Ever heard of premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD)? It's like PMS, only waaaaaay worse. Like, sit in bed and let your head spin around while green puke spews everywhere worse. Like, ugly cry because you're the worst parent on earth just because the grilled cheese got a little too dark worse. Or in my case, smash a perfectly good plate on the floor just because someone said "mommy" one too many times in that specific tone worse.
I joke (because it's a coping method), but seriously, PMDD is serious. It's not just regular PMS. Sure, all that fun stuff is also included. But then add a heaping teaspoon of psychotic with about a half cup of unstable emotions, put it all on a giant bloated roller coaster and watch the fun begin. If you want a scientific and actually information description, visit here: http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/premenstrual-syndrome/basics/symptoms/con-20020003.
Like I said, it's serious. Serious enough for me that I knew something was wrong, that freaking out on the kids for being kids was not just normal PMS. My mood swings were starting to impact my daily life. I didn't want to do anything. Literally. All I wanted to do was sit on the couch all day and watch TV - in silence, alone. By the way, I'm a stay at home mom. Silence and Alone are two words that have entirely vacated my vocabulary. I didn't want to feed my kids let alone play with them. I sure as hell wasn't about to put pants on and bring them to the library, of all places.
But that wasn't the worst of it. The violent outbursts were the worst. My son started acting them out, throwing his toys across the room and screaming over the slightest inconvenience. My daughter would run, hide and cry if I stood up off the couch too fast. My husband would yell back and we would get into such heated arguments that I would declare I didn't want to be his stupid wife anymore. It was hell, and my family was paying the price.
It had progressively gotten worse. I could feel it. I could tell that this wasn't normal. I didn't want to be like this, but no matter what I did, I couldn't control it. I did an online search, found a few links for PMDD, took a few self-assessments and came to a startling yet comforting resolution: its not me, it's the hormones.
I wasn't a bad person, a bad mother or a bad wife. I had a disorder, one I couldn't simply control with positive thinking and willpower.
The exact cause for PMDD and PMS isn't known, but there are theories as to what some contributing factors might be. Had I always had this? Probably, to an extent, but never this bad. I'm thinking it has something to do with the fact that I've had three children and am nearing my 30s. That's just my theory, however.
I went to my doctor. I mentioned PMDD and how I have violent outbursts. The conversation pretty much went like this:
Me: I think I have PMDD. I've taken some self-tests and I have a majority of the symptoms.
Dr.: Well, it's normal to have mood swings with PMS...
Me: I throw plates.
Dr.: You need Prozac.
I stared at him. Wow. That was quick. In my research, certain anti-depressants were listed as a treatment option, but so were lifestyle changes and birth control.
Picking up quickly on my hesitation, my doctor explained that many studies have been done and that when it comes to PMDD and severe forms of PMS, only a low-dose form of Prozac (known as fluoxetine) has been shown to help. I asked about birth control, but he explained that the birth control fluctuates with the menstrual cycle, so it wouldn't help even out the mood swings.
I was hesitant - very hesitant. Prozac? An anti-depressant? I was one of those mothers? I imagined myself in a 1950s ensemble (complete with pumps and sunglasses), sitting on my deck with a long cigarette in one hand and a martini in the other. It's one in the afternoon while the children play in the yard. I would be oblivious to their wants and needs and go about my life in a drug-induced haze.
My doctor made it clear that it really was my only option, and that he didn't have any doubts that it was what I needed and that it would work. I trusted him. This is the man that had been with me through all of my pregnancies (including two miscarriages). He's delivered all three of my babies. He wouldn't tell me this if it wasn't what I needed to hear. And I'd rather have to pop a pill every day than have my kids live in fear of me and ruin their childhood.
So pop a pill I did. And after a week, I already notice a difference. True, it could have been the placebo effect and I was actually more calm because I was using this little white pill as a crutch. But the other night I read stories to my kids before bed. I mean, I wanted to read them stories before bed. Like, they told me no more stories mom, we're tired and want to go to sleep now. I hadn't done that in months. So even if it was the placebo effect, I was okay with it, and so were my kids.
I waited it out, since it usually takes 5-6 weeks to be fully effective. Forward to 6 weeks later. The yelling has decreased. I haven't slammed a door or thrown a toy or screamed so loud my throat hurts in at least three weeks. I have more energy. I have more focus. I see my kids now, hear them laughing and playing and giggling instead of just hearing noise that used to irritate me. I love my children all over again. I feel like the mother that I once was, that I always wanted to be, but this time with a reflection in the mirror instead of a guilt-trip in that scary little head of mine.
Do I still get angry, upset or lose my patience? Yes, because I'm a mom, not a robot. It hasn't turned me into a zombie like I feared. Not everything is seen through fuzzy rose-colored glasses. Some days aren't so good, but I have many more great days that not-so-good-days. At least now I feel like I have control over my emotions and actions. If I act out, it's because of me, and that's something I can fix.
I don't want to be on an anti-depressant and face all the stigma that comes with it. Am I crazy? Probably, but my friends and family already knew that. I'm still me, just a little better. A little brighter.
I've decided that I'm not going to be ashamed of it, which is why I'm writing this. My children and husband will thank me one day. The first rule of parenthood is to ask for help. So I did, because I needed help. I wanted help.
And I got it.
Note: Please, don't be ashamed of talking to your doctor about your emotions. We all want to be super parents, but caring for others all the time is hard on a person - physically, mentally and emotionally. If you feel angry or sad or violent, tell someone.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Friday, August 15, 2014
To My Daughters For When Someone Breaks Your Heart
"I have looked at you in millions of ways and I have loved you in each."
Please, when you say this, I beg that you are looking at your own reflection and not some poor schmuck that you think will solve all your problems.
Love is real. Love is amazing. This morning I looked at your father and realized that even after 11 years and 3 kids and all the fights that I love him, that I am in love with him, probably more now than ever before.
But this saying does not apply to us, and I don't want you to grow up thinking that love is all unicorns and butterflies and some form of royalty on a white horse. I don't want you to think that your sole purpose in any relationship is to be wholly and entirely in love all the freakin' time. Because it's not.
Your role in a relationship is to love, yes, but by means of support and honesty and a deep caring for the other person's well being. You might not always like them. Hell, you might not always love them. And that's okay. Sometimes that will mean that it's over. Sometimes it won't.
Here's the secret that most people don't admit: they don't always love their partner. I've looked at your father before and not loved him. I know, shocking. In fact, there's been a level of despise, a level of "what the hell was I thinking?" There's been a wandering eye, but never a wandering heart. Because the simple truth of the matter is that we are better together. Not always great together. But I know that I am better when I am with him. He doesn't complete me, and he doesn't make life worth living, but I'd hate to live a life without him.
What I'm saying is, if you hinge your entire aspect of happiness on someone else or the idea of love, you will forever be continually disappointed. Be a willing participant in the throngs of love and all the amazing heart-skipping moments it can offer. But never, ever think that you are not worthy just because someone doesn't love you back.
Don't ever feel like you have to compromise yourself for the sake of love. Remember that you hold the cards. You make the decisions. What's right will be right and what ends up being wrong will be a powerful lesson. People will break your heart. You will end up making someone cry. Sometimes you will care. Sometimes you won't. Love is something that happens. There is no magical situation, no fairy godmother with a wand, no prince waiting for his princess.
There is you, a bright and beautiful human being, capable of giving and taking and feeling and kindness and above all, being smart about the human nature and forgiving of it's consequences. Fall in love. Fall out of love. Do it with grace or with a sickening bone-cracking thud. Don't be afraid of getting hurt or learning lessons, and don't be fooled by the sly creatures that prey on you.
Because when it happens, it will happen, slowly and all at once (to quote the infamous John Green). Most times, it will fade, but when the time comes, it will last. You will have your doubts, but at the end of the day, you will love. Love is about meeting the right person at the right time in the right circumstances and when you are in the right frame of mind. Love is scary, it's sad, it's angry. But it's beautiful.
Love is something you already have in you. It's a part of who you are. It's an ever evolving universe inside your soul. When you meet that person, you will end up loving their flaws, their quirks. You'll even love that they make you mad and will miss this when they are not around.
But before any of this can happen, you have to love yourself. Look at yourself in a million ways and love each and every one of them. Without this, love is not possible.
And never, for one split second, let anyone convince you that even one of those million ways is not worth loving.
Please, when you say this, I beg that you are looking at your own reflection and not some poor schmuck that you think will solve all your problems.
Love is real. Love is amazing. This morning I looked at your father and realized that even after 11 years and 3 kids and all the fights that I love him, that I am in love with him, probably more now than ever before.
But this saying does not apply to us, and I don't want you to grow up thinking that love is all unicorns and butterflies and some form of royalty on a white horse. I don't want you to think that your sole purpose in any relationship is to be wholly and entirely in love all the freakin' time. Because it's not.
Your role in a relationship is to love, yes, but by means of support and honesty and a deep caring for the other person's well being. You might not always like them. Hell, you might not always love them. And that's okay. Sometimes that will mean that it's over. Sometimes it won't.
Here's the secret that most people don't admit: they don't always love their partner. I've looked at your father before and not loved him. I know, shocking. In fact, there's been a level of despise, a level of "what the hell was I thinking?" There's been a wandering eye, but never a wandering heart. Because the simple truth of the matter is that we are better together. Not always great together. But I know that I am better when I am with him. He doesn't complete me, and he doesn't make life worth living, but I'd hate to live a life without him.
What I'm saying is, if you hinge your entire aspect of happiness on someone else or the idea of love, you will forever be continually disappointed. Be a willing participant in the throngs of love and all the amazing heart-skipping moments it can offer. But never, ever think that you are not worthy just because someone doesn't love you back.
Don't ever feel like you have to compromise yourself for the sake of love. Remember that you hold the cards. You make the decisions. What's right will be right and what ends up being wrong will be a powerful lesson. People will break your heart. You will end up making someone cry. Sometimes you will care. Sometimes you won't. Love is something that happens. There is no magical situation, no fairy godmother with a wand, no prince waiting for his princess.
There is you, a bright and beautiful human being, capable of giving and taking and feeling and kindness and above all, being smart about the human nature and forgiving of it's consequences. Fall in love. Fall out of love. Do it with grace or with a sickening bone-cracking thud. Don't be afraid of getting hurt or learning lessons, and don't be fooled by the sly creatures that prey on you.
Because when it happens, it will happen, slowly and all at once (to quote the infamous John Green). Most times, it will fade, but when the time comes, it will last. You will have your doubts, but at the end of the day, you will love. Love is about meeting the right person at the right time in the right circumstances and when you are in the right frame of mind. Love is scary, it's sad, it's angry. But it's beautiful.
Love is something you already have in you. It's a part of who you are. It's an ever evolving universe inside your soul. When you meet that person, you will end up loving their flaws, their quirks. You'll even love that they make you mad and will miss this when they are not around.
But before any of this can happen, you have to love yourself. Look at yourself in a million ways and love each and every one of them. Without this, love is not possible.
And never, for one split second, let anyone convince you that even one of those million ways is not worth loving.
Friday, July 11, 2014
All In the Details
Ugh.
UGH.
AAAGGGHHHHHHH!
It's been a rough day. One of those 'get in the car, go get a massage and check into a hotel room' kind of days. One of those days where every "do this" is followed by a resounding "NO!" and we've communicated primarily through demands, threats, yelling and slammed doors.
Ugh.
Why? Why don't they listen? Why don't they just do as I tell them? Why does there have to be tantrums and fits and screaming? Why? WHY?
Because they are people, not robots. They are not programmable. They are humans with brains and thoughts and ideas and feelings. I am raising children, not fixing problems.
Or, as today has been going, I am creating problems out of perfectly good children. Children, who, don't eat my food, don't clean up after themselves, don't say please or thank you and who aren't very nice to each other.
I set rules and boundaries. I make them well aware of the consequences and I follow through with them. I try really really hard not to lose my cool and I understand that talking and a hug goes much farther than a swat on the butt or a simple time-out.
So why do they hate me? Why? WHY? Why am I the "bad mommy?" If this were an office job, I'd be re-evaluating my career path and goals, and possibly cashing out my 401k and taking an extended vacation.
Maybe I just need to let go. Our little town is celebrating this weekend, and there are fireworks and an outdoor movie tonight. I totally want to go, but the kids have been - well, UGH - today. So I had decided that we weren't going and that it would be a lesson that only good behavior gets rewarded. And then I was thinking. When my son is 28, will he remember the time he got in trouble and couldn't go to the fireworks? That thought terrified me. I want him to remember going to the fireworks with me and his sisters and having an awesome time. That is what I want him to remember.
Okay, fine. We'll go to the fireworks, even though I've been threatening all day that we're not going and I've already given my son an ultimatum. Clean up the living room and your bedroom or we're not going. I told him that he has to earn it. Well, the living room is still messy. So I'll clean that up too. I'm too tired to fight and he clearly is much more stubborn than me. And I should probably give the bike back, too. I'd taken it away because he threw it on the ground in a rage. I told him that if he can't treat his things nice, he doesn't deserve them.
Ouch. Yeah, maybe that one was a little harsh. I mean, I get it. That's an important lesson. So is the lesson of good behavior = rewards. But he's 5. FIVE. Does he really need to understand these things right now? And is he really going to learn them from me taking things away when he doesn't do it when I haven't addressed it with him before? Yeah, I'm getting confused now. I can't imagine what's going on in his intelligent mind.
Clearly, the problem is me. I knew that, though. I want my kids to be responsible and well behaved people. When I tell my daughter not to sit on the table, I imagine her climbing on up at a restaurant. Funny though, she's never done that at a restaurant. She's only done it at home. So where does this worry come from? Actually, when my children are in public, they are perfect angels. The are quiet. They listen. They say things like "Good Morning" and "Thank You" and "Have a Nice Day." So what am I all upset about?
Am I upset about the fact that they are screaming at each other in the bedroom right now? I think it might be time for Mommy Earmuffs.
Ugh, this parenting thing is hard. Way hard. There's just so much pressure... so much, in fact, that I'm not enjoying it. I'm not okay with that.
I want my kids to have a great childhood. I want them to have great memories. But instead of being a part of and helping create those great memories, I'm more worried about their behavior being correct.
Right now, my daughter is playing with her food, transferring the itty bitty pieces of rice from one bowl to the other and then onto her sister's tray (and the floor.) This bothers me because it's making a mess. She's practicing her motor skills. What kind of message does it send if I were to yell at her? Don't be messy? Don't play? Don't be your own person and do your own thing and touch and feel and learn and experience?
Great. Now she gave the baby a bowl of full rice. Looks like I'll be vacuuming... again...
Being a parent is truly a sacrifice. You sacrifice your body, your sleep, your sanity. You sacrifice everything that you are because you love these little people so much that when they scream at you all day you find yourself asking what you're doing wrong. I really am just making it harder on myself.
I am raising children, not fixing problems, and I refuse to create problems out of perfectly good children.
Maybe, just maybe, I need to step back and stop micromanaging - or programming - these beautiful little creatures. Maybe, beyond all reason, they will grow into kind, compassionate and caring people if I let them. Maybe, they already are these people, and I'm too close to the picture to see it.
{As I am typing this, my son is screaming and jumping on the couch like he's at a rave. I see the irony in this.}
Children are loud. They are messy. They break things. They are exhausting. I knew all this going into it. I have no right to be surprised or upset with the results.
I am here to listen to their loudness, to clean up their messes, and to carry them to bed when they fall asleep on the floor. I am here to support them, to answer questions, and to teach them what it means to be good. I am here to love them, with every detail that requires.
When you think about it that way, the job description gets a heck of a lot easier to deal with. Love them. This is the only requirement. Everything else is a detail. Everything else happens because you love them.
Sigh. Okay. Maybe I can do this.
UGH.
AAAGGGHHHHHHH!
It's been a rough day. One of those 'get in the car, go get a massage and check into a hotel room' kind of days. One of those days where every "do this" is followed by a resounding "NO!" and we've communicated primarily through demands, threats, yelling and slammed doors.
Ugh.
Why? Why don't they listen? Why don't they just do as I tell them? Why does there have to be tantrums and fits and screaming? Why? WHY?
Because they are people, not robots. They are not programmable. They are humans with brains and thoughts and ideas and feelings. I am raising children, not fixing problems.
Or, as today has been going, I am creating problems out of perfectly good children. Children, who, don't eat my food, don't clean up after themselves, don't say please or thank you and who aren't very nice to each other.
I set rules and boundaries. I make them well aware of the consequences and I follow through with them. I try really really hard not to lose my cool and I understand that talking and a hug goes much farther than a swat on the butt or a simple time-out.
So why do they hate me? Why? WHY? Why am I the "bad mommy?" If this were an office job, I'd be re-evaluating my career path and goals, and possibly cashing out my 401k and taking an extended vacation.
Maybe I just need to let go. Our little town is celebrating this weekend, and there are fireworks and an outdoor movie tonight. I totally want to go, but the kids have been - well, UGH - today. So I had decided that we weren't going and that it would be a lesson that only good behavior gets rewarded. And then I was thinking. When my son is 28, will he remember the time he got in trouble and couldn't go to the fireworks? That thought terrified me. I want him to remember going to the fireworks with me and his sisters and having an awesome time. That is what I want him to remember.
Okay, fine. We'll go to the fireworks, even though I've been threatening all day that we're not going and I've already given my son an ultimatum. Clean up the living room and your bedroom or we're not going. I told him that he has to earn it. Well, the living room is still messy. So I'll clean that up too. I'm too tired to fight and he clearly is much more stubborn than me. And I should probably give the bike back, too. I'd taken it away because he threw it on the ground in a rage. I told him that if he can't treat his things nice, he doesn't deserve them.
Ouch. Yeah, maybe that one was a little harsh. I mean, I get it. That's an important lesson. So is the lesson of good behavior = rewards. But he's 5. FIVE. Does he really need to understand these things right now? And is he really going to learn them from me taking things away when he doesn't do it when I haven't addressed it with him before? Yeah, I'm getting confused now. I can't imagine what's going on in his intelligent mind.
Clearly, the problem is me. I knew that, though. I want my kids to be responsible and well behaved people. When I tell my daughter not to sit on the table, I imagine her climbing on up at a restaurant. Funny though, she's never done that at a restaurant. She's only done it at home. So where does this worry come from? Actually, when my children are in public, they are perfect angels. The are quiet. They listen. They say things like "Good Morning" and "Thank You" and "Have a Nice Day." So what am I all upset about?
Am I upset about the fact that they are screaming at each other in the bedroom right now? I think it might be time for Mommy Earmuffs.
Ugh, this parenting thing is hard. Way hard. There's just so much pressure... so much, in fact, that I'm not enjoying it. I'm not okay with that.
I want my kids to have a great childhood. I want them to have great memories. But instead of being a part of and helping create those great memories, I'm more worried about their behavior being correct.
Right now, my daughter is playing with her food, transferring the itty bitty pieces of rice from one bowl to the other and then onto her sister's tray (and the floor.) This bothers me because it's making a mess. She's practicing her motor skills. What kind of message does it send if I were to yell at her? Don't be messy? Don't play? Don't be your own person and do your own thing and touch and feel and learn and experience?
Great. Now she gave the baby a bowl of full rice. Looks like I'll be vacuuming... again...
Being a parent is truly a sacrifice. You sacrifice your body, your sleep, your sanity. You sacrifice everything that you are because you love these little people so much that when they scream at you all day you find yourself asking what you're doing wrong. I really am just making it harder on myself.
I am raising children, not fixing problems, and I refuse to create problems out of perfectly good children.
Maybe, just maybe, I need to step back and stop micromanaging - or programming - these beautiful little creatures. Maybe, beyond all reason, they will grow into kind, compassionate and caring people if I let them. Maybe, they already are these people, and I'm too close to the picture to see it.
{As I am typing this, my son is screaming and jumping on the couch like he's at a rave. I see the irony in this.}
Children are loud. They are messy. They break things. They are exhausting. I knew all this going into it. I have no right to be surprised or upset with the results.
I am here to listen to their loudness, to clean up their messes, and to carry them to bed when they fall asleep on the floor. I am here to support them, to answer questions, and to teach them what it means to be good. I am here to love them, with every detail that requires.
When you think about it that way, the job description gets a heck of a lot easier to deal with. Love them. This is the only requirement. Everything else is a detail. Everything else happens because you love them.
Sigh. Okay. Maybe I can do this.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)