my Chronic Fatigue Syndrome diagnosis, there were early signs of the illness—but I internalized my lack of physical prowess as being something wrong with me.
Internalized messages. They can haunt us all our lives and/or drive us to excel, perform, achieve. Olympians are obviously driven people. They are dedicated to their sport or activity. Synonyms or related words to dedication include: committment, application, diligence, industry, resolve, enthusiasm, zeal, conscientiousness, perseverance, persistence, tenacity, drive, staying power; hard work, effort—as in “athletic excellence requires dedication.”
And while I may not relate to dedication and its synonyms for athletic reasons, I can be inspired by the Olympic athletes for what it takes to live with mental illness. Committment, application, diligence, resolve, conscientiousness, perseverance, persistence, tenacity, and all the rest are necessary just to survive some days—even to get out of bed. Anxiety, depression, trauma, abuse, and the whole host of mental illness manifestations can suck the life right out of a person.
In order to survive and thrive, a person performs mental gymnastics on a regular basis to counter the internalized messages, the damaging thought patterns, the overwhelming emotions. And like athletes in training, mental gymnastics takes repetition, practice, and tenacity. Failure, setbacks, and discouragement will happen. But we learn to keep going, keep trying. Success in life demands it. Not success in the conventional meaning (money and power), but to live life fully engaged.
We can do this. Press on my fellow mental gymnasts!
“There is a difference between interest and commitment. When you’re interested in something, you do it only when it’s convenient. When you’re committed to something, you accept no excuses, only results.”
~Kenneth H. Blanchard (leadership expert & author)
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Posted on Jan 15, 2016
Happy New Year! As we enter into a brand spanking new year, how are you feeling about it? Has it gotten off to a rough start or has it been a fabulous beginning?
This can be a bittersweet time of year: saying good-bye to visiting family and friends, to an old year, and to old ways of thinking as well as embracing change and opportunities that lie ahead. If I have a New Year’s resolution, it is to move forward with a “new” purpose: to enjoy life the best that I can with the limitations that I have. This resolution rose out of the first week of the year starting off with a dip into depression; but as I’ve worked through that, week two has been much improved.
Before I jump into how I have managed my first two weeks of 2016, I will update some of the concerns I have addressed in previous blog posts. My sense of self is steadily growing stronger as I retrain my brain and get my medications sorted out. The first prescription transition went very smoothly; and I am reaping the benefits of less anxiety and a more stable mood. I’m glad I took the risk and made the change.
The second prescription transition is underway which may be a contributor to my dip into depression when we changed calendars. So far there are no dramatic ill effects; but it is a bit early to tell as one medication decreases and the other increases. February will be a telling month in that department.
As for Christmas, it went exceedingly well – better than anticipated. There were a few family quibbles but nothing that escalated into full-blown family drama. For that I am truly grateful. I actually enjoyed spending time with family rather than being on high alert, ready to intervene at the slightest indicator of upset.
As I reviewed the holidays with my therapist, it became clear that a couple things contributed to this peaceful family dynamic. Foremost was my commitment to be different and not get sucked into family drama. I did not play the role of rescuer or fixer. I think that’s a first for me. Whatever squabbles did arise were sorted out ‘on their own’ rather than any expectation on me to fix it. Another first.
When I did choose to speak up, I felt heard and respected, rather than dismissed, judged, or criticized. What a difference. There was also little to no complaining. What happened to my family? How did we manage to consistently get along for such a length of time? I certainly won’t take all the credit as I noticed others making an effort as well. A huge relief for me.
Thus the year ended on a relatively positive note all things considered. So what of my dip into depression the following week? Was it Christmas withdrawal? The change in medication? Just another week with dysthymia? It might have been all of those things.
What turned it around for me was a conscious daily decision to choose life. I am retraining my brain, developing new neural pathways. Regardless of how pointless life looked, I chose living instead of dragging myself along. This meant being mindful of the good things such as a beautiful winter morning while walking the dog, choosing to go those extra 10 minutes in the cold, having a warm house to return to.
The challenge to “choose life” certainly isn’t an easy one. It means making little decisions throughout the day, not just a single choice or mantra in the morning. I must choose life in the small moments as well as the big ones. It means choosing what I enjoy to do along with what I have to do. I must choose fulfillment, not just wait for it to materialize.
As I noted in my journal, I must keep moving or I grow stagnant. And I must keep my head up to enjoy the ride – the sights, sounds, smells of wherever I might metaphorically and literally travel. When others emphasize we must choose happiness, I usually feel offended in some way. Mainly due to being intimately acquainted with the draining effects of depression. Sometimes we are legitimately overwhelmed with life; and happiness is the least of our worries or seems absolutely unattainable. I think it might be fairer to say we choose life – in all of its paradoxes, ups and downs, and bittersweet moments.
I choose life. And in more specific terms, I must choose the life that I have: the husband, the house, the dog, the job, the family. However, I choose them with my eyes wide open. I am aware of the fault lines that sit below the surface. I choose life the way it is; yet with the knowledge that opportunities for improvement abound.
And if I cannot choose life the way it is, what changes must be made? Keeping in mind I cannot change others, only myself.
What opportunities lie on your horizon? What’s in store for you in 2016?
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Posted on Nov 27, 2015
As you will have noticed, my blog is a tad late this month. Mainly due to my mood. Been feeling rather numb and blasé lately. I’ve been mulling over if that’s due to my new medication (I hope not), or the simple fact that I have a mood disorder.
This mood disorder of mine also messes with my sense of self. A few weeks ago, I noted in my journal that I wasn’t sure how I felt about myself that particular day. Ideally I should feel good about myself all the time, regardless of situation or circumstances. Mood may swing but my sense of self should remain steady.
That’s a tough one to absorb and live out. It means having a strong internal locus of control instead of the usual external locus of control–meaning we are motivated and influenced by factors outside ourselves (positive and negative).
For my entire life, I have allowed the words and actions of others to determine how I feel about myself (good, bad, otherwise). I didn’t have an innate or natural sense of value. I could go into attachment theory and my sad childhood for why that is, but suffice to say my sense of self was not nurtured.
Now I am a grown adult and need to nurture that in myself–to reassure myself that I’m okay as a human being no matter what life throws at me. That’s an internal locus of control–or an internalized sense of self, a strong inner core.
What changes do you need to make in your life to strengthen your inner core?
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Posted on Oct 15, 2015
“The secret of change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new.”
~ Socrates
I’ve been fighting the old for quite some time now. Change is always scary. This time I am looking into changing my medication for dysthymia (a mental illness characterized by varying degrees of depression).
What does it take to make me face change? Serious weight gain. And I ain’t no toothpick to begin with.
It has become exceedingly frustrating opening my closet, trying something on that fit just weeks ago, and now is too tight. It wears on my psyche and my bank account. I simply cannot financially support this weight gain with clothes to cover it up. Something has to be done. And diet and exercise aren’t cutting it. I eat well. I get regular exercise. That isn’t the issue. But it sure is wreaking havoc on my body image.
Of course, my physicians have blood work testing lined up. I just need to get my Chronic Fatigue butt to the hospital lab—in the morning. If only they weren’t testing my glucose (the one that requires fasting), I could go anytime. Mornings so overwhelm me, the thought of breaking routine—change—can immobilize me; and I procrastinate.
Once the blood work has been reviewed, I can look into changing my medication—which is generally believed to be the culprit. The blood work is just making sure there isn’t something else going on in my body. Crossing all the ‘t’s and dotting all the ‘i’s.
I was doing so well in the summer, I actually entertained the idea of quitting my anti-depressant medications. But then September reminded me I have an illness that won’t magically or miraculously disappear on its own—in essence, no cure for dysthymia, just daily management.
So, of course, the alternate is also scary—quitting my medication and having a serious relapse: a bout of plummeting major depression. I don’t think I’m ready to take that risk. The risk I am facing is not finding the ‘best fit’ medication right away but having to go through trial and error until we find one that has few or at least tolerable side effects and the desired effect—no depression.
This takes time. I could be in for a rocky ride. Or the next drug we try could be ‘the one’ and all is well. Maybe I’ll even shrink back to fit into my clothes again. That would be nice.
Change. Never easy. Generally scary. Sometimes exciting. Worth the effort? I’d say yes—even if the desired outcome doesn’t come readily, the learning and growing process is worth the effort. I also have ‘no choice’ if I take my health seriously. And I do.
Is change knocking at your door? Are you reluctant to answer? Be courageous! Take the plunge! You never know what the outcome will be—unless you don’t embrace change. Then you remain stuck.
“Making a big life change is pretty scary. But know what’s even scarier? Regret.”
~unknown
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