Great read

I'd like to think that I can say everything for my daughter, and myself, and mental illness as eloquently or concisely or beautifully as anyone out there. That somehow my words are as strong or stronger or more effective than any other you might read. But that is simply not true. Our story is one of many. Many that we can relate to. Many that speak to us in words better than our own.

This morning I came across the perfect article online to share with friends she has lost due to her anxiety. Words similar to the ones she has shared with me. Words she has not been able to articulate so perfectly herself yet, but I know are in her heart. Words I needed to hear. So today I ask you to read this from The Mighty and think of those around you living with a level of anxiety that we will never understand. And don't walk away. Thank you!

Vacation

It's been a long time coming and I didn't think we'd make it. With everything going on, this vacation we planned in December felt like it would never get here and if it did we would probably miss it. Yet here we are, at the beach. Eight days just the five if us. All five of us. Together. A miracle.

My daughter got out of the hospital on May 20. Can't believe it's been that long already, although some days it feels much longer. Sometimes it feels like everything learned there, everything gained was lost. By all of us. Like we have forgotten what she is dealing with and go back to the everyday, get-through-the-day lives we always had. We forget patience, she forgets her coping skills. We forget her brain is sick and she forgets we support her.

I think her biggest fear is that since she isn't in the hospital that we think she is better. That we think her new medication has solved everything and we don't need to worry about her mental illness anymore. As long as we dole out the proper number of pills everyday and make sure she gets enough sleep, she's fine. It's hard to remind her that we know that isn't true. We know that every day is a struggle. Every day is work. For all of us, just in different ways. Just as we can't fully understand what it is like to be her, she can't fully understand what it is like to be a family member, a parent, of someone with a mental illness.

But we try. We do our best, most days. Most days are good. Most days we are coming into our new normal. A family better understanding and adjusting. Most days, not all days. Many days we argue. Many days we don't want to try. Many days we blame each other.

Yet here we are. Imperfect. All five of us. Together at the beach for eight days. We brought it all with us, but we also left it all behind. Twenty-four hours in and we are enjoying each other again. Carefree and fun. Just what we needed. Re-energizing so that our best days continue to be most days. So that on the bad days, we can forgive each other a little easier. So we can have a little more patience. So we have more better days. This is the perfect reminder that each one of us, all five of us, matter as a part of this family and as individuals. We are the best, strongest, perfectly-imperfect family because we have each other.

This is our life. We are learning to live it. Together. All five of us.

The first day of the rest of her life

I don’t know why it feels that way. She is just out of her junior year and started her job shadowing today. Somehow she is all grown up and still my little girl who needs to be fiercely protected and monitored, watched over like a new baby. And yet there she is. In a salon all grown up and learning as she hopes to soon begin a career in cosmetology.

I have to admit, I am very nervous for her. What if she becomes overwhelmed? What if she talks too much or not enough and the stylists don’t like her? What if she doesn’t answer the phone correctly or forgets to offer a glass of water? Will she feel like a failure? Is she strong enough to try again and again? Or will she want to quit? Will her anxiety overtake her at the worst possible moment? Will she call me crying and wanting to come home early? If not today, when will it happen? Will it happen? What will it mean for the rest of her life? Why am I putting so much worry into one job shadowing experience half-way through her cosmetology education?

I have to remind myself that she is smart. And strong. And talented. And loves this field. I have to remind myself that we are still there when she gets home from the salon and there before she heads out. We are there if she falls and we are there when she succeeds. Because she will. She will struggle and she will excel. She will fall and she will soar. Everyone does. And she will learn how to handle it because we will be there every single step of the way. To support, to encourage, and to celebrate every single step. 

End the Stigma

I believe in the power of words and this Washington Post article is proof of just how powerful they can be. I appreciate the personal stories it includes and am encouraged by the support each person received once they shared their experiences and illnesses.

I could relate to so much of what was said in that article. My daughter has heard it all, especially about being overly dramatic and attention-seeking. My heart broke for her all over again as I read the stories. And I wondered, as a 16-year-old girl, will her peers be as accepting to her as adults have been to those in the article? I hope so, but I fear not.

I believe it is the personal stories that will help end the stigma of mental illness, not just those of the people diagnosed, but of their families, friends, classmates, and co-workers as well. We all are living with the illness. We walk on eggshells and try to console without truly understanding or comprehending the issue. We get verbally attacked and demeaned for not “getting it”. We are expected to come running when needed, but know when to provide space. We hear “I’m sorry” more than anyone on the planet. And sometimes we get blamed for making it worse.

We need to be strong. We need to learn to listen and be patient. We need to accept apologies every time because they are sincere every time. We have a responsibility to support our loved ones with every ounce of our beings. Even when it hurts, because it will. Even when we want to quit, because we will. Even when they push us away, because they will. We need to tell our stories so they know it is okay to tell theirs.

We need to keep the conversation going, to draw attention to the need for better care, not just for the ones we know, but the ones we don’t. Our loved ones, co-workers, friends, and strangers deal with enough most days just trying to be healthy. They can’t escape it. They don’t get a break. They don’t get to walk away from it or go on about their day without it. I don’t think we should either.

We need to be their strength when they have none. We need to listen when the world won’t. We need to be their voice when they don’t have one. We need to step up when they shut down. We need to do more than just listen to their stories, we need to act. We need to make it our job to end the stigma.

We need to do better

It has been a week since my daughter has been out of the mental health unit of the hospital. Last Friday at about this time we walked outside and she took her first breath of fresh air in three weeks. It seems like every day there is an article or report about how mental health benefits of being outside and breathing fresh air, yet there is no place at Strong where kids can do that. With all of the high-tech, stat-of-the-art wings at the University of Rochester’s Strong Hospital, there is no safe place for these kids to get fresh air. I think that needs to change.

I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to improve CPEP (Comprehensive Psychiatric Emergency Program), increase staff and space, provide more beds so kids don’t have to wait days to be admitted and begin treatment, or how to provide a safe outdoor space to aid in their treatment, but it needs to be done.

It breaks my heart that the adolescent side of CPEP is always packed. Kids and parents spread out on every piece of worn furniture, leaning on one another trying to sleep while waiting up to 24 hours or more to be seen. Some are sent home, others are held even longer while they wait for a bed to open up in the all but forgotten R wing. It was 48 hours for us.

It isn’t the fault of the staff. They do their best and are amazing. But the need is big - bigger than CPEP and the R wing can handle. Too many kids with an invisible illness that takes on so many different forms. CPEP and the R wing are the only place these kids get a respite from the stigma of mental illness. Where they can let their guard down and be completely honest with one another and the staff who work with them.

Unfortunately, I believe the stigma outside that wing is too great to get the financial support they need to do better, to provide more. That is our job to correct. We need to get the right people involved so we can do better for our kids. We need to be open about mental illness. We need to end the stigma and talk about treatment. And we need to support that treatment any way we can. It starts here. We need to do better.

Looking for "normal"

I’m at my wits end. To be honest, my house is a disaster. It hasn’t been scrubbed clean in weeks. The baskets of clean laundry are taking over the living room and there is still a mountain waiting to be cleaned. I expected to get so much more done this weekend since we didn’t have to visit the hospital. Instead it was more exhausting that I expected it to be. And I have no energy to do more.

At least my daughter is home. She came home Friday. It was a nice day, albeit busy. We began moving her into and organizing her new room, the kids and I went to the mall so the girls could get their eyebrows threaded and then went out to dinner. By the time we got home my husband was home from work and my sister, her husband and three kids had come out from Syracuse to see MacKenzie and help with the house. And it was right back to work.

As part of keeping a closer eye on MacKenzie and making it easier to check in with her, we decided to swap her room with our four-year-old son’s - moving her downstairs and him up. This was a more involved project than I had hoped – moving every personal item, weeding through clothes to get rid of ones that were no longer wanted or worn; stacking his things in the dining room while we brought down her stuff. Now all of the leftovers and unneeded items are still in there. We can’t eat at the table as a family until I get all of that cleared out.

Between feeling overwhelmed, hoping MacKenzie was okay, and worrying about the state of my house, I haven’t had much sleep the last few nights. Plus, moving my son upstairs and so far away from me has caused more separation anxiety for me than I expected. And I am dragging right now. I don’t want to keep moving forward; I want to crawl into a hole.

I have job, a husband, three kids who need me, and a house that needs my attention. I am working hard to balance it all, and don’t think I am succeeding. I am thankful to have a husband who is my rock and my shoulder to lean on when I want to collapse. I’d be lost without him. I also have three amazing kids who love each other, and us, very much.  I believe we are closer than most families and am thankful we have each other. I am just clinging to the hope that each day will be better and we will find and settle into our new normal. 

The next step….

My daughter is being discharged tomorrow. She is leaving the hospital and round-the-clock care. It is good news, but it doesn’t mean it’s over. For so many getting out of the hospital after a physical illness means you’re well, or mostly well, and the worst is over. Maybe that is, at least in part, true here. Maybe the worst is over, at least for now, but she is not “well”. This is just the next step on the road to understanding and living with a mental illness. Therapy, changes in medication, and extra support have all played a role in getting her to where she is today and getting her discharged tomorrow. She has a lot of work ahead of her; we have a lot of work ahead of us.

We need to do a better job of checking in with her, monitoring her moods and behavior, and setting realistic expectations. We need to do a better job of listening to her verbal and non-verbal cues about how she is doing. She needs to be better about letting us know when she is struggling, managing friendships and maintaining realistic expectations on how much we can do for her because there is so much that she will have to do for herself.

She has the hardest task of all ahead of her. She needs to be her own biggest cheerleader. She needs to speak up for what she needs and accept that there are going to bad days and difficult situations ahead. She needs to hold onto hope through the dark times, knowing that brighter days are ahead. She needs to hold onto the friends who care and realize that they are doing their best to understand her, even when they don’t get it right. She needs to let go of the people who will never understand and never get it right. 

She also has to be her own strength. She has to reenter school and deal with the questions about where she has been, and the comments about how “she always seemed fine.” She has to go to school with teenagers who don’t understand mental illness, don’t believe it is real, or don’t want to deal with someone who has it.  She will have to face busy teachers who are trying hard to prepare students for final exams. She will need strength to get up and face each day. Strength to address the ignorance with patience. Strength to push through it all to do it over again the next day and every day after that. 

People are going to be under the false impression that just because she is no longer in the hospital she is okay. Everything is fine and life is back to normal. That is not true. This is just the next step. And we will continue taking the next step every single day, one day at a time. 

So proud

I know she is really struggling, but I am so proud of my daughter. Proud of her for asking for help. Proud of her for being committed to treatment. Proud of her for not giving up.

Two weeks ago today I took her to the emergency room where 48 hours later she was admitted to the mental health unit. She has watched other kids come and go. Kids she thinks were “way worse” than her. And although she has been struggling with this, she hasn't given up. She has broken down, but she hasn’t given up. She knows she isn’t ready to leave. That her treatment will take longer this time. That the medications will take longer to become effective. That it will not be an easy road.

It breaks my heart that she is looking forward to a time when she will be “better” because she won’t ever be completely “better”. Not in the I-had-the-flu-and-got-better sense. She will improve. She will learn coping skills. She will have more good days than bad. She will value her life. She will be a different kind of “better”. But she isn't there yet.

I had to spend the weekend looking at pictures of her school-mates in all of their prom attire, while her dress hung unworn in her closet. I got a message from someone reaching out because she wasn’t in any of the photos and questioning why. She wouldn’t have been in them anyway. Because just like the person who messaged me, most of the people in those photos turned their back on my daughter months ago. They didn’t want to deal with her.  They didn’t see her illness as an illness and something she had no control over. And while I understand that and am not angry about it, it still hurts.

That is why I starting writing this blog. Because people need to understand that mental illness is real. It isn’t a choice. It isn’t something you can “get over” like a bad mood. I can’t tell you how many friends have told her she has no reason to “be sad”. That is what makes it an illness. It isn’t based on the good or bad things in your life. It doesn’t go away when you get your way or because you spend more time reading your bible or because you decide to be a better person or because you live in a nice house. It improves with treatment, support, and a shit-ton of hard work.

People with a mental illness need as much, if not more support than those dealing with a physical illness. It is invisible. It is invasive. It is relentless. And it is a daily struggle to manage. There is no relief. And there is so little understanding. That needs to change. 

I am so proud of my daughter. She is beautiful and smart. She is loving, accepting, caring and outgoing. She is open-minded and opinionated. She is thoughtful and giving. She is her little brother's best friend. She is so much more than her mental illness. And she is going to use her beautiful life helping others understand, building awareness, and making sure that others know they are not alone. 

No end in sight

Today is day nine. She was admitted to the mental health unit nine days ago. On average patients stay 7-10 days. Not her. Not this time. Today, they are still not ready to start talking about discharge. They don’t want her thinking about getting back into her daily routine, her life, just yet. No driver’s education, no hours in cosmetology classes, no AP tests at school, just getting “better” - whatever that means when you have a mental illness.

We go see her every day in some combination of parents and siblings, but it isn’t easy. Life is still moving forward and we are moving with it. There is work and school and daycare. There is laundry and dishes and grocery shopping. There is making a sandwich or having cereal for dinner. There is rushing to get things together so we can go to the hospital for a few hours. There is little “being home” before 8 p.m., just do it all again the next day.

And as she sits there, getting “better”, I still can’t help but feel that she is largely forgotten. That I have left her to get better on her own so I can go on with life.  That people think she’s fine. She’ll be okay. She isn’t dying in there. I wish people better understood - I wish I better understood - that she is fighting to stay alive. To want to stay alive. To want to be here. To want to be.

And there is no end in sight. No end to the rushing to see her, no end to the cereal and sandwiches, no end to being home at 8 o’clock every night, and no end to doing everything we can to support her and be there for her no matter what. I wouldn’t have it any other way because the alternative is unimaginable.  

And life just keeps moving forward.  

"If you Fall" by JJ Heller

"If You Fall" 

You are a house that's broken down, you are a house that's burning.

And everything in me wants to run, but that's not love.

If you fall, I fall with you.

If you hurt I feel it too.

Even if my heart turns black and blue, I will love you.

I planted seeds down in the ground, not every one is growing.

When I am tempted to give up, I choose love.

If you fall, I fall with you.

If you hurt I feel it too.

Even if my heart turns black and blue, I will love you.

Beauty and light will fight for you.

Goodness will rise, it shines for you.

If you fall, I fall with you.

If you hurt I feel it too.

Even if my heart turns black and blue...

If you fall, I fall with you.

If you hurt I feel it too.

Even if my heart turns black and blue, I will love you... I will love you.

You can hear it here.

My biggest mistake

I admit it. I failed as a mother. Just like so many others I misunderstood what my daughter was dealing with. While I have always sought help for my daughter when she said she needed it, I was never fully supportive. Because I didn’t think I had to be. Because I didn’t fully understand.

Until a week before this recent hospital admission, I believed my daughter could be better if she really wanted to. I believed that she was choosing not to get better because she wanted the attention. I believed she was using her illness to manipulate me and everyone around her to get what she wanted. Whatever that was. I believed she knew she was sick and wanted to use it to get out of trouble or as an excuse to avoid consequences for her choices. I thought I was doing okay because I at least behaved like it was all true, even though I wasn’t sure I fully believed it. I was wrong. I had failed as a mother.

But my beliefs have finally changed. And luckily, before I lost her forever. I believe that her breakdowns are not a choice or an effort to get attention. I believe it is her illness. I believe she says and does the things she says and does because of the illness, not intentional manipulation or deceit. I believe she wants to be better, but her illness won’t let it happen. I believe that every time she apologizes, she means it. I believe she loves her family more than anything in the world and would never intentionally behave in a way that is hurtful or selfish. I believe she is doing the best she can with the cards she has been dealt. And I believe it is exhausting and I don’t blame her for feeling like she just can’t do it anymore. She wants to be free from her head and she can’t catch a break.

I have stopped questioning motive because I know there is none. Now I can honestly put all of my effort, and all of my heart, behind helping her get better. I will encourage and listen, I will sit through the breakdowns and I will talk her through the lows. And she will get better because I believe her.

I know that many people in our lives feel the same way that I did. I get it. I don’t blame anyone for wanting to distance themselves from the drama that encompasses our family. I know that many will still judge me as a parent; saying that I am too lenient or that I am letting her fool me. I don’t care. Because I believe her. Completely. I will stop failing her and be the mother she needs. I will never fully understand what she is going through, but I will fully support her in her treatment and she will get through this because I believe her.

Stop judging my daughter

Seriously, just stop.

May is Mental Health Awareness Month, and more specifically, this is Children’s Mental Health Awareness Week. Ironic that yesterday I checked my daughter into the Mental Health and Wellness Unit for her third stay in just over three years. So many people have turned their back on her because they don’t understand that she has a mental illness. They think she is just trying to get attention or that I let her get away with too much or she is just overreacting. “She seems so normal.” And to you I say - Shut. Your. Face!

Please spend a moment in her shoes. You know something isn’t “right” but can’t seem to correct it. You know you have no reason for the mood swings, but can’t stop them. You get upset and can’t calm yourself down. Nothing seems to help you. You can’t control your thoughts or behaviors. You know you are being irrational, but can’t control it. You can’t identify your “triggers” because there doesn’t seem to be any. You lose even your closest friends because they can’t handle your neediness or emotional outbursts. To them you are selfish. You think the world revolves around you. You read way too far into everything everyone says and snap on the turn of dime. You can’t escape it. You can’t breathe. You are constantly feeling guilty over how you react, and apologize profusely after the fact, but no one listens to your apologies anymore. They don’t believe you because the same thing keeps happening over and over. They know you are going to do it again. You know you are going to do it again. You don’t want to. You don’t know when it is going to happen until it is too late. You can’t stop it. And no one gets it. You are on top of the world one minute – the person everyone loves to be around – and then you fall off that cliff - so far down no one is there. Everyone walks away and then they wonder why you have abandonment issues. The fear, anxiety, depression, mistrust, and misunderstanding are too much and you want to end it. You plan to end it. When you get the chance, you will end it.

I am not asking anyone to excuse “bad” or hurtful behavior. I am asking for you to understand that it is an illness and be patient with her. This isn’t her choice. She didn’t choose this illness and she doesn’t want to be where she is now. She doesn’t choose to hurt the people closest to her, but it happens all the time. She doesn’t choose not to have friends, but the illness drives them away. It is for this reason and so many more that this is so often a fatal illness. How about we all commit to being part of the solution, to help and support treatment, to hug a little longer and love a little more? How about we help her and everyone struggling just like her to get the support and treatment they need to keep going? To want to keep living. To plan to keep living. Because they get the change to just keep living.