I have finished revising and tweaking the children's book I wrote for my kids in an effort to explain the diseases of addiction and mental illness from which I suffer. I have the endorsement of one of the top 7 rehab facilities in the U.S. who are on board to use the book and a companion coloring and activity book in their children's program and also sell them in their bookstore. There are costs involved that I simply do not have on my own so I created a Kickstarter campaign to raise the funds. Please check out my project and back me if you like, if not please share with others. The more we talk about these problems the less stigma will remain and the better armed our children will be as they grow.
https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/queenwhosavedherself/the-queen-who-saved-herself
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Saturday, September 26, 2015
And Now About Religion...
And Now About Religion…
I
haven’t
written in a while. I think there are a
number of reasons. One being that life
happens and being that I am weak, I got wrapped up in its minutia. I started to stray from the things that keep
me more connected. I wasn’t going to as many meetings, I haven’t been getting up as early to spend
the time I need to in order to remain more in touch with my spiritual side. It is a dangerous veering to be sure,
especially for an alcoholic as it so often leads to relapse.
But
I also have been in a bit more of a listening phase. I have had my ears open more and my mouth
shut more which is necessary from time to time.
I can’t write if I don’t experience, see, feel and hear.
A
few things have inspired me to write, one being the presence of the Pope in our
fair city and the other is that I am taking a class. It is a class I never in a million years
would have considered taking and even when I signed myself up I had my
doubts. For those who know me well, I
doubt you would have thought I would either.
I am taking a course that is designed to introduce me to
Christianity. Essentially I am going to
a Bible study class and I love it.
I
did not grow up knowing much about religion.
I am Church of England by birth and I can’t say that my parents ever really emphasized
religion at all. I was born in Saudi
Arabia so there were no churches, only Mosques.
My parents did send my brother and I to Sunday School (actually it was
called Friday School because the weekends are not Saturday and Sunday in
Arabia, they are Thursday and Friday, but that is a different story), but when
we reached a certain age we were given the option to sleep in and took it with
abandon. So I knew who Jesus was and I
knew a few of the parables but they certainly were never discussed outside of
Friday School.
I
was also exposed to the religion of Islam.
I went to school with Muslims and lived among them from birth. I will tell you there are some things I
disagree with in the Islamic faith, but I can say the same for Christianity and
Judaism and I do believe that most Muslims, as most Christians and Jews, are
good people. I remember reading on the
Facebook page of one of my old friends from Arabia: that most Muslims look at
ISIS in the same way that Christians look at the Westboro Baptist Church – they are extremists and do not speak
for the entire religion.
This
class is fascinating to me. The stories
and the thrust of the lessons have moved me.
If the word religion was something that turned me off before I could
simply say that I am having a spiritual or philosophical discussion. I can’t say that I will end up being a church goer at the end of
this, but I can tell you that my mind is opening in ways it never previously
would have and for that I am ever grateful.
I
can also tell you that I still don’t know where I stand in terms of religion, but I can tell
you that I do believe that there is something after death. I can tell you that in my darkest moments now
I no longer feel alone. I can tell you
that I feel as though life here on earth is a pre-cursor to something
else. I don’t know which religion speaks to me
more, but I plan to explore more than just Christianity. It seems to me they all have something
important to impart and all speak to living well for the sake of living well
even when no one is watching.
So
Pope Francis is here in Philly tonight and he makes the Catholic faith so much
more approachable than anyone else before him in my eyes. I am not a Catholic obviously but the man speaks
to me as he does to the rest of the world.
My maternal grandmother had a thing against Catholics and Irishmen, so
it was six months after marrying Frank that I realized she would have turned in
her grave to know that I had married an Irish Catholic – granted not a practicing one, but
still!
I
have spoken before about praying and how it truly does work. I can’t say that it works in the way that we as children wish it
would. It doesn’t work in terms of “God please send me a puppy. God please
make Jane like me. God please give me a promotion.”
But what it does, when done for the benefit of others is to bring the
person praying outside themselves and make them think of others and isn’t that a miracle in and of
itself? To turn our thoughts to someone
else, to put aside our own fears and desires and think of another can only mean
good things. To think of others instead
of ourselves, to bring peace and mercy and faith into the forefront and the
more that happens and is spread, then we lessen the strength of evil and pain
and suffering. It is harder to spend
time on things that lead us astray when we are concentrating on the well-being
of others.
So
where does that leave me? It leaves me
listening to Arethra Franklin sing “Amazing Grace” and waiting to hear what the Pope has to say next. I love to hear his message because he passes
no judgement and loves so completely that is makes my eyes water with joy. Dermot recently was so happy about something
pretty monumental in his little life that he was brought to tears. He was crying for joy. The next day he said to me, “Mom, you always say that you are
crying because you are happy and I never understood that until now, but I get
it. It is like you have so much happy that
it leaks out of your eyes.” Waiting to hear
more of the message that makes my eyes leak with joy.
Sunday, August 9, 2015
Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice?
Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice?
The statistics about the plummeting self-esteem among girls as they reach puberty is staggering. I worry about it being the mother of a singular little girl. She is staggeringly beautiful, petite, tan, blonde and blue eyed. She is loving and ever so clever. She is self-assured in a way that I never was or likely will be and she is so very, very intelligent. The quote from Shakespeare, "Though she be but little, she is fierce" describes her to a tee. To be honest I am a little afraid of her, she outsmarts me frequently and her wrath is the stuff of legends. I don't want her to lose any of that as she sails the stormy seas of adolescence.
Frank worries in the same fashion and he asked her the other day if anyone had ever told her that she could not do something because she was a girl. She was shocked and annoyed by the question and spit out a staccato "No." I was proud of her response and the fact that her older brother was also equally stunned by the idea that girls might be told they could not do something.
Frank then turned to me in front of them and said, "Mommy, did anyone tell you that you couldn't do something because you were a girl?" He knew I had a trove of examples and I shared one for the sake of underlining the point. I grew up in a very traditional household and under the guidance of some pretty old-fashioned parents. My parent are both from England and my father was an avid English football fan (soccer). He passed that passion on to my brother and he coached my brother's intra-mural soccer team.
I adored my dad as a little girl and I wanted to do anything that he loved. I wanted to play soccer as well but my truly lovely dad told me that "girls don't play soccer honey, they do ballet." This despite that fact that there were two girls on my brother's team... So I never played soccer.
I wish I had been more of a Scout Finch and rebelled against the constraints of other people's expectations, but I was little and I didn't. I also had it in the back of my mind that girls are not supposed to make a fuss, they are supposed to be obedient and quiet and no trouble. Sugar and spice and everything nice.
I was surrounded by messages that told me I was less than. I was born and raised in Saudi Arabia, a country which I still hold in my heart, but whose record with regard to women is far from stellar. When we went to restaurants we had to sit behind screens in the "family section." When we went to Baskin Robbins, we had to order from the window on the street as we were not allowed to enter the shop. Women are not allowed to drive there and though I knew these things were not the norm in the rest of the world, it affected me. I remember being told that girls are really not generally good at math, they don't grow up to be engineers, and I believed it. It is so ironic now given that Wren scores off the charts in math and logic.
My mother told me that decent women never leave the house without a bra or make up on. Her views ran along the same lines as The Pioneer Woman I think and those things sunk into my unformed brain from the get-go. I know I spent a good deal of time growing up, not looking men in the eyes because it was not respectful and on some level I deemed it dangerous.
Right now our daughter is fierce and independent and sassy. Her teachers talk about "leadership skills" which I know is a nice way of saying that she can be pretty bossy. I have stopped telling her to "be nice" when she gets bossy and instead tell her to remember to be respectful. I would rather she be bossy than meek, rather she rage than cower, rather she make a big splash than merely wade.
God, I don't want her to carry ANY of what I chose to take in from childhood around in her head. I want her brain filled with hope, dreams and the knowledge that she is unlimited. I want her to fly unencumbered by the judgements of others. I want her to rise as high as she chooses and to live without regret. I hope we manage to keep her head filled with hope rather than lack of self esteem and honestly I wish the same for our son and my husband and myself.
The statistics about the plummeting self-esteem among girls as they reach puberty is staggering. I worry about it being the mother of a singular little girl. She is staggeringly beautiful, petite, tan, blonde and blue eyed. She is loving and ever so clever. She is self-assured in a way that I never was or likely will be and she is so very, very intelligent. The quote from Shakespeare, "Though she be but little, she is fierce" describes her to a tee. To be honest I am a little afraid of her, she outsmarts me frequently and her wrath is the stuff of legends. I don't want her to lose any of that as she sails the stormy seas of adolescence.
Frank worries in the same fashion and he asked her the other day if anyone had ever told her that she could not do something because she was a girl. She was shocked and annoyed by the question and spit out a staccato "No." I was proud of her response and the fact that her older brother was also equally stunned by the idea that girls might be told they could not do something.
Frank then turned to me in front of them and said, "Mommy, did anyone tell you that you couldn't do something because you were a girl?" He knew I had a trove of examples and I shared one for the sake of underlining the point. I grew up in a very traditional household and under the guidance of some pretty old-fashioned parents. My parent are both from England and my father was an avid English football fan (soccer). He passed that passion on to my brother and he coached my brother's intra-mural soccer team.
I adored my dad as a little girl and I wanted to do anything that he loved. I wanted to play soccer as well but my truly lovely dad told me that "girls don't play soccer honey, they do ballet." This despite that fact that there were two girls on my brother's team... So I never played soccer.
I wish I had been more of a Scout Finch and rebelled against the constraints of other people's expectations, but I was little and I didn't. I also had it in the back of my mind that girls are not supposed to make a fuss, they are supposed to be obedient and quiet and no trouble. Sugar and spice and everything nice.
I was surrounded by messages that told me I was less than. I was born and raised in Saudi Arabia, a country which I still hold in my heart, but whose record with regard to women is far from stellar. When we went to restaurants we had to sit behind screens in the "family section." When we went to Baskin Robbins, we had to order from the window on the street as we were not allowed to enter the shop. Women are not allowed to drive there and though I knew these things were not the norm in the rest of the world, it affected me. I remember being told that girls are really not generally good at math, they don't grow up to be engineers, and I believed it. It is so ironic now given that Wren scores off the charts in math and logic.
My mother told me that decent women never leave the house without a bra or make up on. Her views ran along the same lines as The Pioneer Woman I think and those things sunk into my unformed brain from the get-go. I know I spent a good deal of time growing up, not looking men in the eyes because it was not respectful and on some level I deemed it dangerous.
Right now our daughter is fierce and independent and sassy. Her teachers talk about "leadership skills" which I know is a nice way of saying that she can be pretty bossy. I have stopped telling her to "be nice" when she gets bossy and instead tell her to remember to be respectful. I would rather she be bossy than meek, rather she rage than cower, rather she make a big splash than merely wade.
God, I don't want her to carry ANY of what I chose to take in from childhood around in her head. I want her brain filled with hope, dreams and the knowledge that she is unlimited. I want her to fly unencumbered by the judgements of others. I want her to rise as high as she chooses and to live without regret. I hope we manage to keep her head filled with hope rather than lack of self esteem and honestly I wish the same for our son and my husband and myself.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Fear and Faith
Fear and Faith
I recently went back to Caron Treatment Center, where I went for treatment in February of 2014. I have been back a number of times now, once to get my year coin and then for volunteer training and this past time to meet with one of the directors about the idea of publishing a children's book about addiction. After the meeting I had lunch with some of the therapists who so lovingly helped almost 18 months ago. After lunch I was honored to be able to sit and speak with the current patients on the relapse unit.
Honored because I was asked and honored because I could provide some hope to people severely beaten down by their disease and mired in regret and shame. I told them a bit about my journey and answered questions along the way as best I could. I spoke about recovery and about the state of my marriage and about how to talk to kids about addiction. When I mentioned that Frank and I had met when I was 15 and I had really never dated anyone else and had thought we would make it through just about anything, one man raised his hand. He told me that he was in a similar situation as he had met his wife as a teen and they had been married for a long time now. He said that he just assumed she would always be there and now he is afraid she may actually divorce him. I completely understood. I had taken Frank for granted for sure and it just never crossed my mind that he would ever leave me.
He hasn't really left me as we see each other nearly everyday, talk everyday and co-parent quite happily, but we are not together presently and we live apart both hoping we can piece the union back together. But I well understood how this man felt. I well understood the fear that grips him as I felt the same after I moved into my apartment and it still creeps in to knock my equilibrium askew from time to time. I felt unmoored, set adrift to find my own way back to shore and I was terrified.
What I was able to tell him was that once I started exploring spirituality and started working through the steps as they are laid out in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, I started to find faith. Faith in a higher power, a universal connectedness I had shut myself off to. Faith in myself as I saw my whole self for the first time and didn't shy away from the full image. Faith in the good and the bad in myself and the knowledge that the good far outweighs the bad. Faith that even if Frank and I don't manage to patch up our marriage, that I will still be me and I won't be swallowed up in some black hole of non-existence. To be sure I will be devastated should that come to pass, but I have faith now that it will not break me.
You see fear and faith cannot coexist. Once I started to have faith, my fear decreased. It didn't completely leave, as there are times when fear rears its head, but it does not overwhelm me as it used to, it does not rule my thoughts and actions as it used to, it does not run riot through my life because I have faith.
If you are afraid, find a way to have some faith and your life will be so much more fruitful.
I recently went back to Caron Treatment Center, where I went for treatment in February of 2014. I have been back a number of times now, once to get my year coin and then for volunteer training and this past time to meet with one of the directors about the idea of publishing a children's book about addiction. After the meeting I had lunch with some of the therapists who so lovingly helped almost 18 months ago. After lunch I was honored to be able to sit and speak with the current patients on the relapse unit.
Honored because I was asked and honored because I could provide some hope to people severely beaten down by their disease and mired in regret and shame. I told them a bit about my journey and answered questions along the way as best I could. I spoke about recovery and about the state of my marriage and about how to talk to kids about addiction. When I mentioned that Frank and I had met when I was 15 and I had really never dated anyone else and had thought we would make it through just about anything, one man raised his hand. He told me that he was in a similar situation as he had met his wife as a teen and they had been married for a long time now. He said that he just assumed she would always be there and now he is afraid she may actually divorce him. I completely understood. I had taken Frank for granted for sure and it just never crossed my mind that he would ever leave me.
He hasn't really left me as we see each other nearly everyday, talk everyday and co-parent quite happily, but we are not together presently and we live apart both hoping we can piece the union back together. But I well understood how this man felt. I well understood the fear that grips him as I felt the same after I moved into my apartment and it still creeps in to knock my equilibrium askew from time to time. I felt unmoored, set adrift to find my own way back to shore and I was terrified.
What I was able to tell him was that once I started exploring spirituality and started working through the steps as they are laid out in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, I started to find faith. Faith in a higher power, a universal connectedness I had shut myself off to. Faith in myself as I saw my whole self for the first time and didn't shy away from the full image. Faith in the good and the bad in myself and the knowledge that the good far outweighs the bad. Faith that even if Frank and I don't manage to patch up our marriage, that I will still be me and I won't be swallowed up in some black hole of non-existence. To be sure I will be devastated should that come to pass, but I have faith now that it will not break me.
You see fear and faith cannot coexist. Once I started to have faith, my fear decreased. It didn't completely leave, as there are times when fear rears its head, but it does not overwhelm me as it used to, it does not rule my thoughts and actions as it used to, it does not run riot through my life because I have faith.
If you are afraid, find a way to have some faith and your life will be so much more fruitful.
Friday, July 17, 2015
Dueling Co-Dependency
Dueling Co-dependents
I am constantly amazed by how different my children's personalities are. I Wren's personality is much more like Frank's and Dermot favors me... Poor kid. The other weekend was a prime example of how similar we are and how we are both so co-dependent.
I came over to the house in the morning so that Frank could go to a seminar. I knew that he was low on groceries and was waiting for a grocery delivery so I brought over a treat for breakfast for the kids. I went to Dunkin Donuts and ordered egg wraps and picked the donuts Frank thought they would like and some milk.
Well when I got home we discovered that they had gotten Dermot's egg wrap wrong and that he did not indeed like the donut I had picked. Wren was perfectly happy with hers and, as she sometimes does, seemed to delight in her breakfast just a little too in his face.
Now Dermot is a passionate fellow. He can be joy personified about 80% of the time but that other 20% can be pretty hairy. He is also one of those rare kids who does not like ketchup or cheese and isn't really a big fan of chocolate so his fast food orders often come to us wrong. Normally I remember to check them, but I had forgotten and his sandwich had cheese. He really got upset and was angry about how unfair it was that Wren got her breakfast but one didn't get the right one.
I was on the porch and could hear his tantrum. Frank was talking to him and offered to make him something else but Dermot wasn't able to calm down and accept that yet. As I listened I got more and more uncomfortable. I felt sorry for him, I felt guilty and I wanted to fix it. I went inside and said to Frank that I would go back and get the sand which he wanted and Frank urged me not to. As we discussed it, Dermot came in the room and got even more upset because he didn't want me to go back and spend more money because that would make HIM feel guilty. It was a comedy of errors.
I felt guilty, he felt guilty. It was like dueling banjos of co-dependency! I laughed and said something like, "Dermot, we are as bad as each other!" So I took him in the kitchen and offered again to make him breakfast. He had calmed down by then and we made him something else together.
I worry sometimes that I did this to him either through genetics or by the chaos my addiction has wrought on the family. I realize however that I can't get stuck in that kind of thinking and instead do just what I did, laugh about it so as to lessen the strength of it, and show Dermot that there are healthy ways to solve problems.
I am constantly amazed by how different my children's personalities are. I Wren's personality is much more like Frank's and Dermot favors me... Poor kid. The other weekend was a prime example of how similar we are and how we are both so co-dependent.
I came over to the house in the morning so that Frank could go to a seminar. I knew that he was low on groceries and was waiting for a grocery delivery so I brought over a treat for breakfast for the kids. I went to Dunkin Donuts and ordered egg wraps and picked the donuts Frank thought they would like and some milk.
Well when I got home we discovered that they had gotten Dermot's egg wrap wrong and that he did not indeed like the donut I had picked. Wren was perfectly happy with hers and, as she sometimes does, seemed to delight in her breakfast just a little too in his face.
Now Dermot is a passionate fellow. He can be joy personified about 80% of the time but that other 20% can be pretty hairy. He is also one of those rare kids who does not like ketchup or cheese and isn't really a big fan of chocolate so his fast food orders often come to us wrong. Normally I remember to check them, but I had forgotten and his sandwich had cheese. He really got upset and was angry about how unfair it was that Wren got her breakfast but one didn't get the right one.
I was on the porch and could hear his tantrum. Frank was talking to him and offered to make him something else but Dermot wasn't able to calm down and accept that yet. As I listened I got more and more uncomfortable. I felt sorry for him, I felt guilty and I wanted to fix it. I went inside and said to Frank that I would go back and get the sand which he wanted and Frank urged me not to. As we discussed it, Dermot came in the room and got even more upset because he didn't want me to go back and spend more money because that would make HIM feel guilty. It was a comedy of errors.
I felt guilty, he felt guilty. It was like dueling banjos of co-dependency! I laughed and said something like, "Dermot, we are as bad as each other!" So I took him in the kitchen and offered again to make him breakfast. He had calmed down by then and we made him something else together.
I worry sometimes that I did this to him either through genetics or by the chaos my addiction has wrought on the family. I realize however that I can't get stuck in that kind of thinking and instead do just what I did, laugh about it so as to lessen the strength of it, and show Dermot that there are healthy ways to solve problems.
Thursday, June 18, 2015
No Taboos
No Taboos
I recently spoke at a rehab to a group of women. I go once a month with my sponsor to this rehab and hold a speaker meeting for the women there. I drive about an hour and a half and my sponsor drives about two hours just to hold the meeting and talk. After, we meet for dinner with my sponsor's husband who speaks to the men at the same time. It is one of the highlights of my month.
Why do we drive so far just to hold a meeting each month? We do so because to speak to these women is a reminder. It is a cautionary tale. I see the ladies there and they are downcast, saddened, desperate and feeble of spirit and I used to be one of them. I don't want to join their ranks again, so I drive from work and talk to them.
This past month, after telling them a little bit of my story, a woman raised her hand to ask me a question. She said she had children about the age of my own and wanted to know if I thought she should tell them the truth about where she was and why she was there.
I told her she should decide that for herself, but that I didn't think that lying to the kids was a good idea. Frank and I have been honest with the kids from the start and I think it has been a wise decision.
First of all, children are little people who deserve respect and understanding. They may be little but they are not stupid. They have seen me at my worst and been unwitting players in the tragic odyssey of my addiction and recovery They know what has gone on. They may not have had words for it, but they knew, they were there and they saw. I don't think that lying to them would do any good and it would have been disrespectful.
I think there is a way to be truthful and open by using words, analogies and terms they can understand. It has also been important for Frank and I to present a united front from the start, agreeing to no taboos. Any question the kids have had has been answered slowly and thoughtfully and without reserve. At first these questions felt jarring to me and made my stomach clench, but over time there has been a comfort in them. Somehow being that open and genuine with them about this part of my life and history has brought us closer together. Being honest and open with the kids about the struggle and everything surrounding it makes us all stronger. It also opened the door to other important discussions such as sexual abuse and depression to name a few. These are heavy topics to be sure, but I firmly believe that the more the kids know, the safer and better armed they will be.
The rehab I went to last had a children's program that both kids attended. I cannot speak more highly of the program and what it did to help the kids, particularly Dermot. It explained the terms and reassured them that nothing was their fault. Dermot got so much out of it that he asked to give a little presentation about addiction to his class and did. He talked to them about it and how it is a disease and how his mom has it. I was so proud of him for that. If there is one way of breaking down the stigma surrounding the disease, it is to bring understanding and acceptance to it from the start. It also cemented my resolve to no longer be anonymous about my alcoholism. There was no hiding it after that!
To be sure it isn't easy to walk into their school at times and be "that mom", the alcoholic separated from her husband and not living with her kids. It isn't easy, but to not walk in would be letting the kids down and I don't want to be in a position to do that again, my disease has done that enough already.
I recently spoke at a rehab to a group of women. I go once a month with my sponsor to this rehab and hold a speaker meeting for the women there. I drive about an hour and a half and my sponsor drives about two hours just to hold the meeting and talk. After, we meet for dinner with my sponsor's husband who speaks to the men at the same time. It is one of the highlights of my month.
Why do we drive so far just to hold a meeting each month? We do so because to speak to these women is a reminder. It is a cautionary tale. I see the ladies there and they are downcast, saddened, desperate and feeble of spirit and I used to be one of them. I don't want to join their ranks again, so I drive from work and talk to them.
This past month, after telling them a little bit of my story, a woman raised her hand to ask me a question. She said she had children about the age of my own and wanted to know if I thought she should tell them the truth about where she was and why she was there.
I told her she should decide that for herself, but that I didn't think that lying to the kids was a good idea. Frank and I have been honest with the kids from the start and I think it has been a wise decision.
First of all, children are little people who deserve respect and understanding. They may be little but they are not stupid. They have seen me at my worst and been unwitting players in the tragic odyssey of my addiction and recovery They know what has gone on. They may not have had words for it, but they knew, they were there and they saw. I don't think that lying to them would do any good and it would have been disrespectful.
I think there is a way to be truthful and open by using words, analogies and terms they can understand. It has also been important for Frank and I to present a united front from the start, agreeing to no taboos. Any question the kids have had has been answered slowly and thoughtfully and without reserve. At first these questions felt jarring to me and made my stomach clench, but over time there has been a comfort in them. Somehow being that open and genuine with them about this part of my life and history has brought us closer together. Being honest and open with the kids about the struggle and everything surrounding it makes us all stronger. It also opened the door to other important discussions such as sexual abuse and depression to name a few. These are heavy topics to be sure, but I firmly believe that the more the kids know, the safer and better armed they will be.
The rehab I went to last had a children's program that both kids attended. I cannot speak more highly of the program and what it did to help the kids, particularly Dermot. It explained the terms and reassured them that nothing was their fault. Dermot got so much out of it that he asked to give a little presentation about addiction to his class and did. He talked to them about it and how it is a disease and how his mom has it. I was so proud of him for that. If there is one way of breaking down the stigma surrounding the disease, it is to bring understanding and acceptance to it from the start. It also cemented my resolve to no longer be anonymous about my alcoholism. There was no hiding it after that!
To be sure it isn't easy to walk into their school at times and be "that mom", the alcoholic separated from her husband and not living with her kids. It isn't easy, but to not walk in would be letting the kids down and I don't want to be in a position to do that again, my disease has done that enough already.
Friday, June 5, 2015
A Fractured Mind?
A Fractured Mind?
So, guess what? I am mentally ill. I have been diagnosed throughout my adult life with an increasing list to check off on health forms.
Dysthymia
Major Depressive Disorder
Anxiety Disorder
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
Co-occurring Mental and Addictive Disorders
I hope the above list does not grow any longer. It baffles me that when I was in active addiction I checked myself into a psych ward in order to try and stop drinking because it was easier for me to admit to mental instability than it was to admit to being an alcoholic. Now in recovery, and once again in control of myself, I find it harder to say that I am mentally ill, but I am. I suppose that it is just one more of the paradoxes in my life... At least I'm not boring.
Stigma goes a long way in stopping people from getting help. I am in the unique position of no longer having secrets and therefore there really isn't any point in carrying the weight of shame. I do still feel it at times, but it is no longer so heavy, but why do we do that to ourselves? I mean why do we place shame around illnesses of the mind when 25% of the adult US population has some form of mental disorder? That is a staggering statistic and of course cites only those who have been diagnosed, there are, I suspect so many more that go undiagnosed, in part due to the stigma.
I went on the NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) site to get that statistic and a few others. About 6% of that same adult population lives with major depressive disorder and about 5% of the adult US population has co-occurring mental and addictive disorders. Suicide is a more common cause of death than homicide and 90% of those who die by suicide have some kind of mental disorder. According to all these statistics, pretty much everyone in this country has been touched by mental illness in one way or another, so why don't we talk about it more?
Do I seem weak for telling people that I have these illnesses or does my admittance and vulnerability make me stronger? I would argue that I am much stronger for facing myself and admitting to being just who I am. I value the fact that I am now working with what I've got rather than battling myself to pretend I am something different, as I used to. It was a battle I had no hope of winning. I was improperly armed and had no strategy. Now I am and I do.
I grew up in a household rife with mental illness. My mother was terribly ill. Not being a doctor I can only hazard a guess that she had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, actually I know that one for sure, but also with some form of anxiety and depression and possibly borderline personality disorder. It was a different time and a different culture and we never spoke about the problems outside the family and she never got any help. I know what it is like to be inside my own head, I can only imagine the hell it was to live inside hers. Thinking of her in that way eases the pain of growing up under the tyranny of her diseases. I wish there had been a chance for her to address some of her problems because she would have had a much more fruitful and happy life and perhaps we, as a family, could have as well.
My life now is a good one. It does not look like what I thought it would or should, but I am happy most of the time. I still struggle with feelings of depression and anxiety and also with cravings for mind altering substances. Yes I still struggle, but I also have more knowledge now, and no longer shy from seeking help.
I may still struggle in life and likely will till I die but I am better armed and I have so many things to be grateful for and so many things to be happy about. I am the mother of two extraordinary children who charm the world around them. I am also the mother to a beautiful soul no longer with us but whose presence in my life made me a better person. I am the wife of a singular man who has rode the roller coaster of life with me in one form or another for going on 26 years now. I am a contributing member of society, I have incredible friends whose loyalty is humbling and I am a singer. I am also a writer who is blessed to know that what I am writing is affecting people in a positive way.
This list far overshadows the list of diagnoses at the top.
So, guess what? I am mentally ill. I have been diagnosed throughout my adult life with an increasing list to check off on health forms.
Dysthymia
Major Depressive Disorder
Anxiety Disorder
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
Co-occurring Mental and Addictive Disorders
I hope the above list does not grow any longer. It baffles me that when I was in active addiction I checked myself into a psych ward in order to try and stop drinking because it was easier for me to admit to mental instability than it was to admit to being an alcoholic. Now in recovery, and once again in control of myself, I find it harder to say that I am mentally ill, but I am. I suppose that it is just one more of the paradoxes in my life... At least I'm not boring.
Stigma goes a long way in stopping people from getting help. I am in the unique position of no longer having secrets and therefore there really isn't any point in carrying the weight of shame. I do still feel it at times, but it is no longer so heavy, but why do we do that to ourselves? I mean why do we place shame around illnesses of the mind when 25% of the adult US population has some form of mental disorder? That is a staggering statistic and of course cites only those who have been diagnosed, there are, I suspect so many more that go undiagnosed, in part due to the stigma.
I went on the NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) site to get that statistic and a few others. About 6% of that same adult population lives with major depressive disorder and about 5% of the adult US population has co-occurring mental and addictive disorders. Suicide is a more common cause of death than homicide and 90% of those who die by suicide have some kind of mental disorder. According to all these statistics, pretty much everyone in this country has been touched by mental illness in one way or another, so why don't we talk about it more?
Do I seem weak for telling people that I have these illnesses or does my admittance and vulnerability make me stronger? I would argue that I am much stronger for facing myself and admitting to being just who I am. I value the fact that I am now working with what I've got rather than battling myself to pretend I am something different, as I used to. It was a battle I had no hope of winning. I was improperly armed and had no strategy. Now I am and I do.
I grew up in a household rife with mental illness. My mother was terribly ill. Not being a doctor I can only hazard a guess that she had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, actually I know that one for sure, but also with some form of anxiety and depression and possibly borderline personality disorder. It was a different time and a different culture and we never spoke about the problems outside the family and she never got any help. I know what it is like to be inside my own head, I can only imagine the hell it was to live inside hers. Thinking of her in that way eases the pain of growing up under the tyranny of her diseases. I wish there had been a chance for her to address some of her problems because she would have had a much more fruitful and happy life and perhaps we, as a family, could have as well.
My life now is a good one. It does not look like what I thought it would or should, but I am happy most of the time. I still struggle with feelings of depression and anxiety and also with cravings for mind altering substances. Yes I still struggle, but I also have more knowledge now, and no longer shy from seeking help.
I may still struggle in life and likely will till I die but I am better armed and I have so many things to be grateful for and so many things to be happy about. I am the mother of two extraordinary children who charm the world around them. I am also the mother to a beautiful soul no longer with us but whose presence in my life made me a better person. I am the wife of a singular man who has rode the roller coaster of life with me in one form or another for going on 26 years now. I am a contributing member of society, I have incredible friends whose loyalty is humbling and I am a singer. I am also a writer who is blessed to know that what I am writing is affecting people in a positive way.
This list far overshadows the list of diagnoses at the top.
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