I was struck by lightning

Howahhh. What? 

Yeah, I was struck... by the Lightning Process...

And I can't keep quiet about it a minute longer. Every single day I read posts on Facebook about people suffering from chronic illnesses or conditions (like ME, chronic fatigue, migraines, depression, anxiety, food allergies, other allergies etc.), and I know of something that can help them. It would just be incredibly selfish of me not to share my amazing journey.

But first, what in the world is the Lightning Process? It's an amazing training programme whereby you learn how to rewire your brain and to train your brain to tell your body what to do so that you can get better when you are stuck in your life, or stuck in your health.

For those of you know me or who have been following me for a while, you will know that I suffered from post natal depression after the birth of both my children, that anxiety was a big issue, and that my self esteem and body image had never been amazing. 

When my second child was a few months old, I bumped into Sarah. I hadn't seen her in quite awhile and the last time I had seen her, she was suffering from chronic fatigue and multiple food intolerances. That day, she was full of energy and eating the same as me. So I asked her what had happened, and she just answered, "I did the Lightning Process and now I'm fine and I can eat whatever I want". Well, I wanted to know her secret and I wanted to do the same thing. 

At the time, it turned out the only Lightning Process trainer was in Auckland, and the training programme was over $1,000 (it still is by the way). I felt really deflated, but Sarah told me that she was training to become a recognised trainer and that she would be in touch when she was fully qualified. She did! But I couldn't afford it, or maybe I wasn't desperate enough.

You know, 

Sound familiar?

Earlier this year however, I had had ENOUGH. I was on anti-depressants every other day but I was tense, pretty anxious, highly strung, without a sense of humour, and generally tired of faking it. I was angry and disappointed with myself for not enjoying motherhood. I was also very, very tired of sneezing all day every day and reacting to every little pollen and allergen in the air. I wanted to be able to visit friends with cats if I so wished. I wanted to look in the mirror and see a beautiful woman. And I wanted to know what to do with my life.

I was driving one day and I thought, 

Ann, you're just existing. You are waiting for each day to pass so you can get to the next one, and then the next one, until the day you die.

That day was my turning point.

I emailed Sarah Field who is the Lightning Process trainer at Monarch Life, ordered Phil Parker's Introduction to the Lightning Process, and signed up after I'd read it and had a chat with Sarah. On the 1st of August, I was sitting in her training room with 6 other desperate people, and for 3 days I drank in every word and learned how to train my brain to tell my body what to do.

After day 1, I experienced BUBBLES OF JOY! (I hadn't experienced that in over 7 years)

After day 2, I went clothes shopping and didn't have one single negative thought about myself. (I had never experienced that)

After day 3, I was actually looking forward and excited at the prospect of going on holiday to Fiji with my family. (I had never looked forward to spending several days in a row with my kids with no respite. To that day I was dreading that holiday and was wondering how I would get through it)

Today, almost 2 months later, I cannot tell you the number of times my husband has just stared at me unbelieving. I have blown him away. We had an amazing holiday in Fiji. I am not stressed about these school holidays and I haven't planned every minute in advance. I use my calm voice so much more than before. I enjoy being with my kids a lot of the time. My allergies have all but disappeared, and on the rare occasions when I do have symptoms, I do the Lightning Process steps, and they go away. My self confidence has grown in leaps and bounds. I am not afraid of the future and have confidence in my abilities. I experience joy and happiness. And my daughter gave me 2 amazing gifts. She said to me one day shortly after I did the training: "Mum, you actually laughed today!". And on another occasion she said: "Mum, you don't get angry anymore" (I do get angry, but I am able to control it now). I do now burst out laughing. I do giggle. 

There is so much more I could say, but what I really wanted to do today was share how the Lightning Process training course has changed my life for the better. I am off anti depressants (and so much better than when I was on them). I am mostly off asthma and allergy medication. But most importantly,

If you find that

- you've lost your sense of humour, or

- you're not living a life you love,

then the Lightning Process training can change your life too. Please get in touch with me if you would like to know more or if you have any questions.

You can find testimonies on how the Lightning Process has changed lives here.

Kia Kaha dear readers. Be Strong! 

And do leave me a comment. I love to hear from you.

Caution Note: do not stop medication without talking to your GP as well as your Lightning Process trainer.

For those who may be wondering: the Lightning Process did not and does not clash with my Christian beliefs. If anything, my faith is even stronger than it was.

Clamp my tubes please! Or why I got sterilized.

My daughter is about to turn 7. My son is 3.5. I love them.

Two weeks ago, I got sterilized. Tubes clamped. No more babies please! Or maybe I should say, No more flippin' babies, please. You get the idea. I wanted something definite. 

For E.V.E.R.

No more babies!

I was as sure as I'll ever be and had been since the moment my second child was born. A few months after his birth, as I was still convinced of this and terrorised of having sex (not great for the relationship with my husband), I visited the doctor at my local Family Planning Clinic and asked to be referred for sterilization. I ticked all the boxes and my referral was accepted. 

Now this bit is kind of hazy to me. Remember, I was in the depth of Post Natal Depression and my brain was more than foggy. I saw the gynaecologist, who somehow talked me out of it and I walked out my appointment with a Mirena IUD. I was in shock and I wasn't sure what had happened.

Time passed, and I was still scared (read terrified) of having sex. I just couldn't stop myself from worrying that maybe the IUD had moved, or come out without me knowing. All very irrational, I know. Moreover, I am convinced that what hormones are contained in the Mirena IUD were not helping me get rid of this bloody depression.

So when my son turned 3, I went back to see the doctor, ended up in a mess of tears and hysterics, begged for another referral, which was miraculously accepted.

I went to the appointment with the specialist like a warrior ready to do battle. I was pumped and fuming. I went in, told them in no uncertain terms why I was there, and was told rather nicely that they would grant my wish and sterilize me this time.

This time?, I asked. Apparently, the specialist I saw the first time had taken it upon himself to decide for me and had thought that I might change my mind and want another child later on. I could have got angry. I didn't. I just thought:

Yes! No more babies! Sex with no fear of getting pregnant!

30 minutes before the operation.
Relaxed and at peace.

Two weeks later I was lying on the operation table, then on my way home, drugged up and very sore from the keyhole surgery. Good thing I didn't know before hand how painful the recovery would be, or how slow (don't let any surgeons tell you that keyhole surgery is nothing. It IS something).

Lying in bed over the next few days, I had a lot of time to think. A lot of friends told me how brave I had been. How strong. I wasn't sure I understood why. Deciding to get sterilized was one of the easiest decisions of my life. I never, and I mean NEVER, want to put myself, my husband or my kids through the effects of Post Natal Depression and Anxiety again.

I am completely at peace about my decision. Entirely confident about what I've done. I'm so looking forward to having sex and feeling free to enjoy it fully. But I'm also sad because I have to...

... accept that child bearing is not good for me. And having two beautiful children already, I shall make sure I never bear a child again. For me, the strength does not lie in the decision to get sterilised but in the acceptance of my limitations and the discrepancy between my young woman dreams and my realities of motherhood.

I love this sculpture.
The mother looks totally at peace with her two children.

So why didn't my husband just get the snip, you might wonder. Well, I wondered too. For a while. But then we decided, together, that since I could get funding for my operation, we might as well save the snip money for a holiday or something nice. I don't really care who is sterilized, as long as one of us is.

This is my story, my perceptions, my decision. In no way do I want to influence, judge or criticize anyone else's journey. I just love to share with you and I hope that I can encourage you in one way or another.

Kia Kaha! Be Strong!

Please leave me a comment. I love to hear from you :-).

My man had PND

My first child, a girl, was a few weeks old. I cried all day. I was a mess. My husband didn't know what was happening to me. He looked at me with despair in his eyes, with sadness, with a sense of powerlessness that made me cry even more. He got angry and yelled at my Post Natal Depression. I felt like he was yelling at me. I hated my PND. I hated myself all the more for putting my husband through the pain of witnessing my distress. 

With counselling and medication, I got through it. My husband was relieved to have his wife back. Our daughter was 2.5 years old.

We didn't want her to be an only child. I got pregnant and gave birth to a gorgeous strong boy. The birth was hideous. The first two weeks were okay. My husband got up with me at night when I was feeding. I thought, "it's going to be okay".

The third week I started crying. Every time I breastfed and the milk came down, an intense and overpowering sense of despair would overcome me. A friend, who was a La Leche League volunteer at the time, recognized the signs of D-MER, or Dysphoric Milk Ejection Reflex, which is caused by a "sudden drop in the feel-good hormone dopamine, which pre-empts the release of breast milk. This leads to strong negative emotions and lasts for as long as milk let-down continues - usually  between 30 to 90 seconds". It was aweful and with every single milk let-down, I wanted to die.

But I could also feel the claws of Post Natal Depression latching on to my head, my heart, my senses. My desire to do anything was disappearing, my sense of self-worth was withering, my interest in my kids was dismal to say the least.

As I went downhill, so did my husband.

He was angry. He yelled. He slammed doors. He didn't want to have anything to do with the kids. He was impatient. His jaw was constantly clenched. He accused me of being the one who wanted children. He said he didn't want children.

I cried even more. I was desperate to get better because I couldn't bear to see my husband like that, and yet I could not.

The fourth week, my parents arrived. My Mum took over the cooking and looking after my daughter. My Dad took over looking after my son. Rocking him. Burping him. Getting him to sleep. Over and over again. He was doing what I had dreamed my husband would do, but was incapable of doing. 

At the time, I was so disappointed in my husband. Disappointed that he wasn't living up to my expectations. That he wasn't ready to step-up and be the Dad I had imagined him to be. Couldn't he see that I couldn't do anything and that it was his job to fill in where I couldn't? Why was he letting my parents do everything? Why did he have to work such long hours when I so desperately needed him close to me?

The fifth week, I was having panic attacks and crying all day. I wanted to die. I didn't care how, but I just didn't want to exist for another second. So I asked my Mum to take me to the hospital. I left my Dad with my baby. I knew he had formula and bottles that we had bought a few days earlier as a back-up plan. But really, at that point, I didn't care.

I got help that day. The CATT (Crisis Assessment and Treatment Team) team took over. They put me on anti-anxiety medication and anti-depressants, both of which meant I had to stop breast-feeding. After my parents left, friends took over and were there for me.

But my husband suffered in silence. 
He didn't talk. 
He exploded occasionally. 
He was angry.
He still clenched his jaw. 
He hated the lack of excitement in our lives. 
He felt helpless and hopeless. 
He felt powerless. 
I felt like he resented me, when in fact he resented my PND and its implications in our lives: he felt like he had lost the woman he married. He would yell and say "I've got bloody PND too, so give me a break!". And so, several times, I encouraged him to go see our doctor to talk about what he was going through.

But he never did.

For quite a long time, I was resentful of that. I mean, why should I get help and get treated for the benefit of our family, if he wasn't going to do the same? I looked for support groups online for men with PND, but couldn't find any (this was 3 years ago now).

So I gave up. I let him deal with it on his own. I was there for him when he wanted to talk. And always reminded him that doctors were there to help. But his fear of being put onto medication held him back. I strongly believe however, that had there been more of an awareness of PND in men, he would have reached out. He wouldn't have felt so alone.

The first two years of our son's life were pretty hideous, both of us navigating the roller-coaster of depression, all the while running a business and raising two gorgeous kids. I'm sure that our marriage survived because through it all we continued to:

• go out on a date most weeks, even if we just went for a walk or out for a drink or a movie. We didn't always talk much. We quite often argued. But we always respected our two golden rules: no talk of work and no talk of the kids;
• ask for forgiveness and forgive each other every night for what we had done and/or said to hurt the other;
• give each other child-free space every weekend;
• communicate, communicate, communicate.

Remember these four tips!

Three years after the birth of our son, things are a lot easier. I'm still taking meds, but am starting to consider coming off them. My husband is back to normal. And the kids drive us crazy with love and crazy with frustration, depending on the moments.

I hope this post has encouraged you in some way. It's hard for Mums with PND to talk about this stuff, and it's even harder for our men. The more we talk about PND in fathers though, the more they will feel able and confident to reach out for help.

If you know of support groups for men with PND, please share them with us.

See more on PND in Dads here.

Kia Kaha! Be Strong!

Today I am thankful!

I had a good day today. We all had a good day today.

I don't know why or how, but the planets and the stars aligned for me today.

I was relaxed. I was cool. Mr 3 played nicely by himself several times. We cruised. He almost didn't whine. He almost didn't cry. He said please and thank you. He got into his car seat when asked. 

At 3 o'clock, the dreaded school pick up time and "what am I going to do with them for 2 hours?" time, I was calm! I couldn't believe it.

Nothing beats sunshine and Vitamin D

The sun was shining so we went to the park and had ice cream. We hung out for one hour and I didn't get bored (I normally find playgrounds the most boring place on earth, please tell me I'm not the only one???). My kids' smiles and excited shouts were like warm waves of love washing over me.

Back home, they played nicely (?!) and my son helped me chop the vegetables for the fish pie.

All day, I just kept asking myself: why? how? I have no idea. Maybe it's the PND lifting a little more. Maybe it's the fact that I've been allergy free for almost a week thanks to the new meds, maybe it was the sunshine. Maybe it was all three. Maybe it was none of them. 

Today was a good day. It was a moment in eternity. A ray of sunshine in a sky which has been tainted by fogginess and greyness. A drop in an ocean of emotions, feelings, and anxieties.

Today, I am thankful. I want to encourage you who are going through harder times, that there will be days like this one. They are worth waiting for, and when they come along, savour every little second of the day. Engrave each moment into your heart and mind. And smile!

Kia kaha! Be strong!

So what if I have PND?

I've had PND (Post Natal Depression) for 6 years now. 

After both kids. And that's okay. I can live with that, because I'm lucky enough to have access to treatment and supportive friends. I've never felt inadequate or guilty or ashamed.

Quite the opposite really. I don't mind talking about my experience. I always hope it will encourage another Mum or make her feel less alone.

But I was thrown on Thursday last week. I went to see an allergy specialist for my never ending runny nose and eyes. A German doctor. He was loud. He sounded German. He did his job. He asked about my medical history and what medication I was on. I told him I took citalopram because I suffer from PND. When told my youngest was now 3 he raised his eyebrows very high and said:

"Is that still PND after 3 years?". I just stared at him, gob-smacked.

Then he asked a few questions about allergy medications I've tried over the years. After a few minutes he stopped and said:

"I can't believe how many people take anti-depressants in New Zealand. Doctors just give it out to everyone. Don't you think you could stop now?" Wow. Just wow. I spluttered. I stumbled on my words. And then I said:

"I ended up at the CATT (Crisis Assessment and Treatment Team) centre in Porirua when my baby was 4 weeks old. I wanted to kill myself. I..." He interrupted me and said, "Oh, you were suicidal. Please keep taking the pills then!".

We then proceeded with what I was there for: allergies and prick testing. He was highly efficient in that regard and I'm already doing much better on the new treatment. Thank you German Doctor.

I feel so lucky that I'm in a place now where I can hear such statements and not take them too seriously. He did make me doubt for a few seconds...

"Could I stop my anti-depressants now?", "Do I really need them?"

Was the German Doctor right?

But then sense took over. I mean, come on. It's ok to take anti-depressants if you're suicidal but not otherwise? Just come off the pills, you don't need them anyway? Imagine if he said that to a woman who was feeling very unwell mentally, or felt guilty, or lost, or angry about her PND? I left that office worried that a highly qualified doctor, who gets paid $375 per 45 minute consultation, feels he has the right to give a woman he doesn't know advice about her PND and her treatment. 

Would he have told my friend with diabetes to stop her injections? 
Would he have told my other friend with severe asthma to stop using her inhaler? 
Did he tell me to stop taking medication for my allergies?

There is obviously still a stigma attached to all forms of depression. Maybe more so in Europe than in New Zealand. My very talented Mum, who has suffered from depression her entire adult life and has come up against a lot of judgement and stereotypes, wrote a great little book called "Thank God for Anti-Depressants". I agree with her 100%. Thank God for all medication that saves life, be it diabetes, cholesterol, depression, asthma, infections, etc.

So what if I have PND? So what if I was suicidal? It's okay. It's called life. PND is still a part of my life. Mostly in the form of anxieties these days. But it's still there. I'm better and better as the years go by though and I find that exciting.

So what if you have PND or depression? It's okay. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. You will get better, with or without the help of pills and/or other remedies. Life is a journey and it will throw things at you, but I've found that it's the way you accept and deal with life's lemons that transform you into a better and stronger person. I've gone through two very bare and lifeless winters, but spring is a pretty exciting place to be: summer is just around the corner!

I would never trade my journey for an easier one. It has made me who I am today. Your journey makes you who you are today.

You are amazingly and fearfully made. Kia Kaha! Be Strong!


I'd love to hear from you!


* If you are suffering from depression and you are worried about your safety or the safety of others, please don't suffer in silence. Contact your doctor, or call a friend. Ask for help.*

Confessions of an Anxious Mum

I've just had a pretty crappy day. In my head. With the kids.

I can just feel it sometimes, before I even get out of bed. Today's going to be hard.

And then I stop myself in my tracks and berate myself for having those thoughts and tell myself I should be positive. And then I change my mind and think "No, it's okay. Accept your thoughts for what they are". Just thoughts. 

Thoughts are just thoughts until I act on them.

I can always dream, right?

More often than not, these morning intuitions are pretty accurate. Sure enough, this morning started bright and early with Master Joakim who couldn't find his car at 5.15am. Followed by Miss Letitia at about 5.45am whose duvet was all in a tangle and who was freezing. Then I lay in bed, unable to sleep. The more time passed, the more I debated actually just getting up and doing something fruitful that would get me ahead of the game today. But my tired body won and I finally went back to sleep mere minutes before the alarm went off.

As soon as the kids were up, they started bickering, and whining, and screaming like someone was torturing them when in fact their sock wouldn't fit just so. I finally got Miss L to school (on time!), and everything quietened down. It's funny how you take one number out of the equation, and everything changes. The balance shifts.

I breathed. 

My son and I did the groceries. We had a coffee and a fluffy to reward ourselves. That's our little Wednesday routine. We went home, put away the shopping. I was about to start making lunch when my son took my hand and pulled me towards his cars and the racing track,

I paused.

I had a choice. Either tell him once again that I was busy, or stop and play with my darling wee boy.

I stopped. 

We played for 15 beautiful minutes. I looked at my boy's smiles, I heard his giggles. My eyes wanted to eat him up and my ears were tingling with love. Waves of restoring love washed over me. All the hard moments are worth it.

After school pick up, the bickering, the fighting, and the shouting resumed. I ploughed on, that frown between my eyebrows, checking the clock every few minutes and wishing my husband would come home early. He did. Then he went for a run. My heart dived and sunk. I wanted to drop everything, take the car keys, and drive off. But then my heart came rushing back up for air. My head gave it a stern talking too. 

So much goes on between my heart and my head every day. This on-going and never-ending dialogue of feelings and thoughts, of should haves and did nots, of wanting to cry and wanting to laugh. But at the centre of it all is God, and He holds me together, always. He never lets me go.

When I put my son to bed, he held my head close to his, cheek against cheek, while I sung to him. Then I put my daughter to bed. She's started this thing where she tells me "I love you" over and over before she leaves for school or before bed, because she wants to be sure it's the last thing I hear from her before we're apart. I forgot the whining and the screaming, the bickering and the never-ending demands. 

Oh the pure sweet excruciating love bursting out of my chest in these moments. 

My first child is 6. My second child is 3 next week. I still suffer from Post-Natal Depression and Anxiety. Life goes on though. It's like a river, and where I'm at just now is pretty choppy and twisty, but hey, it's a lot better than the rapids and sharp bends I was struggling through a few years ago! And even though my sweet hubby may not see it every day, I know that I'm a better person today because of everything I've been through. I can love better, I can empathize better, I can understand better, and I can be there better.

I don't know where you're at in your parenting journey. But whatever you're experiencing, you're not alone. Kia Kaha! Be Strong!

I'm in the trenches

Life as a stay at home parent can be so hard.

It's hard for me today. I'm sitting on the floor outside the bathroom door while my son finally plays happily in the bath. It's been one of those mornings that started at 6.15am with my son taking his dirty nappy off and putting No Twos all over himself. He then would not stay in bed, so I camped outside his door in a blanket so that every time he opened his door I could send him back to bed. Did I mention I had to take out his light bulb? 

Boy oh boy, life with an almost 3 year old is tough. I vaguely remember going through this phase with my daughter when she was a similar age. So it's kind of reassuring to know that I can only vaguely remember that time with her. 

There is hope!

But today, I just wanted to encourage all of us stay at home Mums and Dads. 

Well done us! Well done, Mama! Well done, Papa!

We deal with this, day in and day out, and we have to dig so deep for that extra dose of patience when all we really want to do is lock ourselves up in our room with a wine (even at 8am, yes yes!) and pretend that he / she didn't exist. Just for just a little while.

But hey, it will be okay. And you're not alone!

God created us with this ability to dig deep into the trenches of our willpower, whatever happens. I knew, even as I stood face to face with my husband this morning and begged him to stay home today, that actually, we were going to be all right. That my son and I would both get through the day.

And now he's happy in the bath. At 11am. Who cares? It's amazing how just a few minutes of peace and calm can get us out of our trenches and back into the sun.

Kia kaha! Be Strong!

4 weeks of holidays to go - eeeek!



You must forgive me for not writing over the last few months. Sometimes life gets too busy and complicated, and when that happens, I find I cannot write anymore.

Have you been there, dear reader? At that point where you are so submerged in and by life and its complexities that you can't even find an outlet for your gifts? And yet, using your gifts is what essentially keeps you going, isn't it?

So here I am, dear reader. I have been stripped bare over the past few months, but here I am, and happy to be here.

What are you facing at the moment?
Are you in a happy place?
Are you in a worried place?
Are you in a sad place?
Are you in an "I don't want to feel anything anymore" place?

I'm in an anxious place.
My head knows that being anxious doesn't help:



But there it is, in its naked truth: I am anxious. I almost feel there should be an AA group for Anxious Anonymous. "Hello, my name is Ann and I'm an anxious person". Some of my anxieties are unidentifiable. It's this latent underlying feeling that usually rears its ugly head early in the mornings or late at night. The rest of the time, it rests pretty dormant, just occasionally popping out of its hole to remind me that it's still there.

Some of my anxieties, however, I can put my finger on. For example, right now, it's 4 more weeks of school holidays, with 2 kids at home, a husband working long hours, and no family around to help take off some of the load.

What am I going to do with them? Both Master 2 and Miss 5.5 are very energetic, highly interactive and extremely bright kids. Oh I have ideas of what we could do, and I always have a few ideas up my sleeve. But the hardest is the knowledge that I will not get much respite for that length of time. I've loved having a part time job outside the home. It keeps me balanced and able to give my kids the best of me when I am home. But at the moment I'm not in a position to do so very much. So while it makes me anxious, I also want to treasure the next few weeks. There will be beautiful moments. I know it.

So, I'm interested. What are your tips for surviving the long summer holidays? Please share!

I'll start:
- create some form of routine (because this works best for us);
- see friends;
- plan one non free activity per week;
- make things as fun as possible;
- stay relaxed;
- get the kids outside at least once a day;
- it's okay to put the TV on. Really, it is;
- involve the kids in baking etc;
- arrange at least 2 hours of ME TIME at the weekends - this always involves good coffee;
- plan some dates with my husband.

 

Kia kaha dear reader. Be strong. Keep cool.



Your smile could change a life

It's been a long silence from me. I've been living life. Or rather trying to catch up with life. Or maybe it was just surviving. I'm not too sure, and it doesn't really matter. I'm back!

Winnie the Pooh is such a wise bear...

At our church, we have something at Easter called "Stations of the Cross". The story of Easter is divided into stations. Each station represents one part of the Easter story and is illustrated by a volunteer. I don't consider myself arty, but after much thought and hesitation, I accepted to do one.

Station 10, "Simon helps Jesus carry His cross", jumped out at me. It spoke to me because when I was at the very bottom of my post natal depression hole, and I couldn't carry my burden alone, a few very precious people helped me carry my cross.

My parents flew over from Switzerland (that's over 30 hours of travel!). He carried, burped and fed my newborn son.She cooked, cleaned and entertained my bewildered preschool daughter.

My husband was there and didn't abandon me when I was at my least attractive or appealing. I looked like crap, felt like crap, and behaved like crap. But he loved me. He stayed.

Friends brought over meals.

One friend visited and helped me realize I needed help.

Another friend came over when I was alone with the kids and having a panic attack. She listened, and she prayed. She stayed.

A few friends came to just be with me so I wasn't alone with the children.

A very dear couple did the housework before my parents arrived.

My midwife told me to stop breastfeeding (yes, she did, in New Zealand!) because it was destroying me and I felt like I needed her permission to stop.

My close friends accepted me through that time, even if they didn't fully understand.

And there are others.

Thank you. A thousand times THANK YOU. You know who you are.

You saved my life, one kind gesture at a time. You helped me carry my cross. It didn't weigh over 135kgs like Jesus' cross did. But it might as well have. And I know it wasn't easy for those who helped me. Helping someone you love is often very hard. It can be a hard step to take. It can be fairly easy to ignore. It can hurt to take it. You may want to turn back several times.

Simon helps Jesus carry His cross

Imagine Simon, stepping out of the crowd who was mocking and humiliating Jesus, to help Jesus carry an unbearably heavy cross in the burning heat, up a hill, and knowing that he may very well be crucified too for helping his friend. Yet he did it. Out of love.

How often, in our busy lives, do we ignore the prompting to help one another. We're too busy. It's too hard. It would take too long. What would people think? What would people say? What will I get out of it? It would hurt too much. I'd feel embarrassed. I just can't be bothered...

Let me encourage you to pick up that cross, to reach out and to help. One smile is sometimes all it takes.

You could be saving a day, saving a life.

Kia Kaha! Be strong!

The long-haul battle

There is something to be said for the short term battle. Short and hard, but over in a flash. The flu maybe. Giving birth. A disagreement with a friend or colleague. An overtired child. Resisting that mouth watering dessert, or that extra piece of cheesy pizza. They mark our everyday lives. They are like little molehills we stumble on, but overcome pretty quickly and easily.

And then there are the long-haul battles. Cancer, maybe. A broken relationship. An eating disorder. The loss of a loved one. The impossibility to conceive. Unfaithfulness. And the list goes on.

My long-haul battle is post natal depression and anxiety. My second child is now 16 months old and I’m not free of it. Six months ago I cut down on my anti-depressants and was coping really well. I felt amazing and on top of the world. But I didn’t have emotions and couldn’t cry. So I cut down and felt pretty confident that pretty soon I’d be finished with them.

I don’t know what happened. But very slowly, anxieties, anger, bitterness, impatience, curled their ugly heads out and showed up in my life once again. It got to the point where the person I love the most on this earth, my dear husband, and I had a big disagreement and I ended up saying, “But I can’t do any more than I’m doing, I still have depression!”. Life had just become too much. I’d taken on too many responsibilities and I was drowning. This admission hit us both very hard. Honestly, my husband deserves a medal for everything my PND has put him through (please note I didn’t say “I put him through”). He wants to be free of it just as much as I do. But we’re not. And we’re in this together, for better or for worse.

 

So I had two choices before me:  go back to the doctor and put the meds back up again, or look at my activities and cut down. I chose the latter. I’ve asked for time off from my responsibilities at church. I still have too much though, but it’s tricky knowing what to cut out next. Everything I do, I do because I love and I believe in it, or believe it is my duty to do it. Being proactive about making these changes is one side of the coin.

 

On the other side is accepting the fact that I am not healed from PND. I am still a control freak. I don’t burst out laughing like I used to. I’m tired. I’m easily irritated. I love my kids to the ends of the earth and back, but some days I wish I could just go away for a very long holiday without them. I snap at my family. I get angry. And I sigh… a lot.

I look at my dear sweet husband and kids and I wish and pray with all my heart to become a soft, loving wife and mother. I want my beaming smile back. I want the bursts of laughter. I want to want to smell flowers and sit still on the beach. My mountain today is to accept the notion that I still suffer from PND, to capture it and go with the flow. I am already so much better. I have come such a long way. God carried me through. He is carrying me still. I’m in this for the long-haul. My husband is in this with me for the long-haul.

So to finish, I’d like to pay a tribute to all the husbands and wives who live with, stand by, support and love their partner with depression. Who climb the hills and mountains with us, who pull us out of our black holes, who accept us and whisper “I love you, just the way you are”.

 

 

 

How do I know I'm loved?

How do I know I'm loved? How do you know you're loved? I mean, really know, from the depth of your being, from somewhere you can't even really name?

This is something I've been pondering a lot lately. First of all because the past year has been a tough year marriage wise. I mean, let's face it. When I got married, it was for better and for worse. But I had no idea what the worse could look like. I don't think I even believed the worse would actually happen to ME. Am I the only one who was so naive? So as we hit some bumps, and then some pretty big holes, I wasn't ready. It hurt, and I wanted to run. But I didn't. Why? Why didn't I leave the house, get into the car and drive away? LOVE. Because I love my husband. I love him with all of my being. He's inside every single skin pore and body cell. I became one with him when I agreed to marry him. For better and for worse. I am dedicated to the love I have for him. And to be honest, he's not always loveable, just like I'm definately not always loveable (PMS, anyone??), but I love him. Not only that, I choose to love him. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. And so when my whole being is aching to run away from the hurt, from the argument, from the tears, I don't. I open the bedroom door (or rather I don't lock it so that he can come in when he's ready), I try not to lie down in a solid ball with my back to him, but lie on my back or facing him. I choose to talk to him with an open heart. Yes, it hurts. Sometimes a lot. And it would probably be a lot easier to walk away or not talk things over... for now. But oh the sweet reward when misunderstandings are explained, when sorries are said and forgiveness is offered! I have seen my love grow deeper than I ever thought was possible.

I know I'm loved because my husband is still by my side. Despite my mistakes, despite sickness (and believe me Post Natal Depression is uuuuugly), despite all my imperfections (did someone say too stressed? control-freak? over spender?). He loves me. And I see reflected in his forgiveness and in his love, the love that God my Father has for me and for every single one of us.

My God loves me. Just as I am. He doesn't even have to choose to love me. He just does. Isn't that amazing? But last night, someone asked "How do you know God loves you?". I stayed stuck on that one all evening, and all night and it inspired me to write to you today. How do you know God loves you? I know God loves me because he pulled me back from the depths of depression twice. I know God loves me because when all I wanted to do was die, I could just about physically feel God's hand on my shoulder, holding me back. I know God loves me because he has sent angels in disguise to help me every single time I needed it. I know God loves me because he has blessed me with an amazing (but very human) husband and two gorgeous (but very human) children. I know God loves me because I was lucky enough to grow up with Christian parents who showed me God's love. Who didn't favor one child over another, who have stayed together for better and for worse. Who modeled God's love in their lives.

My God loves you. Just as you are. How do you know you are loved? By others, and by God? Take some time to think about it. And let me know if you have a good way of telling others about God's love for them. Because I struggle with that one.