Stormy Skies

My story takes a broader turn as every slice of life was being challenged.

Simultaneously through the fog, our finances and maternity benefits slipped, further magnifying our uncertainties, stresses, and widespread concerns. Largely at my own error, it crushingly intensified my guilt, anxieties and sense of helplessness.

Over the past several months, the holidays, birthdays and other joyous occasions were often ruined or spent in tears. I lost count on the times I have bawled uncontrollably on the floor, not sure what else to do and feeling utterly out of control. I had never experienced a panic attack before, when I found myself suddenly shaking and hyperventilating, all I could do was lock myself in the bathroom, run a bath, and cry some more. Simply put, our world seemed in shambles.

All the while, my husband’s own stress began to manifest physically causing great worry and timely medical matters. Various relationships suffered, new friendships wilted before they could bloom. We mourned a loss in the family. Every new day that was off to a good start, eventually knocked us down, again and again.

         No marriage or partnership is immune to dire times, and I can see why having a baby, depression, or money troubles can lead to so many splits. Why true, deep love really needs to be the key to conquer all. Our marriage took its share of hits as well, as obviously we are both affected by all of these woes. Some setbacks propelled us harder than others, and some I wondered if we could come back from, but fortunately for us we have survived. Fortunately for us, we did marry for true love, soul mate kind of love, and the strength from that love is what gets us through the storms. In good times and in bad…

Nursing - "the healthiest way to feed your baby" - was a complete nightmare for me and something I had a very tortuous tough fight with. I gave it my best shot - and will spare us all the painful details (still upsetting memories) of vitamins and creams and prescriptions and blood and cracked nipples that could not heal and pumping and engorgement and not enough supply and a crying, hungry baby all the time and the extra work of supplementing and "lact-aid-ing" and and and - were 2 of the hardest months of my life. While I always anticipated I would might not make a great cow, and I was surprised at how much I  really loved the closeness and beauty of nursing, the anguish of those 8 weeks, and gut-wrenching emotion I felt when I finally had to stop trying to make it work because it just wasn't what was right for us, for all of our best interests, was one of the hardest things I have ever dealt with. Literally, broke my heart that I wasn't "equipped" to feed my own child. Nothing could prepare me for that, or how long that remorse would stay with me...
Have I mentioned the baby weight? Oh gosh. The baby weight. I am not delusional. Having my first child at 35, I was not expecting the extra pounds to just fall off like it does for some. I am not a wealthy celebrity-lite that has all the tools to drop 50 in 3 weeks. Nor am I an active addict or lean machine. I was tired all the time. And I had a baby and pets and a house to take care of. I was overwhelmed as it was, but I never foresaw the mountain that losing the weight became. Generally I am always pretty fit and although my weight fluctuates, at this stage o my life, I am content when I maintain my healthy-slender-ish average type frame. I gave in many years ago not to be obsessive about my body – been there, done that, for as long as I can remember (everything from being bullied and teased for being too thin, to drawing too much unwanted attention from men that I wasn't prepared for, to dipping my toes in eating disorders and watching every calorie, etc.) - and nothing good or healthy ever came from the actual  pounds being the focus.

At around 7 months pregnant, when my scale tipped way past where I should be, I chose to stop keeping track of the excess pounds, and to stop comparing myself to other moms that “only gained 20lbs” with their first!  Barf. My doctor assured me my baby was strong and well - isn't that was matters most? According to the numbers, I may very well have been carrying multiples. In fact, I was often asked "how many?" as strangers giggled at my sumo large size. Surrendering to the moment, to appreciate the miracle of life growing inside me, to the gratitude and blessing and honour of carrying my child, I decided that the rest (weight, swollen feet, stretch marks, heavy boobs, aching everything, and the glowering number on the scale) didn’t matter.

Sometimes we say things we don’t believe, and well, the state of my body really did matter. I feared I was lost forever. The new me was emerging as truly an entirely different person, and one I really didn't like much so far. I couldn’t ignore the awful, hateful feelings when looking in the mirror and was grossed out by the person staring back at me. Even 7 or 8 months after he was born and I was still carrying around an extra 30-40 lbs, it was getting harder to stay grateful. I became easily glum, and more and more frustrated. Getting dressed just to get groceries or walk the dog was a huge ordeal and ended with my clothes scattered everywhere, or not going out at all. 
I felt hideously overweight, unhealthy and discouraged, lethargic and defeated. Nothing fit, including shoes. My libido was way too shy and uncomfortable in her skin to respond to my husband's love and needs, or my own. I would try to get in the exercise I needed, but I could not maintain anything consistent and often end curled up like a broken-hearted teenager,  or the tormented young girl I once was, usually in front of the TV with hours of recorded programming. I would aim to stick to a salad and vegan-wannabe diet, but at some point or another, I would end up at the drive-thru, scoffing down a McChicken or baking cookies and eating half the batch before they had cooled. This all lead to feeling further disheartened.

Not only was I not doing what was best for my spouse, or me but most importantly it wasn’t great for my son or the energy in our home. And we know that negative energy can be felt a mile away...

         

 Mixed in there with all the bad, there were some good days of course. Highs and lows. All I could think of was that I felt a lot like those paddle things with the ball stuck on a string. I would get pretty far sometimes, but undoubtedly would come smashing backwards, bruising more each time. Soon the bad clearly outnumbered the good, and that’s when we reckoned there was a real, more serious problem. 

...read more, next post...how things started to turn around...

PLG ~ JKF

Rewind

...continued from last post "Back to the Future - Here I go again"

Let me start at the beginning. 

My son is almost 1 year old, and it has been the best and the worst and the most joyful and the hardest year of my life.  Everything I am, have done, want to do, attempted, not attempted, my entire being, all of my dreams, my guts and glory, came into question as I exited from years of various procedures, operations and treatments, braces after age 30 that resulted in a whole new smile,  plus the 10 months of pregnancy which ended via C-section and emerged as a person I knew I wanted to be, but could hardly recognize. Figuratively and literally. 

“Give it time,” people would say. “Ask for help,” the shows would advise, but ask for help from whom? Help with what, exactly? Going to the bathroom for me? Since there were days I was glued to the couch for over 4 hours and had to hold my bladder...Make me produce more milk so that nursing my little baby wasn't such a horribly difficult process with medications and vitamins and creams?

Trusting that I had come out on top of bad times, fought depression and the like before, I felt I could, would beat this too on my own, so I trudged on, doing my best or half of my best, or all the best I could for that day, just to make it to dinner, or see the other side of yet another restless night. All the while I was slowly and steadily worsening from the inside out, sleep deprived, alone a lot of the time with this new person I had created, desolate.

It has been a fight with myself for endless months, and every layer of the battle are so intertwined that I was beginning to think it might be possible that my life would just never become what I dreamed it would be. I wondered if it was just time to accept that that was the case, and that I had ruined all I ever wanted – my new little family, the loves of my life, my health…my ability to get things done, to write and to be happy. Maybe my glass had never been full and I have been a fool all along?

The irony is that my life already is my dreams. I am living my dreams. Sure there are goals yet to reach and parts that are missing, faded away or have been edited entirely, but all in all, so far my life has unfolded how I always hoped it would. I am exactly perfectly where I need to be, with my partner/prince and our miracle baby boy. I am alive. I am writing. I have a home and food and abilities and talents and people that care about me. I am so very blessed. 

(http://www.youtube.com/user/JKForfait)

That is the thing with postpartum depression. At least it was in my case. A lot of the darkness comes from nowhere and it doesn't make sense. Everything just hurst and requires too much energy. Whilst I fell completely-head-over-heels-madly-all-consuming in love with my son the instant he was conceived, and it has only grown stronger every minute since he was born, everything else in my world felt as though it were hanging by a thread. 

I wasn’t diagnosed until close to 7or 8 months in, and even then the label didn’t seem right. I love my son and love being a mom. We had tried for years and years so clearly he was very much wanted and I didn't miss my pre-mom life at all. I never imagined or wanted anything to ever come between us, and I have not once felt disconnected from him or that he wasn't/isn't  the brightest light I have ever seen (like many women do suffering from PPD do,)...so how could this be PPD? 

But it was. It still is. And facing it as such did start to bring together the strewn pieces of this new puzzle. I had already admitted to having the blues, but that was normal for me every year, seasonally affected by the shortened, colder, cooped up days of winter. 

It was different this year though.

Far gloomier, sadder and deeper. I still felt like I couldn’t clear the fog in my head,  my heart hurt and my shoulders carried the weight of it all. My postpartum was finally diagnosed after repeatedly scoring alarmingly high results on symptom quizzes with my Public Health Nurse. 

Like it or not, I could no longer deny that I was suffering from depression. Albeit giving my symptoms the name postpartum felt shameful and disappointing, and in some ways only added more to my guilt and angsts, it helped me understand why I had to try so hard to find my positivity within, why everything seemed ultra hard and overwhelming, why nothing made me laugh (except my son) the way it use to. Ultimately, thankfully, it has been a major stone in my foundation to recovery and taking back my life.

It gave my puzzle a name.  On more days than not, just getting a shower, or typing an email, planning dinners or going for a walk seemed nearly impossible. Justifying and defending myself to myself, or to my spouse only triggered more of the same dark emotions, endless crying, utter exhaustion, etc. 

Depression really does hurt, a bitter pill to swallow (no pun intended) and there is no shame in it. But left ignored or untreated can really destroy a person, shattering their world around them. 

...read more, next post...

PLG ~ JKF

Snake Bites

So I thought last year was my year, but according to my Chinese Astrology, this is my year (I was born under the Snake.) Ironic, since the slithery suckers feed my only phobia, however equally reassuring since this year, lucky number 2013, started out with my head screwed on backwards and with two left feet. I was stuck on spin and couldn't see my way.
 Shortly after my last post, my son, myself, and my husband fell ill. It doubled thru the house lasting much longer than a common cold, and knocked me flat on my butt. Simultaneously, my son's teething reached a new level of pain that sadly, not even the best teething necklace or max amount of Infants Tylenol could take away, (although they did make it a million times more bearable), and then, perfectly timed we thundered into December's holiday season with the arrival of my grandmother in-law and the start of her 2 month long visit from France! 2 months is long for anyone, but mix in my seemingly never-ending, far-more-time-consuming-than-I-anticipated TEFL course; ongoing sleep deprivation and overall lagging from the month prior; the stresses of the Christmas season plus the pressures of a perfect 'baby's first', along with the woes of maternity leave pay and financial difficulties; and there you have one totally overwhelmed, overweight, over emotional little mama lost.

Fortunately, once my tears had dried and things started to slowly resemble a routine again in early January, I finally had my long overdue follow-up with my post natal nurse. This was a service I had hesitated accepting; one that became more of a friendly chat than medical evaluation; and the same service that may have changed my life. Turns out that even though the symptoms I was suffering - feelings of darkness and of being overwhelmed, like the world was on top of me and suddenly nothing was turning out the way I had - greatly resembled PPD and it was time to get help. 

This was the most awful thing I had ever heard while it was also a great relief. It gave a reason to the shift in my personality, the missing optimism I pride myself on, the frequent crying and edginess. But I refused to take anti-depressants, and something about the diagnosis just didn't feel right. I LOVE being a mom, LOVE my little angel more than I can put into words, and feel our bond with everything in me...

When my second follow-up and short quiz showed worse results, she insisted it was time for some blood work. My blood test screened for Thyroid, low and behold, the sky cleared! Taking medication that corrects a significant problem in my body was nowhere near as terrifying as the former. Yes, it might be for life, but it is a way easier pill to swallow, literally, than so many of the alternatives I might have been facing. A couple weeks in, and I am feeling light years away from where I was a we rang in the new year just over a month ago. I feel, like me. Busy, stressed, tons going on, but me. Half full me. See the bright side me. Finding time to get things done me. Not some stranger hanging out under the dark clouds. 

And thank goodness. Thank God for hearing my prayers.
And happy new year! Again. 
This is why I love the Chinese calendar. It gives a new year a new boost, so the rest of the year can head in the right direction. With head on straight. Left foot. Right.

Babysteps ;)

PLF JKF

Peace Love and Gratiturkey

Whoa, and just like that it's October!!

I am always floored at how quickly Thanksgiving rolls around. With pumpkins and stuffing and turkeys (or tofurkeys,) upon us, like most, I find myself reflecting on what has transpired during the last year, what I will be giving thanks for, and then some...I am then equally amazed at how long ago everything seems, the full year(s) in rewind... summer already seems ages past, last Christmas like eons away...

I consider what I have accomplished and have yet to accomplish, if I have been a good person, if I have worked hard enough, lived fully enough, and then I envision the way I would like to see the next few months, year, years unfold...

This year, I have more to be grateful for than ever. That is not to say that other years have been slim pickings, but it's true what they say, and my son is the apple of my eye, the light of my life, and trumps every year before now. I am so so so thankful that he is here; after almost losing hope I would ever be a mother; that he is healthy and beautiful and strong and just the purest of joys; that his daddy is here too, that we love each other more deeply than I knew possible, and that I have every minute with my son, as he grows literally before my eyes, absorbing (and drooling on) everything around him. 

Lennon (photo taken by Amazing Ash, see links)

It is the most amazing thing, this thing we call life...
And as I explore it some more from the perspective of a 5 month old, still wrapping my head around it all and how this little angel was ever even created, I give thanks to God. I have gone astray more than once, but have since found my faith, since I can see no other explanation for this miracle before me.

Although with every new day there are new fears and struggles, challenges, stresses, disappointments and losses, every new day is also a new blessing, a new chance, a new light! 

We are all so lucky to be alive, yes?! 

Poor turkeys. 

Gobble gobble.

Peace

Love 

Gratitude

JKForfait

9 Drafts, 2 Towns & a Million Boxes Later...

Here I am. Finalement! This is the FIRST ENTIRE DAY in weeks (!!!) - literally - that I have had to myself, to buy pads and deodorant, to wipe my tears, to pluck my eyebrows, to  think, to plan, to write, and to hopefully make it from draft to post...

I don't know about the rest of you, but this summer has been a blur. I cannot believe it is the 15th of August already. Between packing and unpacking, re-packing, packing again, cleaning, storing, celebrating, sleeping, packing and unpacking some more, painting, cooking, organizing, re-organizing, organizing again - the weeks have gone by so quickly that I actually wish it had all been filmed on a reality TV show (it could be The Northumberland Hills," or "The Cobourg Shore," lol) so that I could now watch it back and actually take in the last 2 months.

I have said before that moving is one of the top most stressful things in life, but I don't think even I knew what that meant. Since meeting my husband, this was the 8th time we have moved in 8 years, from Mexico where we met, to France where he's from, to Canada where we have been hopping, skipping and jumping all over...to land, atlast, here in this "feel good town" of Cobourg. I think I can finally say I am home sweet home, and mean it. Dorothy was right, there is no place like it.

A dream come true, really. I have imagined living here, near its glorious beach and surf side main street, with its smiling faces and friendly neighbours, since I was a little girl. I feel every bit that I am where I belong.



Me, Victoria Beach, 1977


That in no way means that it has been an easy move or transition. The stress, tension, exhaustion have taken hard knocks on me and even my marriage, so much that I wondered this morning if I had indeed stepped into my dreams like I believed, or if I had instead taken a million steps backwards rather than forwards by mistake...

But these insecure doubts come to mind only due to a fragile heart. A fragile heart due only to the above stress and tolls mentionned. A long, heavy build up of challenges which my husband and I continue to plow thru, and which sometimes leaves my heart wounded in our wake.

When our hearts hurt, everything else is a little darker too.
I know that by tomorrow, when the rains dries and the clouds clear, when the sun shines its bright head again, that the doubts and tears will dry up too.

Our dreams (marriages?) are not supposed to be easy to attain and hang onto, they require hard work and dedication and persistence and patience and love and forgiveness. But so often our dreams (marriages?) are crushed, devastated, let go simply because it is easier and faster to give up.

Well not me. I will fight on for my dreams and my marriage and everything I believe in.

This experience has opened my eyes further and made me take account all of the things I have gained and lost during the last decade; it has made me see how I have evolved, and how, in some ways, I have digressed. It has shown me that there is no "post" button on my life or my dreams or my marriage, to put it out there and call it "complete" - it is forever a "draft" in progress, with a whole lot of editing yet!

For now, I will keep breathing, deeply, closing my eyes when I can, and smelling the near-water-fresh air as much as possible. I will look thru binoculars and explore and learn more about birds and flowers. I will ride my bike and walk my dog. I will turn off the self-destructive broken record in my head, a.k.a. Guilt, that gives me crap all the time for not writing, writing, writing, (and various other things) since I will write and keep writing all of my life...and I will enjoy what is left of this most wonderful season of the year, in my new home sweet home, near the beach sweet beach, you know just feelin' good as best I can...

I hope you will too...enjoy the rest of the summer... breathe...take it in...

Peace ~ Love  ~ Gratitude

Rough Patch

We all have them, hit them, live them. Rough patches that is. Some longer than others, some shorter, some that whip you off your feet from out of nowhere. I'm in one now. Again, go figure. I keep telling myself what I have to do, to just get it together, snap out of it, don't be a baby, get back on the program, we all have bad days, get on with it already!


Today I tripped though, slide (shoved?) down the depression stairs into a pit of self-doubt, and then further into more doubts in general. But this time, it's not for the reasons you might first think. To be fair, I'm not quite sure of the reasons myself and keep asking how I even got here. I thought I had left these particular types/triggered patches behind, thought I was past this place, had already moved on to greener pastures with warmer beaches...?


Stress. All kinds.
Blows our minds.
I guess we always have stress.
I guess, I guess, oh stress oh stress,
I guess we always have stress.
Sometimes good, sometimes bad,
but surely something we've all had.
Stress. All kinds.
It blew mine.


Stress it makes us crazy.


Today we, my colleagues and I, drove past a man losing it on the road, heading southbound toward the 407 ramp. And I mean L-O-O-O-o-hooosing it! Cursing at the top of his lungs and punching the air with his pink, angry fists, while spizzle flew out of his mouth and his appalling, offensive words bounced off the surrounding, traffic-jammy vehicles echoing for all  to hear. The woman beside him was motionless, either frozen by fear or humiliation or anger herself, her face hidden by her pale arm resting on the window.


And all for what?


We couldn't help but notice the plates were from Ohio, since at this point we debated if it were necessary to call the police, and the car looked in tattered, rough shape. Maybe he was lost, we guessed. Or the car was about to putz? ... Given, he may have had his reasons to yell. We all do. 


But does yelling ever really help? Even when it's the cork popping and releasing tension? Or even then, aren't we better without it? I say yes. Yelling never helps me. It only ever feels awful, and changes nothing.


To see me, you wouldn't think I was going crazy, definitely not like that guy, or even that I showed signs of a rough patch. You would likely think the contrary, since I usually always manage to put on a happy face, turn that frown upside down! I am known to be a smiley face, optimistic, bubbly kinda girl, and I will do my best to keep that side of me - my best most authentic side - up, even when everything else is dragging me down. T


Haters will say that "ain't being real," meanies that put people down will judge and say that it's being fake, a façade. 


I say, it's making lemonade, since even if it too is sour, it is still better than nothing, and refreshing either way. I'd always say it's being me, just not letting on to the full show of emotion going on behind the scenes. It always feels better inside when you're smiling outside, even if it takes more effort to make it happen.


They also say that it's all in the power of the mind, positive thinking. I agree. Earlier tonight I had a meltdown, one which has been brewing for days (weeks? longer?). It broke me and I crumbled, literally. I heaved myself in a long, hot, cleansing shower, and devastatingly bawled my head off, since when our hearts are aching, so are our thoughts. Sometimes there just ain't any juice left, ya know?


In any case, sometimes the triggers are less the issue. It's what you do about it that matters.


Besides, the beauty of rough patches is that it's our own sweat and tears that enrichens the soil for the new patch growth just ahead.


Numb, still in the shower, swollen eyes and hot water spilling over my face, I heard a soft voice squeak from somewhere, reassuringly saying "things will be okay, everything is as it should be; it has to rain some days, not all days can be sunny..."


I thought of the motivational speaker, Lesley Andrew  I had the honour of hearing earlier today, who moved me to full wells of tears in my eyes at least 6 times, and with whom I connected to the minute she mentioned my Alma Mater.  She won over the audience with her open, honest, powerfully educational presentation on Beating the Odds, openly discussing her own battles with dyslexia and various forms of learning "differences." With light humour and silver linings, we heard about other struggles she has long since overcome, everything from social barricades, bullying and abuse, from painful relationships and heroes, to triumphs and little everyday successes.


When she teared up in the question period about her own fight to have a baby, a sob escapd me into my coral pashmina. I left feling deeply touched, moved and motivated by these two hours, and other common threads we shared. If she can overcome all that she has, to be where she is today, than so can I. So can you. So can we all...(don't even get me started on the other speaker...)


And then in a moment, I found myself here, writing again. Finally.
Finally, thank goodness. For me. For you, whomever you may be, this round.


I leave tonight, as always, with peace, love and gratitude ;)

 "Always make time, everyday, to do something you love" - Lesly Andrew

Sweet dreams,
JKForfait