This. Is. Who. We. Are.

We are mothers and fathers. We are working professionals. We are family members. We are active individuals. We are not just sick. Let me say it again: we are not just sick. 

I was sitting in the waiting room at my psychiatrist’s office looking around chatting with the woman who was sitting next to me. She had to get her mother to watch her son so she could come to her doctors appointment. She wore leggings from Walmart and a collared shirt. Like me she is a mom. Like me she likes comfortable leggings. Like me she is sick. 

Last night I had a mental breakdown. I had not gone to the bathroom for 6 hours due to back to back meetings at work. I had not worked out on my treadmill for 6 months due to acute Achilles tendinitis. I was stressed out at work and exhausted at home. I was wearing so many hats I didn’t know if I was coming or going anymore. 

So as I was saying I was sitting in the waiting room at my doctors appointment and I got to thinking.... we are stereotyped for being sick. “Those people” with a mental illness. Well let me tell you some truth: we are people just like everyone else. 

To the lady on my left: you are a great mom, keep up the good work! To the lady on my right: I know this is your first appointment but be encouraged that it’s only up hill from here; you got help and that is truly the first step. To the man sitting across from me: my mother-in-law always said “this too shall pass.” To the man in the industrial boots who came out of his psychiatrists office: rock it dude and keep holding your head high. 

And finally to me: keep wearing those high heels, girlfriend. Life is stressful right now and you have on many hats. Like your doctor said: “you, stacy, have to come first especially during stressful times like this”. I come first. And friends: this is who I am. 

Love Note:  With all my heart, I genuinely request that due to the content written, please seek the guidance of professional help should you feel you need it.

The "Click Click Click" Of My High Heels

Today I had lunch with a friend of mine from work.  We were on our way back to our respective offices from the cafeteria.  We were walking down a long hall where all you could hear was the “click click click” of my high heeled shoes.  She looked down at my feet and said “I just don’t know how you walk in those high heels”.  I simply smiled at her and we kept walking. 

 

When I was reflecting on her statement, it came to mind that I walk briskly with ease in my heels.  Aside from the occasional slippery floor where I catch myself so as not to fall flat on my bottom!  But isn’t that true in life too? 

 

I know with Bipolar Disorder, for me, I am proud of myself for the day to day activities that I do.  I get up (sometimes I reset my alarm five times first but I get up), I get showered and dressed and I drive myself to work.  I work a full day, take care of my family at night, workout then take care of myself and go to bed.

 

Some days are easier than others.  Some days re-setting my alarm isn’t all that is keeping me in bed.  Sometimes I get depressed and I cannot get out of bed at all.  Other days I make my way to work only to hypothetically “slip and fall”.  For example Monday, I sent a report out to the entire leadership team (c-suite included… CEO, CFO, COO, CNO, CMO and so on…) and their executive assistants.  I sent it out only to find that not two minutes post-“sent” did my co-worker (who has the office next to me) come in to say that my math did not add up correctly at the top of the spreadsheet.  Let me repeat myself.  C-suite.  And third grade math.  It was an overlook on my part of course and we all make mistakes, no?  But this was a big huge error for sure.    

 

Other days I wear my high heels and walk through the halls with glamour.  As I did a few weeks ago when I received recognition from my boss for two financial projections I had successfully completed for him.  The "Congratulations and great job, Stacy" went out to the whole company for everyone to see and I was very excited with this accomplishment. 

So for me in my life, my high heels are more than just the clicking down the hallway.  They represent strength, beauty and perseverance.  It is not only about how pretty they make my outfit look on the outside but how special they make me feel on the inside. 

 

Love Note:  With all my heart, I genuinely request that due to the content written, please seek the guidance of professional help should you feel you need it.

Out of the Darkness Community Walk

This past Saturday I walked.  I walked all around the Riverfront in Wilmington, Delaware.  I walked with over 500 other people.  Together, we raised over $59,000 and 84 cents of every single one of those dollars will go to suicide prevention. 

 

The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention Out of the Darkness Community Walk was an amazing (yet cold and windy) experience.  From vendors to speakers, walkers had the opportunity to share with one another their stories and the stories of their loved ones. 

 

We walked for each other and we walked for those people who took their own lives.  While other people, out of love for a good cause, walked simply to support research and education opportunities in suicide prevention. 

 

At the event, there were buckets of beads in different colors.  The walkers were able to pick up and wear the beads that best represented why they were present at the event.  Personally, I took the purple, blue and green beads and wore them the entire day of the walk.  The three different colors represented the following:

 

Purple:  I have lost a relative or friend to suicide

Blue: I support suicide prevention

Green:  I struggle/struggled personally

 

For me, it was a powerful event, it was a day of healing and it created the opportunity to reflect.  As I look back on my own life, I see the four people who I know that I have lost to suicide.  On Saturday, I walked for them.  I also walked for myself and for mental health awareness. 

 

When I signed up for this walk, I knew it wouldn’t be an easy event to participate in.  I know my personal struggles with Bipolar have taken me through hell and back again.  And I also know that I am grateful to be currently stable and while yes, medicated, I am healthy. 

 

Today, I put on my high heels and I went to work just like I do every Monday through Friday.  And today, like every other day, I feel blessed.  I am grateful for where I am in my life’s journey and I am certainly glad I had the opportunity to participate in this special walk. 

 

Finally, I want to say a special Thank You to those who supported me financially, physically and emotionally on this journey.  From my monetary sponsors to friends who walked beside me (and my mom who watched my daughter while I walked), Thank You from the bottom of my heart. 

Love Note:  With all my heart, I genuinely request that due to the content written, please seek the guidance of professional help should you feel you need it.

 

 

There’s Hope in the Darkness of Bipolar Disorder

In loving honor of World Mental Health Day (October 10th), today I did a guest blog post for a very good friend of mine.  She graciously posted my words on her blog and I would like to share what I wrote with my readers here as well.  Her blog, where this was originally published, is https://www.parrotcontent.com.

"It was 6 a.m. and we had been in the emergency department for my husband since 10 p.m. the night before. Having been completely deprived of sleep and running strictly on adrenaline, my mental health went out of control. I had a manic episode and it was the worst one to date.

When I came out of it, off cloud two hundred, and back to reality, I counted seven holes that I had put in my ears with various safety pins. My husband, who was sleeping at the time, woke up to find me this way and he almost passed out looking at my ears. He asked me what I was thinking and I said, “I am not sure.  I just wanted to pierce my ears and make them pretty.” After this, he helped me to put earrings through the holes I had created and we removed the safety pins one by one. He laid me down and I took a very long nap.

You see my friends, I suffer from bipolar disorder. I was diagnosed with it in the spring of 2012 after trying to buy a brand new car off a credit card with a limit of $2000. My husband had to take my credit card from me and drive me home from the dealership. This is the manic side of my bipolar disorder. The opposing side to this is the depression and I suffer from both.

When the depression gets out of control, I generally end up in an emergency room and hospitalized for at least a week. This has happened three times so far in my short thirty-three years of life. The last time I was hospitalized because I emailed my husband a suicide letter. The pills were ready to be taken and out on the counter. The only thing between the pills and me was the bed I was sleeping on at the time.

I tell you this information not to scare you but to explain to you the good, the bad and the ugly of bipolar disorder as it pertains to me. And to say that I am proud of myself for where I have come is an understatement. I have lived through hell and back and I still put on my high heels every day and go to work. Yes, I have been on disability before and I have gone through months of living at home in order to make ends meet. But today, I am stable and I work a full-time job.

My good friend once asked me to explain to her how I control my mental health. And I realized in that moment that I use many different means of healing. I use medication, a counselor, mindfulness thinking, support of family, love of friends, prayer, music, a proper diet, exercise and the list goes on. When times get rough, I pull out whatever healthy means I have at the time to best handle the situation.

On a regular basis, there are five rules that I follow: I eat proper nutrition, I drink lots of water, I exercise, I take my medication and I see my counselor. These simple steps keep me stable as I walk through life one step at a time, one high heel in front of the other.

Yours Truly,

Moody Mom"

Love Note:  With all my heart, I genuinely request that due to the content written, please seek the guidance of professional help should you feel you need it.

Pet Therapy

My cat’s name is Ninja and she is seven years old.  My dog’s name is Valerie and she is two years old.  Valerie is the baby in the family and Ninja is the eldest.  Our daughter falls in between the two fur babies at three and a half years old.  I will write plenty more blogs about her but this one is about our furry friends. 

I was browsing the internet… facebook to be exact… looking for… actually I have no idea what I was looking for.  But what I can tell you is that I saw her.  I saw that little black and white cat and the ad on facebook begging for someone to adopt her.  And I read the ad and I re-read the ad and I read it for a third time.  And by the time I got to the third time of reading it, I called my husband and told him that we were adopting a cat that weekend.

Ninja was a year old and considered “not adoptable” because people only want to adopt kittens not cats.  They were going to put her to sleep if they did not find someone to adopt her quickly.  The organization who housed her was called Dumpster Cats.  They said she was outside a corporate building scared and cold at about seven weeks old when she was rescued and brought to them. 

Ninja was shy, timid and anxious.  The owner’s husband, used to watch Ninja do back flips off the couch at night when the other kittens were fast asleep.  She would sleep during the day while the baby kittens all played.  She was a warrior in life, an eight pound furry warrior.  And I knew I wanted her in my life.  

I remember when we went to pick her up.  The lady who owned Dumpster Cats said, “Ma’am, this is a long-term commitment.  She will live at least twenty years.”  And six years later, Ninja still snuggles with me.  She still welcomes me every morning when I get out of bed with a “Meow”.  And when I get home from work, she meets me at the bottom of the steps, flips around onto her back and says in her little cat voice, “pet my belly Mommy, I am so glad you are home”. 

Valerie, on the other hand, is a whole different story.  For my husband’s thirty-third birthday, I told him we could look into adopting a dog for our family.  Well the words, “look into” meant nothing to him and that weekend we were all over the state of Delaware at animal shelters petting and playing with dogs of every shape, size and breed.  After seeing her three times, taking his co-worker to meet her and talking to the shelter about next steps, Valerie came home with us that following weekend. 

Valerie was a protective animal by nature and needed to know exactly where her humans were at all times.  We potty trained her and crate trained her.  I recall my co-worker saying, “You crate trained her?  That is inhumane to the animal!”  and I gently reminded her of the shelter Valerie came from when she was only allowed outside two times per week, she lived on a cement floor and shared a cage with another dog…And my co-worker gently took back what she said. 

To this day, Valerie greets her humans with jumping up on her hind legs and putting her front paws on our thighs (Except for our daughter.  She runs in circles around her and smothers her with kisses.  It is actually quite interesting how she knows to not jump on her sister because she would tackle her if she did).  Valerie smiles from ear to ear just laying on her back getting pet on her belly in the lap of one her humans. 

And when I am having a bad day and am sick, my animals are right by my side.  They either snuggle right there next to me or are on the floor by my bed.  Valerie and Ninja both know that if Mommy or Daddy allows either of them to jump up on the bed that Mommy is sick and having a bad day.  And they love it.  Speaking for them, I can honestly say that they love to snuggle, feel my warm (or cold) body, and help me transform from having a bad day into feeling better and having a good one.  They certainly are not a prescription drug but they are a form of healing that is unexplainable, unconditionally loving and genuinely caring. 

So to all my fellow humans out there reading this blog, take care of your furry friends because I know they will take care of you too.  And to all my furry friends, keep showering your love on your humans. Thanks for reading and have a bright and sunny day!

Love Note:  With all my heart, I genuinely request that due to the content written, please seek the guidance of professional help should you feel you need it.

Hurricane Weddings Are Not For The Timid

Recently, my husband and I celebrated our seven year wedding anniversary.  This time of year brings forward reflection and feelings of humbleness.  While it was the best hurricane wedding ever (we got married during hurricane Irene) it came with trials of health for me and patience and love for my husband.

We were living in San Francisco, California at the time and two months prior to our wedding I got a new job working for a promising start-up company downtown.  I was hired to be an Office Manager/Executive Assistant but my boss had me cleaning the refrigerator and planning small events.

A week into the new job I shut down. I was on my way to work one morning and I called my fiancé to let him know I was somewhere downtown hysterically crying.  I remember standing in a corner next to one of many tall buildings downtown telling Trevor that I couldn’t go on anymore.

When Trevor found me I was a puddle of tears and fear of harming myself and lacking any hope.  So he did what every brave man would do and he took me to the Emergency Room for immediate medical attention.  Interestingly enough the doctor did not admit me instead he kept me in observation and sent me home with referrals to psychiatric and psychological help.

What was to follow included a blurry month of numbness, fear and depression.  I was diagnosed with Major Depression and could not function on my own.  My mom and my brother flew out to take care of me.  

They helped me literally get out of bed every morning.  They helped me put my feet on the ground and forced me to pull the sheets up so as not to get back into bed.  They opened the mini blinds in our apartment and made me eat a little bit of food.  I am 5’5” tall and at the time, I weighed 110lbs soaking wet. 

This was about the time that we lost everything.  I lost my job and went on disability.  We started to sell all our belongings and prepared to move across the country to live with my mom in Delaware.  We lost our apartment because we could not afford it any longer. 

And somewhere in the midst of it all, we got married.  I found hope in working with a psychotherapist and psychiatrist out of San Francisco.  We practiced mindfulness and worked on seeing the future, one moment at a time.  Thankfully my husband saw a future with me in the midst of all the darkness.  And seven years later, we are humbly still talking about that part of our lives. 

Love Note:  With all my heart, I genuinely request that due to the content written, please seek the guidance of professional help should you feel you need it.

My Lotus Flower Tattoo

Due to the milestones of my bipolar mental illness, my 30th birthday celebration was very emotional for me.  To be able to see 30 years old when I had so many days that I could not even see the next day or minute or second in front of me was a feat beyond my most precious dreams. 


My brain is not equipped properly to handle life as healthy people do and therefore the prospect of self harm and/or directly relating to suicide is very real for me.  With the mentality of "Stacy You Matter", my medications, my doctors, my counselors, my husband, my precious family, and a few select dear friends, unsafe segments of my life have become futures of celebration. 

For my 30th birthday, I got my second tattoo.  With the help of amazing drawings and assistance in my vision from my husband, my incredible tattoo artist and I co-created a simple yet beautiful masterpiece.  My tattoo is on my right ankle and I wanted to share the meaning with all of you. 

My tattoo represents 3 main topics:

1.  Perseverance 

The focal point of the tattoo- the center of the flower- is a semicolon..."A semicolon is used when an author could've chosen to end their sentence, but chose not to.  The author is you and the sentence is your life."- Project Semicolon

2.  Love

Two of the flower petals come together at the very center top of the flower to look like a heart.

The two bottom peddles on the left and two bottom peddles on the right together look like a butterfly.  To me a butterfly represents change in consciousness and therefore a new beginning. 

3.  Grace

The lotus flower.  The beautiful tattoo as a whole is a tribal style lotus flower.  This represents the grace I have chosen to bestow upon myself over the times of turmoil which in turn has helped me take baby steps towards my prolonged future.  And secondly, since the day we found out we were pregnant, I have and will continue to offer my daughter grace- even in trying times when I have no other way of sharing my love for her. 

Finally, it was recently brought to my attention by my lovely counselor that the stem of my flower presents the image of an anchor.  Immediately I responded with, "through it all, the Lord is the anchor in my life". 

Love Note:  With all my heart, I genuinely request that due to the content written, please seek the guidance of professional help should you feel you need it.

Fight or Flight Mechanism

This past Tuesday, I had a huge meeting.  A consultant was presenting my data to five top executives at my company.  And when I say the meeting was a disaster, it was truly a catastrophe.  The consultant misinterpreted the data and misrepresented many of the statistics.  The executives were not only correcting the data during the presentation but I was also questioned afterwards.  Two of the group leaders wanted to know where they got their data and why it was wrong.  And they wanted answers from me. 


I take pride in my work and I work very hard.  I also am a very intelligent woman.  Not to toot my own horn or anything but I did get a 4.0 grade point average in graduate school.  So when I tell you that I clammed up and did not have answers to give them, I fell completely quiet and crawled into a shell.  The leaders wanted answers and I could not find anything in my head to tell them.  I felt about an inch tall and I wanted to run and hide in a corner and cry.  So I simply stated that I agreed with them that the presentation needed work and that I would do what I could to work with the consultant to rectify the data. 


After the meeting, I wanted to run away.  I wanted to quit my job and never go back again.  I wanted to pack up my office and say goodbye to my coworkers.  I wished the meeting never happened and I wanted nothing to do with cleaning up what I saw as a big data mess.


Have you ever heard the term “fight or flight”?  To me, it simply means to stay in the situation and fight your way through it or to leave the situation completely.  This mechanism inside my brain over-dramatizes the situation and offers an “out” for my mental health.  In this instance, my mind wanted to candidly run away from the situation and not stay and fight my way through how to remedy it.  Let me be very clear that I recognize this is an extreme way of seeing the world and of handling negative situations.  And it is truly painful to work through.


In this instance of flight, I handled it as every good hard worker would:  I vented to my friend who works in another department.  She knows me very well and knows that I suffer from a mental illness.  And I trust her.  I explained that my brain was being extreme and unhealthy and that I needed her help.  So she sent me a song to listen to and I went for a walk. 


When I got back from my walk, I talked to our executive assistant and she put me in a half hour time slot to speak with my boss.  My boss was one of the executives who were present at the meeting so he was fully aware of the situation that took place.  He listened and helped me to trouble-shoot a way to handle the consultant going forward.  And we discussed how to be proactive with the consultant rather than retroactive with the data analysis.  


To say that I feel better would not honestly depict the situation.  But to say that I feel worse would not do it any justice.  So I will simply say that I am working through the process and taking it one step at a time…in my high heels of course. 


Love Note:  With all my heart, I genuinely request that due to the content written, please seek the guidance of professional help should you feel you need it.

The Past, Present and Future of Birthdays

Just under a week ago, I celebrated my 33rd birthday.  I was born into a family of five people including my mom, dad and three siblings.  I joined a large extended family with four grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.  

Birthdays in my family are a ton of fun!  We celebrate with family and friends... and loads of food.  We sing the "Happy Birthday" song and we blow out candles.  We make a really big deal out of our special day.  

When I was seven years old, my father was diagnosed with prostate cancer.  He was given six months to live.  My father lived not only beyond six months but he fought for 15 years.  My mom always says, "dad never got to see his 60th birthday" because he passed in October prior to his big day.  

I recall my 30th birthday.  This was a tough year for me because my health was going downhill fast.  A few weeks prior to that birthday I was hospitalized.  I spent a week in the psychiatric ward of a local hospital.  During that time of severe depression, I saw only each moment as it came.  And as I began to heal in the weeks following that awful time in the hospital, I became stronger and lived to surpass my 30th birthday.  

In my family, we celebrate birthdays for three simple reasons.  First, we celebrate our birth.  We rejoice over the day we were born into this world.  Secondly, we celebrate another year that we had on earth.  We reflect on another year we got to spend together.  And finally, we celebrate the year to come.  We look forward to the year ahead of us.  

Love Note:  With all my heart, I genuinely request that due to the content written, please seek the guidance of professional help should you feel you need it.

Let's Not Call Each Other Mean Names

It has taken me a few days to get my head around how I want to present this next post and here is why:
1.  It is a touchy topic
2.  It involves speaking about stigmas
3.  Someone I know who knows me said it.  And I refuse to disclose names. 


So, with that being said, here it goes... A few days ago I was talking to a fifty year old man. I have known him for about a year now.  Whilst we do know each other and are friendly to one another, he does not know the extent of my story.  He does not know that I was diagnosted with Depression when I was twenty one years old and Major Depression when I was twenty six.  And he does not know that the spring of 2012, my diagnosis changed to Bipolar Disorder.  However, he does know that I wear high heels (he has actually mentioned to me that when I wear my bright pink flats, I am significantly shorter than when I wear my high heels)!

All this to say, we were conversing about Delaware healthcare and I brought up the topic of "Behavioral Health".  I stated that I do not think we have enough resources for Mental Healthcare in the state of Delaware.  He replied that "we do not invest in whack-o's".  Now, if you know me well, you know that this struck home.  Unbeknownst to him, it was a direct insult to my health.  He could have simply agreed or disagreed with me but name calling in this fashion was not appropriate. 


Are we whack-o's because we have a mental disorder?  Each illness I am sure has its stereotypes and I would be lying to you if I said that mental health did not have a ton of stigmas attached to it.  But, my fellow friends, that does not make it right.  Was he making a joke?  Yes, he smiled and chuckled while he said it.  But does that make it acceptable?  I think not. 


When I approached the situation with my confidant we discussed what it means to have a mental illness. For me to over simplify it, it means that first and foremost I go to a psychiatrist. He is my doctor and he prescribes me medication to help me remain stable. And second, I see a therapist. Some people see a therapist others see a psychotherapist, a psychologist or counselor. When we have a physical injury, we go to physical therapy. When we have a mental illness, we see a mental, emotional or spiritual therapist (or for some people like me, my therapist is all three).

So to circle back to this man’s comment, my best guess is that he thought it was funny to name call because he does not understand the illness. He does not know that I see my psychiatrist every month and that I used to see this doctor weekly until I was stable. He does not know how often I see my mental therapist. And he certainly does not know how much time, energy and effort it takes to remain stable; how hard it is some days to get out of bed let alone to put on my high heels.

So my friends, the next time you decide to call someone a mean name, remember that you do not know their story. Know that they may be going through something that you personally do not understand. And finally remember that we are all human and kindness can go a long way, especially when it comes to name calling of those who are ill.

Love Note:  With all my heart, I genuinely request that due to the content written, please seek the guidance of professional help should you feel you need it.

When Falling Asleep is Tough

The struggle is real.  Falling asleep can be really tough sometimes, no doubt about it.  But I can tell you, when I cannot fall asleep, this is when my mind wanders.  And when it wanders at night, while I am laying in bed wishing I were sleeping, it does not always go to happy places.


To say the least, I have always been apprehensive in the dark.  Darkness has been quite honestly a fear for a greater portion of my life.  So when the lights go out at night, and the darkness of the world settles in, this is when I want my brain to shut off, my body to relax and sleep to fall upon me.  However some nights this does not happen and last night was one of those nights. 


I have come to find that once my brain is on an inner treadmill, the "power off" switch is nowhere to be found.  And when this happens for me, it can get ugly.  What I mean by this is that having a mental illness causes my brain to think dark thoughts at times.  To my family and close friends, I generalize these dark thoughts "bad thoughts".  So last night as my husband soundly slept next to me, I was listening to him breathing thinking that I wanted to be asleep too.  But since I could not sleep I got mad that I was still wide awake.  And when I am awake, not sleeping, and now mad about it, my brain decided that it did not want to be happy anymore.  I am blaming my brain because if I had it my way and had control over my thoughts, I would have been thinking about butterflies and wild flower gardens starting to fall fast asleep.  Instead, I was getting mad and my thoughts went dark. 


Dark thoughts for me can mean many things.  This includes thoughts about the universe and why I am on earth.  Why was I picked to be on earth and why not someone else?  Who had I become and how did I become this way?  How did I get to be the age of 33 and what had I done with my life thus far to get to that age?  And then my brain goes to the future and if I could not fall asleep, what would the future look like:  Was I pre-destined to be depressed the next day?  (In my experience the answer to this is “yes”).  Sometimes when I lay in bed at night and cannot sleep, I cannot see the future at all.  I can only describe this feeling as an emptiness: desolate and deserted.  It is certainly a depressing thought pattern and can lead down a dark path. 


As I type this post, I am thinking about what happens next and how does it happen.  For example, do I eventually fall asleep?  Do I stay awake all night?  Do I wake up my husband and have him rub my back to calm my anxiety and give me solace?  And while any one of these things could happen, it really depends on the night.  So last night I sang a little song to myself over and over and over again until I finally passed out.  And of course that was not enough to stay asleep so I woke up an hour later and went through the whole daunting process again only to sing my song over and over and.... over again once more.

Love Note:  With all my heart, I genuinely request that due to the content written, please seek the guidance of professional help should you feel you need it.

Blog Title and Pen Name Explanation

My friend was helping me set up my blog today and she was asking me questions about the title.  She wanted to better understand why I picked this title and why it meant so much to me.  Why high heels?  Well for my first post (yes, first of many more to come), I thought I would explain the title and pen name.  How does that sound? 


Bipolar in High Heels:  Successful Steps to Mental Health
This is me and this is my story about my life as a person who was diagnosed in the spring of 2012 with Bipolar Disorder.  Since that time, I have been hospitalized twice and I have been on the maximum dose of four medications.  On the same token, I have also held a full time job and by the standards of doctors across the country, I am considered "high-functioning".  I wear high heels to work every day (with the exception of one pair of bright pink flats that I wear on occasion) and I wear my heels with pride.  They make me feel not only taller but good about myself.  As I take my life one step at a time, I put my high heels on every day and I strive for success.  I am not only a successful professional business woman but I am a survivor of a deadly illness.  Yes, I said it: deadly.  An ugly illness where my brain does not function as per the norm.  Living with this illness is a daily struggle that leads me to take days one at a time and seconds one by one.  Putting one high heeled foot in front of the other every minute of every day makes me humble and feel very blessed to be alive and living with such an illness as this. 


Moody Mom
For my pen name, I decided to make it fun and a twist on words.  Being that Bipolar tends to make your emotions go haywire at times, I thought why not have a silly pen name.  On a serious note, mood swings can be very severe with Bipolar and even devastating at times.  That being said, I can be very moody but my medications keep the highs and lows to a minimum.  When I was trying to determine what to use as a pen name my husband suggested Moody Mom and I ran with it.  I mean, why not?  I am a mom.  And Bipolar certainly makes me moody. 


This, my friends, concludes my first blog post.  I feel so excited that you took the time to read this and to be my audience.  I will check in again soon but for now, have a lovely evening. 

Love Note:  With all my heart, I genuinely request that due to the content written, please seek the guidance of professional help should you feel you need it.