Embracing the Happy...(The Parable of the Chocolate Bunny)

I’ve been pretty open with my struggles with fear and anxiety. I’m a born worrier…I think I came out of the womb wondering what was going on, afraid that I was going to miss something. I fought sleep (man, am I reaping that field with JD!!!), learned to read at an early age, jumped into every conversation (whether I was supposed to, or not), and regularly have those what-I-should-have-said conversations with myself. I am just not a person who comes by peace easily.

That’s not how we’re supposed to be.

Meekness, quietness—they don’t come naturally. It all boils down to that simple, four-letter word-from-hell: Fear.

And just when I think I’m making great strides in overcoming little pieces of it, something will come along and set me back. It affects every level of my life--home, work, motherhood—and it’s something that I have to keep in constant prayer over. “Lord, let me trust you.” It’s not just being afraid; it’s about not trusting God. When we trust Him, when we believe in His perfect love, we are simply not afraid.

I have to rest in Him.

I had a conversation lately that really sparked in my heart. A friend of mine had prayed for something for so long; now that her answer was looking right at her, she was afraid to embrace it.

 It was like a kid in a candy store…Every day, she passes by that candy store, looking at the big, chocolate rabbit. For years, she sees this rabbit. She sees other people buy that chocolate rabbit…she sees them eat the delicious candy, and she wishes she could have a bite, but no, not now…and every day, she walks by. Suddenly, one day, the candymaker comes out with a box for her. He’s seen her walk by his shop—he knows she’s there, even though she didn’t always know he could see her. He knows that little girl would love to have that big, handmade chocolate bunny. So one day, he lovingly wraps it up, puts it in the box, and he carries it out to her.

She can’t believe it. For her?!?  But…it’s never been for her! It’s always been for everyone else! She just can’t get over it—Really?!?!?  So, she takes the chocolate bunny…she’s ever-so-thankful…

But she’s afraid to eat it.

What if it melts?

What if the candymaker gets mad, or changes his mind? What if he takes it back?

She didn’t earn it. What if he sends her a bill?

She can’t even make herself take that chocolate bunny out of the box…

Yet every day, she still walks by the candy shop, and looks into the windows.

One day, the candymaker comes out, and asks her what she’s doing. “Didn’t I give you a beautiful, big chocolate bunny?” he says…

She tells him, “Yes, of course…”

“Well, did you try it?”

“No.”

“Did you open it?”

“No.”

“Why not? Aren’t you pleased with your gift?”

She finally tells him the truth: “I am afraid that you will change your mind…I am afraid that it wasn’t a gift, that you’ll take it back.  It just doesn’t seem real.”

It sounds kind of silly…especially when you compare it to chocolate. I mean, I am THE LAST person that earth that would ever just look at chocolate in a box (unless it’s my chocolate monkey from Crown Candy; I’m saving that for a special occasion). It just makes sense: You get a gift, you open it, you put it to good use! Otherwise, not only do you not get to reap the benefits of the gift; you also offend the giver!

How many times have I done that to the Lord? How many times has He given me a gift that I was too afraid to use?  Just like my friend that I spoke with earlier this week: How many times have I been afraid to Embrace The Happy?

We have these things that we pray for…not just gifts, like God is some kind of Bob Barker; we have deep heart’s desires that we pray for, that we earnestly seek His face for. Some of my friends are praying for husbands…true men of God that will love and respect them, that will raise a Godly family with them. For me, personally, I prayed for a child—crazy, drunk prayers like Hannah in I Samuel. These are the desperate, soul-wrenching prayers of a heart that’s on fire. And yet, when God decides that it’s time, we recoil in fear….

We are afraid to Embrace The Happy.

My first Mothers’ Day is approaching. I talked about it a little bit, earlier this week; but the more I think about it, the more afraid I am of the joy that I’m feeling. It sounds ridiculous! I am afraid to admit that yes, Cassidy Cooley is truly, madly, deeply HAPPY! Not just happy….I have joy in my heart!

I am crazy with joy!

If you could see inside my brain, all you’d see is Tigger bouncing around—that is how happy I am!!!!

Yet I find myself holding back, not telling anyone how I feel, because I am afraid that if I talk about it, that Smite button will find me, and I will be back in the Horrible Valley again…

I am afraid to Embrace The Happy…

But I have to.

So does my friend…They have an opportunity, to stop for a few minutes, and breathe. The candymaker has given them the Chocolate Bunny. Are they going to enjoy it, or are they going to leave it in the box, out of fear?

I want to enjoy it. I want to embrace every moment. I want to seize the opportunity, to enjoy it in full and living color, and to celebrate every breath, every step, and every day. I want to wrap myself in this moment, and leave a monument of joy to the Lord. I want to create a Selah in my life, and just press pause. I don’t want to let fear derail me, or to keep me from dancing on this mountaintop…Yes, I know that we can’t stay on the mountain forever….but when you’ve spent so many years in the valley, you appreciate the time that you get to bask on the peaks.

Fear will not win. It will not take this away from me…and the only one that can prevent that, is me.

To all of my friends who are in that valley, and who think they will never again see the light of day: You will. It takes time…it takes healing…and it takes Jesus. It takes support from friends and family that you can’t be afraid to ask for; it takes support from friends and family that they can’t be afraid to give. As unbelievable as it sounds, the valley is temporary. “Temporary “ means different things to different people. For some of us, it’s years. But I promise you—God is faithful. He may seem like He’s a thousand years away, but He’s right there through it all. You will emerge. And one day, you will find yourself able to Embrace The Happy once again…

I will celebrate this moment with my whole heart.

I will not hold anything back; I will not reserve myself because of fear.

I will not be afraid.

I will Embrace The Happy.

Adventures in Postpartum...The Continuation

I used to think that antidepressants were the devil. I was one of those judgmental, self-righteous bigots who think that all hormonal and psychological imbalances are simply the effects of people who need to suck it up, and get over themselves.

I thought that all mental “issues” were demonic  attacks, and that if we prayed hard enough, we would be healed…or that if we ate only the right foods, or if we drank enough water, or if we ________, that it would all go away.

Granted, I’m anything but a paragon of health. Obviously, I’m fat. It’s okay—“fat” is not a bad word, just an ugly word. I don’t like it, but I did this to myself, so I have to accept it. I’m fat. But since my mid-twenties, I’ve been very good about getting regular chiropractic adjustments (I started that when I was 15), drinking lots of water (like, a gallon a day—seriously), and I’ve always liked my vegetables (except for lima beans and asparagus). But, I’m not morbidly obese…I barely touch soda…and though I have a major sweet tooth, I don’t live on chocolate (but I could!).  I am, in a word, an average American woman.

I’m also a Christian, which comes with its own bag of stones.

After Hannah’s death, the depression was crippling. Not only was I mourning the loss of my baby girl; I was dealing with the post-partum hormonal imbalances from hell. Anti-depressants were no longer an option. I had to go on them, or risk suicide.

I felt terrible.

I just couldn’t seem to break free from the pit that I was in, no matter how hard I prayed, or how hard I tried. Nothing made me feel any better; it was like walking in concrete. The ADs certainly didn’t “fix” anything; they simply made me able to function. It was then that I really began to respect the need for some people (certainly not all—I firmly believe that as Americans, we are HEAVILY over-medicated) to get a little chemical balance in their lives.

When you’re chemically screwed up, you can’t pray for healing. You can’t make cognitive choices. All you can see is darkness, and it’s so oppressive…Getting the medication into your system, and getting your little neurotransmitters functioning properly again, is the kick-in-the-pants that your body needs to refocus, and to get spiritually focused again. I think that sometimes, we’re so chemically twisted that we have to have that.

That being said, I believe that some medications are only for a time…that after a point, we have to take responsibility and wean ourselves off of them. We have to find a way to be balanced without them. When ADs were first researched, they were never intended for long-term usage. They weren’t even tested for it. I’m not sure how the research has changed, but I know that for me, spending years on a drug like that is not something I want to do.  

6 months after Hannah passed away (in 2007), I weaned myself off of the anti-depressants. In 2008, I wound up having to go back on them for a short time. I still don’t really understand what happened, but after I got off of them again that year, I haven’t had to be on anything since.

I’ve been pretty open about the shock of having to go back on the ADs after this pregnancy. I truly didn’t see postpartum depression coming, even though I had all of the markers (previous postpartum, first child after a loss, etc). I was really disappointed, and ashamed. Why would I feel shame?

I mean, I’d just spent over a month in the hospital. I’d been on a massive amount of medication, including major antibiotics at delivery (antibiotics strip your gut; you actually make serotonin in both the intestines and the brain = Bad gut, bad serotonin levels = depression). I was exhausted beyond belief; I had not gotten a full, uninterrupted 8 hours of sleep since 12/30/12 (part of that is motherhood in general; part of that was from my “incarceration”).  My hormone levels were shot!  So, on the day that I decided I was going to drive my car off of a cliff, I figured I’d better call the doctor.

I had an almost immediate response to Zoloft; I felt better, so quickly! It didn’t change my personality; it just allowed me to function. I could pray! I could be happy! I felt like I could enjoy motherhood! It was great!

I have been able to take care of my son, and do my job, and be nice to my husband. It’s not all because of some little pill…It’s because some little pill got the chemical ball rolling in my brain, to allow me to be me, instead of some crazy, hormonal, mentally exhausted, suicidal lunatic. It’s a good thing.

 I have learned to appreciate psychological medications. When  given with the patient’s best interests in mind, they can do a lot for people. For my friends who are bipolar, they’re a miracle. It’s not always a physical or a spiritual deficiency, people—just because your body requires a medication, doesn’t make you a bad person! It doesn’t make YOU deficient! It just means there is an imbalance that needs to be leveled out. I think that Christians in particular are far too quick to throw stones at people who need chemical assistance. That’s not fair, and it’s not Godly.

No one would chide me for taking my heart medication.

I have a problem with my heart. For some reason, it doesn’t work like it should. It doesn’t  mean that it won’t eventually be healed. It might actually, at some point, be considered “normal.” But for now, no amount of healthy food that I eat will fix it. It’s structural.

I can pray my little eyeballs out; it doesn’t mean that it will be fixed. It doesn’t mean that I’m not spiritual enough, if God decides not to heal it.

It doesn’t mean that I’m a bad person.

There are things that I can do, to help—I can eat better foods (bye, bacon!). I can go walking (I am). I can lose weight (not going so well). These are the things I can be responsible for.

But that little white pill that I take twice a day? I’m dependent on it right now. It’s strengthening my heart.

Why do we, as Christians, look down on someone for taking a little pill that strengthens their physical mind?

The antidepressants have not been kind to my body. Yes, they’ve been great for my mind…but I’ve gained 14 pounds in the past 2 months. NOT GOOD. So, based on that, and based on some stomach issues I’ve been struggling with, I went to my doctor the other day (PCP). Her suggestion was that I try a different AD. When I looked it up (because the thought of trying a new AD just scares me to death!!!!), I couldn’t believe the side effects. Sure, you lose weight…but one woman stood over her daughter’s crib so the “aliens wouldn’t take her!” SERIOUSLY?!?!?  That stuff is supposed to level out your brain, not make you nuts!

So, based on that, and based on the side effects of the AD I’m currently taking (weight gain, arrhythmias, etc), I’ve made the decision to start weaning off of the AD all together.

It’s a scary decision, and one that means I’ll be watched like a hawk by both my husband and my mother (“That’s it! You’re going back on your crazy meds!!!”). If it doesn’t work, and I’m not able to get off of them just yet, that’s fine—I’d rather be fat and sane, then skinny and looking for aliens.  

But really, I’d like to be off of all of it. I think that getting my stomach regulated (I'm doing a strong probiotic combo to rebuild after the antibiotics) will be a huge help.

Everything for a season, right?  Even chemically-initiated “sanity?”

Wish me luck…and smaller jeans…

PS--for the record, I'm weaning off of the AD very slowly, and with my MDs full knowledge. If you're on any kind of anti-depressant, you absolutely cannot go off of it without a doctor's supervision!!!!  Just my PSA...

Breaking the Pieces Back Together...Adventures in Postpartum Depression

It's been a while since I wrote anything...but you can't blame me! I've been a temporary SAHM, learning the ins-and-outs of new motherhood and feeling like every day is a minor mountain to climb. It keeps me busier than I ever realized!  I've eschewed makeup for mornings with JD, and I currently live in my pajamas. Learning a "new normal" is a full-time gig that I do NOT look forward to giving up when I go back to work! Of course, I actually like my job, which is nice...but motherhood is, and always has been, where my heart is. Wish it paid the bills! But, I digress...
About 4 weeks post-birth, something unexpected happened to me...something I had been warned about, but chose to ignore until it was almost too late.  I believed a lie.  I believed everyone else I knew was a Supermom that had everything figured out, and that I was the only one who failed at motherhood. I just knew I sucked at this. He cried; I cried. I pumped; I cried. I woke up; I cried. I fed him; I cried. I called my mom; I cried. I went to the doctor; I cried. I literally got to the point where I could not stop crying. I started believing that David and I had made a terrible mistake, and that we should have never traveled down this path...that now it was too late, and I was failing miserably. I could not stop an internal rant that I. Had. Failed.
I had been warned.
Postpartum Depression hit me like a wall over the head.
What right do I have, to cry this much? How could I, who prayed and begged God for this for so long, be so sad? How? I could barely function...
The doctors had warned me; the nurses had warned me. Even the lactation consultants had warned me. Not only was I, as a woman with history of hormonal issues, at a higher risk for PPD; as a mother who was having a child after a loss, PPD was almost a given. I scoffed at the warnings. I didn't believe it. I knew that after all we had been through, there was no way God was going to let me go through that. Motherhood was everything I'd ever wanted; what could possibly make me sad now that I had my dream?
I was wrong.
I shut down.
One morning, after dreaming about playing with both of my children (I hadn't thought about never being able to do that, until that dream), the reality of raising the first child after a loss came to a head. The pressures of the last 3 months broke...the hospital stay, the anxiety, the fear, the self-imposed solitary confinement, the medications, the side effects of the medications (there were 17 at one point), the endless doctors' visits, the consultations and research, the information overload, the lack of sleep--I fell apart. I actually walked out of the bedroom as JD lay crying....I wanted to scream. I felt like I was going to explode.
I called my mom, to come over...and I called my doctor.
I was in danger...
I couldn't stop thinking about how much I missed Hannah, and wanted to be with her--there were crazy, irrational thoughts that I could not, no matter how hard I prayed, get under control. I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't breathe. I texted David that I was a failure as a mother, that I wasn't spiritual enough, and that I was a terrible person.
I wanted to crash my car into a cliff (Seriously. I had a plan).
The last time I had thoughts this strongly, I had been trying out a new birth control that sent me over the edge. Realizing this, I had the sudden clarity to know that I had to get medical help immediately. I called the doctor's office, even though I was mortified to do so, and got a prescription sent over right away that I started taking that night.
I started feeling better the next day.
I started enjoying motherhood the next day.
And I started to understand that I am anything but a failure.
I'm a darn good mother.
I value my son over my reputation. I don't care if you think I'm a failure for having to a take little pill to get my hormones figured back out again. I need to be able to care for him. I need to be able to pray, and I believe you can get so chemically messed up that you physically can't even make yourself try to talk to God. And chemically, for now, I need some assistance.
No one ever told me that there are other mothers in the church who struggle with the same things. I am not alone. I'm just not afraid to talk about it.
I am medicated.
And I am unashamed.
I can look at my son and smile now.
I can think about my daughter and not fall apart now.
I called a friend of mine who had been through a similar loss, and she was a huge encouragement. I didn't say anything to anyone else about this until now, because I was trying to get things under control...and let's face it: The church isn't particularly kind to those that struggle with depression or things akin to it. We're a judgmental group, and we're not supposed to be. I've been outspoken about Christians that struggle with depression before--the church does not treat them well. People, we have to have understanding and compassion. The human body can only take so much--the mind can only handle so much. Even the most spiritual human being on the planet has a breaking point....I found mine.  I don't plan on being on these medications for long; I don't believe that medication for chemical imbalances should be a permanent "solution." But for now, this is where I am. My family has noticed the change for the better, and has said that they knew I was getting to a very unbalanced place. I'm very grateful for their help, and for their understanding.
The first 2 weeks after JD was born, the sun couldn't set on my happiness...then there were 2 weeks of strange, awful, terrible darkness that didn't make any sense to me...
And now, the sun has come back out again...
So, for the past 2 weeks, I haven't blogged.
I've been too busy enjoying this little man that I'm a mother to.
I've been watching the milestones, and celebrating every single day that I have.
I've been praying for this little guy, and I've been thankful for the hope that I've been given.
And I have been too
Busy
Being
Happy.
:)