The Struggle is Real

Yesterday my husband said, “are you still blogging?” to which I replied, “does anyone care if I do?” and he stated, “yes, I do”.  So this post is for him. 

Recently I have been working on a project at work.  Not just any project but a population analysis, with market share and volume projections for 5 years.  This project is a beast.  And to be quite frank with you, I treated it like one too.  I figured it would eat me, chew me up and then swallow me down into its belly just like any other beast you would find in a scary movie. 

The other night before bed, my daughter and I were reading a fairy tale that had a monster in it.  She looked at me when the book was over and said, “mommy, I have never seen a monster before”.  I replied with confidence, “and you never will my darling”.  If my life were the fairy tale, this project is certainly the monster. 

So what does this have to do with having bipolar?  Well, let me tell you… my mental illness plays games with me.  And mainly what I mean by that is that it takes my confidence away.  I spent an entire day staring at my step by step process to which I needed to follow in order to accomplish this projection.  Then I spent an hour with my boss going over the project guidelines in great detail.  Then I spent the following day floundering around in and out of reports and report writing software. 

When I tell you I felt defeated, I mean it.  On Tuesday I called my husband and cried frantically telling him I was going to quit my job.  On Wednesday, I wore flats…I just didn’t feel like my high heels were appropriate for a failure.  By Wednesday night, I was lying awake in my bed trying desperately to fall asleep when a sense of peace and calm came over me.  In that moment, I reached out to the universe for help. 

My girlfriend at work always prays to “baby Jesus” so I thought I might give it a try.  “Dear Baby Jesus, I need your help with this project.  Please help me.  Amen.”  And I drifted off to sleep.  The next day I put on what my husband calls my “power heels” (a red pair of high high heel shoes) and I set off to work. 

I deleted the file that I had started over the past week with all the documents in it that I had begun to work on.  And I opened a new folder and I started fresh from scratch.  I pulled the data from the different databases and I did it MY WAY.  I did it the Stacy way… one excel tab at a time.  I built the entire document from scratch and 12 tabs later, I ended my progress with an Executive Summary. 

But that of course was not the end of it.  I had to present my data to my boss the following day.  So Friday, I put on another pair of high heels and I set up a meeting with my boss at 11:00am.  We sat in a conference room with a large computer screen where we went through each tab all the way to the Executive Summary. 

45 minutes later, my boss looked at me and I said, “I made this project my own.  And I worked really hard on it and I am pleased.  I know I still have work to do but its mine and I am proud of it”.  He looked at me and said, “THIS is what we DO.  And YOU did it.  Great job.”  Now, if you know my boss you know that you are hard-pressed for a compliment from him.  So when I tell you I was on top of the world, I was glowing. 

So my friends, drop the microphone, project (almost- with a few more tweaks) complete with the bosses stamp of approval.  Yes, the struggle is real but the success after a war with myself is even more real. 

Whether you talk to Baby Jesus, reach out to the Universe or pray to the Lord for guidance, I recommend this for sure.  For me, it gave me a peace and confidence that I had not experienced until that time.  And sometimes you just have to walk away from it and start over.  But just knowing that I had cheerleaders (friends, family, my one co-worker) on my side cheering for me the whole time also gave me the support I needed to get through this project. 

So put on your “power heels” and lets do this.  Lets tackle life, one project at a time. 

 

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. 

Afraid to Cross the Line

One day recently my husband and I were talking.  I was telling him about a situation at work where I was not sure I handled it appropriately.  So he looked at me and said, “Honey, I fell in love (thirteen years ago) with a strong, opinionated, outspoken woman.  But after your mental health hit the fan, there was no more of that person anymore”.  So his answer made me think, even with my high heels on, am I still afraid to cross the line? 

 

I second guess myself a lot.  This happens at home and at work.  So then the question becomes, was I always like this because it is who I am?  Or is it because of the mental illness?  

 

At the young age of seven, my father was diagnosed with cancer and was given six months to live.  So, I matured and grew up quickly always on edge with my father’s health status.  His cancer went in and out of remission and he fought for his life for fifteen long years. 

 

Being the youngest of four kids, at a very young age, I learned how to stand up for myself.  I was always a go-getter and excelled in many things.  For example, I was a second degree black belt in taekwondo martial arts by the time I was ten years old.  I swam year around most of my youth and I played volleyball in high school all while maintaining honors society throughout my school years. 

 

I worked hard in my family’s business, never receiving any monetary hand-outs.  Rather, I swept the floors and cleaned the counters at our family business to earn a little spending money.  I worked summer jobs in high school at banks, took internships in college and as soon as I graduated, I was not only accepted into graduate school but I also had a full-time job lined up for myself. 

In my second semester senior year of college, I worked hard to achieve a 4.0 grade point average (GPA).  I graduated from undergrad with a 3.4 GPA and wore a high honors hood at graduation.  Three years later, I graduated top in my class from graduate school with a 4.0 GPA while excelling at three jobs (at the same time) and living in San Francisco, California. 

Therefore, I grew up a strong-willed independent young lady.  I worked hard, I played hard and I was very successful in all that I did.  And in reflecting on this, it made me a well-rounded person. 

This takes my story to seven years ago, when my mental health took a turn for the worst.  My diagnosis was changed from Major Depression to Bipolar Disorder and I was extremely ill.  As I have spoken about in previous blogs, I was not functioning and I could not take care of myself without help.  It was as if my life stopped, my brain went numb, and I hit re-set on my mental status. 

 

It has taken me these past seven years to re-build myself (including my self-esteem and confidence) back up again.  And, as they say, “the struggle is real”.  Having Bipolar Disorder makes me second guess my decisions, it has an impact on my general instincts as a person and it takes a toll on the confidence I have in my abilities. 

 

With every decision I make, there is a possibility for failure, defeat or making the choice for the wrong reasons.  I am afraid and scared now that I will do something wrong.  I do not think for myself like I used to, I do not trust my instincts and I do not trust myself to make the right choices.  My illness plants seeds of stress, worry and anxiety in my mind that leaves me feeling useless and unworthy. 

 

I make a choice and then I second guess myself.  I re-think decisions once the choice has already been made.  I am pessimistic where I used to think that the glass was always half full. 

 

However, I find it extremely important to put on my high heels every day!  They signify my confidence even when I feel it is lacking.  They show my inner spirit even when the flame isn't burning so brightly.  And they make me feel beautiful even on the darkest of days. 

So I keep trying every day, I put on my heels and I pick my head off my pillow.  And I think one day I will be the confident woman again that my husband fell in love with.  Until then, I hope he stays patient with me and keeps being positive.  He picks me up when I am feeling down and he reminds me that if I keep trying, my confidence will keep building and I will be the Stacy that I once was yet again (and maybe even a better version of her)! 

 

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.

Swim Away the Pain and Tears

Did I mention that I get migraines?  Or that I work in a stressful job?  How about that I have Achilles tendonitis?  Or that I am 33 years old and just lost three of my four grandparents? 

 

About a month ago, my husband said, “You need an outlet for stress.  Do you want to join the YMCA?”  I am not here to promote the Y one way or the other.  However, I am going to tell you that physical exercise is extremely helpful.  It is especially helpful for someone who suffers from a mental illness. 

 

After having Achilles tendonitis three times in my life (Including having it right now), I am beginning to think that I am just not designed to be a runner.  I grew up swimming.  As far back as I can remember I was a little fish in the water.  We always belonged to a swimming pool during the summer and I swam year around during the winter for many years. 

 

Therefore when my husband suggested that I join the YMCA, I did not think twice about swimming.  So, I went on a tour and did a trial of the pool.  And come to find, I did not drowned (for some reason I had this irrational fear that I would not remember how to swim) and while out of breath after a few laps, I kept swimming (I did not stop until 45 minutes went by)!  So tomorrow I will go back again and sign up for their monthly membership so that I can begin to swim again on a regular basis. 

 

My hope is that this will be a positive stress reliever for me.  My other thought is that maybe due to the outlet for stress; my migraines will not be as often and as intense.  It should help stretch my ankles and the pressure on my feet will be eliminated in the water while I swim. 

 

As I reflect on this new journey in my life, I cannot help but hope that it will also help ease some of the pain I am going through right now.  Over the last two years, I have lost three of my four grandparents.  While I know they are now in a sacred place with each other (probably having a party and drinking wine), it has taken a huge toll on me. 

 

I am proud to report that I have still gotten out of bed every morning and put on my high heels.  But I do however keep having long moments of tears at work.  And I keep feeling very sad and depressed. 

 

I was fortunate to grow up with my grandparents and I have countless memories with each one of them.  They lived ten minutes from my house and they picked me up from school sometimes and they came to all my sporting events.  They went to my graduations- under graduate and graduate school- and they were with me every step of my battle with my mental health.  They were the first four people (other than my husband and my mom) to hold my daughter in their precious arms. 

 

My grandparents showed me love that only someone special can share with you in your lifetime.  They loved me unconditionally (my grandma who is living still adores me as I do her).  As my coworker said to me through my tears of sadness, “they planted seeds in your life and it is your job to water them”. 

 

So tomorrow I join the Y to help me physically, mentally and emotionally.  I will swim away the pain in my ankles and push through the tears that keep filling my eyes.  And every time I am done swimming, I will trade my flip flops for high heels. 

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 Daughter, My Little Gift

I have been trying for months to write a blog post about her.  Every time I try to type it out, I get lost in my thoughts and the words just do not come out.  So I am hoping I can write this one today for you all to read.  Here we go…

The conversation the other day went something like this, “Mommy, one day I will be a big girl and I will wear your high heels” and then, “Mommy, I just love your shoes and I want to wear them”.  These sentences came from my almost-four-year-old daughter.  I should say she is three going on thirteen the way she thinks sometimes.  She never ceases to amaze me. 

Sometimes the conversations with her are not so much fun though.  Sometimes, she asks pointed questions like a few weeks ago, “Daddy why won’t mommy get out of bed and play with me?” And to this, my husband gently answered, “Mommy is sick today and she needs to stay in bed and rest.”  Or every Sunday night when I fill up my pill jar for the coming week, “Mommy, what are these pills for and why do you take them?”  I do not want to keep her in the dark but I do not want to tell her too much to scare her so I simply state, “these pills keep Mommy healthy so that I am not sick”. 

My daughter is very intuitive and she asks very good questions.  She is always wondering about her surrounds and questioning the people she loves the most.  She does this in an effort to learn more about the world around her. 

I will admit though if you asked me if I was ever going to be a mom, I would have told you point blank, “no”.  My doctors always discouraged it because for so much of my life my mental health was not stable.  And quite frankly, I discouraged it for myself because I did not think it would be fair for a child to have me as their Mommy. 

But, the world had its own agenda and here I am with a three year old daughter.  While I cannot have any more children (unless we are lead to adopt which is not in the cards but is of course the only means in which to have another child), I am certainly grateful for my daughter.  When I go to pick her up at school after a long day at work and she runs over to me and says, “Mommy!  I had a thumbs-up kind of day!” my little heart melts and I feel so special and it makes the tougher times worthwhile. 

Last night I tucked her into bed and gave her a kiss on the cheek and a huge hug.  I left her room and closed her door gently.  The next minute, she came out her room, “MOMMY! I have to go potty!” So, I took her to the bathroom and tucked her back into her bed again.  Then the next minute, “MOMMY, I am thirsty!”  So I gave her a sip of water and put her back into her bed again.  One minute later, “MOMMY!” and I said, “WHAT HONEY?” in a stern voice and she looked up at me with those beautiful brown eyes and goes, “Mommy, I just wanted to tell you…that I love you.”  I picked her up and held her close to my body in the biggest hug I could muster up the energy for and I told her, “I love you too, Sweet Heart”.  And I tucked her into bed for the final time that night. 

Being a person who suffers from Bipolar Disorder does not define me.  It is an illness that I live with yet it does not make me who I am.  It is moments like last night that lift me up as a person and make me appreciate the little shining star that I have in my life.  It is nights like last night that reminds me why I am here on earth and why I get up and out of bed every morning.  It is times like last night that encourage me to put on my high heels every day, hold my head up high and say to myself, “You can do this”. 

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.

Post New Years Dilemma

For some reason the close of one year and the opening of a new year always seems to lead me down the road of depression.  New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day were spent with family this year at my mom’s house.  We ate a ton of food, drank lots of wine and played games like BananaGrams (but do not play my brother because he is bound to win every time)! 

 

But when I tell you that January 2^nd hit me like a ton of bricks, I am telling you it hit me hard.  Maybe it did not help that this year it fell on a Wednesday or “hump day” because it certainly felt like I had to crawl moment by moment over the hump of the day itself.  I could not get out of bed to save my life and when I finally did roll out of bed and get a shower, I did not get into work until 10:30am. 

 

I do not know what it is about a new year that bothers me so much.  Is it the letting go of the previous year?  Is it trying to look forward to another year ahead?  Maybe it is a little bit of both. 

 

Today I asked my husband his thoughts on my end of the year/new year depression.  He suggested that maybe it is because of all the hustle and bustle of the holidays with lots of family around.  When all that ends and all the presents are open, you are left with going back to work again and starting a new year.  (Not that work is a bad thing by any means but just that you try to go back to a state of normalcy).   

 

There is a kind of "high" with the holidays:  getting prepared, buying presents, seeing family, decorating the house.  Then there is Santa and my Elf on the Shelf (his name is "Strawberry" as so eloquently named by my daughter).  For my family, we live the furthest driving distance away from everyone so the central locations are my mom and grandmothers house so the holidays also bring a great deal of driving as well. 

But all that to say that there is excitement fueled by anticipation.  And all this leads to severe exhaustion come January 2^nd.  And for this whole week I have just been going through the motions wanting nothing more than to be in my pajamas and be in bed.

 

I do recognize that this level of depression comes every year at the same exact time.  And to some extent, I have come to accept it and ready myself for its arrival.  My therapist called me to check in yesterday and I told her I was “depressed but I recognized it and am working through it” and she said, “Stacy, I am so darn proud of you.”  It is as if she saw that I was struggling but at the same time, I noticed what I was going through.  I also put words to it (which is sometimes harder than not) and, I am doing something about it for example, listening to uplifting music, talking to my friends at work, communicating with my therapist and getting myself back into a workout routine.  This is what puts me on the path to recovery and this is what keeps me going through the rough times. 

You know what is really ironic?  This week, I have not worn high heels once.  So tomorrow, I put away the flats, I raise my chin up high and I put my high heeled shoes back on again.  Let's do this.  Let's do 2019 together. 

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.