The Long Journey Home

This has been an incredibly difficult year.
I found myself drowning in depression.... listless, restless, emotionally ragged, gaining weight, isolating, irritable. I'd pull out of it for several days or a couple of weeks, and reengage with life in a more 'normal' way before sliding back into the inky darkness that has been covering my mind.
It's not shocking that I would find myself here eventually. The level of trauma I've experienced has been so high and lasted for so many continual years that I'd expect anyone to find themselves breaking. I feel like I had a buffered zone for a long time because my hard wiring is one of hope and optimism. I can almost always find something good in most anything and I believe this has served me well in preventing a total emotional breakdown.

It's been said that depression is anger turned inward. This is resonating with me in a powerful way. I've been angry for a lot of years.
When my kids were younger, I would yell at them; throwing my fear and anger and lack of understanding and control about my world around in irritated tones, frustrated huffing, and a lot of resentment. It wasn't safe for me to direct those emotions to my (then) husband as I was subconsciously aware that it would cost me somehow, and my friends didn't live in our house, so my kids were the ones who heard my hurt... buying me temporary protection from depression but also carrying shame and guilt to my heart while inflicting pain and sadness onto theirs.
As they got older, my approach changed. I learned to accept that my family is different than the one I imagined years ago, and I threw myself into getting all of the support and help I could for them- determined to give each of them the best chance of happiness, health and success in this world. The anger was no longer outwardly evident as I'd stopped yelling, began truly enjoying time with them, and felt free from the rust of anger in my soul.

I've worked through a ton of emotional baggage and hangups over the last few years. Rebuilding my life authentically, learning who I am as a woman and mother on my own, surprising myself with how strong and resourceful I am, and enjoying my friendships in a way I wasn't free to when I was still married.

But now, the anger has begun to seep out.  Anger I haven't been aware of  has risen to the surface as a kind of heavy cream no longer able to sit at the bottom of my consciousness out of view. I've realized within the last few weeks just how very angry I am at the sheer level of effort, energy, consistency and sacrifice it takes to parent children with mental health issues. Not angry that I have to do it for them, angry that I have to do it alone. I began to recognize the massive weight of responsibility that sits on my shoulders- and I worry about something happening to me, leaving four kids without their touchstone.  I've been angry that they have to face mental health struggles at all- complicating their lives in ways that feels unfair and unjust. I've been angry that I've allowed myself to become the essential one in their lives because I didn't ask for help from their other parent, but also angry that the other parent doesn't ask how he can help not only relieve some of the pressure on me, but help to nurture them.
Ugly, dark, pulsating anger that no longer fits inside of my chest but is forcing its way out. Anger that has scared, embarassed and humiliated me. 

What exacerbates this is the shame that seems to be a sibling to anger and depression. It suffocates me further isolating me from the world. Shame because I know this season of depression has hurt people around me. I can see it. I taste the disappointment, hurt, confusion and rejection of those who I love and who love me.... and feel powerless to heal it. I've pulled deep into my cocoon - to preserve what little emotional energy I've had as I've navigated a year of residential treatment for my son and finally finding space to pursue support for my other kids.
Your texts and emails and voice mails go unanswered. Plans aren't made. I've worked to become invisible at some level- because the weight of my sadness has felt too heavy to carry into the space of others. The very few who sit on the inside of my circle have borne the brunt of my intense moodiness, me testing the waters, and anger misplaced. It's been an ugly fall and winter for some of those who care about me deeply.
I know I've been angry, and I've chalked it up to the grief cycle I've experienced in an ongoing loop for the past 14 years. But this is different. I melted down last night and the toxic hurt that poured out like acid left me sobbing on my bed in the fetal position. This morning, I felt the quiet whisper of God... when are you going to let me take it? Heal that hurt? Trust me to do it? The tears came again and the hot shame of the wretchedness I'd thrown around washed over me. As I drove, I pressed the gas pedal down hard and slipped into the cathartic world of a pounding bass line and fast driving.... but the thoughts swirled, and I began to see. The only way back to me, back to a place of health with my loved ones, a place where I once again have the energy to connect like I used to.. is to let the anger go. I can't stand up under its weight any longer, and I want to be free.
So today, I plan on buying some thrift store dishes, and will find a place to smash them one by one. Symbolically destroying the thoughts that have poisoned my mind. I've also committed to myself that I will be outside this evening, and build a fire again; returning to some of the routines that feed my soul. This evening however, I'll be writing each ugly thing that has burned me up on the inside onto slips of paper that I'll drop into the fire and let them be consumed on the outside.
The cycle of depression (for me at least) seems to be fueled by guilt, shame, and anger. I'm taking every bit of courage I have left to stand up against it and say.. no more.
If you love me and I've let you down- please know I know already. That's part of what has hurt me too. Knowing how my effort at survival has bruised others through my isolation. Please know that this is only one short chapter in my life. I hate it in so many ways, yet find the comforting irony in knowing that as a mental health advocate who'd never struggled with depression before.. this has been an incredibly rich education. Don't count me out yet... I'll rise again... each time as a freer, healthier me.

resolved

i am blessed with people in my life who encourage me.  i'm thankful for friends who know when to reach out and say things that will lift my spirits and build me up.
i had a sweet friend send me a note this morning thanking me for helping to teach her to talk to her children more, and get to the bottom of their hurt.
i am humbled.

the reality is.. i do talk with my kids- a lot.  i have many friends who come from broken homes, and the common thread seems to be that there was no real discussion of emotions, or changes, or why things were happening the way they were.  i can't imagine being a child whose life is turned upside down and not know something about why everything was shattering.  i decided very quickly that i would make space for my children's questions and hurts, and i would do my best to answer them at their appropriate age levels and ability to understand.  it has not been easy.  there are a lot of things i'd love to tell them when they are angry with me for 'sending their dad away'.  so many things i want to yell at them to justify why i've made the choice i did, knowing that when you know the details.... no one would condemn me... but also knowing that ultimately, i want to preserve the relationship they have with their father, and railing against him- even in my own defense- would only serve to layer on more hurt, confusion and anger over hearts that are already raw and wounded.  i am living in a place of waiting- praying and hoping that when they are older they will see some of the reasons i've made the choices i've made.  that maybe they might even thank me for doing what i'm doing.  but today? right now? they are angry and i am an easy target.

i'd like to tell you that i always just talk to them.  but that is so far from the truth that i can't even pretend that it's real. i yell far more often than i wish i did.  my own fear and anger and pain leaks into our interactions, and while i wish i responded with grace and love, i often respond with pain and shouts.  sometimes i feel that our family is one codependent pod of pain that moves around the house bumping into one another, and ripping new wounds in each other as we all try to find our place in the new landscape that has become our normal.  many days i feel like a failure.  when the rise of emotion and anger begins to bubble up in my children and seep out onto one another, and that leads to hitting, and yelling and name calling- i sometimes shout above the noise... knowing as i do that it is out of fear and hurt.  i hate to see them ache.  i hate to see them try to make sense of this in their limited understanding, and hate to see them lash out at each other and even me as they try to let off some of the pressure of the hurt.  some days i can see the good that i'm doing... and i'm glad i am able to talk to my kids, and that they often talk back.. but other days... i feel overwhelmed with the reality that my own anger and pain often adds to the mess rather than being the one to absorb it and make sacred space for their hearts to rest.

i don't really do new year's resolutions.  i do a good enough job of whipping myself emotionally over perceived failures, and am in no hurry to add more potential failings to the mix.  but this year... if i were to choose anything.. it would be to respond in a more quiet manner.  to remember in my own anger and pride that the response i see in my children is usually birthed in pain that manifests in anger.  i want them to remember me as a soft place to fall... not as a yelling, angry, hurting woman who scared them and added to the chaos.  i want to be a place of peace and grace... leading my family into new frontiers as we figure out the journey with new roles.  any progress is good progress and i will celebrate small victories.  the encouraging note from my friend was beautiful and kind, but also serves as a challenge to me- to continue to do the hard, exhausting work of talking and listening, and to remember that the yelling and hitting from them is a symptom of deeper pain.  i will address the pain and not the symptoms.  here's to a more peaceful 2014!

It's a Brutiful Life

wonderful.  lovely.  dropped my children off at school this morning after a morning filled with fighting, yelling and hurt.  it started off as any other morning, but my oldest was tired, and not happy with me waking him up for school.  i let him sleep in a bit- but he was still frustrated, and in short order, he had everyone here whipped up into an emotional frenzy.  he was focusing in on my next son, which is a common occurrence.  after he went after him several times, and i had scolded him and tried to redirect him several times, he went after him again and hit him.  my middle son then cried out in desperation, 'mom, please can i be in another family.  please.  i want to be in a different family.'  he was sobbing, and my heart was shredded. this is mental illness.  this is the face of the pain it can inject into families. this is the fallout of a brain that works differently than others do.  the pain that those words seared into my heart won't soon lessen. i looked back at my oldest son and yelled- 'do you see what you're doing to him?!  your bullying is killing his spirit!'  my middle son just sobbed as he clung to my leg, and i stood in the middle of the storm wanting to die.  wanting a do-over.  wishing that i could somehow change, or stop or reverse the struggle we've had for so many years.
my oldest blinked- recognizing to some degree that he had hurt both me and his brother- i know he didn't mean to, and hurting our hearts wasn't his intention- but it was the result of his anger, his impulse, his irritation.  the saddest part is that my angry response to him, provoked by the hurting heart of my middle son, poured acid into his soul.  i hate this cycle.  i hate that i'm not more patient. mature.  gracious.  i hate that i get so angry, and so hurt, and am so easily jerked around by his mood.

the truth is, that my anger isn't really with him.  i hate the behavior, and i get angry about the drama it creates in our home, but I'm not angry with him as my son.  sadly, i don't think that's the message he hears.  i try hard not to stab with my words- words that would make me feel justified in the moment, but that would create a crust of oozing pain over his heart.  but i do yell.  i try so hard not to... and then he hits his brother, and through the broken hymn of a shattered heart, my mama bear instinct kicks in and i yell to defend the wounded.  it's a sick dance we share, and one that is often repeated multiple times in a day. 

it's night now.  i started this early this morning. when the pain was fresh, and the hurt was raw.  i wound up writing him a letter telling him what i need him to hear.  that i love him, that i am proud of him, and that i hate our fighting.  he received it well... then on his own went to his brother to apologize and to tell him that he loves him.  thankful for those victories.  it's messy here.  if you stick around, you'll begin to see- but it is also beautiful. as momastary blogger Glennon Melton says- 'life is brutiful'.  a thick mixture of being brutal and beautiful.  i couldn't agree more.