It’s not okay, but I’m okay

This has been on my mind for a long time. I’ve been thinking on it ever since my last post, trying to figure out exactly what I wanted to say.

I want to start off by saying that I have forgiven the family member that I discussed in my previous post. I forgave them a long time ago.

Forgiveness is always a tricky topic for me because I feel like there are a lot of misunderstandings about what forgiveness is and what it means.

There are several phrases that are very common that I hate. The first is “Forgive and Forget”. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to forget what happened to me. And I feel like saying that we’re supposed to forgive and forget is misleading. Forgiving him doesn’t mean that I don’t think about what happened, that it doesn’t color some of my choices with my own children, or even that I trust this person. What it does mean is that I have accepted that we are not the choices we have made. I am not perfect, no one is. Everyone has the ability to change and grow and I recognize that possibility for him.

The next one I hate is one that I see constantly working in a preschool. One child hurts another and we tell them to apologize, and the other child says “that’s okay”. I hate that! Now it’s one thing if something was done on accident and they recognize it and are apologizing. But if someone has done something on purpose I don’t think we should be telling them that it’s okay. With my students and my own kids I try to have them apologize, then find a way to fix it/make it better(like asking if they need a hug or helping them rebuild something they broke, etc), and then asking if they are okay. Maybe I’m being nit-picky, but I feel like there is a world of difference between saying “it’s okay” and “I’m okay”.

These two steps were very important to me in getting to a place where I could forgive. Understanding that he has the potential for change, and getting myself to a point where I was okay.

The biggest and most important step for me in my forgiveness process was really getting a good understanding of the atonement. I was reading in The Miracle of Forgiveness by Spencer W. Kimball, and I found one part in particular that really spoke to me. I can't remember the exact words (and I have yet to go back and read it all again), but it said something that reminded me that the atonement is an individual blessing. And just like Christ suffered for all of my sins, He suffered for my family member's sins. Me, holding on to my own bitterness and resentment and refusing to forgive, was as if I was saying that the atonement should not apply for this person. What they did was so bad, that they don't deserve it. And that is just ridiculous. The atonement is available for and can redeem ANYONE! It's not my job to say who should get it and who shouldn't (thank goodness!). It's not up to me. So I can let it go.

Anyway...It's an ongoing process, and I know that...It's a process for everyone. I'm still trying to improve myself, and I would hope that everyone has something that they're working on.

Long story short: It's not okay, but I'm okay.

Heavy Stuff...

Warning, this post contains emotional triggers for anyone who has experienced or witnessed abuse...

I'm trying.

I'm learning that it is helpful to open up and share my current or past experiences, and that it helps me to connect with others on another level that I have been avoiding so far.

Last night I had to attend a class on recognizing and reporting abuse and neglect for my job(preschool teacher). And it was so hard for me. The guy teaching the class was a former police officer-turned gym teacher and he really wanted to focus on the importance of reporting when we might see some of those signs of abuse. He had pictures....and first hand accounts of what was done to these children... The entire time I sat there with the feeling like someone was clenching my heart.

At the beginning of the class he was talking about statistics and what types of abuse are most prevalent. And when he mentioned sexual abuse he said that 5% of the cases reported were sexual abuse but then commented about how the numbers that we get for sexual abuse will never be right. And why? I knew instantly when he asked why. Because no one talks about it.

No one talks about it!

It's time to change that.

I was sexually abused as a teenager. I was molested by a family member for over a year. I won't name names because many of you know my family personally and I don't want to ruin this persons life, because I really hope that they have turned their life around...(I will only say that it was not my father. I wouldn't want anyone to assume it was my dad. My dad is the most honest, hardworking, diligent man I know)

When the abuse first started, I thought it was okay. I let it happen for months. I don't know exactly when I began to know that it wasn't okay, I just know that I began doing little things to try to protect myself from him. I would lock my door when he was in the house. When he would sit by me and try to touch me-even just putting his hand on my arm or leg-I started fighting back. I stopped biting my nails so that they would be long enough to dig into his arm anytime he touched me. Eventually it stopped- I'm not even sure why- but it still seemed to hang over me. To bind up my insides until I didn't really feel anything.

Unfortunately, he went to the same school as me, and we had a class together. So when I got to High School, I switched electives from Band to Choir so I wouldn't have to be in the same class as him. That only worked for a year though, because he switched the next year too. My mom didn't understand why all of a sudden I didn't want to do the same things anymore. Anytime I would complain about him doing the same extra curricular activities as me she would say things like, "Why don't you guys get along any more? you used to be so close". And it would tear me up inside. I felt like I couldn't get away from him. And I felt like I couldn't tell her what was really going on. What if she didn't believe me? What if she did? Would I tear our family apart?

So, I kept it to myself.

And it ate me up inside.

I didn't recognize it at the time, but I was seriously depressed. Luckily, at the time I had a few pretty good friends (who, although they didn't know what was going on, I knew they would support me if I ever did tell them) who kept me afloat for a while.

Then we moved.

My Junior year of High School was the hardest for me. I had severe social anxiety which made it difficult for me to make friends, plus the depression, and it just kind of snowballed. My family doesn't know it, but I was actually suicidal for several months during that time. Not in the "I actively want to kill myself" way, but in the "I wish I could just not wake up and this would all be over" kind of way. Eventually I was able to make a small group of friends, even my first boyfriend, and that helped to get me through the transition.

After we moved to South Dakota is when I feel like I slowly started to improve. I was away from my abuser, I was able to find a good group of friends, and pursue my own interests without that cloud constantly hanging over me. But as I continued to date, I slowly realized that whomever I married would need to know about all of this emotional baggage I was bringing with me. So, I told Aaron. The first person I had ever fully told about what had happened to me. He encouraged me to talk with my Bishop and tell my mom what had been going on.

And when I finally did, I was blown over. I told my mom what had happened, and she told me about the abuse that she had witnessed her own family member go through. She was way more understanding than I had ever expected her to be. I had no idea! And why? Because we don't talk about it.

I always hear the statistics that one in four women is sexually assaulted in their life. Do you realize what that means???

That group of friends that you hang out with? Odds are at least one of them has experienced some kind of sexual assault. Odds are I have met numerous women who have experienced sexual assault, and I had no idea!

It saddens me.

What I would give to just have known that someone understands what I went through.

Why do we keep to ourselves? What is gained by hiding it? I can tell you what's gained- more lives ruined.

I found out after I had talked with my Bishop and my mom, that this family member had actually molested several girls. Was I the first one? I know I wasn't the last. Could I have prevented them if I had just spoken up? Would my family member have gotten the help he needed earlier if I had said something? I don't know...and sometimes the guilt still keeps me up at night.

But the one thing I do know, if I ever found out that one of my girls had been assaulted and they didn't know that I was a safe place. Not only a safe place, but that I would understand in a way that no one else could. That I could not only sympathize with their situation, but I could empathize because I have been there...that's a guilt that I don't know if I could get over.

So, here it is.

If you have had anything happen to you, and you need to talk, I hope you find someone you trust to open up to. I hope we can all learn that sharing our pain can help to ease our pain. I hope that as a society we can begin to share more, trust more, and love more.

First steps are important, so hopefully this was a first step towards something.

And now...

I feel like there should be a drumroll at the beginning of this post...

*insert drumroll here*

I feel SOOOO much better!!!

Okay, so obviously all of my symptoms didn't disappear. And I have been dealing with mild anxiety for pretty much my whole life. But since my surgery I have felt like myself again! No more hypersensitivity to being touched, no more panic attacks caused by just thinking about something, I've been able to focus better, and enjoy life more!

*sigh*

Seriously guys, that surgery was a game changer for me.

And perfect timing too, because this week Aaron left for his deployment. 😢

Can I just ask a general question? How much crying is too much crying? And what would be too little? Because I gotta be honest, I am not much of a cryer. (I mean, other than the last two years in the midst of my emotional roller coaster of a life...) Seriously, I rarely cry. And usually it's because I'm mad, not sad.

So Aaron left on Monday, and we got to go with him to the gate at the airport, and the kids got to stay and watch his plane leave...and he's giving us all hugs. And he's crying, and the girls are crying, and William thinks it's awesome that he gets to see an airplane...and I'm not crying, and I feel like a total douche bag for not crying when my husband is leaving for 6 months!!! Is that weird?

I mean, don't get me wrong, I am sad that he's gone, and I absolutely miss him! And I can't wait until he is home...but I don't cry...

I dunno. How about you guys? What do you think? Do you think you cry an appropriate amount? Am I just showing my anxiety for completely overthinking whether or not I should be crying more?😂

*exhale*

Okay, so I'm long overdue for a post, I know.

These last few weeks have been...interesting...

The biggest news- I get to have a hysterectomy... 😬

The story behind this is a little long, so bare with me.

So, Abby is allergic to earrings. She's had reactions to them ever since we got her ears pierced. In our quest to find earrings that would work I realized that I had been finding my own earrings bothersome (like, I can't keep them in for more than a couple hours or they drive me crazy!) lately and thought I might try the sterling silver earrings too, just to see if that was the problem. And guess what? It worked. I kept the sterling silver earrings in for over a month with no issues!

And that got me thinking....

A few years ago, after William was born, I had a device called Essure inserted(It's a form of permanent birth control). It's basically a metal coil that goes into your tubes and irritates them enough for them to create scar tissue that blocks the tubes so that an egg cannot pass through into your uterus. I was skeptical, but my doctor really pushed it because it's an office procedure instead of a surgery like getting your tubes tied. When I asked about side effects my doctor said that nothing major had really been reported (just similar to birth control: changes in your period, etc) other than not being able to use it if you are allergic to nickel. I am completely oblivious to how metal allergies work so I asked, "How would I know if I were allergic to nickel?" and her response was "oh, if you were, you would know!" umm....okay....?

So, I started thinking, if I'm having a reaction to my earrings, maybe I am allergic to nickel and I never knew? So I called my doctor to set up an appointment, because if I'm having an allergic reaction to this thing and I don't realize it, it's probably a bad thing, right? And then I think, I wonder if there are any other side effects that I'm having that I didn't realize could be caused by this...so I look up the website.

"The more common symptoms reported include headache, fatigue, weight changes, hair loss and mood changes such as depression. "
 "In addition, some patients may develop an allergy to nickel or other components of the insert following placement."

*sigh*
And then I checked the very reliable source...the internet...
Other women have reported symptoms that include: *WARNING: incoming TMI*

Headaches or migraines

Dizziness

Tingling sensations

Brain fog – cloudiness, forgetfulness

Anxiety/Panic Attacks

Mood swings

Depression (Sadness/Suicidal Thoughts)

Diminished brain function (brain fog, confusion,

   cloudiness, forgetfulness, short term memory loss)

Dizziness

Pelvic Pain

UTI (urinary tract infection), bladder infection

Yeast Infections (Candida)

Loss of Libido

And those are just the ones that I have personally experienced...the list is about 100 items long...

Boy, that sure explains a lot...

So now I'm having the stupid thing taken out, but the only way to be 100% sure that it's all gone is to remove everything.

Honestly, I'm not too upset about the hysterectomy part of it (other than any kind of surgery being a little bit scary). I can totally do without a period for the rest of my life. We were already done with kids, so it's really not a loss. But I could have done without the 2 years of the anxiety/depression rollercoaster. Along with every other symptom that I have experienced.

Of course my doctor gave me the schpiel about how they can't guarantee that removing the device will alleviate all of my symptoms, and I am fully prepared for that. But it will be good if it takes care of at least a few... I mean, come on!

Anyway...that's set to happen next week, so I guess we'll have an update afterwards.

Baby steps

Today I had another appointment with my new counselor. This new one I'm seeing is a much better fit for me than the first one I saw. I feel like he understands what I mean when I talk, and he communicates in a way that I can understand too. Plus, he's also LDS so I feel comfortable bringing up topics of discussion that another therapist wouldn't understand.

He's given me several good tools to help work with my anxiety. He told me to schedule some time for myself each day- it didn't have to be anything big. Just 5, 10, 15 minutes where I did something that I wanted to do. This seemed similar to what my last counselor had asked("what do you do for yourself?"), but to me, this was more approachable. I had a goal that I could see, attack, and check off.

He also recommended that I pick a time to be my "worry time". During this time I could freak out, write down all the things that I didn't want to forget, or curl up in the fetal position in a corner in cry. You know, whatever I needed. For me, most of my anxiety revolves around things that need to be done or that I don't want to forget, etc. So I took this time (for me, right before bed) to write out all of the things that I needed to accomplish the following day or that I didn't want to forget.

And it's great.

It's much easier for me to fall asleep now because I know that stuff is written down. I won't forget it. If I remember something else, my notebook is right there next to my bed and I can just add it to my list. And during the day if something comes up I just think, "okay, I'll add that to my list tonight".

Today, my appointment was great. I've been feeling good lately. I recently decided that piano lessons in the afternoon had become too stressful for me. I would spend the whole day dreading it, worrying about if the kids would behave, if William would get into anything, and so on. So finally one day, as I'm sitting on the couch dreading the upcoming lessons. I decided I needed to be done. I had thought about stopping before for several months, but it was always more stressful to consider because I use the money I earn as my "spending money" and if I didn't teach piano lessons how could I earn money? But it finally got to be too much and I said "enough".

After that, everything kind of came together very quickly. I was trying to decide if I should work(because, let's be honest, if I'm working and I have to put William in child care I would basically just be working to pay for him to be in child care...which is not a very appealing situation to me) and the thought just came to me: what about the YMCA? I knew that their child care was only open in the mornings from 8-12 so I thought, time-wise that might be perfect because I could work while the girls were in school and they might let me keep William in there with me so I wouldn't have to find child care for him. So I checked their website, and they didn't have any openings in the child care, but they did have an opening in the Preschool program! It was perfect! It would still be only in the mornings, but now I would even be scheduled during "school days" so when my girls were out of school, I would have the day off too! And I felt comfortable with applying for the position because I had worked in preschools before and I had been doing a preschool co-op with several friends and planning preschool-type activities. I submitted my application, and got a call to interview on the same day. Everything else kind of fell into place like clockwork and I am now working as a preschool teacher!

It's a little crazy to think about how quickly everything has changed, but I think it will be a good change. Even after only a couple days of working Aaron kept commenting on how he could tell I was feeling better and how noticeable the improvement to my mood was. And honestly, he's right. I do feel better. I think I might have been lacking a sense of accomplishment at home. Not that stay at home mothers don't do anything, more that a stay at home mom's jobs are never "done". The laundry is never "done". The dishes are never "done". There will always be more to do tomorrow. It's exhausting even thinking about it. And for me, this is helping. Getting out of the house(and getting William out of the house!) and having something to accomplish has helped me.

Anyway...sorry, this post was a little longer than I intended...and maybe a little rambling....but, you know- Baby steps.

What's on my mind...

Aaron asks me this all the time...

What are you thinking about?

Seriously, sometimes I don't know how to answer. Mostly because my brain is a jumbled mess of thoughts that are all random yet mingled together to form this crazy bowl of thought spaghetti...My brain generally jumps from topic to topic faster than I can keep up, and I often find myself thinking, "How did I get to this train of thought?" Then I have to work a few steps backwards to figure out what started it...*sigh*

So the other day I drew this picture to try to show what it's like inside my brain...thinking about a million things, but nothing at the same time...

Complete with William's scribblings...because, well, sometimes it doesn't matter what I'm thinking. William needs my attention right now and I have to drop everything I'm doing and focus on him.

So...yeah...enjoy the peek into the workings of my brain. Hopefully I didn't

Out Loud

Why is it so hard to say how we really feel?

This is something that I've thought about before. It's one of the reasons I hate small talk. No one really cares when they ask you how you're doing. It's just something to say to pass the time.

Why is it that when we are sick, we have no hesitation about telling people that we don't feel good, but when it's a mental issue we feel like we have to pretend to be okay?

My anxiety or depression may not have many visible symptoms, but I definitely feel just as bad when I am experiencing them as when I am physically sick. But I have found that being honest about how I am feeling has actually helped me to connect with people during a time when I normally feel isolated.

A couple months ago, when I first started this journey, I was having a bad day. My anxiety was running high and it was supposed to be a field trip day with William's preschool group. I knew that I wouldn't be able to deal with the crowds. But instead of making excuses I was honest and told them that my anxiety couldn't handle it.

They were so understanding, and applauded my honesty and openness, but it's still so hard to do! I don't understand it. When I have a cold, I say I have a cold. If I have a headache, I say I have a headache. But why is it so hard to admit out loud that I am feeling depressed? My depression is just as debilitating (if not more so) as any migraine I've had. And I know if I were to tell my husband that I had a migraine that he would be helpful, let me rest, bring me some medicine, keep the kids quiet, etc. But still I have this hesitation with admitting out loud when I'm feeling depressed.

On Monday, the depression that I had been fighting for about a week finally caught up with me. I felt awful! I was exhausted and apathetic and just basically numb. Instead of just generalizing and telling Aaron that I didn't feel good, or that I was tired like I usually do, I told him that I was feeling depressed.

On Thursday I attended a meeting where the speaker talked about her battle with post-partum depression. I was shocked with how openly she was discussing her thoughts of suicide and her thoughts about what "should" make her feel better. She struggled for over a year believing that all she had to do was to focus on being grateful, serve others, be more diligent in her scripture study and prayers. Eventually, it was only when she was laying in bed and wondering how her husband would plan her funeral that she realized she needed help.

And why? Why do we let it get that far?!

I believe one of the biggest reasons is because we don't talk about it. People don't know when to get help because they haven't heard from other people who have been there and gotten the help they needed. It shocked me to hear her talking about her depression and suicidal thoughts, but it shouldn't have! It shouldn't be any stranger to hear someone talk about their depression than it is to hear them talk about any other illness they might be fighting.

Hopefully this is something that we, as a culture, can fix for the next generation...