Something for me.

A number of years ago I made a weekly drive to Lansing, driving just over one hour to be somewhere for just over two hours only to drive just over one hour back home. I did it because it was something for me. It was something I loved, something that drove me. Something that made me feel like I was making some sort of difference in someone's world.

It was Ele's Place. It was a place where kids who were grieving the death of someone significant in their lives could gather to be human again. It was a place for them, and it was a place for me. I volunteered there one night each week for a bit better than one year. And then I got pregnant with my oldest daughter, and it no longer made sense for me to make the drive. I cried when I left.

Yesterday, my sister asked me how things were going for me right now. First she asked in code, and then she spelled it out: Have you been feeling depressed again? She said, "Because you seem more chipper."

Having recently written about it, I had a quick and easy answer for her. Fish oil pills.

Then I had a longer answer for her, one that took us most of the way from Grand Rapids to Muskegon. I explained the Omega 3s, which I really do believe are making a difference. I also explained this blog and my 20 November posts. I told her that I believe that the time I have taken each day to type out some thoughts--no matter how random or how low the quality--has made a huge impact on my life. Dear Writer Friend said that it is quantity not quality, but I have to say that this quantity leads to a completely different kind of quality--quality of life.

As I was thinking about writing today, I thought about my mindset when I started this whole November thing. I knew that there were people who regularly check my blog to see the ramblings of a self-proclaimed FunnyWriterMommy, and they often teased me for not writing more. (Maybe I should start a new blog: FunnyNONWriterCauseI'mAMommy!) So then I made this commitment to write every day of the month, and I wondered how the followers would grow and how many comments I would get. When I would log back on and see that I had none, I would feel a twinge of "Is it worth it?!"

I didn't volunteer at Ele's Place because I thought that any of those beautiful middle school students grieving the death of fathers, brothers, and grandfathers needed me for even one second. I volunteered there because I needed something for me. Some little corner of the world set aside for me. It was selfish, but I loved every minute of it. That's why I cried when it was gone.

So here I am. In the middle of a new corner of the world that was sitting here waiting for me--almost as soon as Ele's Place left and Ellie Grace arrived. I have gotten more followers, and I have gotten a number of comments. The comments encourage me, and I feel honored that people take the time to read what I think is important enough to get down on "paper."

But that's not what it's about anymore. This is about me. This is something for me. And the 20 minutes I get for this each day is making me sane for the 22 hours I give each day to everyone else. So comment if you want. I'm not writing for you. I'm writing for me, because it gets hard to hold on without this bit for me. But I'm happy to let you eavesdrop.

{Deep breath.}

Today was a slow down and breathe deeply sort of day in the world of parenting. Little One was up from 2:30-5:00. In the morning. Middle and Oldest were up by a bit after 6:00. Then, at 6:45, Little was up again. I know, because Middle shouted from her crib, "Mama! Addishun. Cah-ing."

So begins the day.

It didn't get too much better.

Days like this are very hard for me. They are also scary. I want so desperately to get through this without sinking into postpartum depression again.

The screener at the hospital met with me before I was discharged, because I am so high risk. I'm high risk for a number of reasons, but the two greatest are that I am a past sufferer and that I had an emotional pregnancy. To say the least. But I don't want to take meds again, and I don't want to sink deep again. I just don't. The screener recommended taking an Omega-3 supplement. Apparently there are links to Omega-3 and postpartum depression. Hey, I'll do whatever it takes. So I'm taking it. 2,000 mg a day. So far, so good.

But days like today set me back. They freak me out. They make me wonder if I'm sinking or if I'm drowning or if I'm just a little bit crazy.

I need to remember that three kids is a lot. Especially when one of them is only 3 1/2 weeks old. And the next one is nearly in her terrible 2s. And the oldest is only 4. Three kids--three girls--under 5 is quite a handful. Especially when one of them is up for 2 1/2 hours during the night, and the others wake up only 1 hour after I finally fall asleep.

It's a lot. For anyone. So I just keep taking my Fish Oil pills and my deep breaths. But it still freaks me out a bit.

Journey Through the Valley - Part Two

There was a time not long ago when nearly every smile that crossed my face was fake. It was also a time when my toddler's voice or my newborn's cry brought shivers only duplicated by fingernails on a chalkboard. The ringing phone caused me to sink deeper into my chair, and I longed for someone else to take the children that looked like me but couldn't possibly be mine to bed so that I could be alone.

Today is a winding road
It's taking me to places that I didn't want to go
Today in the blink of an eye
I'm holding on to something
And I do not know why I tried
I tried to read between the lines
I tried to look into your eyes
I want a simple explanation
For what I'm feeling inside
I gotta find a way out
Maybe there's a way out

It was a dark time. I didn't know where I was or why, but I was quite certain that I would stay there forever. I couldn't figure out why I rarely felt connected to either child that I knew I loved . . . except when I did, and then it was obsessive. I was fine to let everyone, anyone, care for my girls . . . except when I wasn't, and then I was obsessive. I couldn't stay awake, but when I slept I couldn't rest. I was mean. I was ugly. And I didn't care a bit. About anything. And I figured no one else did either.

Except there were some who did, some who noticed. I thank God daily for those people. Without whom I would still be in my chair, not caring, going through the motions that I wished belonged to someone else. I wouldn't be me.

Postpartum depression. Really? Because I'm certain that only happens to other people. Depression is such a strong word. It doesn't really define me. But then again "a mental state characterized by a pessimistic feeling of inadequacy and a despondent lack of activity" certainly sounds like me. Sadness? Check. Hopelessness? Check. Low self-esteem? Check. Sleep disturbances? Check. Exhaustion, emptiness, inability to enjoy things one previously enjoyed, social withdrawal, low energy, becoming easily frustrated? Check, check, check, check, check, and check.

Okay. Deep breath. Maybe it's true.

Today is a winding road, tell me where to start
And tell me something I don't know
Today I'm on my own, I can't move a muscle
And I can't pick up the phone, I don't know
And now I'm itching for the tall grass
And longing for the breeze
I need to step outside
Just to see if I can breathe
I gotta find a way out
Maybe there's a way out

It's interesting that Webster's defines depression as "a falling in of the surface; a sinking below its true place," because I think that there is nothing that describes it better. I felt like I wasn't myself, and I wasn't. I had truly sunk below my true place as a wife, a mother, a friend, a valued person.

Yeah, I'm walking on a tightrope
I'm wrapped up in vines, I think we'll make it out
But you just gotta give me time
Strike me down with lightning
Let me feel you in my veins
I wanna let you know how much I feel your pain

Today my smiles are genuine. Today my daughters' voices are beautiful. Today I remember how to laugh. When the days get bad, I remember that day lying on the bed in Mackinaw City when I laughed, really laughed, as I was being smothered in "tickle kisses" from my patient husband and my beautiful toddler. It was a long time in coming, and I know it wouldn't have come without medicine and therapy.

I never wanted to be a medicine taker. I hate the idea. Maybe I'll talk about it more in a post on a different day, but I'll confess to being scared, nearly panicked, about starting an antidepressant. But I knew that it might help lift me back up to my true place and I had to find a way out, so I did. And it remains one of the best decisions I've ever made.

Oh, Ellie and Meggie. We've come so far. You are my beautiful girls.

Your voice
[Is] the soundtrack of my summer
Do you know you're unlike any other
And you'll always be my thunder
[My girls], your eyes
Are the brightest of all the colors
I don't wanna ever love another
You'll always be my thunder
So bring on the rain
Oh, baby bring on the pain
And listen to the thunder

Song lyrics from "Thunder" by Boys Like Girls, quoted here for my daughters.