tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37108368399968751342024-03-13T06:05:08.445-07:00A Depressed Mormon MommyThe ramblings of a woman with the type of insanity that a long family history of LDS women with great faith, clinical depression, and terrible taste in men can catalyst when added to the insanity of being a full-time wife, mother, and opinionated rebel.Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-29526796473148964682012-09-18T22:21:00.001-07:002012-09-18T22:22:36.876-07:00If I could write you a song...If I could write you a song...<br />
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I would write a tune that stirs your soul and makes you remember that Beauty lives...<br />
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I would sing it to you everyday and every dark, dismal moment when the sun doesn't shine and sky is caving in...<br />
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I would compose some catchy lyrics, that ease your soul and lift your burden...<br />
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But in that long chorus would be the ones that capture your pain, reflect it back to you...like a mirror of validation to ease your troubled mind...<br />
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I would be able to belt it from the rooftops, unafraid of who might hear me sing it...<br />
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Unafraid of their judgments our criticisms, unafraid of allowing my Whole Self to present, instead of the pieces of my personality I use to make others feel comfortable...<br />
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I would make you feel it so deeply that your heart feels like it may just pound its way through your skin and charge outward into the deep, dark, wonderousness of the atmosphere....<br />
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If I could write you a song...<br />
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But I'm no songwriter. So the tune falls dead on this very page.Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-32854623827534395602012-08-08T01:38:00.002-07:002012-08-08T01:40:36.031-07:00Where am I?The great thing about the cyber world is that it is sooooo easy to disappear for a while. I didn't just disappear, I dropped off the face of the cyber-planet, I know.<br />
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*Sigh*<br />
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But I did it for a reason.<br />
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I did it because I needed to make some changes. Big, Tough, Scary changes.<br />
And do you know what Big, Tough, Scary changes did for me?<br />
They helped.<br />
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They helped me find peace and joy.<br />
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They helped me cope on the days when absolutely NO peace and joy were in sight.<br />
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So why am I back here? Back talking to my proverbial shadow?<br />
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Well, there's 2 reasons really:<br />
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1) I went away because I, personally, needed to try some other mental health/venting exercises besides the blog....but when I did so, I deeply missed the input and charm and empathy of the wonderful people who somehow found me and joined me on this journey. If you are reading this, I missed you. I really, really did.<br />
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2) Much like a shadow, I will not ever be able to separate myself from this disease. It is a part of me. When I am standing in a place of light and knowledge is when I can see that most clearly.<br />
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So, I'm back. And though right now I desperately need to turn off the Olympics and just go to sleep, I promise I will come back soon and document all the BTSCs (Big, Tough, Scary Changes) I've been making. But for now, if you want a feel-good, empowering moment, watch this:<br />
<br />Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-65380118898340492332012-05-23T01:44:00.002-07:002012-05-23T01:44:51.452-07:00I feel it in my bones...Some days I feel: old.<br />
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When I was young people used to say that I had an "old soul". Now, I am not young, but my soul still seems to be aging away. Sometimes, I am grateful for this. This week has seen a lot of grief in my loved ones lives. There have been loved ones lost in tragic and terrible accidents. So terrible, so sudden, that all I can think to do is cry and hold my babies tight, grateful and slightly ashamed that someone else, someone who I feel deserves more than me has lost so much more than she deserves.<br />
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And for all of the difficulty, the roller coaster, the strain & stress of Daily Living...when faced with the alternative of Life cut short by Death the human mind naturally comes to a place of contemplation, a place of reflection.<br />
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My contemplation makes me feel the need to find a space of peace in my life. There are critics and harassers in the world who pointedly disagree with my viewpoint in life. That is to be expected. I sometimes think that if no one at all disagrees with you, then you are either a doormat or a bully.<br />
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My life is not easy. In fact, most peoples' isn't. That is also to be expected. I cannot expect easiness to come any more than I can expect the waves to stop beating against the shore.<br />
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My life is not perfect, but it is mine. I can make changes. I can do hard things. I can cry/scream/yell/blog when it gets to overwhelming. There is no shame in this. There is only emotion. Pure, raw God-given emotion.<br />
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My disease is Not My Fault. Not managing my disease, my depression, as well as I should, that is sometimes my fault. Not taking care of myself as well as I should, that is also usually my fault, but today I am finally beginning to own the fact that I Did Not DO Anything to Deserve This. My loved ones, they did not DO Anything to deserve their personal tragedy, either.<br />
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It just happened.<br />
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And that, that sad fact will age your soul the second you fully comprehend it.Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-20743640793930245222012-04-24T23:10:00.001-07:002012-04-24T23:10:55.330-07:00What do we fill our days with?Do you ever stop at the end of the day and wonder,<br />
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No, no I'm not jumping on some stupid bandwagon of saying being a stay-at-home-mom isn't the same as working. Not at all, it's freaking ridiculously hard, unrelenting work. Managing a household is intensely hands-on work...but for the most part, it's monotonous, repetitive ridiculous work. I thought this today as I put ALL of my Littles' clothes back in the dresser for the 2nd time. Baby Little is walking now, and at every opportunity loves to pull each piece of clothing out. Today it happened right after I spent an hour folding the clothes and putting them away. I spend my day cleaning up a mess, only to have them make another, and then cleaning up that one. Dishes and Laundry, need I say more?<br />
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Lately I've been spending a lot of time and energy planning Baby Little's first birthday. I spend a lot of time fixing and painting things around the house. I still waste a lot of time on Facebook. I watch too much Netflix, usually while I clean or nurse.<br />
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I do A LOT in a day, but at the end, I find myself sitting alone in the living room with all of my house in bed feeling like, "What did I do today?"<br />
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For some reason, this thought makes me feel incredibly lonely.<br />
When my husband came in the room for a minute before he went to sleep and went over all of the things that he needed help getting done tomorrow and our plans for the rest of the week, that made me feel Lonely, too.<br />
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I've been sitting here stewing, trying to figure out why. I think it's because I feel like modern life is So Busy. Just Busy. It's the idea, I guess, of quantity over quality. We fill our days with the mundane musts, a billion little projects, and work work work. As I've illustrated before, I am a Dixie Chicks fan. One of the songs says something like,<br />
"We run on the treadmill, keep slaving away, till there's no time for talking about troubles in mind, and the doors are all closed between your heart and mine. More Love, I can hear our hearts crying, more love."<br />
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And this is why I think having such a "busy" modern day is still lonely. We spend our time in our own homes or our own jobs just filling out the <i>Checklist</i> of things to be done. We grow addicted to the virtual reality of TV shows and social networks, because we want to feel apart of a community. But there is no substitute for face time. No remedy for the fact that relationships are like plants, and need to bask in the sunshine of quality time together. There is no fixing the fact that we need Each Other.<br />
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<br />Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-60180665388301998402012-04-17T16:37:00.001-07:002012-04-19T23:11:42.319-07:00This is a no-win situation...I want to bang my head against a wall.<br />
<a name='more'></a>Today has been trying. My preschooler has been trying. My baby has been trying. Even my dog has been trying. I feel like running away. I feel like hiding. I feel like hugging them. I feel a little like spanking them. I feel like I'm DrOwnInG. I feel like I need to SCREEEEEAAAAAMMMMM!<br />
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I feel like crying. </div>
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I am crying.</div>
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Because on days like today I feel like I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I can be this person, this "has-it-all-together, knows-how-to-be-functional" person. I feel angry, I feel tired. I feel guilty because I'm on my computer vomiting this while my children are wreaking havoc around me and clamoring for my undivided attention.<br />
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Does that make me a bad mom? I feel like it does. And at the same time, I don't know what else to do right now without losing it completely. And I mostly feel crappy-by-comparison, because try as I might not to, I keep thinking of all the annoying picture perfect moms in my ward who get through their days with plastered on smiles and bake cutesy cupcakes while they are at it. And even though a part of me knows that just isn't me, I still feel like somehow I'm failing to meet the Raised Bar of Mommyhood. I feel like this is all my fault. </div>Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-58744744740537783632012-04-15T12:31:00.000-07:002012-04-19T23:12:56.853-07:00We are ALL CHILDREN OF OUR HEAVENLY PARENTS!!!<br />
There have been several research studies done about how depression/anxiety affect the personalities of those who suffer from them. One of the positive attributes that is typically seen in depressive people is an increased ability for empathy. This is a really beautiful thing that I have always been truly grateful for from this disease. Our trials shape us, they shape the people we become, and it brings me some measure of peace to know that this illness has helped me to better understand and relate the Dearly Loved Children of God that surround me.<br />
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I am sad to say that recently in my family I have heard a lot of mean, hurtful, racist things said about Mexicans. I am not Mexican, I don't have any close family or friends that are Mexican, but I still found myself saddened, shocked, and angry to hear such hurtful things said so casually. It seems here in Utah that so many people want to blame everything on the Mexicans, because you know, they are all illegal immigrants. *rolling my eyes* Let's be honest here, there are terrible people of every race and nationality. There are also amazing, kind, wonderful people of every nationality. And that is just the point: Your race and nationality doesn't make you a bad (or good) person. And for once, I was grateful that I have suffered from this disease, because my overdeveloped sense of empathy just led me to think about what it must be like to be Latino in Utah. And then I read this amazing post by a friend of the blog who recently took a vacation in Mexico called <a href="http://lefolauga.com/2012/04/13/you-could-be-selling-trinkets-in-the-sun-for-a-living/" target="_blank">You Could be Selling Trinkets in the Sun for a Living</a>. In it he reminds us all that if you want to generalize some facts about Mexicans, how about generalizing the fact that they are some of the Hardest Working people I have ever encountered. Truly, I have known Mexican people who were maids, janitors, line cooks at McDonalds, landscapers, painters, whatever work they could find. They take the work, and they work harder and faster then sometimes seems humanly possible. As a culture, I know very few other cultures that work harder. I am not saying the culture is perfect, from my limited observations it's a rather chauvinistic culture with some real tendencies for violence, but I am saying that that is the culture...Not the individual people.<br />
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And on this Sunday Sabbath it kind of makes me think of a little biblical story, about a man who was beaten and injured on the side of the road and his own countrymen with their money and influence passed him by. And the one who finally stopped to help him, was a lowly traveler from a neighboring country that was considered dangerous and "unclean". And that man, that "Good Samaritan" was who Jesus Christ spoke of with such great love and admiration. Christ's example clearly left no room for such hatred and ridiculous debasement of Children of God whom he equally loved.Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-67869865454480492392012-04-13T00:28:00.002-07:002012-08-08T01:39:00.576-07:00Can you keep a Secret?Here's a little, dirty secret for you that you might not like:<br />
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LDS culture is rampant with childhood sexual abuse. </div>
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Shock and horror, if you are feeling squeamish after reading these sentences, I am sorry, but sometimes the Truth is Hard. And this is a Truth that needs to come out. I feel inspired today by a friend of the blog whose post, <a href="http://iwillgetupagain.blogspot.com/2012/04/courage-to-heal.html" target="_blank">The Courage to Heal</a>, really got me thinking. </div>
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This topic is always close to my heart. I'm just going to put it out in the open and say my sister and I are both survivors of childhood sexual abuse. I have always been "lucky" in a way, because I was young enough when it happened that my memories of it are limited. My sister was not so "lucky" and has struggled so intensely to overcome the shame, the feelings of worthlessness. Even with limited memories, I also feel that shame, that fear of loss of value. And as I read my friend's blog, I recognized a fear I've often felt. That paralyzing fear of speaking out, of "breaking the silence...breaking the power that it has over me."</div>
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Ah Ha! That's it! This dirty, little secret, it has such a power over me, a power I don't want to admit to. A power I didn't agree to. But why? Why? I mean, I have spent years educating myself on this topic, been an activist with my local Children's Justice Center. Studied and written countless articles on this topic in my schooling... and it all comes back to the power of The Secret. Was I alone, though, was this phenomenon peculiar to me?</div>
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For the answer to this I turned to a friend, a therapist here in Salt Lake for LDS Family Services. I asked her about childhood sexual abuse, was it rare? Did she see many clients who had experienced this? Was I alone? </div>
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"Oh no, " she said sympathetically, "the majority of my caseload is usually those affected by sexual abuse and incest. We even have several groups in LDS Family Services just for those who have survived this exact thing." In further conversation with her, we talked about how this wasn't a new phenomenon within LDS culture, </div>
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that their services had been overrun with those seeking shelter from this storm for decades, since it became culturally acceptable to admit such things, even if only to your therapist. </div>
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Why is this so rampant in LDS culture? Admittedly, it is rampant in the US, where 1 in 4 girls and 1 in 6 boys is sexually abused. But LDS culture seems to be an amplified microcosm of the problem. Fair warning, what follows is my personal musings and interpretations. I believe that LDS culture has a widespread problem with childhood sexual abuse, partially because LDS culture makes it easy to Buy into The Secret. When we don't like something, when it's too shameful to make a good conversation starter in Sunday School , we sweep it under the rug and pretend like it doesn't exist. Polygamy, bah. *sweep sweep* Mountain Meadows Massacre, old news *sweep sweep*. Childhood Sexual Abuse, ooohhhh *steer conversation away faster than you can say "CTR"*. Why does this work so well for sexual predators? </div>
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Out of morbid fascination, I spent a significant amount of time in my undergraduate degree learning everything I possibly could about pedophiles, about their mentality and methods. I felt like I needed to understand their methods, so that I could make sure that the same thing Never Never Never happened to my children. Most pedophiles abuse victim after victim because they train those they are hurting to keep the dirty, little Secret. They make their victims feel like it is their fault, and they shame or threaten them into silence. And it works. In some cases it works so well that the abused carries the Secret that warps their soul until they become the abuser. It's horrible, it's sickening, it's completely unpalatable for the rest of society, a dirty, little Secret that they can't bear thinking about. And THAT is the problem, because by not thinking about it, by not talking about it, we feed into it. We Keep the Secret for the Abuser. We make it so that those who have been hurt can feel the Power of the Secret that we are also buying in to. We want to believe that it will always happen to "other people" never to someone we know, but that just isn't true. I don't have all the answers, but I know that something in our culture needs to change to fight the silence. I know that people have to speak out. The Secret can't continue, and somehow, some way we've all got to figure out how to make this right. Ideas???</div>
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</div>Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-31690339656987127992012-04-11T00:42:00.003-07:002012-04-19T23:14:21.274-07:00Top of the WorldI can't get a song out of my head...<br />
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Ah, the nights I hear these words echoing in my brain, and there is so much of it that I feel so keenly.<br />
I wish I didn't feel like songs like this pour out of my soul.<br />
I wish I could really be heard, could turn my brain inside out so I can explain this disease.<br />
I wish this disease didn't make me feel such an intense need to be completely understood, and at the same time make that virtually impossible.<br />
I wish I knew how to take my loneliness and your loneliness and make them meet and meld in the the middle so that we could all be UnLonely in our loneliness.<br />
<br />Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-24121934847476259652012-04-06T00:22:00.000-07:002012-04-19T23:14:47.183-07:00The Loss of Humanity...It's late, I am exhausted. I had a really good day. I got a lot of things done, managed to do everything in fairly good time, and escaped with only minor meltdowns by either of my children. My Littles were so tired that neither fought going down for the night. My husband was also in that boat, and was snoozing peacefully when I went in the room to plug my cell in before it died. I thought that it was a really good day, and for once, I was tired enough to toss insomnia to the wind and fall into my pillow at a reasonable hour.<br />
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And then...<br />
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I'm sure many other parents out there can relate to this, but before I could finish brushing my teeth I thought, "Oh, while I have a second and a quiet house, I should take care of that small little thing I keep meaning to do and forgetting!"<br />
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So 5 "little things" and an hour later I find myself on the phone with a Wells Fargo representative asking why I have an overdraft fee and notice when I had more than enough funds for the transaction. I noticed the overdraft fee while I was doing "little thing" #3. It made me extremely upset, because I feel like we are continually paying fee after fee for one ridiculous thing or another and it is absurd. One month I realized Wells Fargo had nickel-and-dimed us up to $80 in fees! I couldn't wrap my head around how much money these people were making off of skimming our hard-earned cash!<br />
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So I called Wells Fargo. The conversation started out alright, I told the lady what I was calling about, and explained that I'd looked over our account activity several times and that we had more than enough funds in the account to make the payment. Then she starts in on this big schpeel about how she has a worksheet that we can't see and how my account activity isn't really showing everything. I ask her why they don't give you all the information on your account and she says she doesn't know. Then she tells me that the overdraft happened because even though I had money in my account and deposited a check that day, my check was restricted for an extra day because I used an ATM withdrawal the same day. Okay, I say, but even without that deposit we had enough money. Well no, she says, we didn't because we had pending charges on our card for that day that also were held over to the next day. But, I say, wouldn't those same charges come out of the deposited check that was also pending and, in fact, posted first the next day? *By this point I'm starting to get really aggravated, because she just keeps repeating the same things to me over and over like I am Stupid. I am Not Stupid, I understand you lady, I just wonder if you're listening to what you are saying and the fact that it makes NO SENSE!* She tells me that no, the charges would come out of the initial amount, not the check...even though the check was deposited first. At this point she is being RUDE, and I literally can't take it anymore, I start yelling at her, "REALLY, SO YOU'RE TELLING ME THE MONEY IS THERE, THE MONEY WAS THERE, BUT YOU STILL OVERDRAFTED MY CREDIT CARD?" She says, "I never said that, I said that if you looked at your account when the bill came out you would have looked like you were Going To overdraft." "RIGHT, I UNDERSTAND THAT, BUT I DIDN'T OVERDRAFT, I HAD FUNDS AVAILABLE THEN, I HAD MORE FUNDS AVAILABLE THE NEXT DAY! WHY WOULDN'T YOUR STUPID SPREADSHEET JUST ADD UP THE NUMBERS CORRECTLY?" "Well you would have overdrafted if you hadn't done this and this and this..." "THIS IS RIDICULOUS I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! I CAN'T BANK HERE ANYMORE! YOU ARE TELLING ME THAT EVEN THOUGH I HAD MORE THAN ENOUGH MONEY AND IT'S ALL THERE YOU ARE GOING TO CHARGE ME $20! I AM SICK OF BEING NICKELED & DIMED TO DEATH! THIS IS RIDICULOUS, I HAD THE MONEY THEN, I HAVE THE MONEY NOW, YOUR OWN WEBSITE SHOWS THAT ALL OF THIS IS CORRECT? SERIOUSLY?" She pauses and comes back with even more attitude and more stupid excuses and absolutely nothing helpful to say, and at this point I am crying.<br />
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I am crying, because I am being treated like I did something wrong. I am being treated like all of this is my fault, and that I'm too stupid to realize that. But I'm NOT stupid, and I know when something makes no sense.<br />
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Finally she says we can keep arguing about this, but there's nothing she can do, and would I like to be transferred to the Credit Card Customer Service so I can ask them about the fee. YES, GREAT I'D LOVE TO BE TRANSFERRED TO SOMEONE THAT CAN HELP ME. I felt like saying, No duh, I thought that was what I was doing in the first place, but apparently they just want you to call this number so they can treat you like Sh** and tell you it isn't there problem. She doesn't stay on the line, I try to remain cordial in my closing conversation with her, but I just can't. Here's the thing: I am a human being. I realize that she is, too, and I did immediately feel bad that at the beginning she was getting flack that was held over from all the other issues we've had with our account. But, I'm calling for help, I'm calling for an explanation, I'm not calling to be treated like a criminal. I'm not calling to be treated like trash. I could have calmed down real quickly if I felt like she was trying to work with me on my account, but she wasn't. She truly didn't care what my problem was. And that, that just reminds me even more that the bank doesn't care about people. They care about money. I am nothing but an account number to them. And I wonder about how often this happens in our society. All the CEOS that don't think about the people losing their jobs, just the X amount they need to lay off to make their quarterly report look better. All the endless amounts of people who lost so much money to one stock market con-man or another, and all the Bernie Madoff's of the world who only saw the $$$ coming in from ripping people off. We like things BIG here in the US, but what has big gotten us? More money....and less Humanity. I couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop shaking for at least ten minutes after I got off the phone (of course when she "transferred" me, somehow I got disconnected), and a part of it was because, here I am, grinding away, doing everything I can to stay afloat and keep my house and life in order, and with one fell swoop, a bank with all its worldly power can come in and treat me like I'm sub-human, like I don't matter at all. I was sobbing, because it is upsetting, because being a stay-at-home parent is full of monotonous, nit-picky "little tasks" that are obnoxious, and end up taking energy and soul out of you that you should/could be investing in the Littles. And now here I am...3 hours later....not in bed, not well-rested, because all of this made me so upset that I couldn't just let it go, I had to get it out. I will be going into the bank as soon as I can and closing my account. This really was the straw that broke the camel's back. I refuse to give any more money to this faceless leech. I will transfer everything we have to the small credit union that I grew up with, and I won't look back, because I am a Human, I am Not Stupid, and for once, I just want to get a good night's sleep.Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-34973409307022556252012-04-01T00:02:00.000-07:002012-04-19T23:15:14.780-07:00Disappearing...Sometimes, when the anxiety and the depression gets really bad, I feel like disappearing. And then I sort of do. I disappeared the last few months. I was just treading water, and to keep myself afloat sometimes I have to rid myself of anything extraneous that can bog me down. Not that the blog gets me down, but sometimes writing gives me more anxiety, like when I just don't feel like I have the words to truly suffice. I still feel like that a bit, so today I'm going to take the easy route and with a Friend of the Blog's permission, re-post her exact blog from a few days ago. She is affectionately known as Ladybug on her private mommy blog, so for your enjoyment: <b><i>Merry Christmas!...Wait...Happy Easter?</i></b><br />
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<i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">"Though I realize this may be a strange forum to do so, I have had something on my mind nagging me for the past several weeks that needs to find some form of expression.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">This nagging discontent has to do with a time of the year that is the most holy to me, as a Christian. To my friends who I know read this blog and are of different belief systems, if you feel comfortable doing so bear with me and I will explain something that shaped the very core of who I am...and if that isn't at all interesting to you I will be discussing some details of Christian history that you may or may not find intriguing.</span></i><br />
<a name='more'></a><i><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">Obscure point of LDS (Mormon) doctrine here, but we do not actually believe Christ was born at Christmas time. Like most of the modern scholarly Christian world, there is dissension amongst LDS scholars about when the possible date may be (see </span><a href="http://www.mormonfortress.com/april6b.html" style="background-color: white; color: #006677; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; text-decoration: none;">here</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">), but for the most part there is some general consensus of a belief that he was born early in the month of April. This is perhaps loosely supported by the earliest known speculations on Christ's birth from about 200 AD where Christian teachers in Egypt speculated the date of his birth to be March 21, April 21, April 15, or April 20...</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><b>ish</b></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">. Truthfully, there is little known and no scriptural reference that leads us to an exact date for his birth (see </span><a href="http://www.bib-arch.org/e-features/christmas.asp" style="background-color: white; color: #006677; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; text-decoration: none;">here</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"> and </span><a href="http://www.christianitytoday.com/ch/news/2000/dec08.html" style="background-color: white; color: #006677; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; text-decoration: none;">here</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">). This is complicated by the fact that Christmas itself was actually not celebrated by the early Christian church and apostles. The practice of celebrating Christ's birth didn't come into fashion until well into the third century. By the time it did begin to be celebrated and mentioned in early writings, the dates had somehow become December 25 (in the Western Christian tradition) and January 6 (in the Eastern Christian tradition).</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">Now, this is all backstory, but to my point...</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">I love Christmas. I am not a hater. I, like most LDS people, see no harm in celebrating Christ's birth at a time that tradition and the federal government have dictated, and that my husband's employer so lovingly gives him paid time off for. Perhaps for some, the obscurity of dates is maddening, frustrating, possibly even cause for disbelief. For me, it is an understandable historical flaw when no written records can be found.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">But as we all know, modern Christmas has also become a time of some digression from its roots. Santa has become as important as the Virgin and her babe, and Presents the culminating importance of the commercialized and oversold day. Christmas has become such an all-important holiday, that some people literally begin decorating, planning, and preparing for it in October as soon as they get home and take off their Halloween costumes. Like I said, I don't hate Christmas, I love it. I enjoy the messages of goodwill, peace on earth, and the focus on </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">being better</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">My sadness this past week has been that Easter, the holiday that literally celebrates the culminating day in the life of the Savior, has in some ways in LDS culture become Christmas' Little Brother. With Easter little more than a week away, where are the signs of the season? Of course, I am not talking about pastel decorations and eggs and bunnies (although I love those fun traditions, too), but I am talking about the messages of hope, love, and forgiveness that we spout throughout the month of December.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">Unlike Christmas, Easter has always been a central, holy day for Christians. The Four Gospels spend great care documenting each important step in Jesus' last days, including the time and place. And by all accounts it is likely that from the time it occurred it was celebrated and commemorated each year.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">But why has this effected me so deeply this year, why does it make me so sad that no one talks about having the Easter Spirit? Partially guilt, because I love holidays and easily fall prey to their commercialization, but also because as I thought about how to explain this holiday to my little girl I realized just how core this holiday is to the person that I am. To me, this is the holiest of holidays, and I need my girls to know that. I need them to know that Christmas is beautiful and wonderful, but that it doesn't matter where you start your life, it's how you Live your Life. I need them to know that True Love is not measured by what someone is willing to give to us, but what we are willing to sacrifice for them. I need them to see the example of Him who taught us that we aren't the Judge of another person's pain and life, and that the greatest of us, those we should serve, are the poor, the meek, and the afflicted.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">I need them to see the ultimate, poised beauty of an Atonement that gives solace to every pain, hunger, affliction, and temptation that exists in a world full of grief and pain and bitterness.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/oXrOG02NMB0" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" width="560"></iframe><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">This is the message that has formed how I see the world, how I Hope for the world. Though I may doubt and falter on so many things, and I know that goodness exists in so many faiths and beliefs, my own path has always led me back to the message of my Savior, Jesus Christ. It is not a message of fire and brimstone, it is a message of Ultimate Love & Peace."</span></i><br />
<b><br /></b>Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-33770737538923806822012-01-28T12:49:00.000-08:002012-04-30T00:35:43.113-07:00Things I'm Sick Of...(and it isn't sex)<br />
<a name='more'></a>Winter...<br />
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Anxiety...<br />
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Women who say they "cured" their depression with diet and exercise...and therefore think everyone else's should be the same. (Seriously bugs me, especially because I eat well and exercise regularly...)<br />
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People who say really condescending things, while pretending they are being charitable...<br />
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Being indoors...<br />
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Mothers who bring their sick children to Nursery/Playgroup/My house/ Family parties...(And these also tend to be the people who are most melodramatic when their children get sick)<br />
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LDS women who refuse to say the word "Sex" and instead use "Procreation"...<br />
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Trying for hours and hours to get my youngest Little to go to sleep in the crib...or even just go to sleep...<br />
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Also, LDS women who don't like sex and expect me to agree with them... (I mean seriously I am perfectly aware I have my issues, but this is not one of them. Sex is amazing, God & Biology made it that way for a reason. And Birth Control lets me enjoy it for what it is even when we aren't actively "procreating". I could go on and on about this subject)<br />
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Being on a budget...(I am grateful we live within our means, but sometimes I wish I could just splurge)<br />
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And Lastly, people who feel the need to try and remind you of all the things you should be grateful for/force you to be positive about. I am intensely blessed. This I know. However, sometimes I feel the need to let out what sets me off, and I have every right to do so without you forcing me to quiet them.Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-81227255670413947232012-01-20T00:24:00.000-08:002012-04-11T00:13:00.411-07:00Not such a happy new year...Not doing too hot. The DH started full-time school on top of full-time work again. This means I am tired, exhausted really. It's All Babies All The Time, which makes me feel less like a person and more like a full-time food dispenser. When the DH gets home he's so tired and I can see it in his face, so I try to let him take care of himself, but somehow this leaves me feeling like I never get a break. I never stop being Mom and get a chance to be Me for a minute. My depression existed long, long, long before my children, and I NEVER say that they by any means cause it, but sometimes the exhaustion that follows caring so intensely for someone else's life, just leaves me too exhausted to fight that ever-present negative psychology.<br />
And then there is just the fact that I feel <i>so lonely....</i><br />
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<a name='more'></a><i>And loneliness makes me feel wistful, like a foggy day on the muted streets of Paris.</i><br />
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<i>And Wistfulness makes me feel shatterable, like a tempered glass that's heated just a little too hot and starts to crack around the edges.</i><br />
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<i>And when I feel like I might just shatter into a thousand tiny pieces, I feel this wave of emotion sweep through my chest and into my lungs,</i><br />
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<i>And then it feels hard to breathe, like when you were little and playing in your make believe "fort" hiding your head under a blanket too long until the air got thick and stifling.</i><br />
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<i>And when I realize I feel like I can't breathe, I feel like an awkward teenage girl again, self-consciously raw and stalled in the quagmire of my imperfection.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>And when I start to feel like an awkward teenage girl...I feel the shadow of those dark years reach out and I shiver remembering that feeling of lost and utter...loneliness...</i><br />
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And there it is, the depressed Mormon woman's equivalent of <i>If You Give a Mouse a Cookie...</i><br />
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So my depression feels a little out of control right now. Okay wildly out of control. So much so that it literally took everything I had to even want to try and get out what I am feeling right now. I've been avoiding thinking...much less writing about what I'm thinking... <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/glennon-melton/dont-carpe-diem_b_1206346.html" target="_blank">Reading this helped a little, though...</a>Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-67793730379673673512011-12-18T00:55:00.000-08:002012-04-11T00:13:12.032-07:00A NEED to be grateful...AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!<br />
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Whew, had to get that digital scream off my chest.<br />
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Why is Christmas time so crazy? Crazy enough that I feel so crazy that I have to neglect my crazy blog, where I document my life of crazy and therapeutically vent the craziness out of my soul! It's absurd.<br />
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Tonight tonight, when I should be sleeping (seeing as I've been exceptionally ill for a week and a half and my children are both finally asleep) I have to say something of the inner turmoil I feel about this Christmas.<br />
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If you've never suffered from depression or some other form of mental illness (or played organized sports) you probably haven't had someone tell you (or told yourself) to "Get Out of your head!". I tell myself this every single day. It refers to what I consider to be the intense psychological warfare that my mental illness wages against my brain. It happens to deal specifically with negative thought patterns, unending unanswerable questions, and a shocking amount of utter self-loathing. When my depression gets out of control (or in my analogy <i>takes</i> control) I get sucked into the "Me-World" of Doom & Despair. This Me-World syndrome is part of why some people feel that people suffering from mental illness are extremely self-interested. I'm not making any judgments or condemnations on either side, but certainly when dealing with the functional mentally ill (as opposed to the institutionalized mentally ill) sometimes an exasperated outsider can refer to the person with the mental illness as just "being so selfish!"<br />
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And, in part, this is true. By very definition, if I am perpetually stuck in my own head, I am solely wrapped up in <i>myself , </i>which does, in fact, make me self-ish. Now before anyone gets all knotted up feeling like a victim here, let me reiterate this is about me. I know that sometimes I am selfish. I know that sometimes I am selfish because I am influenced by a disease outside of my control. I also know that it still makes me feel guilty. Yes, Guilt, my old friend, we're back to talking about Guilt. I am stuck in my head, a lot. I am trying to get better. I am selfish at times. I feel guilty about it, especially right now. It's Christmastime. There are people suffering everywhere, some physically, some mentally, some emotionally. I am suffering a bit right now, too. No, I'm not lamenting, no, I don't want you to feel sorry for me. My depression just doesn't realize it's the holidays. BUT I do. I want this season to be Different. I want to Really get outside my own head and disease. There are people starving in my own city. I grew up hungry. Not just hungry, I'm talking Hungry. Days without any food except for splitting a package of Ramen Noodles. Dinners where you ate one frozen Eggo waffle and called it a meal. I grew up without proper clothes. I remember someone on the playground asking me why I didn't have coat, and feeling too ashamed to admit I didn't actually own one. I remember being so intensely embarrassed to wear my 2-inches-too-short jeans, but knowing they were the only pants I had. I don't have to deal with these things anymore. I am blessed in many ways. But this Christmas I don't just want to be grateful, because that is what you do. I NEED to be grateful, because I'm fighting a losing battle this month, and I need a lifeline from within myself. So self, today you are allowed to stay in your own head, but not to get up to your usual tricks. Tonight I need to use all my conscious to find my gratitude. I need to take my gratitude go out and make this Christmas meaningful. I am seeking somewhere to serve, and feel something more real than depression and consumeristic present obsession. I just don't know what to do exactly. I've looked up places to volunteer, but nowhere that I can go with a 2 1/2-year-old and an 8-month-old in tow. So maybe, I just need to find someone. I don't know, but I know that I'm desperate. Desperate because I NEED gratitude in my life, just to avoid becoming the kind of privileged, ungrateful twerp that I despise.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Because others may read this, and there are a plethura of Stupid People in the World... No, I don't believe just thinking happy thoughts will make my mental illness go away. Don't be a tool. I know that, and if you legitimately think that, well you are entitled to your own opinion but that doesn't mean you aren't full of sh**. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">On the other hand, if you have legitimate ideas for me on either gratitude or focusing on the true meaning of Christmas suggestions are welcomed with open arms. I'm a little stumped. </span></i>Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-41348670880157788032011-12-07T16:28:00.001-08:002012-04-11T00:13:19.587-07:00TODAY...sucked today....<br />
<a href="http://video.today.msnbc.msn.com/today/45581250#null" target="_blank">Depression Pills, Mother's Little Helper?</a><br />
I watched this episode this morning while I was getting my Littles ready. It really pissed me off. Watch it, tell me your thoughts. We'll discuss...Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-33765901475903091742011-12-03T22:50:00.001-08:002012-04-11T00:13:32.011-07:00Insomnia and Inspiration<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/UkOKCWDJ4iA?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
My depression began as a child. I grew up very poor, in a very violatile home. Tonight, as I do many nights, I'm having trouble falling asleep. It's strange, but more than the sadness and loneliness as an 8-year-old, the thing I remember most about my depression in that stage was the Insomnia.<br />
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Fast forward a couple of decades and here I find myself, stuck in the same old pickle. Except....<br />
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When I was a child I remember when the insomnia and the anxiety would strike, I would climb in bed next to my sister (who was usually fast asleep) and I would make myself into as tiny of a little ball as I could in the corner of the bed and pull the blankets up over my head, cover my ears to try and drone out the shouting, the partying, or the sirens...and then I would Imagine. I wrote novels in my imagination. I developed full fleshed-out plots lines, typically with tragic and heroic characters, sometimes with sequels. There was Always a doomed love story involved. Something where True Love was found, treasured, embraced...and then foiled by evil or death or stupidity. Perhaps because of my real life history, it has always only been the tragic heroes that I gravitated towards. The flawed, imperfect, sometimes ignoble heroes that triumphed in the end but suffered far more than they needed to along the way.<br />
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These stories, though inspired by depression and despair, kept my spirit alive. They were an escape facilitated by my own personal inner despair. I was a child, overwhelmed by the circumstances that surrounded me, and my insomnia became inspiration.<br />
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I was thinking about this tonight, because though the insomnia has continued through the years, the inspiration hasn't. I don't know when I outgrew this coping mechanism, but I did. And tonight, I think that is sad. Why? Because either way, the insomnia remains, the depression remains, but at least then like a loathsome caterpillar larvae it transformed itself into something beautiful. Now, what does my insomnia do for me? It gives me countless hours to work my brain in circles that spiral downward into an abyss of self-loathing, or it gives me ample time to waste energy and momentum checking Facebook or playing stupid monotonous computer games. It also provides me with a crazy OCD outlet time to Clorox and clean every last square inch of my home, but the hubby isn't too much of a fan of 2AM vacuuming. (This one is courtesy of both my mother and grandmother, who were both Obsessive Insomniac cleaners.)<br />
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So tonight my hope is this: If I must be awake, let me find inspiration. Most of the greatest artists in history suffered from some form of mental illness. I will most likely never be a great artist or writer, but if I must be an insomniac, at least, let me be an inspired one.Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-84493134522837062992011-11-30T23:20:00.000-08:002012-04-19T00:30:05.922-07:00PART 2: Redemption SongWe got our Christmas Tree.<br />
We had our magical night.<br />
It is, Enough.<br />
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I started this blog because I couldn't keep in all the crazy chaos that I truly feel in my life. I don't know how to be a picture perfect Mo-Mo-Mo (Molly Mormon Mommy, for those of you outside the Mormon culture). Hell, I don't know how to be a picture perfect anything. I take that back. I DO know how to be a picture perfect basket case, and that is exactly the problem.<br />
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Let me explain, my last post was right, I do Suck At Life, sometimes. <br />
<a name='more'></a>It was also a lie, though, because while there are No Takebacks, there are Do Overs. I know that people from many different backgrounds and belief systems may chance upon this post, but what I feel right now...How I feel right now, has to do with my faith as a Christian. It is a Biblical passage that says, "This too shall pass."<br />
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I've learned over the years that as much as I suck at life, I suck ten times more at internalizing pacifistic statements like that one. So I've evolved it to match my life, and this is about how the conversation between me and God goes in my head (<i>picture something like a conversation out of Fiddler on the Roof</i>):<br />
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Me: God, I feel terrible. I feel worthless. I feel small, insignificant, and I ache inside.</blockquote>
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God: But my child, I love you. </blockquote>
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Me: God, I know that, I mean I know people tell me that, but right now I just feel so sh*tty that I can't even really believe. I hear it, but I can't take it in. </blockquote>
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(<i>Here I also stop and reflect on the fact that, yes, I did just swear in front of God, and Yes, he did in fact give me The Eyebrow for it, but decided to let it slide due to more important concerns at hand.</i>) </blockquote>
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God: Well, what could I say that you would believe?</blockquote>
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Me: Hmmm, good question God. You know people are constantly questioning you, but I imagine it's a little more rare that you get to ask some of them.</blockquote>
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God: Yes, it is. Now answer the question.</blockquote>
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Me: Sheesh, fine. Well, I guess right now I can't really seem to believe anything but the things I'm feeling inside myself.</blockquote>
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God: So you're saying you won't believe me, The Creator of the Universe, but you can trust your inner emotions that are both easily swayed and affected by imbalanced chemical levels due to a diagnosed mental illness?</blockquote>
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Me: Well, sure when you say it like that...Man, questioning you is a whole hell (<i>God Eyebrow here, again</i>) of a lot easier than being questioned <i>by</i> you.</blockquote>
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God: Child, I know you. I know when you get into dark places you struggle to hear my voice in you. But, when all seems impassable, just remember like the dark before the dawn, This Too Shall Pass.</blockquote>
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Me: ............(<i>pause to think, I do that sometimes, think I mean</i>).............God, many people tell me that, and I know that it should help me, but there's this little malevolent voice in my head telling me that that doesn't help me now, because even when I get back to a sane, stable place somehow I always seem to lose it again and it slips away into chaos.</blockquote>
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God: *sigh* (<i>He sighs at me a lot, in my head</i>) Child, my voice can create worlds and universes, so when I use it to speak with you, I never do so without choosing my words carefully. When I speak, when I use an example I do so with purpose. I likened your path to the darkness and the dawn. Think, my child, does the sun rise and set only once in your lifetime? Of course not, the darkness is followed by the dawn, and the dawn turns into the brightness of day, but then...the day wanes, and the darkness returns.</blockquote>
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Me: God, I don't know if you realize this, but that sounds really pessimistic.</blockquote>
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God: CHILD, WHEN the darkness returns (because return it must for the world to continue turning) DON'T FORGET, This Too Shall Pass, because as surely as the darkness must return the dawn that follows must return also. Yes, the darkness will come again after that, but then SO WILL THE DAWN. (<i>God doesn't so much yell at me as Articulately Express</i>)</blockquote>
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Me: Wait, so your saying, "This too shall pass" isn't the End-All, Be-All. (<i>I'm kind of slow, okay?</i>) </blockquote>
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God: *Sigh #2* Child, for you who struggles so much in this world, let me amend this. Here is what you need to know - </blockquote>
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<b>I love you. This too shall pass....And then come again. But, Don't Worry, <i>that shall pass, too</i>.</b></blockquote>
I thank God for Do-Overs. And for Bob Marley music. Mostly, I'm thankful for a sense of humor that returns after the darkness has abated a bit.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">*</span>sidenote: while I have experienced many facets of mental illness, hearing voices is not one of them. So please, don't take this literally. It's a poetic treatment of how I interact with God on a personal level</i></span>Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-30616967775657539322011-11-28T23:49:00.000-08:002012-04-19T00:29:30.819-07:00PART 1: So tonight I lost it...Sometimes I think that it isn't so much life that lets us down as expectations.<br />
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I expected tonight to be a great night.<br />
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Tonight we were supposed to continue a tradition that my husband and I started a couple of years ago for just us. A special tradition created just for our family. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, or perhaps naive, but some part of me still believes that there is magic in specially created traditions. I wanted tonight to be magical. I was so looking forward to it that I had one of the best days I've had in weeks. I managed to clean my entire bedroom and get myself and my Littles up, dressed, and fed before 10 am. I got all of the endless loads of laundry not only washed and dried, but they actually managed to get folded and put away properly. I finally tackled the daunting stacks of dishes that were slowly taking over every inch of counter space in my kitchen. I finished wrapping all of the Christmas presents. I made a vegetarian lunch of angel hair pasta, squash, zucchini, red bell pepper, and a balsamic shallot sauce and had it ready when my hubby came home for his 30 minute break before heading back to his internship.<br />
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All of this, all of it I did because I was so excited about our Christmas Tree tradition.<br />
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Every year, after the Thanksgiving festivities have ended, my husband and I take our Littles and go to pick out a live Christmas tree. There is a specific place we go to buy it. Our Littles love the decorations and real reindeer. My husband and I love that the lumberjacks who bring the trees down from Washington also work as King Crab fishermen half the year and sell the most Amazing crab that they catch in Alaska. I was so excited for it, so excited to see my Littles' faces light up at the reindeer and the lighted decorations. I was itching to go as soon as my husband got home from his internship, but he said he needed to get some work done for his master's program. So I fussed and I waited and I got my Littles completely ready to go in anticipation, and finally he closed his laptop and said to load up the car. It was dinner time by then, and my husband said he now needed to eat before we could even look at trees, or he was going to pass out. Alright, I could deal with that, I suggested a restaurant close to where we needed to go and he agreed. Then, the night started to unravel.<br />
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We got to the restaurant and ordered and it began as a lovely meal. Then, my older Little realized that this very nice restaurant had a playplace inside. I made Little wait, and we made it through half of dinner with Little only looking longingly at the slide now and then. My husband sang the praises of his meal and scarfed it down, and then immediately asked if Older Little wanted to go play.<br />
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This should have been sweet, if I were a better person I would have just appreciated that he was trying to be a fun dad. But I'm not a better person, and quite frankly I was upset. Upset because I wasn't done eating, and my husband just turned to Little and said Little could go play. I expressed that I didn't really feel like sitting alone at a table and finishing my meal, but it was too late, he'd already said it, Little had heard and there are no take-backs with a toddler. So off he went to the playplace with Little. Baby Little, who had been peacefully sleeping up until this point, of course then decided to wake up and begin crying. So there I sat: crying baby, meal half eaten, feeling desperately exposed at a table by myself, and frantically looking around trying to get my husband to come back so we could pay the bill and leave. It was probably only about 5 minutes, but they were an excruciating 5 minutes, and after a long day of the uphill battle that is being a housewife (especially on a productive day) I simply felt like bursting into tears. Then my husband comes back with a screaming toddler. Little is wailing. Little doesn't want to leave. Little wants to keep going on the slide. I feel the tables around us watching. They've already been giving me looks for the crying baby, and now, Now Terrible Mother in the corner has a tantruming toddler. My husband just goes to grab the check, avoids Little's tantrum, and asks me what my problem is when I start to snap at the screaming child. That just seems like too much to bear for me, the unfairness, the unthoughtfulness...and I lose it. Right there in the restaurant I start yelling (albeit in more of a fierce whisper than a yell, but still it was obvious) at him and at Little.<br />
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And Little, just keeps going, escalating more and more, and now everyone is staring and the employees are trying to step in to quiet Little, and my husband is just sitting there. I tell Little that there will be No Christmas Tree tonight if the fit doesn't end, but it still doesn't. I'm in a frenzy now, overwhelmed by anger, shame, and anxiety. I can't stand it anymore, so I pick up my coat & bag and drag (literally) Little out the door and to the car where the fit continues and I sit fuming until my husband brings the baby out a few minutes later. He goes right to Little and starts to calmly speak with Little about what is wrong and how we need to have a calm voice. I feel the fire burn in me even more, because I'm upset and the whole ordeal was terrible for me, but he doesn't comfort me like that. He just starts to argue with me about my parenting and tells me that I'm making the situation worse and that just makes me feel like even more of a terrible mother, even though I know at this point that I'm so far gone and that I AM making the situation worse. I can't stand that he gets to play the good cop while I'm fighting the tough battles all day long, so he gets in the car and we get in a screaming match. We're yelling the whole way past the Christmas tree lot, where I refuse to stop because I don't make ultimatums with my children that I don't intend to keep. He's angry about that and starts yelling about how we won't have time to go any other day. I say I don't really care and why in the world would I want to go with him or a crying toddler just then, anyway. He tells me to stop yelling in front of the children and I tell him that I'm not about to hide my emotions just to make his life easier. And then he sits fuming quietly and I sit fuming quietly, and we go home and sit in front of the TV and absolutely nothing magical happens.<br />
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I calm down eventually, he calms down. He apologizes for sometimes shirking off dealing with Older Little's more difficult behaviors. He apologizes for everything. He tries to cuddle. I shake him off for a while but then him and Little both start cuddling me and giving me kisses, one on each side, and I melt. I do forgive him. He eventually goes and buys me a Big Mac and a Mcflurry (to make up for the half of the meal I didn't get to finish), and I say I'm sorry, too.<br />
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But what I can't get over is that there are no take-backs. Our night was ruined. I lost control in a way that I haven't lost it in years. In a way that just made me feel so small and so ashamed. It should have just been a wonderful night with my family. I should have been able to just go with the flow and weather the storm, but sometimes I Just Can't. You'd think after years and years of dealing with this disease I'd stop using words like "Normal", but sometimes I long to just be a Normal person who gets through all of that with some grace and dignity intact, the type of Normal person that gets through these episodes without having an anxiety attack, or feeling internal vulnerability, or haphazardly lashing out with emotional poison.<br />
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And now my husband and kids are tucked into bed. We've all made up and apologized, but I'm still not okay. I sit here on the couch feeling like I've got a gouging open wound in my chest, because for me these things always bring up old history. They bring up old Shame. That same old Shame that makes me feel like a person who is inferior at whatever I'm supposed to be doing. That shame that comes from having a mental illness, and from feeling like I should be able to control it. But I can't always control it. I do my best, I've gotten leaps and bounds better at managing and coping, but somedays even when I get everything else right I still manage to suck at life. It's so frustrating and disheartening, and truthfully it just makes me feel like a helpless child, again.Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-31372018244988271062011-11-21T23:45:00.000-08:002012-04-11T00:15:08.640-07:00Ten minutesThere are so few distinct memories I have of my own childhood. I know my own history, the chronological unfolding of events that made me who I am, but sometimes when I think back on it all I feel detached from it. It's almost like a sort of saga that I've told myself over and over until I'm not sure if the details I recall stem from the actual event or simply the last time I rehearsed the story. The early memories are hazy, at best, and blurred beyond recognition in the years following my parents divorce and several years of tough living that I know my mind blanks over to protect itself.<br />
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But today, a memory...</div>
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A gem pulled from some recess in my mind that hasn't felt an illuminating light in years.</div>
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The memory: a pot. A beat-up, dinged silver pot spotted with water and wear. </div>
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In my mind it is sitting on a dated stovetop, a garish oven's ode to the 1970s with its bright orange nobs and black and brown dials. Inside the pot, a bubbling of watered-down hot chocolate, my impoverished family's attempt at making a treat stretch for each person in a large family. The hot chocolate had to be made in a pot in order to evenly water it down, an attempt at fairness. But that is a reflection from my adult self, in the eye of my mind that sees this pot as I did then, I feel more than I see. I feel warmth. I feel anticipation. I feel the chill in the autumn or winter air in our small, drafty house being kept at bay by one magical liquid.</div>
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This memory hit me today as I poured hot water from my tea kettle into an abundant heap of Stephen's Hot Chocolate mix. </div>
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My depression, the source of daily struggle for me, has caused a bit of a haze in my life, of late. It's not swinging erratically out of control. No, this is just a hazy phase, where life just seems a little unseeable, unclear. </div>
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Today, for a moment, the haze cleared. I made my Older Little a cup of hot chocolate. I made myself a cup of hot chocolate. As I did, I was unsuspectingly struck by a silvering memory that sent tremors ringing through my inner emotions. I felt desire, desire to infuse the same emotional response into my Little's mind. Desire to pass on a gem so surprisingly precious.</div>
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Then I sat on the couch and held Little in my lap, gently showing my toddler how to slowly sip.</div>
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We ate crackers, sipped cocoa, and cuddled. </div>
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Ten minutes.</div>
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Ten minutes of clarity and warmth.</div>
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If there is anything this chronic inner struggle has taught me in my life, it's that ten minutes can make it all worth it. I'll take what I can get, and know in this season of gratitude, how lucky I am for even just ten minutes. </div>Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-86551895195200093742011-11-17T12:53:00.000-08:002012-04-11T00:15:32.727-07:00Potty TrainingSo the title of this post should be enough to inspire dread in mommies everywhere. <br />
<a name='more'></a>I am in the process of potty training my older Little, and a part of me feels like I may snap before I can get this kid to take a crap on the porcelain throne. They say you should focus on the positives, and yes, it was great the 3 times Little went pee in the potty and the one time Little did, in fact, grace the toilet with a poo.<br />
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What I'm not thrilled about is the 12...Yes, 12, pairs of underwear we went through yesterday...or the constant cleaning up... or the fact that my husband came home and thought he had the right to get short-tempered after 2 accidents when I had managed to make it through the 10 previous accidents without blowing my top. I am also not sure how to handle the fact that today Little decided to willfully rebel against the whole process. Didn't matter how many suckers and popsicles I offered up, Little told me "No!"<br />
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As frustrating as it all is, I think I'm mostly overwhelmed with my own doubt. Partially because I feel like I don't know what I'm doing, but hugely because I'm not sure if Little's ready.<br />
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Everyone preaches at you to wait until their ready and make sure you don't make them do it too soon. They all say that, but then when your kid's the only one their age in nursery whose not actively training and whose parents aren't constantly bringing up their kids latest successes in human waste, they all kind of look down their nose at you. At first, you ignore it, but after a couple of weeks of the ribbing, it gets to you and you suddenly find this new found drive to get them out of diapers. But with every accident it leaves this little guilt monster in the back of your head questioning your motives as a mother, wondering if you're letting other people's opinion come before the emotional well-being of your child.<br />
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It's not just potty training that can be like this, parenting opinions can be an insidious poison that creep into your parenting and cast doubt on all of your greatest feats. We pay it lip-service, but gone are the days of "Mother Knows Best". Now everybody has strong opinions about what parents and mothers should or shouldn't be doing based on what their personal experience was or what a parenting magazine tells them. Personal experience is great, but it is subjective. No two kids are exactly alike, just because it worked on your kid doesn't mean it will work on mine. Parenting magazines are commonly full of unsubstantiated opinion, rarely more empirical than a personal opinion. Their is great discerning child development research out there, but the research isn't the end-all-be-all, either. My job as a parent is to find valid, well-supported information that then helps me to implement and personalize that information to each of my children as individuals. When some mom at playgroup wants to shoot her mouth about whatever article she read saying kids should/shouldn't use pull-ups or should/shouldn't have treats when they go in the potty, it is my job to digest that information, go home and look up the firsthand data myself and then come to a decision about whether or not my child might benefit from the information. Just because society completely economically and in social status undervalues homemakers, doesn't mean that I can't approach motherhood with a scientific methodology, although like a true artist I will also have to find creative interpretations to problem solving.<br />
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So today, I admit that I started potty training out of peer pressure, but we're going to kick the crap out of this process because like every desperate, dedicated mother out there, I will find a way to make this work. I'm sick of motherly guilt. I feel it over important and not-so-important things, but I'm determined to separate my decision making process from it. Little just had an accident, again. Back to clean-up duty.Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710836839996875134.post-5406653733307644032011-11-16T23:20:00.000-08:002012-04-19T00:31:46.169-07:00The Beginning & the Epoch of HonestyI am cheating on my other blog. Yes, this is my second blog. The other blog and I, we keep up appearances, for the sake of the kids. All of my family, my in-laws, my church acquaintances read my other blog. They comment on my syrupy posts and pictures; they tell me how cute and big my kids are getting. I hate the sound of my own narrative in my other blog. When I write in it late at night, I start out one way and before the post is finished I've erased, edited, and deleted anything I find emotionally or intellectually stimulating. Then I lay in bed dejected because I didn't get where I wanted to go. There is no revelation, no release, no "Ah, Ha!" moment. It's the ultimate blogger frustration.<br />
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I've been thinking about doing this for months, toying with the idea of exposing myself to a new audience. Tonight, I couldn't seem to stop myself. I was caught up in the raw, aching, primal desire to write something that I actually felt. I hate my other blog. I hate the fake family portrait it paints. So instead, I find myself here letting it all hang out with complete anonymity. Thrilling, isn't it?</div>Depressed Mormon Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995770979206722698noreply@blogger.com1