Depressed (but not unhappy) Mormon Mommy

Mirthful Monday: Mormon Swear!

2012-01-23T08:00:00.000-07:00

This video was pretty funny. I don't do much Mormon swear (I'm of the opinion that you might as well say the real word or avoid the sentiment altogether), but I am guilty of an impassioned "Holy Buckets!"--which is about as Mormon as it gets. And I should probably admit that I am guilty of the occasional cuss, but don't tell my mother because I really don't want to get my mouth washed out with soap. Again.

*ahem*

Anyway, on to the funny:

Happy Monday!

Laura

Kids + Books = FUN! (A book club for your elementary school)

2012-01-13T23:32:00.006-07:00

All right, so I said I wasn't going to volunteer for anything new this year and thus far--13 days into the new year--I have kept to my promise. But one volunteer opportunity that I've been working on since last fall is finally coming to fruition and I wanted to blog about it.

Feeling like my children needed more extension opportunities (that's teacher-talk for enriching and extra-curricular learning activities; usually teachers mean a gifted and talented program; I just mean something that will encourage my kids to actively think.) I talked my school into investigating the Junior Great Books program, which my oldest had really enjoyed doing at a previous school. They agreed to, so long as I was willing to run the program. I investigated the JGB program, but felt like the cost and required training were prohibitive. And, hey, I happen to have a Literature degree and what does it qualify me for if not to talk about books? I got together with a couple other moms and we put together our own 6 week curriculum--complete with integrated arts activities.

Last Tuesday we had our first meeting and it went great. I plan on posting the details for each week as we go through them. We ended up with around 70 kids (out of a school of around 300)enrolled. We split it up according to grade level. I'm running the group for the Kinders (I have 12 of them), another mom is doing the first graders (a group of 15), a third mom is running the group for second and third graders (she's got 23 kids), and a fourth mom is handling the fourth and fifth graders (there's about 19 of them).

For our opening discussion we had each child bring a favorite book and tell one or two sentences about it. Then we read a fabulous children's book by Ed Young, Seven Blind Mice. I read the book aloud, but only showed the abstract pictures to the children and had them try to guess what it was the seven blind mice had found. Before I got to the end I stopped and read the book again showing all the pictures--at which point it was obvious what the mice had found.

Our discussion question(s) for the week: How does not having all the information about something change the way you look at it? How can we avoid being "blind mice" when we read? The older groups also discussed the proverb at the end and talked about what a proverb is, suggesting their own. They also talked about how their ability to see changes the way they interact with the world.

Activity: For our hands-on activity, I brought a random selection of toys and some bandanas. Without showing the kids I hid the toys under the bandanas and had the kids feel them and try to guess what was under there. Then I put the kids in groups of two or three and had them sculpt stuff out of play doh (here's a great recipe for homemade play-doh; super easy and super cheap!) which they then hid under the bandanas and had the other kids try to guess what they were.

Five-year-olds aren't known for having long attention spans, and they moved through the discussion and activities pretty quick. As a backup plan I brought five or six of my favorite picture books and a bean bag. I had the kids sit in a circle and we passed the bean bag while singing "Reading a Book is Fun to Do". (This tune is a staple for Mormon kiddos, so my daughter was the only one who knew it; but the other kids picked it up after I sang it to them once.) When the song was done whoever was holding the bean bag got to pick a book for me to read. I then did a fairly dramatized reading of the book, encouraging the kids to act it out with me. They chose There's a Nightmare in my Closet by Mercer Mayer (who, BTW, looks a lot like his much-loved Little Critter character). The kids had a great time making scared faces, brave faces, and boo-hooing like the nightmare.

This was actually a ton of fun. Kids will always surprise you with their thoughts and the way the relate to/interpret the world around them.

So, tell me: what are your favorite books to read with your kid? What do you do to make reading fun?

New Year's Resolutions (What I'm NOT going to do.)

2012-01-03T23:00:00.004-07:00

I'm not a big fan of resolutions. Maybe it's because I'm already really good at stressing myself out, but giving myself one more list of things to do (and they are usually really BIG things) just seems like a prescription for nuttiness--and we all know I have plenty of that already!

Also, I may be a lot like Calvin. I think most of us are. After all, it's always easier to talk about how other people need to change than to change ourselves.

But change is actually something I'm a big fan of. Well, let me restate that: self-induced and self-aware change is very thrilling to me. Change that comes from the outside is usually pretty frightening and makes me at the very least catty and at the very worst non-functioning. So, in the spirit of embracing self-aware change in my life (because maybe if I embrace self-aware change I can keep the bad change away??), I am making a single resolution: stop volunteering for stuff.

If you know me in my personal life, you know that I spend a lot of time starting projects and not always finishing them because I end up volunteering to do some other project for someone else. For instance, I have the beginnings of 5 novels written (and some of those novels are almost completely outlined) but I have no finished manuscript. This blog is another good example. I still have it up as a resource and because I intend to post on a number of topics but, well, I don't because I'm spending time planning my Primary lessons, or getting ready for the book club at my kids' elementary school (that I'm helping with), or putting together stuff for the Odyssey of the Mind program I'm running, or running my kids between soccer practices and piano lessons and doctor/orthodontist appointments, and who knows what else!

Now, I firmly believe this is a phase of life thing and that spending time with my kids doing enriching and challenging activities is a great thing but that doesn't stop me from being jealous when someone else finishes a project that doesn't involve their children. Hence my resolution: stop volunteering for stuff!! All those things that keep me crazy-busy and up till all hours of the night are things I volunteered to do. I can make better choices.

My resolution last year was to finish up some unfinished projects. I almost completed one (catching up my kids journals). I made some headway on another (family scrapbook). I started shopping a manuscript for a children's book (it's gotten one rejection, one "ask again later", and one I haven't heard back on yet). And I started exercising again and got rid of my back pain. Also, none of my children died or went hungry or naked and my marriage is intact. See? It was a GREAT year!

I'm hoping my resolution this year to STOP VOLUNTEERING FOR STUFF, LAURA!! (I'm putting it in caps as a way of yelling at myself, not as you, my lovely readers!) will aid me in accomplishing last year's goal of actually finishing what I start.

Wish me luck! How about you? Got any good what-not-to-do resolutions??

Sticking it Out (The Difference 48 hours can make when the crazies strike!)

2011-11-04T12:51:00.004-06:00

Tuesday afternoon I was moving from busy to frantic. Only a week earlier we had record snowfall in my area and it had broken tree limbs all over the city and put thousands out of power. We were slated for another big storm and I felt like I had a lot to do to get ready. The DH had been out of town before the big storm and had been pretty upset by the damage to our trees. He wasn't angry at me but I always take it personally--internalize it and make myself nuts trying to find ways to make it so he will never be angry again. Which is why I was going into frantic-crazy mode Tuesday afternoon.

I spent hours that day (probably 5 or 6) cleaning up the yard, mulching the garden, shaking remaining leaves off our trees, and taking the trampoline down. The first couple hours I was really proud of myself for all the hard work and the progress I was making. I was even humming, "Have I Done Any Good in the World Today?" as I cleaned some leaves out of my widowed neighbor's window wells. But the more tired I got and the more the kiddos got in my way, the more I started to second guess myself. My brain started up telling me that I wasn't doing a good enough job and that the DH was going to come home and be mad because I didn't do things his way--which is sort of a Pure O obsession for me, these hypothetical arguments in my head and the conviction that my DH is going to hate me forever (which is really all in my head; the DH and his attitude/actions have very little to do with it). The DH and I had a short phone conversation that afternoon which I misinterpreted and used as a fodder for the crazy. I began to be afraid of what was going to happen when he got home and started getting more and more frantic in my efforts to make it so he wouldn't--couldn't--be angry at me. (Hm? What's that you say? I should call my therapist and address this issue? Yeah. I know. I should.)

I had also babysat for a friend all day while she went to the temple. Not to mention it was the day after Halloween and we were all fried from the previous evening's festivities. I was tired.

The big kids came home from school and I had to get Princess N off to Activity Days. I got everyone in the car and made it down to the Church and then zoomed home to finish up the backyard work,do some cleaning inside, and make dinner. Then I remembered there was a writing deadline that I needed to submit something for. And then I realized it was raining, the temperature was dropping, and half the trampoline stuff was strewn all over the backyard.

We got home and I started working as fast as I could. But things just kept going wrong. The trampoline parts were stuck together and when I tried to stack them in the garage they crashed all over and made a huge mess where the DH usually parks his car. I had too many dirty dishes to do before I could cook dinner. The file I needed to submit wasn't on the computer I thought it was and my hands were shaking from anxiety. The kids spilled jelly all over the floor and stickiness on the floor is a pet peeve of the DH and I started to lose it. If I'd been frantic before by the time I had to go back to the Church to pick up Princess N I was in complete panic mode.

Driving home Mr. J started yelling at Supergirl E for "thinking a bad word but not actually saying it" and Supergirl E and Princess N started screaming back. I knew that the DH was home staring at the jelly on the floor and my heart was racing. Traffic was heavy and the kids kept getting louder and louder in the car. My hands were still shaking and my heart was racing. I was convinced we were going to end up in an accident. So I started yelling at the kids. A lot. And then felt very bad and started apologizing.

We got home and the DH was cleaning the jelly off the floor and I was a complete wreck. I demanded he come outside and started yelling at him for being so angry with me. He replied that he wasn't angry and I went into how angry he would have been if I hadn't accused him of being angry. Things spiraled from there as the kids watched from the window.

And then, I kid you not, the Relief Society president pulled up in my driveway. (Hi, Coffinberry!)

Low point, anyone??

She's actually a friend of mine and I appreciate her advice and perspective, but it was still pretty embarrassing. Nobody likes being caught at their worst, even when the people catching you love you.

She helped me calm down enough so that I could stop freaking out and make some dinner. But I spent the rest of the evening fight the crazy in my brain. After yelling at the DH the crazy talk in my brain changed from "the DH will be mad at you and your life will be ruined" to "You don't deserve to live. You are a failure and a waste of space. You need to be punished. A lot. You deserve to suffer and be in pain for the kind of person you are." It was terrible. I was trying not to cry too much, but the urge to punish and harm myself was very strong. I can only think of a handful of times it has been stronger. Of course, the worst part of it is that I could see all of it in my head. Technicolor visions of suicide and self-mutilation. Blech.

I knew I needed to get out of my head. Fast. I focused on dinner and turned on some music, repeating the lyrics in my head while singing them out loud. Anything to put the brakes on the hamster wheel of insanity in my brain. I ended up listening to a Mumford and Sons songs over and over. A couple lines from "The Cave" worked as a sort of mantra, "But I will hold on hope/And I won't let you choke/On the noose around your neck./And I'll find strength in pain./And I will change my ways./I'll know my name as it's called again." The lines were soothing and repeatable and, inexplicably, I associated it with baptism and taking on the name of Christ and I started to calm down.

I got through dinner and bedtime but the urge to punish myself was unrelenting. I had a huge headache but didn't want to take any medicine. I was exhausted but refused to go to bed. I didn't really want to hurt myself but I wanted to do something to make the punishing thoughts go away so I ate Halloween candy until I was sick to my stomach. And I drowned my sorrows in a couple episodes of Friday Night Lights. Another lovely low point to my day.

My sleep that night was troubled and the kids were up several times. Around 3:40 am, I gave up on sleep and decided I could take some medicine, even self-punishment was still heavy on my mind. So I went to the kitchen and took some ibuprofen. Then I stumbled across the Conference issue of the Ensign. I thumbed through it and finally came to Elder Utchdorf's talk, "Forget Me Not." (I keep trying to insert a link here to the actual talk but it's not working; sorry.) My head was still muddled enough that it was hard to feel the Spirit but I knew I needed to read the talk anyway. I think I read it in a frenzied manner several times but the only part that made sense to me was this:

Dear sisters, many of you are endlessly compassionate and patient with the weaknesses of others. Please remember also to be compassionate and patient with yourself. . . Sisters, wherever you are, whatever your circumstances may be, you are not forgotten. No matter how dark your days may seem, no matter how insignificant you may feel, no matter how overshadowed you think you may be, your Heavenly Father has not forgotten you. In fact, He loves you with an infinite love.

It had been a dark day. Overshadowed seemed a good descriptor for my mental state. Patience and compassion with myself sounded foreign but good. I told myself to wait this current bout of crazy out. Give it a day or two and see where things were.

So yesterday was a couple days later. A quick rundown: the wonderful neighbor who usually watches the baby when I have to go help out in kindergarten couldn't watch the baby, the DH forgot he was supposed to drive Mr. J to preschool, I lost my car keys, and a dog peed on my daughter's backpack at the bus stop. Later that day, I got to work on the allergen-free desserts I was supposed to be bringing to our school's Harvest Festival and burned two entire batches. After making an extra trip to the store, I got all the kids in bed and was then up until 11:00 at night finishing up the treats. It was a terrible day. I mean, since when do dogs randomly come up and pee on people's backpacks?? The fact is, though, it all worked out. I didn't lose my temper. I didn't want to hurt myself. I didn't hate myself. I didn't even panic. My family was okay. I was okay. The terrible day was okay. 48 hours after the crazy had reared it's ugly head, I was all right.

I'm still a little emotionally hung over from everything; I'm feeling a little tender and my fuse is short. But it passed. So, I guess I just wanted to pass that on to any of you who read this and might be struggling. No matter how many good days you have, your mood disorder will strike again. BUT, be patient with yourself and remember that God loves you. Wait it out, seek help, and be glad when the RS president shows up during your worst moment. Don't do anything you're going to regret because things will get better! I promise. I've been there and I promise.

*hugs*

Laura

p.s. A big thanks to those of you who stop by and tell me that my blog has been helpful to you. Those kinds of comments mean the world to me. I'm not alone--you aren't alone--we are in this together.

Mirthful (and hopefully Motivational!) Monday

2011-10-03T19:15:00.000-06:00

Hi all :)

Remember when I used to do Mirthful Monday posts and how they were funny? I miss the funny so I'm bringing it back.

Today's Mirthful Monday is also a motivational Monday. I feel like I've been floundering the last couple weeks. My mood has been everywhere, personal prhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifojects have been on the fritz, and my house is trashed (okay, that last part is basically normal). I'm feeling kind of tender and discouraged but also restless. (See my post over at A Motley Vision to get another viewpoint on my desire to move foward.) I need to move my energy in a better direction. Hence, Mirthful and Motivational Monday.

In case that didn't work for you I'm including one of those ridiculous cat pictures:

Happy Monday!

Tangible Intangibles: memorializing my nana's passing

2011-09-28T12:58:00.008-06:00

My maternal grandmother died a couple weeks ago. It has affected me more deeply than I had thought it would. The grieving process has been surprising to me. I've experienced the death of a loved one before--most notably that of my little sister when I was seventeen and the death of my just a couple years ago --but I am only now realizing that each grieving period is as unique as the individual who died. Each death requires its own response and there is no road map.

Nana had been ill for a long time and we'd known since late July that her death was imminent. And just a few weeks ago I made a trip out to Seattle to visit her one last time before she passed on. It was a short trip,less than two days, but it was amazing and harrowing to be with someone who was so near the veil.

Still, her death surprised me and it took four or five days before I emotionally registered it. I am surprised to discover I actually miss her; as a family we weren't all always on good terms with each other and there were many years that went by without us speaking. Suffice it to say there's been a lot of emotional shrapnel from many sources since Nana's death and I've been seeking ways to accept the feelings, experience them, and move forward through them. This has taken on a number of forms (crying, being stressed out, being forgetful and generally muddled, an inability to complete housework, a desire for sloppiness) but what I want to blog about today is the search for a memorial, the search for a way of making tangible a process that is inherently intangible. When Nana died, I lost something--not only her person, but something impalpable that needed to be recognized and named.

I have a friend who owns an expressive arts studio so I decided to spend an evening there searching my mind and heart to find whatever it was I was looking.

My first effort was a song. I made a video of myself singing "Amazing Grace". I was going to upload if for you listening pleasure (or un-pleasure as the case may be)but it wouldn't upload. You all didn't miss much on this one. I find my voice on this song fairly anemic. Listening to my performance of that song now, it smacks of self-indulgence.

My next effort was a picture. I am probably the least skilled drawer/painter I know. But since working in the expressive arts I find a lot of fulfillment in creating visual "art".

I had an idea in my head but was not able to translate it to the paper and so what I ended up with initially disappointing to me. I had meant to memorialize Nana and the picture seemed to fail at that. I put it up in my room (my thanks to the DH for his patience with that!) and studied it here and there. Finally I realized why the picture didn't work for me. I had memorialized *myself.* I was the woman in the picture sitting underneath the obscured rose (Nana's favorite flower). Nana may have inspired the flower, but that picture was all about me--which is why it fell flat. Well, that and the fact that I don't draw well. . .

Anyway, I did some writing that night but it isn't finished yet--which is why I'm not posting it here. I read some of it at the funeral and that felt good. It seemed to resonate with other mourners.

My final effort, and the memorial that worked best was this:

It's an origami star box with curled edges filled with small purple flowers and a butterfly. Butterflies are sort of my personal totem, and a conversation I had with Nana about butterflies inspired this piece. It felt good to create a home and resting place for that formative conversation with Nana and even though it was hard to leave it behind it was okay because I knew could make another one if I needed to. (If that makes sense??)I think it was my way of putting Nana to rest but acknowledging the fact that even though she was gone she was still going to have an effect on me. It was my way of letting her go but keeping our relationship intact.

The truth for me is that Nana was always a fairly inaccessible--intangible, perhaps?--person for me. I loved her and I'm almost certain she loved me, but, it wasn't the kind of relationship you could use to validate yourself or lean on. It was different. . . what's left though, after all is said and done, is that I loved Nana. And love, the very essence of the intangibility, is probably what I was really looking for all along.

The Help by Kathryn Stockett--a review!

2011-09-22T21:58:00.002-06:00

Hi all! I recently read _The Help_ by Kathryn Stockett and since it is the book du jour right now (or at least a couple months ago it was. . .) I thought I'd post a brief review here.

I know a lot--A LOT--of people liked this book. I did too, mostly. BUT, overall, this book underwhelmed me. It wasn't that it was a bad book or poorly written. I thought it was well paced. I thought a lot of the characters were warmly drawn and likable--especially Miss Celia! Mae Mobley was so stinkin' cute she was unreal, but she was so cute I didn't care :) (I did find a lot of the characters' actions highly, and annoyingly, predictable. Stuart was predictable and so was Minny. The big secret about the "terrible awful" was pretty obvious. The fact that Miss Celia was not actually a drunk but suffering multiple miscarriages was also obvious.)

What bothered me most was that I felt like Stockett really wanted a book about the experience of black maids in the South but instead of actually writing *that* book, she wrote a book about writing a book about black maids in the South. Why did she need to have a Skeeter character? What did Skeeter add to the book? Nothing for me. I think Stockett used Skeeter as an escape and as an avenue for excuse. Reading the afterword Stockett's ambivalence about trying to write in a black voice was pretty clear. It was a very difficult task to do without falling on stereotypes--which is what I think Stockett ended up doing. I think Skeeter was her comfort zone, her fallback, her easy road out. That's the big question for me: Why didn't Stockett just write a book about the experience of black maids? I get that it would have been harder and a little more controversial, but the outcome could have been much more powerful. Going all meta on her subject matter didn't enrich it one iota.

My other beef with the book was that it pushed my willing suspension of disbelief a little too far. The poop in the pie was predictable (talk about heavy-handed over-theming!) but not believable. It never would have happened. The antagonist, Hilly, also crossed over into unbelievable land with her breakdown and the threat of telling Skeeter's mommy what she did. It was too scripted and unnatural, too much like what our adolescent selves all dream will happen to the mean girls in middle school. The book would have been much more powerful for me if had Hilly stayed in a more restrained and catty characterization. For me this book was a lot like _Fried Green Tomatoes_, sure "the secret's in the sauce" is funny, but just pushes things that are supposed to be grounded firmly in reality too far into unreality. I think it didn't do the racism/civil rights theme justice because it was over-the-top. It just made it all a little cheaper for me.

I think overall I wanted this book to read more like Literary Fiction, but what it really was was genre fiction--some sort of cross between Chick Lit and Historical Fiction. I'm not a hater, though. I did enjoy the book. I just felt like it fell far, far short of its potential.

Where were you?

2011-09-10T23:19:00.003-06:00

On September 11, 2001 I was nineteen and had been married for three months. I was a student at Utah State University. My mother-in-law had recently been life-flighted to LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City because of liver failure. My sister, who was living in Seattle, had just called the day before to tell me her baby was dead. When my alarm went off that morning at 7:17 (back then I believed random times would be harder to sleep through than a regular set time) the voices of familiar NPR anchors filled the room. But what they were saying made no sense. We didn't have a television and I didn't think to check the Internet. It wasn't until I got up to campus 45-ish minutes later that I realized the enormity of the situation. I was almost giddy with confusion and a budding sense of history. All I could think was that now I wouldn't be able to get an airplane ticket to Seattle to be with my sister so I had a long drive ahead of me. Very long.

The world had stopped. Except for the parts that didn't.

Where were you?

Of course, perhaps the most important question isn't where were you then, but where are you now? Hopefully, it's in a more compassionate and loving place.

It's NOT Mormon Moms Who Are Depressed!

2011-09-02T13:02:00.005-06:00

It's all moms!! Seriously. My sister blogged this over at Yahoo! Shine. I think this has huge ramifications, so of course I had to blog it too.

The original article, Trying to Be 'Supermom' Can Raise Risk for Depression, hits the nail on the head. Trying reading the article but swap out "working mom" and "stay-at-home mom" for "Mormon mom" and "Supermom" for "Mother in Zion Syndrome" and you could have any article from the past ten years that's been written about Mormons and depression.

The study does point out, though, that women who work at least part time are less likely to be depressed UNLESS they are women who don't cut themselves any slack. If they are the type of women who have high expectations for things to work out and be perfect, they are in trouble. If they aren't sure how working and having a family are going to shake out, they do better.

It's that last part that I think is important for a couple reasons: 1) the so-called "Mother in Zion Syndrome" isn't a Mormon thing; it's an American thing and 2)it's okay for women to be unsure of their choices and work things out as they go--especially when it comes to division of labor between the spouses.

Sometimes this whole motherhood thing gets so complicated and emotional that as women we fail to realize that each of us is born with different talents, abilities, and paths. We pick on each other and we judge each other and force each other to justify our choices over and over. Think about how many times you've had to justify your job (or lack thereof), your number of children, or the amount of housework your spouse does. If we were really being true to ourselves and, as Mormon women--Christian women, we wouldn't do this to each other.

The best part of the whole article was this quote, "Women who have a realistic expectation are more likely to choose men who are going to help out around the house," Correll [associate professor of psychology at Stanford] said. "If you choose someone who will be a helpmate tohttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif you, that may lead to lower levels of depression."

That's true no matter your job status, you marital status, or your gender. As Pres. Uchdorf said, lift where you stand.

Have a great Labor Day!
Oh, and if you want to read a quick tidbit about my sister and I and our angsty teenage mood issues, check out this one: .

Paying my Children to go to Church !?!?!

2011-08-28T11:45:00.004-06:00

You know it's going to be a good Sunday when all four kids have broken down in tears and stomped the feet repeatedly and wailing, "I won't go! You can't make me!!"

Ahh, you could just revel in those sweet Sabbath morning sounds.

Usually at least two of my children pitch fits about Church, but this morning was over the top with three of them desperately trying to get out of their weekly ecumenical obligations. See, the Little Cannoli has been sick for the past week and last night she cried and cried. I took her to Urgent Care this morning to get her ears checked, but they were all clear. The doctor looked at me, smiled and said, "It's just cold!" Little Cannoli needed a nap and since she was (is) feverish there was no way she was going to Church. That means one of us adults had to stay home.

After the DH and I negotiated for a good five or six minutes about who needed a nap more (it was super sophisticated of us, "Me!" "I'm SO tired, though!" "Me, too!" "Nu-uh. I'm more tired." "No, I am!" "You have more jobs at Church. You have to go." "Not this week, I don't." "But I don't WANT to!" Yeah, we weren't at our best either. . .) the DH finally bit the bullet and said he would take the kids. Heaven bless him!!

When the kids found out I wasn't going the weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth began. Supergirl E and Mr. J were easily bought off with snacks. But Princess N was holding firm. She had drawn her line in the sand and wasn't budging. There was no way she was going to Church without me unless the DH carried her kicking and screaming. After talking with her for awhile, she admitted she was worried he wouldn't make it to Primary to pick her up on time and she would left all alone in the Primary room. There was more back and forth and finally I said, "You can trust your dad. He will be there. I promise!"

Princess N rolled her eyes, "Pu-lease. Yeah right."

And then it came out of my mouth: "I'm so certain you can trust him that I will give you $3 if he doesn't show up on time."

"Seriously? $3? 300 pennies worth of money?" Her tears immediately dried up and her eyes gleamed like Donald Trump's do every time he fires someone.

"I trust him so much I'm willing to put a bet down," I said. "Not that YOU should ever bet. Especially on a Sunday. Because gambling is bad. . . but your DAD is not."

"$3, huh? All right." She then turned to her siblings, "Hey guys! Mom's gonna pay us money to go with Dad!"

See? Getting your kids to Church is easy as pie. You just have to pay them :P

The Gift and Path of Testimony (Part Three)

2011-08-15T22:35:00.000-06:00

Here's the final part of my recent sacrament meeting talk. To read Part One go here. To read Part Two go here. BTW, all the present pictures on these posts are CAKES. Man, some people really know how to work their fondant! Blows my mind. . .

The gift of testimony isn’t just something that occurs inside us. Yes, we feel it through our emotions but testimony is more than that. True testimony is action. It is a conviction of truth that is so deeply rooted in us that we cannot help but act according to that truth. This is what Alma meant when he asked, “Have ye spiritually been born of God? Have ye received his image in your countenances? Have ye experienced this mighty change of heart?” (Alma 5:14). When our desires work in us to create spiritual experiences, experiences that we hold dear in our memories, then we are compelled to action.

While I was preparing this talk, one of my children asked me why “you always get up there every month and talk.” Now I’m not sure if this child was referring to people in general or me specifically, but seeing as I can really only speak for myself that is how I will answer the question. This is the answer: for me, testimony is action. Testimony is something I do. One way it is manifested is through standing up and sharing my feelings and experiences. Other actions I take for testimony are visiting teaching, family scripture study and family prayer, and fulfilling my Primary calling. I have had experiences where each of these things has blessed my life and the Spirit has borne witness to me that these things will lead me closer to Christ, so I take action.

Elder M. Russell Ballard said it this way, “Simply stated testimony—real testimony, born of the Spirit and confirmed by the Holy Ghost—changes lives. It changes how you think and what you do. It changes what you say. It affects every priority you set and every choice you make.”

This brings me to the final step on the path of testimony: choice. Because of the nature of faith, we cannot have a perfect knowledge of spiritual things. But a testimony is not a perfect knowledge of things. It is an act of faith. It is a choice to trust something outside ourselves, something bigger than ourselves, and hope that it is true.

Of course, testimony also isn’t thoughtless acceptance. President Howard W. Hunter, when he was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, said, “I have sympathy for young men and women when honest doubts enter their minds and they engage in the great conflict of resolving doubts. These doubts can be resolved, if they have an honest desire to know the truth, by exercising moral, spiritual, and mental effort. They will emerge from the conflict into a firmer, stronger, larger faith because of the struggle. They have gone from a simple, trusting faith, through doubt and conflict into a solid substantial faith which ripens into testimony.” Strong testimonies grow out of difficulty and questioning. As long as we stay on the path each choice we make can be a step toward strengthening our testimonies.

The Lord has promised, “Draw near unto me and I will draw near unto you; seek me diligently and ye shall find me; ask and ye shall receive; knock, and it shall be opened unto you” (Doctrine and Covenants 88:63). When we choose the path of testimony, when we desire a testimony, seek and remember spiritual experiences and take action on the witnesses we receive, the Lord will reward us with a priceless gift. We can feel the excitement, gratitude, and joy that come from getting the gift we wanted, and needed, most: a testimony.

I want us to try the little exercise we did at the beginning of my talk, but this time with testimony. I want you to think of something you have a testimony of. Maybe it is God’s love. Maybe it is the Savior’s love and his sacrifice. Maybe it is your testimony of prayer or the truth of the Book of Mormon. Maybe it is Joseph Smith and the teachings of modern prophets. Whatever it is I want you to try and envision your testimony. What does it look like? What does it feel like? What desires brought you to that testimony? What experiences did you have with that precept? How well do you remember it? What actions and choices do you make as a result of it? The way we answer those questions will help each of us know where we are on the path of testimony and how we can continue to grow in and appreciate this marvelous gift.

I close with the eloquent words of Nephi’s testimony, “Behold, my soul delighteth in the things of the Lord; and my heart pondereth continually upon the things which I have seen and heard. . . I know in whom I have trusted. My God hath been my support; he hath led me through mine afflictions . . . he hath filled me with his love. . . Yea, I know that God will give liberally to him that asketh . . . therefore I will lift up my voice unto thee; yea I will cry unto thee, my God, the rock of my righteousness. Behold my voice shall forever ascend up unto thee, my rock and mine everlasting God” (2 Nephi 4: 16, 19-21, 35).

The Gift and Path of Testimony (Part Two)

2011-08-14T22:22:00.000-06:00

Here's the second part of my recent sacrament meeting talk on testimony. This is the part where I talk, over the pulpit, about what's it's like to be depressed. It was only a brief part of my talk, but I was really scared to say it out loud in front of people. But I saw several heads nod when I described my experience and then I was glad I had taken the risk. To read Part One go here.

Quite often the desire for the gift of testimony leads to an experience of testimony. These experiences are as numerous and varied as there are members of the Church because the Holy Spirit will work in each of us in an individual way. Nephi had a vision. Joseph Smith saw Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Of course for most of us the witness of the Spirit will not come in an epic manner. The experience might be a simple feeling of peace after family prayer. It might be the rush of coming out of the waters of baptism. It might be a depth of feeling that comes when pondering the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. It might be the strength we feel after hearing someone else testify. Testimony, for most, is an accumulation of experience. The experiences come “line upon line and precept on precept, here a little and there a little” (Isaiah 28:10) but they come. This is how it has been for me. I cannot point to one big, dramatic experience. Rather, testimony has entered my heart bit by bit, surreptitiously. It is only when I think back to years past that I realize how my testimony has grown.

Elder Richard G. Scott put it this way, “Your testimony may begin from the acknowledgment that the teachings of the Lord seem reasonable. But it must grow from practicing those laws. Then your own experience will attest to their validity and yield the results promised. That confirmation will not come all at once. . . It requires faith, time, consistent obedience, and a willingness to sacrifice.”

It is precisely because the process requires faith, time, consistent obedience, and sacrifice that testimony is also very often a memory. We live in a fallen world and are beset by the turmoil of mortality. We get sick, people hurt us, natural disasters occur, we fail or fall short. Difficulties of every shape, size and flavor arise. But God expects us to keep our testimonies intact, even when we are faced with the most frustrating and daunting events. This is when memory becomes important. Perhaps in the midst of a trial you may not feel particularly comforted or blessed, but the memory of your testimony and experiences will be there to hold you up and until the trial has passed.

This too has been true in my life. I have depression. Usually this is a well-managed condition and doesn’t put too big a damper on my life. It’s something I’ve come to understand about myself and I’ve learned to live with it. Occasionally, though, the dark times come and I temporarily lose my perspective. It is very difficult for me to feel the Spirit then. I believe my mood disorder prevents it. It is easy for me to forget the blessings Heavenly Father sends. It is easy for me to overlook His guidance in my life. It is easy for me to get bogged down in my emotions and lose my way. During those dark and sometimes desperate moments I remind myself that I know Heavenly Father loves me, that I know I am His child, that I know Jesus Christ is my Savior and Redeemer, that I know He suffered for me and because of his sacrifice I will be okay. I remind myself that I know that Heavenly Father has a plan for my life and that His plan compensates for whatever struggle I am having. Even if I can’t feel the Spirit in that moment, I can remember occasions where I have felt it and it is enough.

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President Henry B. Eyring told a story once about how he came home late from work one evening to see his father-in-law doing some home repair work for him. While thinking of what a nice thing this was a voice spoke to President Eyring and said, “I’m not giving you these experiences for yourself. Write them down.” So President Eyring did. In fact, he wrote each day about how he had seen the Lord’s hand in his life in a journal that he later shared with his children. Of this effort he said, “Testimony grew. I became ever more certain that our Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers. I felt more gratitude for the softening of heart and refining that come because of the Atonement of the Savior Jesus Christ. And I grew more confident that the Holy Ghost can bring all things to our remembrance—even things we did not notice or pay attention to when they happened.” Our memories play a key role in defining and sustaining our testimonies.

The Gift and Path of Testimony ( Part One)

2011-08-13T21:49:00.004-06:00

I am one of those strange people who LOVES giving talks in sacrament. Captive audience? Yes, please!! A Facebook friend of mine is a member of the Unitarian Universalist Church and recently posted a video of one of their sermons. I really liked how joyful it was and how the pastor got the audience involved. I was trying do both those things in a Mormon way. I think it worked, although you'd have to ask a ward member to really know. I'm posting it in parts because it is really long and I would hate for anyone to resort to skimming :) Anyway, enjoy!

Think back to a time when you received a gift—one you really enjoyed. It could have been for a birthday or anniversary. Maybe it was Christmas. Or maybe it was just an ordinary day and the gift was a small but significant something. I want you to try and remember the weight of the gift in your hands. What was the shape of the box? How big was it? Was it wrapped? Next try to remember what you felt as you looked at the wrapping. Did you know what was inside it? Were your hands sweaty? Did your fingers tremble as you opened it? Maybe you were calm even as the anticipation was building inside you. Now try to remember what you felt as you held the gift in your hands. Gratitude? Excitement? Joy?

These were all things I felt when I was about ten years old and received a porcelain doll for Christmas. Back when I was growing up in Logan, Utah the biggest store in the mall was ZCMI; it was sort of like Dillard’s. It was the fanciest store I had ever been to and I loved going in there. Besides all the clothes they had a fabulous toy section and an old fashioned glass candy counter that housed some of the mohttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifst delicious confections. To this day I am still searching for a place that sells sugared pink grapefruit chews.

What was really magical about ZCMI, though, was Christmastime. At Christmas the whole store was filled with decorations. Bows, garlands, lights, trees. The place was decorated to the hilt. And, to top it all off, one entire wall was filled with porcelain dolls; row upon row of delicate, soft–haired, satin-and- silk- dressed, beautiful, blushing dolls. They had baby dolls, Laura Ashley dolls, dolls with dogs—pretty much everything a ten-year-old girl could want. But the most fabulous of all the dolls was the Gone with the Wind set. My sister had gotten the Scarlett O’Hara in the green picnic hoop skirt dress with the oversize sunbonnet the year before so I had my heart set on the Scarlett O’Hara doll in the sequined red velvet gown with the tulle shawl and ostrich feathers on the shoulders. This doll came with real ostrich feathers and the dress was made of real velvet. It was awesome.

Now, lest you think this was a passing fancy on my part, let me tell you it was not. My sister and I spent every Sunday afternoon going through magazines cutting out all the ads for porcelain dolls, figurines, and specialty plates and spoons. We mounted and numbered each picture on cardstock and then ranked them in order of beauty and coolness. I could go on but suffice it to say, my longing for that Scarlett doll was immense.

So when Christmas morning came and I saw that rectangular box my heart jumped in to my throat. When I unwrapped it and saw the label on the foot of the box I think I squealed. Then when I pulled her out of the box and felt the impossible softness of the feathers, the real ostrich feathers, I was completely filled with amazement and gratitude and joy.

This is a fun memory for me but it also has a point. The Lord gives us gifts in many ways. Usually we call them blessings, but there are some we actually refer to as gifts—spiritual gifts. A primary spiritual gift for any follower of Christ is that of testimony. Or as it states in Doctrine and Covenants 46: 13-14, “To some it is given by the Holy Ghost to know that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and that he was crucified for the sins of the world. To others it is given to believe on their words, that they also might have eternal life it they continue faithful.” Elder Richard G. Scott described the gift of testimony this way, “A strong testimony is the unshakable foundation of a secure, meaningful life where peace, confidence, happiness, and love can flourish” (The Power of a Strong Testimony). How do we feel about this most fundamental gift of testimony? Do we feel as excited and joyful about it as we do our temporal gifts? I would like to suggest today a path to understanding and gaining the gift of testimony, a path that will hopefully make us feel as spiritually vigorous as youngsters on Christmas morning: desire, experience, memory, action, and choice.

In trying to define what a testimony is we usually think of things that we know, things that we would be willing to stand up and vouch for, things like the statement, “I know this Church is true.” But a testimony begins well before we stand at the pulpit and say those words. As Alma states in his famous sermon on the seed of faith, “Yea, even if ye can more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you, even until ye believe in a manner that ye can give place for a portion of my words” (Alma 32:27). The seed of testimony is the desire for a testimony. The gift of testimony comes to those who want it. Just like the odds of my getting the porcelain doll would have been very slim if I hadn’t fervently wanted the doll in the first place, the odds of each of us gaining and retaining a testimony if we don’t want one are very, very slim.

This may seem like a small thing to point out—the fact that we have to want a testimony in order to receive it—but it really isn’t. From the Lord’s perspective, our desires are among the most important things we have and we are, in fact, commanded to school our desires to the Lord’s path and let our “eye[s] be single to the glory of God” (Doctrine and Covenants 4:5). We are to focus our all on Him and His glory.

As Elder Dallin H. Oaks said, “We should remember that righteous desires cannot be superficial, impulsive, or temporary. They must be heartfelt, unwavering, and permanent.” He then went on to quote Elder Neal A. Maxwell, saying, “What we insistently desire, over time, is what we will eventually become and what we will receive in eternity.” This is what is meant in Moroni 10:4 when Moroni says that to gain a testimony of the Book of Mormon we must have, “a sincere heart” and “real intent.” A testimony is first and foremost a desire. It was so for Joseph Smith before he went into the grove to pray. It was so for Nephi when he prayed about the vision his father, Lehi, had. And so it is for each of us.

"The Diet Coke" by . . . ME!

2011-08-09T09:09:00.003-06:00

Hi friends!

A short story of mine was posted this morning over at Wilderness Interface Zone. It's all about Mormon teenage rebellion, which of course starts with everyone's favorite caffeinated beverage!

And, yes, I have a real post on it's way but we have eight days until school starts here so things are getting busy, busy, busy. Hopefully I'll get that other post up sometime this week.

Love,

Laura

Mormon Kitsch: What's your fave?

2011-07-25T21:39:00.002-06:00

Hi friends!

I'm over on A Motley Vision today confessing to my sometimes love of Mormon kitsch and giving all the gorey details of my tortured relationship to Deseret Book. Well, okay that a little over-dramatic, but head on over to AMV and check out the conversation. I really want to know what Mormon kitsch do you own and love? What Mormon kitsch is cringeworthy?

And here's a funny picture that has nothing to do with anything. It's just funny. Have a good night :)

Summer time and the Livin' is Easy (inventing the mom-cation)

2011-07-19T11:14:00.005-06:00

I am no longer feeling like #*$%. I am actually feeling pretty good these days. The solution? What I have come to call a "mom-cation." It took me from this:

To this:

It's good to feel like a superhero again :)

Okay, I don't actually feel like a superhero but I do feel good--and functional! All thanks to the "mom-cation".

A "Mom-cation" is sort of like a stay-cation, except it's just for Mom. You know how when you take a stay-cation you just do all the fun things around town that you never have time to do in your normal life. Well, a mom-cation is when you do all the fun things around your house that you never have time to do in your normal life. For example, during my mom-cation I quit doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen every night and scrapbooked instead. I liked the scrapbooking so much that for a couple days I let my kids watch more than two hours of television (gasp! The horror!!) while I scrapbooked some more. I ended up scrapbooking 23 pages. And do you know what I felt? Relief. Not guilt. Not anger. Relief at having accomplished something that will stay done for more than two seconds.

Know what else I did on my mom-cation? I submitted a manuscript for a children's book. I've been wanting to submit it for a few months now (it's a story I like, all the kids I've tested it on like it, and I think it's a very salable concept) so I put all my laundry and chores on hold and spent a day getting the submission packet put together. It was exhilarating to do something that wasn't about my kids or for my kids or even really rational. After all, the children's book market is incredibly difficult so my manuscript will most likely get rejected. But it just felt good to try.

I also napped during the mom-cation. There was night where I went to bed at 8:30 pm and got out of bed at 8:30 am. The kids were running amok but it was so worth it! I quit worrying about how many whole grains and vegetables everyone had eaten or how much cold cereal they were downing. I just relaxed.

The mom-cation lasted about a week. I was feeling so good I was considering never coming back. But, the house was starting to get a little stinky and the kids actually got bored of the TV and, well, the home front was just getting bumpier and bumpier. So I'm back. I'm doing dishes. I think I'll think about folding the laundry. I did a bunch of yard work yesterday.

I'm digging back in and engaging with the kids, but you know what? I don't feel stressed about it. I still feel relaxed because I've realized that I can take a mom-cation anytime. I don't know where I got the idea that to be a "good" mom I have to be on task and working crazy-hard 24 hours a day. Being a mother isn't a competition; I don't have to prove anything to anyone. All I have to do is love my kids and teach them the skills they need to be successful adults (which, unfortunately, involves chores for all of us).

I'm already planning my next mom-cation. . .

Feeling like #$%@

2011-07-06T09:41:00.003-06:00

This is totally what I feel like today. Absolutely ludicrous. Although, the good news is looking at this pic really makes me want to laugh at myself.

So, this morning marks the end of eleven days of family and fun. Starting back on June 25th we had family in town for a reunion and my oldest daughter's baptism.

It was awesome. I enjoyed the time with all of the grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I loved seeing my kids connect with the relatives. I loved seeing all the little quirks we have in common and all the ways we are different.

But. . .

(You knew there was one of those coming, right?)

The build-up to all the fun just about killed me. And then the fun itself exhausted me. (To see some pics of the fun, check out my sister's blog posts for this day and this day.)And today I feel like &$!#. (Feel free to fill in your favorite expletive or string of expletives. Whatever you're feeling this morning.) I just want to crawl into a corner and cry myself to sleep. Never mind the fact that my house is a complete disaster and my children would probably give way to their most base impulses and the law of the jungle would be king.

If I'm being honest with myself, signs of burnout kicked in right about the time family started to show up. I had a couple distressing episodes of hyper-emotionality during the reunion. I tried to handle it as best I could, but the fact is I'm embarrassed and mad at myself for letting other people see me at my worst.

This is not uncommon for me. Last year we avoided any family reunion type stuff because it is usually followed by a depressive episode and with the new baby it just seemed like a bad idea. Seriously, the day after all the people go home and the hubby goes back to work and I am alone with the kids trying to impose some sort of routine. . . well, it sucks. Big time. My brain falls into all of it's old destructive thought patterns. I'm snappy with the kids. I get stuck in my mind and can't just let things go and cycle and cycle around inside the crazy which only adds to the stress.

I think I'm not alone in this. My sister-in-law just ran the Ragnar relay in Utah (for which I have to say she is completely, completely awesome!!!) but she fessed up on Facebook to feeling completely depressed since then. My sister usually has a pretty crappy couple days post-reunion also, although I'm not sure if she would characterize it as a mental/emotional downturn. Come to think of it, I usually have this after the holidays too.

I'm going to just grit my teeth today and bear it. I'm going to let go of some of the chores and clean-up until tomorrow. I'm probably going to let the kids watch a movie this afternoon so I can nap. I'm going to remember that I am not Superwoman, that I don't have to be Superwoman, and that I am not a failure--not matter how much my brain is telling me that I suck and I'm fat and ugly and will never be successful at anything and I should just give up now and die. As crazy as this sounds, I'm going to let the depressed thoughts come, I'm going to acknowledge them for what they are ("Wow, that one was a big batch of crazy!") and I'm going to let them go. No obsessing allowed. No further guilting allowed.

Wish me luck.

Anyway, I'm wondering how many of you experience this post-big-awesome-fun-event fallout? What do you do about it?

The Days Just Keep Getting Longer (the 7-year-old learns to play pranks)

2011-06-07T20:49:00.003-06:00

Okay, so my kids are on summer vacation. This is great. I love my kids. We are having a lot of fun.

Except when we aren't.

Commiserate with me, please!

Princess N, who is almost 8, has decided that pranks are super fun and tries to pull them on as many people as possible as often as possible. For example, tonight the DH found the ice cream scooper frozen in the middle of the ice cream bucket.

It was the prank she pulled on me that was a doozy, though. I asked her gather up her laundry so we could put it in the wash (This summer, I'm working on training the kids to do simple chores around the house. This story is indicative of how well it is going.) Well she decided it would be super funny to play a prank on me by wrapping up non-clothing items in her clothing items. I found the headband and the Hot Wheels cars. I even found the feather. What I did not find? A diaper. Thankfully it was a clean one, but yes, my just-reaching-the-age-of-accountability oldest child put a diaper in the wash.

Yes, it exploded.
Yes, there are little absorbency crystals stuck to all the clothes and every little corner and crevice of my washer.
Yes, it's a huge mess.
Yes, she is currently picking every last crystal out of that load of laundry.

I used to look forward to the days getting longer and longer during the summer. But over the last week, can I just say, bedtime can't come soon enough.

I'm pretty sure this is one of those stories that I'll look back and laugh on. But not tonight.

Grrrrr. . . .

Managing the OCD of it all

2011-06-01T21:58:00.002-06:00

Confirmation bias. I swear that's what it is. But everywhere I look these days I feel like I see/meet/hear about folks with OCD.

Or maybe it's because it's a lot more common than most of us think. According to this website, 3.3 million Americans have OCD.

The part that is hardest for me is watching people get stuck mismanaging it or, really, sometimes, non-managing. Which is one reason I really, really, really liked this post from Katie L. (She's the gal I interviewed not too long ago. Part One here. Part Two here.)

My favorite line:

Here’s a confession: in my journey toward recovery, I have yet to make it through an entire day without giving in to a compulsion. Sometimes, that makes me feel guilty and ashamed. But the truth is, shame and healing cannot exist simultaneously. One of the most important things I have learned is to cut myself some slack, to accept that I can’t always control what I struggle with, and to let go of blame.

Amen, sister. Amen.

Also, if you're feeling it, her recent sacrament talk was a marvelous read.

Of Apple, Lemons, Dandelions, and Wishes

2011-05-26T15:19:00.007-06:00

When my kids were really little I figured every single problem they had was the result of my depression. They were colicky? Blame my PPD-driven weepiness. Seemed overanxious? Blame my own anxiety. Didn't potty train early enough? Didn't sleep through the night? Didn't learn to read fast enough? Me! Me! Me! It was as if I was constantly shaking my head and muttering, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." It seemed we were all stuck with seeds that had been sown ages ago and we had no choice about the fruit we got.

Now that my children are the ripe old ages of 7, 5, 3, and 1 all that has changed a little. They are still not perfect. I am still not perfect. But I don't play the blame game. I find myself thinking more along the lines of "When life gives you lemons, find some sugar, ice, and water and then make lemonade." Lemons, and depression, on their own are not inherently wonderful--but they certainly offer a lot of possibilities when you combine them with other good things. Being depressed has been horrible, BUT when combined with the things I've learned in therapy and the way it has deepened my relationship with my Savior, it seems to be turning into something pretty good. A little bittersweet, but good.

I'm optimistic it is going to be the same for my kiddos. Life threw them a big lemon every time my depression flared. When mismanaged, it had negative effects on them in so, so many ways. But *hopefully* it also is giving us opportunities to learn from each other and to love each other more fully and deeply. Now that I know how depression ruins my relationship with my children I'm a much more conscientious mother--not perfect, but aware and thoughtful.Who knows? Maybe they will turn out more aware and thoughtful, too.

Yesterday was the last day of school for our school district and as we were walking away from the elementary school my kids and I passed this field.

My first thought was, "That field is ruined. Look at all those weeds." My seven-year-old was mesmerized, though. She stared at the field thoughtfully while I loaded all the others into the minivan. Then as she climbed in the car she looked at me and said, "Wow, Mom! That's a LOT of wishes!"

When given a choice, my child saw possibilities, not problems or dead ends. Maybe, just maybe, they are going to turn out okay.

An Open Letter to My Mother (Happy Mother's Day!)

2011-05-08T15:43:00.005-06:00

Dear Mom--

You probably guessed by the fact that I posted something on your Facebook wall that I didn't get your gift in the mail. Yeah. It's sitting in a pile on my "projects-that-need-immediate-attention" counter, right on top of your birthday cards. Sorry. Again.

I know that nothing I could write in 420 characters or less is really a good substitute for a Mother's Day gift. After all, you were in labor with me for how many hours? 12? 20? 36? And we won't mention the countless hours in doctor/dentist/orthodontists offices. Or the countless meals and loads of laundry. When I think about it that way, even if I got my gift to you on time it wouldn't even up the score.

So, why the open letter on my blog? Two words: Mother Guilt.

Remember when I was young and wore flowy dresses all the time? You know, the ones that I was constantly staining with the dandelions that I never did figure out how to make into crowns? Those were the days when, if wasn't wearing a dress, I was wearing my swimsuit and standing on top of the jungle gym singing my guts out. Those were the days that I used to go to your community health education classes and "help" you teach by drawing on the whiteboard and playing with the example baby and CPR dummies. Those were the days that I was carefree and I was your daughter and, most importantly, you were mine.

My mother-- the lady who picked me up from kindergarten and took me to the KFC drive-through for those chicken nugget sandwiches that were the perfect size for little fingers. The one who actually watched me at my swim lessons and willingly retold the story of how I jumped in the pool when I was less than two years old because I was destined to be a good swimmer. The one who had the nerve to tell me that all the kids at the bus stop were making fun of me because I was acting like, well, like a geek.

I don't remember when exactly it was, but there came a point--probably during my tween years--when I realized that you weren't just mine. There were things you had to do for other people. And things you had to do for yourself. I know you knew I didn't get it. You'd get this far away look on your face and a sort of heaviness would settle on you.

There was the day you told me about a box. That there was this box inside you. And it kept getting smaller. And darker. And you felt like you couldn't breathe because, even though the box was inside you, you were inside the box. So you were going to go back to school. You were going to try working. You were going to get out of that box. You weren't going to suffocate.

The look you gave me then--that searching look in your eyes, that lift in your eyebrows, the dip of your shoulders--that was the look of Mother Guilt. I know it is because I have looked at my own children with searching eyes, lifting my eyebrows, and slouching my shoulders. And what I feel is a crushing, frustrating feeling of Less Than: Of being less than the other women around me; of being less than my children want and need me to be; of being less than I want myself to be; of Mother Guilt.

I bet that when I was young there were times I told you I hated you. I probably slammed my door and yelled. I probably called you names and tried to sneak around you. I don't remember any specific thing, but I bet you do. I know I remember all the times my kids have yelled at me and said they hate me. Those moments were so shocking that they are seared into my memory. The pain of those moments fades with time but the memory of them is uncanny. And that give me a new kind of mother guilt.

Did I mention I was sorry?

A lot of folks at Mother's Day talk about how perfect their moms were/are, how preternaturally perfect women in general are. But you and I both know that while women the world over may have natural inclinations toward goodness, beauty, and truth they are also human and frighteningly imperfect. I remember the pain I felt as a child when you let me down and I now know the flip side of that pain when I let my own children down. None of us are immune from the frailties of mortality, not even mothers.

But here's the important thing. Mom, please don't skip this part. I'm glad that you weren't perfect. It's okay. In fact, it's more than okay. It's exactly as it should be. Please know that I learned and grew from the moments that you were wonderful and the moments that you weren't. Honestly, I wouldn't have you any other way.

Now, since you are a mother I'm pretty sure that you will still feel sad and embarrassed that you ever had shortcomings. You will wish I didn't mention them here. I bring them up only to let you know that I love you--and not just in spite of, but rather because of.

Because you had shortcoming and struggles and difficulties, I knew it was okay when I started to flounder. I knew it was okay when I started to question and wonder. Those things made you a person and, over time, made me into a person. So while neither of us are cardboard cutouts of Donna Reed, pictures of perfection in shirtwaist dresses and pearls, we are real. When people look at us they know what they are getting. And that's a good thing.

I love you, Mom. I love your good intentions and sensitive heart, your tenacity, your sense of humor. I love you like a daughter loves her mother and like a woman loves her friend. I hope you hear that love in my voice when I call you just because I'm bored or when I solicit your advice because my kids are sick. I hope it shines between the lines of Facebook messages and emails. And I hope you feel it now radiating across the ether.

I love you.

Happy Mother's Day.

And, yes, I will put your present (and birthday cards!) in the mail tomorrow.

Love,

Laura

Mental Malaise (I'm so Blue-ue-ue-ue-ue!)

2011-05-04T10:30:00.003-06:00

These days, I have to admit, I am a very blue berry. I had several days in a row last week that were the epitome of ennui and a couple evenings that bordered on downright depressed. It was amazing to me how quickly my mind and emotions fell into old depressed habits. I fought with my husband. I cried for no reason. I yelled at my kids. And the thoughts were back. Over and over, "You're a failure. Nothing you do will ever matter or make difference. Everybody thinks you're stupid. They're laughing at you all the time. You can't fix any of it. It's pointless. You might as well give up. Suicide is always an option . . ."

Grrr.

I was fitful and restless and moody. I hated it.

Sunday morning I purposefully said to myself, "You can go either way here. You can choose to figure out what's bringing you down and change it. Or you can choose to deteriorate. What are you going to do?" It was a strange moment of clarity in which I was either channeling my therapist or the Spirit. Or both.

My sister and my husband had both asked me earlier in the week what my problem was. I always responded I didn't know. But as I thought about it there were quite a few things that were probably contributing to my mental malaise. I've been on my SSRI for almost a year and they tend to poop out on me around the prescription anniversary. The Little Cannoli was cutting back on her nursing which was precipitating a drop in my oxytocin levels--less contented hormone = a less contented mommy. The kids were sick and waking up more at night so I was getting less sleep. I'm stymied with my writing; nothing I have written to this point in my life has been what I wanted it to be and I don't know how to fix it. I hadn't been reading my scriptures or praying. I'd just finished a month of Primary Sharing Times and Cub Scout Pack meeting. Really, there were a lot of reasons and it was probably a combination of things that was pulling me down.

So Sunday, I decided to take it slow. Give it my best effort to tune in to the Spirit and let everything else go. I also decided to go back to napping in the afternoon for a week or so.

I feel better. I am not in that blissful state of mental health that I previously was, but, you know what, I'm not doing too bad either. This is my life and it's okay. My problems haven't changed--I certainly haven't solved them--but just being able to name them and observe them was helpful. My therapist used to tell me that I need to be the journalist of my own life. I needed to observe my life and emotions, figure out the story, and report it. I didn't need to solve. I just needed to note it. It's amazing how much that can help.

Well, that and napping.

What do you do when you feel yourself slipping? What helps you right yourself?

Utah is the Happiest State in America!!

2011-04-28T09:30:00.003-06:00

Okay, I couldn't not blog about this one.

Did you come across this, "Want to be live among the happiest Americans? Move to Utah" in the New York Times yesterday? I didn't either but somebody posted it to Facebook so now I can sound all smart by talking about the New York Times.

This is seriously interesting news, though. Utah (and by association, the Mormon Church) has looooong been stereotyped as repressed, depressed, and having all sorts of mental health issues--mostly because of one limited study that shows Utah has a high rate of antidepressant prescriptions. Often the chatter around this issue involves things like the somewhat fabled "Mother in Zion Syndrome" that drives all Mormon women to insanity by telling them that they have to be perfect. Less often you hear people say Mormons need antidepressants because they aren't allowed to drink. Others will tell you it's a genetic curse and Mormons are being responsible by managing an illness that happens to, well, run in the family. Some people even go so far as to say it's all those non-Mormons in Utah who have to get the antidepressants. ***Please note I said "some people". I am not "some people". I am not backing any of these theories.*** I'd personally like to see research on if all these prescriptions are actually being filled and used, and how many of them are for off label purposes (like PMS, bladder control issues in children, etc.), and who is doing the prescribing.

What doesn't get talked about is the fact that mental/emotional health is an issue that requires nuanced thinking. (No surprise there. The media at large doesn't do nuance very well these days. *Sigh* ) People who enjoy good mental health for extended periods of time usually have a number of things going for them. They get regular exercise, they sleep well, they have strong family ties and support systems, they eat their veggies, they live above the poverty line--the list goes on and on. (Want more detailed info on folks who live the longest and report the greatest rates of well being worldwide? Check out The Okinawa Program. The reading is a little dense, but it is chock full of implementable info.) Also, people who enjoy the best mental/emotional health DO have hard times. Think of the Greatest Generation. Hard times? Yes. Optimism and courage? Definitely yes.

This is why the Gallup Poll reported in the New York Times is exciting to me. It looks at six different factors (instead of a single piece of info like antidepressant prescription rate). The NYT article also points out that just because one state scored high in one area doesn't mean they scored high in another. That kind of talk sounds a lot like nuance, and that is something to celebrate.

So, here's to Utah and the fact that they came out on top for once. In case you are wondering, in past years, Hawaii (and Boulder, CO but not the entire state of Colorado??)has come out on top. Now if only we could answer why states with the highest well being rates also have high suicide rates. . .

The Easter Tree!

2011-04-26T10:34:00.008-06:00

Well, folks, here's another mommy blogging moment brought to you by me!

For Easter we celebrated with these:

And with these:

But we mostly celebrated with this:

"What is that monstrosity?!?!" Is that what I hear you asking? Well, that, my friends, is The Easter Tree.

For a long time I've been trying to figure out some way to make Easter and Christmas work together a little better. Maybe it's because I'm secretly jealous of Lent (I really do think it's a neat idea!) or maybe it's because I hate the commercialism of Easter and a bunny pooping chocolate eggs never really made sense to me anyway. Either way, I have always wanted to focus on Jesus at Easter but it was hard to do it in an age appropriate way for my children--especially when they are so excited about Easter egg hunts and candy and presents. Last year, in the midst of our move I came across something called a Jesse Tree and then I came across this Easter Egg Tree over at sugardoodle. It was kismet. An Easter Egg Tree that involved advent type scripture reading was exactly what I was looking for. It was the perfect way to connect all the ways we think about Jesus at Christmas with the Easter season.

So this year I took some old wrapping paper tubes, cut a cardboard box into strips, and taped it into some sort of tree shape with a bunch of masking tape. Then I took our old plastic Easter eggs and hung them from the branches with lots of color of ribbons. To make them hang I used my kitchen scissors to poke holes in the top of the egg and threaded some ribbon through, tying a knot on the inside of the egg to keep it from slipping out. I'm clumsy and cut myself a few times but I bet most of you folks are way more crafty than me and could do it without injuring yourself. My kiddos actually helped in the construction of the whole thing; it was pretty fun.

After we got the whole thing put together I started looking through The Friend Archives for some sort of scripture activity to put in the eggs. (BTW, if you aren't using friend.lds.org to find church oriented activities for your kids then you are missing out. It is a great resource.) There were a lot of choices but I ended up settling on the Easter ABC Fill-In activity from the April 1996 Friend. I chose this one because the scripture references would be good practice for Princess N (my oldest) in looking up scriptures, and Supergirl E and Mr. J are both in various stages of linking letters with the sounds they make and this helped them listen to the scripture. I also put a jelly bean for each kid in each egg.

Every evening after dinner we'd gather round the Easter tree and open up an egg. We'd talk about what letter we were on and what sound it made, then we'd look up the scripture and remind the kids to listen for the sound of that day's letter. They'd munch their jellybeans while we read and then fill in the blanks. I think it was pretty successful as far as family scripture study goes.

We did have arguing some nights over who got what color jellybean and whose turn it was to open the egg. We also ran into a little trouble with kids knocking eggs open unintentionally. And of course, the Little Cannoli (who is now crawling) had to be constantly monitored to make sure she didn't ingest some of the dry beans from the tree's pot. Mr. J spent a lot of time tying the eggs together and then his sisters would walk by and untie the eggs. Also, Supergirl E decided one day that there was a tsunami in the house (she'd been watching the news with her dad) and put her Littlest Pets in all the eggs--using extra tape to keep them extra safe. That took a little time to clean up. Still, though, these problems felt minimal considering the time we spent in the scriptures and the good spirit that entered our home because of that. And, really, those problems were tiny compared to issues we've had in the past with Christmas trees!

So, the grand finale came Easter morning. When the kids went to bed they opened the last egg, ate the jellybeans, and said, "So this is it?" I smiled and hinted that maybe something special would happen to the tree while they were asleep. When the woke up this is what they found:

I wanted the tree to go from looking dead to coming alive--that way they would connect the season with the true meaning of Easter. I also opened all the eggs and sprinkled some candy underneath to represent the joy of the stone being rolled away and the tomb being empty. I put the picture of Christ with an image of this scripture poster under the tree. The kids and I talked about the scripture and what happened Easter morning. We talked about the range of emotions Mary went through and how we might feel some of the same things in our lives, but because of Jesus' atonement, crucifixion, and resurrection we can be healed and happy. It was a powerful moment for me and I think my kids could feel the Spirit too.

I'm excited for next Easter and all the possibilities of the Easter tree. The Easter bunny didn't even come up this year and I think I'll keep it that way in the future. I liked moving away from the commercialism and moving closer to Christ. Rather than trying to paint leaves I think next year I'm going to do Jell-O popcorn balls (you know, "I looked out the window and what did I see?") and flowers. And for the scriptures I think I'm going to use the topical guide entry about the names of Christ. I'm also going to try and find something more robust for the tree.

Anyway, I hope you all had a happy Easter and experienced some of the joy that can be found in and through Christ! Tell me, what do you do to celebrate Easter? How do you teach your kids about the true meaning?

Depression is like. . . asthma?

2011-04-20T10:40:00.005-06:00

Drowning.
A roller coaster.
Being thirteen again, but in a bad way.

There are lots and lots of ways people describe depression. Usually we use these similes to explain what feels like a unique experience to people who have just never been there. Most often we use them to explain why the illness we have needs treatment or how the treatment we're using is working for us. Most often the comparison we use is, "Hey if I had diabetes or heart disease I would have to take a pill everyday and people would tell me it's a good thing. Why is it any different for depression?"

Now, this isn't a bad argument to make. But lately I've been mulling this one over and for me it doesn't really do the issue justice. Here's why:

1) There is an element of preventability (I think I just made that word up) with both diabetes and heart disease. Yes, there is Type I diabetes that just strikes, but I think for the average individual when they hear diabetes they equate it with Type II diabetes, which our most often spun as a lifestyle disease by our current media. The same thing goes for heart disease. If people would just eat better and exercise more they wouldn't have those problems. Unfortunately, the same kind of thinking bleeds over into how we think about depression. But depression isn't usually preventable. Life circumstances, some of which we have control over (how much we exercise, if we abuse drugs or alcohol) and some of which we don't (genetic predispositions and postpartum hormone swings). For me, comparing depression to preventable diseases makes accepting the things I can't control that much harder.

2) Depression isn't necessarily a life-threatening disease like diabetes and heart disease are. If you don't treat your diabetes you're going to go blind and lose your feet and die. If you don't treat your heart disease, odds are you are toast. Yes, people with depression are more likely to kill themselves and suicide is horrible, tragic, cruel and everything should be done to prevent it from happening. But I think there are a lot of folks out there with depression who would benefit from treatment that aren't necessarily in danger of killing themselves. Maybe eventually they would be, but ideally we would support these folks in getting treated well before they ever reach that point. I think a lot of the danger of depression is not just that folks might kill themselves, but rather the immediate collateral damage that's done. Damage to family relationships--especially to the children of the depressed, short term health consequences (insomnia, weight gain/loss), and long term health consequences (possible brain degeneration) are all reasons to treat depression now even though it may not threaten the individual's life. Linking depression to two clearly life-threatening illnesses implicitly implies that folks shouldn't get treated if their lives aren't in direct danger. That is wrong.

So what should we compare it to instead? Asthma.

See, recently Mr. J (my third child who is almost four years old!) has been put on a fairly aggressive asthma treatment plan. Those of you who have been reading my blog for years know that Mr. J has never slept through the night and that we've been chasing down a number of health problems with him. Since his doctors at National Jewish Health started treating him as an asthmatic his whole health has improved. His coloring is better, his energy level and appetite are more predictable, and (wonder of wonders!!) he is sleeping through the night. (Okay, to be honest, most nights he still wakes up once and comes and settles himself on my floor but he doesn't scream or have night terrors or multiple wakings anymore. At my house this is as good as sleeping through the night gets. And, in the name of full disclosure, I think it helps that we now have a good eczema plan and allergy plan in place along with the asthma.) In some ways it is like having a whole new child. Before we started treating his asthma things seemed off and he was always struggling. But we didn't know why. It wasn't something we could see (like his eczema) so we didn't think to worry about it until it landed him in urgent care multiple times.

I think this is how a lot of us look at depression. We know something is off. We know we aren't working at full capacity. But because it's something we can't see--or in the cultural at large it isn't a "sexy" illness and can't be dressed up with pink ribbons or little red dresses--we don't think to treat it. Sure Mr. J was surviving without his asthma medicine but he never could keep up with the other kids and never felt healthy. Without my depression meds, I can manage. I can white-knuckle through my days and tough it out. But something is off and I can't keep up with my life; everything is harder than it should have to be. Having emotional stability is like having enough oxygen. Sure you can get by with less, but you'll never be able to thrive.

Now, having written all this, there is still that little voice inside me that says, "If you can manage without your meds then maybe you don't really need them. Maybe you're just trying to do too much. Maybe you're just not meant to be doing all that other stuff. Maybe you just aren't supposed to be that good." This voice is hard for me to quiet. Those doubts are powerful. It takes a lot for me to remind myself that I'm not asking for too much out of life to want to do more than just survive. It's okay to want to feel pulled together. Just like it is all right to treat my son so he can breathe deeply and fully instead of just asking him to get by on limited oxygen, it's okay for me to want to experience life from a place of stability. Thriving is not just something other people should get to do.

Have I sold you yet on my new "Depression is like. . ."? If not, how come? How do you describe your mood disorder or emotional health issues?

Depression Introspection and the Dark Passenger

2011-04-15T09:51:00.003-06:00

Hi all,

A depressed gal named Kass has a blog called Depression Introspection. It is a great resource from an experienced and articulate woman. Today's post, My Dark Passenger, is all about that crazy voice that interrupts your life in order to make you feel bad. We all know that voice. On our good days it's the annoying little mosquito buzz in the back of your head that spouts crazy-talk. On our bad days it's the overwhelming voice of conviction that stymies us and worries us and encourages us to do things we would never normally do. If you're already having a bad day, today might not be the day to read her post, but if you need to know you aren't alone go check it out!

Love,

Laura

C is for Cookie! (Teaching My Preschooler to Read)

2011-04-06T13:51:00.005-06:00

Okay, so I warned you all that I was going to start posting a few things every now and again with content that falls under the Mommy Blog umbrella. This is one of those posts.

And honestly, this is one of the things I like most about having good mental health right now: I have energy for some of the extras--like teaching my five-year-old to read! Supergirl E (which is what I call her in my head) has a fall birthday so she isn't in kindergarten this year. I'm pretty sure that if I didn't work on it with her she would figure it out in kindergarten, but she really wants to read and it feels good to do this with her.

Now, I'm no curriculum designer or teacher or really anyone with any kind of knowledge on this subject--except that I like to read and I like to read with my kids. There are a lot of theories and methods about teaching kids to read but (from what I gather) most of them seem to include letter recognition, matching sounds and letters, the ability to recognize some words on sight, and the ability to sound out words.

Her preschool has been pretty rigorous about helping her match letters and sounds. We also have a Jumpstart game that does that. And we have letter puzzles and books that we practice letter recognition and the sound matching. Another thing I've noticed about this is that kids seem to do better if you focus on one letter each day-- kind of like Sesame Street :) (It's good enough for me!!)

The part where I've really been working with her is on sight words and sounding out words. My oldest learned to read by memorizing word after word until things just clicked. So with E, I've been using these lists of sight words for preschoolers. This page has a pretty good list and activities. (Or you can combine this pre-school level list with this kindergarten list.)

My absolute favorite site, though, is Hubbard's Cupboard. This site is chock-full of info, but the stuff we use the most are the printable Sight Word Booklets. Now, if you don't want to spend money on printer paper these books may not be for you, but we love them.

The first thing I do is make flash cards of the sight words in the book and we look them and sound them out and trace the letters. Then we get the printed booklet out and I have Supergirl E circle the sight word on each page. If there is more than one sight word that we are working on in the booklet then we go back through and circle that one in another color. Then I read her the book once through, tracing my finger under the words. Then I have her read it to me. Finally I have her pick a booklet she has already passed off to read to me. This seems to work best when we are snuggled up on the couch.

To be honest, I'm not very consistent with this. We'll do it everyday for a couple weeks and then life will get in the way for awhile. But whenever it is that we come back to it, we just pick up where we left off and keep plugging away. She's got more than 20 sight words and she's starting to sound things out so I think I'm going to try some of the Word Family Booklets on her soon. Every little bit helps! (At least that's what I tell myself. . .)

Katie L and Doubt: the story of a Mormon girl with Pure-O (part I)

2011-03-22T08:48:00.000-06:00

Hi friends! This Depression Profile is actually in two parts and is not exactly about depression. A wonderful woman, Katie L, contacted me and told me about her years of struggle with Pure-O OCD and the effect it had on her spirituality as a Mormon. (While this lady was not clinically depressed her struggles did lead to some depressive episodes.) Pure-O OCD is a (somewhat disputed) anxiety condition where the sufferer obsesses about unwanted, intrusive thoughts without any recognizable or outward compulsions. For me this kind of obsessing was the defining factor of the postpartum period with my first child. It's also how I know when I am on the brink of a breakdown. Having experienced a version of this myself, I really appreciate how Katie L. describes this. Her writing is vivid and the information she gives important. For more info on Pure-O check out the website The Other OCD or the books The Imp of the Mind by Lee Baer, Brain Lock: Overcoming Obsessive-Compulsive Behavior by Dr. Jeffrey M. Schwartz, and When in Doubt, Make Belief by Jeff Bell.

Name: Katie L.
Location: Pacific Northwest
Age: 29
Religion: Mormon

I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't struggle with anxiety. It became more pronounced around the age of nine, though. Before then, I'd feel very guilty about things I did wrong and make conscientious attempts to avoid sin; by the age of nine, my flirtation with guilt and doubt had blossomed to a full-blown romance.
OCD is sometimes called "the doubting disease," and that description resonates deeply with me. From 9-years-old on, I not only experienced doubt about things that are "normal" to doubt -- such as the existence of God or the truthfulness of the Church (though perhaps the severity was abnormal for someone so young) -- but I also began to have very strange doubts. For example, I would feel guilty for doing something and then feel unsure about whether or not I actually did it.

I developed a fairly severe confession compulsion. Whenever I did something wrong, I confessed it to my mother. If I wasn't sure whether or not something I'd done was actually wrong, I confessed it anyway, just in case. Sometimes, questions arose about who had done one thing or another -- who broke the scooter in the basement, who took Dad's quarters off the dresser, who made a mess in the laundry room -- and I confessed, even though I had no recollection of doing it.

Eventually, my mother caught on that something wasn't quite right. We didn't have enough information to call it OCD, but it became okay for me to say, "I don't know if I did it or not!" Although I imagine that some parents would have assumed that their child was trying to get out of punishment, somehow my mom understood that I was being honest -- I really wasn't sure -- and she didn't press me on it. In fact, she often reassured me that I probably hadn't committed the crime in question.

I also found myself praying constantly. I prayed for forgiveness. Unwanted thoughts about the truthfulness of the church would trouble me, so I prayed for a stronger testimony. I prayed to "know" whether or not I had actually committed the sins I worried about. I prayed for help overcoming my weaknesses, both real and imagined.

As I grew older and learned about sex, I became troubled with disturbing sexual images that would flash through my mind frequently (well, disturbing for a scrupulous pre-teen; I realize now they were pretty tame). [Laura's note: scrupulosity is a technical term for a moral or religiously fixated OCD. What Katie L describes above is a quintessential definition. For more on scrupulosity check out this scrupulosity blog and this article from Catholic Culture or the book Devil in the Details, about a girl growing up Jewish and with OCD.] For a period of about a month when I was 10 or 11, I refused to take the sacrament, because I believed I was unworthy due to "dirty thoughts." I feared that by partaking of the sacrament I would eat and drink damnation to my soul. (Finally my mom asked what was going on, and when I told her, she said it was okay to take the sacrament even if you couldn't completely eliminate bad thoughts from your mind, because that's what the atonement is all about.)

I began to fear the Second Coming because I believed that I would be cast into the fire due to the intrusive obsessions and my inability to be perfectly clean. I started begging God to wait to send Jesus until I was worthy, to give me enough time to properly repent of my sins.

As I've gotten older I've found that Doubt targets whatever is the most important to me. For example, in my late teens, I fell in love for the first time and began to think of myself as a sexual person who could be attractive to men. So OCD hit me there: I developed an obsession about my sexual orientation (this is different from real homosexual attractions or sexual curiosities; what I experienced were overpowering fears that one day I would wake up and suddenly "discover" I was gay).[Laura's note: H-OCD is a subset of OCD where the sufferer worries that they are actually gay but don't know it or that they have somehow done something that makes them gay but don't remember it. Often it takes the form of obsessing over the fact that the individual cannot ever remember being not-gay, not just straight but not-gay--a distinction that really only makes sense in the context of OCD. For more information on understanding the difference between sexual orientations and HOCD check out this website, Gay or Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder:Homosexual fears and OCD. Please, please, please don't think this is a comment on sexual orientation; it's not.]

On my mission, my doubts about the truthfulness of the church intensified to near-deafening levels. I found myself agonizing over the use of "you"-pronouns in the Book of Mormon -- did it use "ye" vs. "thee" properly? I struggled with feelings of unworthiness, and questions as to whether or not I had done bad things arose again. I confessed several non-sins to priesthood leaders on at least five separate occasions.

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I began obsessing that I might harm her after she was born. That's when I finally checked myself into therapy -- I simply could not bear those thoughts, nor their implications.
These days, although my symptoms are much milder thanks to effective treatment and a softer worldview that I've worked consciously to develop, I continue to struggle with obsessive thoughts. Lately, they tend to focus around whether the people I am close to "really" love me, the veracity of my religious beliefs (this one dies hard), and whether the food I'm about to eat is going to make me sick.

On my worst days, the obsessions are so overpowering that I think about little else. My stomach is in knots. I spend the day praying, checking things online, seeking reassurance -- and, of course, ruminating. Rumination involves trying to solve whatever unsolvable problem is in front of me, an attempt to "think" myself out of Doubt. Since I'm "Pure-O," this is by far my most consuming compulsion.

Because my compulsions are primarily mental, unless it's a really, really bad day, it's easy to hide my disorder. This is both a blessing and a curse. It's a blessing because there are often legitimate reasons why you might want to keep something like this private. But it's a curse because it isolates you. For example, for years my husband -- yes, the dude I live with every day! -- had no idea I struggled with anxiety because I was so skilled at hiding it, so adept at going through the motions of daily life, even while I was suffocating in Doubt's stranglehold.

I have had perfectly normal, funny, seemingly carefree interactions with people, while inside my mind and stomach are absolutely churning. I have often excused myself from a class, meeting, or conversation to retreat to the bathroom, drop to my knees in anguish, beg God to take it away -- and then stand up, look in the mirror, put my smile back on, and return to face the world.

That's a terrible way to live. I don't recommend it.

[Laura's note: Please come back and read part II. I promise this story has a better ending!!]

Katie L and Doubt: the story of a Mormon girl with Pure-O (part II)

2011-03-22T08:21:00.001-06:00

This is part II of Katie L's story. For part I please read here.

My obsessions have almost always revolved around religion. (This is actually a common enough theme for OCD sufferers that it has its own term, "scrupulosity.") This has made my relationship with both the church and God very complicated. To be totally blunt, there are aspects of Mormon teaching and practice that make life hell for OCD sufferers like me (and that I believe are unnecessary burdens for the rest of the membership) -- and if I were in charge, I would change them in a heartbeat. (Which, let's be honest, might be one of the myriad reasons why God hasn't seen fit to put me in charge.) ;-)

Still, my commitment to my Mormon faith goes very deep. It has supplied me with so many beautiful things: my family, many of my closest friends and most rewarding associations, dozens if not hundreds of life-changing experiences, a language and culture and framework for service and worship that feed my soul.
When it comes right down to it, though, I consider myself a disciple of Jesus before anything else. Mormonism is my religious community where I fellowship and live out my faith; but my hope is in Christ alone. OCD has required that I let go of minutiae and details, or I'll drive myself crazy -- quite literally! -- and so, out of necessity, I choose to focus on one thing. That one thing is Christ. (And I'm not sure, but I the more I learn the more I discover that that just might be what the scriptures ask me to do anyway.) :-)

Bottom line: it's taken me a long time to get some space between OCD and what I really believe about God, but what I've discovered is full of hope. Still, I imagine that this is something I'll be unraveling until the day I die.

Since I've been officially diagnosed with OCD -- specifically, "Pure-O," or "Pure Obsessional" OCD things have gotten better. (This is really a misnomer; as best I understand it, OCD always contains both obsessions AND compulsions. It's just that a "Pure-O" sufferer tends to have mental, as opposed to physical, compulsions.)

For treatment, I've tried traditional talk therapy (this was before I was diagnosed, and while it was helpful in addressing some of the collateral damage my disorder caused, it didn't touch the core issue), mindfulness therapy (helpful!), and a 4-step process from a book called Brain Lock: Free Yourself from Obsessive Compulsive Behavior by Dr. Jeffrey M. Schwartz (SUPER DUPER HELPFUL!). There is nothing I won't consider, though the Brain Lock treatment I've been using lately has been effective enough that I might not need to explore too many more options. [Laura's note: from what I understand the majority of OCD sufferers do very well with Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, but there are also many who do not find relief until they try medication. For some, it takes a combination of both for relief.]

Having Pure-O OCD has made me much more spiritual than I believe I would have been without it. I have a tendency toward rigid, dogmatic, black-and-white thinking, and without OCD, I probably would have stayed there comfortably. But because I took my dogmatism to such an extreme that it was debilitating, I was forced to change my perspective for my very survival. Living like a Pharisee (like I did for years) is a spiritual dead end. Achieving moral perfection is simply impossible -- believe me, I've tried.

When God opened my eyes to the good news of His gospel, to the reality of His grace and mercy and love, it was like oxygen for a dying soul. I am now able to handle the messiness and ambiguity of life much better. I find myself filled with compassion and tolerance for others and their sins and weaknesses, because I have so much time agonizing over mine.

I believe that God gave me OCD to teach me how to love other people and to remind me how desperately I need Him. As painful as it has been over the years, I praise Him for that and consider it a gift.

On my best days, the anxiety is just a blip. An obsessive thought will come, and I'll make a mental note of it (or write it down on a note card), take inventory of the compulsion it wants me to perform, and then say, "Screw you, OCD. I'm NOT going to spend two hours agonizing over this. I'm gonna go do something else." And then I do.

I never expect the thoughts to go away. Maybe one day they will, but for now, I'm stuck with them. So I simply accept them, train myself to ignore them. I remind myself that if my heart is pumping, my stomach twisting, my hands cold and sweaty, then chances are it's an OCD thought and not something I need to take seriously.
So, on my best days, I don't.

I wish people understood how dang freakin' hard it is to diagnose this. Many Pure-O OCD sufferers go years, even in therapy, without a proper diagnosis. That's because, on face value, it can look a lot like general anxiety. A Pure-O OCD sufferer will come in with one obsession or another, and because there are no obvious compulsions like hand-washing or lock-checking, the therapist will treat the content of the obsession as opposed to the disorder itself.

In the end, it doesn't matter what you're obsessing about: OCD is about doubt (the obsession) and trying to neutralize that doubt (the compulsion). Whether you doubt that you really locked that door, or if your hands are really clean, or if your bad thoughts are enough to make God damn you for eternity -- and whether you respond by checking the doors, or washing your hands, or praying or confessing or ruminating -- it's irrelevant. You have to treat OCD like OCD to get better.

If anything that I've described today sounds familiar, I strongly recommend that you seek an evaluation from an OCD expert. I went through three counselors over five years before I finally found one who helped me figure out what was really going on with me. Getting the right diagnosis and the right treatment has made all the difference in my life.

Also, please feel free to reach out to me if there's anything I can do to help. I feel as though my own experiences have purpose and meaning when I can help others who are struggling. My email address is katiel2952 AT gmail DOT com.

To read more from Katie check out her blog Standing, Sitting, Lying Down. Also, if you'd like to share your own story of mood disorder or mental health issues feel free to email me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com. Be sure to put "depression profile" in the subject line so I know you're not a spammer!

Welcome to Depressed LDS Woman (with a little Mirthful Monday thrown in)

2011-03-21T08:34:00.000-06:00

Hey folks, guess what! There's another Depressed Mormon Mommy out there! And she blogs!

Go check out Depressed LDS Woman's blog. She's just getting started and has some good stuff. It makes us all stronger when we own our struggles and share them with others.

And for some more fun, here's a relatively recent article on Mormon women and depression. Well, really, in an oddly disjointed way, it's about Mormon men and depression--which makes it extra fun reading :) And the pic to go with the article is classic:

Tell me, is she depressed or playing hide and seek? Maybe she's washing her face? Or hiding from the mess on the kitchen floor after dinner like I do? Depression is just so hard to figure out!

Have a Mirthful Monday!

New Year's Resolutions and Changes to the Blog

2011-03-11T10:52:00.003-07:00

So I am aware that it is now the second week of March. It is officially too late to blog about New Year's Resolutions, but I'm going for it anyway.

(As a side note, it would be very interesting to me to go back and see how many posts I start with the word "so". It's probably nearly every one. So . . .)

Resolutions have a pretty mixed implications for those of us in the mood disordered world. On the one hand we usually know there are ways we could stand to improve our lives and (unless we're really feeling low) we'd like to change for the better. Of course, on the other hand, we are prone to guilt complexes and anxiety that can make it almost impossible to stick with goals long term. Not to mention the fact that the stuff we have to do (therapy appointment, psych evaluations, extra sleep, etc.) to stay mentally healthy take up a fair amount of extra time and energy. It seems like good mental health is my perennial goal.

Even understanding all that every year around January 1st, I spend days pondering on what I can do to make my life better without stressing myself out. This year I almost resolved not to do anything. I'm feeling pretty good these days; why mess with what works? But then I realized that my writing brain was reasserting itself and I started getting grand ideas about NaNoWriMo. For about two weeks I resolved to participate in that this year. I started trying to figure out how I was going to write 50,000 words in a single month and how many things were going to have to go and what kind of planning was needed. Somewhere along in there is when I realized that more than I needed to have another draft of some unfinished piece of writing I needed to have a finished piece of work I was proud of.

One of my biggest weaknesses as a writer is that I am horrible at seeing projects through the revision process. I love brainstorming ideas. I enjoy the rough drafting. I especially love telling people that I am working on something fabulous. But fairly often I don't seem things through. I seldom finish and polish a piece--especially long things.

I like to blame this on the cyclic nature of my mood disorder. I go through those up periods where I'm feeling great and agree to do everything under the sun and then I inevitably hit a slump and find myself begging off projects or just ignoring them altogether. To any of you readers who have been with me through this process, I sincerely apologize. Really.

My mood disorder is probably only part of the problem, though. I'd love to use it as an excuse, but you (Dear Reader) and I both know that mood disorders are not an excuse for bad behavior. Rather they are just one more thing to work with. Everybody and anybody can come up with excuses for why they can't do things. Strong people come up with reasons why they can do it anyway.

All of that finally brings me to my actual resolution: to finish the unfinished projects. That means I'm going to finally get the rest of my food storage out of my friend's basement (Sorry, Kelly!). I'm going to finish getting the garden put in. I'm going to finish that paper on Stephanie Meyer that I've started about a gagillion times. I'm going to get those half written blog posts dusted off and polished and posted. I'm going to catch up the scrapbook and my kids' journals.

Okay, well, I might not actually finish all those things, real life (and the crazies) might get in the way, but I'm certainly going to try. And I'm not going to sign on to anything else until I get those big things done.

Another part of getting the big things done is transitioning this blog a little big. I've wanted to write about a number of things here but feel like I can't. I guess in my brain I've defined this as a place where I am going to write about mental health issues and mental health issues only. I don't think that's really working for me anymore. So I'm going to widen the scope of this blog and lean a little bit more in the Mommy Blog direction. Don't worry. I'm not going to start posting things like "How to Use a Bulb Syringe" or "I made the most awesomest cupcakes ever!" or even "My kids are better than your kids because ______". It's more like I want to start blogging about my mental health in the context of my roles as a wife and mother and in the context of my church callings. Also, I need a place to organize my thoughts and post all the info I've been gathering about different things (like my son's experiences with eczema, gluten free diets, and sleep disorders and my oldest daughter's experience with hemolytic uremic syndrome). My blog seems like the most logical place to do it.

I hope the changes don't drive you away. If you skip some posts simply because they aren't interesting to you I totally understand. But it just seems like it's time for this place to evolve a little.

I'm interested, what are your New Year's Resolutions? Now that it's March how are you doing with them?

Cupcakes Can Kill You!

2011-02-25T14:59:00.003-07:00

Well, not exactly. . . but that happens to be the title of a two post series I did with singer/songwriter/kazoo master, Mr. Tim over at A Motley Vision.

He's a fascinating guy with a lot to say about music, Mormonism, and art in general. If you're interested, here are the links:

Cupcakes Can Kill You (part one)

Cupcakes Can Kill You (part two)

And, just for laughs, here's his take on Justin Beiber:

4:30 AM (or Early Morning Musings on Viruses and Emotional Styles)

2011-02-10T04:29:00.006-07:00

It is actually 4:30 in the morning. And I am actually blogging. Not because I am an early riser. No, my baby is sitting on the floor fussing intermittently and playing with some toys. She gave up sleeping about a week ago so I have too. Sometime during the crazy that came after Mr. J was born I gave up sitting in dark rooms trying to rock calm an uber-fussy baby back to sleep. It makes me nuts so I come out and let them sit and play for awhile and then take them back in their rooms and go through the bedtime routine to get the child back to sleep. Hence the blogging.

The Little Cannoli and her brother, Mr. J (who is now three and a half years old; I sure do need to update my sidebar pic!), both have RSV (see above pic!) and I have spent the last week not sleeping. The three of us are miserable. I finally lost it this afternoon. Crazy Mommy reemerged with her volatile yelling and intrusive thoughts and intermittent bouts of crying. Within this haze of fatigue, steamy treaments (you know, when you turn on the shower and the sink as hot as they'll go and sit in the bathroom waiting for the coughing to subside), and doctor visits a single thought has emerged: I am an emotional endurer. (BTW, for some good practical advice on RSV check out this website.)

Now this emotional style isn't one of Oprah's easily identifiable ones. In fact I wonder if this isn't a particularly Mormon emotional style. I think int might come from the Mormon idea that if we just stick things out long enough we'll eventually get some blessing out of all the difficulties that surrounds us. We like to call this enduring to the end. But just like so many of us mistake spiritually enduring to the end for simply suffering through stuff, emotional endurance can get skewed too.

I'm not being very clear here. I think I should back up a little.

This quotation from Elder Wirthlin (Oh, how I loved his talks!) sums up spiritual endurance nicely. He says,

The question “Why me?” can be a difficult one to answer and often leads to frustration and despair. There is a better question to ask ourselves. That question is “What could I learn from this experience?” . . .The gospel of Jesus Christ includes enduring to the end as one of its bedrock doctrines. Jesus taught, “He that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved.” And, “If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed.” Some think of enduring to the end as simply suffering through challenges. It is so much more than that—it is the process of coming unto Christ and being perfected in Him. . .Enduring to the end means that we have planted our lives firmly on gospel soil, staying in the mainstream of the Church, humbly serving our fellow men, living Christlike lives, and keeping our covenants. Those who endure are balanced, consistent, humble, constantly improving, and without guile. Their testimony is not based on worldly reasons—it is based on truth, knowledge, experience, and the Spirit.

See? Enduring to the end isn't actually about suffering; it's about staying true to ourselves, our covenants, and our God.

Likewise, emotional endurance shouldn't be just about powering through hard times. I had a lot of signs that my breakdown this afternoon was coming. I knew I was tired and I knew that tired=crazy for me. Fatigue makes my brain slippery and I fall back into all those old depressed habits very easily. But instead of listening to my inner voice and slowing down during this time of turbulence, I told myself I was going to emotionally endure this now matter what--and I kept telling myself that until I couldn't endure any longer, my emotions became unmanageable, and I fell apart. This faulty emotional endurance is very much like a virus that I keep getting infected with whenever life gets tough.

I think a better emotional style might be emotionally resilient. My spur-of-the-moment, 4:30 am definition of this is that I would be aware of those little warning signs that some crazy was coming down the pipe. I would be okay with cutting out the peripheral stuff, allow myself to feel whatever manageable frustrations I'm feeling, and remind myself that eventually I will not feel this way and things will get better. That way I wouldn't have to power through so much and wouldn't end up on the road to Breakdown-ville.

I remember early on during my therapy days my therapist telling me that the point of therapy was not to bail me out when I was at my wit's end but to teach me how to avoid getting there in the first place. That's what I'm talking about. I think it was something I was pretty close to after my struggles of winter 2009. It's the emotional style I need to reclaim.

Well, it's now been half and hour and hopefully the Little Cannoli is ready to sleep again. I'm certainly ready to! But, if you feel so inclined, tell me what your emotional style is. Are you an endurer/power-through-it-at-all-costs kind of person or are you something else?

Sleep Loss = Depression (Some sciency type stuff!)

2011-01-12T21:30:00.002-07:00

I'm usually fairly long-winded when I blog. It's a general weakness that involves ALWAYS giving long answers and an aversion to single syllable words. BUT I'm not going to tax your eyes today, friends. I just have a short, science-y snippet to share. This is taken from the book Nurture Shock by Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman.

"Perhaps most fascinating [about sleep loss], the emotional context of memory affects where it gets processed. Negative stimuli get processed by the amygdala; positive or neutral memories get processed by the hippocampus. Sleep deprivation hits the hippocampus harder than the amygdala. The result is that sleep-deprived people fail to recall pleasant memories, yet recall gloomy memories just fine."

So, if you need another reason to go to bed earlier, there you go. Now get some sleep already!! (Says the mother of four small children, two of whom wake up at least three times a night. . .)

Medicine and Confessions

2011-01-06T10:07:00.003-07:00

Okay, so I've really been touting my feeling-good-all-the-time thing here lately. And it is true that I am enjoying better mental health than I have in years. And it's true that I'm happy. And it's true that I am loving life. And it's true that I'm reveling in it.

However, I feel like I should probably own up to the fact that I've been having some ups and down with my meds.

I've really shied away from putting this up here for a couple reasons but the biggest reason is that I really like pretending my recent stint of peace has very little to do with the medicine and everything to do with me. There's a big part of me that wants to say, "See? That depression thing was just a fluke. That's not really me or a part of who I am. I'm normal. I don't have problems." Never mind that normal is a basically undefinable (and impossible) state of being and that it would be abnormal (whatever that is) to not have any problems. It's just that there's this huge part of me that likes being able to live up to so many high expectations and doesn't want to admit that I need/have medicinal help.

Here's the situation: I take my meds (Paxil 10 mgs) every night right before I brush my teeth. Except for when I notice the bottle getting low. When I notice that there is only about a week left I start to take them maybe every other day. Then when there are no pills left I usually forget to call in the refill. I think part of this problem is because my psychiatrist will only prescribe two months of meds at a time and calling her office and asking them to fax in a refill request is a pain in the heiney. But I think it also comes down to me wishing that I didn't need medicine to be pulled together.

The first couple days off the meds I have this exhilarating feeling of freedom. Around day three I start to crave sugar--lots of sugar-- and my mood starts to cycle up and down faster. By day five vertigo sets in and I'm tired and grouchy and easily confused. So I work out the refill (which sometimes takes a few days) and start taking my meds again. Usually my irritability skyrockets those first couple days back on, but then I even out and I'm good for then next three-ish weeks.

I sort of talked about this with my psychiatrist and she made the comment that it seems like I'm using my antidepressant to manage my stress. She said it in passing but it made me panic a bit. I immediately said, "What? Oh no! Am I allowed to take this for stress management?" She looked at me quizzically and responded, "Well, I don't know what you mean by allowed." That was the end of that conversation. (My psychiatrist is not very chatty or interested in probing the depths of existential questions. She's more of a practical kind of gal.)

I think this too has something to do with my love/hate relationship with my meds. I think in my mind I feel like it's appropriate to take medication for postpartum depression. You know, that's a valid diagnosis. It's real. I'm a little more wishy-washy when it comes to taking it for run-of-the-mill, day-in-day-out depression. I mean sure that's a real condition but it's harder for me to accept it as something I have--especially when I feel so good! But taking a pill for stress management? That seems ridiculous. I find that I mentally chide myself for being too weak or dumb to handle stress without some crutch. And I berate myself for creating a stressful life. It's like my inner drill sergeant is saying, "You got yourself into this mess and now you need to get yourself out."

One thing I got out of all the time I spent in therapy a few years back was that labels are of very little use when it comes to mental health. Labels are handy for doctors and insurance companies and in general conversation, but they are not handy for individuals. When we accept labels their attendant definitions usually end up circumscribing us. The labels change how we see ourselves and who we will let ourselves be.

I was comfortable with the label of postpartum depression. I could mostly embrace regular old depression. And I thought that meant progress. But now I'm thinking it doesn't. I'm thinking the next step is learning to be okay with the fact that my mental health is an individual thing and that I am the source of acceptance. Regardless of the label my psychiatrist uses in my chart, what is important is that I have a plan that works for me. I don't need a label to tell me that the choices I am making for myself are good ones. I just need to trust myself--and take my meds.

What is Good Mental Health?

2010-12-13T10:45:00.004-07:00

A satisfactory definition of good mental health has been hard for me to find. There's an intangible quality to feeling good that is just elusive. Good mental health, to me, is a sort of integration of emotional well-being, spiritual contentedness, psychological awareness, and intellectual clarity. You know, it's like when you wake up in the morning and you heard your kids arguing but it doesn't bring you down because you know that God is watching out for you and you know that you have the capacity to think through things and manage whatever comes your way. It's like being water. (Yes, I did just quote Bruce Lee. BTW, his delivery is PRICELESS!)

I think I've finally been able to start to define good mental health because I have (finally) experienced it for an extended period of time. Since about half way through my pregnancy, when the psychological tweezing eased up, and especially since the Little Cannoli has been born I have been good. For about the last ten months (the Cannoli is only 7 months old but I felt so good pregnant I'm counting some of that too) I've had a few down days here and there but overall the crazies have not been a defining factor for me.

It has been so freeing.

And restful. Like even when life is busy--and momming four kids creates a lot of busy!--there is a part inside me that is at rest. I might be physically exhausted and mentally spent but I don't want to hide from everything. I want sleep but not escape. The inner turmoil has turn into placidity.

I kind of never believed this was possible. I never believed that I could be one of those people who could be at peace and not kick against the pricks. I pictured my life and future as a constant struggle against the deterioration happening in my mind. I figured I would always be the kind of mommy that my kids would be a little wary of. I figured I would always struggle with Church assignments because there would always be some sort of inner drama draining my energy.

But I'm not. To love and to serve and to just be fully present in my own life is such a gift right now.

I'm sure there are hard times ahead. I'm sure there will be things that set my crazy off again. But I'm really savoring this experience now--I want the memory of this time of my life to be solid--because this is what happy feels like.

15 Authors in 15 Minutes--Mormon Style!

2010-11-11T22:22:00.000-07:00

A challenge over at A Motley Vision! I sure hope you all weigh in :)

P.S. Hopefully I will be able to put together an on-topic post for you all soon. I've been ruminating on depression and personal revelation. . .

On Happiness and Other Fleeting Feelings

2010-10-29T10:23:00.004-06:00

My sister posted a moving blog post today, Being Good Enough: How to Separate Who You Are From What You Do, and it's similar to what I've been thinking lately so I wanted to link to her. It gave me courage to post what I've been thinking lately.

Hey Char, "I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours first/ Let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worse/Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words." (source)LOVE you!!

The last five months, since my baby was born, have been months of unparalleled happiness, peace, contentment, and even joy. It's like my life of drab neutrals and spotty dark canvases had turned into Technicolor crosses between Vincent Van Gogh and Mary Cassatt. Being a mom to my four kids was like being Dorothy walking out of that trashed Kansas farmhouse and into Munchkinlad. I didn't know things could be so bright and bouncy and full of life. Sure, the squeaky little voices might get annoying and it's hard not tripping over so many people who are only as tall as your knees, but their vibrancy is astounding.

It took four kids to teach me, but I have finally embraced motherhood. As I hold it close I've discovered how glorious it is. I get what the apostles and prophets talk about it in seeming hyperbolic terms. I get how and why this is God's work and I am crazy-grateful for the opportunity to be part of it. I love it in a fierce and primal way. These children are such gifts and sometimes it almost hurts to be able to bask in their glory. Being a mother is awesome.

As I've come to know these new feelings the closeness I have felt with the Lord has been astonishing. His love for me, His Spirit, has been a bubble around me. It's protected me from sadness and hurt and anger. It's buoyed me up during tempestuous mothering moments that usually sink me. It felt like the Lord was working miracles in my life like He never has before and it made it so I could finally feel comfortable and loved.

And now I feel like that bubble is popping. In small ways (long nights and lack of sleep, forgetting to refill my antidepressant) and in a few spectacular ways (one of my children getting suddenly ill and being hospitalized for two weeks and drama in my extended family) has prodded my happy bubble and it's swelling and turning and I know it's gonna burst.

I'm trying to hold it together but, really, what makes a bubble beautiful is its fragility and fleeting nature. Holding a bubble too tightly, squeezing it, is the thing that is most likely to pop it.

Back when I was in therapy my therapist, Ann, would encourage me to stay in the moment,let the past rest, avoid projecting into the future. I've tried to do that with my happiness--savor it, roll around in it, enjoy it. And I'm trying to be open to what ever is coming next because whatever it is will come and will go and I can't control it. All I can do is experience it. But anything other than the joy I've had feels like failure. Depression feels like failure. I find myself wondering what I've done wrong. Is there some sin that's popping my bubble? Is it my inherently weak and fallen nature that so offends God He can't be with me anymore? Or is it just that cursed opposition in all things coming back to roost? Likely it's some swirling, inconstant, even fleeting, combination of all those things.

But we know that God's love is constant. His desire to bless us is constant. His position as our parent is constant. So maybe even when I am less aware of Him, when my ability to feel Him is diminished, I can remember what His love felt like and it will be okay. I don't have to be anything other than I am for Him to love me.

Ammonihah Revisited--the reader's theater!

2010-10-08T10:22:00.003-06:00

Hi folks. A while ago our ward seminary teacher asked me to write a reader's theater about Ammonihah for one of her lessons. I was honored that she asked me and delighted with the opportunity. There wasn't a lot online when I researched and wrote this so I decided to post mine here. I've been meaning to go back and cite all the scriptures that I used, but I haven't had the time. Look around in Alma; you'll find 'em. It's a little serious and a little campy, and our seminary students really enjoyed it. If you'd like to use it for Church or seminary feel free, just email me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com with Ammonihah in the subject line so I know (I'd love to see if/where this things travels) and be sure to run it past your bishop. I mean, I don't think it's controversial but you never know how people will take these things! Enjoy!

Also, check out my post at A Motley Vision about writing for Church assignments. And please leave a comment if you feel inspired--I promise the AMVers won't be mean!

ANCHOR (in best, most serious, news broadcaster voice): Good Evening and welcome to a special broadcast, Ammonihah Revisited: Destruction from God or Impending Lamanite Scourge? Tonight we will be exploring the history of that great city Ammonihah—examining its culture, its peoples, and its torrid religious history—all in the effort to answer the question on everyone’s minds. Was it, as the so-called prophet Alma declared, “the anger of God”? Or was it simply an ironically timed attack by vicious Lamanite war mongrels? However, before we get into our story this evening we here at the Nephite News Network wish to offer our condolences to those whose lives have been scarred by this horrible tragedy. Now, we turn to our first correspondent, Sariah, to take us into the lives of the Ammonihah-ites. Who were they? What did they do? And could it be possible that its destruction was an act of God? Sariah, we turn to you for answers.

SARIAH: Ammonihah was like most other Nephite cities: lively and bustling with commerce and culture. People here enjoyed prosperity, ruled by judges and receiving the fair sum of a senine of gold or silver for a day’s work. However, the lives of the people of Ammonihah were shaped most recently by the debate between three men: the Nephite “prophet” Alma and his partner-in-proselyting Amulek and, on the other side, Zeezrom a skilled and high-profile lawyer who was known for his ability to make people eat their words. Most of our viewers probably remember these debates well and remember the main points they were centered on: the existence of God and His intentions for the Nephite people--especially the Ammonihah-ites, a majority of whom did not believe in God at all. Zeezrom even went so far as to offer Amulek money to consider his way of thinking, but Amulek was firm and repeatedly stated his beliefs regarding the existence of a supreme being and the importance of keeping that Being’s commandments, saying, “An angel hath made [these things] known unto me.” Alma probably did more to incite the people and Zeezrom than Amulek, contending that the people of Ammonihah were wicked and making, what seemed at the time, ridiculous threats of destruction. Alma claimed, “O ye wicked and perverse generation . . . repent, or [God] will utterly destroy you from off the face of the earth; yea, he will visit you in his anger, and in his fierce anger he will not turn away.” Their teaching turned especially powerful as they spoke of a Christ, an atonement, and a resurrection. Zeezrom claimed that both were liars but as Alma continued to preach Zeezrom’s resolve faltered and he threw himself in front of the judges of the land, begging for Alma and Amulek’s release. We turn now to file footage of an eye witness to Zeezrom’s retraction.

EYEWITNESS: I was there when Alma and Amulek were speaking and even I was a little convinced. Well, not convinced so much as swayed. But as soon as they stopped speaking I came back to my senses. Zeezrom wasn’t so lucky, just like a bunch of my neighbors. They seemed to actually believe what Alma had said about repentance and God and eternal life. I saw Zeezrom just a while after his confrontation with Alma and Amulek and the guy was still shaking. It was crazy! I mean, he ran right in to the judges and said, “Behold, I am guilty, and these men are spotless before God.” He looked all of us in the eyes as he said it and, I have to admit, he was convincing, but then I remembered that Zeezrom was a lawyer and couldn’t be trusted. I spit on him and told him to get out. We all did. That’s when everyone started throwing rocks and all the believers took off.

SARIAH: Zeezrom recuperated with Alma and Amulek’s other escapsed followers in Sidom. People were slow to believe that claims that Zeezrom was baptized by Alma, but we have confirmation of that fact tonight. Zeezrom himself said, “Yea, I believe according to [their] words.”

ANCHOR: Thank you Sariah. Even after Zeezrom left Ammonihah continued to make headlines when the judges imprisoned—some would say unlawfully—Alma and Amulek. Then in a savage and ill-advised stroke the Ammonihah-ites proved their reputation as especially hard and wicked people to be true. They gathered together the remaining believers and burned their women and children, along with their scriptures. As Alma and Amulek were forced to look on Alma reportedly told Amulek, “The Spirit constraineth me that I must not stretch forth mine hand; for behold the Lord receiveth them up unto himself, in glory; and he doth suffer that they may do this thing, or that the people may do this thing unto them, according to the hardness of their hearts, that the judgments which he shall exercise upon them in his wrath may be just.” It was then that people remembered what Alma had said about God destroying Ammonihah. We turn now to another correspondent, Jerusha, to fill us in on the beginning of that destruction.

JERUSHA: With the smoke still rising from the burned scrolls and bodies, Alma and Amulek were again imprisoned—but this time they were mocked and abused. In the face of so many gruesome deaths other people might have backed away from more violence. But not those in Ammonihah. According to sources, they were just getting started. I have with me one guard who was willing to tell what he observed. Although we are keeping his face shadowed to protect his identity, this man did work for the judges in the now obliterated Ammonihah prison.

GUARD: Well, um, it was hard, you know. I think it would take a real mean person to not feel bad after what happened to all those women and children.

JERUSHA: Wait one moment. Are you saying you are a follower of Alma and Amulek?

GUARD: I wasn’t then. But I am now. And, you know, even if you don’t believe the same as someone, well, there are still laws and morals. The people who threw others into the fire were evil and they kept being evil once they got their hands on Alma and Amulek. They starved them and beat them and kept making fun of them. Shouting things like, “If you’re so powerful then free yourselves.” Or, “If your God is so great then how come he didn’t save his followers?” It was obvious from the looks on their faces that Alma and Amulek were disheartened and hurting, but once they got a moment alone they mustered their strength and they did the most surprising thing. . .

JERUSHA: They attacked the guards?

GUARD: No. The entire time they were imprisoned they were honorable. No, what they did was pray. I’ve never heard a prayer like that one. Alma stood up and in a voice that pierced all of us within earshot called out, “How long shall we suffer these great afflictions, O Lord? O Lord, give us strength according to our faith which is in Christ, even unto deliverance.” By the time Alma got to “deliverance” it seemed like the air was vibrating around them. There was just this power, you know, and, wham!, their ropes broke. Now I know the man who tied those ropes and they weren’t meant to come off.

JERUSHA: What are saying? What kind of power are you implying?

GUARD: Well, at the time I didn’t know exactly what kind. But it was an undeniable power—the air itself seemed to crack and shimmer—and the moment those ropes hit the ground they sent out shockwaves and the walls crumbled. Alma and Amulek were fine and I made it out with only a few injuries, but a lot of men were lost in the rubble. Maybe it was the shock or maybe people were starting to think Alma could wipe Ammonihah off the map or maybe they were thinking about what kind of power Alma’s God really has, but nobody protested when those two guys walked out of the city. To be honest, I wasn’t the only one who followed those two right out the gates. I’d seen enough and I was sick of wickedness parading as justice. I knew what they said was coming was true. I threw in my lot with them and never looked back.

JERUSHA: Thank you for your story. The result of the quake at the prison was complete destruction. As our witness said very few survived and nobody but Alma and Amulek walked away unscathed. People in Ammonihah were subdued for the time, perhaps even scared. But nobody imagined the terror that awaited them.

ANCHOR: Now we turn to our final correspondent to detail the end of Ammonihah. Gid, for many of the Ammonihah-ites that morning started out like any other. Correct?

GID: That’s exactly right. In fact, the period directly before the siege of Ammonihah was one marked by peace. It had been about a year since the destruction of the prison and the people in Ammonihah had put their own spin on those events, discounting Alma’s words saying it was the power of the devil. However, one clear morning, a group of Lamanites who had been attacking the Anti-Nephi-Lehies changed their minds and decided to attack the Nephites who they felt had caused all the trouble with the Anti-Nephi-Lehies in the first place. They snuck into the land of Ammonihah’s through the wilderness borders and the carnage was immediate. Before the Ammonihah-ites could even begin to raise an army the Lamanites were laying waste to them and their powerful city. The attack was swift and bloody. Spending less than a day in Ammonihah the Lamanite scourge moved on to other cities. A few days later when a scouting group from the city of Noah returned from Ammonihah their report was startling. Heaps of bodies mangled by wild animals were all that was found. It was clear that no one was left in Ammonihah. The scouting group covered the bodies in a layer of dirt but the destruction was so complete and the smell so bad our crew couldn’t even make it into the city itself to investigate. Interestingly, people in these parts no longer refer to Ammonihah by its name or even as a great city. Now they simply call it “Desolation.”

ANCHOR: An apt name for a city that suffered such an ignominious doom—one that will forever haunt Nephi civilization. But what of Alma and Amulek, these prophets who not only foretold the destruction but claimed that the very people destroyed brought it on themselves through their evil? Tonight we conclude our broadcast with a statement from them. We invited them for interview but they declined saying that “the work of establishing the Lord’s church” was keeping them too busy—which is understandable considering the number of converts they’ve found in cities all over the land of Nephi. People, both Nephite and Lamanite, are returning to the ways of their forefathers. Now, the letter:

ALMA: “[We would remind you of ] faith—faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things; therefore if ye have faith ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true.”

AMULEK: “[Our] brethren, [we] think that it is impossible that ye should be ignorant of the things which have been spoken concerning the coming of Christ, who is taught by us to be the Son of God; yea, [we] know that these things were taught unto you bountifully before your dissension from among us. [We exhort] you to prepare your minds; yea, and [we exhort] you unto faith and to patience . . . that ye may try the experiment of its goodness.”

ALMA: “[We] testify unto you of [ourselves] that these things are true. Behold, [we] say unto you, that [we] do know that Christ shall come among the children of men, to take upon him the transgressions of his people, and that he shall atone for the sins of the world; for the Lord God hath spoken it. Yea, [we] would that ye would come forth and harden not your hearts any longer; for behold, now is the time and the day of your salvation.”

ANCHOR: There you have the words of Alma and Amulek. And indeed, many who have heard their teachings say that a new spirit of peace is filling the land. So, was the destruction of Ammonihah the fulfillment of prophecy? Or was it just another example of savage Lamanite hostilities? Like so many other things in our history, the answer to that question seems to come down to individual belief. Alma and Amulek themselves proposed an experiment, a testing of belief. We encourage you, our viewers, to try this experiment and share your thoughts by logging on to our website at NNN.com/experiment. Thank you for sharing this journey with us. From all of us at the Nephite News Network in Zarahemla, good night.

Depression Profile: Sandra S.

2010-09-04T23:09:00.003-06:00

Hi readers! Remember when I used to do depression profiles? Well, right after I had my baby an amazing lady emailed me hers and I was all psyched--er, um, I should probably clarify: excited--to post it and then completely spaced it for three months! Sandra, I am truly, genuinely sorry. If you are still reading, THANK YOU for sending me this. You are an amazing woman. Sandra's honesty about her struggles was touching and eye-opening for me. I hope it is for you all too.

Name: Sandra S.
Age: 33
Location: Kansas
Other facts: Active Mormon, mother of five, born in Mexico but adopted by Americans in the 1980s, married at 19 (just like me!), Rick's College graduate.

I was never depressed growing up. I developed post-partum depression after the birth of my first baby. I didn't know what it was. I didn't know what was going on with me. All I knew was that I wasn't happy. I didn't know if my marriage would last. I didn't know if I had married the right person or married for the right reasons. Our marriage really struggled during this difficult time which lasted about 2 years. Regardless of my feelings and struggles, we decided to have another baby. A miracle! No depression. No crying for no reason, I was generally happy. I had my 2nd baby and you guessed it, depression hit. This time, we were a little better prepared. I went to to the doctor who diagnosed me and put me on Zoloft.

Even though I had been diagnosed and put on medication, I didn't want people to know about it. I was ashamed. I don't know why. Maybe because I didn't want others to know how weak I was, how I couldn't control my feelings. I don't know. I didn't take my medication very regularly, so I still had some good days and bad days.

A bad day. A bad day is not wanting to get out of bed at all. It's wanting so bad to tell C. (Sandra's DH) that I want him to stay home and take care of the kids. Take care of me. It's also not wanting to verbally ask C. to stay home. I want him to read my mind. My physical language is screaming for him to stay home. But he doesn't stay home. He doesn't read my mind. Doesn't see the physical signs. Doesn't see them or doesn't want to. Sometimes I don't know. A bad day is also wanting to wish the kids away. Sometimes just for a few hours, sometimes forever. A bad day is looking for ways to end my life. A bad day is looking at my life and wondering if this is really what I wanted. Is this all I have? If it's not a particularly bad day, I can take a good, hard look and say, "Yes." Yes, this is what I wanted. Before depression took over and C. and I were dating, this is what we talked about. I wanted kids, wanted to stay home. Wanted to run them to school activities, sports, etc. I have that. So why can't I be happy?

A good day. A good day is being my old self again. Being who I was when we were dating. Being generally happy. Being carefree and glad I am a mom. Being glad I have 5 amazing kids. A good day is getting through it without being cross or short with my family. It's being able to feed them, instead of staying in bed all day. A good day is having me take care of the younger kids instead of asking the older ones to help more than they should. A good day is knowing that I will get through this. Somehow.

I have tried to get therapy for my depression. In the end, I just can't stick with it. I go and feel fine when I'm there, so I feel lame because if I feel ok, why should I be there? I feel ok when I go because you can't go out in public in tears. I can't cry in public. I can't show up being sad. I should show up happy and put together. So why would somebody that's happy and put together need therapy? I haven't tried an LDS therapist though. Maybe that would be worth looking into.

Currently I am taking 120mg of Cymbalta. I am told that's the highest dosage. I am not sure how that's working out. I don't know if it's the medicine or the depression that causes me to be tired all the time. After I get the older kids to school, I come home, turn on the tv for the little ones and they watch it all morning long while I try to sleep on the couch. No breakfast for them most mornings. Sometimes there's lunch. I think they have learned to fend for themselves a little and will sneak food from the kitchen to the basement. I just want to sleep all the time. What kind of mother am I being when I can't even feed my kids? I am crying as I'm typing this because it is so sad. So sad.

I believe depression runs in my family. I have 2 sisters that have struggled with this. I don't talk to them about it. I don't know why. I would really like my biological mom be here and help me through this. I miss her terribly. Sometimes thinking about her will set me off on a crying fit.

The depression has affected my spirituality a lot. I find myself really doubting the church. I haven't been to the temple in years and I really have no desire to go any time soon. I am in the YW organization which requires a lot of time. I love the girls and I do like my calling. Sometimes it's just too much though. I often wonder if the church will ever cut back on activities or meetings. I have asked C. for blessings but find myself wondering if it will really do any good. I have no faith sometimes. I wonder if I am being punished just because I am a woman. Because I am a woman, I have to have periods. Have babies. Be more emotional. Be more susceptible to depression. Be less likely to have orgasms. Men don't have periods, babies or anything emotional that comes with all that. But they do have orgasms. I know, orgasms are kind of random in here, but it's something that really bothers me.

So that's my profile. Sounds really lame and pathetic when it's written down. Oh, yeah. After our 4th baby we were done having kids. I wanted to be a good mom to the 4 we already had and didn't want to go through depression again. Surprise! A big, unexpected, unwanted surprise. I spiraled into a deep depression when I found out I was expecting. I did not want this again. When I went to the hospital to have the baby I really think I had an anxiety attack. I was crying for no reason all the time. I had to stay a little longer because I had high blood pressure and I couldn't handle the thought of bringing the baby home. None of the nurses recognized what was happening even though I'd be in tears whenever they came into the room. I had never gotten depressed at the hospital, it always hit me a few weeks after the baby was born. This was new and it scared me a lot. During that pregnancy, Craig had a vasectomy. That baby is 2 now and is such a fun little guy. It's still hard dealing with depression. Sometime even taking it 1 day at a time seems too much. One moment at a time seems more doable right now.

Sandra, I'm still praying for you and I hope you will keep me posted! You may not feel it but you are an inspiration for enduring the hard times.

Check it out!

2010-08-11T00:23:00.002-06:00

I'm trying something a little different over at AMV. Glowworms for Jesus. Check it out :)

How do you (gently) turn down the missionaries?

2010-08-07T10:31:00.003-06:00

You know all those old jokes about how Mormons are always getting mistaken for Jehovah's Witnesses (and vice versa)? Well, I'm living that joke and it feels more like the Twilight Zone than anything else.

Here's the situation: for the last few Saturday mornings two sweet Jehovah's Witness sister missionaries have been stopping by to share a scripture with me and bear their testimony of God's love. They usually stay for about five minutes and chat with the kids and ask about my life and then open up their Bibles. (Side question: Do they use the NIV? Because theirs is slightly modernized and sounds a little different, and my inner literati wants to know.) They smile so big and they are so genuine, I think they think I'm their golden investigator!

The first time they stopped by I made sure to mention that I was Mormon twice during our discussion and I even mentioned the Book of Mormon and that we read it every single day as a family. I think what the JW missionaries heard was "Yes, we're religious and we'd love to hear what you have to say!" But the truth is, I don't want to hear what they have to say--at least not in the way they want me to. I DO want to be respectful. I DO want them to know that I am happy that they have a testimony of Jesus and His love for them. I DO want them to know that I appreciate their good intentions. But I also want them to know that I am deeply committed to the religion I have and that they are not going to change my mind. I don't want to be a Jehovah's Witness. I'm a Mormon, a Latter-day Saint, and I firmly believe that the priesthood we have and the covenants I have made make the LDS church the right one for me. However,I don't want to be rude or insensitive to their beliefs. I also don't want to waste their time.

I have to admit that the part of me that was a ward missionary back in college keeps thinking that there must be a way to turn this around and share my beliefs with them. Who knows, maybe THEY are the golden investigators and they just don't know it! Doesn't that sound like the kind of story that would make the Ensign or a General Conference talk?

But that's just the thing. That's a story. Not real life with real people. Real people and real testimonies are a lot more complicated. I want to do right by these women because I know that they are doing the thing that they believe in and I respect that. And I think about our missionaries and how I want them treated even when people are not interested and I hope that they are being nice to them too. There's some sort of missionary karma out there, I'm sure. Politely letting them down seems like the right thing to do. I just don't know how!

The whole thing is so ironic because we used to live about a block from a Kingdom Hall and we saw the JW missionaries ALL the TIME. They knew that our neighborhood had been completely tracted out and the most they were going to get from us was an offer to give them a cool beverage. But now that we're in a different spot they just keep coming back.

What would you guys do? I seriously need some tips. If you served a mission what was the best/most polite way you were turned down? If you run into missionaries from other churches what do you say? If you aren't Mormon (and don't want to be!)and you run into our missionaries how do you turn them down without being rude?

What's the Word for. . .

2010-07-15T22:29:00.004-06:00

being happy for someone that their life is going well but wishing, just a bit, that they were falling apart because then you'd have some company?

See, I'm still doing well. Really well! And I'm so relieved. I was talking with my psychiatrist and we both agreed that at this point I seem to be out of the woods mental health wise. And while she cautioned me against overdoing it and stressing myself out we both breathed a sigh of relief. Postpartum depression can strike any time during the first year so I'll be seeing my psychiatrist every so often to keep an eye on things, but I'm, well, happy.

It probably helps that the Little Cannoli is a much more even-tempered baby than my other ones. She already sleeps better than her older brother. She smiles and coos when she sees me. She's only two months old and already I feel like she's been part of the family forever. These swelling, happy feelings inside me must be what other new moms feel all the time!

But, to be honest, this happiness makes me a little jealous and a little sad about what I've missed with my other babies. How wonderful it could have been.

That little bit of jealousy and that little bit of sadness are familiar. See, after my second baby when I really started talking about my PPD experiences a few of my other mommy friends would say, "Yeah, it was like that for me too. I was so depressed." Relief would flood through my mind and I would feel like I wasn't alone. Like maybe I wasn't as screwed up as I thought I was. Like all of this struggle had a purpose. Like maybe there was hope for me.

But then none of them ever had more than one PPD episode. I was (am) the only one to have gone through it over and over again. I was (am) the only one whose life is constantly affected by a mood disorder. They all got over it and moved on. I never did.

Hope evaporated. Purpose was lost. And with those two things went perspective. I gave up on thinking I was ever going to be in a place where I could roll with the punches. I accepted that I was a little tweaky and tried to find ways to make the tweaky-ness work for me.

But now I feel like I'm approaching the elusive non-tweaky state of normal. So naturally (hah!) I'm relieved and a little suspicious. There's a part of me that is always looking for warning signs that I'm on another downturn. There's part of me that thinks I must be in some sort of magic state of denial. And there's a huge part of me that feels like I've betrayed my former self. I see women around me all the time who I think might be suffering from this and I want them to know they aren't alone. I want them to know that PPD is hard but it doesn't have to destroy you. I want to be there with them and support them on their journey.

But I know that when you are really down having someone tell you that you'll get over it someday isn't all that helpful. I know that hearing another woman crow about how good it feels to not be hurting doesn't do much good. What does help is having someone sit with you and accept you even when all the protective layers are ripped away. Having someone inhabit that emotionally elemental existence with you--even just for a little while--does more to clear the head and heal the heart than any amount of platitudes and well wishes ever will.

And I'm worried that my current happiness makes it so I can't sit with another woman and share her experience. That was a kind of loss I never expected. Normal is nice--convenient, really--but I never want to forget that don't have to be normal to be a good mom. Just being where you are and take care of yourself and your babies is good enough. Just because some of people are finding normal doesn't mean you've been left behind. Depressed and okay can coexist. Depressed and happy do work together.

Post Partum Depression: 1 Month Out

2010-06-19T12:21:00.003-06:00

Baby Number 4, who we lovingly refer to as our Little Cannoli, is now more than 1 month old. I am surprised and a little bit glad that the time has gone by so quickly. Usually my first month with a baby is a descent into chaos and I feel like I spend the next year or eighteen months trying to put my universe back together. To have it go by quickly means that I haven't been lost in the time suck that is depression. (Whee!)I think this is due to several exceptional things.

* I'm still taking my Paxil. It was hard to remember to at first. I've been out of the habit and so I was taking it at weird times and missing days--which is a set up for disaster. But then I got an awesome tip: Put your meds by your toothbrush! You almost always remember to brush your teeth and if your meds are in the same cabinet you'll always see them and be reminded to take them.

* I've got a whole lot more knowledge. During the first few weeks, before the meds had kicked in, I had a few suicidal thoughts (no plans, just lots of negative thinking like I didn't deserve to live and my family would be better off without me because there is no way I would ever be able to be a good mom to this baby) but they were fleeting and usually disappeared if I took a nap. I know about the link between sleep deprivation and PPD so I could take action rather than get stuck in an unproductive mental/emotional thought cycle. I also had a fair amount of intrusive thoughts. Mostly violent ones, like every time I walked up or down the stairs I would see my baby flying down them and splitting her head open or breaking her neck. They were scary but I knew what they were (hormonal misfires in my brain) and could move on instead being consumed by them. I still have some of the intrusive thoughts--I've acquired a whole new repertoire surrounding actual glass glasses--so I'm not sure if I should up my meds or not. I'll ask my psych when I see her.

* I've had a whole lot of support.
I've had offers from both sides of the family to help out with the kids (even though they all live hundreds of miles away!). We got lots of meal from the ladies at Church. And close friends were sensitively checking in on my mental state--friends who had been there--which meant a lot to me. I'm actually still with my mom and dad and it is great. Being with them for the last couple weeks has alleviated so much stress from my mind. I've gotten more sleep and I've been able to conquer caring for all four kids in small bites. I just feel like I've had adequate time to acclimate to the whole situation and actually bond with my baby instead of feeling overwhelmed and destroyed. I keep telling my mom that this time has been such an indescribable gift.

Actually, this whole experience feels like a gift. I'm surprised how sad I am that this is my last little baby. I'll never have another four week old to nuzzle and smell and cuddle. And I always thought that when that time came I'd be glad because it would mean freedom was on the horizon. But I don't feel free. It feels like a loss.

I think some of my feelings of loss are me mourning my previous post partum experiences. Sometimes as I'm nursing or rocking the Little Cannoli part of my mind will go back to when Number 1 or Number 2 were babies and I'll relive those experiences. Part of me will be feeling the frustration of trying to get Number 1 to latch on, or more like the echoes of that frustration, and the other part of me will be so grateful that the Little Cannoli nurses so nicely and then I'll remember (or possibly rewrite) a moment when Number 1 was nursing well. And then the frustration melts a little and the memory loses some of its sting. I'm sure there's some sort of name for that process, but for me letting go of some of that is, well, a gift.

It's also a gift to see my older three, who I struggled with so intensely, being kind and soft and patient with the newest sibling. It reminds me that even if things were rocky when they were born their lives have been filled with love and that things are going to work out.

I'm not projecting into the future. After we get home from my mom's things could fall apart or they could be fabulous. Odds are life will be a mix of stress and fun and disasters and peace. But I'm not trying to figure those out. I'm just here, loving my baby and enjoying my kids. Because they are all gifts--gifts that I am just now starting to see clearly.

Postpartum Depression: 1 week out (I Want My Mommy !!)

2010-05-23T11:11:00.003-06:00

Baby is one week old now and I'm not depressed. I haven't even had the baby blues. What I am is anxious. Well, that and charmed by sweet new little one. And feeling quite blessed to have three other beautiful children. And excited for what the future holds.

But, really, I'm feeling pretty anxious.

See with each baby my mom comes out to visit and takes over the cooking and the laundry and the cleaning. She coos over the funny faces that my baby makes. She plays with the older kids. She chats with me through the somewhat endless hours of nursing.

And then she leaves. As in gets driven to the airport and flies across the five states that separate us and goes home to my dad and little sister.

That's usually when I start to lose it. Turns out I'm a pretty good mom when I not the only mommy in the house. But when it's just me I get easily overwhelmed.

Knowing this, we've planned. I started taking Paxil just after Baby was delivered. My husband is taking some time off work next week. And, since school is almost out, I'm going to my mom's so that she can keep mom-ming me and my brood a little more. We're calling it a family reunion (except my brother can't come, which makes it not much of a reunion at all!), but I think we all know that it's actual just a bunch of people willing to sacrifice so that I don't go crazy.

And that makes me feel overwhelmed in a whole new way. A good way. There are people who love me and when I ask them for help they are willing. Even when it means getting overrun by hordes of preschoolers!

Everybody needs a mommy. Especially when you are a mommy. I wonder how many cases of PPD could be ameliorated if we were all able to mom each other a little more.

She's Here!

2010-05-18T21:09:00.003-06:00

I know you all wanted me to leave up my awesome painted belly pics a little longer, but I had to let you know: Baby #4 is here!

I'm sure I'll blither-blather more about the birth in the future but for now I'll just say we are both doing well--my mood didn't crash like it has in the past, but I am still being cautious and keeping an eye out for the crazies--and leave you with a pic.

The Art/Body Connection

2010-05-14T10:43:00.005-06:00

Well, my due date is tomorrow and . . . no baby! I have never been THIS pregnant. All my other kids were born early.

With my previous pregnancies the last month was the hardest. The depression usually set in around 35 weeks and it was a slow slide into Unhappy Land. Not so this time. This last month has actually been fun. A little crazy, but fun. Maybe it's because I was so busy during the rest of the pregnancy that these last few weeks have been my only chance to really think about this new little person that's been gestating inside me.

To be honest, though, last Monday was a terrible day. I didn't sleep well. I woke up exhausted. I had no patience with my children and no motivation to do anything but lay on the couch. My children watched movies for the bulk of the day and I stared at the wall. I was beginning to wonder if it wasn't time to break out my antidepressants.

But things turned around for me Tuesday. I think that's because, well, Monday was a bad day and people have those occasionally without actually being depressed. I forget that sometimes. Also, I think Tuesday was a better day because I had something to look forward to--and it's something I would heartily recommend to other mommies nearing the end of pregnancy--Belly Painting!

A friend of mine, Julia Cameron Damon, is multi-faceted, multi-talented woman who specializes in the art of body painting and photography. I've seen a lot of her portfolio and have found her work at turns whimsical, confrontational, enchanting, and instructive. So when she approached me about painting my extremely pregnant belly I wasn't sure what to say, but I decided this was a once in a lifetime opportunity and I might as well experience it.

It was so fun! I was surprised by how relaxing it was and how much I enjoyed the process. I'm the kind of gal who likes to invest meaning in things so Cam and I approached things from an Earth Mother/all creations point to the Great Creator vibe. Because one thing I love about pregnancy is the connection it creates between me as a creative being and Heavenly Father as a creative being. As Elder Uchtdorf said, "But to what end were we created? We were created with the express purpose and potential of experiencing a fulness of joy. Our birthright—and the purpose of our great voyage on this earth—is to seek and experience eternal happiness. One of the ways we find this is by creating things. If you are a mother, you participate with God in His work of creation—not only by providing physical bodies for your children but also by teaching and nurturing them."

Cam did a beautiful job by starting with earth tones and layering in some beautiful jeweled branches to reflect the eternal growth that my new baby's mortality is a part of.

The truly surprising thing, though, about all this was how after awhile the meaning became secondary to the product. The meaning behind it all was beautiful for me, but after staring at my resplendent belly in the mirror and seeing the photos I couldn't get over how pretty it all was. That I was pretty. That even in my incredibly bulbous and swollen state, I was doing something beautiful. Those feelings pointed me back to the mystery that is pregnancy and birth and filled me with positive emotions. The paint served to accent the beauty of human life and our connections to the eternities. It's like, God made magnolia trees and kingfishers and mountains and clouds because they are beautiful. And for a little while, I felt like I had tapped that feeling of beauty and made it part of my own body. It was a mystical experience that still has me smiling.

All images in this post are copyrighted and are not to be used without the express permission of Julia Cameron Damon

Thoughts on Motherhood (No Baby Yet)

2010-05-10T08:41:00.003-06:00

Seriously.

I'll be 40 weeks on Saturday and no baby yet. I guess that's a good thing, but I am starting to get tired of this. I've never gone overdue, but there's a first time for everything!

Anyway, being astronomically pregnant on Mother's Day was an interesting experience. People around me kept hoping I'd go into labor because it would be so poetic to be in labor on such an auspicious day. I kept thinking I didn't want to share a day that is supposed to be about me with someone else! Then I realized, as I got kids ready for Church and walked with them through the hallways and tried to fulfill my Primary calling, the only reason Mother's Day meant anything was because it WASN'T about me. It's really about my kids and the fact that I am willing to try and corral them into some semblance of civility in the hopes that someday they will quit being just kids and turn into people.

Anyway, kudos to the rest of the women out there who bravely put up with the children (and sometimes man-children) around them in the name of the greater good. Being a mom is an awesome, awe-inspiring job. But it's also the hardest thing a gal can do. So, if you're like me (and every other woman in existence) and you're one of those women who wonders if you're really doing a good job and if it really matters and if it's really worth it I'll tell you, "Yes!" Even when the sentiment and the nostalgia have been wiped from your heart and the only thing facing you is the muck and hard work of mom-ing, I'll still say this is the most important thing you can do.

So much of the value in mothering is the fact that the women of the world keep showing up--even when it's hard and they're making mistakes. Mothers don't let your imperfections of their own imperfections or the any other imperfections stop them from loving you.

We attended my husband's grandma's funeral last Friday and I was amazed at what one woman could accomplish in a lifetime. She did a lot of the homey, stereotypical woman things like make afghans and cookies--which she enjoyed and were worthwhile and blessed people. But the thing most people remembered? Her hearty laugh, strong handshake, and the fact that she always looked you in the eye when she spoke to you. They were simple things that have reached across generations. That is what's at the heart of being a mother.

So, I'm going to go mom my kids now and wonder what on earth is actually going to expel this new being from my body. And remind myself, that even when it's not pleasant, even when it's dirty and hard, it's worth it.

The Final Countdown!

2010-04-25T14:31:00.004-06:00

Hi folks!

Sorry I've been negligent blogger. But, well, a lot has been going on.

The big news: 2 weeks ago we moved. Hooray! Even though our new house is only a few miles away from our old house, it was still a crazy amount of work. Even with the 15 people who helped out from our ward, it was still a huge job. Two weeks into the new place we are figuring out where to put things, but the kids seem to have acclimated now so that's good.

(Tangentially related anecdote: Yesterday my four-year-old and my two-year-old got into a fight about whether or not we could still rightfully call our new house "new". The two-year-old is stubborn and illogical and would probably call it our "new" house forever. The four-year-old is also stubborn but is beginning to grasp a few logical concepts. She figured that since we've been in the house for "like a hundred days" no one was allowed to call it the "new" house any more. Cause "one hundred days is a super long time." The argument was never settled but it seems to indicate that they are all figuring things out in their own way.)

I think I'm feeling more settled too. For the most part, my stress level has gone way down since moving day and the contractions have slowed. The doctor wanted me on bed rest until 37 weeks and I've done my best to only tackle small projects around the house.

The other big news: I'm 37 weeks pregnant! Full term!! Hooray!

Technically I can be done with the bed rest now, but I don't actually want this baby to come quite yet. Taking care of a newborn is waaaay harder than being pregnant and I would like to get a bit more unpacking taken care of before Number Four makes her debut. Besides, we don't even know what we want to name her yet. Doesn't that mean she should wait just a little longer? However, we did find the baby clothes and blankets the other day so that's good.

One more item to catch up on:

*The psychological tweezing. Ever since I posted about this back in January I've been meaning to follow up but at a loss as to how. The most I can say about it now is that it was a harrowing process and left me exhausted. Once we put our house back on the market and things started picking up with the sale of our home and finding a new house the psychological tweezing eased. I had more than enough other stuff to occupy my brain and emotions. (Just as a side note, everyone should have to go house hunting with a pregnant woman. You've never seen emotional ups and downs like the ones I pulled. It made me a very discriminating buyer. *Wink, wink*) Since things have started to settled some of the memories/flashbacks and emotions have started to crop up again, but I've mostly been ignoring it. I don't feel ready to go back to that yet. And, as several of you readers suggested, I would probably benefit from some therapeutic help with the next round. EFT, you know the crazy tapping and muttering that isn't actually crazy, would probably be beneficial and I think that might be a good route to take next. I just don't know when I'll be ready to pursue it.

One more thing to catch up on: Being pregnant with a history of depression.

I really thought that I would spend a lot of time during this pregnancy blogging about being pregnant and depressed. Perinatal depression is real and frustrating and it's a subject that could certainly use more writing and thinking done about it. I had planned on contributing my own two cents to the whole thing, but it just didn't work out that way.

The weird part is that I haven't been as depressed this time. It's been an emotional time for me (duh!) but the emotions haven't been paralyzing like they have in the past. They've been intense and painful but they haven't gotten stuck. I've met with my psychiatrist and my therapist periodically and they both agree that I'm NOT depressed. I'm just dealing with some very, very real emotional stuff.

This really is a blessing, this whole not depressed thing. I kind of don't know what to make of it. When I was pregnant with Baby Number Three, Mr. J, I had such a hard time with anger and with feelings of defeat. But not this time.

I think things might be different this time in part because of the psychological tweezing and in part because of the increased support from family and friends. I've finally let my family in on a little of what's been going on and they have been so supportive. I can feel the powers of their prayers and how hard they are pulling for me. The same goes for friends. I've always struggled to maintain friendships but at this point in my life I have a few people I honestly believe like me and will predictably be there for me--even when I have nothing to offer them--and they will be caring and discreet and respectful about it. That is such a gift. Of course, my therapist and my psychiatrist are part of that support system too. It's always nice to have an objective, experienced individual to offer perspective when you need it.

I think another part of it is that I've quit trying to forecast the future. I used to spend a lot of time worrying about what all of this would mean down the road and trying to control long term outcomes. My therapist likes to remind me that no matter how much I think/worry/obsess about the future I actually have little control over it. I don't think I've mastered that ultimate zen ability of "living in the moment" but I do think my present has finally begun to outweigh my past and my future in importance and that has brought a great amount of relief. It's so much simpler to focus on today and the upcoming week and month rather than years ahead or behind me. I hope it's a way of thinking that I can hold on to.

Thanks for sticking this out with me and for being a part of my journey. I appreciate your comments and insights. This blog is definitely part of the support system that's been buoying me up.

Have a happy week!

I'll definitely post when I go into labor. Okay, well, I'll definitely TRY to post when I go into labor :)

Easter Blessings!

2010-04-03T20:45:00.002-06:00

Hi friends!

With all the craziness in my life lately, both psychological and physical, I've had a lot of opportunities to think about Christ. I don't know how to sum it all up, but I'm really feeling His love this Easter season and my gratitude and testimony are deepening. I hope you all are finding ways to the peace that Christ has to offer, too.

A couple videos (just in case you haven't gotten enough internet video time while watching Conference *wink*):

Hurry Up and Slow Down: Validating My Irritable Uterus

2010-03-23T08:55:00.007-06:00

Already the newest But Not Unhappy Baby is getting demanding. Well, it's more like my uterus is getting demanding.(I guess it's not really a good thing that I can ignore hours of contractions. Except when I'm in labor. Then it rocks.) It's been so darn irritable the doctor put me on "moderate" bed rest--which is apparently defined as "only doing the things you HAVE to do."

My first question: What have I been doing that I didn't have to be doing? I mean I'd already pretty much limited my to do list to things that are either smelly (dishes and laundry), whiny (children and husband), or embarrassing (I'm pretty sure you can fill in that blank!). Now which of those am I supposed to let go of? It's been a real conundrum.

I actually got put on bed rest last Thursday but it's taken me this long to get my head wrapped around it. At first I was just stunned. Then I was frustrated. Now I think I'm glad.

Over the last 24ish hours, when I've actually been sitting down and resting, I've noticed something: I'm tired! As in exhausted. My body, my mind, my spirit, all of me is tired. Now, I know I've been blogging about being tired for quite awhile now so this isn't a surprise to you all, but the extent of my lethargy surprised me. With all of our selling-and-buying-a-house-busy-ness I've been running on adrenaline for months now. Being forced to sit down and take it easy has made me face what kind of toll that has taken.

After Baby J was born, almost 3 years ago!, a therapist told me I needed to rest. She wanted me to find someone to take my kids (including the 2 month old baby) for 36 hours and then go find a quiet place and sleep. The therapist actually said to me, "You're not getting more depressed. You're tired. Fatigue and depression look a lot alike. Get some rest." Since I was breastfeeding I wrote her off. Who can sleep for that long when they have a nursing infant? It makes my boobs hurt just thinking about it.

Then, after months of Baby J's sleep problems, our family doctor said, "Can't you find someone to watch your kids so you can rest? Do you have any family in town? Can your husband take a day off work? Get a hotel room and sleep. For as long as you can. You need to sleep." Again, I wrote her off because I honestly believed there was no one who would take my kids for that period of time. Or that my kids would go for it.

Our family doc brings it up every time she sees me and it gotten to be joke between us. But then, the second time I saw my psychiatrist, she said the same thing. She too wanted me to find a quiet place to sleep for at least 24 hours. It was starting to sound familiar. . .

I had an "emergency" session with my therapist last month and she pushed me to set up a few days at a hotel so I could sleep and rest. Just have the opportunity to do nothing. And I almost did it. My kiddos are all old enough that I wouldn't need to nurse anyone and they could all deal with me being gone for awhile. I spent a whole evening looking online for a nice, affordable, quiet place but then things got crazy with our house being on the market and I never actually made the reservation.

I think there's this anti-rest attitude that has been hammered into my brain that just won't let me slow down. I think it partly has to do with the whole "be not weary with well doing" idea. You know, we're supposed to wear ourselves out doing good works and serving God. Who are the biggest Mormon female role models? Pioneer women who practically died on the trail helping others and modern "pioneer-type" women who work themselves to exhaustion serving at the temple/church/cubscouts/whatever. Rarely do you hear a conference talk or read an Ensign article about a chick who said, "Well, I've done a couple things today but I'm beginning to feel a little oyshed so I'm gonna just put my feet up and relax. Let someone else get it done."

I don't think the Church is entirely to blame, though. After all, let's not forget "Good, Better, Best" and "There is a time and a season." No, I blame society at large too. America has long been a country that values hard work--you know, Puritans and boot straps and all that business--and that's not bad. I think those ideas have taken a strange turn over the last 20 or 30 years, though,
when it comes to women. Especially women who have children and stay home with them.

Since the feminist movement (which, for the most part, I am a fan of) women who choose to have children and then choose to stay home with them have to validate their choices. Very few people second guess a woman who goes into engineering or becomes a lawyer. Even women who choose more traditionally female roles like nursing and teaching are understood and looked at as contributing members of society. Women who stay home with their kids have to prove their choices and we usually do it in not so subtle competitions: who has the most children, whose house is the cleanest, whose kids are the best behaved, whose children score highest on different tests or exhibit the most talent, who is the most frugal, who is the most fit, who spends the most time volunteering, or which mommy can do all those things and still hold down side jobs that bring in bonus cash so that her family can have that nice car or fancy vacation. I can think of only one or two women who are secure enough in their choice to stay home that they don't buy into at least one or two of these catty comparisons.

(Now a woman who does one or more of the above may not necessarily be doing it strictly for competitive reasons, but I'm betting self-validation and approval of others factors in more than she'd like to admit. When I look back on the most meaningful conversations I've had with other women telling them that their choices are okay--that they have nothing to prove--is almost always an easily identifiable theme. For evidence just go look at other mommies' Facebook statuses. They really want you to click the like button.)

(Other parenthetical thought: Do men struggle with this kind of competition too? The busier you are the better you are? Seriously folks. I want answers.)

Some of us chicks maybe try to prove we are more savvy and that we don't buy into these ideas by avoiding housework or not taking on extra jobs. But even then we talk too loudly and too often about why we're doing what we're doing because we're still trying to get people to tell us that they approve of our choices, because we ourselves are not sure how we feel about them.

So now it's the end of March and I've apparently been hard enough on my body that my uterus is yelling at me. It's tired and wants to rest. Even if I don't. So I'm doing my best to embrace it. My oldest is at school. My preschooler and my 2-year-old are watching a lot of "educational" (you can see me rolling my eyes, right?) tv. And I'm writing a really, really long blog post.

Because, in all honesty, I'm trying validate my restful choice. You better leave me a comment telling me that you validate it too! (wink, wink)

Depression and Spirituality (more from BCC)

2010-03-14T20:47:00.006-06:00

So I am horrendously late (in internet terms) when it comes to blogging about
this. But we've been busy (Sell house? Check! Find other house to buy? Check! Do all the mortgage junk? Check! Oh, and since Baby #4 is due in 9 weeks, see the doctor all the time? Check! Do all the normal life stuff? Check!)and now is the first chance I've had to get back to it.

They covered a lot of ground, starting with how some versions of Mormon thought promote black and white thinking patterns that exacerbate depression and then moved on to how depression has actually changed their religious lives. I hope you'll go over and read the whole post, but I wanted to touch on a few things here that I identified with.

"Depression can be a completely different animal than any other type of adversity, because it screws with your ability to access God. And you know God could break through that wall if he really wanted to, so you’re left with the conclusion that he didn’t care to."

The biggest way depression seemed to interact with the BCC-ers depression was in their connection with God. Most of them couldn't confidently assert any thing more than a tenuous connection with their Heavenly Father--and that made them feel like they were bad Mormons. This has been absolutely true in my life. When I am at worst is when God is hardest to access. Praying, fervent focused pleading, does little to no good. I don't know if it's because my brain blocks out the spirit (I firmly believe there is a link between our physical conditions and our abilities to discern spiritual matters) or because it is somehow God's will that I not feel Him, but when I am down I cannot feel His love or access Him. That's one of the most obvious signs of my own depression: sitting in testimony meeting and seeing that everyone else is feeling it and not feeling it myself. I've come to expect this spiritual loneliness now and don't take it personally, but in the beginning it was vastly disorienting for my Mormon perspective. I mean, God loves us and is supposed to be there for us when we need Him, right? But sometimes it doesn't feel like He is. Or maybe I just haven't learned to see His hand. Either way, it's lonely. And scary.

"It seems to me that we have become more comfortable in Mormon culture about talking about depression, precisely because it has been medicalized, and we can explain it in comfortingly technical terms like 'serotonin re-uptake' and 'dopamine receptors.' What we still can’t do is talk about the spiritual aspects of it–it’s ok to stand up in testimony meeting and say 'the Lord has helped me recover from postpartum depression through priesthood blessings and medical care,' but it simply isn’t ok to say 'I feel abandoned by God. When you talk about your close relationship with Him, I wonder why I can’t feel what you do, and it makes me feel terrible.'

We countenance talking about grief, depression, and anger only when they’re safely in the past tense, or when we can explain them away as a physical, brain-based phenomenon. It’s understandable, of course, because it is painful and unsettling to see someone suffering and have prayer or priesthood blessings seem not to work–'mourning with those that mourn' can be (perhaps must be) a genuine challenge to the faith and testimony of the comforter, as well as the comforted. What does it mean to bear one another’s burdens, when one of our brother’s or sister’s burdens is despair, or the absence of hope and faith?"

This is something I have struggle to articulate and one of the reasons I started this blog. Since I've been depressed, I've come to believe that as Mormons we sometimes spend too much time thinking about the end of the road and not enough about the path we take to get there. We're all about the tree of life(which isn't necessarily bad) and sometimes forget about the mists of darkness and the clinging to the iron rod part of it all. Being righteous doesn't always mean that our lives will be without trouble. We wish it did. But it doesn't. Life is going to be hard and when we forget that I think we neuter our spiritual growth because, really, you can't get to the tree of life without the long walk through the mists of darkness. I'm glad the folks over at BCC owned this and said it out loud.

A lot of the discussion also centered around how being depressed has caused people to rethink their testimonies. Several contributors said that their testimonies were smaller now--stronger but smaller. For almost all of them there came a point where they felt they might need to leave the Church, but they decided to keep working at it. This is true for me, too. I'm not comfortable saying that I know all the things everyone else in the congregation knows. I feel like my spirit has been shaken to pieces and my testimony has been rebuilt from the ground up. But the things I believe are truly mine now because I have gained them through experience.

"I’m starting to realize that one of the greatest gifts we can give another human being is to be willing to reconsider our version of reality for their sake, to make uncomfortable shifts inside ourselves in order to make room for them."

This was beautiful to me. This is the thing I think I need the most sometimes. I just need to know that other people aren't dismissing me simply because my reality makes them uncomfortable. That attitude is the heart of successful, Christlike parenting and marriages. I think it's that idea that shaped the Home Teaching and Visiting Teaching programs. The ability to "reconsider our version of reality" for someone else strikes me as one of the most loving things we can do and is what it means to be true disciples of Christ.

BCC's next question: Impact on family members

2010-02-25T22:18:00.002-07:00

BCC's latest depression post was about depression's impact on relationships. Here's what I said over in the comments:

I feel like I'm a little late to the comments here, but as a depressed gal who worries and worries over the effect it will have on my kids and husband, I've found that being honest with them about what's going on helps.

I tell my kids that there are days that my feelings get out of control or that my mind is hurting and I need a break. They know mommy has a "feelings doctor" who helps out when "the feelings get stuck." They also know I have another doctor who is in charge of the special feelings medicine that I have to take sometimes. I hope that I am being honest with them and that my willingness to answer their questions in an age appropriate way will help them deal with my bad days a little better.

I also make a huge effort to make clear to them that it is my problem and I am responsible for it. Not them. I apologize for things that have hurt them and make honest efforts to listen when they want to complain about it. Then, if I need to, I go vent to my therapist about it.

I'm hoping that being open with them about it will not only increase their understanding but help guard them against similar troubles in their lives. I also hope I'm paving the way for them to ask for help if/when they need it.

I don't talk about what my depression does to my spouse because, well, he's a private person and might not appreciate it. And because I'm not really sure. I know the ups and downs scare him. I know they frustrate him. But, over time and through a great deal of trial and error, we are teaching each other what is and isn't helpful. There's never a clear path . . .

Depression is hard on the depressed person and on the people who surround them. But (and this a point I really had to work hard to understand) just because it's hard doesn't mean it's wrong. It just means that it's hard. And sometimes that's okay.

All right, y'all, you know this is a huge issue and you have thoughts so spill! I'm not always good at responding to comments, but I do read them and so do others. It feels good to share!

By Common Consent is taking on depression!

2010-02-22T10:25:00.003-07:00

Hi friends!

I can't imagine that many of you out there don't already know about By Common Consent but I wanted to let you know they are doing a mini series on being LDS and depressed!

Here's the overview post by Kathryn Lynard Soper, the founder of Segullah and author of The Year My Son and I Were Born: A Story of Down Syndrome, Motherhood, and Self-Discovery.

And here's the first part Living with Depression, Part I: Recognizing Clinical Depression.

I'm glad BCC is taking this on. It's a huge topic and an important one that I really feel I haven't been doing justice to. I'm also excited because they have both women and men posting about their experiences. I hope you all will take the time to click over there and get in on the conversation!

Their first topic of discussion is how does a person realize they are depressed? I've actually answered this question in a variety of ways. One was when I filled out my own "depression profile." (Remember when I used to run those? I should get back to that sometime.) I also covered it in good detail in my Segullah essay, "That Girl".

Readers, I want to encourage you all to answer this question on your blogs. If you do leave me a link the comments. Seriously, go for it! Or if you want to be anonymous, go over to BCC and leave your story in the comments there. The more we share the stronger we are. (It's cheesy, but I believe it!)

A Private Loss

2010-02-08T21:23:00.004-07:00

Hi folks. This is a post I'd written for A Motley Vision, but I chickened out and couldn't post it. It's too girly. Too personal. I also couldn't let it go. So I'm posting it here. Sorry it's off topic.

In 2007 I gave birth to my third child and simultaneously vowed to myself that I would become a "real" writer by 2010. I'd be published. I'd have a solid resume. And I'd be proud of the direction my art was taking.

I have not reached my goal.

As many of you probably already know, the third child is quite often when the proverbial diaper contents hits the fan and it was no different for me. My third child had severe eczema, acid reflux disease, and obstructive sleep apnea. He screamed so loudly and so often my oldest child, who was then four years old, suffered panic attacks. Baby Number Three is two and half now and still doesn't sleep through the night.

When he was in utero I was flush with possibilities--for my unborn child, myself, and my writing. I truly believed I was coming into my own. Now, in 2010, I am flush with sleepless nights, piles of laundry, and disillusionment. Conspicuously absent is my writing success.

And I am having another baby. A hoped-for and wanted baby. But a baby that means my literary aspirations will continue to suffer.

Pretty much every female writer since Anne Bradstreet will tell you writing is a lot like having children. But I'm beginning to think it's a sign that God never sent me twins: he knew I couldn't raise two babies at once--just like I can't raise babies and write fabulous literature at the same time--I'm not meant to multi-task.

Those same female writers, including greats like Maya Angelou and Madeleine L'Engle, will tell you writing and mommying is a balancing act. But I'm beginning to wonder if that isn't a bit misleading. Nothing about having children is about balance and nothing about creating art is balanced. Both require complete surrender. You can't get out a scale and put a pile of children on one side and a pile of literary accomplishments on the other and have them ever be equal. They honestly don't compare. Writing opportunities missed--workshops, conferences, contests, little inspirations that don't make sense when I can finally devote time to the random notes I've made--always occupy an ungainly portion of my thinking. But what about the sting of guilt I have over snapping at my kids because I stayed up too late the previous night writing as if I was going to win the next Marilyn Brown Award. It isn't just apples and oranges. It's apples and Winnebagoes.

My children's cravings for parental affection and attention cannot be approached in a balanced, methodical manner. Our best moments are when I am wholly theirs, forgetting my notions of who I should/would be and immersing myself in their world--their problems (oh, the woes of sharing! the frustrations of shoe-tying!), their dreams (to fly, for real, and not in an airplane; can't I feel the wings growing in under her shoulder blades?), their realities (which, since they are not yet burdened by constraints of calendars and clocks, are basically extended dream sequences).

Those moments are the only times I come close to fulfilling the Savior's injunction to lose myself in order to find myself. In their minds I am stronger, wiser, and much more lovable than I perceive myself to be. And the more I am with them the more I become that superhero they think I am. Seeing the growing (and inevitable) realization in their eyes that I am less than perfectly wonderful is a loss--my oldest is only six and is already questioning my abilities--I need their dreams just as much as they do. After all, it is in their dreams I find reflections and reminders of my own pushed aside aspirations, my own stories. It is intimidating and inspiring and it makes me want to sit down and write but I'm afraid to because me being a writer only makes sense in the dream-world my children inhabit, not in the crowded, sensible, grown-up one I live in.

One particularly worthy project has been languishing for over four years now. It limps along with me researching and writing when I can, but my sporadic efforts are not enough to please publishers and I wouldn't feel right about asking readers to spend money on it when I know the book hasn't had the attention it deserves. For the vision of the book to be fully realized would take a full time effort. Because, just like my children, this book needs me to have more wisdom and experience, to be less limited. Just like my children, this book overwhelms me. But unlike my children, if I don't rise to the challenge nobody suffers, except maybe me. The unwritten words are a kind of miscarriage. A private loss.

In 2009 I had a couple writing opportunities that seemed huge to me: I got to write two reviews for Mormon publications, Dialogue and Irreantum. Finally, I was getting my name out there and building up a cache of "real" publishing credits. It felt like everything--my self-respect being the biggest--was riding on these two reviews. But neither worked out how I thought they would. Both ended up clashing with minor family crises. The first suffered neglect due to a bout of anxiety/depression in my oldest child and the second was only half-baked because of a chemical pregnancy/miscarriage. The sudden neediness of my family sucked all the energy out of my writing and I learned that any creative energy I have--whether it be for producing babies or producing rough drafts--came from the same source and it was tapped. When all was said and published, I felt depleted and frustrated and embarrassed. There was no balancing act, only unsatisfactory compromises on every front.

So in 2010, now that there's another baby kicking it's way toward earth life and a book waiting to be resurrected what am I going to do? I don't know. All I've got right now is what I'm not going to do: I'm not going to saddle either with expectations. And I'm not going to try to balance them. I may even manage to avoid conflating and comparing them. (Because, really, no matter how good the metaphor there are limits. My children are not blank pages waiting to be filled and a novel isn't going to be expelled out of my uterus.)

I'm writing this in the past tense, as if these things are over and done with in my life and I am now truly ready to fight the good fight, finish the writing, and keep the faith of my children in tact. But all these attempts at children--both biological and literary--have taught me that failure and success are two sides of the same coin. Both are temporary states of being and one will always imply the other because that's the way agency and opposition and life work: there's always a cost. The price we pay for the things we love is always the private losses registered only in sighs and faraway looks, is always the things we must give up.

Psychological Tweezing (and other thoughts on emotional honesty)

2010-01-28T21:52:00.008-07:00

I've meaning to blog lately. Catch up on life and explain a little. Because I'm trying something new and it feels significant. But it also feels painful. Very painful. And personal. So it's hard to put it down here.

How's this for a really vague start? Some stuff happened a while ago that shouldn't have and the consequences just keep raining down.

An odd thing: every time I go off my antidepressants I have these same impressions about the "stuff that happened a while ago"--not like testimony meeting impressions--but like strong, emotional messages that require some sort of action. In the past the only action that has made sense is self-harming options. Like I used to get frenetically and abstractly suicidal. Or I would have visions of carving my arms and stomach up, like I was a surgeon cutting out some sort of contagion. Or like I was too full inside and if I could just bleed a little there would be some relief to the emotional congestion. At the other end of the violence was always the possibility for someone else to take over, for escape, for rest.

I never acted on that stuff, it was just always presenting itself as the answer. But, probably thanks to all my friends who tried to kill themselves in high school and my sister who got her undergraduate work in psychology and because my grandma tried to kill herself but went to a sanitarium instead and was open about it, I knew there was another option--a good option: medication and therapy.

And it was good. It was helpful. But it didn't make the impressions go away (which always disturbed me a little). The medication made the impressions quieter so that I could start to examine the pieces that didn't overwhelm me. Therapy gave me the tools I needed to figure out how to examine them. (The tools I use most often are self-observation techniques and self-questioning processes, in case you were wondering.)

So now I'm here and something clicked and I'm taking on those impressions. I'm looking those emotional messages square in the face and unraveling the facts from the fiction. Well, that's the ultimate goal. Right now I would say I'm just allowing the impressions their space. I'm hearing them. I'm accepting them. I'm letting them say all the things they've been trying to tell me for years--all the hurt, anger, frustration, desperation, and confusion. And, the hardest part, I'm relaying the messages to the other people who need to hear it.

That last paragraph makes me sound nuttier than a fruit cake, but I don't know how else to describe it. For the first time in a long time I know I'm not crazy. I saw my psychiatrist, just to be sure. And she agreed. She said, "You're not depressed. You're not overly anxious. You just have some huge things facing you. But you are handling them as well as any person could." I don't feel cosmically out of control or overwhelmed. I'm surprised by the intensity of the emotional torrents playing out but they feel honest and, surprisingly, empowering. Not in the moment of it all. But later.

This whole process reminds me of that aphorism, "Depression is just anger turned inward." That reductionist aphorism gets a lot play and I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about it until recently. I think I was afraid of certain situations in my life and of their consequences--emotional and spiritual and physical--and so I had to protect myself and my family. The only way I could protect us all was to hide the reactions and feelings and the only place to hide them was inside myself. I would never say depression is just any one thing, but we do put ourselves at risk when we inappropriately limit how we are allowed to express ourselves.

But you know, I was scared and alone and I think I did what I had to do at the time. And I'm doing what I have to do now.

What comes later, after the emotional swells and storms, is a cleaner feeling. A lighter feeling. The only way I can pin it down is to say it feels like honesty. I never thought such a simple idea would be so powerful in my life but I've come to realize that honesty is a big deal because it--our willingness to be honest with ourselves and the people around us, our integrity--is a large part of what keeps our agency in tact. Now that I'm being honest with myself and the people closest to me (which at this point is, like, two people) about what is really going on, I have so much more freedom. My choices are no longer limited to repression or desperation. Things like hope, forgiveness, change, and soul-restoring rest are finally, truly on the table.

When I was kid we had those Standing Tall tapes and there was this story that is pretty cliche but has stuck with me. I'm sure you've all heard it before, but I'm reiterating it because it has taken on new meaning for me.

This girl fell and got a splinter but instead of pulling the splinter out, she just put a band-aid on it and tried to tell herself she was better. But the splinter was still in there and her body was trying to push it out so the wound kept swelling up and filling with pus and aching. No matter how many times she replaced the band-aid the wound couldn't heal because of the splinter. She had to pull the splinter out--even if it was going to hurt a lot--because it was going to save her pain in the long run. It was the only way her wound would ever go away.

(This is similar to President Monson's talk about Hidden Wedges. Tangential, perhaps, but worth thinking about.)

I think this is how a lot of us function emotionally. We have emotional splinters that we keep trying to cover up, but the wounds will keep producing pus and swelling until we yank those nasty, infection-riddled suckers out. To be clear, medication and therapy are not the band-aids. The band-aids are our unhealthy coping mechanisms like anger, addictions, avoidance, overeating, overexercising, or dishonesty. Medication and therapy are the tweezers, the tools, that we use to extract the offending shard. They pave the way for healing.

There's still a long way for me to go and I'm still struggling with some very fundamental questions and I do still doubt my emotional stamina to see this process through, BUT there's a little hope out there now for me. I don't feel like I'll be stuck in the never ending spiral of depression. My wounds can maybe, hopefully, finally close. Counseling and medication may still be necessary for the long haul (my psychiatrist wants me back in a month), but they are no longer stop gaps for the suicidal eventualities.

And that feels good.

I.O.U.S.A. : Best Movie I've Seen in a Loooong Time

2010-01-14T22:54:00.004-07:00

Dear Readers,

Please don't get all riled up because I'm NOT going all political on y'all even though I'm making a statement: the national debt is a problem. A big problem and a problem we can do something about. Watch this movie. It's only a half an hour. It's interesting. It's funny. And you'll be smarter when you're done. And maybe, just maybe, things will change.

Love,

Laura

Boyd K Packer, Porcupine Love, and Self-Generated Warmth

2010-01-09T13:59:00.005-07:00

So, I've had a lot of thoughts swirling around the ol' noggin about relationships--especially close family ones--and the emotional impact we all have on each other and I wanted to get all deep and philosophy-ish on ya . . . BUT turns out I'm too tired. So I'll just point you to the people who have been stirring me up and maybe they'll stir you too. In a good way.

The First Thing: I read this article, Solving Emotional Problem in the Lord's Own Way, by Boyd K. Packer in the January 2010 Ensign and was pretty offended. I was thinking, "What?!? You're going to tell already isolated and vulnerable people that they can't talk to their bishop as an avenue of support? How dare you!! Depressed and other mood disordered people need more support not less!!" But then I read the full text of the talk and backed off a little. The truth is this: your bishop, no matter how inspired he is, is not trained to deal long term with a real emotional/psychological issue. If you need real help--whether it's because you've got the crazies like I do or because your marriage is falling apart or because you just can't tell up from down anymore--your bishop is a starting point, but not the long term answer.

I think the thing that really bothered me was that the title of article made me think it was not just advice for bishops. I thought there was going to be some specific guidance for someone like me who has trouble telling the difference between her anxiety drive and/or intrusive thought patterns and the Spirit. But there wasn't and I felt let down.

The Next Thing: But then there was this video with Elizabeth Gilbert (who apparently I am the LAST person in the world to have heard of!) on the PBS special This Emotional Life , called Porcupine Love.

And that felt so true. And it was sort of the same thing Pres. Packer was saying. We've got to figure out how to make ourselves warm enough so that we can avoid getting pricked and pricking others. We can't ask our bishop to make the warmth for us, or our visting teachers, or our spouses, or whoever. Because if we do they are just going to end up pricking us. That's the nature of our fallen world. We've got to warm ourselves.(Why I took this message better from Schopenhauer/Elizabeth Gilbert is good food for thought. I guess I'm just a sucker for a great metaphor.)

The Final Thing: I found myself leafing through our copy of the last General Conference Ensign and decided to read Being Temperate in All Things. This talk blew my mind when I first heard it and it offered some good insights again. Turns out this talk was the one with the specific guidance about solving emotional problems! The thing I'm meditating on now:

"Being temperate means to carefully examine our expectations and desires, to be diligent and patient in seeking righteous goals. . . Security for [ourselves and] our families comes from learning self-control, avoiding the excesses of this world, and being temperate in all things. Peace of mind comes from strengthened faith in Jesus Christ. Happiness comes from being diligent in keeping covenants made at baptism and in the holy temples of the Lord."

Doesn't quite cover intrusive thought and over-active anxiety, but it does give some specifics (especially if you read through the 18th-21st paragraphs). And I feel comforted. After all, when it comes to being depressed I'm not necessarily searching for soaring, gleeful moments of JOY. I just want to be steadier, stronger. I want to be the kind of gal who doesn't break into jagged, harmful shards when under stress. I want to be, well, temperate.

(Of course, the bad news about that is that tempered glass undergoes a pretty stressful heating process to make it strong. But that's another post for another day!)

Start the New Year off Right

2009-12-30T14:11:00.004-07:00

Hi friends!

I've been taking it pretty slow this time around. I learned my lesson after Thanksgiving. But I wanted to wish you all a happy New Year in truly But Not Unhappy style--with a dorky picture and a joke!

Oh, and I've update my goodreads widget so check it out and let me know if you've read any of those books and what I should put on my list for 2010.

So, without further ado, here's the funny stuff.

Hmm. . .maybe my resolution will be to not take myself so seriously :)

"It's Just Too Hard" : a rebuke, a problem, a lesson, and a goal

2009-12-22T21:44:00.010-07:00

This last Sunday things were a little bittersweet: the choir sang (and did a fabulous job!) but I wasn't in it, which made me a little sad; Sunday School was spot on, but I probably talked too much so I felt a little embarrassed; and Relief Society was, well, where I got rebuked.

The Rebuke I was having a hard time paying attention to the lesson--probably because I hadn't done the reading or bothered to bring my book--and my mind wandered so I can't give you the context of the rebuke or what it had to do with anything, but here's the basic gist of what the teacher said: Just because something is hard doesn't mean you get to throw your hands up and say, "I'm done." Especially when it comes to Church stuff. God doesn't approve of quitting.

It struck me because that is exactly what I have done these last few weeks. I've just said, "I'm done," because it was too hard. Too hard to keep up with Christmas blither-blather. Too hard to do my visiting teaching. Too hard to reach out to others. Too hard. Walking away felt necessary and it felt right.

However, the teacher's comment made me panic a little. See, in Mormon culture, saying something is too hard is never an acceptable answer. I think a lot of members consider it doctrine. After all, don't we all sort of know scriptures that say something about strengthening our shoulders and being made equal to our burdens? In my mind, I always figured that meant that no matter what I was asked I was meant to say yes because, if I was righteous, God would make it all work out.

The Problem Things don't always work out. In fact, most of the time things don't work out. Especially not when "working out" is defined as being perfect and awe-inspiring and Ensign article worthy. I mean, I felt I had to forgo the visiting teaching this month because I couldn't find the time or money to make a cute, coordinated gift and card. Visiting teaching, after all, isn't just about showing up. It's about proving you care--which usually means coordinated gift and card. Or three course meal. Or both! That's when you know God is helping it all work out: things look good and appear seamless and come easily.

There's an even bigger problem of all this "working out" business, though. The implication that if things don't work out I am somehow less righteous or less worthy than others. That's why just showing up for Visiting Teaching isn't enough. The cute card and three course meal prove my righteousness and worthiness. They prove that God approves of me. Of course, if it doesn't work out then I am in big, cosmic trouble.

Hence my panic in Relief Society. There were a number of small but hard (for me) things that I had walked away from because it was simply too much. But the very act of walking away was damning because it was tantamount to saying, "I don't believe God can make this all work out and therefore I don't believe I am righteous or worthy. Because I can't do everything I am good for nothing."

(Side note: This kind of black and white thinking is a hallmark of my depression and is incorrect. When I am feeling low, not only do I have trouble making decisions but there are only two alternatives: 1) necessary but completely impossible perfection and 2) abject failure with cosmic implications. Even though there are clear lines between good evil, not every thing in life is all or nothing. There is a middle ground and it is Jesus Christ.)

As I mulled over how good I had originally felt about my giving-up-stuff decision and my real sadness about missing out on things like singing with the choir and going visiting teacher and my panicky, irrational guilt fest, something occurred to me: a fabulous and glowing middle ground of rational thought! God never meant for me to do everything. He meant for me to do only the things He wanted me to do--which, in the big picture, means using my agency to make choices, experience the consequences, and learn. As Joseph Smith said (the link is a little inexact, you'll have to scroll down a bit to find it),

“When you climb up a ladder, you must begin at the bottom, and ascend step by step, until you arrive at the top; and so it is with the principles of the Gospel—you must begin with the first and go on until you learn all the principles of exaltation. But it will be a great while after you have passed through the veil before you will have learned them. It is not all to be comprehended in this world; it will be a great work to learn our salvation and exaltation even beyond the grave.”

The Lesson I had taken on too much this year and in the process of trying to weed out the good, better, and best, I had given up some things that would have been better to hold on to. BUT,and this is part of the lesson too, things really were too hard this year. Besides being pregnant and trying to sell our house and having to take J off all dairy and having some other family issues pop up, I'm depressed. That really and truly does make things too hard. God gets that. He knows the reasons behind the choices I make and He understands.

The REAL Rebuke Of course, He also knows my eternal potential and He isn't going to fail to remind me that I have a lot of growing to do. Heavenly Father isn't mean but there is a germ of truth inside all my panicky thinking. There is a lot that God expects me to accomplish; He's not okay with my being lazy. God gets my reasons but He also isn't going to take them as an excuse. This is balanced by the fact that He also knows this life is a process of learning and He deliberately doles out weaknesses in order to teach. Ether 12:27 and 2 Corinthians 12:9 make that very clear. It is quite possible that God meant for me to get in over my head so I would have to learn to lean on Him. Striving for perfection on my own negates Christ's atonement and is not in harmony with God's plan. What better way to bring me to back to Him than through weakness? (Side note: Please don't think I think I am speaking for God here. His reasons are His and are probably much grander than I understand. These are just the parts He made clear to me.)

The Goal As with most rebukes from the Holy Spirit, this one came with a suggested goal: Takes this time to get my life in order so that I can be available to do what needs to be done (i.e. what God wants). I think I've only been patching up issues instead of delving into them and finding a long term solution--which will always eventually lead to chaos. I need to figure out why J screams and cries instead of sleeping, so that he and I can finally, after two-and-a-half years, get some sleep. I need to figure out what can be done to solve the reoccurring family issues. I need to avoid extremes or experiments with my depression treatments (just like spirituality, antidepressants are not a black and white scenario). I need to find what makes me stable and accept the fact that I have a mood disorder and it will always need monitoring. (I swear I have to face up to that last one at least once every month--probably when I'm picking up my Rx refill.) I need to get my life to a place where I can , at the very least, do my visiting teaching (with or without a coordinated card!) and actually attend all my Sunday meetings.

Of course, one thing I have learned by this point is that this will not be the only time I'll have to scale it back and regroup. There will be other times when life will overwhelm me and threaten to fall apart but hopefully when that next time comes I'll remember to avoid the black and white, perfectionist thinking of it all. Perfection is God's job. My job is to keep on making progress.

Not So Happy Holidays

2009-12-17T22:32:00.005-07:00

I hate to be a downer, but, well, I am depressed so it's to be expected.

The holidays have not been so happy thus far. I've been trying really hard to take all the awesome advice you guys gave me following my post Thanksgiving crash. Most of the stuff you guys mentioned (like waiting to put up the tree and making my DH do all the clean-up) will have to wait until next year to be implemented, but the big thing I've held onto is this: Do less stuff.

My mood cycles have been getting deeper and faster; I feel like my good days are fewer and farther between and my bad days are much, much more intense. I forgot how consuming and exhausting it actually is to be depressed. The other night I found myself crying helplessly while reading my kids their bedtime stories. My voice was fine, but my mind was lost and tears were rolling down my cheeks. It was so strange and awful and, um, depressing.

So it was a good thing I scaled back about a week ago. And I mean seriously scaled back. In the name of doing less I bailed on planning my first grader's "Holiday Fiesta", the ward choir, a Sunday School lesson, visiting teaching, and two family gift exchanges (I really am sorry guys!!), I gave up working on my calling, and we decided to draw names as a family to cut down on all the shopping. When I had finished the last email and the final phone call to let people know I was opting out I sobbed with relief. (Note to self: most people were very understanding and polite. They won't hate you if you back out of something!) With all that stuff out of my brain I remembered how to get dressed, how to feed my family, and how to start cleaning my house. I know it sounds stupid, but when I am on a downturn even the simplest tasks are like trying to solve a Rubik's cube. Adding all the craziness of the holidays is like trying to work that *%^$# cube with my toes.

I did hold on to a few things, though. They were things that I felt like embodied the spirit of Christmas best. We still picked names off the angel tree and shopped for families in need. We still sent out Christmas cards because family connections are too important to let go of (I only sent out 20 and it still took two hours to get everything packaged and sent). We still made treats to share with the neighbors--although I did make a lot fewer than usual; we gave out 6 half loaves of pumpkin bread--because (besides Halloween) it is the only time of year we talk to them. And I think I'm taking my kids caroling next week. Those things feel good when I do them and they have a long term purpose behind them so they're keepers.

There are still some ways I need to scale back for next year. The ward Christmas party is up in the air for me. I don't do well with lots of noise and big crowds. And it always makes my kids stay up too late. The same goes for the Relief Society party. There's just so much pressure with that kind of stuff when I'm feeling low. It doesn't lift my spirit. It just reminds me of how far down I've gone. Hmmm. . . any ideas for a small group party that was more service-instead-socializing-oriented that can be implemented on a ward level? (I do better with a task. Just sitting and talking with people I barely know is soooo hard.)

Anyway, if you all are feeling the pain this holiday I hope you know you're not alone and it's not wrong. It's just the way we depressives react to stress and it's okay. I came across this video by Therese Bochard at Beyond Blue that was really meaningful to me. She has some good idea about how to take care of yourself during the holidays (SEE--sleep, eat right, and exercise!), but mostly it's just good to know that other people have been there and are making it work.

Oh, and yeah, I do have an appointment to see the psychiatrist. The supplements just don't cut it and I don't like teetering on the brink. I mean, the other day I was actually thinking getting hospitalized might be a nice break. That's not a good sign. Especially not when there's a little person trying to grow and thrive inside me.

*sigh* 'Tis the season.

Food Storage--CSA style

2009-12-01T21:30:00.003-07:00

It was great season for our community supported farm. I've been getting a bushel of vegetables a week and a peck to a peck and a half of fruit every single week.

What? You don't know how much a bushel is? Or a peck?

Well, in farm terms, it's really quite simple. Those words mean a lot. Seriously, I've been getting four or five grocery bags of veggies and piles of fruit--like 30 apples a week. (It actually isn't simple. Here's the conversion formula for bushels to pounds.)

A bushel of home grown veggies also means a lot of canning and freezing. I've learned a lot this year and wanted to pass a lot of it on. (That's a lot of "a lot", but now you're getting the idea of how many veggies I have laying around!)

When I was signing up for our share this year I decided I wanted to try and see what it was like to live on locally grown produce year round--people around here call that becoming a locavore. Since I use disposable diapers (although I'm thinking of switching over to Seventh Generation diapers and toilet paper to assuage my guilt) and I actually drive a car instead of riding a bike I figure eating locally is the least I can do for the planet. One study showed that eating locally uses 17 times less oil and gas. Eating locally is actually a big deal and I think it's worth the effort.

BTW, I also aim for a "flexitarian" lifestyle. I aim for one serving or less of meat a day. That's good for the planet, too.

Now, according to my understanding of locavor-ity I can eat things that won't grow in my climate so I do buy tangerines/oranges and bananas at the grocery store. We can't live on only apples! Although, during peak summer harvest when were getting peaches, pears, plums, and melons I bought no produce at the grocery store. I try to always buy US fruit, but, well bananas always break that rule. *guilt* I'm pretty good about buying Colorado Proud milk and other dairy products, but meat and eggs are anybody's guess. I'd love to go organic on those things too but it's too expensive. *sigh* That's one reason I've gone flexitarian.

Back to the canning. Living in an area that has a great growing season but also has a definite winter makes canning and preserving food a necessity for a locavore. (See, it's not just gray-haired, sensible-shoed Mormons that do it! Canning is part of a new, hip cultural movement!) This year I put up peaches, pears, salsas, tomatoes, pickles, watermelon (both canned and as popsicles), greens, beans, squash, beets, onions, and Anaheim peppers. Whew!

For now I'll spare you the recipes and just hit you with the Big Lessons Learned:

*Canning is NOT hard. If you focus, it's not even all that time consuming and you'll get faster with practice.

*Home canned food does taste better. Mostly because you can make it the way you like it. I like my salsa with quite a big of vinegar. I like my beets with cinnamon. I like pickles with garlic. And now I can have them all that way. (As a caveat my kids balked as the first bottle of peaches we opened. But I thought they were pretty good; different from store bought, but good.)

*All that chopping and peeling can be good for your mental health. At least it has been for mine. It's a great way to unwind. I imagine it's the same feeling women get from quilting or doing needlepoint. I can be productive but not feel like a hamster on a wheel. I've got something to show for my work when I'm done and I can do it when the kids are around--sometimes they even help!

*Some tools are necessary. Things I couldn't live without: my potato peeler (which I actually mostly use on apples and carrots), my food processor (great for chopping onion and peppers), a cabbage slicer (cabbage is a pain to chop by hand and the food processor just purees the stuff), and a big ol' colander. I also bought a food dehydrator this year so that I can make apple chips and dry some of the herbs we get. But I could live without it.

Most community supported farms are looking to drum up cash during their down season and to cover their spring start up costs so they are offering discounts on shares. We've had another great year with our CSA--we tried new foods, learned new skills, and I honestly feel like it has given us better health. (No one in our house has been hit with the flu or a serious cold this year. *Knock on wood* We haven't even had an ear infection or high fever. Well, back in September E and J were down for a few days with a fever, but other that we've been healthy.) If you are at all interested check out what's in your area. Then I can start hitting you up for recipes!

Post Holiday Crash

2009-11-27T09:08:00.002-07:00

Anyone else having one?

You know, when you're tired regardless of how much sleep you got last night. When you think you're going to scream if you have to look at one more stupid dish to wash or mess to clean. When you would rather rip your ears off your head than listen to one more noise. When getting committed sounds better than spending two more minutes doing what you're doing.

Happens to me almost every year; I should expect it and prepare for it. But I didn't. Now it's the day after Thanksgiving and all I want to do is lay in a ball and stare at the wall. (I can't even bring myself to think about how I'll be feeling a month from now with the post Christmas crash. . .)

My kids are clamoring to put up the Christmas tree but it took all I had today to just get them breakfast.

How, how, how do I avoid this in the future? What do you all do to deal with the onslaught of stress, noise, and mess that the holidays bring? Seriously. I need some tips.

The Gateway Virtue of Gratitude

2009-11-24T23:12:00.006-07:00

I gave a talk this last Sunday on gratitude and I really liked it. Since putting together a reader's theater on the subject a year ago for my Relief Society group and trying to write a sestina on the subject (um, yeah, right, Laura! The day I am a skilled enough poet to write a sestina will probably coincide with the second coming.) I've been thinking a lot about gratitude. So it was awesome to have the opportunity to put my thoughts down on paper in a coherent way. I prayed a lot and I spent a good ten hours researching and writing the thing and it's still imperfect, but I thought I'd share it with you all. Happy Thanksgiving and happy reading!

p.s. It's long--it was supposed to be a 10 minute talk and I talk fast--but it's worth reading the whole thing!

“To Live in Thanksgiving Daily”
The power of the gateway virtue of gratitude

“When upon life’s billows you are tempest tossed, When you are discouraged, thinking all is lost,” a favorite hymn begins. “Are you ever burdened with a load of care? Does the cross seem heavy you are called to bear?” it questions. Then it advises, “So amid the conflict, whether great or small, Do not be discouraged, God is over all . . . Count your many blessings; Name them one by one. Count your many blessings; See what God hath done. ” This simple admonishment of gratitude that we sing in buoyant tones is one that we hear often and one we probably underestimate the power of.

Science tells us about the power of gratitude. A 2003 study from the University of California showed that people who kept gratitude journals enjoyed a host of benefits: fewer physical ailments, more alertness and energy, a higher rate of personal goal attainment. They were more optimistic and were more likely help others. Children who practiced gratitude benefited as well, showing more positive attitudes toward school and family. ( ) A 2008 study from the United Kingdom concluded, “Gratitude is . . . uniquely important to psychological well-being.” For every thank-you we offer another our own self-esteem and mental health are increased.

The power of gratitude goes well beyond the psychological, though. It is a spiritual power as well. President James E. Faust said, “It seems as though there is a tug-of-war between opposing character traits that leaves no voids in our souls. As gratitude is absent or disappears, rebellion often enters and fills the vacuum . . . A grateful heart is the beginning of greatness. . . It is a foundation for the development of such virtues as prayer, faith, courage, contentment, happiness, love, and well-being.” When viewed from an eternal perspective having a spirit of thanksgiving within ourselves is a gateway to not just more optimism, which is a considerable benefit, but also many wonderful spiritual blessings. Gratitude is an important beginning step on the road to eternal life. We cannot live with God or like God until we learn to show gratitude in all things.

Gratitude serves us in such a major spiritual way because it is actually a “binding commandment” (Faust, “Gratitude As a Saving Principle,” Ensign, Dec 1996). In Doctrine and Covenants section 59 the Lord tells us, “Thank the Lord thy God in all things . . . in nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things” (verses 7 and 21)—all things meaning the good and the bad, the easy and the hard. Both ancient and modern prophets have counseled us to live this commandment. King Benjamin in the Book of Mormon counseled that in order to truly take Christ’s name upon ourselves we must, “live in thanksgiving daily, for the many mercies and blessings which [God] doth bestow upon you” (Alma 34:38). More recently, President Monson has succinctly stated, “Think to thank.”

Like other binding commandments, gratitude is more than just a two-way street between us and God. For every little bit we comply we do get something back, but that is a narrow view. Heavenly Father does not work on a strictly this-for-that basis. If He did we’d all be doomed because no matter how valiant our efforts we are always “unprofitable servants” (Mosiah 2:21). Just like when we pay our tithing and the Lord blesses us in a myriad of ways so too are we blessed when we are grateful. It isn’t as if since we thank the Lord for our dinner He will only ensure that we get another dinner. Rather, because we have thanked the Lord for our dinner our perspective will change, embracing a more eternal point of view. We will appreciate all the effort that went in to preparing the food; the food will probably taste better because we are in a more positive mind-set to begin with; we will have a better idea of the greatness of God’s creations and the depth of His wisdom that those creations testify of; then our dinner isn’t just something to fill our bellies, but something to feed our souls. This can make us more grateful and will in turn further adjust our perspective. It is this reciprocal relationship between gratitude and spiritual insight that makes gratitude a spiritual gateway.

This commandment to thank the Lord in all things is one that most of us try to embrace—especially during the holidays—and most of us have seen the benefits of as we have increased our efforts in this area. In my life when I have made a serious effort to be more grateful I have seen many spiritual blessings, but there are two I’d like to share with you today: blessings of faith and blessings of repentance.

Gratitude is the foundation of faith; it is very difficult to believe in something we are not grateful for. True faith—the kind that leads to devotion, action, and testimony—grows through small expressions of belief, of which gratitude is a primary example.

This is something we can see in our own families. I have noticed in my own family is that when we go through busy and stressful times one of the first things to disappear is gratitude. When we are busy we just forget to thank each other for the all the little things efforts that make a family run smoothly. The more we forget to thank, the more we take for granted and soon that taking for granted turns into plain old taking or, in other words, selfishness. As selfishness takes hold inside us we are blind to other efforts and can only see our own work and frustrations. It divides us and makes us miserable. Then conflicts occur.

But a thank-you can turn all that around. When meetings and appointments and homework begin to encroach our family dinner time and I start to get stressed and frustrated, for example, just getting a quick hug and a quiet thank you from my husband puts things back in perspective. It pushes the pause button on my stress and reminds me that he believes in me and in my efforts to make our family a happy one. It makes the frustrations worthwhile.

The kind of faith we show family members when we say thank- you is similar to the faith that the tenth leper showed when he returned to thank Christ for healing him. After questioning the whereabouts of the other nine the Lord didn’t say, “Thy gratitude hath made thee whole.” He said, “Thy faith hath made thee whole.” When the tenth leper (who not coincidentally was a Samaritan) stopped to thank the Lord, inherent in his expression was the acknowledgment that Christ was his Master and the source of all blessings. After all, scripture tells us that the leper offered a true sentiment of gratitude. He didn’t only thank Christ but also glorified God. It was those inherent statements of faith that met the demands of the command for gratitude and that opened the door for spiritual blessings-- because when Christ made the leper whole he had already healed him physically. The wholeness given, the resultant blessing, was spiritual wholeness.

Our own expressions of thanksgiving can must us spiritually whole too. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that so many of us start our testimonies with statements of gratitude for the scriptures, the priesthood, temples, prophets, and especially for our Savior. When we stop and realize that depths of gratitude what we are really realizing is the depth of our faith. Which is one reason Elder Ballard has encouraged us to move from only stating our gratitude to also stating our faith; one kind of statement implies the other.

I think a similar relationship between gratitude and faith is evidenced in our prayers. When we take time in our prayers to really converse with our Father in Heaven and thank Him for our blessings what we are actually doing is acknowledging His hand. We are testifying that we know He loves us, we know He takes care of us, and we know He is the ultimate source of power and goodness in our lives. When we properly, mindfully thank Heavenly Father we are placing our trust in Him and aligning ourselves with Him thereby making a powerful statement of what we are and will be faithful to.

I think it is because of this reciprocal relationship between gratitude and faith that I have seen my understanding of and my ability to receive forgiveness grow. A weighty expression of a Latter-day Saint’s faith is his or her weekly partaking of the sacrament. When we partake of the sacrament we renew the covenants we have made and we ponder on Christ’s sacrifice for us. When we chew the bread we are, as the sacrament prayer says, to remember how Christ’s perfect and unblemished body—the body that walked on water, healed the sick, and raised the dead—was broken for us. We remember how he was tied up, beaten, spit upon, scourged, stripped, whipped, and hung on a cross. We remember how the nails pierced his hands, feet, and wrists and how the soldiers stabbed him in his side. And we remember his willingness to endure those things for each of us. President Eyring has said, “Remembrance is the seed of gratitude,” and for me it is impossible to remember those wounds and those hurts without feeling grateful—extremely and inadequately grateful, but grateful all the same.

It is similar with the water for, as the prayer reminds us, the ounce or two of water that we drink each week is in remembrance of Christ’s blood—the blood that was shed drop by drop and pore by pore for each and every one of our sins, mistakes, and weaknesses. Each week, there are so many sins that I need to cleansed of that they, drop by drop, can fill that cup. It is hard for me to not look at that cup and not think of the pain Christ suffered for me so that I could be relieved of those burdens. And that makes me grateful—again, inadequately so, but deeply grateful.

Over the course of time, when I let it, that gratitude for Christ’s sacrifice has a surprising effect on me. It softens me and makes me aware of how far I have to go. My gratitude humbles me so that I can see how many weaknesses I have. It strengthens my love for my Savior as it makes His suffering more real and allows Him to work with me in my daily life. Gratitude for Christ’s atonement, when I really feel it, takes away my desire for sin. It helps me to truly repent and helps me to receive forgiveness and to change my habits and to become born of God. It is this kind of gratitude that helps me be grateful for my weaknesses and for hardships in my life because it changes my perspective. Deep, knowledgeable, and heartfelt gratitude is a prerequisite to that all-important change of heart.

This kind of powerful gratitude was chronicled in the Book of Mormon when King Benjamin said,

“And again I say unto you as I have said before, that as yea have come to a knowledge of the glory of God, or if ye have known of his goodness and have tasted of his love, and have received a remission of your sins, which causeth such exceedingly great joy in your souls, even so I would that ye should remember, and always retain in remembrance, the greatness of God, and your own nothingness, and his goodness and long-suffering towards you, unworthy creatures, and humble yourselves even in the depths of humility, calling on the name of the Lord daily, and standing steadfastly in the faith of that which is to come, which was spoken by the mouth of the angel. And behold, I say unto you that if ye do this ye shall always rejoice, and be filled with the love of God, and always retain a remission of your sins; and ye shall grow in the knowledge of him that created you, or in the knowledge of that which is just and true.”

Gratitude leads to faith and repentance and forgiveness which then leads to more gratitude, and the cycle of growth continues.

President Benson remarked, “The Prophet Joseph said at one time that one of the greatest sins of which the Latter-day Saints would be guilty is the sin of ingratitude.” We arguably live in the most blessed period of history, and yet how often do we stop to utter thanks, to God and each other? When we fail to be grateful for our blessings—all the blessings, from the small ones like salt for our potatoes to the big ones like temples and the Restoration—we not only lose the opportunity for growth but we risk backsliding into selfishness and ignorance. A lack of gratitude closes our minds and hearts and is a “form of pride” (President Faust). Ingratitude is a great sin.

But when we remember to be grateful it can open us up to so many, many blessings—especially as it works within us to increase our faith and our desire to repent, rooting out selfishness and ungodliness and guiding us as we seek to link our lives to our Father in Heaven and our Savior Jesus Christ.

Since I opened with a modern hymn of gratitude, I’d like to close with an ancient one, the 100th Psalm:

“Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands.
Serve the Lord with gladness; come before his presence with singing.
Know ye that the Lord he is God; it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.
Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise; be thankful unto him, and bless his name.
For the Lord is good; his mercy is everlasting; and his truth endureth to all generations.”

Pregnant and Depressed Status Update (and with more than 200 characters!)

2009-11-20T10:09:00.004-07:00

So I've been feeling so stressed/tired lately that every time I get on the computer to blog I end up over on facebook and just read everyone's status updates over there and call it good. I don't even bother posting my own! Lazy, lazy, lazy girl! So here's some updates I could have posted but didn't.

Update #1: After 8 showings and 1 month on the market we haven't gotten any takers on our house. Learning patience. (And how to clean as I go. Sort of.)

Update #2: My myriad of supplements doesn't always cut it when it comes to my mood disorder. I've had a few days where I've been bordering on non-functional. Might be time to call my psychiatrist. Being mood disordered and depressed is probably worse for the baby than Prozac. . .

Update #3: Decided to wait on calling the psych. Decided to withhold judgment until fetus and I made it out of the first tri. Well, that was last Saturday and while I'm starting to get a little more energy my anxiety level is ratcheting itself up every day. What the heck was I thinking?!? Four children?!?!

Update #4: As scared as I am of having to deal with an infant and the crazy that comes with it (so scared I spent whole therapy session on it. EMDR here I come! Say what you want about the tapping and the eye-rolling; it works for me.) I like toddlers. I like preschoolers. I like first graders. Kids keep growing and they just keep getting better. *deep breath while contemplating light at end of tunnel*

Update #5: Embarrassing but true: I find the updates about New Moon fascinating. If only I could find a way to write a paper on that. P.S. Team Jacob folks, you crack you me up!

Update #6: Seems like all I ever work on is staying in the present. Today is no exception. Instead of rehashing the my PPD past or fretting about a future that I really have no clue about, I'm going to be where I am now. Maybe. Hopefully. Today is a field trip with my daughter's preschool and a sunny day and the last day of school before Thanksgiving break. It will be good.

p.s. Fall in Colorado is beautiful!!!

Optimism (The Mask)

2009-11-11T22:14:00.007-07:00

A friend of mine is working on opening up an expressive arts studio and therapy center. She's been running a couple workshops over the last few weeks and invited me to participate. And, well, since I like artsy stuff and I like therapy, art therapy is like the chocolate truffle of mental health activities; I just can't get enough!

For the last two weeks I joined Nancy and several other ladies in mask making. Last week we made actual molds of our faces out of plaster (and some interesting possible poem thoughts came to my mind. . .) and this week we transformed those masks into something completely different.

Nancy really encouraged me to come to the art-making process with no preconceived notions. No thinking ahead. No planning out. No pushing or prodding or researching. She and I have talked about how my writing has stagnated--possibly because I've been spending too much energy thinking and planning and researching and prodding and not enough time playing. Well, tonight I had notions and I had ideas (it's so hard to let go of my intellect!) but when Nancy pointed out that I was welcome to use her lighter as part of my art all those ideas went up in smoke.

The aim-n-flame and I spent quite a bit of time together and, after Sarah mentioned something about layers and Heather said I was creepy, well, I followed my gut and "Optimism (The Mask)" was born. When I brought it home my husband was kind enough to say he thought it looked like real art--like Nancy had been giving me some professional guidance. (I'm not sure I believe him, but that was sure nice of him to say.) I don't know if I'd call it art--at least not with all the strings that come attached to that word--but it was definitely exciting and interesting and troubling and consuming to create. It definitely stirred people up. It made me feel alive in all the places that being depressed (and pregnant) make me feel dead. And those things, in my mind, make it at least artist-ic.

So here it is in all it's ugly/beautiful glory. "Optimism (The Mask)". Enjoy. Or cringe. Just go with your gut. (P.S. In real life you can tell, but in the picture you can't. The newsprint is obituaries. That was a deliberate and significant choice on my part. And not just because it's morbid. And the things on it's eyes are rose-colored glasses.)Yes, I know. I'm strange. And possibly deeply troubled. *sigh* You'll just have to accept it.

The Mormon Therapist Blog

2009-11-02T23:55:00.003-07:00

Hey folks,

Thanks to an interesting discussion (meaning: it's about sexuality! Love Kathryn Lynard Soper!) over at Blog Segullah I found an interesting Mormon mental health link, The Mormon Therapist. Looks like she's trying to figure out how to make money off her blog (good luck with that!), but if you scroll down and root around her site she's got some good stuff. She's got info concerning

*OCD and religion

*Exercise and depression

*Eating disorders

*Sexual dysfunction (This one has the most entries. Apparently people only feel comfortable asking these kinds of questions when they have the anonymity of the internet to bolster them.)

Her blog hasn't even been up for a year yet; I'm interested to see where/how it goes and if it survives. BUT it's an interesting experiment and another resource that just might be helpful--and that's why I'm linking to her. So check it out--just be ready for some frank discussions!

Happy Halloween!

2009-10-30T13:02:00.001-06:00

I don't know why, but Halloween always makes me want to read poetry. I blame (well, really, thank wholeheartedly) my elementary school teachers. They were always sneaking poems into things. So here's short on to inspire your own weekend hauntings:

Theme in Yellow
by Carl Sandburg

I spot the hills
With yellow balls in autumn.
I light the prairie cornfields
Orange and tawny gold clusters
And I am called pumpkins.
On the last of October
When dusk is fallen
Children join hands
And circle round me
Singing ghost songs
And love to the harvest moon;
I am a jack-o'-lantern
With terrible teeth
And the children know
I am fooling.

Halloween also makes me think of cheesy jokes, so I'm of course including one here :)

Happy Halloween!

Pregnancy and Depression--how it's going thus far

2009-10-27T21:59:00.004-06:00

I am now eleven and half weeks pregnant. I saw my OB on Monday and she got some good shots of a squiggling, half-alien, half-frog (but soon to be human!) creature--complete with beating heart. Never has any whooshing been so calming to my mind.

Mostly I've been trying to not think about this pregnancy so far. I mean, my family has already outgrown our little 1400 square foot home so we've been caught up in the busy-ness of putting our house on the market and my husband has been crazy-busy at work and we had a family sealing to go to last weekend and, well, I've pretty much been thinking about everything but the blessing/complication that is currently inhabiting my womb.

Of course just because I wasn't thinking about it doesn't mean I wasn't worrying. Every night as I go to sleep I chant "Grow little baby. Grow little baby. Grow little baby." And in every personal prayer I can't help but add, "Lord, if it's thy will, please help the tummy baby not to die!" I know it sounds little nutty, but worrying is what I do.

So, the appointment went well and I'm almost out of the first trimester danger zone and I'm starting to think about this pregnancy as a person. I can see the light at the end of the nausea and fatigue tunnel. I've never been visibly pregnant during the winter so I get do some (frugal) shopping. I'm starting to get excited. This is starting to be fun.

Especially when I remember that this is most likely my last. Barring any divine intervention I don't plan on treading the path of pregnancy again. It's too hard on my chemistry. And therefore my family. And therefore me.

So far the chemistry is doing okay. It was a little wobbly the first couple weeks off the meds, but I think it's mostly settled. My ups and downs are more intense, though. My temper seems to flare up more often. I screamed at the kids at bedtime. I cussed out my husband. I had to pray for the patience to make it through Church. Whenever my kids do something cute or someone does something nice for me I cry. I tear up at cheesy television voice-overs and commercials. I decided--unilaterally--the put our house up for sale and my husband got on board, but I was just overcome (consumed?) with the urge to find a better home for our family. It wasn't a bad urge, but it was an awfully powerful one.

I'm trying to stick with the supplement regimen that my psychiatrist and OB agreed to. I did a bunch of internet research and then called them both to get their okay on it. It was a lot of work and it made me wonder what most depressed chicks do. Knowing how bad it can be, having some pretty solid, scary memories of my own personal insanity, I was pretty motivated to figure something out. And I was lucky that I'm good with the internet and have a pretty good network of other depressed folks to hit up for advice. And that I live in an area where supplements are part of everyday life for most people; the people at Vitamin Cottage were full of info that correct and germane(!).

Here's what I'm supposed to take:

*AM: 1 prenatal vitamin (I've got the kind where you take 3 a day) which includes inositol. My OB had never heard of it but psych had; both agreed it was safe to take during pregnancy because it is a naturally occurring substance and (I think) similar to B vitamins so it's water soluble and you can't overdose on it. 1 fish oil For info on fish oil and mood disorders read this article at Webmd and this one at from the Mayo Clinic. 1 vitamin B. For info on vitamin B and mood disorders here's another article from the Mayo Clinic or try this one from the Linus Pauling Institute, you'll have to scroll down a ways to read about depression.

*NOON: 1 prenatal (inositol included) and 1 vitamin B.

*PM: 1 prenatal (inositol included), 1 vitamin B, and another fish oil. I'm thinking of switching out this second fish oil for a flaxseed one. Fish oil is an anticoagulant and so is potentially dangerous to the fetus when taken in large doses--which it usually is when being used for depression. I'm wondering if using flax oil instead would be better. . .

I asked both my docs about vitamin D and they both said that was an unsafe supplement to take during pregnancy. For info on vitamin D and depression read here. Actually the whole article, which is about nutrition and depression, is really excellent so here's a link back to the beginning!

It adds up to a lot of pills each day. I feel like I'm always popping something--especially when you add the probiotic yogurt smoothly I drink to ease the morning sickness. (Probiotics are also supposed to be good for your mood disorder. Seriously. Read this. It's only an abstract, but it's got some good info. It's also supposed to help my unborn baby avoid eczema--which is a total bonus given the saga we've gone through with J and his eczema. According to the internet probiotics are the source of all good things. I admit that all that enthusiasm makes me a little suspicious, but I like yogurt so I'm going with it. Anyway, back to the point here . . .) All those pills are a much bigger hassle than my one Cymbalta and my one mulitvitamin and if I get busy I do forget to take them. They were also very expensive. All the supplements added up to more than twice the cost of my monthly Cymbalta prescription. Now, that's mostly because my insurance covers most of the cost (lucky me!) after we meet our deductible--which we usually do in January when I fill my first month's worth of SNRI. Some of the supplements came in big bottles so they should last longer than a month, but still, it adds up. However, I do feel better when I take them so in my mind it's worth it. Because I'm getting a baby out of this.

So it's all worth it--mood disorder and all--it's worth it.

Mirthful Monday: Antidepressants are no laughing matter?

2009-10-18T22:00:00.004-06:00

Since I'm now antidepressant free (it's been three and a half weeks since my last pill and I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that) I thought I'd look up some good antidepressant jokes for you. Turns out there aren't any. Apparently most people who take them don't like to joke about it. Weird!

So, in what may be a truly misguided effort, I'm going to attempt to modify one very unfunny joke in order to make it funny.

Knock, knock.

Who's there?

Norma Lee.

Norma Lee who?

I really don't know.

It's still not funny, is it?

Well, at least I found a funny pic:

For one woman's take on why you just can't laugh at antidepressants click here.

OR, if you need something truly funny to perk up your Monday, there's always Charlie Bit My Finger (Little kids with British accents! That's ALWAYS funny!) or David After the Dentist (Nothing like a kid on happy gas and Novocaine!). Those are always good for a laugh :)

Happy Monday!

Ch-ch-ch-changes! It's time to Mom Up

2009-10-11T23:02:00.007-06:00

So. . . I'm pregnant.

I've been meaning to tell you for awhile, but I keep freaking out. I guess the miscarriage in June made me a little superstitious. I had just told a few friends and then--whammo--spotting, bleeding, sadness, etc. So every time I went to write this post I got nervous and decided to just wait. I told a few people because they asked me point blank or because I felt like I had to explain some bizarre behavior (like suddenly deciding to put my house on the market or getting too woozy and needing to hang out for an hour instead of just picking up my kid from the play date and leaving), but mostly I've just been obsessing about it when I'm on the phone with my sister. And when I can get my husband to sit still and let me whine about my morning sickness.

I'm only 9 weeks along. (Read: My chance for a miscarriage is still around 40%!) I haven't seen my doctor yet. (Read: have not actually confirmed existence of baby. Could be a blighted ovum. Or a chemical pregnancy. Or an, ahem, hysterical pregnancy--isn't that right up my alley!) I'm sick and tired. (Read: those are good signs that this is a viable pregnancy, but they don't really induce me to blog.)

I'm owning up to it now since I hear I was outted at a ward party and because well, this random telling-people-sometimes-thing isn't working for me anymore. This pregnancy has raised a lot of issues for me and I find myself wanting to blog about it but being too afraid of what that would mean. So it's time I man up, or mom up, as the case may be.

I've met with my psychiatrist and per my pregnancy plan, it was time to wean off my medicine. Since I was on the smallest dose available that meant stop taking it. As near as I can tell I haven't suffered any real physical symptoms. Everyone on the internet who takes Cymbalta and then quits complains of "brain zaps." Haven't had any of those. My sweatiness has actually decreased since I quit the medicine and I appreciate that.

As for mood symptoms, well, the jury is still out. Don't get me wrong. I've been moody. Actually, MOODY is probably more appropriate, but there's no real way of knowing if it's the pregnancy or the lack of SNRI or the horrible weather we've been having or what. I feel like my intrusive thoughts are back. . . and that's been a little bothersome. They're mostly pretty quiet, though. Surprising but quiet. Prayer--and music, any music with words--has been helping a lot with those. I've been having trouble sleeping, too. Falling asleep is the hardest thing. My brain just goes nuts when I lay down, spinning out all sorts of disaster scenarios. But I'm working on a mantra to calm it down. I'm kind of scared for what the next eight-ish months hold. Perinatal (and postpartum) depression really is a crapshoot. A lot of the time it feels like there's now way to win. Not taking my medicine is supposedly better for the tummy baby, but not if I'm crazy. But if I'm not really crazy, then being on the medicine is a pretty big gamble.

I've been taking my prenatals and some supplemental fish oil and vitamin B because those two have helped a lot of other depressed people going off their meds. But the vitamin B turns my urine electric lemon yellow (you wanted to know that, right?) and since it's water soluble the recommended dose for depressed people is really high--which doesn't seem safe since there's a bun in the oven. The fish oil is fine going down, but every now and again it gives me fish burps, which don't help with the nausea. And the recommended dose for depressed folk is again very high--which is absolutely NOT SAFE when pregnant because of fish oil's anticoagulant properties. I need to talk with my OB about it, but I don't see her until the end of the month.

So basically I'm a slightly fatter, very moody version of myself who is going sometimes-crazy trying to get her house ready to sell--while mentally crossing my fingers for good luck this time around. I hate being on the wrong end of statistics!

Anyway, I hope you all are in just as exciting places in your lives :) Let's make a deal: I'll keep my fingers crossed for you and you keep my fingers crossed for me and then we can all relax. . . After all, it's time to mom up and do this.

Mirthful Monday: Inspirational Translations

2009-10-04T23:21:00.005-06:00

I thought I'd better put up a Mirthful Monday after last Friday's depressing (can't say I didn't warn you!) short story. So here's some inspirational translations to get your week started off right.

For those of you who need to be reminded to take risks:

For those of you who need to be reminded to dream big:

And for those of you who need to be reminded to be courteous:

Happy Monday!

I've always wanted to be a multi-drafter

2009-10-02T09:33:00.003-06:00

but most of my writing is done single-drafter style. Mult-drafters seem to have more fun. So I'm taking LDSP up on her Friday Writing Prompt. Hold on to your keyboards folks. This could be really bad.

(Dear LDSP, I'm know I'm supposed to start my piece with "In this one you are" but that is such a weird starting line for me. I'm taking this in my own direction. . .)

Every time she saw the picture on his dresser, Stacey got angry. Her jaw clenched, her shoulders tightened, and she had to remind herself to breathe. She knew it was irrational but seeing that perky, smiling woman staring at her--with one arm around John--she just got angry.

She tried logic. "John, it's such an old picture! After all these years of marriage, can't you just put it away?"

She even tried being honest with him. "Honey, I know it means a lot to you, but for me. . .well, I just . . . I'm just tired of looking at it. It's like she's mocking me."

Most recently she took the picture and hid it, thinking he might not notice. It took John less than five minutes to find it and restore it to its place of honor on his dresser.

This morning she took the picture into the bathroom and held it next to her face in the mirror. She couldn't believe how different the two reflections were. The woman in the picture was so young--no bags under her eyes or on her hips--there was even a little childish roundness to her face. Her smile held hints of laughter and her eyes seemed to meet the future without flinching. Stacey suspected it was lighting of the shot, but the woman in the picture was practically shining. Shining hair, shining teeth, glowing skin.

Stacey's own face was exhausted. Not only were there bags under eyes and on her hips (she silently thanked her five children for that), but her hair was short and her teeth were more mother-of-pearl than shining white. There was no way she could measure up to the woman in the picture. Stacey had done too much and worked too hard. Too many sleepless nights. Too many loads of dishes. Too many children suckled. Too many arguments with John.

In the picture, John was basking in that woman's radiance and whenever Stacey saw him look at the picture part of that radiance seemed to fill him again. She couldn't remember the last time he'd looked at her that way. For all of that, she couldn't remember the last time he'd actually looked at her. Stacey wasn't angry; she was jealous.

But no matter how many times she tried explaining it to John he just didn't seem to understand. Whatever she said his answer was always the same:

"How can you jealous of yourself? That's the woman I married. That's the woman I love. And I plan to look at her as much as I want."

It broke Stacey's heart, though, having to compete with herself that way. She knew she wasn't that woman. She knew John was living in the past. She knew she had changed. She just didn't know if John could love those changes.

Mirthful Monday--music video style

2009-09-20T21:11:00.004-06:00

Reminiscence from my childhood: My parents blocked MTV and VH1 from our house. In uber-Mormon land (and in over-achieving parent land, I might add), all TV is bad--cable channels are the worst. My brother (Hi TJ!), being a budding techno-genius, figured out how to work it so we got those channels through the VCR. He and my sister watched grainy, bootleg videos every afternoon all the while exulting in the fact that they were doing something sneaky. I was the youngest and, ahem, a nark, so I told on them--a fact which no one in my family has EVER let go of. My parents called the cable company and they sent a guy who snipped the literal-under-the-ground cable and the sinful, albeit sometimes soulful, channels were gone. So we all started sneaky around so we could watch Comedy Central.

The point: I don't get music videos. Now that I'm an old, over-sensitive mommy I can't figure out why anyone, anywhere would want to watch music videos. They are dirty. They are random. And they inspire weirdo rappers/singer dudes to interrupt lovely young country starlets who are getting awards they may or may not deserve (which is entirely beside the point, Kanye!).

Anyway, I finally found a video I get. Sort of. Well, okay, I don't get it. But at least it's funny!! Happy Monday!

Mirthful Monday: Where NOT to get your political views

2009-09-14T07:47:00.003-06:00

There's been an awful lot of political chatter these days and it's making me nuts. Not because I agree or disagree, but because so much of it is the product of ridiculous, knee-jerk, reactionary thinking. To set the record straight: I won't judge you based on what you think about health care and insurance, President Obama's speech to school kids, or even if you think Obama is an antichrist. All I care about is whether or not you are well informed. So today I'm going to suggest a few places to NOT get your political eduction.

#1 Bumper Stickers

#2 T-shirts

#3 Taco joints in Pocatello, Idaho (really!)

So if we can't rely on pithy, inflammatory statements and graphics what are we to do? Maybe we should all start trying this:

Happy Monday!

But Not Unhappy Science Friday: Utah is NOT the most depressed!

2009-09-10T21:21:00.002-06:00

That's right, people. You heard me. Utah is NOT the most depressed state in the nation--well, at least that's what a new phone-survey study says. In this study Utah ranked 21st out of 34 states.

Other interesting conclusions:

Persons with major depression were:

- 2.3 times more likely to be current smokers,
- 1.8 times more likely to report binge drinking,

Hmm. . . not to be rude, but those depressed people sure don't sound like Mormons!

This study didn't seek to explain why Utah continually ranks so high for antidepressant prescriptions--but it does add more specific information to the pot. Maybe the whole "mother in zion" theory doesn't hold as much water as the media wishes it did.

The best thing to come out of this study, in my mind, was this quote:

"In our health care system, we tend to disconnect physical and mental health, but this report demonstrates the strong relationship between the two and the need to address depression when working to prevent and manage chronic health conditions."

Now that something I can say amen to!

Depression in the Ensign: Elder Marlin K. Jensen?

2009-09-07T14:15:00.003-06:00

Sorry I've been neglecting you all lately. The farm that I have a share in has been ultra productive this year and I've been doing a LOT of canning. It's a lot of work! Also, I feel like things around my house have been extra intense over the last couple months and I've sort of been shying away from blogging--actually from writing in general. Thanks for being patient with me :)

So last week I was hunting around lds.org for something to read for scripture study and I happened upon "Living After the Manner of Happiness" by Elder Marlin K. Jensen. You all might remember him from the PBS special on us Mormons. I think I swooned over some of his awesome answers to tough questions. He's a general authority and serves as the Church Historian and Recorder so imagine my surprise when he admits--in the first line of his talk-- that,

"although I am richly blessed and have every reason to be happy, I sometimes struggle and do not always have the natural inclination toward happiness and a cheerful disposition that some people seem to enjoy."

What?!? General Authorities are not always sublimely happy and contented?

Hooray! That means there's hope for the rest of us!

His talk goes on to list nine principles of happiness gleaned from Nephi's account in the Book of Mormon. My favorites: plant a garden, keep a journal, and work (which he defines as especially with your hands).

This talk was definitely a good read :)

Summer Book Thingy wrap up

2009-09-02T14:30:00.002-06:00

Well, since it's September 2nd I think LDSPublisher's Summer Book Thingy is probably over. I have a couple more books I wanted to review for you guys, though! Here they are:

*Longshot: The Adventures of a Deaf, Fundamentalist Mormon Kid and His Journey to the NBA by Lance Allred. I reviewed this one for AMV so I won't say much here except that this was a good book and an interesting story--especially for those who don't know much about the Mormon fundamentalist movement.

*Stone Tables by OSC. I keep meaning to talk about this book over at AMV but I haven't gotten around to it yet. In my mind this is one of his better Mormon novels. It's nicely paced and I didn't have as many problems with the female characters as I usually do. Where I found his Women of Genesis series to be pretty paternalistic, I really liked some of the women in this book. My favorite thing about it, though, was that he sets the Moses story in a different era than other popular tellings do. According to this novel Moses is a "son" of Hatshepsut, a female pharaoh, and the politics of her time make the Moses story very plausible.

I also love that OSC originally wrote this while he was on his mission and it was musical which he sent to BYU and they produced. When Deseret Book released the novel a decade or two later, they included a recording of the original score. Somehow, that is just SO Mormon to me.

*So this book isn't Mormon but I have to recommend it to you all. The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. Seriously, this is one of the best Holocaust novels ever. Seriously. Read this book. It won't depress you. It's not just another Schindler's List or Anne Frank or Corrie Ten Boom. SO GOOD.

I have quite a few LDS titles still sitting on my desk that I need to finish and I'll get to those when I can!

Thanks to LDSPublisher for motivating me a little more this summer!

Depression Profile: Melissa

2009-08-19T11:50:00.000-06:00

I haven't done a Depression Profile in a while. But I came across this blogger, Melissa at Pressing Forward With Faith, and thought you all might enjoy her stuff about depression.

Be sure to check out her sidebar. She totally owns this illness. But she also doesn't let it hold her back. I love that.

Thanks for sharing with us Melissa!

What I Wish I Said

2009-08-17T22:46:00.003-06:00

Hi friends.

I haven't blogged in a while, but it's not because I don't love you. It's because I've been reunion-ing. (Hi family!)

Family reunions are like petri dishes for awkward conversations (and pink eye) but I mostly managed to avoid those this time around--pink eye and embarrassment. There was one conversation, though, that I've been replaying in my mind. It keeps popping up at odd moments and I think that's because I didn't say what I wished I'd said. So, you know, now I HAVE to blog about it.

Said conversation took place over a nice picnic lunch consisting of seventeen kinds of leftovers from other meals, random snacks, and delicious Bear Lake raspberries. It was sunny, all the little cousins (of which mine are the oldest; that's a lot of preschoolers!) were running around and someone asked me about my way-super-amazing-and-glamorous TV appearance of 2008.

You remember it, right? The one where I was in make-up for 20 minutes and on TV for five minutes in which I said 10 words that no one even really heard because I was one of six guests for a ten minute (including commercials) segment? What? You didn't TiVo that amazing moment in television history?

That's okay. Neither did I.

Anyway, I was on the Mike and Juliet show with my older sister, Charlotte, of the Great Fitness Experiment (she actually makes money off her blog), to talk about eating disorders. There was some newly-published study that proved eating disorders are passed around in groups--media-types were saying they were "contagious!!!"-- and Charlotte blogged about how I "caught" (I prefer inherited; my grandma started it!) my former eating disorder from her. (Former eating disorder. It's been four years since my last purge. Not that I don't fantasize/self-flagellate about it sometimes. . .) The producers booked us and flew us out to New York and I got my fifteen minutes of fame.

So, back to the family reunion: as I was explaining the contagious aspect of eating disorders and listing examples like sororities and gymnastics teams, one of my wittier (and not Mormon) family members piped up, "Or large Mormon families!" firmly derailing any train of thought I was jumping.

Now, it WAS a funny comment. I'll give her that. And I'm not holding it against her. Said family member is very smart, talented, sassy, and I wish I knew her better. But her comment rankled me a little. Probably because 1) I like being the center of attention and she upstaged me and 2)(this is the biggest reason) I punted. She threw a stereotype about Mormons and mental illness in my face and I backed down. I was basically speechless and mumbled something about how my family wasn't big, at least not by Mormon standards.

Maybe that was the right thing to do in the moment, but in the future I hope I have the guts and presence of mind to say a few things:

1. There is NO evidence that mental illness is more prevalent in Mormon families than in other groups. Those antidepressant surveys don't account for any number of variables. They don't look at patients' religious backgrounds. They don't look at patients at all. The only thing those surveys measure is how many prescriptions were written.

2. Even if there was some kind of evidence, that prevalence could be explained by any number of things--genetics being a very big one with eating disorders. As my psychiatrist said, "Your family history is basically a loaded gun." Genes are powerful and traits pop up in many unexpected ways. Also, CORRELATION IS NOT CAUSATION! (I should make that my email tagline. Maybe if we all start saying it a lot people will start to remember it.)

3. Stereotypes exist for a reason, but they are stereotypes all the same. Proceed with caution. It's one thing if some other Mormon chick threw out some blatantly offensive thing--I'd know she was joking because we were both implicated in the joke--but coming from someone who I know doesn't agree with my lifestyle. . . it floored me.

I wonder what would've happened had I called her on it. I doubt any good would have come of it. Except that maybe I would have felt like I stood up for myself.

Oh well. There's always next year's reunion!

p.s. Now that I've blogged about it. I'll let it go. Really.

Mirthful Monday: "Scrubs--The Musical"

2009-08-03T07:38:00.000-06:00

So I caught this episode of Scrubs as a rerun the other night and laughed until I cried. I hope it does the same for you :)

Here's my favorite number (my life as a mommy SO feels like this sometimes!):

For more fun, check out "Guy Love".

Happy Monday!

Turning for Peace

2009-08-02T21:32:00.000-06:00

I'm not sure why but sometimes churchy stuff seems to exaggerate my mood disorder more than help it. Maybe it's because Church stuff is all pre-scripted. Like, my Primary teachers and YW leaders (who all meant well; this is not a criticism of them) told me how I should feel about stuff, but my feelings didn't always match up with the expected feelings and that spiritual dissonance took root in me. I think I felt (feel?) guilty for not feeling what I'm supposed to feel.

This last fast Sunday was a little like that for me. Really, my feelings were all over the place. I was annoyed when we got to Church. As I took the bread and water, I was overwhelmed by Christ's sacrifice for me and my heart fell to pieces. Once testimonies started I was tired. The mood swings just went from there. I was substituting my oldest daughter's Primary class that day and by the end of sacrament meeting I was oished. There was no way I could sit through opening exercises and sharing time with a bunch of rowdy CTR 6's without snapping at someone. One of them started complaining the minute I sat down. I looked him straight in the eye and said, "I don't care. Let it go. Don't tell me about it because I don't care."

Probably not what a kid is looking for when he comes to Primary.

So I left for a little while. I turned and walked out of that room. I found a shady spot outside and pulled out my Ipod. When I turned it on I was happy that the first song was one that always brings me peace. I worried for a minute that it wasn't a Church song but since it calmed my heart I went with it. The song is from the movie Uncorked. (Which is my favorite movie, despite what the users at imdb think. It rocks. You should watch it.) Sometimes to find peace, we have to turn away from all our obligations for a little bit--even the spiritual ones. And that's okay because by turning away you're giving yourself the option to turn back and do better.

I thought I'd post the song here for you in case you were in need of a break too. The first version is the song with a nice wannabe arty photo montage. The second is the version from the film. Enjoy!

What happens in a psychiatrist's office (part 2)

2009-07-29T14:16:00.003-06:00

For part one click here.

Actually, this part takes place outside the psychiatrist's office. It happens over the phone and goes like this:

ME: Well, it's been one month since I visited my PFF, I'd best give her a call. (dials phone. waits while it rings. Makes annoyed face when answering machine picks up and points out that PFF's hours are Tuesday-Friday noon to 5:00 pm.)Um, hi. This message is for Dr. PFF. This is Laura and I met with you a month ago and you said to call you so I'm calling. . . Yeah. . . thanks.

Two days later

ME: (talking to friend who has had experience with a PFFs' offices) My PFF hasn't called back. What am I supposed to do? Do I call and leave another message?

FRIEND: I'd give it a week. They always take a week to get back to you.

Five days later

ME: (answering phone in the middle of rushed dinner during which I am trying to shove food down my toddler's throat before I leave for my ASL class) Hello? Who? Oh! Dr. PFF. Yes, sure, now's a good time. . . [Here's where I gave her some brief info about my emotional upheavals of late, part of which I now feel okay stating was an early first trimester miscarriage, and that my therapist recommended I go back up to my regular dose of Cymbalta. PFF agreed with my therapist's thoughts and hung up.]

***scene***

Okay, so that really wasn't dramatic enough to warrant a dramatic writing style but that's kind of my point. I thought my phone call to the PFF would be a milestone for her. It really wasn't. It was just one more tick mark on the long, mundane chart that is my depression--at least from a clinical standpoint.

For me that phone call felt like defeat. It was admitting my failure at pregnancy and failures in other areas of my life. It was accepting the ultimate failure of my careful plans. It was the point that made me stop and reconsider and own up to the fact that things were different. I'd been trying to act like nothing had changed. The miscarriage was early enough that I told myself it didn't really matter. But it, and the other things that happened right on it's tail, did.

I tried going back up to my regular dose, but it made me sick. After a couple days I was a nauseous narcoleptic so I decided to go back to my lower dose. I'm not sick but my mood has been a little more mercurial, which is making me nervous. I don't have any refills left on the lower dose pills--that means another phone call to the PFF. Which I guess I'd better make soon, since it always takes at least a week to hear back!

I find myself fantasizing about the resurrection and how when I'm made whole I won't be depressed anymore and I won't have to take any pills and it will be easy to do the things I'm supposed to do. But that's kind of cold comfort. What I really want is for things to be easy now. Of course, in that way God is a little bit like that old song: you can't always get what you want; you get what you need. And what I need right now is another happy pill. *sigh*

MIrthful Monday: There are worse things than depression

2009-07-19T22:56:00.002-06:00

Imagine if you had to live with this!

Happy Monday :)

On the State of Poetry ( and one of my own)

2009-07-15T14:19:00.005-06:00

My co-blogger at AMV and friend, Tyler, posted on his personal blog about the state of poetry in our oh-so-post-post-modern-sound-bitey world. Wow, are there some good links there for aspiring poets! The part of his post I liked best:

"Poets should focus on narrative verse as a means of building their readers into more lyric poetry; that we should be using the web as a publication/distribution tool; and that narrative poets should be talking about other poets' work in an effort to get narrative poetry canonized or formally accepted by broad circles of readers."

Tyler often posts his own poetry and I enjoy reading and mulling it over. He is quite skilled. Fourth Month Rosary meant a lot to me. Rua: an elegy of holes is also quite enjoyable. In fact, his blog is a like a galleria of poetry gems.

Anyway, thanks to Tyler's (and Patricia's) example I'm posting one of my own poems today. Enjoy! And, as Tyler says, feedcrack welcome!

Bringing in the Sheep

On the lava plains of Idaho
Puffs of ocher white and brown
Dot the sagebrushed dirt,
Converging in a scrubby, shaded corner.

A streak of peach, a flit of blue, the children,
Brightly colored kites slicing clouds of sheep,
Making storms of fleece
Explode in new directions.

Sheep bleating—
Hooves stamping—
Weeds bending—
Dust swirling—

A voice calls out, half bleat, half croon,
In knowing repetition,
A trail inherent in its weavings.
The flock now moves as one.

Implicit in the shepherd’s voice
Is shelter, food, water,
Familiarity, care, and memory,
Gifts sheep cannot forage for themselves.

Hands feeding—
Fingers feeling—
Tongues licking—
Voices laughing—

Mirthful Monday: What happens when you google "funny"?

2009-07-13T19:13:00.000-06:00

You get a lot of stupid cat pictures. And this:

Admit it: you laughed out loud, even if was just a little snicker. And, as a bonus, you'll have that song stuck in your head all day!

Happy Monday :)