Treatment.

I've been wanting to write about this for awhile now. But before I start, please know this isn't a discussion I am opening up, I'm not looking for advise. But if you would like to bare witness to my experience, and learn about one person's struggle fighting depression, then you are welcome here. Thank you.

I've been fighting this depression so hard, and I've been getting a lot of treatment for it. I have family supporting me, being there for me, cooking my family meals, going out of their way to listen to me. I've been going to therapy every week, and I have an incredible therapist who I trust. I am also using anti-depressants to fight this.

And there it is.

There's a lot of stigma around anti-depressants. We joke around about Zoloft, or about the anti anxiety med Zanax. You might not know how they effect people, so you might assume, like I once did, that they just make you happy. 

There's also talk that they make you suicidal, and that people who commit mass shootings are on anti-depressants. There are lots of things that might be assumed about anti-depressants, but if you've never had to make the difficult decision to take them, please from now on, just assume you don't know. And if you chose to make jokes about them think about how it might affect someone who has made the difficult decision to use them.

This is my experience, but what I know is that every person's experience with depression is very different. In fact, I have a hard time relating to other people with depression because our stories are always so different.

Anyways. When I realized I had depression I knew I had to get rid of it, like as soon as possible. For myself, for my baby and husband. I needed it gone. It's so heavy and painful. I went to see a psychiatric nurse practitioner. She is my therapist, and she also prescribes medications. I knew going to therapy would help, but it was obvious to me I needed help from medication.

So I started on Zoloft. I hated it. It had awful side effects, it helped my mood, but I couldn't deal with the side effects. So I switched to a different anti-depressant. It took a while to adjust to it, and then I found that it didn't really help me. I tried a different dose, no dice. So I switched again.

After every medication that didn't work for me I asked myself: is it worth it? To keep trying all these weird meds that I've never needed or tried before with potentially weird side effects? Is it worth it?

For me, the answer was and is yes. Because I hate being stuck to the mattress and not being able to play with my son. Because I deserve to not hate myself to the point of self loathing. Because God created life to be joyful, hard yes, but joyful. I am thankful God has given us knowledge of medicine and science. I am thankful God created our souls and there is a phycology to our minds. I'm thankful that I have support from my village, my meds, and my therapist to get to the bottom of this and kick this depression to the curb. 

It's intense making all these decisions. It's difficult, but on the good days I can tell I'm doing a good job. I see the future and it feels warm and happy. On the good days I feel proud of myself and it gives me hope.

December was really rough. I had a handful of ok days, and I'm starting to feel better. I'm getting used to a new med and I'm getting used to how it feels and how it's effecting me. Sometimes it makes me feel very... Surface level. As if I'm sitting in a glass bottom boat and I can look into the depths and see all there is going on below me, but I can't feel it. Like I can't reach down and feel anything even though I know it's there. It makes it hard to write. Which sucks. But sometimes I know it's helping me. And I know I shouldn't be down there feeling everything all the time anyways. 

It's scary because I will likely have to switch again. My cabinet is filled with all these pills that didn't work for me. I'm afraid of adjusting to a new one, but I remember how freaking horrible I feel when meds aren't helping me at all. I don't enjoy feeling so shallow, and spacey, but I enjoy being able to function on some level.

It rips my heart out. I never knew this battle would be so difficult.

There it is. See? This is awful and hard, but I'm doing it. It is complicated, smudged up here and there. I'm fighting the stigma. I'm constantly trying not to be hurt by well meaning, but still very hurtful things people say to me to try and help (bonus tip: you don't actually have to say anything.)

Depression is so different then I ever imagined it to be. Be gentle with those who are hurting, and don't be so quick with advise(there are experts for that.) A hug or a smile is usually more helpful anyways.

Thank you for hearing me out and witnessing my experience.

Weighted

I imagine I would just fold into the wind. Just evaporate straight into heaven. I'd make a better memory then I would a person I think. They would remember the words I wrote and how I loved. And that way I wouldn't be stuck hating myself constantly. I wouldn't be stuck in this broken body that crumples into itself when I need to be strong.

I've done enough and everyone knows me. And if not for this boy I think I would float away. I could never ever part from him. There would never ever be a me that would be able to separate from him. If I folded to the wind my heart would ache for him even in my death. He's my boy. My wonderful, sweet, perfect child, and at times he is the only thing holding me here, but my love for him is heavy, so incredibly heavy, and it will weigh me to the earth through all the waves.

Tiring days

Today I made myself get out of the house. I've been really struggling with doing this, and I'm not sure why. My therapist asked me to write down the thoughts that were preventing me from leaving so that we could trouble shoot next week. I did so when I was getting ready, and I had a list that was much longer than I thought it would be.

I should have left the house on a week day, but today just happens to be Saturday, and it was so busy in town. 

I went to a clothing store, and then I went to the mall. I also went to Willamette Valley Fruit company where we found some pumpkins for Moose to play with.

It was very stressful being in public. I felt invisible, and embarrassed about my own presence. As if everyone knew I was terrified. I just wanted to sink away.

The way home was about 25 minutes of my poor boy screaming. He won't nurse in public anymore. He gets too distracted, no matter where I try to hide us. So when we went home I think he realized how hungry he was. It's so hard listening to him cry. 

When we got home he took a nap and I tried to talk myself down. I'm feeling like a failure. It's very frustrating not being able to do simple things that normally would be easy. I'm feeling like I need to spend ten days in hibernation. It's terrifying that we will be gone all day tomorrow. 

I'm also dealing with side effects from A medication and Moose and I both woke up with head colds. My immune system is good for nothing, and I've been sleeping terribly.

A GOOD day.

I am laying in bed, reflecting on my day like I always do. Turning over conversations and emotions and seeing what's here. I got up with my Moose, had coffee and breakfast and he actually enjoyed eating solids with me.

He took a nap, dad came home, and I got a kiss and a hug. We got out of the house, went to Target. Got a car seat, which came with a gift card, so I could also buy a sweater for our pictures on Sunday. Ran into two people we knew in town. Came home and I got to read the car seat manual (I love doing that) then I installed it.

We made mac and cheese for dinner, and watched our favorite show and played with our sweet happy boy. 

We all bathed and put on our jammies and my little boy fell asleep so peacefully on my chest in no time at all.

I had a good day.

At no point did I want to cry, and hide away. I didn't have to talk me out of hating myself. I didn't feel worthless today. Today was just good. 

I'm thankful for today, and for this break from the waves. I have been fighting for this feeling. For laying down at night without having to negotiate all of the hell my mind had traveled through during the day. I can just lay here and relish in this victory. I know I'll have more hard days to come, but this, this is so good.

Getting derailed

It seems like I'll never settle into these new bones. I don't feel like I can relate to who I was two months ago. Or even ten minutes ago. I feel completely different. As if I had amnesia and everyone expects me to be the person I was and I don't know who that person was. 

My mind flows like the tide. One minute hopeful and the next minute trying to avoid thinking about anything. Trying to identify the voice saying I suck at life as the depression. Trying not to dwell on how much I hate myself in those moments. Just trying to make it till the tide comes back around.

It seems as though I'll feel like I'm getting ahead and getting better. But then it really doesn't take much to derail me. Just a penny on a track is all it takes. 

I try to go through the motions even when I feel like burrowing beneath the earth and hiding. I'll get up and clean and make dinner and maybe leave the house. I try to do what I would want to do if I weren't feeling like a pile of poo. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it makes me feel like a fraud. 

My sweet perfect baby boy is teething. He's got drool coming out like a faucet, and he is biting the shit out of my nipple. It freaking hurts, but I don't think he will ever stop doing it. He only gets more upset when I put him down. Breastfeeding is hard, but being a baby is way harder. I think I'm going to get myself a "breastfeeding for a year" present because my boobs have gone through a lot and this shit is hard freaking work and I deserve it. I wish I would have counted how many nursing sessions Moose has had. I think I'll ask God when I get to heaven. And I'll thank him for being able to do it. Even though I keep getting bitten. 

He's still the best most sweetest Moose ever. I love him more than anything.

Settling in

I hate making titles to my posts. But I can't post without a title. Balls.

Balls. My friend from high school used to say that and it always makes me laugh.

Anyways. This morning was so good. Then it got bad. And it's funny. Because I thought it was like a cold. It just disappears one day. Not the case! It's not even one day at a time. It's one hour at a time. It's so frustrating. I just want to feel better already. I'm over it. I hate this. I want to breath and dance and enjoy mundane things. 

This is so hard. 

Thank you to my family who is still carrying me through this. To those who love me and are showing up for me. I'm leaning on you and you are strong for me. Thank you.

Settling in

I hate making titles to my posts. But I can't post without a title. Balls.

Balls. My friend from high school used to say that and it always makes me laugh.

Anyways. This morning was so good. Then it got bad. And it's funny. Because I thought it was like a cold. It just disappears one day. Not the case! It's not even one day at a time. It's one hour at a time. It's so frustrating. I just want to feel better already. I'm over it. I hate this. I want to breath and dance and enjoy mundane things. 

This is so hard. 

Thank you to my family who is still carrying me through this. To those who love me and are showing up for me. I'm leaning on you and you are strong for me. Thank you.

I can breath today

Parts of yesterday (before an incident ruined it) and today I've felt more light than I have in weeks. I feel like joy is just right there for me. It's not hidden and buried too deeply for me to be able to touch. 

I think the reason being is a few things. I think my medication is starting to work. And if you've never used antidepressants please don't assume you know how they work. Also I have been going to therapy twice weekly and my session on Friday was very enlightening. It was very very very hard to process. But it gave me hope and some understanding. And I'm so grateful for my therapist who has helped me uncover things that I would have never figured out in a million years. 

If I were to try to sum up what I learned... It would be: I have a voice and my voice is valid and my voice is ok. I need to use my voice instead of stuffing it away in fear of how it will be received. I cannot control how people receive my voice, but that isn't my responsibility, and I cannot guess how they will respond.

My relationships with my family and friends are the number one most important thing to me. I have been trying to create peace for everyone and a lot of times that has meant stifling my voice. I do this with my husband, my in laws, my family, pretty much everyone. What I know as truth is that it doesn't have to be this way, and we can all have loving fulfilling relationships, where I don't have to choke myself out of speaking. 

It's hard for me to imagine how that is possible. But I have hope I will figure it out with help. I should also say no one but me has squashed my voice. At some point I decided things flowed smoother without my opinion and I know now that isn't healthy.

That being said. I'm protecting myself from people who are hurtful to me and my family. And I'm trying to speak my words as they come so I don't bottle them until they come out screaming.

Today I am hopeful. Today I'm thankful that God has given me people in my life who love me so much and have been so helpful in getting me the help I need. Today is going to be a good day. Uriah and I are trying to make friends with our horsey neighbor, but we do not know his name. And I have no idea how you call a horse over to you. So far "here boy!" Isn't working.

Mucking through it.

Today got started much too early. We drove up to Salem at 6:30 and signed some stuff, then went to our new house and looked stuff over. It was clean and empty and ready to be filled with little erg big Moose messes from room to room. It felt like it could be home very easily. But my body felt like it was dying.

I'm so embarrassed that this is so hard for me. People do this all the time. People move, people work through their problems and they manage. I cannot do that right now, and I'm trying to give myself grace, I'm trying, but it's so freaking hard. 

I've been going to therapy twice a week. And I think I get why I've found myself here, but recovering from this seems IMPOSSIBLE. I don't even know what recovery would look like and it's terrifying. It seems like too much work to get there. It seems like it's unattainable. I feel like I would be a different person.

I had a really intense therapy session today. I wasn't expecting it at all. It kind of rocked me and I'm still trying to process what happened. 

Essentially. I've lost my voice. Which sounds crazy, because I am proud of the words I can write. But I've been struggling with speaking lately. Words don't come to my tongue when I need them to. I try to make humor and I can't deliver it. It's rough. I want to be able to talk freely again. I want to be able to talk to people about what's going on. But the words don't come. I can barely make conversation some times. It's embarrassing and excruciating. It makes me want to hide and sleep. I feel trapped in this body that can't feel alive and well. It shouldn't be this hard. 

Anger

The past few days I've been at or in between anger at other people and hating myself. I've always hated being angry. I don't know what to do with anger and I've always thought anger is bad, or selfish so I try to stay away from it.

My therapist pointed out that there is a good reason why we have anger and that it is ok to be angry.

Stop right there. It's ok for me to be angry. See it still sounds strange for me to say that. 

She also told me that depression only sees black or white. And I'm struggling with that as well. Everything feels very wrong or very right and I'm trying to tell myself it isn't that simple. 

I feel very fortunate for all of the people who have reached out to me saying they are thinking about me and that they have been there as well. I feel like the number of people who love me and support me should be the only "cure" I need. Just knowing that so many people love me and love my family should be enough for me. And I feel selfish that every day is still so damn hard. Like I'm not feeling the love enough. Admitting this makes me hate myself and resent myself. I feel like a fraud because there are so many loved ones wanting to help and I have nothing to tell them. I struggle with not wanting to be alone and at the same time having anxiety around my friends and family because I don't know what to do with my face which emotion to display. And how to avoid talking about how I've been. I don't want to lie, but I know most people don't know how to respond to me if I were to be completely honest. 

I'm going back and forth on whether or not to delete my fb for awhile. On one hand it brings me joy to see pictures of everyone and their families and pets. On the other hand there are things that pop up that make me want to throw up. News articles and well intended but extremely awful blogs making me feel worse about my depression because at least I have a baby. It's a gamble.

The battle

Here I am. Sitting on the floor. Trying to scrape up a story about how I got here. But the truth is I don't really know.

I know there is a lot of things occupying my space. A lot of riddles I've been trying to solve. But very suddenly I found myself spun out. I can't cope anymore. I'm hurting because I feel shut off and incapable of doing really anything. I wish I was strong and I wish I could soldier on. I can't though. I don't even know how I used to do it. I'm feeling helpless and I feel like I will be here forever. I don't know how to recover from this.

This is very foreign to me. But it just hurts. I know I'm not the support that I could be right now, to my husband, to my son, my family and my friends. It hurts that I can't talk about things with them because it hurts me to try to force words out.

It is unbearable not being able to express myself. To describe how I'm feeling. To work through challenges. It's crippling. I don't feel like myself. I feel like a fraud in my marriage because I'm not who I am supposed to be right now. I can't get away from the guilt and the feeling of failure no matter how many people tell me otherwise. 

I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

I hate even writing this because I don't want to burden anyone else with this weight. 

I'll just continue to push through somehow. I don't know what that looks like. But I'll keep trying.

My attempt at writing.

This is really scary for me. I'm going to try to tell you what's going on right now. I'm going to try to write it down. Even though it sucks. If you were to see my thoughts you would see a lot of dead ends. When I try to do something that is even a little tricky I just shut down. I can't think. I couldn't make dinner.

I didn't know where to start. I couldn't do it. I couldn't make my brain move my hands to start doing something. It just shut down and closed up and I froze. Couldn't do it.

I tried to talk to my sister today. I tried to tell her. But I just kept saying I don't know. I would start talking about what was hurting me but then I couldn't. Pause after pause. The words wouldn't even come to my mouth when I needed them to tell someone what I was feeling.

It kinda feels like nothing I guess. My brain won't let me go anywhere. It just shuts down. It can't figure it out so it doesn't try. I guess. 

I tried to call my mom and I tried to read an email. It was painful and I felt like an idiot trying to talk normally. 

I can't express myself. I can't speak well right now. Writing is better. 

I've never felt like this before and it scares the shit out of me. I don't know what to expect, but I want it to stop. And I just keep thinking I'll wake up and be able to feel again and think logically. 

I think this isn't what I expected it to feel like. It's worse than sad. It just sucks and any attempt at handling any situation is a failure. My brain won't let me go there. I don't want to go there because I can't figure it out. Dead ends everywhere. I just want to fix it and write about what's troubling me. But I can't cope. No cope left here.

I'm thankful for all the support from my friends and family. I'm thankful for all the love and cute and funny pictures today. I'm thankful for all the people reaching out sending me messages. 

They make me smile, and I'm appreciative. They were perfect escapes from the dead ends. I feel so blessed that you all love me and want to help. I smiled so much more today because of you. I felt a little closer to happy today because of you. I felt like there is happy out there and you all have it and I'll get it to and it made it feel tangible. Seeing you all love your kids and cats and dogs and have good days. It was good. I know I'll have those good days and feel that peace again. I wish it was easier to get there. I wish there was another way. But you guys made it tangible. I am loved and carried by you all when I can't feel it for myself. So thank you for sharing. I feel horribly exposed knowing you know, but I know you guys can help me better this way. And even though I'm trying to be transparent, I really don't want to talk about it. It makes me very uncomfortable. I am supposed to have an appointment tomorrow. It's supposed to be 90 minutes and I don't think I can make enough words to last that long. I imagine wanting to disappear into the wall so I don't have to talk about it. I really don't want to. I can't deal with what is going on and I'd rather just ignore it and push it further away. 

And by the way "it" all these things i need to deal with. They are nothing. Mundane things that I can't handle. And it makes me angry and very frustrated that I can't handle it. It makes me hate myself.

And when I start to feel like I hate myself I try to turn around and that's where the dead end leaves me. And that's why I know I need help. I know I'm a decent person. I don't enjoy feeling this way. But at the same time I don't want to deal with it. Because I can't. I just can't.

So that's the ugly. I think when I feel better I'll want to have conversations about it. But that's where I'm at.

Anxiety Sucks.

Looking back at those first few weeks... Well I guess those first few months even. I wish I could go back. 

I wish I could go back and brush off the layers of fear that I experienced everything through. I remember bathing my tiny baby wrecked with anxiety his head would go under or I'd hit his head on the faucet. I was afraid to leave the house, knowing he would cry in the car, knowing I just couldn't bare it. I couldn't bare him crying for me and not being able to comfort him. Bed time was an obsessive panic dance instead of a relaxing time in the evening. 

Absolutely everything was covered in a quiet panic. "New moms just worry a lot." As if it was just worry. I don't think I felt safe for ten minutes for the entire first 4 months of his life. 

I wish I could go back and experience having a newborn without feeling like something horrendous was about to happen every second. It makes me frustrated that the anxiety will always be apart of my memory of my sweet boy's newborn phase. 

I'll try to come to peace with it. I'm not sure how. But I'll try.

This is (9 months) postpartum

He jabbers on about his dreams last night  in that soft and wise voice that my son has.
"Ah bah bah baaaaah bah" he informs me as I'm wearing trails in the carpet, moving here to there in our small apartment.
The conversation grew quiet, and not in that peaceful way, like when we are staring into each other's eyes, discovering what's there. No, this was a mischievous quiet, one that is usually followed by the clang of the dog bowl tipping over. I find him around the corner of the bed with a wad of soggy paper in his mouth. I shake off the anxiety that tells me that paper is going to block him up for days. I scoop him up and pull the electric bill out of his mouth. The irony of my crazy baby eating my energy away is laughable. 
My coffee is hot, but if my calculations are correct it will only be the right temperature for approximately ten minutes and within those ten minutes there is a 70 percent chance Uriah is going to need to nurse... or shit his pants. That's what microwaves are for though, for the two to three ounces that will inevitably grow cold in my abandoned cup that I placed somewhere ridiculously high and pushed back on a shelf. Somewhere away from sticky fingers. When I do find my cup again, the microwave will be there for me.
Mornings are peaceful this way. Peaceful in a predictable way, not in a calm or relaxing sort of way. I probably won't shower, but if I do I'll probably have a baby in there with me, taking his time in tearing all the bottles of soap and shampoos off the shelf.
My stale hair actually does the "mom bun" better on day three of not getting washed. But it's all flopped over to the side, and the back of my hair fell out of the bun from yesterday. I gather it back up on top of my head again except this time I'll add a head band. There is a pile of hair on the floor from my postpartum hair loss that I have to pick up so it doesn't get picked up and eaten by the baby. The baby who doesn't like food, but does like eating hair.

Those hunger pains start hollering at me reminding me to eat. Usually the caffeine quiets them for awhile when I actually get to drink it. It's funny because before pregnancy if I would get hungry, I only really worry about myself suffering. When I am breastfeeding every meal is mandatory to keep up my milk supply. Then there is this lingering guilt when I only eat Rice Crispies for breakfast. There is nothing in there for me. Not for me and certainly not for Uriah. I know how important nutrition is for the both of us. I do my best, but when people comment on how much weight I've lost I know I should be rounder. The weight that does or doesn't cling to you isn't a health report, but an observer doesn't care about that anyways. 

This is nine months postpartum. This is a funny place where I still feel like a brand new mom and I still do brand new mom things, but my newborn crawls around and gets into trouble, and shouts "Mama" at me, and I beg him to slow down.

Rośe Conversations

My weight transfers from hip to hip as my eyes dart over, past the bottles of wine I stand behind. To my little boy playing on the lawn with his daddy.
I'm trying to tell my customers about the delicacy of the vanilla notes that dance across the rośe they are tasting. How can I bring up casually that the cute baby over there is mine? Though I feel like I'm covered in it, that new mom skin. It isn't so obvious to strangers. When my baby isn't right next to me, I feel this aching, nagging desire to identify myself as a mother. As if withholding such information is being misleading.
"Oh is that your baby over there?"
Thank goodness she finally asked.
"Yeah, that's my son! He's 9 months..." But I don't stop there. Suddenly I'm emmbarassed that I have to bring my baby to work with me. How do I explain the anxiety? How do I explain that I didn't really try to give him a bottle till recently, and now it's kinda too late. I stumble across my words, knowing it's too much information for someone I just met. For someone who just wanted to taste some wine.
"He won't take a bottle, and he is a busy boy, so he nurses every hour or so. He doesn't really like food either. So all those rolls, I made all of them. So he just comes with me everywhere." I spill.
It's the truth, it's a simple truth, but it sits awkwardly in my belly. I feel inconvenient to most everybody, but I feel so deeply connected to my son that it outweighs the inconvenience. He's 9 months, he only drinks from my breast, and he is always by my side.
I finish pouring the pinot noir, the Avelina, and our marechel foch, and bring the subject back to the weather, and how big our grapes will get this year.
"This weather is way too hot, but the grapes love it! They should be grateful they aren't breastfeeding every hour."
It slipped again, another breastfeeding comment. My confidence withers knowing my ability to make small talk has evaporated.
They bought a couple bottles of the rose though. So I must not have been too bad.

Gentleness

My Moose is growing older, more sweet, more passionate, just as babies should.
His daddy and I are already stretching our minds. How will we raise him to to thoughtful in his actions. It's obvious we have arrived at the time when he can see, feel, and react to what we show him.
So we have a lot of conversations about how we respond to him. When he's fussy. Is he just fussy? Or is he tired? Is he just lonely? Or does he have an intense curiosity about that plastic bag, so do I need to sit with him so he can play with it safely while I watch.
I've found he's usually never "just fussy." Which is both wonderful and challenging. It means that I have to be more present. I can't write off what he's feeling because I'm too involved with my phone, or the TV.
It's so hard listening to him when he tells me, "I'm tired, and I need held," or "I'm frustrated because I don't want to play alone."
When I choose to become a mother I wanted to be a mother who responded to all of his needs. Not just, hungry, or needs a diaper. It's exhausting, and I fail at it a lot, but I keep trying because I want my Moose to know im there for him through it all.
He's got a intensity about him, and when he plays, sometimes he plays too hard. He'll pinch and scratch and it hurts us. Our immediate reaction is to yell "NO." And put him down. But we thought about it, and how does anger encourage him to be gentle? So we rationalized that gentleness begets gentleness.
We slowly pick his fingers off our faces, take a deep breath, and say "gentle Uriah." We can still play without hurting.
It's harder when the day has been long, and the heat of the day has worn us thin. We are the adults though. We must reign in our feelings if we expect him to. That's why I have my husband, and he has me. To help each other through our emotions. To take over when the other just can't. Uriah has us, to help him through his emotions because 9 months is too young to understand those things.
I love our little boy so much. He's pure goodness. I try so hard to think critically about how we are raising him. And what we are showing him.
I'm thankful for my husband, who supports me so I have time to think through my actions. I'm thankful he gives me time to myself so I can take care of myself so there is more of me to give. He's a good husband. He's a good father.

Best Love Story Ever

The longer I'm married, the more I understand why God bound my heart to my husband's when I started dating Zach.
The Lord knows that I was in no place to be finding my husband when Zach and I met. To say that I was a mess at the time would be an understatement. I was even worried about myself at the time.
I was at a point where I recognized something needed to change, but I was entirely surrounded by the consequences of my mistakes, and no life experiences thus far had taught me how to pull myself up by myself. I was lost in shame and did not turn to the Lord because although I knew he was there, waiting and full of forgiveness, I had no faith in myself that I would stop my behavior. Why would I ask for forgiveness if I felt like I was doomed to make the same mistakes again.
I never stopped believing in the Lord, but I was at a point in my life when I was learning the heaviness of consequences from my mistakes, and this is something my church never could have prepared me for.
So when I met Zach, I knew the timing could not have been worse, but it didn't stop me from falling in love. I was attracted to him not because he made me laugh, though he did, but because of his loyalty to the people he cared about. Ironically, it was that same loyalty that drove us apart, but more importantly it brought us back together after our separation. I also loved the sense of adventure in him, I knew that life with him would never be dull.
Honestly, looking back, although those are great reasons to love a man, I think I loved him for reasons I didn't even understand. I have no idea how those qualities about him that I loved were enough to keep us together despite our bad relationship habits, but I knew two months into our relationship that he would be the man I married someday.
Our relationship was fun, exciting, and passionate, but most weekends were spent partying, and having drunken arguments about things that would never have existed had we been sober. But we would sober up,  make up, and do it again the next weekend. I think everything in us wanted to "live the life" and stay "wild and free" but for whatever reason we just needed each other despite all of that. I think we can thank God for that.
We stayed in this pattern for a long time, until it came to the point where it just had to stop. We were hurting each other too much, for the sake of the party. We broke up. It was ugly. I couldn't understand how I was supposed to marry him if we weren't together.
We tried to stay apart, but we did the typical,  "together, but not together" deal. I needed him. He needed me. The situation was down right stupid, but looking back, it had to happen this way. Our friends and family thought we were crazy (they were right) and after a month or so of being together, but not, I just severed the cord. I couldn't do it anymore. I loved him so passionately, but our relationship was toxic, and it definitely wasn't headed to marriage at that rate anyways.
We didn't speak for one week. We simultaneously tried to lose each other in the party. We both failed. As it turns out, we did need each other.
He broke the silence and texted me. I was sitting with my best friend, who is the only person in my life who would have given me the advice that she did. It must have been a combination of her life experiences, how well she knew me, and definitely a little bit of God turning her heart, because everyone else on God's green earth would have told me, "no way, Carol, don't you dare go to coffee with him." But my best friend told me that maybe Zach needs another chance. Maybe I should hear what he has to say. (Dustin you seriously have an incredible wife.)
So I found myself drinking a soda at a bar at 8 pm,because the coffee shops had closed, with a man who I'd never, ever, seen even a little bit nervous; awkwardly shifting in his seat, and trying to make small talk. I enjoyed watching him squirm, as he tried to bring up casually what a horrible mistake he had made. How he was wrong in thinking you cannot live life for your friends. He said everything a very convicted person would say to bring back the woman he loved. He put his shame aside, and apologized over and over. We talked about what we would have to do to save our relationship. It wasn't as simple as pick it up, and dust it off. So we picked it up, blew it up, and then sorted through the rubble of hurts. It's really hard to forgive. It's hard to kick habits. We were crazy for trying to sort through our disaster of our relationship. But we did it. We are still doing it. We are better people because of it. It doesn't make sense why we are together if you had seen us 4 years ago. There were a couple key players, and a couple key moments that have been defining for us.
The most important thing we have taken from our struggle is humility. Zach and I apologize to each other so frequently. We have learned that it is harder to forgive than it is to apologize, and neither are easy.
When Zach asked me too marry him a couple years ago, I knew that our marriage would be rough. I knew we would have to work so hard to not just stay together, but to love each other so passionately to inspire each other daily. No marriage is easy, anyone could tell you that.
Now we are looking back at a humble 2 years of wedded bliss, with this perfect child to raise, and I can tell you with certainty, that I am a better person because of my husband. He has challenged me to love when I don't feel like it, to dig deep inside of myself so I can help him understand me, and to challenge the deep rooted selfishness that was buried in me, disguised as pride.
I am wrong all the time. That's ok though. Zach doesn't hold it over my head, or throw it back at me, and for him to love me that much, that he graciously forgives me, instead of using it as ammo when he is hurt. Now that is something. And that sort of love is what we didn't have in the beginning. But here we are, 2 years, and we have so much to show for it. We don't just stay married. We don't just simply love each other. We freaking rock at being married. We work at it every day, and are constantly improving.
I used to be embarrassed about where my husband and I came from. But this love is way too special to be ashamed about that. I am so proud to be the woman I am today. The wife, the mother, the daughter, the sister, the friend I am today. I have my sweet husband to thank for that. My sweet, sweet, loving, caring, more handsome than any person I know, husband. I love you so passionately Zach.

Bed time

Bed time is always interesting with children. I'm almost 25 and in my 25 years of experience going to bed every night (erg well except for those few all nighters at Corban) I still struggle sometimes to fall asleep.
So it's no wonder that falling asleep isn't always simple for my sweet Uriah. We do bedtime between 8:30 and 9:30 each day. Every night we take everything we have done that day to bed with us and falling asleep is the process of letting it all go.
Sometimes the tiredness weighs heavy on Uriah's eyes, but his little body can't quit tossing. He'll try nursing to sleep and his feet are kicking and his arm is waving a taxi. The day clearly took a lot of energy that he needs to let go of. Sometimes as he nurses the sweet, warm milk will be what he needs to slow his body down. As he lays close to my body I practice deep, slow breathing to calm my own body down. I find that most of the time, if I'm a mess, he's a mess, and so this deep breathing really helps me to relax my own body. My body relaxes with each new breath, and I imagine the oxygen seeping down all the way to my toes. I imagine that it extends all the way to my sweet boy. Just like it did when he was in my belly, and I really did supply him with oxygen.
At the end of the day, with all of the day on my mind, sometimes I feel like I'm going to just tip over the edge of crazy. As if so much relies on my boy going to sleep. And if he fights sleeping then surely I'll go crazy. Helping a little person fall asleep is actually a really big job. It's important for babies to sleep, and they need us to show them. A lot of stuff rides on bed time.
So on those occasional nights when my milk doesn't send my Uriah off to dream land, I try not lose my sanity. He only has 7 months of life experience far. And falling asleep is a skilled craft.
He will nurse and nurse and just when I think he is fast asleep, he will barrel roll, pop his head up and stare at me. Upon making eye contact he flashes the biggest grin, "Yes," that cheesy grin says, "I get a few more minutes of hanging out with mom and dad."
And we just hang out. Zach and I are the crib bumpers so he can roll around and get all the extra energy out that he needs to. We smile and laugh till his body slows down and he is actually ready for sleeps.
Very rarely now, but every once in awhile I will have to wrap him up and walk him to sleep while wearing him. I can't imagine how good that must feel. To be gently swayed to sleep, with your head nuzzled in your loved ones chest. Close, secure and warm. I'm sure it's heaven for him. Even though I count down the minutes I'll miss of sleep for myself, I know I'm doing the important job of teaching my boy how to sleep. And if you just have to be awake, Uriah Blaine, then you will be awake with the best company ever.

Hi

My poor little blog. I've always been a writer. I always have something to put down. It's been quiet over here though. I've been doing a lot of observing, perhaps not as much evaluating. Every time I try to write I end up deleting everything because by the time I'm finished I feel completely disconnected from what I wrote. But that's ok.  These things aren't meant to be forced.
I've been enjoying my sweet boy and all of his new tricks. He's so lovely. He's so fascinating. This time is so dear to me.
I've been wanting to work on Uriah's birth story (the out-takes edition) to tell you about the more candid moments of my labor (I labored for more than a day, you can imagine it got a little silly.) But it will all come in time.
Just wanted to say "hi" and I'm still here for those of you who enjoy reading my blog!

Moose and Me: finding the floor.

Less and less I'm finding myself in the throws of hormone concieved mood swings. It's nice to feel light and flowey more often than feeling covered in layers of emotions. I see the value in the time I spent there, and the time I will spend there in the future. It allowed me to do a lot of soul searching. I had to rediscover myself in my new role, and although that sounds SO cliché, it's true. There is nothing that can prepare you for motherhood, and if there was a way to try to do so I did it. I turned into a mother all of a sudden (literally one minute he wasn't here and another he was) and it's a hard transformation to process. But it deserves every thought, every emotion, every feel you could feel to be picked apart. Why why why. I allowed myself to delve into "the feels." And I'm glad I did. I know this process is far from over, I'll always be growing and changing, just like my little Moose does. But the heaviness of becoming a mom is lifting, because I'm getting stronger.
Something that has really helped me is finding the floor. Oh wait, that sounds crazy. I realized that I rarely and I mean rarely thought about what I was doing while I was doing it. I'd be taking a shower and thinking about laundry, dirty diapers, eating dinner, getting the car washed. I'd be playing with Moose, and be thinking about changing my clothes, getting out of the house, how crazy my hair was. Doing this constantly destroys my peace of mind. So, I find my feet. Or my butt, or my back, whatever is attaching me to the earth. I bring myself back to the ground instead of up in my head, thoughts racing, chaos up there. And I think about what I'm doing. I feel the soap in my hand, how the warm water feels running through my hair. When I'm playing with my son I immerse myself in his sweet face, I focus on how he reacts to his toys. Because honestly, I've never done anything faster by thinking about it ahead of time. Staying grounded helps me deal with worries. Instead of obsessing over choices or worrying over what people think about me I can see things for what they are because I don't spend so many hours over thinking things. It has made my life a little more simple.
Oh the dishes didn't get done? That's ok, I'll do them tomorrow, feeling guilty about it doesn't get the dishes done! Crazy right! So stop feeling guilty about it, and instead focus on what I'm doing. Wow this coffee tastes like heaven. That's a much better thought.
Oh, you have two nephew's birthday parties on Saturday, a sister who you would like to help move, and a grandpa who you haven't seen in way too long,  AND your husband has to take a couple tests for school? That's a lot to do, and I can't do all of it. That's ok, if I'm a huge disappointment at least I know im doing the best for my family. That's the worst case scenario, and it isn't that bad in the grand scheme of things. Figured that one out, now back to this sweet Moose smile in front of me.
I've been practicing taking deep, meaningful breaths. Oxygen guys, it's fabulous. I like to imagine I'm sucking in alllll the oxygen on my inhale, and when I exhale I slowly release, and imagine pushing all the oxygen all through my body, all the way down to my toes. I've been doing this more and more. It makes me fall asleep by the third time almost every time.
The last thing I've been working on is not taking everything so personally. People say some really interesting things to me. They make little comments here and there about my choices and instead of letting myself get offended I just assume they didn't mean to offend. Even if I'm pretty sure they meant to offend I just move past it. I wish I learned this sooner. I wish I learned it before I got pregnant.
Reading back over what I've written in this post it all seems so obvious. But these things are hard. I'm trying to be a more peaceful person, Moose deserves a more present mama, and Zach needs me to be happy. I deserve a peace of mind.
So far I feel like I can see things more clearly by doing this. I enjoy my little tasks more. It's lead to many more positive interactions with my amazing husband. It's working for me. It takes time to form habits, but it's worth the time.

Moose and Me Update

My little boy has grown so much in such a short amount of time. He is so wise, and so lovey. He loves to cover his mommy and daddy in drool drenched kisses. I love to distract him when he is nursing by smiling at him. Most of the time when I do this he will break his latch to smile at me, then bury his face in my armpit in bashfulness. Sometimes when he is really tired and I smile down at him he will raise his eyebrows at me and then roll his eyes back. It brings me so much joy. I know he won't nurse forever, and I am so thankful for this time with him. It really grounds me. Every couple hours we sit and take a few minutes to just bond with each other. I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that some people are offended when they see it in public. I wish they could see it like I do. But that's a whole other subject.

I am still adjusting to motherhood. It's still so hard. Anxiety is never far away. I keep finding it in hidden places. Sometimes it hides right out in obvious places. When I try to ignore it I just call it stress. "Oh bedtime can be stressful." If only. What I call "stressful" is actually me obsessing over if he has the right diaper to wear. And making sure he is hungry and tired at the same time. And making sure he doesn't nap too late or too early. And hoping once we lay down he can fall asleep easily. And, and, and, and a million things that shouldn't occupy such a huge part of my mind that often do. I've been trying to deal with it. I practice deep breathing and talk myself out of it, and it helps if I'm thinking clearly enough to recognize the anxiety.

Then there is the guilt. I was reading somewhere about the guilt that us mothers feel. And it kinda struck me in the heart. Right in this moment I could list you ten different things I feel guilty about without even hesitating. It's crushing! My husband lifts me up and encourages me, but if I don't forgive myself then it won't stop. They tell you this motherhood stuff is hard, but that doesn't even begin to describe it. Loving that sweet little baby you just made? That is smooth sailing. Changing diapers and staying up all night? Heck, even that is a breeze compared to the emotional upheaval that you have to go through. I really need to stop feeling so guilty for everything. I need to stop feeling upset that my son scratched himself with those tiny little razor nails that babies have. Every time he sees someone when he has a scratch I feel my skin crawl and I feel like I have to explain it. As if whoever it is has their list of bad moms in their pocket, just waiting to add Carol Gilbert to the list.

It may sound crazy if you have never had babies before, and if you do have babies and you know how I feel, then I'm sorry you have felt this too.

My husband has been having me say out loud, "I am a good wife and a good mother" and I feel foolish having to say it out loud. Because deep down I know it's true. I know it's true because my baby is perfect and happy. And I love the snot out of my husband. As hard as things can get between us as we navigate through this new baby stuff, I wouldn't count on anyone more than him. He really does keep me afloat. I can see how God designed it this way. There is a reason why it takes two parties to make a baby. 

I DO love my job though, no matter how heavy it gets. I love being Uriah's mommy. I love being Zach's wife. Being a mother is challenging in so many ways, and I know God is grooming me to be just the right woman to raise my child, and support my husband. The process of refining was not meant to be easy. I know I'm going through this for a reason. I hope my (brutal) honesty will find someone where they are. These heavy things I trudge through have been trudged through before, and I know someone will go through them after me. And that's another reason why God makes it worth the while for us. 

My sweet little Moose is such a joy. It's undeniable that he came here to change the world of those who love him. I just breath in his sweet baby-ness and just let him change me from the inside out.

Rediscovery

Rediscovery

In the hours I labored I transformed.

Left behind was the woman I used to be

Curiosity begs me to rediscover myself

I have a new foreign body

And a new enlightened soul

Both raw and open

My body is my tool

And my body is my treasure

And though my body bleeds I am not weakened

But softened

My body can sustain life

And it can feed my child

My body can dance and laugh

My body can comfort

My body is part of me, but it is not all of me

My soul is filled with a tenacity

To love, protect, and nurture

I am overcome with a desire to connect

To bond

To build a village surrounding my family

And as I lean in to nurture my babe

My hands connect with the mothers around me

Being a mother is being vulnerable

Being connected in motherhood is strength

I am new

But wise

And in this discovery of myself I’ve found

I am not alone.

Newbornness

A week earthside with hardly two hours of consecutive sleep, a pile of laundry a mile high and relying solely on my husband to feed me I thought, those 3 months olds are such old babies. That will never be us. Uriah will never be 3 months. My squishy little moose and I were in this space that exists right after you have a baby where there is no time, it's just milk, sleep and snuggles and the clock on the wall is largely ignored. When day is night surely an exception can be made to just slow down that clock. Just a little bit maybe? I found no exception, so here we are at 3 months "old."
My baby is marvelous. Absolutely marvelous. I look at his sweet face and my brain is lit up with fireworks. Every time I see him it's like the first time, like three months ago. In a bathtub when this babe covered in vernix was placed on my chest and I looked down at him and fireworks. It's a chemical reaction when I see his face. It excites me, it catches my breath and quickens my heart. It makes me want to do SOMETHING like kiss those cheeks and that nose and that perfect chin. And pull him close to me because close will never ever be close enough now that you are no longer in my belly. I'm thankful for that time I carried you in my belly, we were one in the same. You were my identity. There was no me without you. And now that you are earthside I do crazy things like wrapping you in fabric to hold you as close as I can. To feel that oneness again. To breath your breath and feel your skin that was once apart of me, but now is entirely your own. It's as close as we can be now, and though the fabric can be undone and though you are your own tiny person now, you are apart of my heart in a way that no one could undo. You will grow and learn and walk and run. Then heaven forbid you will drive and fly, and I  promise you son, none of those things will ever take you away from me. You are etched into my very being. From when I carried you in my belly, and then carried you as a baby, you are very much a part of me, and you don't even know it yet, but you will remember this time because you'll look back and you'll remember love. Because that is exactly what we are. You and me, we are love.