Hi, Hello, No, I'm Not Dead

It's been a while since I've written anything. I've graduated,  had unexpected renovations because our dishwasher broke and left an inch of standing water downstairs, earned a promotion, and generally started losing it again. This is hardly my first time struggling with my mental health, and now I know what to call it.

It's my Scary-Go-Round. (yes, cringe-worthy for the use of an amusement park ride as analogy for mental illness, but bear with me...)

While thinking in the shower, I realized how frustrating it is to be going through the ups and downs of battling myself yet again. The pain and apathy start, and I know it will be some time before it goes away for good. Right now, it's not every hour of every day. And it's not to the point that I pose a threat to myself.

But it is often enough that it's taking away from my quality of life. I'm not running, because it seems useless when I have to start back over with every break due to a cold or rainy weather. I struggle to parent without yelling, because there aren't enough emotional reserves to let me be patient when Brianna is being a normal four-year-old. I'm not performing well at work, because I just want to hide away from my responsibilities instead of focusing and getting stuff DONE.

I don't know if all of this is seasonal, with the days getting shorter and having fewer chances to enjoy being outside. Or maybe it's just that this promotion is more than I can handle. (That possibility scares me quite a bit, because if it's true, then it feels like a lot of work to have finished grad school only to hit a wall professionally.) It could also be my Mirena messing with my hormones. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that PCOS and funky hormones made me depressed.

The first time I really struggled with depression, I was in high school, and failing nearly every class because the pain would anchor me at home, and I didn't have the energy to keep myself going in and feeling like a shadow of myself at school. A few months later, I was diagnosed with PCOS, and life was a lot easier. The effects of my performance at school ended up being life altering, though ultimately in a good way. I was no longer the Honor Roll, all AP classes, full scholarship type student that could go anywhere I wanted. I was only accepted to one college as a senior, but I'm glad to have been there because I met my best friend, who happens to be my doppelganger from across the country. It doesn't take away the frustration I felt at the time, knowing that my plans were all going to shit, but now I can look back and know not everything is lost because I have mental illness.

And this time, that Scary-Go-Round won't be a surprise. I can hear the music  in the distance and start setting myself for self-care and getting help. I know that I don't have to choose the majestic horse that looks good  from the outside but also gives the worst of the highs and lows -- keeping everything on my plate so that I still look "normal" from the outside doesn't help me get better. Now I can choose to keep life simple and not worry about what people see of me as I ride it out on the calm seat, if that's what it takes to get better. And I don't have to be alone, away from people who can help keep the ride from going too fast or too bumpy. I can ask for a break so I can keep myself even-keeled. And I can start working with a therapist right away instead of waiting until I'm desperate.

I have a therapy appointment scheduled for next Tuesday. I'm nervous, because I've been thinking about all the identities that make up me, and how they play into my life. It's enough to fill up that first session without even getting into the problems I need to address, let alone get a feel for whether we're a good fit. For now, I just have to wait and see, hope that it works out, and speak up if things get worse before they get better.

Second Thoughts

I have so many thoughts that swirl around in my head lately. The vision of a two-kid family that had always been my ideal. The frustration and confusion of infertility before we got help. The pain and suffering of our family when I struggled with PPD. The insidious little thoughts that pop up when I'm having a bad parenting day.

What if it wasn't just PPD? Look at how I struggle still with parenting, with keeping my cool instead of raging against the inconsequential little battles of life with a small child. What if I'm depressed again, or maybe it never left? What if I'm really just a horrible, terrible person who isn't meant to be a mother?

Some people say it's the stress of school while working full time and parenting a little one. That it will go away with time, that toddlers and preschoolers are hardest because they're learning to push buttons. That she'll be less exhausting when she has the outlet of school and other people to be around with her boundless energy. I've heard too that sometimes our kids are too similar to us, and we see the worst part of ourselves reflecting back like an accusation of our faults.

I think about all the struggling and I can't possibly imagine how I could handle adding PPD and all the changes that come with another baby on top of that. And really, when it comes down to it, I don't feel the same pangs of longing when I see a baby. I don't have much nostalgia for having an infant, perhaps because I was too miserable to enjoy the small moments.

And yet, when I take a moment to reflect on that, I get angry. Resentful. Ashamed. And sad. It doesn't seem fair to have struggled to get pregnant and then to struggle with the reality of having that baby in my life. To feel that every cry and tantrum and whine is an indictment of my inability to care for her. To feel guilty for needing space and solitude so desperately. To be jealous of mothers who love their children so effortlessly that the tough moments flow over them like water.

A small part of my heart wishes for another baby so I could have another chance, to know that instant bonding and love without struggle. But I fear I'm too broken, that we'd be doomed to a repeat with even more on our plate this time around.

My PCOS symptoms have been so unpredictable since Brianna was born. I've gone through medication after medication, hoping to find the right fit that won't leave me with mood swings, acne, more facial hair, and low libido. I'm awaiting results on insulin testing to see if that's part of why nothing works very long. It's typical with PCOS, but I've never had issues with insulin or blood sugar over the last 15 years, so I doubt that's what's going on. If everything comes back normal, I'm planning to get an IUD and hope the consistent hormone levels help.

It's hard coming to terms with this being the new reality for me. Even as a teenager, I managed my PCOS from the perspective of wanting to have two kids eventually. The idea that I'll have to live with these symptoms as is until menopause hits in twenty years never really occurred to me. For some reason, the decision to have another child (or not) feels like a major event in my life, a dividing line for my experiences, and I'm putting a lot of pressure on myself to get this one right so I don't look back with regret.

Wait, Why Did I Decide This Was A Good Idea?

Business school. Yeah. We have covered lots of great stuff. Some of it has reinforced things I learned through trial and (lots of) error on the job, some of it has given me new perspective on every day occurrences. And sometimes, I've even been able to apply stuff on the job, like nifty tricks in Excel and understanding how to break bad news and make it seem less sucky (yes, that's a technical term).

And then there are the classes that I doubt I'll ever apply. Pricing models? Bond valuations? Not so much my line of work.

But marketing is a particularly weird place for me. I find myself at odds with capitalism sometimes (wait, what? why did I decide to do business school again?), and that has become quite evident in marketing. It's hard to be a quasi-socialist feminist who questions the status quo when your class is designed around getting people to believe they need your product or message. Hey ladies, you need to be beautiful according to these strictly heterosexist, white-centric, fat-phobic ideals if you're going to get that man of your dreams so you can have kids and then either be horribly selfish for staying at home and not using that degree or horribly selfish leaving your kids so you can be in the workforce. Because your dreams obviously involve meeting a man, getting married, having kids, and then feeling guilty for every other choice you make as an adult.

Manipulation - it's what's for dinner.

Being a parent just reinforces how at odds I am with marketing and the way vulnerabilities are targeted. If you think your kids aren't being encouraged to want the most sugar-laden crap snacks whenever they watch Saturday morning cartoons, you are mistaken. I try my best to emphasize needs versus wants with Brianna, but there's only so much that sticks when we're out and about for regular grocery shopping and the like. We haven't discussed the ethics of marketing yet (that's the last week of this section), but I just know that will be the day I'll be asked to wrap it up so we can move on to other topics and I will go home and call my sister to vent about the oppression inherent in the system being perpetuated by watery tarts with swords and then quote some more Monty Python and Eddie Izzard. (Like you do.) (Sorry, I couldn't help it.) (If you are not confused by these random quotes, we need to have drinks together because you are AWESOME.) (Last parenthetical, I swear.) (Just kidding, there will probably be more.)

The other thing that bothers me about advertising is the perpetual creation and reinforcement of stereotypes. The information about me based on my web browsing and demographics say that yes, I am a mom, a working professional, interested in running. And I get inundated with so many messages that run utterly counter to my actual thoughts. The fact that I am a mom does not mean I stay at home. The fact that I'm in a career (versus a no-growth job) does not mean I am willing to spend my money on luxury items. The fact that I run does not mean I am interested in weight loss gimmicks or going hardcore with CrossFit. If you're going to insist on using a box to market to me, at least bother to use the right box.

Consumerism is pretty much the opposite of my philosophy in life. It's not to say I'm a minimalist or a martyr, but if I'm going to spend my money on something, I want to be DAMN sure it fits my needs and that I consider what all my needs are. Taking that moment to evaluate my needs means I don't do a lot of impulse shopping. Feeling manipulated, stereotyped, and exploited by an advertising campaign is just more likely to push me away.

So yeah. This is not my favorite section of business school thus far. But one of the two classes will be more relevant next time, and after that I get electives. So far, I'm one of three moms (and several dads of varying parenting involvement), and it hasn't been an issue. Andy has been amazing about giving me enough time to get all my stuff done and communicating with me about what help he needs so I can spend my family time well. It's starting to take its toll on Brianna, though. She got used to having me home more the last couple months because the classes were less involved and I was basically free over Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks. She asks me to stay home more, and looks so disappointed when I leave the house for a study group. The days I have class are pretty seamless for her, since I don't come home until class is over, but then she clings a bit more when she sees me again the next morning. I can't say I blame her. Sometimes when I get home from class, I check in on her before going to bed so I can tuck the blankets around her and kiss her cheek. I don't think she remembers it when she wakes up, but it's nice to have that moment.

Things That Matter

It's been a few months since my last post, which means I've been due for one. I had plans of talking about how crazy life has been since school started. Or perhaps another post about how there seem to be babies everywhere when you can't have your own for whatever reason. (Seriously, my local Starbucks seems to attract parents with babies in chest carriers, waving tiny fists at their parents' Pumpkin Spice Lattes! and yet, there are rarely any parents braving a trip with a Terrible Two-year-old. Gee, I wonder why?)

But yesterday I was at work, mere blocks from the shooting at the Washington Navy Yard. I had dear friends in that building. I might have been there for meetings with my clients if I weren't waiting on a badge renewal. But now there are bullet holes in hallways I've walked down. There are offices where proud name plates with titles and rankings made people targets. There are people who had to leave behind their cars, phones, computers, everything, and have no idea when they can go back. Parents who had to wait hours to see their kids and now spend the day at home because their work space is a crime scene.

But even harder to comprehend are the people who won't get to come back for their belongings. Who will never again hold their children close or laugh with friends. Who took jobs where the biggest threat lately was cuts in pay due to sequestration, a challenge overcome for now.

We'll wait for answers, and maybe find some closure. Implement some policies to keep a tragedy like this from happening again. But somehow the issues I held so tightly in my head seem to be replaced by a fog, a disoriented haze from which I am pulled by the sudden wail of sirens or the whir of helicopter blades. Sounds, formerly so routine in my space, that now recall the fear of being told to stay in the building but away from windows, worrying about people who make up both my work life and my "family".

I went home that afternoon, against security orders, so I could hold Andy close and be with Brianna instead of going to class. She sensed that something was up, but she accepted my explanation that sometimes scary things happen that make Mommy want lots of hugs and then asked to go to the park. It wasn't quite enough to take away all the hurt, those moments pushing her on the swings and hunting for sticks and pine cones. But for now her innocence and laughter help me feel centered with the things that matter.

The Next Grand Adventure

I posted last year about wanting another baby but giving it some time because there so many things that didn't make it the right choice at that moment. And then time went by and things still weren't right. The holidays came to a close and as we are wont to do when we mark the passage of time, Andy and I looked at plans. And we realized that we still weren't in the right place for another baby. For the first time, I felt true acceptance of that decision, without the wistfulness and longing that I'd felt before.

So I did what any other Type A, goal-driven person would do with too much time on my hands and nothing on the horizon. I decided that I should go to grad school, because clearly two months was enough time to research local schools, study and take the GMAT, write a few essays, do my taxes and submit the FAFSA, get letters of recommendation, and submit my application. Doesn't everyone like a good challenge that makes you slightly neurotic?

By the end of the application review period, I bumped up to fairly neurotic, but in the end I've been accepted to the grad program that I wanted. I'll be starting courses for an MBA in August, and by June 2015 I'll be finished. It's a very fast program, but I have Andy's support to make this happen and we talked (and talked and talked and talked) about how this would impact our family and how we can make it work.

So no babies for the next two years, and I'm okay with that. Brianna would be fantastic with a sibling right now, but I'll be in a better position to afford that baby. We're spending the next few months getting our home ready for auto-pilot, since housecleaning and maintenance will be dead last on the family to-do list. Meals will be prepared, frozen, and inventoried so that take-out on dead-tired days doesn't kill our budget. Sometimes being an overzealous planner has its perks.

I'm also doing my best to get myself back to a really healthy state. Winter and then allergy season put a serious dent in my ability and motivation to run, so I'm not where I wanted to be at the end of spring. There will be no racing for me this season, and probably not for the next two years. But I'm still trying, and I'm still losing weight. I suspect that while I was so focused on applying for school, my medication stopped working effectively for my PCOS and I didn't catch on. It's been a rude awakening to see the facial hair and acne come back (WITH A VENGEANCE!), and I had some very rough days where mood swings bordered on depression. I'm starting a new medication this week, but it may take some time to see change. I'm hoping this one sticks and continues to work for me through school, because I won't have time to manage my symptoms.

Results

So, that whole 5K thing I have been talking about doing off and on throughout the life of this blog, and then publicly posted that I was planning to complete one?

I did it.

It wasn't the most amazing run ever (I completed it in 44:11, which is a 14:22 pace), but I learned a lot about racing and about my own strength. And in hindsight, I've seen just how strong I've become over the last six months, how far I've moved beyond the expectations I held for myself before I started running.

About 6 weeks before the race, Andy had a chance to observe me running. He ran cross-country in high school, and his input and support when I faced a new challenge had been one of the best things to keep me going when I wanted to give up or go back to easier intervals. He watched me struggle on a day when my muscles were simply not cooperating, and told me that my pace was more of a trot than a run and with a tiny bit more effort, I could see much better speeds. A true run was something I'd never done in my life, and my body refused to keep it up for more than a minute or two without dropping down to a walk. So I regrouped, started the C25K program all over again, and built myself up to running 8 minute intervals with 5 minute walking breaks, repeated long enough to finish five kilometers. I was nervous, but I eventually worked up (down?) to having a 5K training run completed in less than 44 minutes. With my former slow trot, it would have taken me about 50 minutes to complete, so that difference is astounding.

My sister had a medical emergency the day before my race, so I was a bit rattled going in. She's fine now, but my thoughts kept going back and forth between worry that something similar would happen to me and feeling like I needed to push myself for her sake, because a 5K isn't something she could be doing any time soon in her state.

Once the race started, I pushed too hard, trying to keep up with everyone around me. My original back-of-the-pack placement turned out to be more in the middle as people filed in behind me, and the effort to keep up made me grab a water bottle. Having never, ever had water in the middle of the run, I learned very quickly that it's a good way to get a side stitch. My usual intervals were completely blown, and gradually it devolved into running half-heartedly from time to time and a lot of walking. I was nearly in tears at one point because I was so sure that I had blown it, I couldn't possibly finish under my goal time of 45:00. But there were great cheerleaders (including Andy and Brianna, at several spots along the route), and at the end I was able to give it everything I had. I sprinted for the finish line, and as I cooled down, Andy told me my gun time was 45:08. Definitely well within 45:00 for my chip.

I took a break from running for most of November. We went on a CRUISE (it was so awesome!!!) a couple weeks after the race, and when we returned it was so much colder that my asthma flared up when I tried to run. I eased back into things and now I'm back to training to run 3 miles straight without walking breaks. My goal is to do a spring race with a 13:00 pace or better (which race I'll do is TBD). As of today, I've built up to 17 minutes straight at a 12:45 pace.

The progress I've made is sometimes hard to believe when I look back on what I've done. I often feel discouraged, that I'll never get to move beyond whatever I'm up against. But six months ago, I didn't think I could run for a minute even if I tried. Six months ago, I couldn't fit clothes outside of the plus-size section in a store. Six months ago, I thought I was doomed to an obese life, a world where I didn't have enough energy for all the things I wanted to experience and I couldn't really, truly be proud of every part of me. And now I know that's not true, not even a little bit.

But really this little girl is what I run for. So she always knows how strong her mama is and that she is strong too:

Because nothing says love like demanding to wear Mama's sweaty hoodie after a run.

No More Excuses

A couple months ago, I had one of those horrible, terrible, awful, no good, very bad days. Plans to go camping were thwarted by a severe storm that left the ground quite soggy, and I was in the kind of mood that takes a small disappointment and turns it into an opportunity to enumerate Everything That Sucks About Me. But at some point in the midst of despairing my body and the fact that I was well on my way to gaining back all the weight I had lost while nursing, I had an epiphany.

Nothing will change until I make big changes in my life.

For everyone else in the world who has found exercise and healthy eating to be a fact of life: SUCK IT. Between undiagnosed asthma and my devotion to food as coping mechanism, I had spent my life completely convinced that exercise would always be uncomfortable and crap-tastic, and that I was incapable of eating like a normal human being. Why bother, when life is clearly better when you're not getting sweaty and those pesky feelings of inadequacy can be stuffed with a giant gooey chocolate chip cookie?!

So I made a choice to try something, ANYTHING, because I couldn't bear the thought of feeling so unhappy with myself for the rest of my life. I had considered trying the Couch to 5K program in the past, but that voice in the back of my head held me back. "what if you can't do it? then you'll be fat AND a failure. and with that asthma? bad idea. better go get a snack instead." Sometimes I countered [what, you don't have conversations with yourself in your head?] that I could probably walk a 5K with some training, and maybe even run a bit of one too! And this time, the positive voice won.

I started training the very next day. Had a few stumbles. Figured out how to make it work and why carrying a smartphone in your pocket is not, in fact, a smart idea. And then really started to enjoy it. Sometimes unfamiliar phrases would just pop out, like "I bet I can push harder on this interval!" and "I wish it were my running day already..." and "I hope this foot injury doesn't keep me from running!" There were some setbacks along the way. Days that it felt like I would never get stronger, and always be that slow poke from middle school gym class that doesn't finish her mile until after everyone else has already done their cool-down. In a perfect world, I would have done the program in 9 weeks. In reality, I took 13 weeks, and I still haven't reached the point of running five kilometers. But I kept at it until it was a habit, despite the heat and the sweat. In October I'll be running the AIDS Walk Washington 5th Annual 5K Run to raise money to fight HIV/AIDS in DC, a city that has extremely high rates of infection.

And once the running was well underway, I started watching what I eat. It was rarely about denying myself something, or staying under a calorie limit. Mostly, it was about being aware of the impact that different foods had to my diet and making conscious choices instead of saying "why not? who cares how bad it is for me when it's soooo tasty?". I've stopped using food for comfort, as an emotional fix when I'm upset or bored.

So now I'm a runner. I'm stronger. I'm healthier. I have a goal, and I'm seeing it through. I'm finding ways to keep going, even when it feels like I can't. And perhaps most important of all, I'm giving myself permission to be less than perfect. To need a slow day sometimes. To take a breather. To accept that starting from almost zero capability doesn't mean I can't, it means I can't yet. But I will keep trying, and I won't let myself make excuses about why I can't.