Another Thing on Fear

I know. I know, I know, I know that what other people think shouldn't matter.

I am having a hard time with that currently.

Ok, so you know I'm religious. My morals and values include a certain dress code and expectations of modesty.

Not all of my children agree with or live to these values and expectations. I may be a tad disappointed about that, but they are their own selves and perfectly capable of making their own life decisions. I certainly don't hold them to whatever grand expectations are out there. I certainly don't live up to them all the time myself.

My family is also very religious. Now, I love my family. LOVE them. They are generous, loving, and have always been there for me when I've needed help emotionally, financially, physically, or whatever.

So I am having some fear issues.

I do not expect nor want anyone to give me a fix-it for this. I just need to express it.

The first big thing that is causing a bit of a rift is that my daughter is marrying a non-member of our faith. And I will fight to the death against anyone who judges her or gives either her or him crap about it. He is awesome, he is the best for her, and they both bring out the best in each other. Not only that, but they are talking responsibly about their future, practicing compromise already, and just being great together.

A couple of family members have already tried to give her a... guilt trip? lecture? about all the things she'll miss out on. And I totally went mamma bear on them and let them know to leave her alone about her decisions.

Well, now I'm feeling self-conscious because her perfect, wonderful, make-her-feel-like-a-princess wedding dress is sleeveless. It shows off her perfect arms and shoulders from her athleticism, and oh my goodness is she beautiful in it.

My fear is that my family is going to think I am an awful mother and haven't raised my children according to my standards.

I know that's a dumb fear. Of course I have. I have *also* raised my kids with the knowledge that they can make their own choices. I don't want them to make choices I'd make. In fact, half the time I wish that I hadn't made the choices I made at their age.

I know that it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. It's her wedding, it can be however she wants it. Either my family supports her, or they don't. It's just painful. The very thought that they might not support her is painful.

This is me borrowing a jack, of course. But I know without a doubt that I'm going to get an earful from my mother. There's nothing I can do about that. It's just going to happen. I'm prepared to deal with that. I am worried that my daughters and I will have to form a protective barrier for my daughter on her wedding day so no one makes her feel awful about her choices.

Anyway, there's my fear. Perhaps with some guilt mixed in for feeling like a failure. Don't tell me how to fix it. I'll just have to work through it. I have no control over others, I can only control myself. And somehow it will all work out. I dont' know how, but it will.

Work and Anxiety

Back in September when I was first hired, I didn't tell them about my mental illness. It was a personal test for myself to see if I could, in fact, handle a job.

I took a xanex every time I worked for the first week or so. I don't remember. But eventually it became necessary only once a month or even less than that.

Then came the day when there was a child throwing a complete and total tantrum. His mother just ignored it and continued shopping. Screaming, yelling, crying, loud loud loud. I broke down, freaked out, and my manager had me sit in the office until I calmed down - and the lady had *finally* left the store.

Not long after that, my xanex kicked in and I was ok the rest of my shift.

Since then, most of the people I work with now know about my anxiety. Amazingly enough, there are at least three other people there with the same issue. They each handle it in different ways. Me, I prefer the safety of the fitting room cave. Others prefer the register or they feel claustrophobic and freak out in fitting room.

With the stressors in my life and the ups and downs with the bi-polar, naturally there are going to be some days that are better than others.

Thursday there were a bunch of teenagers trying on dresses, a couple of moms with little kids, and some adult friends, all in the echoing fitting room. Oh my Holy LOUD. I thought I was going to lose it and start crying. The shakes started, and I was having a hard time breathing.

I called on the radio and asked if there was anyone on the sales floor that I could trade with for a few minutes, until all the loud was out. Immediately one of my co-workers came and took over for me and I went and helped finish the area she was recovering.

I didn't have to ask more than once, I didn't have to explain myself, it was just taken care of.

So far as I know, that has happened for every co-worker that has had an issue with their anxiety flaring.

We cover for each other, management doesn't resent it, and after it's calmed down, we go on with the work.

I don't regret not telling them up front about my issues and why I was looking for a job. I didn't know if they'd hire me if I wasn't sure I could hold a job.

While there are days that I don't want to go to work, don't think I can handle it, or just don't think I can crawl out of bed, I have to admit that it is an immense relief that my co-workers know.

People aren't nearly as judgemental as I assumed they would be. At least not in my workplace. Reasonable Accomodation is what they call it. I call it basic good humanity and I am grateful for it.

The Importance of Feedback

I write. I'm an artist. I footzone. I am an unrepentant creative spirit.

I earned a degree in Illustration, and am a couple classes shy of finishing a degree in Graphic Design.

I honestly and truly believe that I do these things well. Oh boy do I have my fears of failure, but it does not mean I believe I suck at the things I love. I can certainly do better and wow is there room for improvement, but I was blessed with talent and it would be disrespectful to my *self* to say otherwise.

One of the reasons that I have the confidence that I can be successful at these endeavors is because of the feedback I receive.

Yes, I know this sounds vain, but let me explain the difference between good feedback and bad feedback. Also, I would like to address how a person handles feedback and constructive criticism.

Firstly, in order to refine and improve, you have to be able to see the flaws and the areas to improve. As a rule, the creator is usually blind to many of these things. While it is true that artists are their worst critic, sometimes it is difficult to step outside of themselves and see the whole.

Due to this, it is vital to hear feedback from an outside source. Preferably from someone who knows what they are talking about.

Constructive criticism is NOT going to be 100% positive. If the writing, the portrait, the design or the artwork is a rough draft, a tight color comp, or something you may have thought finished, that feedback may not even be 50% positive.

In order to take the suggestions, ideas, and bluntness, be emotionally prepared to hear things like, "This doesn't work for me and here's why."  "Do you have any other ideas or layouts that you might want to try because...?" or "This seems completely out of character, why did this person make that choice?" "The pacing here is very slow. I became bored and skimmed to the end of the chapter." Or "I really love how you did this, but it doesn't fit with how you did this."

KNOW you aren't going hear things that will proclaim you as a faultless god in your endeavor.

**Put on your emotional armor, have a notebook handy, and realize that the people you trusted to view this baby are not attacking YOU.

** Write down all of the suggestions and take notes on ideas. Things they say may inspire you while you're listening.

** Ask questions after they are done.

** BE WILLING TO LISTEN.

There will be feedback you feel is completely ludicrous. You'll hear stuff from folks who don't understand what you're trying to say. They'll try to change it to the way 'they'd" have done it or what they think you should be doing. Be polite, listen, and disregard what you don't agree with. Think very consciously about what they are saying before you throw it out, because sometimes it can spark a brilliant idea.

In that same vein, valuable positive feedback will tell you what you did great and WHY it is great. The most important thing is understanding what works and why it works so you can put that in your file of workable techniques.

Bad feedback attacks you personally. Disregard it. Seriously. It sounds a lot like, "What were you thinking??" "This is dumb, what a waste of time." "You kind of suck at this."

Bad feedback is vague. "I don't like it." "Oh, this is great!"

I'm sure it's possible to improve without hearing from outside sources, but it will take a lot longer.

If you are pursuing writing or any kind of artistic field, please, PLEASE, be open to honest feedback. It is the most frustrating thing in the world to tell someone why you feel a, b, or c isn't functioning as well as it could, and have them get defensive, angry, and attack. Don't be that person. Just don't.

Defensiveness makes your critique group walk on egg shells around you, simply supplying your wanted platitudes. That's a waste of your time and theirs. OR, they ostracize you. That sucks, too. Defensiveness will never help you improve. Ever.

If someone says, "That's not something I would ever read/buy/commission," take it for what they mean. It's something THAT PERSON isn't interested in. It doesn't mean it's worthless; it means they are not in your audience. There is no convincing them they will love what you're doing, and no point in getting hurt over it. Simply acknowledge their position and move on.

We all feel defensive about our babies. It's the nature of being a creative. The trick is to recognize the emotion, admit it to yourself, and tell it to shut up until you are alone. Vent it all you want at the wall, at a friend, or in a diary. When you're calm, look at your notes and get to work.

Boom, growth.

That's the importance of feedback.

--
The biggest reason that I believe my story is worth finishing is because of the comments and criticism of my critique group. They are complete strangers - er, they were to begin with. I have pages and pages of constructive criticism that I need to address for the re-write. Yet the positive feedback from strangers and from some very picky readers that I know - who I trust to give me honest and blunt feedback - is extremely encouraging.

Don't get me wrong, I will need a content editor when I feel confident in the draft. I will definitely need a line-editor, since my ability to type a coherent sentence or use correct words is obviously impaired now. Um, also my love of commas and apostraphes.

I have designed my daughters' graduation announcements and their wedding invitations. I've done High School musical programs, designed logos, and portraits. In *EVERY* project I have asked for and expected feedback.

I've worked with printers and professional designers on several of these projects. Their input was invaluable and certainly not always ego boosting.

I do not expect nor wish to be coddled.

I want to grow as much as possible. I expect every artist does. Accepting criticism is imperative to this.

Red Heads are Real

There have been a gazillion writing posts and blogs and tantrums from editors about red-headed characters.

Stop with the red-heads they say.

They're uber rare, they say.

No one knows that many red-heads, so stop writing them, they say.

Pfffft, I say.

I say I'm entitled to write red-headed characters. I have a right to write them!!  Let me tell you why.

My grandparents have eight living children, three boys and five girls. Of those five girls, four of them are red-heads, my mother being one of them.

All three of my brothers were born with bright red hair. It fell out, of course, and grew in as that super white toe-headed cute stuff everyone loves.

I have several cousins with red hair. (I can't count them as I don't know the exact number. I have 80+ cousins, so YOU can count them if you want.)

All right, all right, yeah, so of my five girls, only one has red hair. That's a smaller number, sure. And people have been asking me since my daughter was two if I dyed her hair. TWO!  Who dyes a kid's hair at the age of two????  Can I help it that she was born with a beautiful color of auburn??  I wish I had that kind of control over genetics, I'd be rich.

Now lets talk about the hubster's family.

His grandmother and her twin were red-heads. Grandma had three girls; two of them are red-heads.

The hubster was a very bright red-head until his teen years when it darkened to a dishwatery blond. His beard is still red. Of his four sisters, two are red-heads.

The gal across the street from me is a red-head.  Even my best friend's mother-in-law is red!

Come on, that is NOT rare.

Therefore, if I want to write about a red head, I damn well will. So there.

It's when I write about a blond or a brunette that I feel like I'm writing something a little more exotic.

I don't care what the statistics say. I think this freaking out over the number of red-headed characters is batty.

Red hair is real, and I have the family to prove it.

I Wish I Could Protect My Children From The Yuck

I wish that there was some way to protect my children from difficult pregnancies and even more difficult recoveries.

Well, honestly, I wish there were a way to protect them from all things harmful. Of course, that would prevent their own growth and learning. How can they gain strength if they don't learn to climb over, dig under, or move around obstacles, right? But oh it's hard to watch.

My oldest is now struggling with Post-Partum depression. As I am open about my feelings and experiences, so is she. 

I want to link to her post. I didn't know how to share my post-partum experience when I was having it. I made a lot of excuses for it at the time. I didn't honestly know how to cope, and I was unmedicated. My older children had to take on much of the parenting responsibility and my attitude about it was not helpful.

And now my daughter is having that same struggle. It is heartbreaking to share these thoughts and feelings together over the phone. It is comforting to find someone who truly understands, but it is also so very difficult to have to struggle through it.

Here is her post:  Too Honest For Comfort

Some things are worse than mental illness

I am not going to go into a lot of detail here; it wouldn't be right.

But I need to say that things that look happy on the outside are not often happy for real. You know, things like relationships, family, bills, or whatever. Things people don't see.

It is extremely upsetting to me when we have to borrow money from family to survive. And we've had to do that several times. More than once this past year when my husband was laid off.

It's difficult for me to admit when things aren't perfect. When there are things I haven't wanted to see or admit are problems. But now I can see them. Now I have to face them, and now I have to deal with them.

Dealing with issues is hard. It's tearful, it's a mix of anger and frustration, humiliation and fear.

I wish I could vent more here. I wish I could be specific and not have judgments poured out. I wish I could cite my imperfections and others that have impacted my life. Things that make coping with my mental illness even harder.

Things that make reality hard. Today I feel that weight. Today I kind of wish I still had my blinders on. I'm tired of being strong. But so help me, I will be. And I will take necessary steps.

I just hope it's soon enough and worth the effort.

I wish and hope for my daughters

There are words and emotions I want to say and spell out, but they won't form into a coherent whole. I'm going to try anyway.

My oldest daughter is married and has had her first child. My first grandbaby. It's amazing and wonderful and challenging and hard. She's struggling with college and a baby who won't sleep. The hormones of her post-partum female body are not making things any easier.

I remember that stage. It's hard to watch her struggle. It's also impossible not to get goofy happy about that little life she's brought into the world who I love so much.

She has a husband who adores, cherishes, and loves her. She hates it when she cannot sleep next to him and is still completely besotted, even when her marriage gets hard.

My second daughter is now engaged. She's changing colleges so she can live near him until they get married. When, we don't know for sure. I hope sooner rather than later, but we'll see.

Again, this daughter has a guy who absolutely adores her. She misses him when they are apart. She has given him her whole heart, and he's earned it.

I love that these guys love my daughters. That they build each other up, that they support each other's goals. I've watched them compromise, and work together to face challenges. Ok, granted, a whole year of marriage for child #1 is not a whole lot of time. But it's a very healthy start, I think.

Child #2 isn't even in a marriage yet, but she's had relationship practice before this. And oh my goodness did she sample the dating pool. The way she and her fiance have faced their differences and their situations has been impressive and amazing to me.

The point I'm trying to get at, I think, is that I am so very glad that my girls have ended up with young men who love them, respect them, and who are compassionate and caring about their feelings, their goals, and who they are.

I hope my other three daughters end up with men like that.  I hope my son grows up to be a man like that.

I know things don't always work out. I know, quite well, that some people have well-concealed masks that aren't discovered until after the wedding vows have been said.

I sincerely and desperately hope that my girls have keepers. That they have chosen wisely and that their mates have chosen well in return. I hope my girls are just as amazing to their men.

I wish for them all the happiness that it's possible to have. Life will not be kind. Every single one of my kids is going to have ups, downs, and roller-coaster rides from hell. Marriage is an opportunity to become a master at forgiveness and compromise. It's certainly not easy.

I hope for my girls that it's worth it.

We all know that people change. One or the other in the unions are capable of making dumb and hurtful choices. Things happen. Not all marriages last; some last when they shouldn't.

I hope. I hope that these pieces of my heart walking around out there in the world get their happy endings.

This thing I call living

I'm sitting here feeling the effects of missing a dose because I spilled the water on my bedside table yesterday. I forgot to go back and take the meds after I made it to the kitchen when my day started. Today: nausea, my extremities feel constantly tingly/on fire, lucid dreams, and super dizzy. 

It makes me see the ramifications of being on medicine in the first place. I feel my mortality, the tenuous connection I have to sanity, and my frailties. 

While I know I need my psychotropic drugs, the side effects are a fairly big deal. I often wish I didn't have to take them. I wish I had a reliable memory.

Clinical depression 90% of the time requires medication. That's just the way of it. But there are some people who do beautifully on homeopathic, footzoning, diet changes, sunshine regimes, etc. It's definitely worth looking into the non-drug stuff, for sure. I did. Of course, I ended up in the psyche ward because my Bi-Polar Depression isn't the kind of challenge that is going to go away just because I'm stubborn and was raised to think pharma is evil.

There are mental tricks, tips, mantras, breathing techniques, and all other kinds of coping strategies that are awesome and helpful. I use these all the time. 

So many different tools for the so many different versions of mental illness. Not one person's depression is the same as another's. Not one person's Bi-Polar is the same as another's. Same with anxiety, and any of the other mental illnesses that go into this list.

I know there are people who are positive that if I'd just do this one thing, I'd be healed. Today, while making myself get up and deal with the eating, moving, kidlet wrangling, and loss of most of the day, I look at my life and realize that there are a great many things that I have the power to change. .

Yet there are some things that I have no control over. Some things that would require a miracle or two to fix. And while I personally believe that miracles can and do happen, often daily, I have been told 'No' to the removal of this particular challenge. It's something that frustrates me, inspires me, paralyzes me, and kicks me into action just to prove that I'm not a hopeless lump. It's terrifying at moments, humiliating at times when my failures seem so enormous. Humbling at having to rely on others to pick up the slack.

But amazingly enough, it's also rewarding. The amount of people who contact me and tell me how encouraging it is that I'm willing to talk about it. That I show my insides. The fears, the urges - like wanting to run away, or face the wall let the darkness consume me. Or the *need* that sometimes comes to the forefront of my mind, the one that says to take that long walk and disappear into the bottom of the lake that's just over yonder. 

Things I *have* to discuss so they don't become truth. I'm still here. Today that alone feels like a miracle. 

Rob has to have his meds to stay alive. Physically, his body will reject his kidney, and his body will stop functioning if he doesn't have his medication.

My medication is also necessary for my survival. I don't have a transplant, diabetes, or some other horrible disease that is slowly eating away at my ability to live. My body isn't failing. I can breathe, eat, walk, talk, taste my food, not worry about my blood sugar (now that I'm off the risperdal,) etc. 

But without my meds, I won't survive. The chemicals in my brain will change my mental state of mind, my ability to discern truth vs lie in my own thoughts, and my interpretation of communication with others. It will affect my motivation, energy levels, and ability to reason in a logical fashion. It's happened before, affecting my decisions and choices which felt right at the time. 

I suppose I'm being self-involved and unable to focus on those around me today. I have a friend in rehabilitation I should go visit. He had a knee replaced a while back, and then had to have surgery again after part of it tore. Yet driving today would be a very stupid choice, and well... I'm not going to get into the other why's and wherefores of not getting there. But I know he loves company, and I should get over there.

But at the moment, just interacting with my kids feels like the most I can do for serving those around me. I hope on some level it counts.

Enduring

Someone sick = called in early on Monday. Someone quit = stayed late on Weds. Also had Blue & Gold for Wil and New Beginnings for Mina and Jada yesterday (Weds) Forgot to take xanex before the Blue & Gold... that was hard, but I got through it. At least New Beginnings was quiet.

I think I fell asleep as soon as I hit the bed last night. Still have two more days of work this week. I am trying really hard to dig up some enthusiasm while I'm there. As Howard Taylor puts it, "Be the dancing monkey for the public.

Once upon a time, I worked 40+ hours a week. (When you're salaried, no one counts overtime.) For a couple of years I had two jobs and worked I don't even know how many hours a week. Now here I am finding 20ish hours a struggle.

Honestly? This week I have truly wondered if working is a good idea. Deep down I do love it, but wow is it hard. Thankfully next week I only work three days.

And yet I find myself wanting to get back into more involvement with my kids. I wanted to approach the Cub Master last night and tell him all the stuff we used to do when I was cub master. Wasn't sure how that would go over, so I kept my mouth shut. If you know me, you probably know how hard that was. I tend to want to take over when I feel like I'm good at something. I was good at being a pack leader. It was hard, but I loved it. There's nothing so fun as getting to be a 9yr old boy for a few hours a week.

Of course, that being said, I know there will be times when I can't function. Those days are part of my life now and I can almost accept it. However, I crave the involvement. Which is NOT simplifying my life, but it's something I want to do.

A little girl came over and asked me about Girl Scouts at the Blue and Gold. I have no clue how she knew to talk to *me* of the 60+ people there. Neither did her dad, but he took down all the information so he could enroll her.

I miss scouts. I miss the activities, the smiles on the girls and boys faces when they achieve something they didn't know they could do.

And frankly, it feels like it would be a great escape from... well... stuff that would be inappropriate to talk about on FB, but is super massive stressful that I don't know how to deal with. Crap that my psychiatrist challenged me to turn into something fun like I did with Christmas. I think the man is insane and mean for expecting me to be able to do it.

And honestly, I'm a complete coward. So much so, that when I missed my appointment on Tuesday, I still haven't rescheduled. I don't want to report that I have no idea how to do his stupid homework. Not only that, but I don't want to. After six weeks, I still have zero clue where to even start. Not smart of me, and I need to suck it up and set an appointment because the man manages my meds and my state of mind.

But AAARGH I hate admitting that I don't even want to try this challenge. It's a flat "Nope, not gonna do this one and you can't make me. I don't want to find a way to make it better; it's simply easier to continue to endure, so there. How about we forget I even brought this subject up.

Wow, that was a victim complex right there. Yeesh. If you read through that, you get extra stars for patience.

I'm gonna summon the strength to shower and get through my short four hour stint in the fitting room. I CAN make eye contact and smile at people for four hours. It's nice to see people smile back.

One of my co-workers said, "How do you get people to willingly let you count their clothes out? They always get mad at me." -- This surprised me, because I couldn't imagine any alternate scenarios.

Well, except for those few that are determined to be angry and upset. They generally start out that way no matter what is said or done. I honestly don't get a lot of those, but they happen. They hate that I slow them down by counting in, and they really hate that I slow them down by counting out. Oh AND the fact that their clothes have to touch the T-bar. That's even worse for those folks. Darn. I'm gonna do it anyway.

So why don't my people normally have an issue with counting in and counting out? I dunno. I make it funny? I laugh about it? They can sense that I'm not giving them an option, it's just the way it is? Smiling about it is funner? I swear to them I went to first grade and learned how to count or do basic math?

The fitting room is MY domain and it's a happy place for me. Maybe they can sense that? My life is hard enough and I hope I can make other people feel loved when they're having a bad day? Especially when clothes don't fit right, or they're having to try out bigger sizes and that's depressing? I have no idea.

I like people, and they tend to like me back. It's just a thing. My friend Lee commented once about it, and it was a pretty awesome compliment.

Now, don't get me wrong, I KNOW my take-charge attitude totally offends some people. And wow can I be a know-it-all sometimes. I try to apologize and make it better when I'm aware of it.

And obviously I have personality conflicts with some people. Let's be real here, it happens to everyone. And when it does my attitude is, "Well, I know God loves them. He can love them over THERE, preferably not next to me." I know you know how that is. Everyone does. Some people just suck to be around no matter how hard you try.

Anyway, I need to go shower now. Love all y'al.

Oh I feel like I suck right now

‪#‎WaaaahWaaaahSelfPityPost‬

The pitfall of having *me* as the homeschool 'leader' whatever thing I'm supposed to be, is that I forgot I have an entirely different email I'm supposed to be checking.

75 messages from teachers. 75.

If I could remember to check the dang thing, I could remember to push/remind/do my freaking JOB.

Granted, I cannot make the child's choices, but ohmyholycrap, I feel like an immense failure right now. What kind of mother stays oblivious to attempted communication from teachers?????

One more alarm I need to set on my phone as a reminder. Well, assuming the worst doesn't happen. Oh, I can't even tell you how bad it will be if the worst happens. On the plus side, grades are currently pulled up in all but two of the classes, and one of those is waiting for assignments to be graded. If you knew my daughter, you'd know why I was stressing over this. It's a very big deal. And don't tell me public school would be better. Just don't. Again, you don't know my daughter.

this is what my phone looks like:

*alarm: Take your meds
*alarm: get out of bed and shower for work - or heck, shower for hygiene.
*alarm: make dinner
*alarm: Hey, feed yourself lunch/breakfast
*alarm: it's time to read to kids
*alarm: bedtime for kids
*alarm: did you do your writing today?
*alarm: did you do your sketching today?
*work alarm: Break's over. Lunch is over. (timer set for 15 or 30 mins)
*new alarm: Check the homeschool email
*new alarm: check assignments (fridays) - because it's my JOB. And not only do they check child's work, they check to make sure I am being involved and helping.

Alarms because I can't remember a damn thing because my brain doesn't function anymore. And the aphasia, that's annoying, too.

*sigh* The best I can do at this point is try to do better. I can't fix the past. No one can. But uuuuuugh my new brain is frustrating. How am I supposed to be an example of responsibility when I can't remember basic things without reminders?

I KNOW the depression is going to take this and make the guilt and feeling of failure even worse. And if I don't deal with it soon, the anxiety will kick in. I know I'm going to have to stay on top of that so it doesn't spiral down. But I guess right now I'm allowed to feel that way for a few minutes or however long until I handle the guilt and use it as a stepping stool instead of a holycrapISUCK!!!!!

And trust me:  consequences. Oooooh consequences. I may never let this child out of the house until she's 30.