Hands of Change

Hi.
My name is Stephanie.
I started writing because it made me feel better.
I haven't written in over 16 months.... hmmm. Prophetic?

I have thought about writing but the motivation was never so overwhelming to force me to the computer.  I was under the assumption that life would somehow slow down once the kids got older.  All I hear is laughing about how wrong I was.  If you are interested, the last 16 months have been the typical journey that you would expect.  I reread some of the last posts and remember where I was, and it feels like a lifetime ago.  I can't say much as changed, but feel I am rediscovering, or somehow just now discovering who I am.  And I want to write here so I can use this springboard to where I hope to go.

Weight aside (as I wrote before), I'm basically where I was.  But just so you know I have tried.  I really, really tried, a few different times, different things.  And I do feel better.  It feels like chipping away at a huge chunk of marble and I don't quite know how to use the tools, but I can see a figure take shape as I figure it out.  It will continue to be a journey, one I don't intend to give up on, but it is coinciding with another journey... one of mental health.

I realize now, I'm an anxious person.  I was an anxious kid, nervous.  I felt shell-shocked a lot and felt very heavy weight of pressures.  I was taught people were always watching and you were to show your best side, do your best.  This worked for my older sister who rose to challenges, but for me, it turned me into a mess.  It is probably one reason I love to live in the city where I feel like I melt into the background.  I do love to reach out to others, but on a very personal basis, and to those who have known me forever.

That being said I've noticed changes in myself.  Having children isn't the best for the hormones.  I've not been the same since my first born.  And just over a year ago I had the realization that things are so far postpartum and breast-feeding (at that point, 2 years) that I started to come to terms that my struggles to remain on a even-keel where on the forefront of my mind constantly and that my rage and sadness were overtaking my life.

It's hard to say I had rage.  Because with the rage comes the intense guilt.  I just need to do better.  I can control this.  Eat better.  Exercise more. Have more free time.  Get enough sleep.  Clean up your environment.  Volunteer and do good things.

I could go on and on about all the things I tried but it still remained.

I went to my OBGYN last month and decided to lay it all out for her.  I had spoken about possible postpartum depression years before and she told me, "I just don't see it in your eyes".  Some people might be outraged  at that, but I trust her.  And I carried on.

But when I looked at her this time I could see her eyes soften.  I explained my life.  Intense rage followed by weeks of recovering the damage that I had done.  It's hard to say that about yourself.  I told her "I have one good week a month".  She gave me a knowing smile and said, "It's time."

She explained all of this was fueled by the hormone fluctuations women get in their mid-thirties.  One that is exacerbated by life stresses and my anxiety based personality.  She then prescribed me my first anti-depressant.

I walked out feeling part-elated and part-failure.  Why can't I just get it together?  I don't know.  But I know I needed help, in the form of a 20 mg pill.  She told me to write a journal page that night.  And then one 8 weeks later.  She said she wanted to know if I saw a difference.

I can tell you I did/do.

I'm not going to be shy about telling people I'm 'on something'.  It's now part of who I am and my story.  And I know it's so commonplace.  I will tell you the difference it is making in me.

First thing?  And it's the major thing.  If my rage was a lit wick with an endless supply of oil, that little pill dumped out the fuel.  It was extinguished.  I feel such relief from that.  I don't like being angry and have bitterness swell inside me, but that was all that lived in my heart.  A heart I love to share with my family, friends, church, etc.  It was being resided by a poison, that always kept a part of me at bay.  I needed the connection again, but was so fueled by emotion I couldn't get there.

Relying on something other than my moxie is new to me.  But will be an important part of the next phase of my life.  I don't want my children to have memories of an enraged mother, that is not who I wish to be.  Please don't think that I am in la-la land either.  Things are still very real, but it has given me back perspective as to what is important and what isn't as I navigate the details.  There have been some weird issues that have come up, most likely side effects, but I'm willing to deal.  The shaky hands I now possess are better than a clenched fist any day.