Calling it enough

I’ve written several posts about my depression, PTSD, fibromyalgia, etc. Writing and sharing does help, and not just me but sometimes others out there that are dealing with the same thing. Just knowing someone else truly gets what you’re going through can be a comfort.

We have to take care of ourselves, both physically and mentally. As a mother that isn’t always easy to do. We tend to look out for our families, our children, husband, parents, friends, literally everyone else first, and all too often don’t leave enough time for ourselves. If we do take some time we often feel guilty, like we’re taking time away from others, or taking time that could be better spent completing a task. In reality, all we’re taking away from is our physical and mental health, depleting ourselves, not considering that there is a breaking point and we are speeding up reaching it.

I am SO guilty of this. I have reached said breaking point. I have way more on my plate than I should have and I have mostly done it to myself. I have raised four children, home schooled all four, while obtaining an online college degree, running the office of my husband’s business, writing two poetry books and a frugal living book, buried both of my parents and all but two of my 12 siblings, a set of grandparents, taken in other people’s teenagers and helped raise them, had a home burn to the ground, been assaulted, and am now raising my small grandson. My husband is a saint to have been by my side with all of this, not to mention a mental snap a few years ago.

I have always been proud of being my father’s daughter, strong, stubborn, competant. But what I failed to acknowledge was that I’m also my mother’s daughter – hot tempered, nervous, and a worrier. Through my depression I have failed to grasp that my mother had depression and anxiety, a fact that, had I grasped that, I may have been more aware of my own symptoms. My mother’s was never truly diagnosed, her pcp just prescribed her “nerve medicine”. I never realized what the medicine was she was taking. As it turns out these two conditions can be hereditary –  according to Stanford Medicine, “Heritability is probably 40-50%, and might be higher for severe depression. This could mean that in most cases of depression, around 50% of the cause is genetic, and around 50% is unrelated to genes (psychological or physical factors).” That is a key fact that is important to know, and for one’s healthcare provider to know.

So for me, I’m making a plan. I’m taking a “me day” today, and I will be taking them more often in the future. I will take time to meditate, calm the mind, and just take care of myself for a change. If I don’t I am not going to be able to properly take care of my family, this little boy that needs me, nor am I going to be able to teach him that self care is important, crucial even.

If you are an abuse or/and trauma survivor its that much more important. It’s also so much more important that you reach out and get therapy, to not only talk and work through what happened, but to learn PROPER coping skills, and also to make absolute sure you have fully dealt with what happened. You also need someone that you can talk to or see for therapy if you realize down the road that you didn’t fully process and deal with it.

To your mental and physical health, until next time…

Source:

Stanford Medicine: https://med.stanford.edu/depressiongenetics/mddandgenes.html#:~:text=That%20is%20the%20case%20for,(psychological%20or%20physical%20factors).

Mental leftovers…

Once again as I was trying to go to sleep I found myself with a head full of thoughts. Tonight, for some reason, it was about many of the things discussed with my therapist about working through the PTSD and some of the anxiety. I’m not sure why, maybe because I’ve been thinking about a few more sessions, maybe subconsciously I know I need them, I have no idea, just that they were there, and I wasn’t going to sleep until I got them out, so here I am.

Mostly it was about the one session we had that was talking about all the different things in like a 20 year block that was in this “bottle”. Every little thing that was a serious stresser, something that was traumatic. When I stood there at that white board I writing in all those things, I was shocked at how quickly that bottle was filling up. I filled it in a 20 year set, and it didn’t have all of my traumas…including a couple of the big ones. 

Then she had me go back and erase any that I felt I had dealt with and were no longer a problem, not an issue, not affecting me in any way. I got rid of a few, but it didn’t make enough room to include ones from before the 20 year set and after, and still have room for years to come, which was her point. My bottle was full, and I don’t get another one. None of us do. We have to stop and face these traumas, these painful episodes, and deal with them, work through them. If we can’t do it on our own we HAVE to reach out to someone for help. Otherwise they just keep building up on top of each other in our bottles until there’s no more room. When that happens it spills out, and we end up in a very bad dark place. 

Maybe that’s what tonight was about. To remind me that I have to keep working on my bottle. I haven’t in a while. I’ve been busy with other things with my health, and then when I’ve had a good day I haven’t thought about it. I guess my subconscious was reminding me that my work is far from over, because my bottle is far from empty. 

Wishing you all good mental health,

The Greenlady

the hope line

the mighty

Mental Health America

Time to open up…PTSD and more

I learned a few months ago that you can spend the greater part of your adult life fairly certain you have a mental disorder and it not really “phase” you, but once those words of an official diagnosis actually come out of the therapists mouth… it changes everything.

I have PTSD. I’ve suspected for well over 20 years now, but the official diagnosis came on the heals of a major depressive episode in late November this past year, of  which I could not pull myself out of as usual and it sent me to my primary care doctor. She, in turn, diagnosing me tentatively with Major Depressive Disorder, referred me for therapy. There, going through the intake, the shocked and dismayed therapist questioned how I was even dressed and groomed, much less had driven myself there and was somehow politely answering her questions while smiling. Some two hours and several consultations with her supervisor later, the official diagnosis’ were in. Along with the Major Depressive Disorder was PTSD, which they deemed primary.

It can stem from several different things, and in many instances if it is dealt with properly and promptly, it doesn’t need to be something that is a life long problem. In my case, however, from my initial onset I didn’t even know about PTSD, that it was a thing, much less how to deal with it. Over the years different traumatic events have just continued to build on top of that initial event, none being dealt with properly, if at all, until there was just no more room left inside to hold them, and I basically broke. I guess my warning was the Fibromyalgia a couple of years ago.

At this point, I’m kind of learning to live again, in a matter of speaking. It’s not just something that affects your mind but your body as well, as is evidenced by the Fibromyalgia. Our bodies can only handle so much stress. I was broke out in hives. I was in the corner of my bathroom crying, and at times didn’t even know why. That is just not me. I love life. I treasure life. I’m having to learn to be happy again, learning what makes me happy. Learning how to say no to people and that it’s okay to say no if I don’t feel like going somewhere or doing something for someone, because my health now doesn’t always allow for me to. I’m also learning that not everything is my fault, and that everything that has happened to me is not my fault. I’m also learning to let go and to forgive again. It’s okay to let go of all that bad stuff that happened, let it fall to the way side and stop dragging it around. It’s okay to be able to say “I’m over you, I’ve healed and recovered from you, you can’t hurt me anymore” and throw it away. A good mental cleaning is sometimes needed and called for.

I’ve learned to get over my “fear” if you will, of going to a therapist or counselor. It’s kind of ironic with all the classes I was taking in college for my second major, looking at being a counselor, yet had this aversion to going to one. I’m so glad now that I did. It was one of the best things I’ve done for myself. I’ve learned things I can use for the rest of my life to help not only me, but those close to me as well.

If you or someone you know is depressed or experiencing any of the signs or symptoms of PTSD please seek help. Reach out. Don’t be afraid or embarrassed. Help is only a phone call away.

Brightest Blessings,

The Greenlady

https://www.crisistextline.org/

https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

PTSD mentalhealthamerica. conditions. post-traumatic-stress-disorder