As you may have noticed, my blog has been slowly tapering off. I haven't published a post in over a month and a half. Even before that, my posts were getting more and more sparse. While I have many reasons why my little blog has been neglected, there are two circumstances which are contributing to the slow suffocation of Life Less Sweet.
#1. I've been channeling my writing energy into more creative enterprises. My last post shined a spotlight on NaNoWriMo, a writing challenge that happens every November. Even though November has come and gone, one of the most valuable lessons I gleaned from the challenge was merely the knowledge that I am ABLE to create stories.
Though writing has been part of my world since I was ten years old, I'd mostly stuck with either prose-style poetry or short stories. While short stories are still TOTALLY my wheelhouse, I've discovered that longer works of fiction can be written by using chapters as short stories which are woven together to create a longer narrative. Any time I sit down to write (which I am trying to develop into a daily habit) I end up desiring to chip away at my latest novel rather than popping a quick blog post onto Life Less Sweet.
My fiction style is still in its experimental stages. I'm still figuring out my voice and discovering how to craft characters and themes that are meaningful to me. The more practice I get with working out stories, the better my work is becoming. Honestly, it feels good and right to spend my writing energies on these endeavors.
#2. I feel a TON better than I did when I started this blog. At the time of my first post of Life Less Sweet, I was in the throes of a major depressive episode brought on by a gross combination of a bad foster care placement, mothering small children, and a big ol' serotonin deficiency. While sharing on this blog has most certainly been cathartic, the main goal of shining a light into the uncomfortable places of my heart was to reduce the shame and secrecy that surrounds people (especially people of faith) who struggle with mental health issues.
Through this blog, I have discovered that, while my story is unique to me, the elements that make up my struggle with depression and anxiety are common to many of the people in my life. Too many of us share this condition to allow the matter to be a source of stigma. I want to do what I can to bring the conversation to a healthy and productive place...thus the blog.
In the course of the four years this blog has been around, I've dealt with my depression and anxiety with a combination of medication, therapy, nutrition, and faith. It's helped. My mental health is currently very successfully managed, especially since doubling my dose of sertraline this fall.
Here's where I should tell you that I have been cured and there is no need for this blog any longer...but, as wisdom and experience have taught me, successful management of depression and anxiety are NOT the same as being cured of them. These illnesses are chronic and probably life long. I cannot know what will come up in my life that could potentially pull the rug out from under this precariously stacked management plan. Therefore, I'm not going to officially end Life Less Sweet. Instead I am going to take my cue from Mr. Joey Tribbiani and place my dear blog into the freezer where it will be available to me should I have need of it.
Life Less Sweet: Documentation of my struggle with depression and anxiety.
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
No More NaNo
On November 1st, two things occurred. First, I contracted my first round of strep throat for the month. Secondly, National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) began.
NaNo, as it's known colloquially, is a writing challenge that began in 1999. The overarching goal is to write a 50,000 word novel between November 1st and November 30th. If you reach 50,000 words and get it validated by the NaNoWriMo software...you WIN. There's not really a prize, per se, you just get the satisfaction of knowing you've created a substantive piece of writing (50K is about the length of Fight Club or The Giver). And frankly, they're very laissez faire about what constitutes a "novel". There is a lot of freedom to write what you wish to write.
I've never written a novel, though I've halfheartedly tried to do NaNo a few other times. This year, however, I was struck with a really strong idea that I felt very compelled to put into novel form. In order to be more successful, I made a strong outline and kind of hammered out some details before the challenge began. I also joined the regional WriMo group, which ended up being a very valuable asset.
Waiting for Novemember 1st was tough. I felt like a racehorse pressing against the starting gate. Then, when the day finally came, my throat felt like it was filled with shards of glass and I had a fever so high I was shivering. I DID NOT feel like writing. For the entire first week, I limped along, writing when my Advil kicked in and lessened the pain. The regional WriMos had a chat group which I frequented that week. Veteran writers were kind and encouraging. The support that they offered kept the fire stoked within my writer's soul while my body healed.
The second week of the contest, I was hot. Words came quickly and ideas flowed freely. It was a beautiful thing! Though I was behind in my word count, I pressed on, chipping away at my 50k. By the 9th of November I'd hit 10,000 words (which is about 40 book pages). Meeting that goal was exhilarating. Buuuut, then I hit a wall.
My mentors on the writing forum encouraged me to just keep writing. "You can take things out in editing," they'd say. So, that's what I did. I tacked on a chapter at the end called "Process" and just did some free writing. That helped jumpstart more ideas for the novel. So, by the third week I was at 15,000 words.
On the Saturday before Thanksgiving, I attended my first "write-in". Basically about 30 writers from the regional group took over a local coffeehouse and wrote together for 4 solid hours. Being with people who share your art form can be very inspiring, even if you have WILDLY different styles. Sitting at a table with a steampunk author and a scifi writer, I tapped out 3,000 words, putting my total at 20K!!! That was so HUGE for me!! I was 80 pages into my novel....80!!! That's phenomenal!
Driving home from the write in, I felt a familiar twinge in my throat. Though I desperately hoped I my strep wasn't back, time revealed that it had, in fact, returned with a vengeance. (Just a side note, this was my 8th time contracting strep throat since Little Brother was born 5 years ago. I am praying that my ENT will take these defective tonsils out of my body soon.) The second bout of the illness was brutal. The pain was worse, the healing was much slower, and again, I did NOT feel like writing. Though a few words made it into the novel, for the most part it still hovered around 20k...which is where it stayed when the competition ended yesterday, November 30th.
I didn't even make it half way friends. That's a bummer. BUT, I DID write TWENTY THOUSAND WORDS! That's more words than I've ever written on one project. Things come up and stuff happens, such is life. I am so excited to participate in Camp NaNoWriMo in July and to attempt to get to 50k again next November (hopefully sickness free).
Sooooo, why am I including a post about a writing competition on this here mental health blog, you might be wondering. The craft of writing is extremely important to me. On Facebook I use the hashtag #writerssoul when I post a status about writing. It's completely and thoroughly true...I have the soul of a writer. Whether or not I ever finish a novel or get anything published anywhere, there is a longing in the innermost part of me to set forth words to paper.
All of this bullshit with anxiety and depression is redeemed by the fact that I can craft soothing words of hope for the benefit of other human beings (and ultimately myself). The novels I want to write center around struggles which are common to humanity. They are meant to help and heal. Writing is a precious gift and I am honored to make use of it to the best of my ability.
NaNo, as it's known colloquially, is a writing challenge that began in 1999. The overarching goal is to write a 50,000 word novel between November 1st and November 30th. If you reach 50,000 words and get it validated by the NaNoWriMo software...you WIN. There's not really a prize, per se, you just get the satisfaction of knowing you've created a substantive piece of writing (50K is about the length of Fight Club or The Giver). And frankly, they're very laissez faire about what constitutes a "novel". There is a lot of freedom to write what you wish to write.
I've never written a novel, though I've halfheartedly tried to do NaNo a few other times. This year, however, I was struck with a really strong idea that I felt very compelled to put into novel form. In order to be more successful, I made a strong outline and kind of hammered out some details before the challenge began. I also joined the regional WriMo group, which ended up being a very valuable asset.
Waiting for Novemember 1st was tough. I felt like a racehorse pressing against the starting gate. Then, when the day finally came, my throat felt like it was filled with shards of glass and I had a fever so high I was shivering. I DID NOT feel like writing. For the entire first week, I limped along, writing when my Advil kicked in and lessened the pain. The regional WriMos had a chat group which I frequented that week. Veteran writers were kind and encouraging. The support that they offered kept the fire stoked within my writer's soul while my body healed.
The second week of the contest, I was hot. Words came quickly and ideas flowed freely. It was a beautiful thing! Though I was behind in my word count, I pressed on, chipping away at my 50k. By the 9th of November I'd hit 10,000 words (which is about 40 book pages). Meeting that goal was exhilarating. Buuuut, then I hit a wall.
My mentors on the writing forum encouraged me to just keep writing. "You can take things out in editing," they'd say. So, that's what I did. I tacked on a chapter at the end called "Process" and just did some free writing. That helped jumpstart more ideas for the novel. So, by the third week I was at 15,000 words.
On the Saturday before Thanksgiving, I attended my first "write-in". Basically about 30 writers from the regional group took over a local coffeehouse and wrote together for 4 solid hours. Being with people who share your art form can be very inspiring, even if you have WILDLY different styles. Sitting at a table with a steampunk author and a scifi writer, I tapped out 3,000 words, putting my total at 20K!!! That was so HUGE for me!! I was 80 pages into my novel....80!!! That's phenomenal!
Driving home from the write in, I felt a familiar twinge in my throat. Though I desperately hoped I my strep wasn't back, time revealed that it had, in fact, returned with a vengeance. (Just a side note, this was my 8th time contracting strep throat since Little Brother was born 5 years ago. I am praying that my ENT will take these defective tonsils out of my body soon.) The second bout of the illness was brutal. The pain was worse, the healing was much slower, and again, I did NOT feel like writing. Though a few words made it into the novel, for the most part it still hovered around 20k...which is where it stayed when the competition ended yesterday, November 30th.
I didn't even make it half way friends. That's a bummer. BUT, I DID write TWENTY THOUSAND WORDS! That's more words than I've ever written on one project. Things come up and stuff happens, such is life. I am so excited to participate in Camp NaNoWriMo in July and to attempt to get to 50k again next November (hopefully sickness free).
Sooooo, why am I including a post about a writing competition on this here mental health blog, you might be wondering. The craft of writing is extremely important to me. On Facebook I use the hashtag #writerssoul when I post a status about writing. It's completely and thoroughly true...I have the soul of a writer. Whether or not I ever finish a novel or get anything published anywhere, there is a longing in the innermost part of me to set forth words to paper.
All of this bullshit with anxiety and depression is redeemed by the fact that I can craft soothing words of hope for the benefit of other human beings (and ultimately myself). The novels I want to write center around struggles which are common to humanity. They are meant to help and heal. Writing is a precious gift and I am honored to make use of it to the best of my ability.
Friday, October 9, 2015
Photographed Fat
Like many mothers, I teared up when I read this article about moms being in pictures with their kids (click here for article). I vowed thereafter to be in more photographs with my family and friends, even if I didn't feel as lovely as I desired to feel. My chubby, smiling, face has appeared in dozens of group selfies and snapshots since taking that vow. Then, a few months ago I decided that my family should put on our Pinterest-coordinated best and have professional photos taken.
I wanted to look pretty in our family pictures, therefore I spent countless hours shopping online (the best bet for plus sizes) for a pretty dress that would be both flattering for me and easy to coordinate with the males in my family. When picture day came, I spent extra time doing my makeup and straightening my hair. However, neither clothing nor cosmetics can hide the fact that I... am a big 'ol woman.
While the camera was clicking I did not worry whether or not the pictures would make me look fat. I KNEW they would. That's my reality. I am a fat woman...and save for a few short years after college, I always have been. Because of this reality, the photographs did not reveal some secret shame for me...they just showed...me. The images showed over sized, corpulent, aging, graying, dark haired, dark eyed, confident, outgoing, beautiful, well-loved...Me...surrounded on each ample side by my precious husband and children.
Since this summer, I have endeavored to slowly increase my fitness levels. I walked my first 5k on my birthday and have plans to train and walk another on Thanksgiving. As I move into a more active lifestyle, my body might change. Or....it might not change very much at all...there are actually many very fit, fat people (click here, here, and here for some examples). What I appreciate about the photographs we just had taken is that they show who I am right now. In the Fall of 2015, this is what I look like...this is who I am. And, when the people in my life look back at these pictures 10 years from now, they will look into my plump face and remember the laughter, the tears, and the authentic life that we shared together.
I wanted to look pretty in our family pictures, therefore I spent countless hours shopping online (the best bet for plus sizes) for a pretty dress that would be both flattering for me and easy to coordinate with the males in my family. When picture day came, I spent extra time doing my makeup and straightening my hair. However, neither clothing nor cosmetics can hide the fact that I... am a big 'ol woman.
While the camera was clicking I did not worry whether or not the pictures would make me look fat. I KNEW they would. That's my reality. I am a fat woman...and save for a few short years after college, I always have been. Because of this reality, the photographs did not reveal some secret shame for me...they just showed...me. The images showed over sized, corpulent, aging, graying, dark haired, dark eyed, confident, outgoing, beautiful, well-loved...Me...surrounded on each ample side by my precious husband and children.
Since this summer, I have endeavored to slowly increase my fitness levels. I walked my first 5k on my birthday and have plans to train and walk another on Thanksgiving. As I move into a more active lifestyle, my body might change. Or....it might not change very much at all...there are actually many very fit, fat people (click here, here, and here for some examples). What I appreciate about the photographs we just had taken is that they show who I am right now. In the Fall of 2015, this is what I look like...this is who I am. And, when the people in my life look back at these pictures 10 years from now, they will look into my plump face and remember the laughter, the tears, and the authentic life that we shared together.
Friday, June 19, 2015
The Reality of Mess
In the past I was under the assumption that people were afraid to be genuine because they feared that people might judge them and they would loses their popularity...like high school. I have recently discovered another reason why many people like to pretend that they have perfect, shiny, Instagram-able lives. While there may be a small group of people with whom it is safe to be "real" with, most people are VERY uncomfortable with mess. They may SAY that they value authenticity, but when faced with gritty reality...they get overwhelmed and suddenly want you to keep that shit locked deep inside...far far away from them.
I struggle with faith and family and relationships and energy and weight and the will to live. I feel that many people get very wary of me because my "struggles" aren't inspirational...there hasn't been a happy ending, Thankya Jesus, wrapped in a tidy bow, resolution to my depression. God hasn't miraculously delivered me from my illness. There is a strong possibility that I will battle depression and anxiety my whole life. People want to hear about the WIN...and I might not ever win. That's the reality.
Whitewashing my narrative on social media, with the neighborhood mommies, and at Bible study has recently become a SUPER appealing choice. I hate it when I share something that's going on with me and people avert their eyes, go silent, and then change the subject...it's incredibly disheartening. (I do understand that, in certain settings, I am required to gloss over some things to remain socially appropriate...my casual acquaintances, PTA peers, and coworkers don't need to know my mental health business). I am gaining a new understanding of the temptation to fake a smile and say something benign so that I don't have to see people squirm in the face of the truth.
Unfortunately, my heart and soul are deeply committed to living my life transparently. Pretending that all is well in my world would be a lie I can't live with. I have mess. My family is messy. My relationship with my sons is messy. My relationship with God is messy. My convictions are messy. My emotions are messy. My mind is messy. Lord knows my house is messy. I am wholeheartedly grateful for those people who are willing to be in my untidy life (including my blog readers). But, honestly, I've kind of come to a point where I don't have energy to deal with people who are squeamish about the details of my reality. To the people who are upset and disgusted by who and what I am, I must say...this is, sadly, where we must part ways. Good luck on your journey...I mean that.
I struggle with faith and family and relationships and energy and weight and the will to live. I feel that many people get very wary of me because my "struggles" aren't inspirational...there hasn't been a happy ending, Thankya Jesus, wrapped in a tidy bow, resolution to my depression. God hasn't miraculously delivered me from my illness. There is a strong possibility that I will battle depression and anxiety my whole life. People want to hear about the WIN...and I might not ever win. That's the reality.
Whitewashing my narrative on social media, with the neighborhood mommies, and at Bible study has recently become a SUPER appealing choice. I hate it when I share something that's going on with me and people avert their eyes, go silent, and then change the subject...it's incredibly disheartening. (I do understand that, in certain settings, I am required to gloss over some things to remain socially appropriate...my casual acquaintances, PTA peers, and coworkers don't need to know my mental health business). I am gaining a new understanding of the temptation to fake a smile and say something benign so that I don't have to see people squirm in the face of the truth.
Unfortunately, my heart and soul are deeply committed to living my life transparently. Pretending that all is well in my world would be a lie I can't live with. I have mess. My family is messy. My relationship with my sons is messy. My relationship with God is messy. My convictions are messy. My emotions are messy. My mind is messy. Lord knows my house is messy. I am wholeheartedly grateful for those people who are willing to be in my untidy life (including my blog readers). But, honestly, I've kind of come to a point where I don't have energy to deal with people who are squeamish about the details of my reality. To the people who are upset and disgusted by who and what I am, I must say...this is, sadly, where we must part ways. Good luck on your journey...I mean that.
Wednesday, June 10, 2015
10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 2
Watch This Video:
I have suffered from depression and anxiety for the majority of my adult life. There were a couple of short, severe episodes, but, for the most part, I was able to manage it on my own early on. As I said in a previous post, I tried hard to be honest with Mark while we were dating. However, when we were dating, I was happy and didn't really have a mental health flare up...at least not in front of him. That's one of those things that you can kind of keep to yourself until you live with someone. If I was feeling down, I'd just deal with it on my own time. I wasn't consciously trying to hide it from him, I'd just never had to share the day to day struggles of mental illness with a man. It came up in our premarital counseling, but he didn't really have any first hand experience with my depression and anxiety.
After we married and I went into the worst year of teaching I'd ever had, he was kind of blindsided by my obsessive thoughts and fits of anger and weeping. We both made the (incorrect) assumption that I would feel much better if I changed jobs. It was better, for a while...then I had my first baby. He and I discovered that my depression and anxiety weren't circumstantial, they were part of the fabric of my being.
Becoming a mother opened the floodgates. Mark has walked with me through severe anxiety attacks, pregnancy induced neuroticism, the strange emotional fallout from a miscarriage, two bouts of serious postpartum depression and one nervous breakdown. He has endured dead-eyed stares instead of conversation. He has had to talk me down from neurotic frenzies. He has picked up the slack with our home and family when all I could do was lay in bed or stare at a computer screen. While I have suffered, this man has suffered alongside me...and he'll likely have to do it again under other circumstances.
Through all of my drama, he has been kind and gentle. Even though I've made his life harder, he has been (for the most part) a source of encouragement and support. He doesn't really understand what I go through, but he cares about me and does not make me feel ashamed or guilty for having a mental illness.
Again, I feel the need to state that he hasn't done this perfectly...living with a person who has depression is hard. Melancholy and discontent can be contagious. Everyone has limits and I've blown past his a time or two, leaving him frustrated and irritated by my constant needs.
Monday, June 8, 2015
10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 4
Gather round and I will tell you the tale of a man, a woman, and a curse. Our story begins as the young couple attends their first date at a local restaurant. It is a noncommittal lunch date on a random Thursday. The gentleman has selected this venue, which is famous for it's delicious pies, because it is both close to his job and reasonably priced. After a pleasant meal and enjoyable company, the young couple leaves, vowing to eat another meal together in the future. Four months later...the restaurant CLOSES.
The man and the woman continue to dine together...they even begin seeing movies and attending live theater...they go canoeing...they play miniature golf...they talk...they laugh...they love. Eventually, the man decides he would like to spend the rest of his life with the woman. He purchases a token of his affection and plans a date where he will ask her to be his wife. On the date, the couple decides to have dinner at a local Southwestern grill on the Country Club Plaza. After dinner the couple gets engaged. By the time they are married, six months later, the restaurant has CLOSED.
On a warm June evening, the woman, now a wife, is famished because no one bothered to feed her the day of her wedding. The couple is, once again, on the Plaza. Because the Plaza is such a popular destination for both locals and tourists, most of the restaurants do not take reservations. The average wait time for a table on this Saturday night is THREE hours. Starved, the couple decides to get a quick dinner at an upscale pizza chain restaurant...with immediate seating. There they enjoy strange, but tasty, pizzas.
Amused by this silly choice for a wedding night meal, the man and his wife decide to make it their annual tradition. For eight years they go to this moderately priced pizza restaurant on their anniversary. On their ninth anniversary, the couple decides to do something different for a change and they do not eat weird pizza for their anniversary dinner. Three months later, the pizza restaurant CLOSES.
The establishments wherein the couple celebrated the most important milestones of their relationship... all CLOSED. Dear reader, you are free to draw your own conclusions. But as for us, the couple from this tale, we are making our dining choices VERY carefully these days. If the restaurant where we plan to sup on our tenth anniversary closes, we take full responsibility...it is.. our curse.
Sunday, June 7, 2015
10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 3
I married the wrong person.
Say what!?!?!
Yup, my husband is, in a lot of ways, the wrong man for me.
I'm a big, loud, extreme extrovert.
He's a mild mannered. midlevel introvert.
I feel and understand hundreds of nuanced emotions.
He's got, maaaaybe, a dozen emotions.
I'm an enthusiastic teacher and creative writer.
He's a buttoned down software developer.
I'm from a family that talked openly about tough topics like sex, drugs, mental health, and the general messiness of life.
He's from a conservative, formal, and private family.
My mom almost always worked.
His mom mostly stayed home
I'm a first generation middle class woman who is used to counting the pennies in my bank account.
He's from a solid middle class family where money wasn't usually a source of worry .
I'm the daughter of a Jesus-movement- house-church father and a lapsed Mormon mother who both agreed that personally knowing God was just as good as (maybe even BETTER than) going to church.
He was born and raised attending conservative evangelical churches.
We are REALLY different, sometimes painfully so. These glaring disparities have been the main sources of conflict in our marriage. Whenever one of these differences comes crashing into the forefront, I sometimes wonder if I could have found a man who was a better fit for me. Maybe I could have married a man with a more developed emotional vocabulary. Maybe I could have married a man who thought more deep, soulful, poetic thoughts. Maybe I could have married a man from a more similar family and financial background. (I'm sure my husband wonders sometimes if he could have, maybe, found a better match than me too) Maybes are dangerous to a marriage. That's why I am so thankful for this very important piece of advice we received when we were in premarital counseling.
Everybody Marries the Wrong Person. Isn't it that the most pessimistic things you've ever heard? At face value, I agree that it's terrible advice. There were some men that I dated before my husband who were not just wrong for me, they were BAD for me. Marriage would have been a giant mistake for those relationships.
Marrying my husband was, however, a wise and healthy choice...but...it wasn't a PERFECT choice. For instance, we have had seasons when we argued about our family roles. We have cried about hurtful miscommunication. We have had the same intense financial discussions over and over and over again...and gotten nowhere. Aaaand...I may or may not have locked him out of our bedroom when he forgot Mother's Day this year. So, I may have done my best to choose a good spouse, but inevitably our idiosyncrasies and character flaws caused conflict, confusion, and pain.
At it's heart, the Everybody Marries the Wrong Person tenet is designed to help married people frame their differences in the reality that ALL people are imperfect. ALL. Every person comes into marriage with diverse life experience and incongruent expectations. Every person has the capacity to be a little selfish and relationally lazy. All humans are a complex mix of awesome and awful. So, my husband is not perfect for me....but neither is Thatguy Overthere. Thatguy and I would have a whole new list of delightful things that make our relationship challenging. Trying to find a better match outside of the marriage would only be trading one set of complications for another set of complications with a different person.
That's why I am SUPER glad that we decided to base our decision to get married on the things we had in common on a heart and soul level. So, we may differ in our upbringings, financial philosophies, or church culture, but at the core of our beings, our partnership makes sense.
We BOTH love Jesus and desire to do our best to know Him and serve Him faithfully.
We BOTH value community, friendship, and family over career and financial gain.
We BOTH value authenticity and honesty.
We BOTH value humility, kindness. and generosity.
We BOTH agree that a parent's job is to raise children who will grow into good adults.
Knowing that, at the heart of our marriage, we are headed in the same direction, makes it easier to overlook our more superficial differences. Knowing that, at the center of our relationship, we have good and honorable intentions makes it easier to forgive offenses. Knowing that we're both imperfect, messy, complex, contradictory, human beings, just like everybody else, makes it easier to keep our hearts from wandering over to Maybe.
(Disclaimer: Sometimes people find themselves in toxic and abusive marriages...this blog post is NOT intended to apply to those sorts of circumstances. If you are in a physically or mentally unsafe relationship I urge you to find a safe place and to enlist the help of trusted mental health professionals to walk with you through your individual situation.)
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