An Unwanted but Necessary Rest Day

I hit the ground running my way through this week trying to stay on top of my girls' activities, work, entertaining my mom, and keeping my head above water while James has been working from India. While it has definitely been tough, I've managed to bust out a difficult 10.5 mile trail run through one of the nearby mountains, take my daughter to Tuesday night running group, and spend time in the hot room doing power vinyasa yoga twice this week.

Tonight, though, I couldn't keep up the (unintentional) Superwoman act. After an overwhelming day of helping out a friend, spending time with my mom, and hours of driving my girls back and forth through Seattle and its greater surrounding area, I made the decision to skip running group tonight. Though it was a sunny day, it was chilly with a heavy, bitter wind, and I was too exhausted to fight the voice telling me to just go home and rest for the evening.

Instead of sweating in the frosty wind while my arms and legs flailed through the dark for a good five miles or so, I came home and tossed a whole organic free-range chicken in the pressure cooker with some spices, herbs, and lemon juice over multi-colored potatoes and carrots and pressed the "start" button. While I normally would have been basking in the glory of the runner's high, I helped my oldest with her piano practice and let my mom pick my youngest up from gymnastics.

Sometimes, I feel like I have failed myself when I skip a run. Tonight, though, I realize that it was a much needed break.

Untold Story

I have the utmost respect for single parents. My husband is in India for work, and during his international travel I am always reminded of how much he does for our kids and how much support he provides for me mentally.

Several years ago when I was very ill, he took on the role of primary caretaker the instant he walked into the door after work. Some stay-at-home moms make it look easy. I was not that person. I may have appeared clean and put together on the outside, but I was a constant suicidal wreck behind closed doors. I was a dance teacher at the time, and my work day - or should I say, my second job - began in the evening when the rest of the professional world was sitting back in their favorite chair with their feet up. After I had spent the entire day caring for our young daughters, I'd drive to downtown Seattle and spend hours in a ballroom in a pair of suede-bottom heels on my sore feet before heading home sometime around midnight.

When I made the decision to focus on being healthy rather than continue to believe the cocktail of drugs and bizarre Freudian-based therapist I was seeing were going to clear the haze away from my view of reality, it became apparent that James was carrying far more than his fair share of the household and child-related responsibilities. He didn't complain, though. He never told me I was a bad parent or wife, and he continued to love me even though I was broken.

During my recovery, we were able to shift our responsibilities to the healthy balance that we have adopted. When he is away, I'm able to handle the duties of work and kids and life on my own without feeling too frazzled, but nothing fills the empty gap of his warm physical presence ready to give me a hug at the end of a long day.

This morning, a photograph popped up on my Facebook feed from five years ago:

We might be cheesy, but I'm just gonna own it.

I love this picture because we look so happy, but the untold story is that this was taken just weeks after I had weaned off all medication, when I was still struggling to get my feet on the ground after three years of traumatic mental health issues, and just after I retired from teaching dance and entered the world of law. This picture was taken before we moved out of our old house, before I met my good friend and neighbor who convinced me to take up yoga and dragged me out running for the first time, and back when I constantly struggled with fatigue, skin issues, and abdominal pain due to serious undiagnosed food allergies.

When I see this picture, I am reminded that we were on our way to a company party and that we saw a rock concert that night. It was the first time that I had been in a large crowd of people since going off medication, and I managed to escape the night without having a panic attack.

This morning as I am reminded of that evening five years ago, I find myself missing James but also feeling empowered that I am easily capable of taking care of myself and our two kids for ten days without having a mental breakdown.

Nonetheless, I'm looking forward to having my partner in crime home again. I will have plenty of company and help from my mom (who is flying in to spend some quality time with me and the girls), but it's going to be a very long extended week without my soulmate by my side.

Sunrise

Regardless of your race, gender, religion, sexual orientation, size, economic status, political beliefs, nationality, occupation, hobbies, habits, health, abilities, history, dreams for the future, and anything else that could possibly be questioned of you, today and always I wish you peace, love, kindness, and acceptance.

I have always been afraid of the dark, but I've learned to remind myself that without the darkness of night I could not possibly appreciate the beauty of the light of day. Sunrise is inevitable, even on the longest and darkest of nights.

Namaste.

Hoodie and Capris by INKnBURN

A Sobering Confession of Mental Health

January is a sobering month for me.

Eight years ago, right around today's date, my husband took me to a mental health crisis center after a few-month struggle with postpartum depression that took a turn toward psychosis. I felt nothing but blankness and anger, and my mind was preoccupied with suicidal thoughts and paranoia.

People who have never experienced such a horrible state of mind seldom understand. "Just snap out of it," I heard. "Just get a good night's sleep and you'll feel better in the morning." Nope. Try again. "She's just crazy," others said. The worst one? Oh, that's easy: "Mental illness is bullshit."

Let me set the record straight for anyone who doubts it: mental illness is a very real and devastating diagnosis. What followed my trip to the crisis center were three years of utter hell involving constant supervision under a psychiatrist, prescription medication, therapy, couples counseling, frequent mental breakdowns, a manic period that involved moving to a new state and buying a house I'd never seen (talk about a poor life decision, but don't judge, please, because unless you've been there, you cannot possibly understand the severity of mania), weight gain of almost 20 pounds (thanks, Lithium), and a complete loss of all sense of self.

The interventions got out of hand. I was prescribed medications that caused me to lose control of my hands while driving, that convinced me that taking a solo walk in the middle of the night in one of Seattle's most crime-ridden areas was a good idea, and that literally changed my personality. Looking at photos from that time of my life is painful; I am unrecognizable to myself. The wild look in my eyes, my expressions, the body language - none of it even resembles who I have always been.

The impact on my husband and two very young girls was stressful, to say the least. I went through the day-to-day motions ensuring that diapers were changed, games were played, mouths were fed, and then I'd lie in bed awake most nights wishing that a meteor would strike my house and land on me so that I wouldn't have to repeat the daily nightmare again and again. I often look back and feel a sense of massive relief that my girls were too young to remember the time that their mother was barely able to function.

Five years ago, I reached the ultimate turning point: die or choose to live. Somehow, from deep within the shrouds of severe depression, I found the will and desire to live and found a new therapist. Under my doctor's supervision, I spent six weeks weaning off all medication, and January was my first month sober from the overmedicated haze. The change was immediate. I lost nearly all the weight I'd gained in a month and a half. The depression and fuzziness lifted. I could see that the world was full of endless possibilities, and I was able to recognize just how much I loved being a mom to two beautiful, precious girls.

The last five years of my life has been a journey of health. I started a new career, we moved to a safe neighborhood, I began practicing yoga and running, picked up doing hip hop dance, focused on eating a healthy diet, learned how to make friends who were kind and supportive, and gathered the courage to continually work on becoming the wife and mom my husband and girls deserve.

I was ashamed of my mental health issues for years, but I am no longer afraid of what others might think. Hitting this very rock bottom that took half a decade to dig out of has made me the strongest and healthiest version of myself that I have ever been. I am a much better wife, mom, and friend because of my experiences, and I wouldn't take that life lesson away even if it meant surpassing the horrible pain through which I struggled.

Kudos to this guy who made the difficult decision to get me help eight years ago, held me when I tried pushing him away, and never stopped believing in me. Today I am well, and I could never have done it without his support and huge smile.

The couple that runs trails together wearing
 INKnBURN looks pretty spiffy!

I love this guy so much. 

New Year's Resolutions

I dislike New Year's resolutions. There. I said it. It's not because I think bettering oneself is bad, though; it's because I find them a little depressing. We tend to often make resolutions only to drop that new life-changing diet or extreme exercise program just weeks after embarking on an optimistic journey intended to positively impact our life in some way that we feel is lacking. The failure to uphold the resolution leaves us disappointed in ourselves, and sometimes we fall victim to allowing the bad habit or poor diet to become an exaggerated form of what it was before we made the choice to change it.

Personally, I feel this issue happens in my own life when I attempt too big of a change without allowing it to build over time. Instead, I generally try to make very small life and habit modifications when the thought occurs to me: Oh hey, you know how you leave your sweaty workout clothes draped over the side of the tub until all surface area is covered in a mound of filthy laundry? Yeah, get your act together and just throw them in the clothes bin as soon as they dry off. Ideally, I recognize that my adult self is telling my bratty teenage self that it's time to not leave my crap everywhere, and I make the choice then and there to change a bad habit.

Though I am often Type A enough to change a minor habit on a whim, there are two habits that I recognize as ongoing issues that require more attention than a simple casual decision to change.

First, I wholly admit that despite constant recognition of my bad habit, I still leave sweat-soaked clothes hanging all over the edge of the tub to dry for days on end. So gross and lazy, right? I'm a tidy person, so this behavior kind of boggles my mind.

And second, my therapist has told me on more than one occasion that I need to adopt a habit of daily meditation to help combat my anxiety disorder. I believe her because I've done it and it works really well, but for some reason I have difficulty getting myself to make it an ongoing habit.

So what am I going to do about this? Insert Operation Step Outside of My Comfort Zone. This year I decided to make not one but two freaking New Year's resolutions:

1. Daily meditation; and
2. Daily cleanup of sweaty clothes.

Truth be told, I actually cheated and started doing both of these things before the new year began. I'm hoping that because both are relatively simple-to-achieve resolutions that my inner teenager can get past her rolling eyes and keep the trend going, and I'm also hoping that I will be more conscious of making these two changes by making them official New Year's resolutions.

We'll see. I'll keep you updated. 

INKnBURN Butterfly girl says, "Ooooommmmmm...."

Flight Anxiety and a Few Coping Strategies

I spent the last week in Arizona with my husband and girls visiting family for the holidays. I am happy to report that it was a wonderful week full of good moods, cute kids, tasty food, great quality time with loved ones, and much spoiling of the above-mentioned children. As an added bonus, the trip finished with a free first-class upgrade on Delta.

That last bit was a surprise, and I must admit that it made a potentially horrendous anxiety-provoking flight both comfortable and pleasant... and, I dare say, almost enjoyable.

Well over a decade ago, I suffered a full-blown panic attack on a flight somewhere a mile high between Arizona and Florida. I was traveling with a friend to Miami for a cruise to the Bahamas. We were seniors at the University of Arizona, both engaged, and we were heading to the aqua waters for a final (and, sadly, my first) "girl trip" before both of us walked down the aisle.

I'm not sure what triggered the racing heart, the ants crawling up my spine and the back of my neck, my chest squeezing with pain, and the horrible shaking that I tried to suppress as to not draw attention to myself, but once it started it seemed to open the floodgates for mid-flight anxiety attacks thereafter.

Logically, I am not afraid to fly. I know it's safe, and about half the time I can get through a flight with just a touch of nervous energy that eventually passes once I get used to being up in the air. Unfortunately, though, a very primitive-seeming part of my brain occasionally gets triggered for no apparent reason, and I suddenly feel trapped in a claustrophobic metal tube, victim to the bumping turbulence and weird pressure changes.

When I flew home from Arizona a couple weeks ago after the Tucson Half Marathon, I started feeling the anxiety creep up about ten minutes after takeoff. The flight was somewhat smooth, but I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe. I swallowed my pride and did the one thing I knew could help: I looked at the cute, dark-eyed young guy next to me wearing a black cloth face mask and earbuds, cleared my throat, and asked, "Would you mind talking to me? I'm a bit of a nervous flier and it would really help distract me if you wouldn't mind chatting for a little while."

He took off his face mask, told me he didn't mind at all, and asked what bothered me about flying. More than three hours later full of chatter and laughter about music, running, my kids, and ice cream, I thanked him for humoring the weird stranger suffering from anxiety, and he thanked me for not being too terrified of the scary-looking face mask to initiate a conversation. I didn't ask his name, but people like him restore my faith in humanity just when I feel like I'm about to lose myself to a three-hour panic attack that I may or may not recover from gracefully. And to clarify about the face mask... he was a frequent flyer who found wearing the mask helped him stay healthy during his travels.

I have had many discussions with my therapist about how to cure my flight anxiety, and I'd like to share a list of things that usually help me cope because watching a movie, reading a good book, and listening to my favorite tunes don't always do the trick. They don't all work every time, and nothing seems to cure the terror when we hit a bout of particularly bad turbulence (except for maybe the last thing on the list), but this bag of tricks works quite well most of the time.

1. Make your neighbor a flight buddy, even if they're wearing a face mask. Seriously, a good conversation with a stranger is an excellent distraction.
2. Take a beta-blocker. While I do not take any medications on a regular basis, I do sometimes take a low-dose of Propranolol to keep my heart rate from getting out of control when I fly. Heart palpitations cause increased panic for me, so my doctor recommended that I pop a pill one hour before I fly. It does keep my heart rate from going crazy when I take it, and that helps me feel calm.
3. Pull out a coloring book and colored pencils. Yeah, I know it sounds a little weird, and I definitely get a few curious glances from people when I whip out my Prismacolors, but it's quite soothing and meditative and can really ease anxiety.
4. Pretend you do this all the time and that you're completely at ease with flying. When you hear a noise, explain to yourself with snobbish delight exactly what that sound is. Imagine yourself laughing with the pilots in the cockpit, completely at ease with being 30,000 feet above the ground. Turbulence doesn't bother you because you know it's just the aircraft responding to wind or the hot air rising from the desert. You are too busy reading your Runner's World magazine and drinking your coffee to be concerned about anything around you. If I'm having a really good flying day, I can fake it so well that I actually believe myself.
5. Meditate. Not just during the flight, but regularly and definitely before the flight. Meditation decreases anxiety and is an extremely powerful method for replacing fear with peace. 
6. Read "Soar - The Breakthrough Treatment for Fear of Flying" and practice the methods described. I'm only halfway through the book, but I wish I'd found it sooner. The Strengthening Exercise explained in the book really helps, and I only just began learning it. I feel cautiously optimistic that once I have the chance to practice the method in its entirety there is a possibility that my flight anxiety will become a rare occurrence.
7. Upgrade to first class. I'm not a frequent first-class flyer. It's expensive, and let's be honest, I'd rather spend the money on INKnBURN and good food. However, in addition to the unexpected upgrade yesterday, I did upgrade one time earlier this year as I checked into my flight just after I had a root canal. My face was swollen and my ear was hurting, and I was so stinking miserable I wanted to cry when I realized I was about to spend three hours on a plane the next day. It didn't cost that much to upgrade, so I treated myself. It was so worth it. The seat was huge and comfortable, which kept the claustrophobia away, the food was actually good, and I probably went through an entire bottle of wine because the flight attendant just kept refilling my glass. I didn't have even a touch of anxiety, even during the few bumpy parts.
8. When all else fails, drink wine. I know it's not recommended, but darn it, it works. I try not to use alcohol too often for this purpose, but it has the ability to turn a miserable several hours into something fun, especially if you're watching a comedy and squeezing your husband's hand so hard your fingers are turning white.

If you have any cures for flight anxiety I haven't mentioned, I'd love to hear them. 

Silver Linings

This week has been tough for me, and today I am frustrated to admit that I am continuing to struggle with issues related to eating allergens.

Though the stomach pain has mostly subsided, I am still experiencing on-and-off tenderness in the upper left part of my abdomen, which is where I seem to always struggle with allergen-related inflammation. While running with my oldest daughter and husband at running group last night, I tried to smile through the quick, cold four miles even though I secretly felt like someone punched me in the gut. Sure, I could have just admitted it hurt and put my feet up, but I didn't want the pain to get the best of me. I am glad I went, though, because the activity and camaraderie of the other runners lifted my gloomy mood a bit.

Unfortunately, this morning I awoke to a bit of a rash on my cheeks and chest. Worse yet, a sore lump under my right armpit flared up for the second time in the last few weeks. Good old lymph nodes, reminding me that eating dairy and pecans is bad.

And then, to top it all off, I knocked a glass off the counter while making myself some stomach-friendly oatmeal with chia and cranberries this morning. On days like this I kind of want to just throw my hands up in the air and walk away.

*Sniffle*

When I'm having a tough time like today, I try to make a conscious decision to do things that I know are healthy for me. So the question I am asking myself right now is this: How am I going to turn this "bad day" into a good one?

I have a plan.

This afternoon, I am going to spend time with my girls choosing Christmas gifts for children in need. Tonight, two of my best friends will be coming over for some much-needed girl time and to enjoy an allergy-friendly home-cooked dinner. Tomorrow I will be running a fun, pressure-free 10K race. And this weekend, I will make a point to get enough sleep.

My life is a beautiful one, and I recognize that. Sometimes, I just need to remind myself, and that's okay.

Atonement for My Gluttonous Sins

I did something bad on Thanksgiving. Now I'm paying for it. I am ashamed of this fact, so I'm just going to come clean and tell you all about it.

Several years ago, I got very ill. Amidst my mental health struggles, it became apparent that there was something very wrong with my digestive system. In hindsight, the pain was always there. I remember experiencing days with similar stomach pain as a child. My parents called me a hypochondriac, but discomfort much like extreme gas pain would creep up on me several times per month. I was later diagnosed with lactose intolerance in high school. At that time, my doctor told me that yogurt and some cheese should not bother me too much. I switched to using soy milk in my cereal and took Lactaid every time I ate diary. It helped a little, I guess, but the stomach pain never went away completely.

I was also constantly combating skin issues. Acne, rashes, simple scrapes that didn't heal as quickly as they should. Acne is supposed to decrease as you age, but mine got worse. As I approached my 30th birthday, I decided I was done with the cystic pimples that kept showing up along my jawline and on the back of my shoulders. It was extremely painful, and I was ashamed to have such horrible skin. I went on Accutane, which I had fought using for over a decade, and my skin has been mostly clear ever since. While I would have liked to avoid using such a powerful drug, I can't say I regret it; it was the right choice for me.

Even though my acne cleared up, my illness did not. The stomach pain, which I had endured since childhood, seemed to become worse as I approached 30. My horrible sleeping habits, which I had also struggled with since I was a child, had reached record insomniac heights. Not surprisingly, I experienced fatigue and consistent problems with depression that seemed impossible to combat. Swelling in my big toe joints was diagnosed as some sort of autoimmune-related arthritis when the doctor looked at my x-rays and scratched his head, unsure of why my dancer's feet were in such bad shape when my cartilage was in far better condition than expected.

In 2013, the stomach pain reached record extremes. I was working at a prestigious firm where nice business attire and sitting on one's rump in front of a computer all day was required. Every day for months on end my lower belly hurt so badly that I secretly unbuttoned my pants as I slaved away. Any pressure at all on my stomach made the pain more intense. The week that I began sweating from the icepick stabbing and twisting my colon causing me to feel like I was going to black out from the intensity was the final sign that I needed to call my doctor.

"I either have colon cancer or Crohn's disease. Either way, I'm going to die." I had told my doctor. All my vitals were fine. After much discussion and poking and prodding, I agreed to a blood test to check for food allergies. My doctor mentioned something about a possible gluten allergy, to which I may or may not have freaked out about.

A few weeks later, I learned that I am not simply "lactose intolerant," I am full-blown allergic to dairy, particularly to whey and yogurt. Also on that list of do not eat or you may die are pecans, egg whites, and several other foods to which I am sensitive but do not cause my immune system to freak out quite as much if eaten in small occasional doses. Luckily, gluten is not on that list.

My doctor explained that eating the allergens causes my immune system to react and start fighting, thus leading to inflammation. The stomach pain was going to take some time to alleviate once I removed the "bad" foods from my diet; the years of eating them had severely irritated my gut, which could take months to heal. I'm not going to lie; the next few months were hell for me as I learned to navigate my newfound medical issue. A relapse meant return of the extreme pain. Going to restaurants and quietly alerting them to a food allergy meant public humiliation in some places. I won't name names. It was awful.

Slowly and with time, I was able to adjust my diet to one that is safe. I have never been much of a meat-eater, so I found that primarily eating a plant-based, whole-foods (think vegan) diet makes it easiest for me to avoid the allergens. I am sensitive to soy, though, so I throw in a small amount of chicken and sushi here and there to ensure I have enough energy to keep up with my activity levels.

Finally, the perks of my new diet emerged. Minimal to no pain in my stomach meant I could sleep soundly. The chronic fatigue and constant ill feeling went away entirely. My skin, though still sensitive, broke out in less rashes. Even the swelling in my joints minimized. Though the diet can be a pain to follow, the benefits are quite amazing; I actually feel like a human being.

So fast forward to Thanksgiving. Our good friends were gracious enough to host dinner at their house this year. For no particular reason, I woke up in a bad mood and went full-blown I-have-no-self-control when I got around the food. Against all common sense, I ate ALL. OF. THE. CHEESE., devoured the mashed potatoes mixed with milk and sour cream, desecrated the creamed spinach, and finished off a piece of cheese cake.

I am a disciplined person, so I cannot explain why I did this. Within an hour of eating, the stomach pain began. The next day, I was horribly uncomfortable and wanted to hide in my bed and cry, but I went for a few mile run anyway. By Saturday I was so miserable I could hardly function. On Sunday, I woke up and ran eight miles, the pain finally starting to make its way out of my body. And yesterday, well, although my stomach was mostly feeling better, I felt anxious and depressed. Why did I do this to myself? I went to a late hot power yoga class and tried to forgive myself. My back was hurting and my joints were sore, but I pushed through it.

Today, I have an appointment with my therapist during which I plan to discuss my sudden lack of self control and will hopefully get back on track mentally. Tuesday is also a running group night, so hopefully I'll have a chance to laugh with a couple of my Hood to Coast buddies as we gallop through the wicked cold (but hopefully dry) evening.

Today is hard, but I just keep reminding myself of one of my favorite quotes:

It's a good reminder.

See (and Be) the Beauty in this World

This morning my beautiful, kind-hearted, Caucasian/Asian daughters cried. How does a mom console her terrified, hurting children?

I took them outside and asked them to name three beautiful, amazing things they could see, smell, or hear. It's a cloudy morning, the rain a gentle mist and the green of the grass electric despite the darkness. Fall colors and flowers greeted us, bright and magnificent against the gray skies.

We breathed in the fresh scent of wet earth and called it amazing.
We closed our eyes to enjoy the gentle music of rain on the grass, rocks, and roof over our heads.
We appreciated the deep reds of our ornamental maple against the green, yellow, and orange in the background.

Today is still a gift. Take a moment to breathe and allow yourself to accept there is still immense beauty and light around us.

An Occasional Treat

I am sore today. Unsurprisingly, my quads hurt the most. Damn you, Iron Strength Workout for Runners.

Thursdays are always a bit physically exhausting for me because I usually do a 3-5 mile run, which inadvertently often becomes a tempo run due to time constraints or a much-faster-than-me running buddy, then I have an hour long hip hop class in the late evening.

Also what must be factored into today's agenda is my downtown Seattle work meeting, chauffeuring my youngest to gymnastics after school, which is a 45-minute drive one way, and the fact that I have prioritized my exercise load of laundry so many times that I'm just about out of clean underwear (Quick! It's a statewide emergency!). Let's not forget dinner, ensuring the girls have completed their homework and get to bed at a decent hour, and spending time with my sweet doggie and the pup that we are currently babysitting.

On days like this, I have a choice. I can allow the stress to overwhelm me, or I can treat myself to some Starbucks on my way home from the work meeting and spend ten minutes sitting in my backyard appreciating the beautiful, sunny, 61-degree autumn day before getting back to the work I need to complete.

Today, I chose the second choice.

Behold... the "controversial" Starbucks cup, which works
exactly the same as their normal cup. 

A Quick Timeout

Sometimes, when I am feeling horribly overwhelmed and exhausted with life, a simple timeout is all it takes to get myself re-grounded. During these timeouts, I try to take ten minutes or so sitting alone in a quiet, peaceful place without my phone in my hand or other distractions, and I focus on simply breathing and admiring the space around me.

My two favorite timeout places are the love seat in my bedroom and my back patio, which I find extremely peaceful with the help of this zenned-out guy and his colorful mushrooms.

Gnomie McZen and His Magical Mushrooms

I have had visitors for the last several days. Although I enjoy spending time with them, a timeout is definitely in order.

A Trick That *Sometimes* Works

I have a life-long relationship with insomnia and other poor sleeping habits. Almost always, it's because my brain refuses to turn off, thoughts and scenarios and ideas babbling through the nooks and crannies of my stubborn mind. I have tried all the tricks the experts love to write articles about, but they simply don't work for me.

As a young child, I remember lying awake, frustrated, because the clock would indicate that it was approaching midnight and I was still awake. I complained about it all the time, but my parents never had a good answer. "Just relax and go to sleep," they'd tell me. I tried, but it never worked. I could never relax.

After my second daughter was born and postpartum depression slammed me like an avalanche, my sleep habits became even worse. Both my girls were fat, healthy babies and great sleepers. In fact, at a few months old, they both slept through the night regularly. Me? Everyone told me to sleep when the baby sleeps. But no, not me. I was wide awake, the exhaustion turning into adrenal fatigue. It was nature's little joke on me - the beautifully sleeping newborns and the dysphoric, manic mind. I felt like my skin was crawling every time I tried to close my eyes and fall asleep. I simply couldn't sleep and often went days on end with no sleep at all or a meager two hours here and there. The less I slept, the less capable I was of actually falling asleep. 

I have a hypothesis that my inability to sleep is what knocked me over the cliff into the abyss of psychosis. I believed, truly, that everyone would be okay and that it was no big deal if I slit my wrists. I would finally sleep, and everyone could move forward with life. I tried explaining my reasoning to my husband amongst a babble of god-knows-what else, who of course responded by taking me to a mental health crisis center. Obviously, I realize how insane that all sounds now, but I wasn't well at the time.

Many years later, I am a much better sleeper in general than I used to be for a few reasons, though I admit fully that some nights I still struggle. First, I learned I have food allergies that cause intestinal inflammation. I had dealt with the discomfort and pain for so long that I no longer recognized that I was uncomfortable. Eliminating the allergens from my diet and losing the pain was one of the most amazing feelings I have ever experienced. As it turns out, abdominal pain had spent many nights waking me up and not allowing me to sleep deeply. 

I also try to get just the right amount of weekly exercise. Too much and I struggle with physical fatigue that makes it difficult for me to relax; too little and I feel down and struggle with anxiety that keeps me awake. Along with a well-balanced diet, I feel healthy and sufficiently tired at the end of the day if I can hit that exercise sweet spot.

I have tried using melatonin, but it unfortunately makes my mind race, which can lead to anxiety attacks. So, when I am feeling fairly stressed before bedtime, I take an all-natural sleep aid called "Alteril". It gets mixed reviews, but it does a pretty good job quieting my restless mind when all else fails.

Finally, my most recent reason for better sleep is a trick that works more often than not: meditation. Hold on - don't roll your eyes. I know it sounds new-age and like I should be holding a crystal over my forehead, but hear me out. Before going to bed, I spend fifteen minutes lying on my back in Savasana on the floor while I listen to meditative music. During those fifteen minutes, I focus on relaxing every part of my body using my breath to release tension starting at my head and ending with my toes. Or sometimes I can't focus on that, so I allow my mind to create a peaceful picture and I imagine being in that place. I admit I completely suck at meditation because it is extremely difficult for me to lie still, but I swear it helps a lot. When I finally do go to bed, I feel much more peaceful and my mind usually ceases to run a marathon. 

Do you have any favorite sleep tricks?

Emotional Health 101

When I'm having a particularly tough time and I need to battle negative thinking, gain perspective, or find motivation to do something healthy for myself, I have two fail-safe resources. The first is my therapist, an amazing woman who has helped me see the light during some of my darkest moments and helped me navigate some of the most difficult changes and self-discovery I have encountered. The second is an incredible online resource you have likely heard of: TED Talks.

I love TED Talks because of the diverse range of information presented. Want to learn a thing or two about teaching children? It's on there. Ever wonder what happens when a neuroanatomist has a stroke? Wonder no longer; the stroke survivor and brilliant mind of an amazing women is alive and well to tell you about it. Interested in orgasms? Having trouble dealing with a breakup? Looking to change careers? Struggling with infidelity? Fascinated by urban gardening? Seriously, it's all on there and beautifully presented by some of the most intelligent minds on this planet.

This morning a TED Talk article by psychologist Guy Winch popped up in my Facebook feed that I highly recommend reading: Why Rejection Hurts So Much and What to do About It. After reading his words of wisdom, suck it up and spend seventeen minutes of your life watching the video at the bottom of the article: Why We All Need to Practice Emotional First Aid. 

Having always been the annoyingly studious type (and I say this jokingly because I actually like this about myself), I jotted down a couple of notes as I listened to the talk:

1. Change your responses to failure and battle negative thinking. Easier said than done, but an important reminder to fight the urge of the negative self-talk loop that I frequently find myself navigating. This is what Dr. Winch had to say about it:
   
   "Our mind is hard to change once we become convinced. So it might be very natural to feel demoralized and defeated after you fail. But you cannot allow yourself to become convinced you can't succeed. You have to fight feelings of helplessness. You have to gain control over the situation. And you have to break this kind of negative cycle before it begins." 
   
2. When you find yourself ruminating on something negative, spend two minutes distracting yourself to break the cycle. My homework for the week is to force myself to think about something entirely different, preferably positive, when I inevitably find myself playing a negative memory or scene over and over in my mind. Again, this is what Dr. Winch stated:
   
   "When you're in emotional pain, treat yourself with the same compassion you would expect from a truly good friend. We have to catch our unhealthy psychological habits and change them. One of unhealthiest and most common is called rumination. To ruminate means to chew over. It's when your boss yells at you, or your professor makes you feel stupid in class, or you have [a] big fight with a friend and you just can't stop replaying the scene in your head for days, sometimes for weeks on end. Ruminating about upsetting events in this way can easily become a habit, and it's a very costly one... Studies tell us that even a two-minute distraction is sufficient to break the urge to ruminate in that moment."

One of my greatest mental health challenges has always been stopping the voice within myself telling me that I am not good enough, that I am a failure, that I am somehow undeserving of love and compassion. I found this particular TED Talk uplifting and a reminder to focus on being kind to myself every day regardless of whether I feel good or bad. If I am kind to myself when I feel down, I am instantly comforted because I know I care about myself enough to treat myself with compassion. When I feel content, I try to be kind to myself as a reminder that I am allowed to feel happy and at peace. Negativity becomes a habit, and it is easy to inadvertently believe that it should be my normal state of being. 

For the last several years, I have spoken openly about my personal battle with mental health issues. Why? Because I was taught not to. The rebel deep inside my soul knows that keeping this part of ourselves hidden is the worst way to find a sense of contentment and peace. We should allow ourselves to be loved as whole beings, not just the parts we are taught to show. If the people teaching me weren't going to break the stigma of depression and other mental struggles, then dammit, I was going to shed some light on the taboo topic and prove that one can be well and live a positive, enriching life despite a so-called "negative" mental health diagnosis. 

While I have indeed faced some truly ugly criticism from the occasional fellow human (Get over it! It's all in your head! Or worse: You shouldn't talk about that kind of thing.), the vast majority of people willing to open up in response to my unabashed honesty have admitted to struggling with depression, anxiety, obsessive-compulsive behavior, etc. Through therapy and discussions with the multitude of health professionals I have seen over the years, it has been made abundantly clear to me that taking care of my mental wellbeing is just as important as eating well, exercising, and getting enough sleep. With this in mind, my favorite part of Dr. Winch's presentation was his final point:

"By taking action when you're lonely, by changing your responses to failure, by protecting your self-esteem, by battling negative thinking, you won't just heal your psychological wounds, you will build emotional resilience, you will thrive. A hundred years ago, people began practicing personal hygiene, and life expectancy rates rose by over 50 percent in just a matter of decades. I believe our quality of life could rise just as dramatically if we all began practicing emotional hygiene. 

16:42Can you imagine what the world would be like if everyone was psychologically healthier? If there were less loneliness and less depression? If people knew how to overcome failure? If they felt better about themselves and more empowered? If they were happier and more fulfilled?... And if you just become informed and change a few simple habits, well, that's the world we can all live in."

I could not agree more.

The Beginning of a Good Thing

Four years ago, I was in the worst shape of my life. Due to a random favor of genetics stemming from the line of tall, lean humanoids in my family, I was not overweight. My 5'6" body, however, was soft and somewhat flabby in all the wrong places, my energy level comparable to that of a sloth's, my exercise and eating habits at an all-time low. I walked somewhat regularly and enjoyed hiking, but that was the extent of my physical activity.

I had lost all the baby weight gained from growing and birthing two giant infants, but I had never returned to my previous early-twenties professional ballroom dancer physique. While I did not expect my body to appear identical to my pre-baby state, I did expect to eventually feel strong and healthy again. Much to my despair, neither attribute reappeared willingly. Mental illness, prescription medication, and a stressful career involving sitting on my rump in front of a computer several hours a day did not help my physical state, either. What a shocker, right?

At the height of my unhealthiness, I backpacked the Grand Canyon for the second time in my life. Yes, I realize that I had to be in somewhat decent shape to handle that kind of rigorous activity, but trust me, I was miserable. Not evident in the photo below was my belly bulging over the top of my pants - I really should have sized up, but I had ordered them online and did not have time nor the money to purchase a new pair before the trip. I remember hoping they would stretch out over the few days I would be wearing them - they didn't - and discreetly unbuttoning them to sit comfortably. Also not shown was the fact that a bipolar trigger had me pondering the very real possibility of stepping off over a cliff and putting an end to it all. Don't let the lovely red rock behind me and cute headband fool you. That smirk on my face says it all. I was not well, physically or mentally, when this photo was taken.

Stuffing my face with an energy bar while backpacking in 2012.

When we returned home from that trip, we were faced with some of the most stressful months of our lives as we sold a house that had been built in 1900 and moved our family to a new home in a much safer neighborhood. I am fairly certain I gained a few pounds and was in even worse shape after that, but there appears to be a lack of photographic evidence; probably because I shied away from the camera knowing I was going to feel bad about what I saw. That wasn't who I wanted to be, and I was miserable.

In hindsight, the move to our new house was where my journey to health began.

So what changed? Almost everything. I switched to primarily eating a whole-foods, plant-based diet, began exercising several times per week, made some great friends, and most importantly, I decided I wanted to live a healthy life. Sounds easy, right? No, I'm kidding. I know that none of the life choices I made were easy. They took years to incorporate, and they are a constant work in progress. But they were essential, and they eventually became habit to my state of being.

It all started with diet. Having been raised in a health-conscious family, I was well aware that frequent eating out, loads of carbohydrates and sugar, and highly processed foods blah blah blah were, in general, a bad idea. With an hour-long commute into Seattle, two young daughters, and full-time jobs, cooking dinner daily seemed impossible. It wasn't, but it took some time to figure out how to meal plan and do the shopping on the weekends to ensure we didn't pick up crap from a drive-through on our way home.

Next, I made a wonderful friend who lives only two doors down. Usually too reserved to seek out new friendships, I happened to get into a long conversation with her over wine at another neighbor's fire pit get-together one night. We had a ton in common with young children, similar upbringings, type A personalities, and instantly became good friends. One day several months after moving to the neighborhood, we had a text conversation that went like this:

A:    Want to come to a hot yoga class with me?

Me:  No.

A:    You should really come with me.

Me:  OMG no. Not happening.

A:     Please? You would LOVE it! Your body feels AMAZING afterwards!

Me:  Okay fine. I'll do one class with you. ONE CLASS.

Three years later, I am still hooked on hot yoga, particularly the power vinyasa classes. It's all my friend's fault, and I am forever grateful that she convinced my unwilling, stubborn (flabby) ass to leave the house and sweat miserably, all limbs shaking pathetically, in 105-degree heat. That week following my first yoga class, I experienced whole-body muscle soreness that rivaled the intensity of birthing my second daughter in the middle of my living room (true story).

I started slowly, taking one class a week for a few months. When recovering from the muscle soreness in between classes limited itself to only a couple days, then I started going twice per week. I have kept that habit for nearly three years now, and I went from struggling to hold Downward Dog for more than a few breaths to enjoying all kinds of crazy poses that I never thought I would be able to do.

Amazing capris and top from INKnBURN.
And yes, my walls really are painted like that.

October 2016 - Pasty White Girl Yoga Skillz

Months after beginning yoga, my friend once again convinced me to do something I considered borderline insane. That conversation went something like this:

A:    I want you to run a half marathon with me.

Me:  No. I hate running. 

A:    You should really run a half marathon with me. You would LOVE it.

Me:  In the event of a zombie apocalypse, I'd willingly be eaten first just so I don't have to run. 

A:    Please? It's not until June, so you have plenty of time to train.

Me:  Ugh... I'll think about it.

Eighteen weeks later, I crossed the finish line of that race having run the entire 13.1 miles. It was tough and I may have cried a little along the way, but I did it.

2014 Seattle Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon Finish Line

And thus began the start of an incredible few-year journey to where I am today. I am in the best shape of my life, and yet, I have so many more physical and mental health goals to achieve. None of it has been easy, but if I have learned anything in the last four years, it is that health is definitely worth the uphill battle.

Blog Version 2.0

I wish I could remember how I started my last blog, but the specifics have slipped into the deep abyss of forgotten memories along with many of the details from the days when mental illness consumed my life. It was a blog saturated with blunt and often painful honesty of what day-to-day battles tormented the mess of a young woman struggling with the changing diagnoses of postpartum depression, psychosis, severe anxiety, obsessive-compulsive behavior, and finally, bipolar disorder.

Following the years of manic energy involving moving to a different state, buying an old house I had never actually seen, and a consistent barrage of poor life choices, I stopped writing publicly as part of my ultimate decision to combat my mental health issues. In the several years since, I went back to school, landed a professional day job, moved to a new house in a safe neighborhood, fought to become the mother and wife I have always aspired to be, and finally managed to get my mental health and life to a much more balanced place.

Maybe my story isn't all that special or interesting, but I managed to climb my way out of rock bottom when I made the choice to keep living, and I am unabashedly proud of that accomplishment. I'm still here, and I have learned to love running along the less beaten path of my beautiful life.

Welcome to My Blog Version 2.0, and hang on. It's going to be an energetic (and hopefully uplifting) ride.

My Happy Place