Waffles Aren’t Just for Breakfast

A couple of weeks ago, right around when we started toying with the DC idea, my husband had a phone interview with a company in CA. A friend of his from HS works there and has been trying to get him to apply there since before he even lost his job back in Rochester. Finally we agreed he might as well see what happens. Well, the first interviewer liked him enough to pass his information further down the line, and now he has a second (phone) interview lined up for later this week. If that goes well too, they’ll be wanting to fly him out there to interview in person either later this month or early next month.

This whole turn of events has led to many late-night, long-drive, dinner-time, and telephone (while I’m on breaks at work) conversations between the two of us, weighing the pros and cons of this possibility from every imaginable angle. They say opportunity doesn’t knock twice, but this is definitely multiple knocks at this point. In the past, we’d ruled it out because O already had a decent job, and then because we didn’t want to move so far away. It always felt like a last-resort option. But even though we have definitely not exhausted all other possibilities, I do have to wonder how long this opportunity will realistically stick around.

As I consider this possibility for our family, I hear the voices of other people in our lives echoing in my head. I hear a lot of “shoulds,” and it’s difficult not to let those potential opinions color my perceptions. On the other hand, is “because I don’t want to!” a solid enough reason to say no, if the job is offered to him in the end?

Theoretically this job would offer us the financial freedom to visit home more often than we can from here, even though CA is further from NY than FL is. But how much more hassle would the flights be, especially when compared to our previous goal of moving to DC (from where we could also drive home relatively easily)?

Even if he is offered the job and we decide that he should take it, it doesn’t have to be forever. But how many times do I really want to uproot my entire life and move out of state, before finally settling someplace for the foreseeable future?

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

Writing As Therapy

It’s no secret to anyone that things are a little bit stressful here in the SJ household.  We’re in a new location, not even in our own home, and we’re both job hunting.  With so much up in the air, yes, anxiety levels are sometimes a little bit high.

So how am I, a woman with a mild-to-moderate case of GAD, coping with the extra stressors that have been piled on since July?  You know, other than resenting the ever-loving crap out of my husband’s former employer.  There are definitely better, more productive ways to manage my stress.

One such method is something I had started back in the dark, dark days of PPD hell – a focus on the positive.  My therapist at the time urged me to try to find positive things about each day and write them down.  I kept with it for a while, and I did notice a difference.  I’ve done it sporadically since then, when things felt particularly bleak, but it never became a real, solid routine.

A week and a half ago, though, one of my dearest friends started posting Daily Positives in her journal, and urged her readers to do the same for a period of eight days.  I latched right on to that bait, and immediately started to notice a difference.  In so doing, I determined that it was something I should keep doing.  Not just for eight days, but for as long as it feels right.  I’m starting with a month (today is day #11), but it may well continue after that as well.

In this time of recession, job loss, and personal turmoil, it is really easy to get lost in negatives.  Every day is NOT all sunshine and roses, even here in tropical Florida, where it’s hard to even remember that it’s autumn.  But every day does have at least a few rays of hope.  No, those rays don’t take away the worries.  They don’t stop my brain from obsessing about finding work, missing loved ones, or trivialities like Christmas plans or something someone said to me in passing.  But remembering the positives forces me to shift my focus, at least for the length of the journal entry (and usually quite a while beyond), onto something good and away from anything negative.  That can only be a good thing, as far as I’m concerned.

Separation Anxiety (Mine, That Is)

I know I can’t always be there for my son, but I didn’t necessarily expect that it would happen for the first time when he’s only 20 months old.

You see, part of this new adventure of ours is going to involve leaving Buggie with O’s parents for several days while we fly back up here, collect the remainder of the stuff that is coming with us, put the rest in storage, and make the 2-3 day drive back down to FL. Note that I’ve only ever been away from him even as long as overnight, once.

I’m worried that something will happen – he’ll get sick, or fall and hurt himself, or … something worse that I don’t even want to think about. I’m worried that in some way, he’ll need me and I won’t be there.

L on Merry-Go-Round, July 2009

L’s first playground fall, July 2009

I’m worried that he’ll suddenly decide to have separation anxiety for the first time in his life.

Or that he’ll have trouble sleeping. (Not exactly an unheard of event around here. He takes after me, that way.)

I don’t know what to do about weaning. I’d hoped he would wean himself by now, but it hasn’t worked out that way. He only nurses once a day, and only when he sees me for the first time in the morning, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem for him while we’re gone. But if he doesn’t wean between now and then, I’m not sure what to do. Will I have to refind and take my pump and bottles (after some 8 months of not using them), so I can pump while we’re apart, in case the separation doesn’t force weaning? Do I have to just force weaning myself, between now and then? I really don’t know, and I could use some advice on this one.

I’m also worried about what all this chaos (and the inevitable mild spoiling of doting grandparents) is going to do to the routines we’ve worked so hard to foster. I anticipate writing up a huge list of things, including his schedule, to give to my in-laws (and hope they don’t think I’m an overprotective mom, but I think they’ll understand – especially since their other daughter-in-law is stricter with schedules than we are, so they’re probably used to it). But even with that, we’re going to probably have a good 2-3 weeks where things are just going to be “different.” Nana and Grappa with be with us until the end of August. I don’t expect that we’ll be able to fully settle into our (temporary) new life until after they’ve gone. (And of course, we’ll get to do a lot of it all over again when we find a place of our own, particularly if we don’t stay in FL… but that’s another blog post all its own, later.)

The fact is, as my mother-in-law and I just discussed … this is likely going to be harder for me than for him. I don’t quite know how to cope with being away from him for five whole days.  (Nor, to be totally honest, how to cope with moving so far away from my mommy, but that too is it’s own separate issue.)

The Withdrawal Method to My Madness

Bottle of spilled Lexapro. Image from http://www.scumdoctor.com/

A few weeks back, after accidentally skipping a dose or two, I decided to try weaning myself off my trusted friend, Mr. Lex A. Pro. I was on a very low dose as it was – only 5 mg per day. So I did as my doctor had directed, taking my dose only every other day for 2 weeks. That ended … about a week ago, I believe. For the moment, I am med-free.

It’s been an interesting journey. My whole life, I’ve battled anxiety and occasional depression. It peaked after my son (now 18 months) was born, but I didn’t get the help I truly needed until 10 months ago when I finally decided medication was the answer.

I’d always resisted medication before that point having heard far too many horror stories, and just generally hating the idea that I might have to rely on medication to stabilize my emotions, possibly for the rest of my life. But when my postpartum depression/anxiety hadn’t faded by the time 8 months had passed, I couldn’t resist any longer. My relationship with my son and with my husband… and with myself… absolutely depended on it.

As it turned out, the medication was a godsend. I could sleep like a normal person, my temper was in check, and I could cope with day to day stressors without blowing them way out of proportion. I really liked the way I felt, and freely admitted I’d been wrong to resist so long.

Having said all that, I still don’t like the idea of being on the medication forever. IF it can be avoided. I suppose, in a way, my stopping is something of a trial for me. I want to find out whether or not I can manage my problems in a med-free manner, now that I’ve adjusted to motherhood and my life has attained its own (new) status quo.

So far, it hasn’t been terrible, but I definitely felt better on the Lexapro. My moods are less stable, I’m more on edge, and I’m staying up too late at night. If this is the reality of non-medicated me, I will likely return to Mr. Pro. Time will tell, however, whether the dizziness, the crankiness/irritability, the fatigue (which is likely related to…), the insomnia, and the generally heightened emotionality fades back to more manageable levels on its own, or continues as is. Right at the moment, it’s impossible to tell whether what I’m feeling is my own struggles with GAD, or just the lovely sense of withdrawal from my medication.

Stay tuned to find out where this road will take me.

Lexapro + Dawn = OTP?

My whole life, I’ve been a worrier. That’s what most people think of when faced with the word “anxiety.” However, for me, the truth of Anxiety goes much deeper.

For me, Anxiety comes in multiple forms:
* depressive symptoms
* a predisposition to guilt feelings
* anger/frustration and a quick temper or short fuse
* fear or hatred of situations where I feel I am not in control and cannot be in control

I was 28 by the first time I started therapy, and I was against the idea of medication from the start. I had heard horror stories about feeling like a zombie, and about how long it could sometimes take to find the right course of treatment. Plus, I was very much anti-chemical at that stage of my life (I’m a little more middle-ground on the subject, now). Behavioral therapy with a trusted professional was much more comfortable than a pill bottle.

Five years later, my perspective has changed. In September of last year, I started a very low dose of Lexapro, after a combination of factors led me to a very uncomfortable place. I no longer felt like I was safe to care for myself and my son without chemical intervention. Some of this was driven by postpartum hormonal shifts, some by sleep deprivation, and some by the aforementioned Anxiety Disorder I already had. When I look back at that time period, I never fail to be amazed that I went nearly 9 months before getting medication. The newborn age was brutal for me, and the months following were not always much better. Simply put, there were constant situations where I could not “control” the situation; being a parent is full of these, of course. Sometimes I questioned how I could ever have been crazy enough to think I could handle it.

But I did. Not always very well, of course, but those months passed, and no one was harmed. I grew to bond with and love my son in ways I never ever could have imagined before he was born. But still, I struggled. Naptime was often a battle of wills, and there were far, far too many days where I fled his room in tears, thinking terrible thoughts and begging my husband to come home to help me. I needed help, and I needed it fast. Help came in the form of 5mg of Lexapro.

from Walgreens.com

Since then, I won’t claim I’ve never lost my temper. I wouldn’t tell you that every single naptime (or other struggle) has gone perfectly smoothly, nor that I’m some kind of Super Woman who never has Screamy Mommy Days.* What I will say is this: those days are FAR fewer, and far less scary since I started taking medication to manage my anxiety.

That’s a little scary in and of itself, though. Yesterday, I forgot to take my meds. I didn’t realize it until I was in the middle of naptime, and noticed myself feeling a lot more on edge than seemed normal. As I was gritting my teeth, thinking, “Why won’t he just go to SLEEP already?” it occurred to me that I’d forgotten it, and maybe that’s why I was so frustrated. That startled me because I like to think I could just stop taking it without any problems. I like to believe that I am “stronger” than the Anxiety. I want to be able to stop relying on a little white pill (or half of one, as the case may be) for my stability, particularly if/when my husband and I begin to try for Buggie’s younger sibling. I would like to be meds-free when pregnant, if not also while trying to conceive. But moments like yesterday’s make me wonder if I may just be on it for the long haul.

* FireMom, the author of the blog linked here, is an online friend I met while pregnant. Her son, LittleBrother, is 3 weeks older than Buggie.

The Downside to Looking on the Bright Side

The economic troubles facing our nation struck a little too close to home today. We’d known today was the day and were therefore prepared for the worst. I sat by my computer all morning, waiting for each piece of news to filter down to my husband and then to me. In the end, he was spared. But not before a million worst-case scenarios and plan B, C, D, etc. had their chances to play around in my head.

In my imagination, we had endless possibilities. O could go back to school and finish his degree and/or take over as stay-at-home parent while I returned to full-time work outside the home. We could move out of this frozen tundra where we currently live and head further south. It would be a struggle to do any of these things on short notice like this, but there were options out there, if the worst had happened today.

Let me just state for the record, I am beyond relieved that my husband is still employed, and my heart goes out to all those who are not. I am also proud that I was not all doom and gloom about the prospect. However, the flip-side to all this optimism, and looking at the bright side is that you begin to have little fantasies. Looking at a potential loss as an potential opportunity means that when the loss doesn’t occur, the opportunity is lost, instead.

Obviously the safety and security of a steady income is not something I take for granted – especially after today. But still I can’t help but wonder about the “what ifs.”

But maybe I just shouldn’t think so far ahead in the future.

my husband's Xerox hat

Just say “no.”

"No."

Such a tiny word, “no,” and yet one of the most difficult to actually get past my lips. Sometimes, it’s a fear of disappointing someone, or a desire to be accepted/included. And still other times, I just want to be the good friend/daughter/whatever, and not be the “bad guy,” or party-pooper.

Before Christmas this year, I mentioned to my husband that I wanted some new socks in some interesting (read: not black/white) colors. He obliged and got me a three pack of various shades of brown/tan. Then on Christmas Day itself, my aunt offered me some hand-me-down socks as well, which I thought was great. Upon looking at her collection, however, I found that they were almost entirely black socks. Did I politely explain that I have a lot of black socks already? No. I took the socks home to my already-crowded drawer because I didn’t want her to think I was being difficult or fussy or ungrateful. (That said, today I discovered that one pair was the comfiest and warmest blue socks ever. But I digress…) Thinking about it, the same thing happened with the same aunt a few months ago when she and my grandmother were giving me hand-me-down earrings shortly after I’d gotten my ears pierced. In that case I did refuse some of their choices, but then agonized about it for weeks afterwards.

The same often happens when I make plans. I have a long history of agreeing to something, and then backing out at the last minute. In the past, I would often make a lame excuse – usually illness-based – to get out of it. I’m more honest these days than I was in my younger years, and also more reliable. I’m not necessarily as likely to actually cancel the plans, but more likely to fret about them, especially if I have too much going on at once. Instead of looking at a crowded calendar and bowing out, I will add that “just one more thing” to my agenda, and end up feeling overwhelmed. I got to the point a few years ago where I stopped making plans altogether, forcing my dear husband to handle all our social engagements because it was just too stressful. Only recently have I begun to rebalance the scale, but I still hate being put on the spot about such things. It’s just too uncomfortable when I have to – or worse, if I just want to – say no.

I am learning to live my life for myself, and that I cannot always be everything everyone wants me to be. At least some of the time, I am able to say “no,” but only with an explanation. Perhaps as time goes on, and as I get more accustomed to the word, I’ll be able to use it all on its own, without feeling that I need to explain.

Don’t Worry, Be Happy

Don't Worry, Be Happy smiley face

Bobby McFerrin made it sound so easy, didn’t he? I’ve spent my life joking my way past that well-intentioned but overly simplistic phrase. “But that’s what I do,” I respond with an often-fake smile.

In reality, it is what I do, but it’s less of a laughing matter. It’s not easy to understand anxiety disorders from the outside. Most people’s brains do not immediately catapult to the Worst Case Scenario, fully believing its plausibility. Their imaginations do not invent conversations wherein friends or even complete strangers are making fun of them. Nor do most folks hyperventilate at the mere thought of an airplane or hospital, or fear falling asleep lest they fail to awaken. If you’ve never lived with these sorts of crippling fears, it’s difficult – perhaps even impossible – to understand why “don’t worry,” is a lot more difficult than it sounds.

It can seem really easy (to the outsider, that is) to dismiss these thoughts as illogical, or crazy. In fact, even the G.A.D. (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) sufferer may realize that their fears are irrational, but it doesn’t necessarily help alleviate them. Sometimes the fears simply speak louder than the logic, drowning it out completely. It can take years of practice with various forms of self-talk, visualizations, or other therapies in order to overcome the fears. Some people find medications helpful, and some are more comfortable with natural treatments such as yoga or vitamin supplements. What is right for one person may be entirely wrong for the next.

Over the years, I’ve tried numerous solutions and options, and am finally on a treatment path that seems to be working for me. I’m always going to be a worrier, though, and I will probably always have irrational fears. I’m learning, however, that while anxiety may be part of who I am, it is not the entirety of who I am. And I’m learning that it’s okay if people don’t understand this part of me. Those closest to me do their best to relate, and that is the most I can ask.

Information Super-hideaway

This is my desk

Recently, I admitted to myself, to my husband, and to readers on my personal web journal that I am an Internet addict. I resolved that I would no longer let this addiction get in the way of my family life or my productivity. I’ve already stumbled more than once, but I will continue working towards this goal. However, thinking about it has made me also consider all the other ways the Electronic Age has changed me.

As a teenager, I was very social – not popular, but social within my circle. Not only was I outgoing and unafraid to meet new people, but I was also (somewhat stereotypically of my gender) chronically attached to a telephone receiver. Who would have thought that chatterbox would grow up to be an introverted, phone-phobic 30-something? While I can’t pinpoint exactly when this change took place, a glance at my history suggests it probably started in the early- to mid-90s when I got my first computer and started chatting and role-playing online, beginning the transition from band geek to computer nerd.

I also won’t gain any “cool points” when I mention that I have met the majority of my romantic partners – including my husband – on the Internet. It’s the perfect venue for someone who is a little bit shy and insecure because she can hide behind her computer screen and not have to make eye-contact or worry about stuttering or having bad breath when she talks to someone who has caught her interest. The downside, however, is that I now have absolutely no idea how to meet people. Being happily married, I hope never to have to do the dating thing again, but I do like to make new friends occasionally. Even that is a bit of a foreign territory for me.

In short, the Internet has allowed me to hide from the world at large. I can’t help wondering what I’m missing out on by allowing myself to live inside this shell.

Perhaps, as I overcome my addiction, I can chip away at the walls I’ve built around myself, as well.

Fears

I’ve often joked that I am afraid of pretty much everything. While that is obviously an exaggeration, I certainly have my fair share of phobias, many of which relate to the idea of being trapped somewhere. (Typically this means literally physically trapped, but in some instances it has been known to extend to a more abstract or emotional feeling.)

Anyone who’s known me for any length of time knows that some of the big fears include airplanes, heights, winter travel (whether or not I am the one driving), and abandonment. These, at least, are the ones that actually affect me in any sort of real way. Things like the fear of being buried alive or of drowning or suffocating, etc., obviously have less of an impact on my daily life.

Once Buggie was born, though, a whole new category of fears was opened. I now fear for someone else’s life as much as or more than my own. This was already true to a certain degree with my husband, but it’s simply more profound when you become a parent.

When Bear told me he had to make a business trip later this month, I was suddenly keenly aware of a new brand of fears – becoming a single parent. See, my fear of flying is one that tends to be “projected,” meaning that if someone close to me is flying, I am just as likely to be afraid of their flight as I would be of my own. It suddenly struck me that if something were to happen to him, it was no longer about being “abandoned” or alone – now it is about being solely responsible for another human life!

Wow, I realized, that’s … terrifying. No one would be here to do night-time parenting for me. No one could “rescue” me when I have a Screamy Mommy Day, to take care of Buggie and I if one (or both!) of us is sick. And I remembered that the reason I was willing to have a baby in the first place was because I knew Bear would be an excellent partner in parenting. It never crossed my mind what would happen if I had to do it on my own. I’m sure most parents never think of that until/unless they have to.

Still, the silent prayers of my heart are always for the safety and well-being of my husband and son.