Lean On Me

Call me (if you need a friend)
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We Be Jamming…

Lean On Me

Come, on you know the riff is playing in your head now. Well those of you old enough to remember the 80s are anyway. When trying to think of a catchy title for this post, the Club Nouveau song, Lean On Me, came on the radio and stuck in my head on repeat (much like Lorde’s song, Royals). The lyrics as well as the song title, however, are appropriate for tonight’s topic.

Over the past week I’ve written a couple of posts about panic/anxiety disorder in recognition of Mental Illness Awareness Week. While the official week of raising awareness about mental health is over, I’m not quite done writing about a topic that hits so close to home. From the outside, when people look at me they might see a happy, successful woman. And to some extent, they would be right. I am truly blessed. Yet in the not so distant past, I really struggled with anxiety and panic. The fear of having a panic attack was almost as debilitating as actually having one. Once I accepted that I having another panic attack was inevitable, but that even so I could survive one, I started making progress. But while most outsiders were oblivious to all that chaos and turmoil in my life,  the insiders – my family and close friends – watched me struggle and offered .

In much the same way, I’ve watched my oldest daughter struggle with anxiety and my youngest daughter be consumed with worry.Watching a loved one struggle is hard. It makes you feel helpless, just as watching someone fight cancer or any other disease can be. Maybe you know someone who suffers from panic attacks. While everyone is different, the list below are some of the ways my family and friends have helped me through those periods in my life where anxiety threatened to take over and made all the difference to me.

1. Listening Without Judging. Having someone willing to hear my “plight” without trying to fix me is invaluable. Advice is great. I love hearing new ideas on how to handle panic and suggestions to alleviate stress. A new self-help book to read is perfect. But, don’t tell them to “relax,”  “calm down” or “stop worrying about everything” (if it were that easy, they’d already be doing it!) Empathy is the key.

2. Distractions Galore. Offer to go for a walk with them, drag them on  bike ride, take them mini-golfing or deal the cards. Coax them out of bed and do something with them. Make them laugh and forget about their problems. Distraction definitely helps me focus on something besides the tingling in my arms and the pressure in my chest.

3. Remind Me. “This Too Shall Pass” is a quote I can’t hear too many times. Sometimes we all just need a reminder that nothing lasts forever, that we’ve been down this road many times before and prevailed. It’s easy to forget your successes and discount them when you are feeling low. A little reminder that I am a strong person, I know what to do can light the way out.

4. Hugs Are Good. Sometimes an old-fashioned hug makes all the difference. A simple hug can  make me feel less alone. My daughters give me a hug sandwich, which never fails to make me smile. A gentle squeeze on the arm or a shoulder massage also helps lessen tension.

5. Check In. Just  knowing that someone is thinking about me or praying for me gives me strength. Ask what you can do to help and let the person know you are there. Let them reach out to you, but check in to make sure they remember you are there. Knowing I have someone to lean on, to call on is a gift that I don’t take for granted. I’m lucky.

Does anyone else have any good ways that you’ve used to help someone through a panic attack or that others have helped you? Please share!

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Stepping Back from the Edge

miawLearning to accept my panic/anxiety disorder instead of fighting it or denying it, helped bring stability to my life. I spent many nights lying in bed, praying for a cure. Asking “Why me? Why can’t I just be normal?” The answers never came nor did a magic pill that took it all a way. As this is Mental Illness Awareness Week, this post continues the ramblings about my ongoing saga with mental illness and shares ways I’ve learned to cope and overcome.

I know I’ll most likely deal with anxiety for the rest of my life. The periods in-between episodes grow longer and the severity lessens, but even now I know I’ll feel that adrenaline race through my body again as my brain’s “fight or flight” response goes awry despite the logical center of my mind knowing without a doubt that “I am safe.” As life goes on, as it always does, I try live a healthy lifestyle in a futile effort to ward off the next attack. But as complacency gets in my way, I slack off and am not always successful in that area – especially when it comes to junk food and Diet Coke. I do know I feel better and stronger when I make healthy food choices, limit caffeine, exercise regularly, get a good night’s sleep and take my anti-anxiety medication as prescribed (a future blog post will be on medications).

Still the day comes when I’m faced with that wave of anxiety crashing down on me, forcing me toward the edge. Over the years I’ve become better equipped to force myself to take a step back from that edge instead of falling into the crevice. Having lived through this personal, sometimes lonely battle, I realized that something good has to come out of it. I know I am a stronger person for it and my hope is by sharing my experience I can help someone else in a similar situation. These strategies help me cope and get to the other side of a panic attack. Maybe they can help you or someone you know, maybe not. But, when I’m consumed with darkness, I’m willing to try anything (well almost anything) to come back into the light.

In no particular order, here are the ways I cope:

1. Accept the feelings and go with it. When I start to panic about the panicky feelings, it compounds everything for me. I’ve learned to just ride the initial waves, letting them flow through me. I know it can’t last for ever and I can handle the uncomfortable feelings for a few minutes.

2. Monitor self-talk. This one is one of the hardest for me. I have to stop my mind from wandering and make myself stop and remind myself that I am not dying. I don’t feel good, but I am not dying.

3. Refocus. I try to find a distraction for myself that is repetitive to help my thoughts get back on track. Some ways I’ve done this are knitting/crocheting (the counting of the stitches helps calm me done), focusing on my breathing, visualizing I’m somewhere else relaxing, etc.

4.Breathe Deeply. Taking several cleansing breaths helps. I’ll take a breath, hold it and let it out slowly. It starts to calm me and helps alleviate the heaviness in my chest.

5. Shake it out. This one looks kind of silly, but it really does help me. I stand up and shake my arms and legs out. It’s like I’m getting rid of the bad energy.

6. Talk it out. I have a few good friends I can go to, who understand me and can empathize – no judgements. They remind me I’ve been in this place before and I have the strength to leave it behind again.

7. Lend a hand. When I’m focusing on someone else and helping them, I’m not focused on my own problems. Having two young daughters, who always seem to need me, helps a lot. I can’t let them down. I have to move forward. They know I have anxiety attacks; I don’t hide it from them. On the other hand, I don’t want to scare them. I focus on them. I get through the next minute, the next hour, the next day. Minute by minute until eventually I’m back to feeling like myself again.

8. Get physical. I’ll go for a walk to clear my head. Even better for me is getting sweaty – a hard run, shooting hoops in the driveway or a Just Dance marathon on the Wii.

9. Massage. My tension and stress always ends up in my neck and shoulders. Using a tennis ball in a sock or a foam roller eases that tension and helps me relax. Better yet, I enlist the hands of my eleven-year old or six-year old. Stretching my neck, rolling my shoulders and tensing the muscles as tight as I can and then relaxing them also eases the tension.

10. Keep Faith. Lately I’ve struggled with this one. I’ve doubted God’s love. I’ve questioned how He can keep track of millions and millions of people and I can barely keep track of two girls. In Matthew 17:20, it says “If you have faith as small as a mustard seed…nothing will be impossible for you.” So despite my doubts and questions, I still pray. I don’t know if what I’m doing is the right thing or if it’ll matter in the end, but I do have that mustard seed’s worth of faith that God is somehow listening and that “I can do anything through Him who gives me strength.” (Philippians 4:13).

Anyone else have any ideas for coping in the throes of a panic attack? I’d love to hear them. Share your thoughts in the comments below.

 

It’s Not in My Head (Not Really) and No, I’m Not Crazy (Not Really)

miawThe words “mental illness” make me cringe. My name is, Shar, and as much as I hate to admit it, I have a mental illness. I shouldn’t be ashamed of having a mental illness, but my perceived societal stigma often makes me feel that way. I’ve felt like I was less or going crazy, or not “normal” because of it. Looking at me, you would never know about the turmoil that lies just beneath the surface. Being that this week (October 6-12) is National Mental Illness Awareness week, I thought I’d put those inadequate feelings aside and write about the invisible, not-talked-about, reality of my mental illness in the hopes that someone out there can relate and know they are not alone or at least if you know someone struggling with these same issues you are more aware of what that person is going through.

I’ve struggled with anxiety/panic disorder since I was a teenager and if I think about it probably even before then. It wasn’t until I was in my mid-twenties that I started taking medication to control the symptoms, even though I was hospitalized for three-days at the start of my freshman year of college (because of the dehydration I experienced from my inability to eat for weeks on end as a result of the anxiety). I’ve been in and out of therapy and know dozens of techniques to use during an attack and prevent future attacks. For the most part, the combination of these things keep me on an even keel. Yet, even so, something will trigger an attack or one will sneak up on me out of the blue for no apparent reason (at least to me).

I can recognize some patterns in my life that have led to an episode of panic – the changing of the seasons (especially the Fall), a conflict, traveling, flying and cutting back on my medication. Some of those triggers I can avoid (although I don’t really want to, like not traveling) and others are completely out of my control (Fall will come whether I like it or not). You might ask why I would mess with my medication. The main reason is that I’ll get cocky. I’ll go long periods panic-free and start to get on myself about using medication as a crutch and then try to cut back on the dose (with my doctor’s permission). I’m fearless and confident I can handle whatever comes my way until a panic attack knocks me down again. Logically, I shouldn’t see the medication as a crutch, diabetics don’t use insulin as a crutch nor is anti-seizure medicine a crutch to someone with epilepsy. Yet, in my mind even when someone would make these same comparisons to me, I would think but those are real conditions. Years ago as I went through multiple blood and GI tests, I kept hoping and praying they would figure out what was really wrong with me and not just the elusive anxiety that would magically go away if I could somehow relax and stop worrying.

I would not wish a panic attack on anyone. It is the worst feeling ever. A panic attack can hit me anytime of the day or night, but once I have the initial one it takes me a couple of weeks to get back to myself again. From that point on mornings are the worst for me. As I’ve come to know myself and apply techniques I’ve learned along the way, the symptoms aren’t nearly as severe as they were in the past and they don’t last as long as the used to, but it still doesn’t feel good – at- all. I’ll wake up with a heaviness in my chest. My heart will race and I’ll get really hot and start sweating. In the next moment, I will be shivering and my arms will tingle as my feet and hands go numb. My stomach will (in the past I’ve even thrown up) and flop as my appetite disappears to nausea. These symptoms will play havoc on me off and on for several hours. Upon which I will feel extremely tired. Unfortunately with a full-time job in addition to being a wife and mother of two – sleep usually isn’t an option. I have to get out of bed, which is a good thing. This forces me to face down the symptoms warring within me to talk myself down as I accept the feelings and then let it go. By the end of the day, I’ll feel like myself again until the cycle begins the next morning until it doesn’t.

It isn’t easy getting out of bed those days, but what other choice do I have? Keep on, keeping on.

Has anyone else felt ashamed of having a mental illness or thought it was something they should be able to just get over?

Later this week I will write about some of the ways I’ve learned to cope with my panic disorder.

Funky Friday

Maybe, if I chase a blinking cursor across a blank page and spill my words, I’ll feel better. Some days peace settles over me and everything feels right. Today isn’t one of those days. Some days I feel like a war is waging within me. That would be today. Doubt. Fear. Anxiety. Panic.

I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my body – the hot flashes alternate with the chills. The tightness settles in my chest. I look over my shoulder and no one is lurking or threatening. No one, but me.

I thought the running, the getting in shape would stave off that dragon of mine. I hoped never to see its face staring down on me. Yet when I least expect it, he taps me on the shoulder, catching me off guard and says “I’m back…” Go ahead and smile or throw-up. 

My lips curl upward as my fingers continue to fly across the keyboard. I will NOT be defeated. The panic does not OWN me.  It does not win.  Breath in, breath out.  Be still. And let it pass. I’m OK.

Ordinary Obsessions

a-to-z-letters-oI obsess about overcoming the obstinate obstacles that obscure my dreams. Not really, but it sounds goods on this fifteenth day of the A to Z blog challenge, which features none other than the letter “O.”

Actually I don’t really have an obsessive personality type. OK, well maybe just a teeny bit. When I was in high school and college I religiously followed the Bowling Green State University Falcon’s Men’s Basketball team. For a period of eight to ten years I attended almost every home game. I liked to get there early so I could get my peanut M&M’s and my usually seat five rows up to the right of half court in the student section. If I didn’t go through this ritual I was convinced the team would lose. Now, its debatable whether that makes me obsessed or just a really, loyal fan not wanting to jinx the team.

Along the lines of loyal fan, I do get hooked on certain television shows and book series. I read the first six of Debbie Macomber’s Cedar Cove series in less than two weeks and did the same with Robyn Carr’s Virgin River Series when I first got my Kindle. If the next book is out there, I want to read it! I also watched the first four seasons of Lost in about a month so I was caught up in time for the new season to start. I did the same thing this past December with Downton Abbey. Again, I like to think of myself as more quirky than obsessed.

I do also have a tendency to sit in the same spot at church and in meetings, but I think that is more of a habit than an obsession. Of course, I do check to make sure the doors are locked and the flat iron is off before I leave the house – but only once. This just makes me practical.There’s a fine line between obsessed and paranoid!

Some of you may remember reading about my youngest daughter’s obsessive tendencies in my “Oreo” post. Her symptoms continued to get worse and worse and I ended up taking her to see the doctor. He felt she was exhibiting obsessive-compulsive disorder signs and referred us to a behavior therapist. I started thinking back over when she started to get so upset about touching items that might have germs (that could make her sick) and realized it was about the same time her allergy medication Singulair went generic.

As a good Mom would, I googled the drug and found out that it can cause agitation and anxiety. The doctor agreed that it’d be best to take her off the drug. She hasn’t taken it in a little over a month. Whether or not it was the cause of her OCD issues or her two sessions with the therapist helped, she’s improving. She hasn’t cried about going to school for three days in a row and she only asks me 20 times instead of a hundred times if something is going to make her sick. I see hope. While I may joke about my obsessions, OCD is not funny in the least bit. My daughter’s fears are very real and it breaks my heart to see her so afraid. I want to reassure her, but realize that just feeds her fears and make her crave more reassurances. I’m hopeful though, getting her to school without tears has been a huge hurdle. I’m thankful for that (and am by no means obsessing that my anxiety feeds into hers.)

Anyone else have any similar experiences with Singulair or a child with OCD?

An Or, an Or, an Oreo…

English: Two regular Oreo cookies. Please chec...
 Photo credit: Wikipedia#

“I want to scream and shout and let it all out. . .An Or, an Or, an Oreo…”

My children have decided these are the lyrics to Brittney Spears latest song and I think I kind of like them better than the actual lyrics. When the song comes on radio (and it seems like it’s every time I turn it on), I can’t help but sing along using the Oreo version, which then is permanently stuck in my head for the rest of the day.

If you think about it, when I’m upset and overwhelmed I do want to scream and shout and then eat a Oreo or two or the whole package! My youngest daughter has been my latest exasperation. She’s afraid she’s going to throw up. Mind you, she hasn’t gotten sick in a very long time. I’m talking years. Nevertheless, from the moment she gets home she starts peppering me with questions about what will and won’t or could possibly make her throw up. She’s afraid any little thing will cause her to up-chuck. If she washes her hands and a soap bubble pops on her lips she’s afraid she’ll be sick. If she sees some thing “odd” in her food (like a speck of pepper), she refuses to ear. She constantly asks me if I think she’s going to throw up or if her sister is or if I am. If anyone even suggests the don’t feel well she starts to freak out and cry. It is driving everyone crazy. I’ve tried reassuring her that we wouldn’t feed her food that would make her sick (at least not intentionally – I’ll admit I’m not the best cook).

This fear has taken over her life. She doesn’t want to go to school and cries every morning and at school as well. We are trying to go ten days without crying, but so far the longest she’s gone is a day. If she makes it to ten, I promised to come to school and help out with “jobs” in her kindergarten room. Her teacher feels she’s just going through a phase and I agree, but right now it’s hard to see her so upset. I’m at a loss at what to do to help. Maybe a Oreo would help? Yeah, that’s a good plan. In fact, I think my little one should give me hers too (just in case they might make her sick). I’ll take one for the team:)

Seriously though, if anyone has any ideas to help her over her throw-up fear, I’d love to hear them!

 

Anxiety Amuck

As I cleared the pile of junk mail cluttering our dining room table, I salvaged a scrap of paper and set it aside for safe-keeping. No, I’m not a hoarder, although sometimes I do feel buried alive among the toys, clothes and shoes that litter the floors of my home.  As soon as I pick things up, it seems something (or someone) else sneaks behind me and puts something else in its place like quick sand.

But back to the all important scrap of paper. On it my nine year-old daughter had scribbled the lyrics to a Christmas song she had written. I smile to myself as I read her neat handwriting and phonetically spelled words. Her song is about having a “wonderful time.”  I take the scrap upstairs and put it in my keepsake box with the other songs, stories and poems she has written. She loves to write and she loves to read me what she has written. Pride and love fill me as I listen to her and watch her face light up as she reads something she has written aloud. She asks me if I like what she has written and of course I do. She is aspiring and I want to help her get there. I admire her creativity and openness. Her kindness and empathy.

She reminds me a lot of myself at that age. I still have a box of old stories and poems that I wrote when I was a kid. We both like to be liked and are hurt easily. Criticism can cripple us; even if it is not meant to. As I have got older I have learned to take criticisms as avenues for growth and not take it to heart. After all, it is my right to agree or disagree with it. It is just someone else’s opinion. They don’t have to like me, nor I them. I am worth more than one person’s opinion. My daughter has not learned these lessons yet and worries — a lot. This is another trait she got from me.

Nature or nurture? I am not sure. Was she born with propensity toward worry and anxiety or does she emulate what she sees? I have struggled with worry, anxiety and panic for most of my life. I empathize with the stomach aches and  racing heart. I know what it feels like to have some unknown heaviness pressing down on your chest threatening to cut off your breath. I intimately know about the restless indecision and unrelenting “what if’s” that make you want to jump out of your skin and run as far and as fast as you gave. I understand the waves of nausea, hot and cold flashes and the urge to pull the covers over your head and sleep. Sleep to escape. Sleep in the hope that tomorrow, you’ll feel OK again, but fear prevents you from actually sleeping, because what if you’re not?

Over the years I have learned many coping skills and have learned to keep the anxiety and panic at bay. My faith has given me that strength; continues to feed that strength. And still I worry about my daughter. I know I should give it to God and I try, but… The big “but.” I want to spare her from the pain, protect her and keep her safe. I don’t want to watch her go down the same path I did. I want to reassure her she is OK, not matter what. I teach her what I know when she starts to “freak out,” and it helps. She is seeing a counselor and created a worry box to put her worries in. She is making one for me as write this. She has a notebook where she writes down all the gifts God has given her that day – watching a funny movie, playing with her best friend… She re-reads her list of gifts when she starts to worry about something. The other day, she gave me a new notebook she got the other day from the treasure chest after one of her appointments. She told me I could use it to write my gifts from God in.

At the top of the list right after God’s grace, is her name and her sister’s name. I am truly blessed.