Tag Archives: depression

Bouncing Back

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Writing has always come easy to me. It’s been a way to get my feelings out
and move on. Lately I have been frozen, not able to articulate much of
anything.

If you’ve followed my journey and the trials of living with someone with
memory loss, then you’ve known the struggles. It was probably obvious to
everyone but me I wasn’t handling it well. I was plowing through. Reacting,
reacting, reacting.

After my husband went into memory care in late November, it was followed by
both of us getting Covid, and for ten days we were both sequestered in our
separate apartments. It gave me some respite, but it wasn’t enough. I thought I
was fine, but I was pretending.

In the middle of January, I had to move out of the senior living community
where my husband was in the memory care section. It meant more packing. It felt
like all I had done during the past eight months was pack. The move went smoothly,
and I now live in a small, peaceful, cute apartment with others my age. My body
did not react well to the peace or the change. As long as things were chaotic,
I could seem to hold it together, but my mind didn’t know what to do with the
peace.

I hadn’t been eating well in a long time. I wasn’t hungry and my throat,
chest and stomach tightened when I thought of eating. The one thing I had going
for me was that I slept soundly at night until about a week after I moved.

I woke up in the middle of the night with a tight chest, feeling like I
needed to burp but couldn’t, and experiencing wanting to jump out of my skin.
Crying all the time was easy. I finally realized I needed help. I couldn’t go
on pretending I was alright, though I was probably the only one that thought
that. My daughter took me to the ER. No, I wasn’t having a heart attack; I was
having a panic attack and severe acid reflux. Basically, I was having a
meltdown.

For the past twenty years, I had been on anxiety medication and medication
for my stomach, but those medications were stopped in October. I foolishly
thought I could do without it during the most stressful period of my life.

Because of my up and down anxiety about our situation, I alienated some of
my family. They couldn’t deal with our drama and if you know me, in good times
I am a dramatic person, so multiply that when I am depressed and anxious.
Knowing this only added to my anxiety and depression. And yet, though I knew
those facts, I didn’t seek help. There was no time in the drama of my life to
do that for me.

The silence of being in a new place after my diagnosis in the ER was a
blessing. My doctor said I was exhausted. I needed rest. Some days I would just
sit on my bed, close my eyes, listen to the silence and breathe. It was all I
could do. The thought of making myself food or paying a bill, doing any cleaning,
and even going downstairs to get the mail was too much. I felt frozen.

After the first week on medication, I was slightly better, although the meds
were messing with my stomach, so I decided I needed to try to do something. My
anxiety and stomach were still yelling at me. I would tell myself: “At 1:00 I’m
going to clean the bathroom.” I’d clean the bathroom and go right back to my
bed to breathe. At 2:00 I’d complete another small task. Surprisingly, I got
quite a bit done this way. Eventually I would have shorter intervals.

Little by little and another change of medication so my stomach wasn’t so
wonky, I am improving. I can go down to coffee, visit my husband and even make
it to Menards with a friend to find curtains for my window without shaking or
feeling I want to run and hide. I’m taking it slow.

For some reason we think we can do it all. Maybe it’s the media telling us
we can do it all. Maybe it’s our stubbornness that we don’t admit we need help
to navigate the hard times in life. It could be we listen to the voices that
have never walked in our shoes and don’t understand, making that known with
their words, and we hear those voices the loudest. It could also be we were
taught to show any weakness is shameful. Growing up in the 50s many times
parents would warn us when we were crying: “You want something to cry about?
I’ll give you something to cry about.” Tears were not accepted, especially for
men.

As a result, many of us oldsters hide what is happening. Wisdom comes with
age and experiences. I absolutely was not the most understanding daughter with
my mom when my dad died. I was 20, newly married with a baby on the way and so
I didn’t understand what a loss it was to her. I was too mired in me. When she
got dementia, at first, I ignored it. I didn’t know how to deal with it.
Because of this I understand the younger generation not understanding our aging
process.

Healing from mental health and physical problems is a journey. Each person’s
timeline is different and whatever they are feeling is real to them and
shouldn’t be compared to our own journey. We need to not judge mental health
issues and embrace supporting those we know whether we understand or not. When
you are in the midst of angst it’s hard to find your way to the resources
available and then navigate the muddy road of the process of organizations.
That’s where the support of friends and family comes in, finding the resources
and gently pointing us to better health while listening and being patient.

I again can laugh and see light in the future. Prayer and family and
friends, along with the medical community, are walking the steps with me. They
are proof angels still exist. I am sharing so those who feel hopeless know life
can be good again. I’m getting there. Find your angels. They are there if you
share your struggle. And you might find them where you least expect it. I did.

Have You Found Your Calling?

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Depression is real. It is a hopeless feeling that wells up inside of you and takes over rational thought putting fears, doubt, and paranoia inside of you so that you want the pain to stop.

I know, for me, when I feel anxious, sad and overwhelmed, if I keep on the path of those feelings the endless depression will overwhelm me. Occasionally my remedy is going to bed for a day and confronting it. It is the only thing which starts me back on my journey to being able to smile and see the light.

I wasn’t feeling good this weekend and I tried to decipher if it was a real illness, meaning my stomach picked up a bug, or if my feelings of being overwhelmed with responsibility were the cause of my stomach and my tears of sadness.

I turned on meditation music and gave myself permission to wallow in bed. At first thoughts of all the things I needed to do kept churning in my mind. Did I really have to do any of them or was it my expectations that were stealing my peace? As I wandered through my life’s experiences and memories—I’m a firm believer in learning from your past to go forward to your future—I knew what was causing me to be on the edge when it came to expectations this time. I will save that for another time but what did hit me in this day of rest and meditation was the “calling.”

What was my calling? And was that part of my anxiety? We hear the question all the time from our churches, from the media, from friends and from strangers. Self-help gurus, some very good ones, promote all of us to find our calling. And our churches ask us continually “What has God called you to do?”

If I read the news first thing in the morning we have a constant bombardment from the news headlines and almost every headline has the word Trump in it, for or against. Almost every headline has a disaster in it.

My cell phone updates frequently warn about the winter storm warnings or the flood warnings. A plane crashed, kids are hungry and illegal immigrant children are being kept from their parents and mistreated. The Social Media tells us if you’re a Republican you are supposed to be upset or hate Democrats and if are a Democrat you are supposed to be against and hate Republicans.

We feel helpless in the midst of all of this chaos. So not only are we supposed to find our calling we are supposed to find it in the mess we are bombarded with everyday.

There are so many volunteers needed everywhere. I have friends that spend their lives giving and giving and giving. They are busy 24-7. Not only do these people spend their time volunteering, they also have to juggle taking care of their family and spending time with them in the midst of the good things they are doing. Have they found their calling? I often wonder about how they keep up, or do they have to make those difficult choices for society over family? I remember at times being too busy volunteering to have time to help someone in my family.

What about parents who have to run with their children, work a full time job, and still expect or are expected to be the ever present volunteer to make the world better for their kids. Have they found their calling?

I lay in my bed this past weekend pondering these questions. I do think too much. It is hard for me to just be. I pondered these questions because I felt guilty being down and depressed when so many others are spending their time helping others. How do they take care of themselves so they can give back to others?

I know we need to stop hunger, stop global warming, stop sex trafficking, stop gun violence, stop ignoring the elderly and their needs, feed the homeless and the list goes on and on and on. I know we need to raise a next generation that is respectful and responsible. These are all things I know. I read the headlines and the list seems impossible because inside all those headlines we aren’t given any good news.

I don’t know about you—these things bother me because I can’t do anything about any of it—but if I am called to do something as everyone tells me, what am I called to do? It seems when people preach or bellow about our calling they always want to make us think if we aren’t doing something out there for the world to see we are failing. We are drug down to believe rest or being busy is laziness and failure. We have to be on the move all the time. Is this what we are teaching our youngsters? Nothing we ever do is good enough in the eyes of the world.

My sister-in-law, who lived states away, years ago came to visit my mother-in-law who was in a nursing home. After visiting, my sister-in-law came to my home and told me I was called to bring my mother-in-law out of the nursing home into our home and take care of her. I felt guilty because I didn’t want to do that. Was that my call and I was ignoring it? That time I was at a good place in my life and I knew just because we had a responsibility we needed to do or had a responsibility that we could do, didn’t mean that was what I was called to do. We all do things because we need to do them. We all do things because we might be good at it. That doesn’t mean it is our calling. At least I at the time, didn’t feel like that was my calling.

As I took care of me on this lazy weekend day I felt guilty for taking the time to get it together. In reality, if someone would have asked me to do something for them that day I probably would have said yes and put my “me” day on hold. And it would have been because I have been programed to put myself second and so have many people.

The day did me good. I, in my head, know if I don’t take care of me, I can’t take care of anyone else. But yet…what is my calling? Should I feel guilty because I don’t know?

What if I said, after my day of rest that I do know what my calling is NOT. I am not called to make another person feel bad. I am not called to use my words in a way that will degenerate another living human being. I am not called to hate. I am not called to judge. I am not called to be cruel.

I don’t know what my calling is. I don’t know if I need one. If I stick to what I know I am not called to do, would that be enough? If all of us did that, would we need all the venues we need today to combat those things?

Perhaps our calling is the gift God gave us when he gave us our magnificent bodies and what we are called to do is to take care of them, and then the rest will all fall into place because we will be peaceful and whole.

Perhaps all we really are called to do is to love one another. Rather than being confused about all the material and societal mores to live up to, we could rest in our journey if we felt love from others, for others, and for ourselves. Wouldn’t the headlines be fun to read each morning? In spite of whatever is happening in our lives whether it showing others who we truly are, weathering storms, the personal and the weather related, love would get us through.

I’m Catholic—-Wait, I’m Lutheran—-Wait!

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Chapter Three: I Am The Sum of My Ancestors

I grew up in a staunch Catholic family, kind of. One part of my family, my mother’s side, was Catholic. My dad was United Brethren which then merged with the Methodist Church in my community. My dad’s family had Baptist, Assembly of God and even Jehovah Witnesses on his side.

I remember the first time I met a Jehovah Witness cousin from California. I was a teen and I was a little scared from what I had been taught from my Catholic roots but she was just like me and religion didn’t stand in the way of our friendship. I couldn’t figure out why I should be scared of her because she was from another religion that was not accepted in our Southern Minnesota culture.

I was taught the Catholic Church was the one true church and we were only ones that would get into heaven. I went to a strict Catholic School and having a sensitive spirit I was terrified of the nuns except maybe one or two. Their punishments could be hurtful. And I was terrified of sin and the repercussions. Which we still should be now. Sin is not exclusive to Catholics.

Although confession I thought was interesting. We were taught me to say “Bless me father for I have sinned” and then recite how many times we lied or disobeyed etc. from our last confession and then the Priest could give us absolution. I always guessed the number of times I did something because who kept count and as a child who could remember. And I never felt any better after I left the confessional. I always worried when I went to communion that I maybe shouldn’t go because I left something out. We also had to fast before communion and it was hard to make sure I didn’t eat the specified number of time before communion and what would people think if you didn’t go to communion?

It was also a sin to not go to church on Sundays so unless I was sick, Sunday Church was a weekly occasion along with Mass every morning when I attended Catholic School. When I was young the Mass was in Latin and I didn’t understand a word. It was a mysterious ceremony and then in school, we learned to sing in Latin. Again, mysterious words to a second and third grader.

There were many strict rules. And we learned many prayers which I still say today, at least the ones I feel move me spiritually. I feel that was a good thing. We were told never to question. And…I could never go to church with my father because he was Methodist and it would be a sin.

I always felt that loss of going to church as a family. There is something that connects us when we worship together as a family.

During my teenage years, my outlook on religion made me begin to question my Catholic roots but I did so silently. In my various high school activities, I met a Pastor at another church and I liked what he stood for and how he interacted with the teenagers at his church.

We used to have what was called Release Time on Wednesdays where we would leave school for an hour for religious instruction. The Lutheran Church had some good discussion topics pertaining to what as teenagers we were going through. Some of us skipped our Catholic instruction from time to time to go to Release Time at the Lutheran Church with our friends because they were giving us answers and help with our teenage angst. It was a little sign of my first rebellion. And I might add in those days you had to have a note to stay in school and not go. Times have changed.

Next Blog: My Lutheran Journey