Ten Beliefs That Will Not Cause Problems

As promised, here they are. I'd be very interested in hearing which ones resonate with you and what your reactions are. This stuff is so interesting!

1. Everyone doesn't have to love me.

Not everyone has to love me or even like me. I don't necessarily like everyone I know so why should everyone else like me? I enjoy being liked and being loved, but if someone doesn't like me I will still be okay and still feel like I am an okay person. I cannot "make" someone like me any more than someone can get me to like them. I don't need approval all the time. If someone does not approve of me, I will still be okay.

2. It is okay to make mistakes.

Making mistakes is something we all do, and I am still a fine and worthwhile person when I make mistakes. There is no reason for me to get upset when I make a mistake. I am trying and if I make a mistake, I am going to continue trying. I can handle making a mistake. It is okay for others to make mistakes, too. I will accept mistakes in myself and also mistakes that others make.

3. Other people are okay and I am okay.

People who do things I don't like are not necessarily bad people. They should not necessarily be punished just because I don't like what they do or did. There is no reason why another person should be the way I want them to be and there is no reason why I should be the way someone else wants me to be. People will b whatever they want to be, and I will be whatever I want to be. I cannot control other people or change the. They are who they are; we all deserve basic respect and reasonable treatment.

4. I don't have to control things.

I will survive if things are different than what I want them to be. I can accept things the way they are and accept myself the way I am. There is no reason to get upset if I can't change things to fit my idea of how they ought to be. There is no reason why I should have to like everything. Even if I don't like it, I can live with it.

5. I am responsible for my day.

I am responsible for how I feel and for what I do. No one can make me feel anything. If I have a rotten day, I am the one who allowed it to be that way If I have a great day, I am the one who deserves credit for being positive. It is not the responsibility of other people to change so that I can feel better. I am the one who is in charge of my life.

6. I can handle it when things go wrong.

I don't need to watch out for things to go wrong. things usually go just fine, and when they don't, I can handle it. I don't have to waste my energy worrying. The sky won't fall in; things will be okay.

7. It is important to try.

I can. Even though I may be faced with difficult tasks, it is better to try than to avoid them. Avoiding a task does not give me any opportunities for success or joy, but trying does. Things worth having are worth the effort. I might not be able to do everything, but I can do something.

8. I am capable.

I don't need someone else to take care of my problems. I am capable. I can take care of myself. I can make decisions for myself. I can think for myself. I don't have to depend on someone else to take care of me.

9. I can change.

I don't have to be a certain way because of what has happened in the past. Every day is a new day. it's not true to think I can't help being the way I am. Of course I can.

10. Other people are capable.

I can't solve other people's problems for them. I don't have to take on other people's problems as if they were my own. I don't need to change other people or fix up their lives. They are capable and can take care of themselves, and can solve their own problems. I can care and be of some help, but I can't do everything for them.

Sheesh! I see myself in so many of them. But like #9 says, I can change! Sorry if this is too much touchy-feely stuff. More funny stories and cute kids later. Oh, and there's no indication on the handout what this is from, but if you want to know the source, I can ask the powers that be at Crazy School.

Crazy School: Weeks 3-?

Anyone who knows me well knows that I cry easily. I see a sappy Hallmark card commercial, I cry. I hear a news report with a mom in Syria crying about her dead child, I cry. Someone flips me off for accidentally cutting them off, I cry. And then there was the time I saw a live production of West Side Story and embarrassed my date by sobbing so loudly. Yeah. If I were a Care Bear, I'd be Tenderheart Bear. 

I'm like Gus, a Sympathetic Crier.

But I also sometimes cry when I recognize truth, when something deeply affects me and I connect with it on a spiritual level.

A while back in Crazy School, we were talking about distorted thinking. I talked a little about it on my post here, about cognitive distortions. Different terms, same thing. So we were talking in our class about different types of thought distortions, like catastrophizing. You know, worrying about something, making it a bigger deal in your mind than it really is. Or overgeneralization. Your husband forgets to take out the trash and you get mad because he NEVER takes out the trash! We talked about how you can challenge these thought distortions. You can say to yourself, "Really? He never takes out the trash? Then why isn't our house buried in trash? He must take it out most of the time. I'm glad he does that." Or with catastrophizing, you can say, "I don't know what the future holds. I'm going to stay in the now. Whatever happens, I can deal with it." One of the thought distortions I could relate a lot to was personalization. I'll quote from the handout: "Thinking that everything people do or say is some kind of reaction to you. You also compare yourself to others, trying to determine who's smarter, better looking, etc."  As we were working on coming up with statements that could challenge our individual distortions, the clinician gave us a handout to help. "Ten Beliefs That Will Not Cause Problems." Weird title, I know. I read the heading of the first belief, "Everyone doesn't have to love me." Tears instantly sprang to my eyes. I read on, 

Not everyone has to love me or even like me. I enjoy being liked and being loved, but if someone doesn't like me I will still be okay and still feel like I am an okay person. I cannot "make" someone like me any more than someone can get me to like them. I don't need approval all the time. If someone does not approve of me, I will still be okay."

It's hard to put into words what an impact that had on me. It's like my mind realized three things all at once: 1) I'd lived my whole life believing everyone DID need to love me; 2) I never realized I'd been operating under that belief system; and 3) That it was false and was causing me pain. So that's what my head was doing. My heart just wigged out and told my eyes to cry. It was like someone's been carrying a backpack full of rocks around for decades and suddenly they realize that they can take it off. 

Maybe this seems like "duh" stuff to you all. But it was huge to me. I started to look at my life and see how this false belief has affected me. Even in group therapy, I've noticed that I try really hard to be the helpful, happy, upbeat one. I'm not afraid to be real and talk about my problems in group, but most days, I'm trying to help everyone else. I'm bringing cookies. I'm checking in with the ones who seem most troubled. How much of it is flowing out of an inner well of love and goodness, and how much is just a desperate plea to love me? Don't you love my chocolate chip cookies? You should love me, too! 

I have more to say about this, but I'll end here for now because it's past my bedtime. But if anyone is interested, I can post the rest of the Non-Problem-Causing thoughts. Maybe your mind will be blown. Or maybe I'm the only one having Ted-like epiphanies over here.

Whoa. 

Easter 2014

This year, we were invited to spend Easter with my aunt and uncle in Maryland (the same family that opened their home to us for my "rehab.") We love going to their home to visit so we couldn't turn them down. We drove down the same day Adam's family left and came back the Monday after Easter. It was beautiful weather and we all had a wonderful time. As per tradition, we did the Easter baskets and egg hunt on Saturday, and saved Sunday for the celebration of Christ's resurrection. 

The spoils: 

Do you think they liked it?

Get excited, Lucy.

 In the morning, we died eggs. Then the kids watched their new copy of Frozen (first time for that copy, millionth time for the movie.) While they hung with Anna and Elsa, my aunt and I hid the eggs.

Here they are ready for the hunt:

Can you guess who's hand that is?

 And the hunt:

Temporarily distracted from hunting by the super-awesome green motorcycle

I never tire of looking at pics of her hair.

Then we went next door to take pictures with the neighbor's giant Olaf thing. Cuz that's just awesome.

Sunday was a beautiful day. My aunt and uncle's ward did a great job with the speaker and the choir. And the kids had a special program in Primary. They even got to wave real palm leaves! We had a delicious ham dinner and then did a special Easter Egg devotional with 24 plastic eggs, which each held a scripture verse and a small item pertaining to the last week of Christ's life. 

I forgot to pack Eddie's tie, so my aunt provided some scrap ribbon. Genius.

So happy Easter from our family to yours. If you haven't seen this video yet, check it out. It's not your grandma's Jesus video. It's really moving.

Ob La Di

Even though my posts lately have all been about Crazy School, life still goes on. Last week, we said goodbye to some good friends that were leaving Jersey for the Golden State. Jealous. Seriously, though, I'm going to miss my friend. We met at the playground not long after both of us had moved to NJ and bonded over how much we hated living on the East Coast. That was back when the babies were still babies and she only had two boys to wrangle. I hate moving. Why can't we all live in the same cul-de-sac somewhere? Boo.

Our families are just too cute.

Then, my in-laws came for their spring break, minus Kim who was on a school trip to Ireland (jealous, again) but plus their foreign exchange student, Pim. Yes, we traded Kim for Pim. 

After they arrived, I took them and the kids on a walk to the park to show them the neighborhood. Then it poured rain on us. But we had fun running home. And that night we all went out for Red Robin. (Apparently there's some jingle everyone but me knows since I don't watch TV so go ahead and sing that to yourself now.) And why did we go out to dinner? Because it was my birthday! Did you forget?

And let me digress a moment to talk about birthdays in the digital age. If I know you but never talk to you on the phone, a FB "Happy birthday" is fine. If I consider you a bosom friend, a call is appreciated, a text bare minimum. If you are related to me by blood, you better be calling. I'm looking at you, Rebecca. Just putting that out there. For future reference.

The next day, Grandma and Grandpa spent time with me and the kids, while Adam took Megan and Pim to the city. They hit up a few tourist stops and did a lot of shopping. I mean, the girls did a lot of shopping. I mean, Pim did a lot of shopping. Wouldn't you if you were visiting her hometown? (Bangkok). 

Central Park

What's more touristy than holding a giant M&M store bag on the subway?

Street meat!

The next day, I got to take the whole day off (!) while Adam took everyone to the Statue of Liberty. It was an awfully chilly day to be on the water, but the boat was the kids' favorite part. Okay, their only favorite part. In case you were wondering, 3-year-olds are too young to take to the Statue of Liberty. Especially three of them.

The whole fandamily. This was the only shot Charlie wasn't (visibly) crying in.

Awwwwwwwwwwwww!!!

 Adam's family only spent a few days with us, but we were sure grateful they came down to visit. And what could be better than spending a few hours at the playground with these guys? 

Right? . . . Meg? . . . Mom? 

I'll let you fill in the thought bubbles. But seriously, we had a blast and hope they did, too. The kids crawled all over Grandpa, demanding story after story. Megan was quickly re-adopted as their favorite while always helping me. It was super fun to get to know Pim a little and the kids loved playing games with her. And Grandma brought the tastiest cheesecake so that alone makes her golden, besides all the help she was and love she showed the grandkids. I know the kids can't wait for them to come again. 

Stay tuned for Easter! And more Crazy School!

Crazy School: Week 2

Holy moly, guys. I'm learning a lot at Crazy School. I'm even learning that what I thought was "crazy" isn't really crazy. Here are some examples:

Growing up, we used to chant this little rhyme and think we were so funny:

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
I'm a schizophrenic.
And so am I.

Yeah, it wasn't until I was almost an adult that I figured out that schizophrenia is not the same as multiple personality disorder (which might not really be a thing. But I digress.) Remember the movie A Beautiful Mind where the brilliant mathematician hears voices and sees hallucinations? That's schizophrenia. And it wasn't until last week that I figured out that schizophrenics aren't crazy. We have open process group for an hour every day where anyone can talk about whatever issues they're dealing with. I'm still getting to know everyone, but I was shocked to learn that some of the people I'd come to feel the most comfortable with suffered from schizophrenia. There's one guy, we'll call him Herman, cuz that's such a great name, who has always been very polite and thoughtful. When I cry (which I'm sure you can imagine is a lot), he always brings me the tissue box. He dresses like a homie, and I can tell from his accent that he's chicano. He's very soft spoken, and always talks about his wife and children with an incredible amount of love and concern. He's had a rough life—he's alluded to years he's spent on the street—but I was flabbergasted when he spoke up one day about how that morning he'd been hearing voices. He'd seen the news coverage of the shooting at Ft. Hood and it triggered his voices. He referred to the phenomenon as "they." They told him he was a horrible person; that he should do bad things; that he was in danger of doing the same kind of thing that shooter did. He talked about overcoming his fear of reaching out to his wife when the voices got bad, but how he overcame it and texted her and how it helped ground him, quiet the voices. Herman is my friend. He is kind and considerate and honorable and hard working. And sometimes he hears voices. He is not crazy. 

This is what real crazy looks like.

I recently talked to an old friend and her husband on the phone. Her husband has anxiety and depression and has been heroically battling it for a while. But talking to me was the FIRST time he'd ever talked to someone else who has the same illness he has. The first! That, my friends, is crazy. Why don't we talk about these things? Just hearing someone say, "I can totally relate to that," gives me so much hope. And it's even better when they can say, ". . . and here's how I dealt with it." But empathy has it's downside. The other day, after a pretty intense discussion in group, I suddenly started crying. Most everyone had already gotten up to leave for a break, but the few people that remained noticed and asked me what was wrong. I hardly knew what to tell them. I just felt so overwhelmed by everyone's grief. There was so much suffering in that room—so many heartbreaking stories, so much pain—it just filled me up and spilled out. I wanted so badly to be able to help everyone feel better. But all I could do was listen and give feedback. I felt better after crying. But it's been hard to not get teary-eyed ever since then. I'll have to figure out what, if anything, is behind it. 

But back to the crazy stuff. We talked a lot last week about cognitive distortions. Come with me, if you will, into the mind of a "crazy" person. You'll see that they're not really crazy. They just have learned bad ways of thinking. (And, psst! We all have!) So Mr. Cray Cray goes to the store to buy some bread. At the store he sees Mr. Neighbor that he's known for a while. Mr. Cray Cray waves to Mr. Neighbor. Mr. N doesn't wave back. Mr. N completely ignores Mr. CC. Mr. CC starts to wonder what's wrong. Was it something I did? Why didn't he wave back? Is he mad at me? Why doesn't he like me? Nobody really likes me. I hate myself. Mr. CC starts to feel really down. He feels angry. He feels depressed. Poor Mr. CC. He then goes home and snaps at his wife when she asks him to take out the trash. His wife snaps back and they get in a big fight. Afterwards, Mr. CC feels even crummier and realizes he was right, nobody likes him. He's scum. 

Okay, so Mr. Cray Cray's example is a little extreme. But do you see how it works? A healthy person would take an event like a neighbor not greeting them and figure, Hmm...he must not have seen me. Or, Mr. N must be having a bad day. But Mr. CC has a cognitive distortion. He takes the negative thing that happened and internalizes it. It's his fault. His negative thoughts lead to negative feelings which lead to negative actions which reinforce the original negative thoughts. The good news? Mr. CC can interrupt the cycle at any point. He can challenge the negative thought. He can ask himself, "Is this true? What evidence do I have? What's a more logical explanation?" If he's already to the negative feelings, he can do something to help himself feel better. He can go talk to his neighbor and reconnect. He can call up a loved one. He can go for a run. Whatevs. If he's already at the negative behavior, he can forgive himself. He can be honest with his wife about what happened with Mr. N. He can fight the impulse to label himself as "scum." He can let it go. (I can't tell you how many times I sing that to myself in group.)

Letting go feels pretty awesome, right Elsa?

Guys, this stuff works. I've used it on myself. I've used it to help Adam. (He'll be so embarrassed I mentioned him.) It works! But you have to be mindful of what you're thinking and feeling. But mindfulness is for another post. I hope this stuff isn't boring you. Some of you have expressed interest in peeking over my shoulder at my notes from crazy school. So there you are. We're all crazy. And no one really is. Class dismissed.

Crazy School: Week 1

Just because you are bad guy does not mean you are bad . . . guy.

I started my Intensive Outpatient Program, AKA "IOP," AKA "Crazy School," last Friday. The first day didn't go anything like I'd expected and by then end I was ready to run for the hills. In stead of doing any kind of "Hi, my name is Emily and I'm a little crazy," they just gave me a tour of the building and deposited me in a class that had already started. I took my seat and tried not to feel like I was the new kid in 7th grade. Most of the other people were young adults and a lot of them were recovering addicts. And I got the impression that no one wanted to be there. I even asked my clinician at the break if some of them were court ordered to be there and couldn't believe me when she said it was all voluntary. Then why are they acting like jackasses? I wanted to shout. We had a class about how important it is for our mental health to get enough sleep and eat right. Seriously. A whole class. Then we had group therapy where I felt like I knew more about how to lead the discussion than the shrink. Then we talked about what coping skills we'd learned that week that we planned on using over the weekend. Um, yeah. Not exactly helpful. It wasn't even until the end of the day that I'd spoken enough to reveal that I have triplets. ("You win!" they all said.) When they asked what my goal was for next week, I very much wanted to say, "Try to figure out if this program is worth my precious time." But I didn't. And I went back the next week. And I'm so glad I did.

After a disappointing second and third day, I finally had a breakthrough. We learned about Radical Acceptance which goes something like this: Bad things are going to happen and you will experience pain in your life whether you like it or not. But you decide if you want to stay in the pain and suffer or dig down deep to face reality and move on. As I was taking notes, I wrote down, "What is the reality that I'm refusing to accept?" Then another patient shared a story about how that morning she'd been frustrated as she got the kids ready for school. (She's one of the few that is old enough to have kids.) She finally lost it and snapped at her daughter and said something mean. And then, she said, she had a choice—she could either accept reality and move on or be willful and continue to suffer. When I asked her what she meant, she explained that she immediately apologized and tried to repair the relationship with her daughter. That's acceptance. If she'd been willful, she might have stuffed her emotions or let her guilt drive her crazy or a number of other negative outcomes. But what, I asked, was the reality that she had to accept? She looked at me for a moment and then said, "That I'm not perfect." 

BOOM! THE LIGHT GOES ON! BREAKTHROUGH!

So now, every time one (or all) of my kids cry or scream or throw a tantrum, I repeat over and over in my mind, "I'm not perfect and that's okay. I'm not perfect and that's okay." It's seriously helping.

This week I also started to try to have a better attitude in group therapy. After talking to my brother, BJ, who has been doing this stuff for the last four years all day, every day, I realized I needed to stop looking at the differences between me and the other patients, and focus on what inside of me was causing me to think I was better or healthier than them. I think that's what group therapy is all about—you're forced to interact with others in a way that requires absolute emotional authenticity. There's something synergistic that happens when you are able to listen to someone else's problem, help them dig down to the root of it, see yourself in their own pain, and help them come up with a solution. Even just knowing that other people have felt what you're feeling and have figured out how to deal with it is really affirming and helps you grow. 

Am I boring you yet? The point of all this is that I am glad I'm in Crazy School and I'm looking forward to the next week. If you ever want an earful of what awesome thing I learned any given day, just give me a call.

Happy Pills

It's been almost six weeks since the crap hit the fan and I had my little "breakdown." I couldn't sleep for four nights straight. And when I tried to get help, Mother Nature decided to dump a huge snowstorm on Northern Jersey and every place I called was closed. I even tried to hurt myself, because in my addled brain, I thought then I could go to the emergency room. But guess what? I'm a wimp! And I have a very strong sense of self-preservation coupled with a very weak stomach. So, don't worry. I can't kill a spider, much less myself. 

I eventually did get in to see a psychiatrist, and for a month now, I've been taking Lexapro, an anti-anxiety/depression medicine. I tried Lexapro before, when the babies were little and I was drowning in diapers and self-loathing, but it was given to me by a shrink that only heard the word "triplets," threw a prescription at me, and never talked to me again. The first two days I took it, I felt jittery and had trouble sleeping. Screw that, I thought, stopped taking it, and never followed up. This time around, my doctor explained that the side effects would wear off with time, but that I had to stick with it for a few weeks. She gave me a prescription for a sleep aide that I used a few times, and we've been meeting regularly ever since. In other words, she does her job right. Bless her! But it took a while for the meds to kick in, and getting to that point was hard. If you've never experienced anxiety or depression before, lemme splain:

Generalized anxiety, for me, feels like this unease that comes from nowhere, like black, formless demons that lurk at the corners of your consciousness. You can't place the source of the fear, but it's real, like a feeling of impending doom. The sun might be shining, but its light is bleak and hopeless. Adam knows that when I tell him I'm feeling anxious, he needs to put his arms around me, hold me tightly, and tell me over and over, "Everything is going to be alright." Because when you're in its thrall, the demons eat away at any peace of mind you had. My chest feels tight. I want to hide. It's horrible.

Recently, before the fan/crap, I had a few bona-fide panic attacks. One happened on the drive home from Costco. I had Elizabeth with me and I was irked that I'd finished later than I wanted and would be hitting bad traffic. Plus, some nice person had left a note telling me I'd scratched their truck, though I knew there was no way I'd hit anything in the parking lot, much less a truck. All this and other thoughts were swirling in my head, when all of a sudden, my breathing started to get rapid and shallow. I felt like there was something constricting my chest and that I couldn't get a deep enough breath. The longer it went on, the more I struggled to breathe, and the more scared I got. I didn't know what to do. I thought I was going to lose control of the car. I pulled over as soon as I safely could, I asked Elizabeth to say a prayer for me (to give her something to do since she was freaking out), and called Adam. Listening to his voice helped me calm down a little. I figured the best thing I could do would be to get out of my head, so after assuring him that I was feeling better, I turned on NPR and listened to the news. I let the words coming out of my radio numb me and I was fine for the rest of the drive home. 

I had one more panic attack the day of snow and crap. And then the anxiety turned to a terrible pain in my stomach. For a while, I even thought I might be pregnant, since it reminded me so much of the crippling pain I'd experienced when I carried the triplets. But I found out I wasn't pregnant and wouldn't have to throw myself off the George Washington Bridge like I'd vowed I would if I were. Hallelujah! But the pain was still there, as bad as that I experienced when I was a green missionary in Texas. Oh, the irony. But the stomach pain, thank goodness, has diminished and now I only feel a slight queasiness once in a while. And it sure has helped me lose weight! (Or that might be the zumba.)

As for depression, perhaps I can best describe my experience with it by telling you how I've felt since the meds have started to kick in. It was about Tuesday of last week when I first noticed that I didn't have to force myself to smile. Charlie was saying something heart-breakingly adorable and I felt a warmth I hadn't felt in so long. I was genuinely delighted by the funny thing my kid had just said. I noticed I was laughing more. I was making jokes at the dinner table. I was dancing around and singing Frozen songs with the kids. I wasn't dwelling on painful thoughts and memories. It was like I finally felt like myself; I felt free to enjoy life. I still got angry. I still felt sad. But it didn't incapacitate me. Depression for me feels like everything is flat. I feel like I'm walking through water. When it's bad, it takes all my effort and mental stamina to get anything done. I remember one day when I was faced with laundry, and it physically (but mentally?) hurt to pick up the laundry basket and start collecting dirty clothes. Another day, I couldn't get out of bed. My kids were running amok and needed to be fed breakfast, but I just couldn't move. "Suck it up, woman!" you're shouting. I was shouting it to myself, too. But I couldn't. I called my friend and neighbor and told her how I felt. She knew just what to do: she invited me to bring the kids over so we could talk. That was enough to motivate me to get out of bed. So my kids were fed that day, thanks to her. 

A few days before the meds kicked, I had my darkest hour. I tried to hurt myself again, this time to displace the emotional pain with physical pain (cuz that makes sense, right?) Again, my weak stomach prevailed and no harm done. But my p-sychiatrist didn't see it that way. Two attempts in three weeks, plus endless thoughts of ending my life was enough to convince her I needed more intensive help. I balked at first, but after talking it over with Adam, my parents, and my therapist, I decided to give it a try. I've only had an intake appointment, but I feel really optimistic about it. I'll be going to what's called an Intensive Outpatient Program for about six weeks. I'll basically be able to do a few years' worth of therapy in a much shorter time. And since I'll be starting the program with the meds already working (and not mired in terrible anxiety and depression), I'll be that much further ahead. It won't be cheap, but hey! It's cheaper than going to the funny farm! 

A wise man once told me, depression is the mind's inability to construct a future. And it's so true. When you're depressed, there's no hope in the future. And you're afraid that you'll always feel that way. 

I don't feel afraid anymore.

And here's some cute pictures of my kids.

P.S. For a really awesome, hilarious, and true description of depression (and how not to react to people with depression,) check out these posts on Hyperbole and a Half here and here.)