parenting

Here I go again…I’m doing it different this time

Commit
Start Gung Ho
Fabulous success
Overdo it
Injury
Lose momentum
Forget your “why”
Stop moving
Start binge eating
Striking regress
Health issue rises…
Rinse and repeat

Anyone familiar with this cycle for weight loss/improving health style?

Yes?

I thought so.

Back on September 12th I was diagnosed with Tarsal Tunnel Syndrome…like Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, just in the ankle. I’d been dealing with pretty excruciating nerve pain in my foot.

So, I joined Weight Watchers, committed to 90 meetings in 90 days (today is Day 55, meeting 57), changed my eating, and started walking.

I’m not exactly sure when I started walking, but, I haven’t missed a day since then. I worked my way up from just under a mile at a time to over two miles at a time.

Throughout that time, the nerve pain never went away, but it diminished and walking got much easier…until day before yesterday. I logged a cumulative six miles in one day. I pushed again yesterday and logged 2.6 miles.

The pain came back with a vengeance…and I’m feeling frustrated by my self-sabotage and discouraged by my continued overeating.

In the past, this would have been the point at which I gave up. Not this time.

Why? What’s different now?

Community.

This time I have the WW community. Yesterday, I walked in the door of the studio and I was greeted by name by one of the “Wellness Guides” (formerly, receptionist). One of the Guides is also a coach in other workshops (meetings) I’ve attended. She always asks what number I’m on and tells me what an inspiration I am. She “brags” to other members about what I’m doing as a way to motivate and encourage them. The Coach for that meeting is very focused on the members giving ourselves credit and props for showing up and engaging.

There’s also the online community who has been following along on Instagram and FB, where I share more of the day to day details of this journey I’m on. Plus, my fellow bloggers who are also encouraging me.

There’s my faith community where we go broader and deeper into all our lives and journeys. Several of them are also following my journey on FB & IG.

These three communities are encouraging and supporting me. I’m holding myself accountable to them. And, if I’m being honest, the praise and approval is motivating me, as well. Is that shallow and less “evolved” than one should be at 49? Probably. But, it is what it is…another thing for me and my therapist to discuss.

Another thing that’s different is that I’m one of my “whys.” I finally feel like I deserve to take the time I need and give myself the attention and consideration I should to make taking care of me one of my priorities.

Walking is part of my daily self-care routine. It helps my mental health. However, I don’t have to walk six miles in a day. I need activity every day, but one mile, approximately 20 minutes is sufficient. When I walk, I need to walk enough to raise my heart rate but, I don’t have to push myself like I’m in a race. I need to reframe why I’m walking. It’s helping me lose weight, but, it’s purpose is to improve and maintain mental and physical health through daily activity.

I need to remember that the ultimate goal isn’t the weight loss. It’s mental and physical health and wellness so I can sustain and maintain consistent functionality in taking care of my responsibilities, my relationships, and become self-sufficient.

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C’mon Get Happy

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This week’s WW topic is “Happiness.”

Today was the first of seven of these workshops I’ll be attending this week on my “90 meetings in 90 Days” journey. (I owe you a post to explain that. Tomorrow. Maybe.) Today’s discussion was interesting. I’m looking forward to see how it gets addressed in the other workshops.

The weekly handout suggested that being happy makes the healthy activities we do in our lives more possible and increases the experience of those things. It also acknowledged that partaking of those activities increases happiness.

The workshop’s Coach listed a formula that determines one’s happiness level:

50% Genetics
+10% Life Circumstances
+40% Attitude, Thoughts, & Actions

My immediate reaction was to scoff at the Life Circumstances percentage. I mean, although it hasn’t been as painful and difficult as other people’s, it’s been generously peppered with a lot of trauma. Consequently, I have PTSD. Plus, I experience Depression, Bipolar 2 Disorder, fibromyalgia, and am parenting a child with regularly tells me things like she wishes I would kill myself or that I had been born dead.

Yeah. Happiness is HARD. That’s a LOT of genetics and life circumstances.

I spend a lot of time fighting tears, dealing with bureaucracy, and managing conflict. I’m skeptical that Happiness is a state of being that’s more than occasionally possible for me.

I think Acceptance and Contentedness are much more doable. I think there can be moments of happiness. I think we have to be emotionally and mentally healthy and functional to be able to experience even those moments of happiness. I simply don’t believe that Happiness is achievable as a permanent state.

All that being said, I have my own formula:

Psych meds
+Therapy
+A supportive community
+Activity
+Self-Care
+Choosing to be in positive environments


The ability to experience happiness.

What say you?

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My whys


I mentioned in yesterday’s post that I joined WW (formerly Weight Watchers) mid-September this year. I have a laundry list (Why “laundry”? Wouldn’t “shopping” make more sense? I think so, too). Correction, shopping list of whys. Not the least of which is Tarsal Tunnel Syndrome, a rare disorder of the ankle, similar to Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. Here’s the complete list:
Family – I have two adult children (32 & 25), three grandchildren (4,3, & 1), and a nearly 10 year old on the higher functioning end of the autism spectrum and who experiences ADHD.

Physical Health – Fibromyalgia, Hypothyroidism, Type 2 Diabetes, Sleep Apnea, High Cholesterol, and Tarsal Tunnel Syndrome.

Mental Health – Bipolar 2 Disorder, PTSD, Depression, Binge Eating Disorder.

Because I’m worthy of self-love and self-care.

I’ve spent nearly five years of hard work to reach this point. I had been a toxic person in a toxic relationship. I had severely broken relationships with my two adult children. I was so overwhelmed and depressed I was barely functional. I was so consumed with self-loathing that I hid from the world, making myself sicker and sicker, consuming all the food and media I could numb out on.

Now, I’m working on staying centered in the here and now, continuing to heal, grow, and build relationships with my children, engaging with the world and people around me, and learning how to treat myself with the care, compassion, and love I have and want to have for each person I encounter.

It’s past time for me to become the best version of myself.

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Sleep…or lack thereof

Back in September, immediately prior to the rebranding, I joined Weight Watchers (more about that later. Or you can head over to IG @humaninrecovery and see what’s been happening.)

Every week is a new topic of discussion about mindset, behavior changes, and achieving goals. I call it DBT Lite. This week’s topic is sleep.

Sleep doesn’t love me as much as I love it. It seems as if it never has…at least not since adolescence. I mean, I’m writing this at 2:45 A.M. because sleep abandoned me.

Correction: my lovely, not so little, daughter chased it away and it’s eluded me ever since, four+ hours now. Now, she’s sound asleep and I’m wide awake. *sigh*

Supposedly, not having my phone in the bedroom with me would help with getting back to sleep. I’ve tried. Can’t do it. It’s my alarm. It’s my fidget. It’s where I do the brain dump. It’s how I run my brain down until sleep is possible again.

I have horrible sleep hygiene…always have. My room is a cluttered mess. My bedroom & bed are multipurpose locations. My bed is shared with a growing, nearly 10 year old child with sensory issues and needs. So, she’s either burrowing into me, flailing arms in my face, and/or hogging the covers. Occasionally, she snores and breathes through her mouth…Her dad sent me an article yesterday which suggested an exam with an ENT could turn up some medical condition causing sleep disruption which can present like ADHD. More on that later.

In addition to clinging to me like a baby gorilla, she insists on listening to “girl music” when she’s ready to go to sleep. Read: female pop artists. She goes to sleep fairly easy once the music is going. Not me. For someone who has words constantly flowing through her brain, pop music is especially unhelpful when trying to go to sleep. Any music with words is, including what she calls “God music,” my CCM Pandora channel, heavily salted with music by MercyMe.

Then there’s temperature.

I can’t sleep if it’s warm…she freezes and turns into a heat seeking baby gorilla. I like it cool enough to want my feet under the comforter…yeah, I know, weird. The problem with that is the baby gorilla blanket thief.

Let’s see, what else?

Oh, yeah. My body & brain. I’m a premenopausal spoonie with Bipolar 2 Disorder & PTSD. If the nighttime neuropathy doesn’t get me or the busy brain, the night sweats and apparently shrinking bladder will.

And, so, I guess it isn’t that sleep doesn’t love me. It just doesn’t feel welcomed or wanted. *sigh*

The kicker is that I don’t even drink coffee or other caffeinated beverages to get and stay functional. Apparently, I’m a deceptively alive and youthful looking zombie vampire.

Yes. I’m 49.

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Writing Prompts: August Scrawls, Days 1 & 2

I was stymied after prepping Thursday’s post on Wednesday. I had run out of the current prompts available on the social writing app I’ve been writing on – intermittently – for well over a year now. I needed more prompts, until either new prompts showed up on lettrs or my own ideas started flowing.

Did you know there’s a whole community of writers using Instagram? #writersofinstagram and #amwriting are a great way to locate fellow word warriors…but, you probably already knew that.

Nowadays, there’s a hashtag for EVERYTHING under the sun, on God’s green earth…(had to do it once “nowadays” showed up). So, I searched #augustwritingprompts. Lots of options popped up. Several set up scenarios and situations to write about. Not for me. I’m more of a minimalist when it comes to prompts. Give me something to interpret and write my own scene about, in my own voice.

I found such a prompt! It’s called August Scrawls and is hosted by @hopelessperriott on Instagram. A word a day! I can work with that. I hope.

Here are my first two days’ efforts:

Hunger

He hungrily watched her lips wrap around the oblong orb. His mouth went dry with thirst as a tiny drop of clear juice slowly meandered down. His pupils dilated as she captured it with her tongue. He longed to wrap his hands around the soft, golden skin. Mouth watering at the thought of tasting the firm flesh, he asked…

“Do you have another apricot?”

Gotcha! At least that was the idea. The word for Day 1 was “apricot.” How’d I do?

Here’s Day 2:

A Spectrum Moment

“Children, it’s time to work on your spelling words. Jennifer, will you please hand out this week’s practice sheets?”

Mrs. Vee, the teacher, surveyed her overly full classroom. Her eyes rested on the student in the far back corner, Shandi. Shandi was seated on a stool at the science workstation. Her head was bent as she intently stared down at the paper in front of her. She reached for a black marker and began drawing.

Mrs. Vee watched as Jennifer cautiously approached Shandi. Jennifer attempted to hand Shandi the paper. She kept looking at her artwork, seemingly oblivious to Jennifer’s presence. Then, Jennifer bravely placed the paper between Shandi’s face and the paper she was drawing on.

She reacted as badly as expected. The crumpled paper plummeted to the floor.

“Shandi! That’s enough. It’s time to work on spelling. You’ve had your art time. Now it’s work time.”

Defying her teacher’s authority, Shandi climbed down from her stool and stormed out of the classroom, disappearing down the hall to the CBC, Contained Behavior Classroom, where her IEP, Individual Education Plan, said she could go in times of distress.

Mrs. Vee sighed, then called the office, alerting them that Shandi had left the room, once again. “We really need more support from the District’s Autism Specialist,” she thought to herself.

Resigned to the status quo, she turned and addressed the classroom, “Who has completed writing five of the words?”

The word was “authority.”

This scenario is taken from the pages of my life as the parent of a child who interfaces with the world through the Autism Spectrum and experiences ADHD. There were a lot of these kinds of incidents over the past two school years. It’s felt good to interact with and try to support and encourage teachers who care. Most General Education teachers don’t receive much training or education in supporting kids with various special needs. I’m grateful my daughter is where she is.

Anyway, days 1 & 2 down. Hopefully, I’ll catch up with 3 & 4 tomorrow.

When life goes awry: It’s ok to not be ok

Last Friday was one of those days where the first domino got knocked down and the remainder of the day’s plans and goals crashed one by one.

I’m sure you’ve experienced something like that at one time or another. If you haven’t, best be prepared because you will.

My daughter had a MAJOR meltdown that morning – it got physically violent (she’s on the Autism Spectrum) and she wound up not going to school.

That meant I couldn’t go to the gym or pool. There’s no space or place in my tiny, overcrowded apartment for me to do anything, including stretching. It’s THAT crowded and cluttered.

I was frustrated and irritable at this disruption in the new routine of self-care by exercise. I didn’t take it out on my daughter, but I was experiencing a significant amount of resentment.

Parenting a child with special needs is HARD and I NEED the stress release of the exercise.

When there is a spike in stress hormones coursing through my body, especially in combination with other hormonal changes, a fibroflare is likely to occur.

“What’s that?” you may be asking.

I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia 28 years ago. Symptoms include persistent, fatigue and increased pain response to anything and everything. During my most intense episodes, just running a finger across my skin feels like a razor blade.

So, I’m struggling against the fatigue to still make exercise a priority. Each day I exercise, the fatigue makes me feel like I’m moving through molasses once the exercise is done. I feel completely drained. It doesn’t help that I also happen to be an insomniac.

There are days when I fight to get the kid to school and to bed, go to the gym or pool, and, maybe, wash dishes. The rest of the time I’m sitting and dozing off.

I’m trading the energy from other things so I can exercise. But, the exercise is what helps me mentally get through the day.

In the past, I criticized myself for not getting more done, or anything done for that matter. I couldn’t let myself be okay with not being okay.

This process is showing me that I can be.

Happy Birthday, my son!

1986 11 09Today, my son turns 29.

When I saw him on Saturday night, I mentioned that I had hoped to have his gift ready.

“Oh, yeah. I guess my birthday is in a couple of days…”

He went on and we touched on the fact that, for him, because of the way he grew up, his birthday has never really been either celebrated or about receiving gifts.

Sadly, this is true.

Since today is his birthday and this post is about celebrating him, I’m not going to go into all the whys and wherefores exposing this lack in his life. Maybe tomorrow. We’ll see.

Dear Son,

I was a 16-year-old runaway when I discovered you were growing inside of me. I was staying with a friend we’d met when we stayed at a neighboring homeless shelter a little while before. Your father was in prison on a parole violation. I didn’t know about his record until the night he went to jail. I’d vowed my love to him and he’d gotten me away from the sad life I’d been living. So, I was going to , “Stand By My Man.”

I was so scared when I got the news I was going to be your mommy. I was clueless and knew that I’d have a hard time meeting your needs. Even though abortion was one option, it never was for me. There was no way I could ever give you to other people. I didn’t want you growing up wondering why I didn’t want you. I couldn’t imagine giving away the only family I had.

That was the same year Madonna came out with, Papa Don’t Preach, and even though my situation had little in common with the song, other than being a pregnant teen, “I was keeping my baby,” and it became my anthem.

Selfish? Yeah, probably. But, deciding to keep you motivated me to do better, to be better, or at least to try. I entered a youth job readiness program and got my first GED.

Your father and I wrote each other, giving updates, making plans for our future, your future.

It was February. I turned 17 in June and he got out of prison. We went “on the road,” again. We landed in Texas and became friendly with a truck driving couple. They “adopted” us and took us back to their home in North Carolina. I didn’t know both my mother and her father had been born there.

The local community and church welcomed us. They helped us get a trailer.  They got us a car, a dark blue, two door, Oldsmobile Cutlass. I finally got prenatal care.

You were such a strong baby, with such a strong heartbeat! At my first exam, the doctor thought he heard two heartbeats, with two echoes. My belly was so big and so full, he thought you might be twins!

The week before you were born, your father got into a car accident on his way to work and wasn’t able to work. With you just about ready to enter the world, he convinced me that there wasn’t any way we would make it if we stayed. Despite the fact you were nearly a week overdue, we packed up the car late that Saturday night, after visiting friends and watching “rasslin’.” We drove on out of town. We got about a hundred miles away when I admitted that I wasn’t having Braxton Hicks contractions and you were on your way.

We pulled into the pothole filled parking lot of a little greasy spoon joint. I swear he hit every one of those damn things! When I tried to get out of the car, the pain immobilized me. He ran in, called out, “Cup of coffee to go! Woman in labor! Where’s the bathroom?” He was back in the car and driving almost as soon as he’d left.

On the way back to town and to the hospital, he broke the speed limit and we made it back in way under an hour. Even though we’d seen a state trooper every few minutes on the way out, we didn’t see any on the way back. I was in the delivery room by 2:30 in the morning. They broke my water, but the labor didn’t progress the way they thought it should. I got an emergency C-section. You were born around noon. I heard later, that the doctor wanted to get home in time for Sunday supper.

We stayed in the hospital for a week. I lost a lot of blood in the surgery and was severely anemic. It was the height of the AIDS scare. Your dad and I fought because he didn’t want me to get a blood transfusion. The medical staff won that argument and I received three units of blood. The night I got out of the hospital, we got in the car and left. I had 12 or 13 staples in my stomach.

We spent the first two years of your life living out of cars and hitchhiking across the country. Your dad was a better caregiver than I was during that time. I guess I was experiencing postpartum depression in the midst of it all. By the time you were two and I was 19, we were on our own.

You’ve been through, and overcome, so much in your short life. Now, you’re married to a wonderful woman and have two stable and loving families you belong to.  Your, “real,” adopted parents support and guide you in ways I’ve never could. You’re one of the best managers your company has and you’re taking college classes. You guys are on the path to home ownership. You are in the early stages of owning your own business. You’re a man of faith and integrity and continually work to grow, heal, and improve.

I couldn’t be more proud of the man you are. I love you.

Happy Birthday, my son!