The Dialogue That Needs to Change

*Disclaimer* These are my thoughts based on my own personal train ride. Yours will, and probably are, different. But that doesn't invalidate mine. This is going to be pretty raw, so if you've a weak stomach, you may want to skip this post.

I am not a victim of depression. I refuse to be labeled with the term victim--because, to me, it means that I am helpless to control my circumstances or my reactions to them. That is simply not true. I was a victim of an armed robbery--to a point. I am not a victim of depression.

I was diagnosed with depression at age 16. Growing up was kind of rough and it affected me deeply, profoundly, in ways that I could not control. My doctors put me on medication and I balanced out a bit. The medication came after the suicide note, the realization that I could not make myself better, and the asking for help.

I was lucky--and I don't deny it. Too many kids don't ask for the help they need because of the negative way depression is characterized in our nation. They either don't recognize what they're going through for what it is, or they are too afraid to voice it aloud because of what people will think of them. Or they fall into the trap of believing that they can just "get better" on their own.

I'm here to tell you that it doesn't happen that way. I've struggled with depression for 23 years. There have been good bouts, long stretches where I'm doing pretty good, and other moments where I have considered blowing my brains out. I'm not exaggerating--rather, I wish I was. In dark moments I imagine the sweet relief that would come from ending it all. In dark moments I think that my loved ones would be better off without me dragging them down. That they don't need me, or that they would be far better off without me.

But I can't talk to anybody about those moments because they're scary. I tried once, to open up to my husband about how those thoughts do creep into my mind. It freaked him out, rightly so, but it confirmed my harbored suspicions that this was not a 'safe' topic that we could discuss. We can talk about our kids, the right and wrong choices we've made, we can over-analyze to death everything else in our lives.

I cannot talk about the Darkness. Darkness is off limits.

And while I understand why, because it *is* frightening to hear someone you love occasionally entertains thoughts of suicide--even for a fleeting instant. We all know that no action comes without first being a thought.

Before you freak out too, let me clarify. My life is beautiful. I love my life. But for me, and I suspect millions like me, Darkness will ALWAYS be there. When things get super challenging, or we face yet another huge life upheaval, Darkness is there, whispering, taunting, urging. It was there when I lost my baby. It was there when I got my first publishing contract--on the heels of foreclosure. It was there for that year and a half we crammed our family of 7 into half of a duplex and I felt like a colossal failure as a wife, mother, and provider. It's there now, looking at my two beat up cars and a future of part time jobs and schooling, near adult children, and not knowing when I can provide better transportation--or if the cars we have will last long enough for me to save the money.

Darkness is there. In all of us, really. It's just got a louder voice in some than in others. Here's the dialogue that needs to change.

People, individuals, those you love, need to know that they have a safe place where they can express even their darkest thoughts without judgment. Without condemnation. Sometimes we just need to get them out. Darkness is less scary when exposed to light.

We need someone to talk to. We need coping skills for when the Darkness speaks. When I'm having a good day, it's easy for me to tell the Darkness to shut up and go away. When I'm having a bad day, the Darkness's whisperings are comforting and difficult to pull away from. It would be great to have a therapist, or a psychologist, to meet with once a week or so and talk it out. But not everyone can afford that, and many insurances don't cover it, or enough of it.

We need to talk about depression. We need to be open about the fact that we can't control the Darkness--it's there, inside of us. All we can control is how we react to the Darkness, and, sometimes, we can't even control that.

I don't talk about my depression much. I don't admit to people that I'm on medication for it. I'm a private person, and I don't feel it's anyone's business. But, again, that's part of the problem. If we always keep it a secret then we risk missing opportunities to help one another.

Denying the Darkness, trying to pretend it doesn't exist, is exhausting. Eventually we just can't run anymore, so people choose to turn and embrace it instead. So many of us are afraid that if we share the deepest parts of ourselves, those we love will turn away. They will leave us. They will prove our darkest fears true.

We aren't freaks. We aren't losers. We can't just pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and soldier on. We are wives, mothers, fathers, husbands, parents, children, doctors, lawyers, writers, artists. We are neighbors, friends, cousins, aunts, uncles, siblings. We are worthy. We have value.

Sometimes we struggle to get out of bed. At all. Sometimes we struggle to go to work. Sometimes we struggle to have a conversation. But we are intrinsically tied to your human experience. We are family. We are part of you. We are you. We.

Being the Fat Girl

 I've been all over the scale, really, but something has been on my mind for a while that I feel like I need to express. So, here goes.

I hit 125 lbs at age 13. I was probably about 5'4", so it definitely wasn't my thinnest but it was hardly overweight. This picture is of me at age 16. I'd hit 5'8" and was pretty sure that was how tall I'd be for good. The scale didn't move from 125, unless it went up to 129--which is pretty much where I hovered, between those two weights. I walked and swam whenever possible and I had a pretty good arm (and muscle definition) from throwing newspapers (paper route) for four years. That was basically my fitness plan. But, hey, I was 16 and knew I was benefiting from a great metabolism. One that I also knew would change, so why not enjoy it why I could?
This picture was taken of me shortly after my wedding. I'd hit 5'9" but had no idea. Still 125. That didn't change until November of that year when I got pregnant. My first trimester was a killer. I could hardly eat anything and by December I had gotten sick with the flu and and ear infection. I lost 10 lbs between my first and second OB appointments. 119 was my weight in December 1996. In January we moved to Oklahoma and I can remember Bryan taking me to the shores of Waurika Lake only to have the wind off the water blow me back. I couldn't stand in one place and had to use him as my wind buffer.

But here's the thing: I never felt thin. My stomach was never flat and my thighs were always bigger than I liked. From the moment I started caring about that stuff those were my problem areas. That's what I didn't like about myself. And nothing anybody else said could change it.
This picture was taken in my second trimester. The whole picture is really cute. It's me, Sissy, and Bryan all lined up showing off our bellies. I had to pull the shirt in so you could even see the baby bump. I was maybe 135 lbs in this picture. Not that I didn't regain the weight I'd lost and then some on my almost-nothing-but-ice-cream diet, but at this time I really wasn't very big. As you can see. Cute, but not very big. ;) This is our glorious Disneyland Vacation. I put this in here because it's a decent picture of me having fun, and it's also a picture taken after I've had all my kids. At the time this was taken I'd had some stress related health issues and lost some weight, so I was probably around 160 lbs. Not bad for 5'9". In fact, it's within the range of healthy for my height.

This picture is closer to 169 lbs. We were in Manhattan and it's one of my favorite pictures of me. As you can see there's more definition to my curves but I still look pretty healthy, right?

This pic on the right (blue shirt) is the first indication that things were starting to go downhill. See, I've never blamed having my kids for my weight gain. Sure, after having kids I was bigger than I wanted to be, but I was still (barely) in the healthy weight ranges for my height. But this is when life took a turn.

This was when we lost our house. I was a mess. In the same month I signed a contract with a publisher for my first book and got a letter in the mail saying we were in foreclosure. There wasn't anything we could do, but we tried. Finally we just had to bow out, pack up our stuff, and move our 5 kids to a 3 bedroom upstairs duplex.

The duplex of Hell. No, my sis Jen is not the duplex of Hell. This is another shot and I remember seeing it and instead of going "Oh, how sweet" I went "my arms are horrible!" The happiest day of her life and I'm all feeling fat and slobbish about my arms. Yes, I know I still looked okay. And everyone is going to look at this picture differently, but this was the start of my fat girl journey.

In that duplex I struggled with horrible feelings of guilt for letting my kids down and having to move them out of their home and making them suffer in that horrible tiny space. So I ate. I ate to mask the hurt. I've always been an emotional eater. This wasn't a discovery I had to make. Only this time I just let go. I stopped worrying about the results. I stopped caring how I'd work those calories off later. I stopped caring about a lot of things.
Except, I also hit my mid 30's. And as we all know, this is about the time that a person's metabolism slows down. So while I was eating, my body was storing. And storing. And storing some more.
 This is me at my heaviest. 235.6 lbs. I can tell you that a lot of things change when you gain weight but I think you know this.

But this is what I experienced. I actually used to get fairly regular complements on my outfit, my shirt, my hair, whatever, by friends and random kind people at church. That well dried up pretty fast the bigger I got. The only person who complemented me was my husband, and even that had changed.

I was so tired. I had no energy to do anything. It was ridiculous. And I was so down about it all. I looked awful and I knew it. I felt awful about it. I knew I had to do something about it. So I tried. Weight Watchers, but the meetings were over an hour away and I didn't feel like I could keep up with the plan. I tried self control, but I'd lose a little and then regain it and then a bit more.

Six months ago I finally just said that was it. I'd had enough. I contacted a friend who had been sharing her and friends' weight loss success stories with me via email (with my permission of course). I knew it was a huge financial commitment but I figured that was part of my penance for losing so much control of myself for so long. I needed to feel the price, feel the sacrifice. I needed for it to hurt a little.

I needed it to have significance.

So far I've lost 67 lbs. I feel so good. My insomnia, something that has plagued me since that first picture of me at 16, has almost completely vanished. Instead of it being a regular nightly issue I actually have to be incredibly stressed out to have trouble sleeping. Like last night, but I digress. And once people started noticing the pounds come off, the complements have started rolling in. Again. And while I don't doubt their sincerity they still make me uncomfortable.
Was I really not pretty at 235 lbs? Or are we just so constrained by societal prejudices that a person can't look "nice" if they're overweight? I can tell you I felt ugly. I felt hideous. I felt unworthy.
And probably that heavy person you pass in the street feels some or all of what I felt. But does that mean they don't look nice? It's hard enough to have a decent view of your own self worth without people around you ignoring you because you're fat and they don't have anything nice to say. Or why-ever they ignore you. Because they do. They ignored me.

I'm Not Going to Whine

We're here, in Oklahoma! We made it. I've chosen to focus on that aspect, and not the things that went wrong. First of all, let's go over what went right.

The truck didn't break down.

The kids didn't kill each other.

We didn't get into an accident.

We didn't get charged extra for the trailer.

We made it.

I'm focusing on all of that for two reasons. One, the trip ended up being more expensive than we'd anticipated, and that has caused some issues that may be problematic. And two, people went to our apartment in Tooele mere hours after we left and looted the area, despite the fact my husband was going back to finish up later that week. Even that had a silver lining.

Our neighbor was paying attention, got a license plate number, and we were able to retrieve our camping gear and my husband's tools. What bothers me about the whole incident, and continues to bother me, is the mind set behind it.

Point one: It's impossible to hide from anyone driving by that we were moving, since it was a chaotic mess for three days and we had a U-haul trailer parked in the driveway.

Point two: We were sure to put out anything we didn't want at the curb, so that people would know it was being discarded should they care to take anything.

Point three: We weren't done moving yet!!! People not only scavenged the curb, but also went ONTO the property, i.e. trespassed, to claim things IN THE SHED and IN THE YARD. Did they go up the stairs and check to see if the apartment was locked, too?

There are some of you asking why I'm making an issue of this. It's the mind set behind the actions. I personally wouldn't dream of going onto someone's property, whether abandoned or not, to take things that I may be able to use or that I need. When did this become okay in our society? That disturbs me immensely. These strangers had no way of knowing we'd payed rent through Sept 5th and drove away believing the things we'd put away would still be there when my husband returned. They didn't bother to approach and ask. They just went in and took. Not because they are evil, horrible people, but because they felt they understood the situation enough to believe we had gone for good.

Thing is, people, you can't just assume. As the guy who had our camping stuff now (hopefully) understands. The police explained things to him, and he returned it all. We opted not to press charges, as it was a misunderstanding, but at the same time I have to shake my head and wonder when looting became okay. Because even if the people are gone, you don't own the property, and are, if nothing else, trespassing. Last I checked, that was still illegal. Not to mention rude.

Okay, pretty sure I'm done venting about this now. I've been processing this for a week and still had some fairly strong opinions that needed an out. Being robbed, even by people who don't understand what they're doing, is a violation, and it takes some time to get over.

Next post: The joys (and other things) of small town living!

Focus, Focus!

What do you do when you know you need professional medical attention in order to get better, but your bank account doesn't cover the cost?

You probably suffer, like I do.

I did get over the sinus thing, finally. I think fighting the virus has awakened my mono virus, because I've been absurdly exhausted. But now, just as I feel mostly on the mend, I've started experiencing some intense pains. After a few days of analysis, I've determined it's probably more of a muscle ache issue than an internal organ issue, which is something. So that means I either need a chiropractor or a massage--which, ironically, cost about the same.

The short story is I have a hard time sitting for long periods, which has put me even farther behind in the edits I'd hoped to have done by now. The long story is I am having a hard time doing anything, and I can feel the other muscles in my back tensing and tightening in their effort to compensate for the sore muscles I've been favoring.

I may have a rib or two out. Coughing can do that, and I've been coughing a lot. Been there, done that. Hate repeating the act.

I'm really tired of being all messed up. At this rate, there's no way I can wait until all my edits are done before I work on repairing my body--the original plan. It's funny how some things just make themselves a priority, no matter how you personally feel about them. :)

This Time it Should Stick

As part of my renewed blogging agenda, I'm returning every Wednesday to post something new and--hopefully--of interest to you all. If you scroll down to my last post you can see how long it's been, so once a week is a HUGE improvement.

This year, all 5 of my kids are in school all day long. But, don't forget, I have plenty to keep me busy. I babysit during the day, and write when I get the chance. I still love the little mental image of the stay-at-home mom who sits around eating chocolates all day and watching TV. That is SO not what really happens. Just the same, I love having my kids in school without having to make two extra trips there and back every day for a kindergartner.

Hubby is still working. After spending the entire month of August at LAX, he has a new appreciation for our little SLC International Airport. And he's glad to be home. His birthday is next week, and I've planned a few fun surprises. It's a really good thing I got his gift several months ago, though I have to say keeping the secret has been excruciating! Next Wednesday is his actual birthday, so I can spill the beans then.

Have a great week!

What doesn't kill us...

...can only make us stronger.

I don't get attached to places. I do, however, get attached to people. And I hate having to tell my friends that we're going to have to move.

The problem is, we've moved so often, I've left what feels like a trail of friends across the nation. Some I'm better at keeping in contact with than others. Some I have to keep in contact with because we're family.

I've done a lot of growing these past 4 years. I've opened up to more people, and let more people in. I've created my persona as an author, and networked with some of the best people I've ever met.

And now that I've firmly entrenched myself in the community of Tooele, UT--we have to leave our house.

This isn't something people advertise. The economy isn't perfect, but truth be told if we'd planned our family finances better we'd have been able to weather the changes. I take my share of responsibility in our turn of personal events. It's only right. Last night my husband apologized to me for letting this happen. I told him to stop it. We got into this mess together and we'll get out of it together.

After all, the only thing constant about life is change.

Having said all that, I want to stay in Tooele. First and foremost the kids have a great school that they're all really responding to--you can't find that just anywhere. Secondly, I've committed to being the Tooele Writers Group Chapter president for two years. I'm not going to form the group and then bail on them. That's not right. Thirdly, this is a great little town. Sure, I'd often love to be closer to a wider variety of shopping options, but it's not like I'm rolling in dough and need to shop all the time. It helps me budget.

I'm not going to pretend there aren't pulls in all worlds of directions. I have family and friends in places like Arizona, Alaska and Oklahoma that pull hard on my heart. And even a short jump over the mountains that separate Tooele from the rest of the Wasatch Front would greatly increase my ability to network as an author. It would make all those author-related workshops, conferences and signings that much easier to budget both financially and time-wise.

What will play the biggest part in our decision, aside from those things mentioned above, are the cost and size of housing we can get and the distance to the airport, where my husband works. After all, the less we have to pay in commuting costs and wear and tear on our vehicle are of primary concern, as is just how many people you can legally cram into a rental--since we aren't exactly a petite family.

Like we told the kids last night, we have two choices. We can choose to look upon this as our next great family adventure, or as the worst thing that's ever happened to us.

I love having options.

It can't all be Sunshine and Puppy Dogs

It does not bode well to me that my 8 yr old daughter and I already have semi-epic clashes. We are two forces of will, but when we are at odds--watch out.

I love my girl. She's dynamic, independent and brilliant. She is also stubborn, intractable and devious. She'll get an idea in her head and nothing will shake it. While that superpower can be used for good, she doesn't always apply it like that.

And the thing that worries me most, sometimes she'll say things like she's stupid, ugly or worthless. And it's difficult to shake her from these funks when they set in.

This isn't about her being obedient. She doesn't have to do everything I say the way I say it. But she is giving her school teacher fits, and both her teacher and I are at our wits' end as to what to do about her.

Kindergarten was great. She loved it. But ever since first grade, she's decided if she doesn't want to do something she shouldn't have to do it. Nothing could be further from the truth, but my stubborn little girl is winning this battle. Now more than half way through third grade, the only reason she's passing anything is a combination of adult tenacity and her superior test scoring.

Girls are a mystery to me. And I am one. This daughter of mine confounds me more than most. She has a younger sister--sweet, loving, enthusiastic about school and success. That's not to say I expect her always to be that way. But I don't want her to follow in her stubborn older sister's footsteps.

It wouldn't upset me so much if I didn't love her to the ends of the earth and back. When raising children, you don't get to give up when it gets hard. You can't let up because you're out of options. So I'm going to keep plugging along. And I never stop looking for ideas on how to get through to her and help her to find her place in this world.

With pleasure, there must also be a little pain

Otherwise we wouldn't know how to appreciate what we have. If we live an easy-breezy life, how would be learn to recognize when stuff is really good?

But I'd like to caution against extremes. If you live a life of extreme hardship, you become conditioned to difficulty and you lose the simple joys that are possible every day. If you live in a life of no worries--ever--then you are painfully unprepared when something bad, even only a little bad, hits you.

I for one would very much like to experience a few ups to go with my downs. I think it would make me a better rounded person. Otherwise I'm turning to cheesecake to round me out. Kidding.

Believe it or not, there is an expectation of me in this world. I am the responsible one, the practical one, the level headed one. I'm the one someone would send in to a crisis to defuse and deflect. I don't feel particularly worthy of this label, but in moments of extreme clarity I'd have to admit its accuracy.

But get me in a group of girls and I become giggly, goofy, and loads of fun. At least that's what I'm told. Man, this is starting to sound arrogant isn't it? You can stop reading if you like.

I faced something in the past few days I did not expect. And it's what has captured my mind more than anything else that happened. Now I have to decide what, if anything, should be done about it. I'm tempted to believe this is one of those things that actually WOULD go away on it's own if I just ignored it.