There are pet peeves, and then there are pet peeves. You know the difference. I'm going to talk about the mother of them all, especially for someone who deals with an anxiety disorder. You ready? Telling someone they are overreacting.
Now, I'll admit that I border on OCD and have a tendency to worry a lot. But that's what people with anxiety disorders do. They worry, and whether or not you agree with whatever is stressing them doesn't make it any less real. So, when you come be-boppin' along and tell them they are being silly, or they just need to relax, or, God forbid, you actually use the word overreact, all that's probably going to do is shoot them into the stratosphere in an angst-filled wad of pissed off. Why not save everyone the bother…and the angry exchange of un-pleasantries you've likely evoked…and just offer support. You can tell them you understand they are struggling with _____, and you'll do whatever you can to help them through it. Or give them a hug and buy them a Dr. Pepper. Something that says, "Hey, I know you have this issue, and it's very real to you, and I may not get it, but I love you and want you to feel better." And if you can't do that, then just don't say anything at all!
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Three years ago this month, I decided to come out of my shell and start talking about the mental health struggles that I, along with millions of other people, deal with on a daily… no, hourly… basis. I wrote that first blog piece not knowing if a single person would ever read it, but I knew I had to write it because that’s what my soul craves. I write. Sometimes it’s really heavy stuff and other times it’s random ramblings and funny stories that cross my mind. I was terrified when I hit the publish button on that first post. Terrified because, for better or worse, I was out there; which is an extremely vulnerable position to be in. Being out there means you’ve opened yourself up to be judged. And judged you are. It’s human nature. I’ve gone up and down these last three years, and I’ve documented every high and low right here. I did it because I hoped that someday my words would reach someone who needs to hear them and, fingers crossed, feel better because of them. There were times where I was certain that I would not make it another day. Times when I felt completely alone and isolated, and others when I couldn’t make myself sit up and take that one crucial step to get me out of bed. When cutting and starving myself were coping mechanisms. When I put up so many walls not even my husband or kiddos could get through. Hospitals, therapy, medication….all three have been part of my life these last 3 years. Through all of it, though, one thing stayed the same. When I hit those incredibly low lows, the only thing that filtered through to me was the insatiable need to write it out. Write, write, write. It has been such a release for me. And, I truly hope, a help to someone out there. I’ve talked a lot about this past summer and the life-changing months afterward that bring me to today. Getting the right help, connecting with my therapist, finally being ready to accept my part in my treatment – all of these were crucial pieces of my recovery. I am such a different person in the best ways possible. Sure, I still have rough days. But it’s a day, or maybe two. Not weeks or months. I’ve been on a journey to find myself, who I truly am at the core, and accept her and love her. I’ve learned how to be kind to myself, which was hard at first. I left a job that I’d brainwashed myself into thinking I couldn’t live without. I became a stay-at-home mom and got active in my daughters’ lives. I learned what I do and don’t like, and I’ve stopped apologizing for both. And here I am…not only am I celebrating my blog’s three-year birthday, but I’m celebrating the fact that I am living my dream. I can actually say that! Writing. It has always been such a joy to me. Sitting down and staring at a blank page is exciting because I know it’s the beginning of some kind of adventure. I used to never like adventure (outside of words on paper) because I was too scared. Of what, you ask? Being judged. Oh, that terrible J word. But, I’ve learned that judgement is okay. It won’t hurt you, unless you let it. In fact, it can be a real motivator. It motivated me. Because of it, I decided it was time to take a leap of faith, and grab onto the biggest adventure I could think of. I wrote a novel. And then I let people read it. And then I hired someone to professionally edit and critique it. And then I started sending it out to agents and publishing houses, and THEN, I decided while I waited to see what unfolded from that, I’d go ahead and publish it myself. Yeah. And people are buying my book, and all of a sudden….I’m a paid author. I’m Living My Dream! Three years ago I would have laughed at you if you told me I’d be here today, doing what I love, being with the ones I love, and loving life. But it’s no laughing matter. This is real. This is so real. And because I’ve found my way here, I wanted to share this with you, too. I want to tell anyone reading this who may be in a very low place right now – in that ugly, deep, dark pit – that it’s not over. Anything’s possible. That’s what they told us when we were kids. They said, “You can be anything you want to be” and “The only thing stopping you is you.” I heard these words often as a child and I believed them before the jaded cynicism of puberty and the teenage years took over my brain. But I’m here, right now— having been on suicide watch in a hospital, bearing scars on my body from knives and screwdrivers, having spent days in bed with nothing but a blank wall in front of me—telling you that they were right. You really can do and be anything you want to be. It’s hard work. It’s scary. And, sometimes, it’s lonely. But it’s possible, and I guess I just want the world to know it. I want YOU to know it. P.S. If you're interested (and I hope you are!), my book is on Amazon and I priced it at $.99 so it would be affordable. Hopefully people will take a chance on it. It seems to be working. If you happen to like vampires, witches, and things that go bump in the night, suspense and intrigue, romance,and maybe even a little sexy bedroom action, you might want to check it out. It was fun to write and it’s definitely fun to read. Right now it’s only on Kindle, but I’m working on getting it on the rest of the eReader platforms and a Print On Demand version for those that prefer a “real book” (like me). http://www.amazon.com/House-Kesteel-Everlyns-Fire-ebook/dp/B01D549FL2/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1458830228&sr=1-1&keywords=the+house+of+kesteel Victories come in big and small packages. They can be hard fought and won; or, they can hit you out of nowhere and leave you wondering, “When the hell did that happen?” I’ve had a couple of victories recently and I’m going to share them here because I think not only will it possibly inspire others to see the small victories in their own life, but it helps me account for my own so I can remind myself of them when I feel like giving up.
First, I have to confess something. I might have mentioned it in a previous post, but in case I haven’t, here it is: I am terrified of rejection. It’s something that normally cripples me, and in the past I’ve gone out of my way to avoid situations where I may be judged and found lacking. Maybe it’s just my personality, or maybe it’s because I suffer from depression, but it’s extremely hard for me to not take rejection personally. However, a little over a month ago, I made a conscious decision to push my fear to the side and really put myself “out there.” I wrote a novel, which is a victory in and of itself. But, because I believe in this story so much, before I go the self-publishing route, I made the decision to send queries out to literary agents pitching my manuscript. It’s a mentally exhausting process because so much effort goes into a single one-page letter that is designed, if written well enough, to make an agent want to read your work. Rejection is part of this business, and I get that. Believe me, I’ve received quite a few already. But, guess what? I haven’t let that stop me. I’m continuing to send my letters out, and I’m convinced that the right person— someone who believes in me and is willing to take a chance on this story—is out there. My hubs said it best, just a few days ago, when I was having a low moment. He said, “Alison, you may get hundreds of rejections. But all it takes is one yes.” He’s right. I just have to find my “yes” and I won’t stop until I do. My second victory is much smaller, yet in some ways, it’s huge, and it needs a little bit of explanation, too. I have a phobia of throwing up. In my entire 40 years, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve done it. Trust me, I am a master at holding it in and just being miserable, rather than getting it out and feeling better. I’ve always been totally amazed at pregnant women who suffer with morning sickness like it’s no big deal. For me, if I throw up, the world is ending. So, with all that being said, I’ve never handled it well when my kiddos have a stomach bug. I turn into the biggest stressball you’ve ever seen. Hubs normally has to deal with it, because I just can’t stay calm, and I end up freaking the girls out more than they already are. But then this weekend happened. We were at a friend’s house for a party, and a few hours into it, L got sick. Everywhere. Before I even knew what I was doing, I had her in the bathroom, talking to her calmly, splashing water on the back of her neck, vomit all over me, her, the floor, the wall, the door…and I was cool as a cucumber. Not once did the thought of “What if I get sick?” cross my mind. I just knew she needed me. After a bit, I had hubs take her home (we live 3 doors down) to get her cleaned up, while I stayed and cleaned up there. When I did make it home, L was in the bathroom getting sick again, and I still did not lose my cool! Guys! I was like a real mom in a crisis! I ended up making both of us pallets on the bathroom floor so we could be near the toilet if she still needed it during the night, and it wasn’t until I was watching her sleep that I realized I still wasn’t worried about catching something, or cleaning anything up, or well, anything. Victory! Some of you may be shaking your head like “Really? You call this a victory? That’s just being a mom.” But, I assure you, for me…for this kind of illness…it’s huge. What’s changed? Why am I suddenly able to cope with things that would have sent me into a panic attack a year ago? Many things are different now. I’m a stay at home mom, for one, and that alone has lowered my anxiety levels in countless ways. We’ve learned to cut corners while I pursue my writing dream, and we haven’t come even remotely close to not being able to pay anything. So, the fear of living under a bridge is gone, too, because I know we can and will figure things out if it ever becomes necessary. :) I have patience, energy, and dare I say it…confidence. And I’m not the only one noticing it. My daughters have made comments, given me compliments, on how much happier I seem. Victory? Hell yes. |
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