Category: Help

Anti-Anxiety

I have known for a while now that I have high anxiety. A couple of years ago I mentioned it to my doctor. She prescribed some medicine and we scheduled a follow up appointment for a couple weeks later to check in on how it was working. I never took the medicine. I convinced myself that the timing wasn’t right. And that the side effects would make me tired, and perhaps hinder my work performance. When the follow up appointment came, I (somewhat) jokingly asked if there was an anti-anxiety medicine for people who were too anxious to take anti-anxiety medicines. The joke didn’t land and we sat in silence for a couple of seconds.

Lately, I’ve been a bit more observant of the anxiety triggers. And there are many. Something as mundane as getting gas. Insert your card, keep card inserted, REMOVE CARD RAPIDLY!!! Gets me every time. And if I happen to pull up to a pump which has both gas and diesel….My god. What a roller coaster that is.

My oldest son is also anxious. I worry that I have projected that onto him. He’s only 4 and seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders at times. A few weeks ago we went to a party with other families. We were all playing outside and a little girl asked my son to get in a wagon. I, needlessly frantic, spoke up and said “oh no! Hold on, Hold on! Let me make sure its not wet in there first!” I approached the wagon and this 6 year old girl, looked up at me, and with the most unrestrained, rational and impulsive voice said “it’s ok…”

And it was ok. Even if it was wet. It was ok. Even if he got covered in mud. It was ok. All of it, whatever happened with that wagon, everything would’ve been ok.

A six year old inadvertently changed my thought process. She put my parenting into perspective. She made me pause, breath, evaluate. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. I’m going to buy her a pony.

The Will and the Weigh

Tenacity is something I lack. Thankfully, that disadvantageous trait didn’t pass down to my children.

I will watch Nikola try to tie my shoe for minutes on end. We haven’t even begun to teach him how to tie shoes. His current footwear trends are more of the Velcro persuasion. Efficient. But he doesn’t let his naivety stop him. No Siree. He will weave and wind the strings unceremoniously until he concludes that the task is complete. The shoes are tied to his satisfaction. I then spend minutes on end untangling a mess. This makes us very late for most things.

Soon after my initial feeling of pride, the slightest tinge of envy creeps in. To have an unwavering sense of resilience in the face of the unknown is admirable to say the least.

Other than this blog I don’t keep up on most of my endeavors. And even with this, the consistency and dedication comes in waves. While the desire is there, the motivation is increasingly lacking.

This past December I started something I was unsure of. I didn’t tell anyone other than those in my immediate circle. I wanted to lose weight first and foremost, but the overall goal is to be healthier and make better choices. The timing coincided with the new year unfortunately. I didn’t want to have this perceived as a “New Years Resolution.” The stigma that comes along with losing weight on January 1st is too much. I almost felt it I’d be jinxing it if I told anyone. So I didn’t.

I diligently used the Noom app. Which I fell in love with from the moment I downloaded it. I ordered a scale. I logged my meals. I weighed myself every day as directed. I got an incredible stationary bike. I did all of the things I was supposed to do. And as of today, I’ve lost 25 pounds.

My back pain has subsided. I feel better, overall. And I’m only half way to my goal. I’m looking forward to the continued work and my newfound tenacity to accomplish what I set out to over 4 months ago. And I will look to my children as continued muses. I will embody their resiliency the best I can.

It’s really amazing what a child can teach you.

These times, they do try us.

When my office started working remotely, a colleague started sending us weekly emails to keep us connected. Usually asking us an engaging question that conjures a quick response. Last weeks was a doozy. She asked us to send in a brief summary of a situation that’s been made difficult by the pandemic. No sugar coating. No filters. She called it “Truth telling Tuesday”. Below was my response.

To: Sarah

Subject: Your timing is impeccable

When I saw this come across my email yesterday, I wasn’t sure what truth to tell.  The Petrov household has had its fair share of trials and tribulations during the pandemic, but once the moment passes, they all seem a bit insignificant.  We move on.  Checking for scars, collecting our new “triggers.” And we as parents start mentally preparing for the next, inevitable, $hit show.  

My dear, sweet Nikola, sensing my dilemma of not knowing what to write about, wanted to help.  So, at 7pm, during our first reading of “Don’t let the pigeon drive the bus”, he looked at me, and I swear, it was like a telepathic exchange. With his eyes, he employed the widely Meme’d idiom “hold my beer”.  And that’s when things went South. Which, in turn, forced us North – To Maine Med ER.

The scream crying came fast and strong.  An ear ache was the instigator.  The medicinal properties of children’s Tylenol were no match for the ailment. And thus, a trip to urgent care was required.  Looking at the clock and knowing that time was not on our side, I scooped up Nikola, and ran as fast as an out of shape woman carrying a 35-pound wailing toddler can.  No time to change out of slippers.  A sacrifice was made.  

A frantic phone call to the urgent care imploring them to please wait for us was to no avail.  We arrived at 8:02 to a dark and locked building.  An additional phone call to his pediatrician and a turn of the heal.  We were off for the 45-minute ride to Portland.  The ER nurses and doctors made quick work of our visit.  For which I am eternally grateful.  

A prescription for an antibiotic would be the cure.  And all I’d need to do, because of the hospital pandemic rules, would be to exit the building, go back to the garage, get myself and cranky toddler back in my car, drive to the main entrance, find parking, get out, get my child out, walk in that entrance, sign in, a left and then a right, and alas our pharmaceutical refuge awaits. 

We purchased the healing, bubblegum smelling concoction, without insurance.  My new insurance card wouldn’t work.   Because, well, Its 2020.  A quick late evening jaunt in a foggy, super shady Portland neighborhood to return to our car. And an end to the adventure was in sight.  I could smell it.  But first, I thought it best to give Nikola his first dose of medicine before we started home.  He looked at me and said “I feel good, mama” I assured him we should take it anyway.  Just to be safe. And then he puked everywhere…. And then that was what I smelled.

Please. Do not tell me what self-care is and what it is not.

There are a few posts going around that have inevitably infiltrated my social media newsfeed, seemingly dozens of times over. They all talk about how going to the grocery store or target, by yourself doesn’t count as “Self-Care.”And I tried to get on board with it. I did. But something just didn’t sit right with me.

And I figured out why…Because it does count. If you want it to, it does. If it makes you feel good and rejuvenated….It does. Stop telling me it doesn’t. Stop forcing the idea that it isn’t enough. Stop telling me that I’m not doing “self-care” right.

With that being said, I’m not you. Everyone is different. Everyone has different needs to be fulfilled. None more or less valid than the other. So, if it doesn’t do it for you; bring you peace contentment..than by all means, pursue other endeavors. No judgement. You do you. But leave me out of it.

Now, the basis of the posts I’ve read is that these tasks are chores. And performing a chore for your family doesn’t count. And if you do take time for yourself you feel guilty for leaving your family.

I feel guilt for everything. I say “I’m sorry” more often than your average Canadian. And I’ve closely, introspectively thought about this for days. And when I think of the “guilt” they are referencing, in context, to me, it more closely resembles empathy. It is a weird, cross-breed of two traits that humans can possess. And it deserves a word in and of itself. We’ll it guiltathy.

I don’t feel guilt for leaving my children to be by myself for a little while, necessarily. I more so feel empathy for the person watching my children. Not that they are a couple of heathens, but watching children is hard. Two kids, ages 2 and 5 months is tricky. I know! I’ve been there. Every day. And that’s where the empathy comes from, right? You pray that they are good. You hope that they take their naps. And use their nice words and listening ears. You will them to be the little angels you know they are when you’re not around. Because you know how hard it is when they aren’t.

The other day, both kids went to daycare for the first time. We just started sending our 5 month old a couple of days a week. After dropping them off I came home sat down, enjoyed a cup of coffee and watched the Today show. I then had the most leisurely shower I have taken in, perhaps a year. And it was incredible. I came out feeling like a new woman. It may have been the fact that I shaved my legs unhurriedly and didn’t miss nearly as many spots as I normally do. It may have been the fact that I was able to think up some creative writing things that had been floating around my head. It may have been the loud singing echoing through the upstairs. It was me.. I was singing… It doesn’t matter what it was, all that matters is that it was enough. For me.

And perhaps tomorrow it won’t be. And I’ll have to find something new. Maybe I’ll come back to those posts and try and get some ideas. Regardless of how this parenting/self-care thing pans out, I don’t think mothers should be told “you’re doing it wrong” right now. We’re all trying our damnedest here.

Enough is as good as a feast

What is enough? It’s an age old question that seems to be having a revival these days. These times of pandemic pandemonium have sent parents and people alike careening towards self-reflection and perhaps more aptly, uncertainty.

While I certainly considered myself to have been wading in those worried waters. I have come out of it on the other side. Because of my good friend Mary Poppins.

Nikola loves Mary Poppins. Watching it no less than 3 times a day while his daycare was closed. Mostly just during the song and dance numbers. During the the toughest weeks of isolation, it was on a constant loop in our house. We have all made deviations from the “plan.” The grandiose visions of healthy daily meal plans, perfectly structured socially distant outings, vision boards of pristine schedules adhered to down to the minute. The invariable feast of almost constant stimulation. All of the things that social media projects that inevitably makes you feel less than when the plan collapses around you. As it almost always does. It doesn’t matter if you have children or not: The above was just an example. This is most everyone these days.

Everyone is dealing with some form of a question in which the repercussions of their answer or choice is unknowable. And while life itself tends to trend similarly – The questions seem bigger now. The impact of our choices seems larger. Looming over us like an ominous storm cloud. A storm we’re not sure we’ll survive.

The question I’m hearing the most from all around me is “is it enough?”

“It” is so many things. To different people. “It” can be:

  • My abilities
  • My patience
  • My concern
  • My time
  • My adaptibily
  • My skill
  • My moral compass
  • My beliefs
  • My faith

I could go on for days, as I’m sure most of you could too.

During this time of isolation, we as humans have gone through periods of trying to provide those around us and ourselves with a feast when “enough” will do. At times draining ourselves dry of energy, clarity, motivation. All of the things we need in order to feel fulfilled. We can’t do that to ourselves. We need to feel good about our day. What we did or chose not to do. Being comfortable with decisions we’ve made, because it was enough. I think we owe it to ourselves to at least try.

And speaking from a parenting perspective: I am absolutely certain that there is no such thing as an “expert” in the realm of parenting. I don’t believe it for a second. All I am sure of is that if you are an active parent who has their child’s well-being at heart than I have no doubt what you’re doing is enough. And I’d be willing to bet that more often than not, it more closely resembles a feast. I hope some people can find comfort in that.

Anticipation.

What an odd thing, antipacation. It has so many different connotations. The anticipation of Christmas morning as a kid, and even now as a parent. It evokes a sense of excitement, something magical. But anticipating news from a doctor’s office comes with a certain sense of dread. It can be good or bad, and either way it feels just about the same physically. But no matter what, I can’t say the word without hearing Carly Simon’s voice. Antici -pay -ay -tion.

My husband and I are expecting our second child in May. Our first son, Nikola, was 5 weeks early. And because he was so early he had a mandatory stay in the NICU. Couple that experience with a tough couple of days in the maternity unit and it has led to an unexpected reaction on my part.

This second pregnancy wasn’t planned necessarily. While my husband and I wanted a second child, this one came a bit sooner than we had discussed. And at the first hint of those telling symptoms, I started to feel something emotionally that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. At first, I was in denial. I didn’t take a pregnancy test for days even though it was clear I was expecting. That should’ve been my first clue that something was up. Eventually I did, and while there was certainly excitement, it came with an overwhelming sense of trepidation.

Every mother has a birth story. And most love to tell theirs. I do not. If I try, I leave parts out. Either because of modesty, or because I’m already crying too hard. At our first doctors appointment, I cried hysterically. And then at our second, and third. I tried so hard to communicate to my doctor what I was feeling. He would try to assure me that it wouldn’t be the same this time. But to no avail. My crying continued far beyond the doctors appointment. It was every night, and throughout most days. People would want to talk about the baby, and I’d stop them. Just the thought of going through what we did last time overwhelmed me more than I could have ever fathomed. The anticipation of it all….

And so that’s where I’ve been mentally. Trying to turn the anticipation of this momentous event that will forever change and shape our lives, from bad to good. It’s been a long road, 6 months to be exact, but I think I am almost there. And because of that, the fog I’ve been walking in has seemingly cleared, and I was able to do this post. It’s incredible how much weight an emotion like that can carry. And you only truly realize it once its lifted.

The Ebb and Flow of Blogging

I can not possibly write one more post about not knowing what to write. I can’t. I mustn’t. But the words keep coming. And this post keeps taking it’s inevitable shape.

Then comes the wishful thinking: Will this be the start of a blogging spree? Will this post send me into a frenzy of creative inspiration, the likes of which my little page has yet to see? With these questions; a glimmer of hope.

Writing to write, they say, is one of the best ways to combat the blank head space that can happen in the world of creative writing. Start with a sentence. Just one. And it will take off. That’s what they say anyway…

Creatively speaking, I’ve been riding the coattails of my last post. It was a personal one about the loss of a loved one. I posted it to my Facebook page and was shared by many who knew my step-father. It was heartfelt and honest. And well-received. That was published 29 days ago…. 29 days without post.

Normally, I’d wait for inspiration to strike. That’s my favorite way to write. Feverishly. But today, I HAD to write something. Anything will do. Do you ever have that feeling? In your writing – do you ever feel like you MUST put something down, for your own….I don’t know.. mental health? I don’t know if thats it really. I don’t know what to call it. Do you?

But I feel like something different is afoot. For the first time, maybe ever, it’s not so much about views or likes. This post is purely for the sake of doing something creative. So, I am just going to send it out into the WordPress universe. And I hope that my dear friend, the spark, finds her way home to me. Wish me luck.

Help or Hindrance? The Enneagram Test

A few years ago, while driving, I came up to an intersection. To my left there were about 10 cop cars, lights swirling and police officers with guns drawn. A man was standing with his hands raised and he was yelling. He said “I have PTSD. Don’t you understand? This is why police are killing so many people, you don’t listen!” It was clearly an intense situation. And in that split second – my first thought was; “I should probably get out to see if I can help”. The thought just washed over me. I couldn’t control it. And thankfully, it went as quickly as it came.

During my lifetime, I have put myself into countless situations I have almost immediately regretted. Because, simply, I can’t help myself. Sometimes my offers of assistance are not well thought out and are more often than not, just instinctual. I want to help. I want to fix it. Whatever it is. And now I know why.

I first heard about the Enneagram Test on the Chelsea Handler podcast “Life will be the death of me.” Her therapist recommended she take it. I’m not one for personality quizzes but the theory behind it sounded interesting. Then, a few days ago when I was checking out some new blogs, there it was again – the test. For it to come up twice in two days was too curious for me to pass up. So, I took it.

The test is a simple one. Its origins date back to the 4th century AD (that’s crazy, eh?) It’s based on the idea that there are 9 basic personality types. The Perfectionist, Helper, Performer, Romantic, Observer, Skeptic, Enthusiast, Challenger, and Mediator. The gives you a series of questions, asking you to rate it mostly true or mostly false. Some questions are easy, and some are more introspective. The real dig-deepers.

You can take the test for yourself HERE

My results are in:

I am Type 2, The Helper – While that sounds like a lovely thing to be; it certainly has its fair (and unflattering) share of “Challenges”. And my god…I have never read anything more accurate.

Type 2 people tend to:

  • Believe that people’s love for them depends on what they do for them and what role they play in their lives
  • Make a huge effort to be an important part of the lives of others
  • Forms social ties easily and enjoys company
  • Will always lend a helping hand
  • Sacrifice himself for others in order to validate self-worth

Type 2 Strengths

  • Caring
  • Helpful
  • Relationship-Oriented
  • Generous
  • Sensitive to others feelings
  • Empathetic
  • Lively

Those are some the nice things. They always start with the nice things.

Type 2 Challenges

  • Won’t communicate needs, expects people to just notice it themselves. And when that doesn’t happen, feels disappointment and resentment.
  • Proud
  • Requires the approval of others
  • Intrusive
  • Demanding
  • Emotional and Hysterical

I have a lot to work on. These are not the personality traits I want to possess. And here’s the kicker: I have had the title of this post saved in my drafts Since January 10th, 2017…. I think, perhaps I’ve always known that this behavior is a problem. And now, I just have the proof.

So, tell me. What is your number? How do you feel about it? Did you think you might be a different number? If so, why?