Hope: A Reason to Persist

To me, this quote has many layers.

The first thing I think of is “Never Give Up.” If you hit a roadblock, find a way to get around it. My husband often reminds me to be persistent, not give up so easily. I don’t like to hear this (or admit I’m not trying hard enough), but he’s totally right. Whatever the issue may be, I find that when I keep moving, reaching farther than I thought I would or could, it usually turns out to be a rewarding experience. Not always. But if I push as hard as I can and exhaust all options, even if it doesn’t work out, I feel better about myself. Because I gave it my all. Persistence pays!

This quote also reminds me of my own mental health journey. When I was a young girl, I had terrifying symptoms I never told anyone about. I didn’t know how to describe them, and certainly didn’t think anyone would understand. I felt hopeless. I didn’t want people to think I was weird or different. So I kept it a secret. For twenty years!

When I finally went to a doctor for help, he told me I was having panic attacks. He diagnosed me with agoraphobia and panic disorder. This might sound strange, but my first reaction was happiness. Of course I didn’t want to have an anxiety disorder. But I was extremely relieved that the awful symptoms I’d had for so long actually had a name. Not only that, but others had this too… millions of people. And, there was treatment available. I could be helped. It was unbelievable!

I was filled to the brim with HOPE.

This month is National Suicide Prevention Month. I’m thinking of friends who are struggling with depression. I’m remembering people in my community who have died by suicide. My friend’s brother. My daughter’s classmate from high school. My dad’s work colleague. I’m thinking of how hopeless they must have felt, being in the deepest, darkest place filled with total despair. I’m thinking of their families, who will never stop struggling to cope with the loss of their loved one.

If you or someone you know is struggling with depression, anxiety, OCD, PTSD, bipolar disorder, an eating disorder, or any other mental illness, please know that there is medical help available. You are NOT alone. Reach out for help.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 800-273-8255

Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741

There is hope. There is always HOPE.

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From Devastation to New Life

My husband and I love to go on hikes, and we’re fortunate there are tons of beautiful trails near our home. Last week we ventured to a new spot we’ve been wanting to try.

I’d totally forgotten about something — this was one of the areas ravaged by wildfires last fall.

Seeing the charred trees and blackened earth brought back painful memories.

On November 8, 2018, my husband and I woke to the horrific news that there had been a mass shooting at a popular country bar in our hometown of Thousand Oaks, CA. Twelve people were murdered.

We were devastated and in disbelief that such a tragedy could happen in our beautiful, safe, tight-knit community.

Merely hours after hearing about the shooting, a wildfire started near our home. We saw a huge plume of smoke from our backyard, but honestly thought we’d be fine. Half an hour later, we were placed under a mandatory evacuation, with the threat of “imminent danger.”

We couldn’t begin to process the mass murder in our city, let alone have to fill our car with precious belongings and flee as quickly as possible.

It was terrifying and surreal.

Thankfully, our home and neighborhood didn’t burn. Hundreds of others lost everything.

So as my husband and I started out on the trail last week, gravel crunching underneath our feet and bright blue skies overhead, I couldn’t stop the sad memories from flashing through my mind.

But then I noticed something. Fresh green growth sprouted from the soot-covered dirt. And wildflowers. And babbling brooks, from the recent rains.

New life. Hope.

It made me think about how people go through disasters and hard times, unsure they’ll ever get through them. Filled with loneliness and total despair.

But time goes by, and things get better. Maybe just a tiny bit at first, but it’s a start. Slowly there are signs of healing.

Happiness begins to bloom again. I guess spring is a great reminder of that.

There is always hope.

Fourth image courtesy of here

What Kate Spade’s Death Reminds Me

(Trigger warning: this post discusses suicide. If you need help, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at (800)273-8255 or text HOME to the Crisis Text Line in the U.S. at 741741)

I’m a huge fan of well-known designer Kate Spade. I’m fortunate that my husband loves to buy me purses for my birthday and Christmas. He does a great job finding just the right one (with a little guidance from our daughters). The last three handbags he gave me? All Kate Spade.

When I heard the news this week that she had died by suicide, I was stunned and saddened. To be perfectly honest, I was shocked. This famous, highly successful, 55-year-old woman seemed to have it all.

But that’s the thing — it doesn’t matter.

Kate Spade’s death illuminated the fact that no amount of wealth, power, fame, or love can declare someone immune from mental illness. ANYONE can be affected.

Kate’s husband, Andy Spade, said his wife suffered from anxiety and depression for years, and that she was seeking medical help.

He said, “We were in touch with her the night before and she sounded happy. There was no indication and no warning that she would do this. It was a complete shock. And it clearly wasn’t her. There were personal demons she was battling.”

The depth of sadness, depression, and despair can devastate anyone.

It touched the life of my friend’s brother. It touched the life of a boy my daughter went to school with. It touched the life of a friend of my dad. And it touched Kate Spade. And countless others.

My heart breaks for them and their families.

Now, every day when I reach for my black leather Kate Spade handbag, I don’t see just a pretty purse. I glance at the small, gold logo that reads kate spade New York, with a tiny gold spade above her name, and remember that life is precious.

Her logo also reminds me that:

• Mental illness can affect anyone.
• Mental illness is a real medical illness that needs treatment, just like a physical illness does.
• Stigma is beginning to lessen, but it’s still much too strong.
• Shame can keep people from reaching out for medical help.
• You should not be ashamed for having a mental illness.
• It isn’t anyone’s fault for having a mental illness.
• It’s important to advocate for mental health awareness.
• It’s crucial to keep the conversation open.
• There is hope.
• You are NOT alone.

Kate Spade left a legacy of her work and designs. I pray for her husband, her 13-year-old daughter, and her family. You also, are not alone.

Second image courtesy of here

Third image courtesy of here

 

 

 

 

 

Shine Bright

I smiled when I saw this quote. I pictured my daughters and their friends playing with glow sticks when they were younger. I’d buy them for the kids to have at parties, in shapes of necklaces and bracelets. It was fun to bend and snap the dull-colored sticks, and watch them magically light up.

But this quote has a much deeper meaning. It reminds me of several of my family members who are in the military. In boot camp, they were broken down before they were built back up. It took years of training to develop them into the brave soldiers that they’ve become.

When I struggled with anxiety and panic attacks, it nearly broke me. I had panic attacks every time I drove, went to the grocery store, or the mall. It got to the point where I worried every time I had to go out. I was afraid of becoming a prisoner in my own home. Thankfully, after twenty years of enduring severe panic symptoms, I finally went to the doctor. I was diagnosed with panic disorder and agoraphobia. I received treatment with medication.

I recovered. 

It’s hard for me to describe how wonderful it felt the first time I drove somewhere, parked, and realized I hadn’t panicked.

I can’t tell you how amazing it was to meander through the aisles at the grocery store, relaxed and calm. To stop and read labels to decide which pasta sauce to buy or which cereal to get. Before, I basically threw food in the cart just to finish quicker.

Panic no longer had it’s heavy grip on me. I was in control. Sure, those familiar anxious thoughts still lurked in the back of my mind. I knew I wasn’t completely cured. But–I was able to go where I wanted, when I wanted, and not be overwhelmed by anxiety.

It was freedom.

My struggles with a mental health condition made me stronger and more compassionate. I know what it’s like to be beaten down by the stigma surrounding mental illness. I didn’t tell anyone about my symptoms for twenty years. I finally reached out for medical help when I couldn’t stand it anymore.

It’s going to take time and effort to end the relentless stigma. Years ago, I didn’t realize the hold it had on me. I’m thankful I made it through and am now able to spread the message of hope.

I want people to know that having a mental illness is no one’s fault. They shouldn’t be ashamed. I know how scary and lonely it is to think you’re alone. I didn’t believe anyone would understand me. Now I know there are millions who do.

Like a glow stick, I was broken. But now I shine.

There is always hope.

 

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Third image courtesy of here

 

Ending the Silence

Last week I went back to high school. I had something I wanted to share with the students. At one point, I realized I had thirty pairs of eyes watching me intently. I knew they were listening. Really listening.

I told three different classes about my journey recovering from anxiety, panic attacks, and agoraphobia. I  explained how hard it was when my little girl developed panic symptoms. Talee was in fourth grade when she had a panic attack at school. She was terrified it would happen again. She literally couldn’t make herself walk into the classroom, and missed two consecutive weeks. She was afraid of being afraid.

I spoke on behalf of the National Alliance on Mental Illness, or NAMI. I’m trained as a presenter for NAMI’s Ending the Silence program, developed for high school students. The goal is to raise awareness about mental illness and to help end the stigma. We discuss the warning signs of mental health conditions, such as anxiety, depression, eating disorders, bipolar disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, and suicide. We talk about what to do if we notice the warning signs in ourselves or a friend.

I wanted those juniors and seniors to know I waited twenty years before I told anyone about my frightening symptoms. I knew it wasn’t normal when I felt disoriented, like I was living in a fog or dream. I knew it wasn’t right when all of a sudden, my heart would pound, I’d get lightheaded, shaky, and afraid I’d pass out.

I didn’t want anyone to think I was strange. So I kept it a secret. I figured I needed to deal with it. Alone.

The main reason I felt this way? Stigma.

The stigma surrounding mental health conditions is strong and very real. It can delay someone from getting treatment and symptoms can worsen. Mental illness affects millions of people throughout the world. Not only individuals, but also their families.

My daughter and I were fortunate, as we both recovered from panic disorder. It wasn’t easy, and there isn’t a complete cure. But medication and positive coping strategies — eating healthy, exercising, deep breathing — enabled us to resume our normal lives. We’re productive, happy, and in control of our panic.

I don’t remember mental health being discussed when I was in high school. I didn’t know  anxiety and depression were considered a mental illness. I had no idea that other people experienced the same terrifying panic symptoms that I did. Maybe if I’d heard about mental health conditions when I was a teenager, I would’ve received treatment earlier.

That’s why I speak out as a mental health advocate. I want people to know they aren’t alone. There is help available. There is hope.

I’m looking forward to visiting more high schools to tell my story and do my part to help End the Silence.

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Second image courtesy of here

Just a Thought…

This quote is timely because of the U.S. presidential election. But this post isn’t about politics.

It’s about never giving up.

If a situation is too difficult or complicated, I tend to get overwhelmed and want to stop. Give up.

When my husband points this out, I feel frustrated and disagree. “I’m not giving up. It just isn’t working!” It’s hard to admit, but I know he’s right.

I sincerely appreciate his encouragement. It’s made me a better person, more willing and able to keep forging ahead.

Here’s some of my husband’s advice, which I do my best to follow:

•  Be persistent.
• Take the initiative. Don’t wait for someone else to do it for you.
• If there’s an obstacle in your way, change paths.
• There are more ways than one to reach your destination.
• Put more time in to solving the issue.
• If one person can’t help you, talk to someone who can.
• Either find a way or make one.
• Do not give up.

It’s still challenging for me if things don’t fall into place according to my timing. But I’ve learned to be patient and take small steps toward the main goal. To stay diligent and not expect miracles overnight.

The most important thing? Never give up hope.

First image my own

Second image courtesy of here

Stigma and Me

Mental illness is a real medical illness. It must not be ignored. It needs to be treated–the sooner, the better.

I wish I would’ve known. It took me twenty years before I reached out for help for panic attacks.

I’m not the only one who has waited so long. The National Alliance on Mental Illness, or NAMI, states that people who have a mental health condition typically get help eight to ten years after the first warning signs appear. That’s a huge delay. The main reason?

Stigma.

I was embarrassed. Even if I thought about telling someone, I didn’t know how to describe my strange and frightening symptoms. I knew I was different and my problem wasn’t normal. I didn’t want anyone to know. I hid it very well.

My anxiety wasn’t always there. Most of the time, I was fine. I tried to kid myself into thinking it wasn’t a big deal.

My internal monologue wasn’t very kind.

This is stupid.  I worry too much. Who cares if once in a while my heart beats too fast, and I get lightheaded and dizzy? So what if I feel sick to my stomach, sweaty, shaky, and start to black out? I need to be tougher when I think I’m going to faint. I have to calm down when I feel like running out of the place I’m panicking. Who does that? Get over it.

It’s the dumbest thing ever that I’m afraid to drive because I’m scared of feeling panicky.  People get annoyed when they’re stuck in traffic, but they don’t feel like me. Their hearts don’t pound and they don’t need to pull over to calm down.

And why would I ever be worried about going to the grocery store or the mall? Everyone else looks perfectly relaxed. What’s wrong with me?

The worst is when I feel disoriented, like I’m living in a dream and things aren’t real, and I’m having an out of body experience. That’s creepy. I can’t let myself think that way. This is absolutely ridiculous. I should be able to stop it. Just STOP it.

No matter what I do, I can’t let anyone know. They’ll think I’m weird. Am I going crazy? I don’t think so. But maybe. I doubt a doctor would know how to help. I don’t want to be sent for a bunch of tests. I wonder if I have a brain tumor. I don’t want to scare my family. Whatever. I’m fine. Usually.

When I look back on how I used to talk to myself, it makes me sad. I needed help and should’ve told someone. But I didn’t dream that was an option.

Now I know why I felt like that. Stigma. Growing up, I never heard anyone talk about mental illness. I had no idea my symptoms had an actual name. Panic attacks, panic disorder, agoraphobia, generalized anxiety disorder.

I thought I was alone.

I was shocked when my doctor said I could take medication to help me feel better. I was even more amazed when the antidepressant worked.

The discussion about mental health conditions must continue. The more that people talk about these disorders, the less taboo they will be.

It doesn’t matter if the symptoms are mild or severe, there’s help available. There is hope. You’re not alone.

Stigma… Go away.

A New Venture

 

I’m really excited — and a bit nervous — about my new venture.

For the past couple of years, I’ve thought about volunteering at NAMI. I finally contacted the local chapter office and met with a program coordinator to find out how to get involved.

NAMI educates people about mental illness and is dedicated to building better lives for those affected. It’s the largest grassroots mental health organization in the nation. They advocate for reform, and offer free classes and support groups for those with a mental health issue, and also for their families. NAMI strives to help end the stigma.

I’m looking forward to participating in a program for high school students. It’s called Ending the Silence. It aims to raise awareness about mental illness among teens. I’ll be going through a training program. After that, I’ll help present and speak to the students.

I feel very close to this, as I’ve had anxiety and panic attacks since I was a child. I know what it feels like to be in school and think I’m the only one experiencing frightening symptoms of panic. I hid it as long as I could. I was ashamed.

My daughter started to have panic attacks at age ten. I understand how difficult it is to be the one going through it, and as the parent, watching my child suffer.

When I was first diagnosed with agoraphobia, I found out I wasn’t alone and that I could receive medical help. That was life-changing. I had no idea that millions of others felt the same way. I honestly didn’t think anyone, not even a doctor, would understand what my scary symptoms were, or what to do about them.

Now I’m panic free, and so is my daughter. I’m passionate about showing people there is hope. I’m nervous about my volunteer work because it’s something new. I’m reaching out of my comfort zone. My life is heading on a slightly different course, as I’m spreading my awareness and experiences to  more people.

I can’t wait to go back to high school and let those kids know how far my daughter and I have come. And that there’s hope for them too.

 

First image courtesy of here

Second image courtesy of here

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just a Thought…

Several months ago, I saw comedian Tracy Morgan interviewed on The Today Show. He’d  been a regular on Saturday Night Live. In 2014, he was in a horrific car crash which left him in a coma. His recovery is nothing short of miraculous.

He talked about how his life has changed and how difficult recovery has been. He said he hoped that one day he’d return to host SNL. And then he said, “Happiness is having something to look forward to.” Such a simple statement, yet packed with so much meaning.

If we don’t have anything to look forward to, we don’t have hope.  I’ve never suffered from depression, but my mom has. She was in such a dark place, she didn’t know how she’d ever get out of it.

Thankfully, hope returned, and she felt that her life was worth living. Antidepressant medication was her miracle.

Every day I think of things I’m excited about, big or small. Maybe I can’t wait to go for a walk in the mountains with my husband and our dog, have lunch with a friend, or spend time in my garden. And there are long term goals to anticipate, like a family vacation, my daughter’s college graduation, or a family member’s wedding.

This week I’m taking my mom to lunch near the beach. I can’t wait!

And neither can she.

 

Safe Travels, Talee

I’m filled with mixed emotions. Excited, anxious, and a little sad. But most of all, I’m   proud.

Talee (going into her third year of college), left this morning to study abroad for six weeks. She’s with three of her closest friends. The trip of their lifetimes is waiting for them 6,000 miles away.

Years ago, I’d never think this could be possible. My little Talee. My painfully shy, anxious girl, with panic attacks that ruined a part of her childhood.

Talee is what I call a “home girl.” She’s always wanted to be close to home. I first noticed this part of her personality when she was a baby. She wanted to be with me — just me. She’d scream and cry when grandparents, aunts, uncles, and sometimes even my husband, tried to hold her. But I cherished that time and figured it was fine. She’s just a baby.

When Talee was a toddler, she’d tightly wrap her arms around my legs and say, “Mommy, I’m scared.” I’d ask her what she was afraid of, and she never knew. She needed me close by every waking moment.

Talee was three years old when I signed her up for a “Teacher and Child” class at a local park. It was for an hour once a week. All the kids had so much fun. Well, all except Talee. She cried the entire time, and wanted nothing to do with that class.

Her separation anxiety continued when it was time for preschool. Talee cried every day for the first couple of weeks. She slowly adjusted, but I knew it wasn’t easy for her.

Mackenzie (a couple of years older than Talee), was the complete opposite. She was independent from a very young age, and didn’t want or need me around nearly as much. One summer, Mackenzie went away to Girl Scout Camp. Talee had zero interest to follow in her sister’s footsteps. I asked her if she’d like to go to camp one day, and she replied, “Mom, you know I’m NOT a sleep-away girl!”

When Talee was ten years old, she experienced much more than separation anxiety. She started to have panic attacks. The symptoms frightened her so much, she was afraid to go to school. She saw a child psychiatrist and took medication. Thankfully, she had fewer panic attacks and was able to be a normal fourth grader.

Anxiety doesn’t just disappear forever. Talee has had setbacks. But the good thing is panic attacks are treatable. Talee is able to control her panic and live a normal, productive life.

I’m thrilled that she’s able to travel — something I never could’ve done at her age. There’s no way I could’ve flown out of the country when I was in my early 20s. My anxiety and panic attacks were uncontrollable, as I hadn’t yet reached out for medical help.

I got the goosebumps this morning at the airport, as I watched Talee walk toward the boarding gate. She held her passport in one hand, while rolling her carry on luggage with the other. She turned around, waved, and flashed a huge smile.

The best part was, I’m sure she wasn’t even thinking about her anxiety or panic attacks. She’s confident and happy. And close to panic-free. I couldn’t have dreamed of this moment ten years ago.

There is hope.

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