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

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?

The Mormon Therapist Blog

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!

That's it! I quit!

(I posted last Friday but it looks like it got stuck back in December of 08 when I first started drafting it. For those of you who missed it you can read part three of my series on Support Where You Need it the Most.)

No, no, no, I'm not quitting blogging. I'm quitting my medicine. Well, maybe.

For those of you who have been reading for a long time now, you'll remember that last summer I had a Prozac poop-out. (I was on Lexapro, so technically it was a Lexapro poop-out, but you can't link to that term so what's a blogger supposed to do!) I met with a friend-of-the-family psychiatrist out in Utah during our family reunion. It was awkward but free so I went for it. She explained the Prozac poop-out phenomenon to me and recommended I switch to Cymbalta. She said it would do a better job at nipping my intrusive thoughts in the bud. I had reached the point where I was nervous to be alone with the kids so when I got home I dialed up our family practice doctor and she wrote me a prescription.

And it worked. It was a little rocky at first but it worked. I still get nauseous if I go too long without eating and I still nap 3 out of 5 days and since it's still winter I don't worry too much about my increased sweatiness--I just go without a coat--but most of the time I'm not depressed. That feels good.

Except for when it doesn't.

I have to admit those little blue and white pills are starting to annoy me. I hate having to remember them every morning. I hate having to call in for the refill. I hate how much they cost. I fantasize about how much I could get done if I didn't have to nap. I'd love to be able to lose my muffin top but the urge to snack is too strong. And, well, it's still winter now but it will be spring and summer soon enough and I don't want to have to carry around a pack of tissues just to soak up my extra perspiration. It's gross!

Of course, the real reason I want to quit my antidepressant is well, I want to quit being depressed. I want to quit having a mood disorder. I want to quit feeling less than normal because I have to take medicine every morning. I want to know if who I am now is who I really am. I think it is but how can I be sure when I'm popping this pill all the time? I'm just tired of being that girl.

I've gone off my meds before. I wean off them before getting pregnant. I tried to quit my Lexapro last summer (before it quit me. If I could argue with my medicine we'd totally have one of those "You can't fire me, I quit!" conversations). It's always ugly. My patience disappears and my anger comes back and then the guilt sets in. My intrusive thoughts get all noisy. I have to pray myself out of bed in the morning.

But this time is different. The first time I quit my meds I'd only been on an inadequate dose of Lexapro for three months--which research shows is too short a time and actually leads to worse depression. (I can't find a link to cite that last bit, but I know it's true. Ask your doctor!) The second time I weaned off was after eight months and a lot of the environmental factors of my depression hadn't changed.

So how is this time different? Well, I've been pursuing treatment that includes off-and-on therapy (the insurance only covers twenty visits a year so I've got to use them wisely) and SSRI/SNRI for over 18 months. I've actually been working with my therapist for over two years. Come to think of it, I should have sent her flowers for our anniversary last November!

I guess the big thing that hasn't changed is the environmental stresses. I still have three little ones, who are bizarrely unable to sleep through the night, and my husband is still in grad. school and working full time. He graduates in May so maybe I should hold on to those little pills until then.

It is such a wearying truce to strike. I'm so sick of having to act like I'm sick just to prevent the sickness, you know? It doesn't make sense to keep taking Nyquil just to make sure you don't get a cold. But depression isn't a cold. It's not something I can just get over. My body doesn't have a response system for this. Depression is a disorder that I will have to be aware of and manage for the rest of my life. That's what that pill means. And that's why I hate taking it.

What's funnier than depression? Therapeutic Humor!

Common sense (and Reader's Digest) has long held that laughter is the best medicine. But what common sense couldn't have guessed was what that sentiment would spawn.

Have you all ever heard of World Laughter Day? Or how about Laughing Yoga? There's even an Association for Applied and Therapeutic Humor. (A treatment needs its own association before it's a "real" option, right?) Oh, and according to the ever-venerable WebMD, laughing 100 times equals ten minutes of cardio.

But seriously people, this is more than Patch Adams. This is serious science with serious health benefits. Besides the usual stuff like laughter helps ease mood disorders(did all you depressed people catch that!) and lightens up emotional situations, laughter can help ward off heart attacks, boost your immune system, and help you lose weight! (Okay, that last one is pretty old science, but I like the idea so I put it up. Hmmm, Charlotte do I hear an experiment coming?)

Anyway, you've probably heard a lot of that before but I think it is worth reminding you of. Oh, and in case you haven't gotten your laugh on today, here's the funniest dancing video. It starts out slow but the end is a real whammy :)

Just because something is hard . . .

When I first started going to therapy (for real, the first first time I saw a therapist I wasn't really sure about it so I didn't do the work so it doesn't count)I talked a lot about my kids and my husband. After all, they were (are!) the people I spent most of my time and energy taking care of and supporting. Back then I felt like I was sacrificing so much to be the wife and mother they needed and, well, I wasn't sure I felt very good about that. It was just so hard. So hard that I was drained and frustrated and angry all the time. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Something, somewhere must have gone wrong. I was in therapy to ferret that out and exorcise it.

I got married pretty young (19) and had my first baby pretty young (21). Being young and naive, I thought that because I had married a righteous priesthood holder in the temple and because I had received spiritual confirmation about getting pregnant that I was doing everything right. I mean, I knew I had little weaknesses; I knew I needed some tweaking before I would be ready to meet my maker, but I was doing all the important stuff right. I figured my life would be easy because I followed the path that my Primary teachers, Young Women leaders, and my parents had laid out. I mean, that's how it's supposed to work right? God told the Nephites and Lamanites over and over that if they were righteous they would prosper in the land. It was only hard when they were bad. Temple marriage was like a fairy tale. As soon as you got the girl in the beautiful dress with the handsome RM at her side in front of the castle-like building the battles had already been fought, the dragon slayed, and it was time for the happily forever after. Right?

Wrong. Very wrong.

Look at Nephi. He was a prophet who never failed to declare the word of the Lord--even when it made his brothers time him to the ship's mast for days. Remember Abinadi? He was pretty righteous and he got burned at the stake. And then there's Jesus, our Savior and Redeemer. He suffered tremendously--words are inadequate to express what He went through in the garden of Gethsemane and on the cross--and He was perfect. Hard things happen for a lot of reasons, many of which are not the direct result of the individual.

Don't misunderstand me. When we intentionally sin the consequences are real and painful. Even when we don't intentionally sin, when we only trangress or make mistakes there are consequences. But everything in our lives can't be traced back to our own choices. There are too many other people in the world for that to be the case.

My therapist is not LDS and didn't think to point out the cosmic nature and purpose of trials. (Which is probably for the best because I sure wasn't hearing that lesson. I mean, how many had that been taught in Church and I didn't hear it? Apparently I needed a different presentation of that truth.) Instead she listened as I dissected every choice that lead to my marriage and my children and my life. She listened as I unburdened and re-burdened my weary mind. And then she quipped, "You know, just because something is hard doesn't mean it's wrong. It just means it's hard. Some things, like marriage, are just hard some of the time."

I snatched an appointment card off the table and scribbled her words on it. I told her I wanted to believe it but I wasn't sure if I could. What did it mean? "Just because something is hard doesn't mean it's wrong." Did it mean that I could make good choices and some things in my life would still be hard? Did it mean that I had no control?

Yes. And no. Yes my life would still be hard--the Lord chastens and scourges those He loves--and no because I still did have some control. I didn't have control over all my circumstances or my trials. I didn't choose to have depression or the other things that made me feel like my life was headed for the trash can. God was (is!) the one in control of all that. My job was to figure out how those circumstances and trials would change me and my relationships. Would it be a refiner's fire or just fire and brimstone? That's all I need to figure out. The rest I can give up to God.

Of course I'm still working on figuring all that out--it will probably take me the rest of my life and maybe even some of eternity to really get it--but when things get rough, on the really bad days when the house is a wreck and the kids are all screaming and I just want to lay in bed because I can't face it all, I remember, "Just because something is hard doesn't mean it's wrong. It just means it's hard." And I breathe a little easier.

Just when I thought my life was perfect (or, another Cymbalta update)

I've been taking my Cymbalta for three and a half months now and I've been feeling really good. My only complaint is that I'm still feeling pretty tired, although I only need to nap every few days. And I still sweat a lot. The intrusive thoughts are gone. I've started praying in the morning out of a sense of duty instead of desperation. I haven't screamed at my kids in weeks. So basically my life is perfect now, right?

Well, turns out a lot is still up to me. (Nuts!)

Take last night, for example. I recently joined our ward choir and yesterday they had two practices. The first was our normal ward choir practice and I had a good time. (This is the best time of year to be in choir because of all the Christmas music. P.S. Our ward still needs sopranos and basses, so if you know anyone . . .) The second practice was with another ward to rehearse a combined choir for our upcoming Stake Conference. This is when the trouble started.

Like most things psychological, you should probably know a little background info first. I was in my high school's performing choir. So were some really talented singers--a couple of them were working on cutting their own albums. (One girl actually did go on to a career in music. Check her out here. Another is now a stand up comic. Check him out here--beware this one though; plenty of foul language!) The choir director was pretty enamored of the three or four extremely talented kids and, in my opinion, kind of hung the rest of us out to dry. He had a habit of skipping the teaching parts of his job and just expecting us to perform perfectly. He yelled a lot and made fun of some kids behind their backs. There were a couple times that I felt directly humiliated. The choir director's attitude brought about/set off some of the most intense anxiety attacks I had as a teenager. I ended up lip syncing for most of my time with him. It took a fair amount of patience and a couple good friends to get me singing in public again. Which may not mean much to the universe at large, but, since I love singing, was very meaningful to me.

All right, so back to last night's choir practice. Something about the manner of the other ward's choir director took me right back to high school and I found my throat tightening, my heart feeling like lead, my breath shortening, and, well, I got worried I was going to throw up. Then I started to cry. I cut out of there pretty quick.

More than anything, though, I was surprised. I couldn't believe I was having an anxiety attack. Not only was it a ridiculous situation to be freaking out about--it was just stake choir, after all--but I'm on an antidepressant/anti-anxiety drug! The crazies are all supposed to be gone!

I sat down in a dark corner and, just like my therapist taught me, proceeded to take stock of my body. I stopped and observed all the different parts of my body noting if they were tense or not (most of them were). Then I began to move through the different areas of my body flexing and relaxing the muscles, slowing my breathing. Once I felt relaxed I began to contemplate returning to the chapel to finish the rehearsal. If my body started to tighten up again I consciously relaxed and tried to remind myself of the truth of the situation at hand (it was just stake choir, I don't sing loud enough to really embarrass myself, and, well, odds are the choir director didn't care about me enough to humiliate me). Eventually I felt pulled together enough to return to the practice. Although it wasn't until after practice, while chatting with some friends, that my anxiety worked itself out completely through a series of involuntary shudders. Thankfully, one friend was telling some story about dental problems and everyone was shuddering so no one noticed me :)

I'm still a little baffled by the anxiety attack. Sometimes they come on at the strangest times. However, it was a good reminder of how us mood disordered people need different tools to help us navigate these situations. I would probably be having a lot more general anxiety and more anxiety attacks if I wasn't on my meds. But the medicine doesn't erase all my symptoms--I still need the therapy techniques to help me manage my moods.

How about you all? How have you seen your therapy and medicine interact and help each other?

How did you know you needed therapy?

Somebody asked me that at Enrichment the other night. We were all sitting there tying quilts for Project Linus and she asked me, "How did you know you needed therapy?"

I gave her a loooong answer about how I'd been on and off medication since the birth of my first child and that I really am a bit crazy (even though my therapist tells me not to use that word in reference to myself). When I finally stopped talking I wasn't sure I had given her the right answer. I've been mulling it over and I'm still not sure I've figured it out, but I want to give another try.

I recently went back to therapy. I don't usually cry when I'm there--I don't cry easily (weird for a depressed person, huh?)--but my first time back I cried because I was weary. I kept saying, "I can't believe this is my life! What if it never changes? What if I'm stuck like this?" After compassionately telling me to "just let it all out", which made me smile because that's so therapist-y, she also reminded me that there are always going to be ups and downs but that I also always have choices. There is always something I can do to change my circumstances and my feelings. It was nice to hear someone say that out loud.

I know that I need to go to therapy because I can't handle this illness on my own. It is so overwhelming that I need a reality check. I need someone who is outside all of it and has heard it all before, someone who can see the way out of the depressed maze me and my illness have created. And I need someone to help me replace all the bad habits that I've adopted to deal with stuff of depression. I need someone to help me change the script in my brain so that it doesn't keep going down the same dysfunctional pathways. I go to therapy because I need help. I need to not be alone.

So how 'bout you? Why do you go to therapy? Or, if you don't, why do you wish you could?

A couple questions for you guys!

Question number one: Was it just me or were there more General Conference talks focused on overcoming depression (as an emotional state--although, IMO, some of it did apply to the illness as well) and finding hope? Any of the talks hit home with you? Which one and why?

Question number two: A friend of mine asked me how to find a good therapist. Since I found mine through another friend I suggested she ask around. However, in the event that she isn't surrounded by openly depressed people like I am (how did I ever get so lucky! I love you guys!) what would you all suggest? How do you find a good therapist? Should she go through LDS social services? Should she have an LDS therapist or does religion matter?

I found this directory at Psychology today but I don't know how reputable it is. And there was this great article at Webmd. Finding a therapist can be tough. And as I know my friend reads here, please post your tips!

If your little apple doesn't fall far from the tree

then your family is probably like mine: you are not the only one who struggles with moods and emotions. Odds are that one of your kids does too.

In our family it is our oldest (5 years old) who has struggles. She has a lot of anxiety and spends a fair amount of time trying to manage it. She has a therapist (you all know how much I LOVE therapy) and we have seen some good results there. However, since she is so young we have to spend a lot of time at home going over (and over and over and over!) the concepts she learned in therapy. There is a lot that I have to remember for her and help her do. Some days it's pretty hard.

Thankfully, I recently found some books that have proved helpful: What to do When I Worry Too Much (overcoming anxiety) and What To Do When I Grumble Too Much (overcoming negativity). I came across a these books at Parentbooks and we have started using them as Family Home Evening Lessons. Our whole family benefits from practicing the concepts in them and the books make it easy to explain cognitive behavioral therapy ideas to small kids.

These books are written by a child psychologist and there are a whole bunch of titles in the series--covering things from bad habits to OCD to anger issues--many of which are available used and new at Amazon. So if you have kids whose emotions take a lot of energy to regulate and you'd like them to learn a little self-mastery these could be a great place to start!

Oh, and good luck!
And, you are not alone! (Michael McLean doesn't technically own that phrase, right?)
And, remember: we're aiming for progress not perfection :)

Therapy: what's with the stigma?

I was having a conversation with someone who we'll refer to as a "friend of a friend" whose child (a middle schooler) was a sort-of-witness to a sexual assault. I say sort-of-witness because the child didn't see the assault; she was approached after the fact by the victim who told her all about the incident--in all its grisly details. The child of this "friend of a friend" was smart and reported the assault, but because the assault happened between some of the child's friends things have gotten ugly. Anyway, my "friend of a friend's" child was deeply disturbed by what happened and has been having nightmares that are intense enough to keep her awake and never seems to feel safe. In the course of events it was suggested that this child should see a therapist to help her process the whole sordid event. The "friend of a friend" was not happy with that suggestion. The "friend of a friend" believes that if word got out the child was in therapy there would be a lot of negative consequences. Basically this friend believes that sending her child to therapy would be worse for her than the fear and nightmares that have been bothering the child for more than a month.

Now, I want to be clear: I'm NOT criticizing this person for choosing to avoid therapy. Everyone has to make choices for their own families as they see fit. All my information is second hand, so I'm NOT judging.

What I am wondering is this: does therapy still have that kind of stigma for most people? I thought that as a culture Americans were over therapists as modern incarnation of snake oil sellers and therapy as something only for weirdos. Am I wrong about that?

And another question: is it different among LDS? In our cultural subset are we NOT over it?

Staying up all night is GOOD for you!

I'm feeling down today. We had our carpets cleaned this morning and the flurry of activity related to that held the blues at bay until this afternoon. I was in the grocery store with my oldest and she was being so sweet and wonderful that I got depressed. I know, it doesn't make sense, but it was like all my love for her filled me up to bursting and it overwhelmed me and left me feeling, well, depressed. It was strange. This has happened on a few other occasions and I'm still trying to figure it out.

Anyway, I came home and tried to explain it to my husband. He gave me a hug and said that it was probably just the stress of trying to get the house clean for the carpet cleaners (yes, we had to clean for the cleaners!) and staying up late last night trying to finish my entries for the Irreantum contests. I told him he was probably right.

After all, it is conventional wisdom that if you aren't getting enough sleep you will end up depressed. I remember when I was leaving the hospital after the birth of my second and the nurse in charge of discharge information advised me to get at least five hours of sleep. She said that women who don't manage at least a five hour chunk of sleep are much more likely to end up with postpartum depression. Sleep, she said, was key to mood management.(Having had PPD with my first and perinatal depression with my second, I had a hard time not rolling my eyes. The story of PPD is so much more complicated than the amount of sleep a woman gets!) Then, just a couple months ago, when I was talking with my daughter's "feelings doctor" about whether or not my meds were still working for me, she suggested that I get 24 hours of sleep to give my system a boost. (Again, it was hard not to roll my eyes. How am I supposed to get 24 hours of sleep when I have three children?) The basic gist seems to be that sleep renews the body and refreshes the mind. But for depressed people this may not be the case.

It started in the late 1970s when a Swiss neurobiologist, Anna Wirz-Justice, recommended a sleepless night for a severely depressed patient. The results were quick and decisive. In the wee small hours of the morning the patient, who had previously been nearly comatose with depression, began talking and acting like, well, a normal person. Since then numerous studies have been done to test the effectiveness of sleep deprivation as therapy. The conclusions are intriguing. Supposedly 60% of depressed people see improvement within hours of skipping sleep.

Why it works is still a mystery. Some researchers suggest that glucose metabolism in the brain is the reason. Others say it has something to do with the way the depressed mind interacts with the REM cycle. Others suggest it has something to with how thyroid hormone is produced. (Sorry I lost the link to that last one.)

Counterintuitive as it may be, the whole sleep deprivation thing makes sense to me. I am constantly tired. I usually get around six hours of interrupted sleep and I'm yawning before I've finished dishing up my kids' breakfast. I almost always need a twenty minute power nap around 2:30 pm. I can usually rally for the bedtime reading and snuggling routine, but I'm exhausted by the time they are all down. I am always telling myself that I am going to get to bed early. But I don't. Turns out by about 9:00 pm I start perking up. My brain kicks back into gear and I find that I have a couple of hours of working time before I turn back into a zombie.

Of course there are couple hang-ups with sleep deprivation therapy. First, in almost all the studies, when patients returned to a normal sleep pattern (which is recommended since sleep deprivation is linked to diabetes and obesity) the depression returned. Second, it really isn't practical. Most of us live in families and work jobs. Staying up all night would work for me as long as I didn't have to drive anywhere. Or deal with children! Most experts seem to agree that this isn't a long term solution to depression. But, if you have a doctor that will supervise you and you are waiting for your meds to kick in or other therapy to start, this may be a treatment that works in the short term--it may give a glimmer of hope to someone who thought there wasn't any.

What do you guys think? I know some of you readers are way better educated than me and have more experience, any of you tried this? Be sure to comment and let me know.

The slowest roller coaster you've ever been on

I think I was thirteen when I realized, for the first time, that, like, emotions are, like, totally like a roller coaster. I think it took me a couple years to realize that my epiphany really wasn't one and that teenagers has been saying that for years.

Imagine my surprise when, ten years later, as I was sitting and rocking my second baby in my arms, a therapist (the one I didn't like) said to me "You know, I always like to tell people that emotions are like a roller coaster." She had pursed her lips in a thoughtful way and knitted her brows a bit as she said this so I could tell she was serious. I managed not to laugh. As she continued I was surprised to find she did have something to add to the cliche.

What she pointed out was that our emotions take us for a ride and, just like on an amusement park ride, you can't get off once they've really got going. One of the keys to understanding our emotions is to notice them when they are just revving up and get off the ride before we end up doing more loop-de-loops than we care to count. After all, the park attendant will probably let you off if the ride has only gone a few feet. But there's no getting off once you're to the top of that first big hill.

I ended up liking the roller coaster analogy and have spent a lot of time mulling it over--especially in relation to my depression. So here's my twist on the tired cliche: depression is like a slow motion roller coaster.

Take my last couple weeks as an example. There was a really interesting discussion going on at A Motley Vision and LDS Publisher about publishing LDS poetry. It got me all fired up and I started throwing together a business plan for getting LDS poetry back on the LDS literature map. But then the baby got an ear infection, the two year decided it was time to potty train, the four year old had three panic attacks in two days, I got asked to sub for Primary last minute, and it randomly snowed. I guess I was riding a bit high on my poetic excitement, but I assumed the momentum would carry me out to a great business proposal. Unfortunately, my ambitions got derailed and each setback knocked me further down from my high. The thing is, though, I didn't realize it until I found myself screaming at my two year old for asking to eat breakfast on the floor.

Looking back, that morning was classic depression for me. I had to pray for the strength to get out of bed. I had to pray for patience while nursing the baby. I didn't want to give the kids their good morning hugs and I had to keep shushing them because so many negative thoughts were flying around my head their little voices just made everything too loud. (According to my cacophonous depressed brain I am so stupid, fat, lazy, mean, and stiffnecked that there is no hope for me and I should just give up.) Given what was going on inside me it was no wonder that I lost it. But I was completely surprised because I hadn't noticed what was going on inside. I had known I was stressed and not sleeping enough, but I hadn't realized how each thing was adding up and pushing me further and further down the roller coaster track. And that is how depression is like a slow motion roller coaster. It is so sneaky that you don't realize you're about to be hanging upside down until you already are.

Of course, on a slow motion roller coaster it also takes a long time to get right side up again. The baby is still sick, the two year old is still potty training, the four year old is still brittle and I am still on edge. I think I have spent more time in "time out" for my poor behavior than the kids have! Which I think they secretly like because then they get to watch more TV. On the plus side, I have been able to bite my tongue a couple times and I even rallied to get some yard work done today. I'm still feeling a little lopsided, but I don't think I'm absolutely upside down anymore. (I have to give credit to my husband for a lot of this. He did the dishes and made sure I got a nap on Sunday!) I guess it really doesn't matter where I am though. I just have to keep repeating the mother's mantra: This too shall pass. This too shall pass. This too shall pass. . .and before I know it I'll realize the ride is over. For this time anyway.