Category Archives: Childhood Mood Disorders

Resting in the Stillness After Personal Struggle

03 Tuesday Apr 2018

Posted by in Acceptance, Ash Wednesday, Blessings, Catholic Parenting, Change, Childhood Mood Disorders, Family life, Forgiveness, Journaling, Lent, Love, Motherhood, Parenting, Parenting a Child with Special Needs, Past, Peace, Personal Challenges, Personal health, Perspective, Prayer, Prayers, Rest, Seasons, Stress & Anxiety, Suffering, Thankfulness, Tough days, Truth of Heart

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Silence, I learned, is some times the most beautiful sound.” 
― Charlotte Eriksson

“Slowly, simply, silence, stillness” was my Lenten mantra, my focus, my goal for the 40 days between Ash Wednesday and Easter morning. A lofty goal, yes. Yet, I was convinced this intentional journey would yield the peaceful rewards I was seeking in my personal life. Of all my Lenten fasts, in comparison to all my past sacrifices, in judging the level of self-denial I’ve deliberately imposed on myself, this year’s “halt of self” has been the most challenging in refinement of my mind, body, and spirit.

Do you trust the silence? Or, are you a skeptic of stillness, like I tend to be?

Have you found a way to rest in the stillness? Do you ever allow yourself the chance to rest your weary mind and bones?

Do you welcome in the peace? Or, are you prone to catastrophising out of innate fear?

Have you lived out loud, with joy and freedom from the chains of your mind? Or, do you lurk along in misery, always waiting for the other shoe to drop?

The last three years, for me, have felt like an ultra-marathon, filled with hills and valleys of tears, running at a snail’s pace, feeling completely lost and unprepared for the race set before me, as I carried a weighted pack on my shoulders, trudging through mud, falling down too many times that I’ve lost track. Over the last few weeks, I have seen the finish line in sight and I’m eager, yet still so apprehensive, to finish the race and rest in the notion that the biggest fight of my life thus far, is finally done. I am having a difficult time accepting that the grueling miles I’ve run have amounted to much more than having run a race I was thrown into, without adequate preparation. Now that my desperate pleas and prayers seem to be answered, it’s difficult to switch gears to a place where it’s time to rest, recuperate, recover from the incredible feat I have just accomplished, emotionally.

For so very long now, I have carried that burdensome cross of mothering a struggling child without a compass, my headlamp dimmed, my resolve shaken and trampled on. Yet, here I rise. The truth is the only way I’ve survived the mountainous terrain of my parenting journey is that I’m finally allowing myself to let go of control. Though fears still grapple me with super-human strength, I am diligent in practicing how to breathe through them, pray through them, write through them, and further unloading them in dialogue with my amazing therapist, trying to leave them in that space between us, not letting them drag me to the floor once I return home.

I’ve practiced a lot of self-forgiveness as I’ve fallen flat on my face and the need to forgive and seek forgiveness will remain a focus in my life. Despite my missteps and mistakes, I can recognize that I am loving as best I can today, and have let those circumstances, hardships, and some relationships to just be, freely flying away to where they need to go—even if that means far away from me where I can no longer enact any type of chance to insert my will, my advice, my vision, or my control.

The most humbling lesson I’ve learned in the last three years is that it’s okay, preferable, actually, to let go of perfection and preconceived notions, allowing God to do His job, and to just love—myself, others, my family, strangers, my friends, and enemies—right where I am and right where they are, without expectation nor conditions to that love. Truth be told, it’s a difficult, often heart-wrenching choice, challenge, and cross to bear going on in love when you feel so beaten down and defeated by the compounding hardships of life. But, going on in love and patience, staying mindful to live each day as best as I can, choosing better than before, these new choices and changes only feel strange and unnatural for a time before the transformative lightness is shining from deep within my heart, mind, and soul, changing me for the better.

Slowly, simply, silence, stillness. This has been my Lenten focus and will remain my prayerful path going into the Easter season and throughout the remainder of this year. Hoping for heartfelt and mindful changes for you, me, and the world abound. Be at peace, friends.

“Whenever there is stillness there is the still small voice, God’s speaking from the whirlwind, nature’s old song, and dance…” 
― Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk: Expeditions and Encounters

From Darkness to Light

07 Monday Sep 2015

Posted by in Adoption, Attachment parenting, Catholic Parenting, Change, Childhood Mood Disorders, Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD), Forgiveness, Parenting, Parenting a Child with Special Needs, Writing Goals

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“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.” 
― Albert Camus

When tragedy falls upon us, how do we respond? When tremendous joy is off-set by excruciating trials, which wins over your heart? When your faith in God is tested daily and you feel your mind darkening and your heart hardening, how do you bring yourself back to a place of light and peace?

Lake Michigan's rocky shore.

Lake Michigan’s rocky shore.


These are the challenges of my current days. This year has been filled with the joy of welcoming a newborn son—the most joyful, sweet boy, and the pain of The Girl’s myriad of disorders, special needs, and past traumas affecting her ability to function in a normal place—one far away from our loving reach. My silence on this blog is time spent away caring for my family in a way I never imagined I would have to do, facing enormous decisions that debilitate me on my strongest days, and inviting forgiveness and healing into my heart and home, often, on a moment-to-moment basis.

Always in the back of my mind is my  commitment to writing and what’s pulling me away from my writing goals. So, I’m figuring out a way I can continue to write about this whole mess of a year–wading in the murk and turmoil, despite the incredible challenges, changes, and triumphs, amidst the melancholic tragedies–and trying to not forget or dismiss the golden moments, too. My hope is that I can discover a new way to write it all down in order that my words will count for something and resonate with a kindred spirit living a similar dichotomy of joy and pain; that my wordy reflections bring about peace and hope, shedding light and love back into the world.

Sunset on Lake Michigan

Sunset on Lake Michigan

The Gift of One, Simple Day

12 Friday Sep 2014

Posted by in Change, Childhood Mood Disorders, Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD), Love, Motherhood, Parenting, Peace, Personal health, Perspective, Seasons, Stress & Anxiety, The Husband, Tough days

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Don’t underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can’t hear, and not bothering.  ~Pooh’s Little Instruction Book, inspired by A.A. Milne

How beautiful it is to do nothing, and then to rest afterward. ~Spanish Proverb

(Blog post authored by purdywords)

My family is in our fourth week of the school year, fall soccer is well underfoot and Baby Girl is officially a lover of all things ballet. The kids are happy, yet I’m barely staying afloat with all the expectations that come after 3:00 PM in a bustling household being taken over by Friday folders and signed papers, homework battles and fundraisers to promote, attempting to cook nutritious meals that match a delicate balance of life-threatening food allergies with a hint of young-kid pickiness. In a matter of two days, our weather has gone from the humid and sweltering 95 degrees to a cool and tolerable 65–perfect. Under the cloudiness, I’m no longer worried about applying sunscreen, but digging out sweatshirt layers for each little arm I clothe, reheating soup and warming pasta noodles for the bellies I’m charged with feeding. How quickly the seasons of life change before our eyes.

By the time my three hit the sack near 7:30 PM, I’m ready to climb into my own bed. But, alas! The dishwasher died a few weeks ago, so The Husband and I have been spending our nights finishing chores, exhausted from the days’ work and the arguing and tantrums that have become second-nature with The Girl. Honestly we are still climbing our way back from the emotional upheaval The Girl has been putting us through, her pinnacle reached only a few weeks ago when we thought we had nowhere left to turn. Yet, her tides finally crashed and she’s regained some of her level of normal—not a new normal, not a peaceful normal, yet a normal that is tolerable by comparison. Still, The Husband and I remain on guard for the next crest of high emotion and turmoil. We’ve not quite recovered from our tumultuous summer, and the residual effects remain in pieces of our every day.

Recognizing that I might be reaching burn-out, The Husband responded in-kind and for the first time, I felt no guilt for accepting his offer. So, dear fellow moms, please listen. When your husband offers you the priceless gifts of time and space, you graciously accept. For, he may know you better than you know yourself.  The peace and quiet, calm and rejuvenation of just one day may be enough to carry you through, strengthening you for the journey ahead. No, I didn’t book any fancy spa treatments (although he told me to). No, I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, really. However, what I did do was finally make the time to see my doctor for a physical (it has been two years!) and then treated myself to brunch. I came home and opened all the windows in the house, ignored the breakfast dishes in the sink, and climbed the stairs into my bed for an hour-long nap. I read, prayed, and stretched. For lunch, I ate leftovers. I signed on to my computer with the intent to write for the first time in—I’m ashamed to say—more than a month and that is just what I did for the last hour. A homemade decaf chai tea beside me warmed my body in the chilly afternoon air, and the spicy scent and simple beauty of a burning pumpkin-scented soy candle warmed my senses with a calming peace. In less than an hour, I will retrieve The Boy from his bus stop, and together we’ll drive a mere ten minutes to pick up the girls from our care provider. Today’s afternoon drive will be different–I feel the change churning inside of me. For the first time in a long time, I will be rested for the journey before me, beginning with our Friday night soccer games, a restful peace remaining with me for the days ahead.

 

 

 

Simply, love

09 Thursday May 2013

Posted by in AD/HD, Adoption, Attachment parenting, Childhood Mood Disorders, Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD), Forgiveness, Love, Mothers & Daughters, Parenting, Peace, Stress & Anxiety, Tough days, Writing

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There are times when silence has the loudest voice. ~ Leroy Brownlow

“…Peace begins with a smile. Smile five times a day at someone you don’t really want to smile at; do it for peace…” ~Mother Teresa

 

Day and evening, I have sat diligently at my distressed white Queen Anne desk to begin writing about the past, the present, the dream of tomorrow, but the words lead me nowhere, and I give up mid-sentence. Word documents are left half-explored. Bits and pieces of something remain–and that something has to do with bitterness and defeat. Anger and despair can’t be the only source of my words, so I allow days to pass me by to seek a cure to my writer’s block. I read instead.

A pile of books loaned from Uptown’s public library; a few favored electronic books downloaded to my Kindle; a growing stack of periodicals in the wicker basket beside the French country cream and green checkered love seat in the living room. Covered in my favorite down throw, I seek solace in treasured reading time. If my words are halted, then I will fill the void with other authors’ stories. I think, maybe this reading-only plan will help me to regain the courage I lost over these last three weeks to forge ahead in writing my story. Vindicated after just a couple days spent getting lost in stories, I find myself less harsh, and eager to befriend my ruby-red laptop once again.

Tapping the keys can be a most profound stress reliever. Anger melts away toward a deeper perspective–one borne of rumination, not regret. Word count increases and I feel like myself again.

~

The last couple of weeks have not been easy around here. The Girl has had a fair amount of challenges at home and school and the ramifications are felt all around us, lingering like a storm that begs to break. There are some days when I don’t feel capable of giving her all that she needs, to listen to her constant emotional wreckage, to be present and calm with her nearby. Truly, there are times when I feel like I don’t have an ounce of strength left in me to be her first line of defense when fighting the constant battles she brings to the table. I’m left overwhelmed by the daily management of this child and it has left me drained–so much so that I have to shut down my mind come evening and just be still.

Most challenging at times is the level of patience and calm persistence it takes to raise The Girl. The discipline always seems clunky– not quite right–and the level of perseverance it takes to get through an ordinary day is exhausting. If the everyday occurrences of emotional turmoil, wreckage and hyperactivity were kept to a minimum or happened on occasion then maybe I wouldn’t be living in constant frustration of it all. Before I react or teach, I honestly have to remind myself that she needs me more now in her time of trouble than on an average bad day–especially when I am the main target of her fight. Yes, most especially when she fights with me for no apparent reason.

This morning was a particularly tough one. Already tired that this irrational fight between us was starting at such an early hour, I asked The Girl, “Do we have to do this today?” A shrug was the only answer in return.

“Can you tell me why you are fighting with me now? Why are you arguing with me?” Silence.

With a heavy heart, I turned away from her, hiding my anguished face and my overworked mind tired of trying to figure out what ailed her this day. Exhausted of figuring out if this was one of those “big deal” situations or just her typical moodiness, I just had to turn away. Day after day after day of troubles and heartache–hers and mine–gets old fast.

One day of simple–this is my Mother’s Day wish.

As I descended the stairs to ready my little ones for the quick drive over to The Girl’s elementary school for morning drop-off, I gathered those two–The Boy and Baby Girl– in overzealous hugs and kisses, taking in a deep breath that filled my lungs with their little kid sweetness. With that breath, also a prayer. A prayer that this downreaching yogic breath would sustain me through the morning with The Girl–in peace. Despite my natural inclination to be annoyed and angry back at her, despite her ability to keep the charade going, I was going to win this war–with kindness, a smile, not engaging her at her worst–fathomless breaths guiding me through. It was my prayer that we were going to finish out the remainder of the morning without any further argument, without turning the gray effect into black, without more hurt feelings or emotional pain.

As I remained strong-willed in my efforts to remain calm, rising above the blackness of mood threatening to take over, my prayer was answered almost immediately. Just when I needed it most. Ironically, The Girl must’ve been doing her own deep breathing upstairs as she awaited my call to gather her belongings and head to the van. Because, once she descended those stairs herself, her entire demeanor had changed and I actually received a half-hug–her attempt at an apology. Her posture and presence dramatically morphed from bitter anger to a softer, calmer, kinder state. In thankfulness, I melted into that awkward embrace, my rigidness relaxing, too.

Thank you, Lord. Thank you for answered prayers and reminding me that I am not alone and neither is she. 

Upon locking the front door, I inhaled a triumphantly deep yogic breath of gratitude. It might not seem like much that The Girl quickly changed her attitude, but to me it was a sign of hope. Truly, a small miracle so desperately needed to sustain both of us after weeks of struggle. At the very least, I knew this change of heart meant The Girl’s morning at school would go smoothly. It also meant that she is growing in her ability to take responsibility for how her words–or lack thereof–and actions affect others. She is developing empathy, I think. This alone is a triumph worth celebrating. My hope is that the turn-around points to her learning how to be sorry. At this point, I’ll accept any attempt at reconciliation from her for a fight that I never saw coming–one that seems to resurface without any apparent pattern and typically without warning. I’d love for this recurrent fight to end so that we can forge ahead in love.

I’ll never stop being her advocate at school, with doctors, or in the community-at-large. But, the ever-present struggle between us at home has to end at some point. All I want for our family is true love and peace–in us and between us. All I want for The Girl is the ability to feel truly loved by us, the knowledge that she belongs here with us, and that she is alright just as she is. All I want is calmer, easier, better days ahead.

One day of simple–this is my Mother’s Day wish. 

Fighting the good fight

22 Friday Feb 2013

Posted by in AD/HD, Adoption, Childhood Mood Disorders, Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD), Love, Parenting, Snow day!, Tough days

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Enjoy when you can, and endure when you must.  ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

We awoke to a text alert that our local school district had cancelled school due to inclement weather. Snow and ice on these Ohio roads, the kids and I will be stuck at home most of the day, or at least until the roads have been cleared and it’s safe to venture out again. The alert goes until noon today, but I’m not one to take risks when driving is concerned—especially when the kids are involved. So, at home we will stay at least until after lunch. I can’t say that I am overjoyed by this prospect, only because I’ve been stuck inside the confides of my house for nine days straight now, tending to one sick kid after another with no reprieve in sight. I’m spent and feel like I haven’t had a moment to myself, am desperate for some alone time or the chance to chat with a friend over tea. But, this is just one small moment in time and I know that the bleak forecast outside won’t last forever in nature or within my heart.

Upstairs, safely confined to her bedroom, The Girl (my oldest, 8 years old) is having a fit of epic proportions because her schedule has been thrown a curve ball for which we did not prepare her the night before. (Husband and I were unaware of the incoming ice and snow until after tucking the kids in last night.) So, we hadn’t told The Girl that there was a chance school would be cancelled. And that, my friends, is all it takes to throw her into an intensely wild mood coupled with the attitude that somehow not being at school right now is my entire fault.

She was in the process of breaking something in her room (I guessed her American Girl Doll school desk, but luckily I opened the door to her room as I heard the telltale noises of destruction going on, and I was able to get her to stop mid-rage before doing something she would later regret.) Just yesterday, after spending two hours cleaning her soft lilac painted, butterfly and art decorated bedroom, I threw away one full bag of trash filled with bits and pieces of paper, plastic, wood, pencil sharpening flakes, broken jewelry and more that I found strewn throughout, on the floor, under the bed, ground into the sand brown carpet. Silently, I prayed that one day The Girl would be eclipsed of this horrible affliction, or at least spared it on most days. My prayer continued that she would one day learn to control her moods and anxiety, her impulses and energy and use the tools we’ve paid therapists to teach her, the ones we reinforce at home so that she can spare the life cycle of the toys and gifts, books and all that she values most. Mostly, I prayed that she would be able to stop herself from destroying her property and her inner-spirit and learn to make better decisions before continuing to break anything of worth—sentimental, monetary, or emotional.

After returning from school and going up to put in her required 20 minutes of reading, she noticed that I had replaced all the books, Highlights magazines, and artwork to their properly labeled spot on the pink organizing shelf against the wall underneath the trophy display in the room where she spends most of her quiet and calming time. She took note that her school yearbook from last year was back in the magazine box, too, but was torn away from its cover, some pages askew, some ripped or bitten off. She was so enraged by the very fact that the yearbook was in disarray and again, blamed it all on me (just because she knew I had been in her room—nobody else cleans in there.) After her screaming fit with punches and kicks against the furniture, violent pulls against pillows, slams of the clothes closet door, and finding anything else to knock in sight of her wild raging episode, she angrily hurled herself on the twin bed which had been carefully made with a quilt of bright flowers, matching pillows and soft blankets piled neatly in display. Atop the flowery bedding, she sobbed more because now she remembered that it was her, in fact, who destroyed the yearbook. Waiting until the tears subsided, I simply asked The Girl if she was done for now, calmed down and ready to talk? Shaking her head, “Yes,” but still holding her face in her hands with the nails chewed down to the bed, we had a loving, but tough discussion about why she was placing the blame on me for a poor decision that she made during an angry fit. She said she didn’t know why she blamed me and wished she could stop ruining her things when she was mad. As my heart softened to this child of mine, the one we’ve loved since our first visit, the one that struggles with so much from within (none her fault) she proceeded to cry again, and I held back my tears of despair for the plight that is hers. With trembling wails, nose running, fists clenched, The Girl’s voice now escalating from the onset of tears, sobbing out that she just wants to put the yearbook back to the way it was before. After trying to calm her without success, I promised that I would try my best to make it so. Closing the door behind me, I reminded her to take “bubble breaths,” counting to ten, breathing in and out to help stop the emotional turmoil bubbling up from inside, stemming from regret. She screamed, “That doesn’t work!” But, I knew she would at least try. Ten minutes later, she was back downstairs joining in the energy of family life, no trace of tears down her cheeks, voice now steady and confident once again.

Often I rehash our conversations, rewriting the past, dreaming of  what it would be like to have a normal conversation for once. If only The Girl could only learn to say what a typically developing child might say in a similar instance, perhaps something like this, “Mom, I tore apart my yearbook yesterday when I was mad at you. You sent me to my room because I yelled at you when you were helping me with my math homework. I was so mad and I ripped my yearbook. Do you think you could help me figure out how to fix it?” Oh! How much simpler life would be without all these highs and lows, and the extra, unneeded drama! The Girl would walk with a visibly calmer way emanating from within her being, and that calmness would radiate throughout this house and make for a more normal life. But, calm does not come easily to my oldest child, and each day is a challenge in profound ways. So, we ride out the storms of her emotions as they come on like tidal waves, tornadoes, and icy winter storms, and try to relish the better days, no matter how few we get to enjoy.

~

These unscheduled days off are always the worst kind around here. Upon awakening to the snow day alert from the school district, I’m quickly filled with anxiety about how I’m going to manage The Girl’s day, her temperament and energy levels all the while making sure I get to my normal, daily chores and responsibilities, and caring for my youngest two children (The Boy, four years old and Baby Girl, two years old) who are affected as well by their oldest sister being home when she typically is not. These are the days that feel the longest, and I wish I had a perfect answer, a solution that works—truly works–for her, for me, for all of us. Surprises are typically out of the question because they cause more anxiety in her, and become less of a thrill after putting out the effort of sharing where we might be going. It’s safe to say that The Girl hates surprises because they are akin to throwing her off the curve of a typical, assured schedule. It’s sad that I can’t say, “Hey, let’s all go to the library after lunch!” The Boy and Baby Girl wouldn’t bat an eyelash for they’d finish their lunch and be ready to go. The Girl? Well, she would first object, “No! I hate the library! I want to go rock climb.” And when I tell her why rock climbing isn’t an option, and ask what she’d like to do instead, she will answer with the impossible, “I want to go play outside and go visit Nana.” I’ll respond (for the fifth time now), “I’m sorry, but playing out in the ice and snow isn’t an option right now because first, it’s not safe to be out there and secondly,  I really don’t want you to be out in this weather since you just got over having a bad chest cold and you missed school for a week. Nana has plans with your aunt today, so we can’t see her, but we can definitely make plans with her another time soon—probably in just a few days. So, let’s go to the Library! It’ll be fun and you can even borrow some videos. How does that sound?” Cheers will come from the littlest two as they love going to the Library (and so does The Girl, but she just can’t give in to anything I recommend for the very reason that the idea came from me). So, The Girl sits with arms crossed, head to the side looking sullenly out the window towards the ice-covered trees and overall grayness in sight, rolls her eyes mocking me and keeps up the fight. It’s the same every time.

~

Long ago, Husband and I gave up the wish that The Girl would be other than she is, and we love her in spite of herself. We love her so much it hurts.  Her good days come as quickly as they go, but we cherish them and know that if anything, the roughest days are the ones stretching our hearts and minds, and that she is worth the fight. For her, we’ll never stop trying.