Vulnerability

Before I continue my story where I left off,  I wanted to share something that really ties in with this story, and every other one on the planet. Mine is unique to me, and yet, everyone out there has their own to share. One of my biggest passions in life is relationship. Sitting down over coffee, and some homemade treat, sharing stories with friends. What makes them who they are. Everyone wants to be known.

Recently, I have had three different friends tell me about a woman named Brenet Brown, who is a well-known researcher. and writer. She is well known, even though I had never heard of her. She travels and speaks on a variety of topics. Out of curiosity, I looked her up on youtube, and listened to one her talks. It was on the subject of vulnerability. It was so intriguing that I wrote down some of her key points to share. It resonated with me, because I have become a person who really doesn't fear being vulnerable, so I enjoyed hearing what she had to say.

She said people fear vulnerability, because of shame. She defines shame as fear of disconnecting. It is fear there is something about me that if people find out, I won't be worthy of connection. In my experience, it has been those secret things that when brought to the surface, foster intimacy. However, for many years, I hid who I was, for that same reason she discussed. Why do we look around and assume everyone else has it all together, and we are the only ones who are broken, and unlovable? This is such a lie we believe.

Brown went on to talk about the research she did between two groups of people she interviewed. One group was fearful, and stuck in their shame. They were truly broken and discontent. The second group, also had painful stories, and yet she observed they were what she called "whole-hearted" people, who fully embraced life, They had no hint of shame. One thing that defined them  was their courage. Courage comes from the latin word "coeur,"or heart. They were characterized by compassion and connection. They were truly authentic, and fully embraced their vulnerability.  This next part was what I love the most. She said she believed what made them vulnerable mede them beautiful!  I feel the need to repeat that in my own words to drive it home.

Do you realize that the very thing you are ashamed of, and believe makes you unloveable, and undesirable is the very thing God wants to use to bring beauty not only to your own life, but to those around you? Your story could be used exponentially in someone else's life to awaken them to the realization that they are not alone, and you could use your heartbreak to connect to another human being! Your story is so powerful!

The other option, as she goes on to point out is what most people do with their vulnerability, which is to numb it.  We are historically the most in-debt, obese, addicted people up until now. This is because when you numb the negative emotions through addiction, and other ways of coping, you also numb emotions of joy, and happiness, as it is impossible to compartmentalize our feelings.

This is a lengthy introduction to another part of my story, however, I wanted to share this, because I love the power of vulnerability. If you are reading this, you have a story. I would like to hear it. Please leave a comment, and let me know if you have shared it with anyone! If you are comfortable emailing me your story of vulnerability, I would love that as well!

As promised, I will write more in my next post about my path to recovery from depression.

Sad Days

I have been going through posts from a couple of years ago. When I switched my other blog to only include posts for my business, I saved all my previous ones to drafts, so I could look through them and decide which ones to put up on this site, which is more personal. This was written after a long depression. It feels therapeutic to look back on how things were during those dark days, and see hope in how things are now.

My desire in posting the struggles I have gone through is that these experiences won't be wasted. If there are people reading this who struggle with depression, or any kind of mental illness, I want to encourage you somehow through my story.
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I just decided to look up my blog after what seems like forever.  So much has happened over these past years and months. My Dad lost his battle with cancer, my father in law died suddenly of a heart attack, and I spent two and a half months in the psych ward trying to make sense of everything. This was the first time I was ever hospitalized as a mother., but far from my first time being hospitalized. During my stay, my husband had to be both mom and dad to our three year old son. He had to figure out childcare after preschool, meals, and run a household in addition to working a full time job.

It really does take a village to raise a child, especially when a parent is sick. I am so thankful for my family and friends, mostly from church who rallied to help us out. People brought meals, and so many friends had our son over for playdates with their kids. My Mom, who is "ahem" older, let's say, and is terrified to drive in Seattle, took my son to preschool, and picked him up every afternoon. Knuckles white, clutching the steering wheel, she faced her fear for almost three months. This is what a Mother's love does.

Sometimes I think my husband is made of steel. He is so steady, and it takes a lot to phase him. Yet, I know he came unglued several times while I was away. We didn't talk much about the details of my absence until I probed him, because he didn't want to add to my load.  He didn't have many people he could talk to that could really understand what he was going through, so I felt it was important I listen to him. t couldn't really ask him until I was ready to hear his honesty, as I felt guilty enough for being sick. Hearing about the many difficult conversations he had with our son as to why Mommy was in the hospital, when was I coming home, and others he was unable to answer brought me to tears. He said my son sometimes cried at preschool, and my heart ached for his confusion and sense of loss. My husband never complained to me about what he had to go through, and yet I could see the toll it took on him in his weary eyes.

As with every manic episode, what followed was a deep depression lasting almost a year. Getting out of the hospital was just the beginning of a very long journey. Every morning, I looked at the clock, and dreaded the beginning of another day. The weight of it felt so unbearable. All I could think about was escape...sleep. That was all I wanted to do. I wanted to sleep, and never wake up again. Yet, I could never do anything to hurt my family. There was no escape from the deep, dark pit I was in. I saw therapists, but left feeling angry at having to spend hundreds of dollars for word I could have read from a book.

Fortunately, the story didn't end there. I will write more about my recovery, but this is where I was in 2015. Two years later, I am alive and well. Better than well. There is so much hope, and that is what I want to write about next. Remembering is good for the soul. Even remembering the darkest of times.

Kindness

This morning I was supposed to go for a walk with my neighbor at 10:00.  It seemed like a great idea the night before, but this morning, feelings hopelessness enveloped me.  The thought of getting out of bed gave me knots in my stomach. All I wanted to do was hibernate. I knew I would have to get up, but couldn't.  Justin was still in bed, so I didn't have to attend to him yet.

I wanted five more minutes, and then five more passed.  I  struggled to think of any reason to leave my warm covers. What would I say to her? Surely she would get upset if I backed out. The clock was ticking. I cleared my throat to see if it was sore, but it wasn't. Telling her I was sick wasn't an option, but the truth seemed too risky.  I settled on texting her to say I had had a rough morning, so I left it at that. I asked her if we could get together later in the day.  She wasn't available later. Instead of being upset, she texted back and told me to "Be kind to myself."

I love her answer, as it is the opposite of what I tend to do to myself.  My tendency is to try harder, and feel guilty for not keeping my word.  What would it look like to be kinder to myself? It is so much easier to be kind to other people, and to be understanding.  Yet, if I can't love myself well, it is hard to love others. If I would have forced myself to go out of trying to please my neighbor, it could have gone really well.  I might have been glad I got up and made the effort, or I might have felt resentful for going when I didn't really want to. Most likely, the first would have resulted.

In any case, I do like the idea of being kinder to myself.

Fall (Original 2010)

I love fall in Seattle. What can I compare it to for those who haven't experienced it, or who don't feel the change of seasons? I walked around my neighborhood tonight, and the air was filled with the smell of burning leaves, there was a slight chill, but it was far from being cold. My only wish is that the fall could last longer before the long, dark days of winter. Why can't the sun filter through the bright red and orange leaves just a bit longer before the dark clouds cover the sky making it hard to face another day?

I haven't written for awhile, not for lack of things to write, but I have been pondering the direction of my blog. What is my purpose? I could go on talking about the weather, but that is just breaking the ice. I have never been good at small talk, and when I write about surface things, I don't feel like I am being true to who I am, or what I really want to express.

I believe everyone has a story worth sharing, and from an early age, I have wanted to write mine. The only issue I had was that I have not always liked the story I have been given, and yet this is the one I have. At 45 years of age, I am finally learning to stop comparing, and start living out God's plan for me. It looks so different from what I would have imagined, and yet I can say it is better than anything I would have dreamed up on my own.

Because my life story contains words like mental illness (bipolar), divorce, and others that either have a stigma attached, or are a result of bad decisions I have made, I tend to want to hide those elements on a shelf of non-disclosure while writing only about what I want people to see, which is what makes me look good. The more I interact with people, however, the more I understand that we are all broken, and we all have things we wish we could change.

My story is also filled with hope I find in my relationship with Christ. Without that, I would have nothing. After much thought about my blog, and where I want to take it, I have decided to be more transparent, and my hope is to encourage others through my story, and how God is there during both good times and bad.

When the sun is shining, and the weather is beautiful, I feel invigorated.. filled with hope. When the days are dark, I feel the opposite; sometimes hopeless. Many people in Seattle suffer from this kind of depression during the winter. Mine is a bit more extreme due to my illness, so I have to be intentional about filling my mind with things that are true, and doing things that will be beneficial to my health.

The other day, I was reading Psalm 119:28-29. "I weep with sorrow; encourage me by your word. Keep me from lying to myself; give me the privilege of knowing your instructions."

I have not been able to forget these words. This tells me that God sees my tears when I am hurting, and he is there to encourage me. I also have a responsibility to constantly feed myself thoughts that are true.

Blessings to you if you are reading. Thank you for taking the time to know me!