I wrote "My Miracle Child" because a blogger I follow, DJ Paris of "Thoughts from Paris," asked for stories about mental health. He was planning to post every hour for 24 hours as a fundraiser for BandBackTogether.com. When he first asked for submissions, I thought,
"Oh, I'm not good enough to submit anything for that." But a few weeks later, when I saw
that he was still looking for a few more submissions, I thought,
"Well, hell, my blog is supposed to be about being vulnerable and taking
risks, I have to suck it up and submit something."
I watched his BlogAThon all day, hoping he would post my story. He posted a video log saying that he would post all 29 submissions he received. Alas, he didn't post my story. I didn't even receive a reply thanking me for submitting something. (Maybe that's too much to ask of an individual person, but I'm the kind of girl who appreciates getting auto-reply messages, just to know my email didn't get lost in the "series of tubes" that is the Internet.)
I'll admit it, I started feeling sorry for myself, throwing a little pity party in my head. I felt like an ass for even sending it, let alone expecting him to post it. I kept thinking, "Maybe he just couldn't fit it in for some reason," or "Maybe he somehow didn't see the email." You know, instead of "He thinks you suck!"
Luckily, my friend Miss Bookish Girl sent me a link to the video for "Brave," the new single by Sara Bareilles. It's all about speaking up for yourself, saying what you really think, and letting your creativity shine.
I suddenly had the impulse to tweet a bunch of people I follow on Twitter. I sent a link to my blog post to about 10 people, including Anne Wheaton, who's married to Wil Wheaton (an actor famous for "Star Trek: The Next Generation" and "Stand By Me," among many other projects). She has over 50,000 Twitter followers and is witty, inspiring, and wickedly funny. She retweeted the link to my blog and replied to my tweet. I thanked her, and she replied to that too. It was like the movie "Frequency," I felt like I was communicating with someone from the future or another dimension or something. I feel silly admitting this, but I'm totally starstruck by her.
Anyway, I watched the page views for "My Miracle Child" literally go from 7 to over 200. There have now been over 1,200 page views, and since I imagine most people don't look at it over and over, I assume that means close to 1,200 people at least skimmed if not read that blog post.
Not everyone might think it brave to tweet a celebrity, but I felt incredibly vulnerable sending my writing to these people whom I admire, at the very least opening myself up to be ignored, at the worst, possibly being ridiculed by these people or their followers. Instead, complete strangers thanked me and shared how they've gotten help for their depression or anxiety.
I'm starting to pester everyone I know to write and publish, because I believe that each of us has wisdom and experience to share. Please put in the comments, how are you going to be brave today? this week? this year?
Showing posts with label courage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label courage. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Monday, June 3, 2013
My Miracle Child
My second child, my daughter, is kind of a miracle child. While I was pregnant with her, my uterus got trapped in my pelvis, making it almost impossible to pee for a few days, I had chronic constipation (3.5 years later, I still thank God I can poop normally now), and I was exhausted and depressed.
I told my midwife that I was starting to have suicidal thoughts, and she referred me to the department at the hospital that specifically treated mothers with depression. I had group and individual therapy and sessions with a psychiatrist.
I learned there that 10-20% of women experience postpartum depression, but if a woman has had a depressive episode in her past, she is 40-60% likely to experience it. I had been severely depressed in my early 20s.
I spent a lot of time crying and explaining that I felt like I wasn’t “good enough” for my son, who was 2.5 years old, my husband, or my daughter. I remember quite clearly the therapist saying to me, “Consider that you’re not meant to be 'enough'. It really does take a village to raise a child.” I had this crazy idea that being a “good mom” meant doing everything (cooking, sewing, cleaning, and educating) with infinite patience. I started trying to accept that I could be a mom instead of trying to be a “super mom”.
The psychiatrist prescribed Zoloft. I had known before that I was depressed, but I never wanted to take medication because I thought I should be able to handle my emotions without meds. I could control my thoughts and feelings. Couldn’t I?
The therapists explained that taking medication for depression is no different than taking medication if you have diabetes or a heart condition. I realize many people still disapprove of anti-depressants, as I once did, but I’m a convert now. I don’t believe that medication alone can treat depression, but my anti-depressant helps me stay clear-minded enough to use the coping skills I’ve learned. Of course, the trick is to find the right medication.
Zoloft made me even more nauseated than my pregnancy. So sick that a few days after I’d started taking it, I started making plans to commit suicide, and I told my husband I wanted to terminate my pregnancy. Thankfully we saw the psychiatrist right away, and she got me admitted to the psych ward at the hospital. I tried another two doses of Zoloft before accepting that it just wasn’t the right medication for me.
The doctor prescribed Celexa, which ironically, lists nausea as one of its side effects. Thankfully, it didn’t make me hurl. I spent a week in the psych ward gradually finding the right dose of Celexa for me and attending group therapy to learn healthy coping skills.
Being hospitalized made it necessary for my husband and me to tell our friends what was happening and ask for help. I had held people at bay for fear they would discover I was “messed up”, but I couldn’t hide it any more, and it was incredibly liberating. Quite a few of my friends suddenly told me that they had also experienced depression. All of my relationships got deeper and stronger after that.
My daughter just turned three years old. She is an extremely cheerful child. I even have an ultrasound of her smiling in utero. Even though her pregnancy felt like it took two years, I’m grateful for all that happened. I finally got my depression treated, I learned how to ask for and accept help, and I got to experience love for myself and all of the people in my life in a much deeper, more fulfilling way. Yep, she’s my miracle child, some days it’s a miracle I don’t sell her on eBay. Hey, she’s a typical 3-year old, we all have those days.
I told my midwife that I was starting to have suicidal thoughts, and she referred me to the department at the hospital that specifically treated mothers with depression. I had group and individual therapy and sessions with a psychiatrist.
I learned there that 10-20% of women experience postpartum depression, but if a woman has had a depressive episode in her past, she is 40-60% likely to experience it. I had been severely depressed in my early 20s.
I spent a lot of time crying and explaining that I felt like I wasn’t “good enough” for my son, who was 2.5 years old, my husband, or my daughter. I remember quite clearly the therapist saying to me, “Consider that you’re not meant to be 'enough'. It really does take a village to raise a child.” I had this crazy idea that being a “good mom” meant doing everything (cooking, sewing, cleaning, and educating) with infinite patience. I started trying to accept that I could be a mom instead of trying to be a “super mom”.
The psychiatrist prescribed Zoloft. I had known before that I was depressed, but I never wanted to take medication because I thought I should be able to handle my emotions without meds. I could control my thoughts and feelings. Couldn’t I?
The therapists explained that taking medication for depression is no different than taking medication if you have diabetes or a heart condition. I realize many people still disapprove of anti-depressants, as I once did, but I’m a convert now. I don’t believe that medication alone can treat depression, but my anti-depressant helps me stay clear-minded enough to use the coping skills I’ve learned. Of course, the trick is to find the right medication.
Zoloft made me even more nauseated than my pregnancy. So sick that a few days after I’d started taking it, I started making plans to commit suicide, and I told my husband I wanted to terminate my pregnancy. Thankfully we saw the psychiatrist right away, and she got me admitted to the psych ward at the hospital. I tried another two doses of Zoloft before accepting that it just wasn’t the right medication for me.
The doctor prescribed Celexa, which ironically, lists nausea as one of its side effects. Thankfully, it didn’t make me hurl. I spent a week in the psych ward gradually finding the right dose of Celexa for me and attending group therapy to learn healthy coping skills.
Being hospitalized made it necessary for my husband and me to tell our friends what was happening and ask for help. I had held people at bay for fear they would discover I was “messed up”, but I couldn’t hide it any more, and it was incredibly liberating. Quite a few of my friends suddenly told me that they had also experienced depression. All of my relationships got deeper and stronger after that.
My daughter just turned three years old. She is an extremely cheerful child. I even have an ultrasound of her smiling in utero. Even though her pregnancy felt like it took two years, I’m grateful for all that happened. I finally got my depression treated, I learned how to ask for and accept help, and I got to experience love for myself and all of the people in my life in a much deeper, more fulfilling way. Yep, she’s my miracle child, some days it’s a miracle I don’t sell her on eBay. Hey, she’s a typical 3-year old, we all have those days.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Giving What I've Got
In
my last
post, I wrote about being ambitious, taking risks, and
pushing boundaries. This week I remembered how important it is to
also respect those boundaries.
My son's school is asking parents to serve on the PTA Board. I'd ignored the emails asking for volunteers, but then I went to a meeting for parents of incoming 1st and 2nd graders. Their plea was compelling. The school does rely heavily on parents to raise money for school materials, field trips, and even some staff. Still, I felt okay deciding to wait another year. Both of my children would be older and need less of my time and attention.
Then I stopped to talk to two moms I know. One of them may be moving away, but she said if she decided to stay in the area she would definitely serve on the PTA. The other mom expressed confidence that I would do well, going so far as to call me "leadership material". I felt both moved and embarrassed by their encouragement and their commitment.
I thought about how much I should volunteer. Part of me felt that if I were going to volunteer, I shouldn't do it half-assed by doing the easiest job. This is from my inner Perfectionist. If I really want to help and make a difference, I should do the most challenging, time-consuming, and beneficial job, right? And then I would get accolades from other parents about how selfless I am, and I would practically be a hero (cue the confetti and me doing the princess wave while wearing a tiara).
I had half-convinced myself to volunteer for the Fundraising position, which is the biggest, hardest job. Then I wondered what my husband would say. He's my sounding board for a lot of things, and even though I resent when he tells me not to do something, he's usually right. I pictured how tired, frustrated, and terrified I would be, trying to organize and motivate people I didn't know to give their time and money. I remembered how badly I treat my husband and children when I am tired, frustrated, and afraid.
I realized I'm simply not capable of giving that much time and energy. I looked through the open positions and chose to volunteer for the Hospitality position, which involves buying stuff and setting up for PTA meetings and events. It was in fact the easiest position available.
I wrote an email to the two moms I had spoken to earlier, explaining my choice. I confessed that part of my decision was based on the fact that only 3.5 years ago, I was hospitalized for planning suicide. I had not attempted it, but I had made a mental shopping list and chosen a location. At the time, I was pregnant, exhausted, and had totally unrealistic expectations of how to be a "good mom". But I still have the passing thought that life would be better without me. I know that that isn't true, and that it would devastate my family and friends, so I let the thought pass and accept that I just feel overwhelmed sometimes.
Still, after I sent the email, I cried. That really hard, ugly cry. I cried because I'm sad that I can't give more to my son and the other kids at school. I cried because I felt again that fundamentally "I'm broken" or "damaged" somehow. That I'm less than emotionally stable, mentally balanced people.
The two moms wrote back really compassionate, understanding, and kind responses. I felt relieved. I still worry that some people who read this will think I'm just being a crybaby and a slacker. I heard or read a quote that I can't quite recall, but it was something about understanding and accepting that each of us has a different container that holds our capacity to give. Some of us have a gallon container, some of us only have a cup. I'll still give more than I think I can, but not as much as I think I should.
Please note in the comments your thoughts and experience about how much you give to your neighbors, your church, your kids' schools, etc.
My son's school is asking parents to serve on the PTA Board. I'd ignored the emails asking for volunteers, but then I went to a meeting for parents of incoming 1st and 2nd graders. Their plea was compelling. The school does rely heavily on parents to raise money for school materials, field trips, and even some staff. Still, I felt okay deciding to wait another year. Both of my children would be older and need less of my time and attention.
Then I stopped to talk to two moms I know. One of them may be moving away, but she said if she decided to stay in the area she would definitely serve on the PTA. The other mom expressed confidence that I would do well, going so far as to call me "leadership material". I felt both moved and embarrassed by their encouragement and their commitment.
I thought about how much I should volunteer. Part of me felt that if I were going to volunteer, I shouldn't do it half-assed by doing the easiest job. This is from my inner Perfectionist. If I really want to help and make a difference, I should do the most challenging, time-consuming, and beneficial job, right? And then I would get accolades from other parents about how selfless I am, and I would practically be a hero (cue the confetti and me doing the princess wave while wearing a tiara).
I had half-convinced myself to volunteer for the Fundraising position, which is the biggest, hardest job. Then I wondered what my husband would say. He's my sounding board for a lot of things, and even though I resent when he tells me not to do something, he's usually right. I pictured how tired, frustrated, and terrified I would be, trying to organize and motivate people I didn't know to give their time and money. I remembered how badly I treat my husband and children when I am tired, frustrated, and afraid.
I realized I'm simply not capable of giving that much time and energy. I looked through the open positions and chose to volunteer for the Hospitality position, which involves buying stuff and setting up for PTA meetings and events. It was in fact the easiest position available.
I wrote an email to the two moms I had spoken to earlier, explaining my choice. I confessed that part of my decision was based on the fact that only 3.5 years ago, I was hospitalized for planning suicide. I had not attempted it, but I had made a mental shopping list and chosen a location. At the time, I was pregnant, exhausted, and had totally unrealistic expectations of how to be a "good mom". But I still have the passing thought that life would be better without me. I know that that isn't true, and that it would devastate my family and friends, so I let the thought pass and accept that I just feel overwhelmed sometimes.
Still, after I sent the email, I cried. That really hard, ugly cry. I cried because I'm sad that I can't give more to my son and the other kids at school. I cried because I felt again that fundamentally "I'm broken" or "damaged" somehow. That I'm less than emotionally stable, mentally balanced people.
The two moms wrote back really compassionate, understanding, and kind responses. I felt relieved. I still worry that some people who read this will think I'm just being a crybaby and a slacker. I heard or read a quote that I can't quite recall, but it was something about understanding and accepting that each of us has a different container that holds our capacity to give. Some of us have a gallon container, some of us only have a cup. I'll still give more than I think I can, but not as much as I think I should.
Please note in the comments your thoughts and experience about how much you give to your neighbors, your church, your kids' schools, etc.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Makin' and Keepin' It Real
I'm not very good at Wushu, but I competed once last year, and I've registered to compete again in a few weeks. Why do I do this? It's certainly okay at my school for adults not to compete, but I'm inspired by the adults who do. They're gutsy, and I want to be gutsy too, even if I'm still just pretending to be.
One reason I compete is because I am a total slacker when it comes to practicing. I can easily come up with excuses not to train: I'm reading a good book that I can't put down, I'm cooking dinner for my hubby, or feeling like, "I'm so bad at it, I shouldn't waste the teachers' time." So, I figure signing up for competitions forces me to put all that aside and just get to work, doing my best and being okay with whatever that looks like.
I just found out that in competition the form I'm working on is only supposed to take 45 seconds to perform. My teacher timed me, and I did it in about a minute. Doing it that quickly with that kind of pressure makes all of my movements, especially the punches and kicks, more powerful and I think, more realistic. I move more like I am punching and kicking "someone," not just thin air.
I recently read this quote by Ira Glass on Buzzfeed: "...do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap and your work will be as good as your ambitions. It's gonna take awhile. It's normal to take awhile. You've just gotta fight your way through."
I think that's what I've already been doing with Wushu, and now I need to do that with the rest of my life.
I'm writing a short story, and I was thinking, "Well, I can use it as just an exercise, just practice for the 'real writing' I'll do some day when I'm a good writer." Then I realized that in order to get better at writing, I have to make it count. I'm not planning on publishing a novel yet, but I think I could work on this short story enough to submit it for publication in a literary journal or something. It doesn't have to be an insurmountable goal to start, just something that's real and tangible. "Risk nothing, get nothing," right?
I think to really excel at anything, you have take risks and be ambitious, more than you think you deserve to be. I love this quote from Marianne Williamson: "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be?"
I'm going to continue competing in Wushu, I'm going to keep bringing drafts of my short story to my writers' group meetings each week, and I'm going to keep posting to my blog once per week. Please post in the comments something you can do in your life to make a practice more real, more risky and more rewarding.
One reason I compete is because I am a total slacker when it comes to practicing. I can easily come up with excuses not to train: I'm reading a good book that I can't put down, I'm cooking dinner for my hubby, or feeling like, "I'm so bad at it, I shouldn't waste the teachers' time." So, I figure signing up for competitions forces me to put all that aside and just get to work, doing my best and being okay with whatever that looks like.
I just found out that in competition the form I'm working on is only supposed to take 45 seconds to perform. My teacher timed me, and I did it in about a minute. Doing it that quickly with that kind of pressure makes all of my movements, especially the punches and kicks, more powerful and I think, more realistic. I move more like I am punching and kicking "someone," not just thin air.
I recently read this quote by Ira Glass on Buzzfeed: "...do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap and your work will be as good as your ambitions. It's gonna take awhile. It's normal to take awhile. You've just gotta fight your way through."
I think that's what I've already been doing with Wushu, and now I need to do that with the rest of my life.
I'm writing a short story, and I was thinking, "Well, I can use it as just an exercise, just practice for the 'real writing' I'll do some day when I'm a good writer." Then I realized that in order to get better at writing, I have to make it count. I'm not planning on publishing a novel yet, but I think I could work on this short story enough to submit it for publication in a literary journal or something. It doesn't have to be an insurmountable goal to start, just something that's real and tangible. "Risk nothing, get nothing," right?
I think to really excel at anything, you have take risks and be ambitious, more than you think you deserve to be. I love this quote from Marianne Williamson: "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be?"
I'm going to continue competing in Wushu, I'm going to keep bringing drafts of my short story to my writers' group meetings each week, and I'm going to keep posting to my blog once per week. Please post in the comments something you can do in your life to make a practice more real, more risky and more rewarding.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Facing Fear: Giving It the Finger, and Letting It Give Me a Hand
I'm really good at being afraid: of heights, of being a "bad mother", that everything is just going to go wrong today, and so on, and so forth.
Then there are times when I do just the thing I'm afraid of. In the late '90s I noticed that when I went hiking, I took FOREVER to walk downhill because I was terrified of falling and getting hurt. So I started to study aikido, a Japanese martial art similar to judo which involves a lot of rolling around and falling down. I figured I might as well learn how to fall properly so it wouldn't be as scary. (I did aikido for 8 years, and it was scary every time I fell down or got thrown, but I learned that I could force myself past that fear, at least for a little while at a time. Plus I got to meet some really great people, which was a greater reward than I could have hoped for.)
For me, it's hard to face physical fears, and it's even harder to face emotional fears. I'm afraid to be vulnerable, to share my opinion with other people, knowing that at any moment I might sound like an idiot. I'm afraid to ask for help because what if people think I'm weak? I'm afraid that people will figure out I really have no idea what I'm doing.
Fear can be a hindrance at times, but it can also be a tool. Its job is to motivate us to protect ourselves. It reminds us that we're worth protecting.
So, writing this blog is scary for me. I'm afraid that people will read it and think it's crap or that I'm arrogant for thinking I have something to say. One part of fear tells me not to make myself vulnerable to criticism, but another fear tells me that if I don't do the things I really want to do, I'll be wasting opportunities to really be myself.
It's scary being myself. If I pretend to be someone, and people don't like me, that's okay because it's just a facade or a role I'm playing. But if I'm being myself and people don't like me, then I think that there must be something wrong with me. What I'm finding in practice is that the more real I am about what I think, how I feel, and who I am, the more comfortable I feel being with other people, and they in turn seem more comfortable around me.
I don't expect every person I interact with to like me. We're all on our various paths, and we're going to resonate with some people more than others. But being myself, as scary as it is, makes me more likely to surround myself with people who "get" me and appreciate me. It's meant a lot to me the people who have taken the time to read my blog and comment on it.
So, fear: friend or foe? I say friend as long as you follow the fears that lead you to a bigger, fuller life. If the fear urges you to shrink your comfort zone, hide your real feelings, or pretend to be someone you're not, acknowledge its attempt to protect you, then let it go. When fear comes along with a sense of excitement and possibility, let it stretch you to become even more the person you really are.
Then there are times when I do just the thing I'm afraid of. In the late '90s I noticed that when I went hiking, I took FOREVER to walk downhill because I was terrified of falling and getting hurt. So I started to study aikido, a Japanese martial art similar to judo which involves a lot of rolling around and falling down. I figured I might as well learn how to fall properly so it wouldn't be as scary. (I did aikido for 8 years, and it was scary every time I fell down or got thrown, but I learned that I could force myself past that fear, at least for a little while at a time. Plus I got to meet some really great people, which was a greater reward than I could have hoped for.)
For me, it's hard to face physical fears, and it's even harder to face emotional fears. I'm afraid to be vulnerable, to share my opinion with other people, knowing that at any moment I might sound like an idiot. I'm afraid to ask for help because what if people think I'm weak? I'm afraid that people will figure out I really have no idea what I'm doing.
Fear can be a hindrance at times, but it can also be a tool. Its job is to motivate us to protect ourselves. It reminds us that we're worth protecting.
So, writing this blog is scary for me. I'm afraid that people will read it and think it's crap or that I'm arrogant for thinking I have something to say. One part of fear tells me not to make myself vulnerable to criticism, but another fear tells me that if I don't do the things I really want to do, I'll be wasting opportunities to really be myself.
It's scary being myself. If I pretend to be someone, and people don't like me, that's okay because it's just a facade or a role I'm playing. But if I'm being myself and people don't like me, then I think that there must be something wrong with me. What I'm finding in practice is that the more real I am about what I think, how I feel, and who I am, the more comfortable I feel being with other people, and they in turn seem more comfortable around me.
I don't expect every person I interact with to like me. We're all on our various paths, and we're going to resonate with some people more than others. But being myself, as scary as it is, makes me more likely to surround myself with people who "get" me and appreciate me. It's meant a lot to me the people who have taken the time to read my blog and comment on it.
So, fear: friend or foe? I say friend as long as you follow the fears that lead you to a bigger, fuller life. If the fear urges you to shrink your comfort zone, hide your real feelings, or pretend to be someone you're not, acknowledge its attempt to protect you, then let it go. When fear comes along with a sense of excitement and possibility, let it stretch you to become even more the person you really are.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Why This Isn't "Fake It 'Til You Make It"
I was really inspired when The Bloggess told the crowd at the bookstore about Neil Gaiman giving her the advice: "Pretend you're good at it." It sounds so simple, but it requires shutting off that annoying voice in my head, the one I call The Perfectionist (other people name the voices in their heads, right? That's not just me, is it?).
The Perfectionist tends to shout things like:
Who the hell do you think you are?
Nobody cares what you think!
You can't write for shit.
BORING!!!!
So "Pretend you're good at it" is really very different from the phrase "Fake it 'til you make it." As soon as I hear the word "fake" I immediately feel The Perfectionist saying, "Look at you, trying to be somebody special, trying to pretend you're good at something, but you're just a fraud. Do the world a favor, shut the fuck up." Faking it just reinforces your belief that you can't do something whereas pretending allows you to be whatever you want and has no attachment to who you are. You can pretend you're just acting, playing a character. No harm, no foul. You're not trying to change the world, or even change who you are, although maybe after awhile, you might end up changing a little, maybe it won't be pretending as much after awhile.
Right now I'm pretending that I'm a blogger. I'm pretending that I have something to say and maybe a handful of people might want to read it. I'm pretending that all of the pain and suffering I've gone through and all the lessons I've learned have been to prepare me for this.
I've read many articles asking, "How would you finish the sentence 'If I weren't afraid, I would...'" If I weren't terrified, I would write. I'm still terrified, but I'm pretending it's all going to be okay.
What would you do if you weren't afraid?
The Perfectionist tends to shout things like:
Who the hell do you think you are?
Nobody cares what you think!
You can't write for shit.
BORING!!!!
So "Pretend you're good at it" is really very different from the phrase "Fake it 'til you make it." As soon as I hear the word "fake" I immediately feel The Perfectionist saying, "Look at you, trying to be somebody special, trying to pretend you're good at something, but you're just a fraud. Do the world a favor, shut the fuck up." Faking it just reinforces your belief that you can't do something whereas pretending allows you to be whatever you want and has no attachment to who you are. You can pretend you're just acting, playing a character. No harm, no foul. You're not trying to change the world, or even change who you are, although maybe after awhile, you might end up changing a little, maybe it won't be pretending as much after awhile.
Right now I'm pretending that I'm a blogger. I'm pretending that I have something to say and maybe a handful of people might want to read it. I'm pretending that all of the pain and suffering I've gone through and all the lessons I've learned have been to prepare me for this.
I've read many articles asking, "How would you finish the sentence 'If I weren't afraid, I would...'" If I weren't terrified, I would write. I'm still terrified, but I'm pretending it's all going to be okay.
What would you do if you weren't afraid?
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Inaugural Post
This is my first post on this blog. If you read the title of this post, you're probably thinking, "Well, yeah, DUH." So, I'm probably going to write a bunch of things that are really obvious to other people, but are brand-spanking new to me.
My heart is racing while I type this. I'm pretty sure this is stuff I should edit out later, but I know I'll be too lazy to. I imagine I sound a bit like I've been drinking, but it was only coffee, and I'm quite sure I asked for decaf.
So, this new blog. I freely admit, I totally stole the title of the blog from Neil Gaiman, told to me by The Bloggess herself. Well, she didn't just tell me personally, she told a bunch of people sitting and standing around in a Barnes & Noble. But anyway, she said she was doing a crappy job of recording an audiobook version of her book "Let's Pretend This Never Happened", and she sent an email to Neil Gaiman asking him for advice, and he wrote back, "Pretend that you're good at it."
So, I start writing a diary entry in my computer, which is really a Microsoft Word file, because I can't write by hand, it's too slow, and my hand starts to cramp, and I get that indent in my index finger. But I hate to think of writing in a "diary" or what I used to snootily refer to as "my journal". It feels too much like mental masturbation, although I'm sure other people write really interesting things in their diaries or journals, I just don't feel that I do.
So, this blog. What am I going to write about? I have no idea. Or at least, I only have one idea so far, and I could stick to it or change it, or forget about it, or whatever. Yeah, I'm stalling. My little idea is to write about my acts of courage, about taking risks, being vulnerable, making a fool of myself, whatever I would be tempted to hide, I'm going to publish. Not stuff that's private to other people or might upset them, just stuff about me and that includes stuff that other people are okay with sharing.
I've already admitted to plagiarizing words from Neil Gaiman, I think it's obvious I'm probably also plagiarizing The Bloggess' way of writing although I haven't read her blog, just her book, and I think most people with anxiety write and talk this way, so I'm probably plagiarizing lots of other people, but hey this blog is free, so you can't sue me, (I think).
Anyway, this is my new blog. Um, a little about me, I suffer from anxiety and depression, which means everyone around me suffers with my anxiety and depression, but I'm really lucky that most of those people are frankly awesome. I'm a mom with two kids. Lots of fun stuff runs in my family like depression, suicide, and diabetes. These will likely be topics of future posts, so if you're not into that kind of stuff, you probably won't want to come back here. But if you are still reading this far, and you do decide to come back, Welcome! and thank you. Please share with me your own acts of courage and taking risks. All too often we try to protect ourselves from getting hurt or getting judged, and I'm inspired by The Bloggess to live my life out loud and proud of my freakishness. It's what makes me me. Unique/freaky, it's really all the same thing to me.
So, if you find yourself in a situation where you want to do something but then think, "Oh, I couldn't do that" (because of so and so, whatever), do it anyway, and Pretend You're Good at It.
My heart is racing while I type this. I'm pretty sure this is stuff I should edit out later, but I know I'll be too lazy to. I imagine I sound a bit like I've been drinking, but it was only coffee, and I'm quite sure I asked for decaf.
So, this new blog. I freely admit, I totally stole the title of the blog from Neil Gaiman, told to me by The Bloggess herself. Well, she didn't just tell me personally, she told a bunch of people sitting and standing around in a Barnes & Noble. But anyway, she said she was doing a crappy job of recording an audiobook version of her book "Let's Pretend This Never Happened", and she sent an email to Neil Gaiman asking him for advice, and he wrote back, "Pretend that you're good at it."
So, I start writing a diary entry in my computer, which is really a Microsoft Word file, because I can't write by hand, it's too slow, and my hand starts to cramp, and I get that indent in my index finger. But I hate to think of writing in a "diary" or what I used to snootily refer to as "my journal". It feels too much like mental masturbation, although I'm sure other people write really interesting things in their diaries or journals, I just don't feel that I do.
So, this blog. What am I going to write about? I have no idea. Or at least, I only have one idea so far, and I could stick to it or change it, or forget about it, or whatever. Yeah, I'm stalling. My little idea is to write about my acts of courage, about taking risks, being vulnerable, making a fool of myself, whatever I would be tempted to hide, I'm going to publish. Not stuff that's private to other people or might upset them, just stuff about me and that includes stuff that other people are okay with sharing.
I've already admitted to plagiarizing words from Neil Gaiman, I think it's obvious I'm probably also plagiarizing The Bloggess' way of writing although I haven't read her blog, just her book, and I think most people with anxiety write and talk this way, so I'm probably plagiarizing lots of other people, but hey this blog is free, so you can't sue me, (I think).
Anyway, this is my new blog. Um, a little about me, I suffer from anxiety and depression, which means everyone around me suffers with my anxiety and depression, but I'm really lucky that most of those people are frankly awesome. I'm a mom with two kids. Lots of fun stuff runs in my family like depression, suicide, and diabetes. These will likely be topics of future posts, so if you're not into that kind of stuff, you probably won't want to come back here. But if you are still reading this far, and you do decide to come back, Welcome! and thank you. Please share with me your own acts of courage and taking risks. All too often we try to protect ourselves from getting hurt or getting judged, and I'm inspired by The Bloggess to live my life out loud and proud of my freakishness. It's what makes me me. Unique/freaky, it's really all the same thing to me.
So, if you find yourself in a situation where you want to do something but then think, "Oh, I couldn't do that" (because of so and so, whatever), do it anyway, and Pretend You're Good at It.
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