An anniversary date is coming up this week. A baby girl I had the privilege of being Mommy to from birth to 14 months old left this world way too soon.
In therapy (this is a much needed resource to help me through) it was suggested I take time to honour her daily. Please indulge me. I never want to forget the beauty of my sweet girl.
I GET to remember her. What a privilege. What a joy to have been her mommy. To know she knew love at such an important time in her life. To know she felt safe and nurtured for the majority of her life. To know she is safe and happy now in her heavenly home … this I take solace in. She is not hungry or scared. She knows no pain and has complete peace.
Thank you sweet girl for the time we had. You are engraved in my heart forever. Until we meet again. That reunion will be oh so sweet.
I have had to pare down my daily activities in recent days. I have done this in the name of both self care and survival.
Pushing pause on a few things that matter to me has been hard. And in the interest of mental health I need to find ways to integrate some of those things back in.
One thing I have added into our lives is playing music that either soothes or energizes me. I may also be singing along because that is just part of how I connect with my music.
Along those same lines, I have added in small Zumba sessions because it lifts my mood instantaneously and serves as exercise at a time when I find it next to impossible to have my hands free of babies.
I read the smallest little bit of my Bible app daily to make sure my mind is focused on things that guide my heart and mind in a way that serves myself and my family well.
I. Am. A. Mean. Girl. I have absolutely no patience with myself and my limitations. I expect the world (of myself) and find myself lacking …often. Talk about the perfect recipe for a personal crisis.
I have a newborn baby. I am not 20 anymore… in fact I am closer to 50. Whaaaat???! I was tired with my newborns in my 20s. Why should I expect any different of myself now? I also have a 1 year old whose primary objective is to destroy the house on the daily. And a 4 year old whose very essence reeks of independence and sass. I have good reason to feel a bit tired.
Add to these variables that we are reeling from the recent knowledge that the baby girl we raised from 3 days old to 14 mos old passed away under tragic circumstances while no longer in our care. And we are in a daily fight to try and bring her brother back home to us. This is all exhausting. This mama is weary. This is a time for Grace if ever there was one.
So what does self care look like right now? My self care allows for tears. It allows for more Starbucks iced coffees than it should. It allows for gentle movement. It allows for showing up just as I am and having that be good enough.
My self care also says ‘yes.’ It says ‘yes’ to meals being provided and ‘yes’ to gifts of cards and flowers and meal delivery services. It says ‘yes’ to people who offer support through prayer or other intangibles.
My top 5 K.I.S.S. Plan (keep it simple sweetie/stupid) for now is:
Be kind! Move my body when I can however I can.
Be kind! Sleep or snooze or at least rest whenever I can.
Be kind! Be present in the moment because these sweet ones grow all too quickly.
Be joyful. Whatever that looks like… it could be dancing or singing along to a favourite song or being silly with the kids.
Just be. Whatever I feel… (and those feelings are coming fast and furious )… just allow them. Tears are healing balm to my broken heart. Accept that some days are easier and some days are harder. Just be. And breathe.
I have discovered a magic pill… flamenco dancing. Well, the Zumba version because I am pretty sure I am not coordinated enough for the real deal.
Lots has been happening in our foster home over the past couple of weeks. There has been devastating grief as the very real possibility of our two littlest babies reuniting with their mama has become apparent. As much as that is the goal of fostering, we love each child in our home as if they are ours so of course it hurts… a lot.
And so, what is a girl to do? I dance. I hold those babies tight and shake what my mama gave me.
I am no scientist but chemically speaking, dopamine is released during exercise. My mental acuity improves as my brain signals my body to move at a certain pace with specific moves. As I learn to move, I am also learning to instruct which means that my brain and body are working even harder still. All of which distracts me from a broken heart.
I need all the help I can get otherwise I am very sad. The last thing a girl with depression needs is something to push her equilibrium over in the wrong direction. I guess you could call this self medicating?
Nothing feels more incomplete than a computer screen that reads ‘error 404.’ (And I NEVER exaggerate…)
I am pretty sure all of us (even as the world is kind of re-opening) feel like we are living out error 404 daily.
In the interest of full transparency, I made a miscalculation concerning my antidepressant. Pre-Covid19, I was feeling good. Like maybe I kicked my depression to the curb good. And so, when my prescription refill got called in by my doctor I didn’t bother to let him know that he was prescribing my earlier dosage. I just went with it. It was only a tiny difference and so I believed that it would be no big deal.
It has been kind of a deal.
Every strategy, system, schedule I had in place pre-Corona got paused. Error 404. ‘Almost everything you know to do to live your life and be well cannot be found.’ Doh!
If we weren’t going through all of the ramifications of a novel virus perhaps all would be well… maybe…
And so, I write this poolside… snorting some vitamin D because that helps. I have a belly full of a antioxidant rich, autoimmune boosting salad. I have let my people know that I am struggling. And I am taking a baby step forward today to do just a bit better. (Which includes my previous, previous dose of antidepressant.)
To be struggling at a time like this isn’t unusual… in fact it should probably have been anticipated. Coulda shoulda woulda. Oh well. That’s me. How you doin??!
The journey through depression is different for everyone. Think of the happiest person you know, the funniest, the most extroverted, the one with all of the friends. Guess what? They might be struggling through a season of depression.
If I didn’t tell you, you wouldn’t know that depression is part of my journey because a) I smile a lot b) I laugh a lot c) I joke a lot d) I hang out with friends a lot.
For me, depression=my get up and go got up and went.
Recently, with the passing of our beloved Princess Buttercup Bernard Campbell aka Buttersnuff, Flufferbutt, Babygirl, the Sweetness; I have seen some new symptoms emerge. A few of the manifestations were kind of funny:
I have cleaned like a maniac (except I left the dog bones where Buttercup buried them in the house — in the couch, under the table, in the plant, under the bathmat and in the basement.)
I cooked like a fiend — not for my family but rather for our other dog, Sir Bozley (toots a lot) Campbell.
I cried like a baby while sometimes laughing like a hyena and eventually more like a wheezing old man (visit http://thebloggess.com/2018/01/07/its-the-little-things-yall/ and don’t skimp on reading the comments.)
I have watched so much America’s Next Top Model that I may now embody Tyra Banks (not so much the supermodel part of her but rather her fly dance moves and unique use of the English Language — booch tooch, smize, ‘work it girl’ and much, much more.)
Depression or no, life happens. How we deal is up to us. Remember, nobody is in this fight alone.
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