Dear Body...

Dear Body,

I'm sorry.  There are so many things I feel I should apologize to you for.  For 37 years you have been there for me, consistently. I have mistreated you, put you in dangerous situations, talked down to you, damaged you, shown ungratefulness, and considered permanently harming you.  You have endured life and death, pain and pleasure, work and laziness.

I wish my first significant memory about you wasn't a bad one. I suppose in so many ways it set the stage for what was to come.  I can honestly say to the best of my knowledge I never knew to have a negative thought about my body until it happened. It wasn't our fault, but it happened. I can understand why my dad brought me over to that house so often. He didn't have many friends with kids and so the ones he did he would bring me around on the weekends he had me.  I remember so much about that house. The very steep staircase up to the kids' room, the porch with the iconic Little Tykes red and yellow car, and the shed where it happened.  He was older than I. Not by a lot of years, but enough to know better. The shed was very dark but I remember the rusted corners of the doors let some light in. I could see through a break in the door the grass which was partially green and partially brown. I don't know how many weeks or months it went on for but it was a lot of the same. Touching. Forcing touch. Insertion. Being told that I couldn't tell anyone because anyone would hate me for finding out. He specifically and skillfully impressed upon me how my dad would hate me and think I was disgusting if he knew.  I'm sorry that you went through that. I'm sorry that such a traumatic experience has robbed you too often of feeling relaxed, enjoyable, and at ease with great loves in your life.  I'm sorry that 30 years later while being in a committed 12+ year relationship, you still have to fight back the pain and muscle memory of that rusty shed of horror.

As I increased in age, my insecurities grew as well. I never had a solid example of how to care for you. Like so many high schoolers I dealt with body image issues. I don't think it was much out of the norm, I suppressed much of the childhood trauma and just went on. I had boyfriends like most high schoolers do, but I never was too close to them. Initially, I abstained from physical sexual contact simply because of the trauma and fear -- and towards the end of my teens vowed to be celibate until marriage. I'm sorry that I didn't know to love you, and value you, and listen to you.

My dear body, I'm so sorry I put you in the other category. I would look at bodies around me, honoring them, a noting how mine was the other type. She was thin and fit, so I noted that made me thick and fat.  My hair was coarse and red like fire... while the rest of the girls' sported perfectly blonde (and normal) blonde hair. I tried everything I could in high school to get a different color... I regret this now. I love my red hair <3

Thank you body for carrying 5 babies inside of you. Babies made in love. Babies that I loved before I knew them. Thank you for enduring the painful loss of the twins. It was our heartbreaking when it happened. I know you felt it too. I blamed you. I wondered what you did wrong. You created life. You are impossibly good at it too.  You created and held Liam, Rory, and Charley.

Dear body thank you for enduring, even still today. Charlotte's birth was awful. But you kept her and me safe. Thank you. I remember that morning like it was yesterday. I've had hundreds of dreams about it. The doctors agreed that I should have her early. Psoriasis was new to me, I had never had skin problems before. But by the time I was 9 months pregnant, about 40% of my body was covered in a painful rash. Everything hurt, even water. That morning the plan was to have a scheduled c-section as I had with Aurora and I expected it to be pretty uneventful.  Once on the table,  it all happened so quickly. I started feeling more than the typical pinching and pulling of a c-section. I felt sharp warm pain at first. I cried out. And then all at once... I felt scalpels slicing me open. Later I would find out I had what they call a hot spot. A pocket or pockets that the anesthesia did not take.  I suppose the whole event was only a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. I'd never felt such pain. I was writhing in pain, I remember saying "I don't understand what's happening. What's wrong". I knew that I was in danger when I looked up at the doctor and his face was white. Then, slowly and all at once I felt myself slipping. I knew I was about to pass out. Slowly the room was getting darker and darker and I was pretty sure that I was dying. There was yelling in the room, Doug held my hand and said it would be fine. He wasn't sure --- we both knew that. They called for the anesthesiologist who had just stepped out. And I woke up.  They emergently had to put me under general anesthesia. My blood pressure dropped dangerously low making the anesthesia even more dangerous.  I am told that it was a very difficult surgery because my body was still writhing in pain. The doctor had a very difficult time with my organs moving around and trying to close up. When I woke up the first thing I saw was a nurse saying something to me. I was confused. For a moment I forgot where I was. Then I didn't. My heart began racing. I couldn't breathe. I thought I lost another baby. Then I saw Doug. He was holding our baby the same way he held the other two. Looking down so proud and in so much awe.  I  am sorry that you had to go through that. I'm sorry that I cursed you for psoriasis. I'm sorry that I was angry and frustrated at you for not being able to have a typical delivery. You grew, protected, preserved, and delivered my sweet Charley Cat to me.

Dear body, I didn't think I had postpartum depression. I didn't think I had situational depression. I definitely didn't think that I had clinical depression. I was a happy person. Sure I'd been through some tough things but I was FINE. Fine. It's always fine. Maybe the biggest lie I've ever continuously told in my entire life is a four letter word. Fine. I'm sorry that I didn't get help at the first sign. You have been so kind, so consistent, so protective of me --- and when you needed help. When you needed to level things out I was too busy having a newborn and refusing to be one of those sad moms.

Dear body, your heart is still beating. Your lungs are still filling with air. And in so many ways, it's a miracle.  We were both there when the anxiety came. We both were sitting in the shower, fully clothed begging God to let you just go.  We both felt the pulse-raising, it getting warm and knowing you were about to struggle to breathe. I thought that the solution was to just disappear. I thought that you weren't strong enough to endure the pain, confusion, and anxiety.  But you were strong enough. You knew what my mind couldn't grasp: I need to be here breathing.  Thank you for taking over always when I don't think I can do it.

Dear body, I'm sorry for the times when I randomly would go off my medications because I had been feeling better and assumed I was "cured". I'm sorry I made you go on and off a very strong drug that was coupled with terrible side effects in getting reacclimated. I'm sorry for the exhaustion, lack of appetite, teeth chattering, shaking limbs, and yawns. I'm sorry that I made you feel so weak you could barely move just because I didn't want to take the medicine that I knew helped me.

Dear body, I have talked badly about you inside and out. I have doubted you, made fun of you, and been ashamed of you. I have let others determine your worth. I have led myself to believe full heartedly that you weren't beautiful because you were different. Larger. More sensitive. Pale. I am waving a white flag.

I am waving a white flag. I am waving a white flag. I am waving a white flag. I am waving a white flag.


I want to support you. I want to lift you up. I want to see you as beautiful. smart. kind. lovely. I want to be thankful for you. To love you more than any other.

Dear body, I vow to nourish you. I vow to try to love every cell of you. I vow to not stop until I do. I vow to not allow the opinions of others to dictate my thoughts and actions.  You are beautiful. You are strong. You are smart. You are considerate. You are lovely. You are sexy. You are everything you need to be.

Dear body --- I chose to be radical. I choose to be radical and love you and accept you in a world that is telling me to do anything different. I choose this path.

It's funny how life works out. I was all set to get weight loss surgery. I am still a big fan of it and hope if it's still the best option for me when the timing is right then I will consider it again. But life is funny because just before I was going to have surgery it had to be canceled for reasons outside of my control. Is it a coincidence? Maybe. But in the very deep parts of me, there is something telling me that I wasn't allowed to get the surgery done yet because I didn't love and respect the body I have. I believe that I need to learn to love, and like the body I have.

So, I don't exactly know how I'll get there. I don't know what the plan is. But I know I must.

thank you for everything you've done for me, everything you are doing for me, and everything you will do for me. <3

Ashlee

3 am

It's 3 am and eerily quiet
I can hear the fridge running
My mind wanders for a moment wondering what "fridge running" joke Liam would make.

It's 3 am and my heart is racing
water didn't help
Most of me wants to sit in the shower and cry -- over: spilled milk, uncertainty, and heart stuff.

It's 3 am, no now it's 4.
4:08 as I sit and stare
Am I moving forward quickly enough, or is it just an illusion

It's 4 am and I just can't breathe
Xanax down the hatch -- I have no feelings on this.
Scratch that -- I have a feeling I won't feel as much soon.

4:11 and I remember
Shameless sunny warmth, car karaoke, buckets of ice
My dad always sang to me -- Lucky Star (How very 80's)

It's 4:52 and finally the numbness visits me
I think I can convince my brain to sleep
Cheers to racing heartbeats, pharmaceuticals, and daddy issues.

anxiety

I can feel it happening again.
sweaty chills [ check ]
heart starting to race [ check ]
gasping for breath [check]
------------------------------------

I'm not okay.



but I will be.

| Speaking My Truth | "What do you want?"

One of the things in therapy that I am working on is speaking my truth. What does that mean? Well I suppose it could mean a lot of different things for different people, but for me it is exactly how it sounds. 

Speaking my truth means sharing what I'm thinking, what my opinion is, or making choices based solely on what I want and not considering the million other elements that that truth will influence. 

It sounds so simple doesn't it? Say what you want? If you are a people pleaser, with anxiety, and a lack of confidence... this can be INCREDIBLY difficult. Throw on top of that, not actually knowing what you like anymore....oof...tough stuff. It is for me. Let's break it down to the simplest form. 


Doug: Hey, what would you like for dinner? 

Me: *instant panic* I don't care.

Doug: Okay, but what sounds good?

Ashlee: Ummm *immediately I start thinking of places I know Doug wouldn't hate to eat at* I don't know, we could get Chinese or maybe burgers?

Let's pause. So I can tell you what is happening there. 
1. My mind goes completely blank. I don't truly know what I want. And on the rare occasion I do, I feel scared to tell him because I don't think it's what he will want and I don't want an argument or to have to debate why I would like X. 

2. To avoid any type of conflict, or even just negative body language, I quickly (with feelings of anxiety) think of something he will like. 

3. Then when we eat at said place, I feel pressure to enjoy the food because after all it's what I picked. And if i say I didn't care for it -- it will be a disagreement about why I choose that place. 

I of course know all 3 of these steps will occur from the moment he asks, "Hey what would you like for dinner" and I have thought of multiple scenarios and how things will go. Based on all the scenarios I choose to one I feel like will have the best results. And by the way, results means the other person (Doug in this case is happy) not that I had a meal I enjoyed. 

This my friends is anxiety, people pleasing, and a lack of confidence via depression. 

That was the most simple example I could come up with that didn't carry a lot of big meaning. I mean we are talking about a silly meal. Imagine bigger questions. Questions from people who aren't my husband that I don't have a level of confidence with? 

So when my therapist tells me to work on speaking my truth --- it's not a small thing. It's not something I can do once and have conquered. Speaking my truth is a key piece of my puzzle and it's a hard one at that. 

But I'm up for the challenge. I think. 

Be patient with us who deal with this. Sometimes we know exactly what we want but are afraid to express it. We don't want to upset, inconvenience, or annoy you. We like to go with the flow and keep the waters smooth sailing. Other times we have absolutely no idea what we want. We has spent years and years keeping those waters smooth that we have completely forgotten what kind of food we like in the first place. 

Speaking my truth is an essential part of my recovery journey. And both my truth about what food I'd like and my truth about how someone is making me feel are both important for me to express. 

So what is my truth in this moment?
My truth in this moment is I'm worried that I am the only person who deals with this, that anyone reading it might think... wow she is really crazy. That instead of exposing myself as a means to help me heal AND as a way to help others... I will come across just sounding stupid. 

Do I think my truth is reality in this situation? No. But if i'm honest, it what crossed my mind.


Anyone else have any issues like this? What is your truth today in this moment?

Ashlee

Depression - Anxiety. Let's talk.

Depression.

I sat at my computer for quite awhile with nothing but the title, “Depression.” glaring at me. It’s pretty telling to what depression is really like.  It’s a whole blank page of intentions, but the inability to see them through.

I wasn’t sure if I was going to share this publicly or not, but I talked with Doug and decided that I needed to share it - to put it out there - because I’ve been hiding things, hiding myself for years and I want more than anything to step into who I know I can be.

The first time I think I ever was truly truly depressed was when I lost my dad suddenly. At the time I thought it was just grief and I would get back to the old me eventually -- but what I didn’t account for was that losing him changed me at a near cellular level. I’ve never been the same, but I don’t expect to be. I didn’t allow myself to feel the pain. I didn’t walk through the pain, i avoided it. The sting was far too great.  I went back to Florida and somewhere in my mind, it felt as if he was just still in Michigan. Sure I went through days of utter devastation but I guarded myself to not feel too much. I don’t suggest it.

Fast forward years and years later. To what I believe was the tipping point of my mental health. One month prior to getting pregnant for Charlotte, I experienced a twin miscarriage.  It was scary and awful and I was alone. Miraculously, (despite the doctors saying I would not have a successful pregnancy with Charlotte), I got pregnant with Charlotte and that stubborn little girl we all love stuck on against the odds. A time to be elated? Yes. But I was still silently dealing with my loss, and several months into the pregnancy I developed Psoriasis. I had to go in hiding. The pain was unbearable. Charlotte’s birth was very complicated and scary. Because of my Psoriasis all the doctors on my team agreed that the baby needed to come a few weeks early. So what was intended as a scheduled c-section turned into hell.  My spinal block stopped working mid surgery and I began to feel the searing pain of the surgery happening. I will save details but know that it was both the Hand of God and the skill of my surgeon to thank for me being here. I’ve never officially been diagnosed, but I believe I experienced some PTSD from the event.

I think the final yet ongoing part of my depression was the moment I stopped busying myself with Liam’s therapy, school, extracurriculars etc and sat down and quieted myself and allowed myself to feel the facts: I have a disabled child.  Of course you may be thinking that shouldn’t be news to me right? Liam was diagnosed over 5 years ago -- and although i’ve known he is autistic.. Part of me, I think, thought i could outsmart - out therapy - out busy autism.  Liam has made amazing progress -- but I don’t know what the future looks like for him.  Our child is disabled.  Once I allowed myself to really feel and experience that -- darkness began to creep in.  And I promise you that when you find that you are depressed about your child, once the depression hits, mom guilt is just as strong. I’ve had to allow myself to feel the feelings and know that it isn’t my child that triggered my depression -- it was the experience he is having to go through. It’s the experience I’ve had to go through too. I could write a book on the things that as an Autism family we have experienced. Something as simple as figuring out a babysitter is difficult. There would be a lot of joyful pages, but there will be even more struggle.

About 12 months ago my depression started to reach new levels. I didn’t know myself. I didn’t smile. I was closed off. I hurt people I love. I began to question my worth, my value, and what I contributed to the people in my life. When you are in the thick of the depression bubble, your vision is so clouded with self judgement/self hatred that you quickly now see a distorted version of reality. This will affect every part of you. Relationships. Self-awareness. Parenting. Marriage. Faith. Decisions. I ignored all the symptoms of depression and pressed forward.

One day, about six months ago,  I was sitting at home and I started getting warm. My arms and legs started nervously twitching and my whole body began to move in slow motion. I got so warm and fuzzy I knew I was going to get sick. This was the first anxiety attack I ever experienced. I thought I was dying, to be honest, for a moment. The whole world came crashing in and I felt all the things. Unfortunately the Anxiety got worse and worse. It influenced what I did, what I said, who I was close with -- and who I wasn’t. I began moving in and out of the days and nights utterly broken. There were days where I wanted to die.  It was not the kind of anxiety that financial or relationship issues bring. It was different. It was being afraid to speak, it was leaving the grocery store with a full cart of groceries because all of a sudden you cannot be there, it’s locking your bedroom door while the kids are banging on it and sitting in a freezing cold shower crying out to God. For me, anxiety is worrying about what I say and how it will be interpreted, it’s pushing away those who love me in an effort to not hurt them which hurts them anyways. My anxiety kept me at home. It kept me secluded. I told myself that at least if I was alone I couldn't be hurtful and I wouldn’t worry anyone. But that’s just part of the lies I told myself.

3 months ago I was pretty brave and I went to the doctors for help. It came to a point where the pain of staying the same was so much greater pain than any work I would need to participate in to get help. Many of you know how much I prefer the natural pathways to things. I am not quick to medicate.  But medicine is there for a reason. I am thankful. My doctor skillfully listened to me and we have worked together to find a regimen that works for me.

I am now at a place where I have more good days then bad. A good day doesn’t always mean I feel great -- it means I’ve cared for myself in some way. Bad days happen -- but they don’t ruin me. I am not crawled up in a ball on the floor. It more looks like, a lack of self care . I began therapy 2 months ago as well.

Why am I writing all this? What is the point? The point is that my instagram perfect looking family wasn’t as strong as it appeared. I never meant to paint a lie -- because there were so many truths intertwined, but we are struggling.  Doug and I are in marriage counseling, as we were on the verge of divorce. I am in individual counseling.

My selfie game was strong, and Instagram’s amazing filters helped to disguise the pain, shame, and fear. But the thing is, life is messy. Mental health is messy. Childhood and past traumas affect us.

I am no longer willing to cover up, hide, disguise, or surrender who I am deep inside to make it more palatable for others. I’m no longer willing to let my mental health stop me from authentic connections.  I am no willing to buy into the diet culture that tells me I should not love myself until I fit into it’s definition of beauty. I am willing to accept goodness, joy, acceptance in my life. I am learning that for me, self-love is the most difficult journey I have ever been on.

Recently, I’ve been forcing myself to get out and do things that terrify me. To others it is not a big deal to go into the ocean where there are a bajillion fish with goggles on and look at them.  To others packing up your kids for a beach day may not take the same effort it does for me. Going to a Yoga class. Talking about problems. Writing a post that exposes so much. These are all elements of bravery for me. They are exceedingly difficult.

But i’m not willing to spend any more time hiding. I won’t hide from the world and all it has to offer. I refuse to live my life in fear. I am so loved. I know that I have a lot to offer the world and those around me and I have to believe that by honoring myself and presenting the real unfiltered me, I will continue to grow into a woman I long to become.

I do not believe my story is just mine. I know there are others struggling too. Struggling to appear like the perfect family, mother, wife, or girlfriend. Someone out there also cares far too much for others and not nearly enough for themselves. Maybe depression and anxiety are dirty words that you can’t bring yourself to utter. Maybe you want to go to the doctor but you a stone cold frozen in fear.  

I am not an expert. Hell no. I’m just learning about this stuff as I go. I’m determined to be authentic. That might upset some. It might cause some relationships to suffer or end. It might bring others closer to me. I have to be okay with that. I’m doing me for the first time in 37 years.

I want to say thank you to my amazing family and friends. The ones who listened to me wail. Who talked me down when I was being crazy. The ones who didn’t take offense when I cancelled plans for the billionth time. The ones who loved me and prayed for me despite my radio silence. To anyone who has helped me out with the kids. To my husband for trying to see things from my perspective even though every bit of him just wants to be a fixer.  To anyone who didn’t know about any of this? Consider it nothing more than my wanting to protect you, to preserve your love. Which I now know -- isn’t necessary. <3

A dear friend asked me last weekend, “What's your outlook?”. I was totally thrown back by the question. My outlook? I immediately said I didn’t know, I don’t know what's going to happen. But he wasn’t truly asking for a specific answer --- he simply was curious if I saw positivity or negativity moving forward.

I choose positivity. I choose to move into light and love. What a great question.

Ashlee.