My next six months

Next Six Months Bipolar Mom Life

Doesn’t it feel like we were just taking down the holiday lights and other decorations, pine needles all over the carpet in the family room? This year Thanksgiving and Christmas seemed to zoom by before I could catch my breath or even begin to finish getting ready.

Life is careening by in an instant.

My husband’s theory on the passing of time rings more true every year. He believes that when you’re four, a year is a really, really long time because it’s a quarter of your total life. Days and weeks seem long. But as we get older, as in forty years old, a year is only 2.5% of our life so it rushes by faster than a year at the age of four.

I’m glad I have a few more years to go before forty.

Typing this out sounds funny, but I do believe as we get older time passes faster. I guess that’s why it made sense to me when I read something posted by a writer I admire. She said that when people who have terminal illnesses reach the end they say it felt like life was only 6 months long. She suggested we all live as though we have 6 months to live. My IG scrolling stopped on her post and I thought about my husband’s time theory.

It hit home.

January just came and went. If I sit and think about the next six months and what I want them to look like, this is what I see:

More hugs, more kisses, more snuggles.

I want to go to bed earlier and wake up to see more sunrises.

No more hesitating when I think of a friend and want to call. I want more intimate conversations and less texting.

Date nights with my love and girl’s nights with my girlfriends.

Reading extra bedtime stories to my littles.

A 4-day mini-vacation with my husband to someplace warm and tropical.

Writing letters of appreciation to my family, especially my beautiful Grandma who turns 91 next week.

Dessert when I’m craving chocolate.

A glass of expensive red wine with my best friend who will help me talk it out when I’ve had a shitty day.

More writing with my flowy pen and favorite notebooks and less scrolling social media in boredom.

Time to walk and breathe in the fresh air, appreciate the beauty of nature surrounding me, and allow myself to learn how to meditate.

Listening with focus to new stories and developing new friendships that are built on trust and shared experiences.

More writing, less editing.

What do your next six months look like?

My story matters. And so does yours.

OC87Logo Your Story Matters Bipolar Mom Life on OC87RecoveryDiaries

 

 

 

 

I used to remain silent about my mental illness. I let fear control whether I shared my story even as my heart urged me to speak up, to free myself of the heavy secret.

I know how hard it is to open up. But the more we show our true selves to the world, the sooner the world will begin to understand our struggles. The same way we understand how a diabetic has to inject insulin, and how a cancer patient undergoes radiation and chemo. We know this because they aren’t ashamed of their stories.

We shouldn’t be either.

Last year I found an incredible documentary on Netflix called OC87. It’s a film about Bud Clayman, whose story is similar to mine in ways. He was a stellar student and went to college to pursue a career in filmmaking. It was during his college years when he had a breakdown, had to return home and entered a long-term residential treatment facility.

Thirty years later, in 2010, Bud released the movie that changed his life. It’s an inspiring story that provides a glimpse into the mind of someone trying desperately to find a way to regain control over his mental illness. Through video diaries, Bud reveals eye-opening glimpses of his inner world, including OC87, an altered state of mind named by Bud and his therapist.

Bud fought intrusive thoughts daily, and over the years was diagnosed with major depression, bipolar disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder and Asperger’s Syndrome. But it’s his determined personality which allows him to use his creativity to learn to manage his illness and educate the general public to end stigma.

I recently was invited to write for Bud’s online community and would love for you to visit OC87 Recovery Diaries to read my essay.

 

Pushing Myself to Write a Book

5325613416_0964491115Photo Credit: Honey Pie! via Compfight cc

You say you want to write a book. You say this, and yet, you let days slip past without writing anything but emails or tweets or status updates. Those are never going to turn into a book.

You say you want to write a book. And yet, the days keep passing, the weeks and months that put more and more distance between you and your experiences of mental illness. They are beginning to feel more and more like harrowing nightmares that you’ve woken up from all sweaty and breathing fast.

But they weren’t nightmares. They were real life. And you better get these experiences down, out of the corners of your memory where you buried them for safekeeping, or else they may fade away completely.

Just write it already.

I’ve got a new Ed Sheeran album to inspire me. Plus, binders full of tips and tricks I was fortunate enough to acquire from a dear online friend who I’ll be meeting a year from next month.

But then summer schedules get in the way. My body moves like it’s stuck in quicksand. Each morning the early sunrise finds me digging myself out after staying up too late because after a 7:30pm yoga class is the only time I have peace and quiet to write and surf the internet. Walking into a quiet house at 9pm, grateful the kids are asleep, the dishes await me. The laundry needs to be folded. Trash taken out because it’s full to the top.

Still, I’m grateful my husband at least watched the kids and put them to bed so I could have my time.

Seventy-five minutes of pure blissful stretching, sweat rolling down my legs and arms as I melt into the poses which center me. Class leaves me tired, yet energized. These past three weeks of practicing yoga twice a week have begun to chisel my body and mind. Next items to tackle are prioritizing my schedule and sticking to it.

When there’s camp in the morning with only an hour and a half before early pick-up so that he doesn’t have to miss swimming and then dance class in the afternoon for her, the moments for writing are consumed by responding to emails and texts. And phone calls from my love in the middle of the day or on his way home, just checking in to see if I need anything.

I wish it didn’t take me an hour to get warmed up when I finally sit down at my desk and the clock reads 10pm. Discipline and focus are what I lack. I know this, and yet still have to click around for awhile, loosening up my typing fingers. It’s something I want to work on this procrastination issue I have. Wouldn’t be a writer if I didn’t struggle with this monkey on my back.

Baby steps. Other women writers with families have written memoirs. I’ll get there. I have a feeling my memories will protect themselves inside my head until I’m ready to resurrect them in the order that makes the most sense for this book that is sleeping in my heart. One step at a time.

Snow and writing

Snow-and-Writing

This week has been full of snow and writing. I haven’t posted anything to the blog this week because I’ve been busy writing for Postpartum Progress since I’m a member of the Warrior Mom Editorial Team. If you haven’t already seen my posts via my social media promos, I’d love for you to check them out. {Postpartum Psychosis Doesn’t Equal Failing as a Mom & Psychosis During Pregnancy and What It Taught Me are the titles of my two posts.} When I hear the song from Frozen it makes me think of that time in my life when I was having babies and not taking medication in order to protect them.

Seems so long ago, but it hasn’t even been four years since my last episode. Back then I worked to hide what I had been going through. I’ve matured since then and I now know – from the tweets, comments and emails I receive from people who have read my words – that I made the right decision. Speaking out helps so many people. I’ll never know how many, but my heart is content with my decision to become an advocate.

It’s been a long week here with Monday being MLK Day and the little man off from school, then the snowstorm on Tuesday which led to school being cancelled for the rest of the week. I’ve been trying not to tear all my hair out from the “I’m-at-the-end-of-my-rope” feeling due to having to entertain a 3 and 5-yr old for four days straight. We’re all getting on each other’s nerves from being cooped up in the house all week. I say cooped up because for the most part I despise winter and only go out in negative wind chill weather when absolutely necessary.

Like for my therapist appointment yesterday. Couldn’t ask for better timing.

I’ve been working on a ton of stuff for the show in May. Hard to believe it’s only four months until we take the stage. Audition slots are starting to fill up and my Association Producer Anne Marie and I are thrilled to see everything coming together. If you know anyone you you think would be fabulous for the show – I’m talking creative, funny, inspirational, energetic – please have them sign up for a spot before they’re gone.

I recently accepted a new writing assignment for an organization doing a tremendous amount of inspirational, educational, critical work surrounding mental health awareness. I’m honored to have been approached by them and cannot wait to share my first post with you. It’s a once-a-month gig, which is definitely manageable and plus, it’s an opportunity I couldn’t turn down. {Sorry I broke my promise, Maria – but this is worth it!}

So yeah, a lot going on. But if I’ve learned anything over these last few months it’s that the work eventually gets done. When the kids are calling for me to get down on the carpet and play “picnic” or board games with them, I listen. I close the laptop and grab hold of the quality time. Or when exhaustion sets in, we snuggle up on the couch and watch a movie together. Life is good. Better than good, actually. It’s pretty damn amazing. (Including the occasional teachable parenting moment, which I wrote about for WhatToExpect.com recently.)

   “If you are always trying to be amazing, you will never know how amazing you can be.”                                                             – Maya Angelou