**This is a long post.  I apologize but after editing it and editing it, this is as concise as I can be**

I used to work with a guy who was prone to fits of rage.  If he’d been around 3-4 years old, we would have called them temper tantrums.  He’d get so mad at a client, he’d scream obscenities and slam his door so hard the ceiling tiles would fly out of place. 

I found out a few months into that job that he suffered from diabetes, and didn’t do a very good job managing his condition.  When his blood sugar would drop, he’d become irritable to an extreme.  Unfortunately, some of his clients got the brunt of it and equally unfortunate that his coworkers got more than their fair share. 

Many of us excused his behavior because oh, he had diabetes.  And he did.  When he managed his condition properly, he was a normal human being. 

So I wonder how different mental illness is from his diabetes. 

I myself have tired of hearing professionals and those of us who suffer from various forms of it say, “_____(insert condition here) is the same as diabetes or hypothyroidism or any other kind of medical problem.  It needs to be treated, and no one looks down on someone taking medication for a heart problem.” 

This is true, but the words sound hollow to me because let’s face it, telling someone I suffer from high cholesterol and take meds to manage it is very different than telling someone I’m bipolar II (always important to stress the ‘II’ part!  Because that means I’m half as crazy! It’s SOFT bipolar, dammit!) and “need” medication to “be normal”. 

The fact is, for many years I was misdiagnosed with simple depression.  No one, and there were plenty of people who knew, connected my eating disorder with my true issue.  An even bigger fact:  most people who knew me would have never known I was sick or suffering. I became a master at keeping my crazy all to myself.  It helped that back then, I was a “writer” and I was “artsy” because hell, all of us creative types were prone to moodiness and tears.  My eating disorder was also an excellent form of medication to keep the true symptoms buried deep. Some people compulsively shop, gamble, or engage in very unhealthy behaviors.  These are the regular types of self-medication. Mine worked very well for many years. 

It is not an understatement to express how grateful I am that I came undone at the end of my marriage.  It took me being able to realize how bizarre my internal thoughts were to also make me realize that something much bigger was going on.  Although I would rather poke hot needles into my nail beds than go through those things again, I am truly the healthiest I have been because of them. 

I’ve said all of this before. Why say it again? 

Because when I first decided to come forward publicly with my story, I spent a lot of time analyzing the pros and cons of it.  I knew that someday someone might try to use my words against me, call me crazy, fling insults, and just simply feel superior to me.  More than that, I worried my kids would somehow suffer from other people knowing about it.  At the end of my deliberations, I decided to write as openly as I could about it while still maintaining some semblance of privacy and hopefully, dignity.  All the others before me who had written honestly about their own journey had helped me so much on my own.  I felt I owed it to the people in my life and, in a weird way, people that didn’t know me, an insider’s guide to living with mental illness.  I still don’t regret that decision.

Honestly, my fears about coming out with it have come true on a number of occasions.  I’ve had to accept the fact that I can’t explain myself to those unwilling to listen.  I can’t control how others view me.  I just have to be okay with myself and the steps I’ve taken (and there have been many!) to be the person I am today. 

I think what’s frustrated me the most is that it’s so much more taboo to discuss mental illness and own it than it is to just live with depression or other things silently, all the while pretending you’re okay.  Because I’ve had years of therapy, a great psychiatrist and done tons of personally agonizing and difficult work on myself, I’m somehow “less than” a person who just chooses to ignore their poor life decisions, erratic behavior, self-destructive personality, etc. 

WARNING to FAMILY MEMBERS who FREAK OUT THAT I POSTED ABOUT IT IN THE FIRST PLACE:  You MIGHT want to STOP READING because OMG SOMETHING POTENTIALLY NEGATIVE HAS HAPPENED!  SOMEONE HAS JUDGED ME!  WARNING!!!!

(I do get the fact that those in my family who were concerned about me acknowledging what happened just can’t stand the thought of others judging me or potentially penalizing me)

It happened recently that someone found out about my (gasp) illness and was questioning Running Boy about it.  Did he know?  Was he aware? Was I on medication?  In a way, I was amused.  Did he know?  Come on, seriously? I may not wear a t-shirt that says “Kiss me, I’m Soft Bipolar”, but everyone close to me knows the truth and also knows how hard I work to be the best person I can. 

Actually, maybe I DO wear a t-shirt that says this!

I was okay with that part, but the niggling fear under my conversation with RB was, “Is this going to be used against me? Or him?  Is my presence in his life going to cause him more trouble than he deserves?”  The answer is yes, we could go through some crap.  However, I have people lined up to talk about who I am today – including the aforementioned therapy/psych people – and at the end of the day, I’d venture to say I’m more self-aware and stable than the majority of people at the grocery store in any given day. 

What’s truly sad is that you’d think from what I’ve said that I was some raving lunatic in my previous life.  I wasn’t.  Unfortunately, by being so “normal”, I went undiagnosed for years and years and years – which meant that by outsider’s standards, I was fine – but internally I suffered in various ways. 

I have a medical condition.  I am on two medications, at low doses, to manage it.  I spent many years looking at my internal thought processes and my various crutches that enabled me to live with it.  As I hiked Sunday with a good friend, she said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy.”  I’m not sure I’d call it happiness as I don’t trust that word.  I would say I feel the strongest and most calm I’ve ever felt in my life, and this feeling has been with me for the last two years.  I still have good days and bad days like the rest of the population, and I still have to really manage my sleep patterns and make sure the people in my life are healthy people themselves.  But honestly?  Judging me because I’ve taken major steps to be a better mother, a better person?  That thought process makes me tired. 

I’m curious.  Delurk, even if anonymously.  Tell me how many people in your life have suffered from mental illness. Share what you can.  Have I helped you?  Hurt you?  What do you think the best way to combat this stigma is? 

People always comment on how different my two girls look.  One is fair, blonde, blue eyed - the other is olive skinned, dark hair, brown eyes.  Their personalities are often as different as their hair color.  Lily tends to be more easy-going and has a sweet nature about her.  She’s also prone to over-sensitivity and the need to always be right (even when she’s wrong).  Arden is hilarious and energetic; she’s the life of the party and is also prone to wild mood swings and difficulty adjusting to even the smallest obstacles (imagined or real). 

Way back when Mike and I were splitting up, both girls went to counseling.  It was a great experience for the both of them.  Lily’s counselor was fine, but I really loved Arden’s.  She had just enough of an edge to her that Arden knew she couldn’t get away with anything, but tempered her edge with a nurturing and kind side.  In a way, I got more out of Arden’s counseling than she did.  I tried to emulate her therapists finely-honed skills - being both the disciplinarian and the person you’d most like to hug you.  She showed me the two didn’t have to be mutually exclusive.

The biggest thing I learned from her was that I needed to stop holding onto my emotions.  Children can be ungodly frustrating, and Arden definitely knows how to push my buttons.  There are so many times she’d whip me into a frenzy, and the more I lost control, the more she reacted and pushed.  Sometimes I almost felt like she was trying to push me over an edge, just to see if I’d really come back every time.  Honestly, there were times I didn’t want to come back.  I felt like I didn’t deserve what was being dished out.  It was too much with everything else.  Her therapist spent a lot of time with me explaining that I got the brunt of it because Arden felt the most comfortable with me - she could let it out and know that I still loved her.

While that was great to hear, I still had to learn to deal with her tempests.  The problem was, when Arden would throw a fit or defy me, I’d get angry.  I could pretend I wasn’t, but she saw right through it.  Not only did I get angry, I’d hold onto it for an hour or two.  I just didn’t feel like she deserved forgiveness so quickly.  But her therapist demonstrated, over and over again, that you could allow your child to get out “the uglies” without getting personally involved with it.  Making noise in a restaurant or being awful during a playdate?  Calmly remove her from the situation and let her kick and scream somewhere away from others.  Wait it out, even if it takes a while.  When it’s over, enforce whatever is enforceable and LET GO of the emotions. 

I practiced, a lot.  I tried to ignore people who told me I was letting her “get away” with whatever “it” was.  Slowly, her tantrums slipped away and I felt closer to her than I had in a year or more. 

We’ve been back sliding a bit lately. I don’t know why, but maybe it’s because I’ve stopped being consistent.  Maybe it’s because I’m tired when I get home at night and I don’t have a lot of patience or interest in being patient with her bad mood as she transitions from after-school care to my care.  I forget that she too is adjusting to me being at work all day, and that this may be her way of letting me know she misses me too.  I’d much prefer a hug and a sentence like “I miss you, Mommy,” but this is how she expresses it right now.

Today was kind of awful.  After half hour of being her normal cheerful self, she slipped into one of her dark moods.  She was rude, belligerent, and when Windsor came over for lunch, Arden refused to eat and speak to anyone.  I stayed calm, had her food packed up, and took both girls home.  I sent Arden to her room to recover from whatever she was mad about (because she won’t use words to tell me when she’s in that kind of mood).  I stuck her food in the refrigerator and hung out with Lily.  After about 20 minutes, I went into Arden’s room. 

She was playing on her bed, but as soon as she saw me she frowned and turned away.  I knew better than to think she’d talk to me, but I told her that her behavior was unacceptable and rude and that Windsor’s feelings had been hurt (probably not - Windsor gets Arden like no one else in the universe, but it was nice being able to point out that a non-superhero like Windsor might have had hurt feelings).  I hugged her and told her I loved her and she could come out and join the rest of the human race when she felt better.

About 20 minutes later, a paper airplane flew into my room:

I heard Arden giggling, so I opened it up:

She had finally admitted she was hungry, and drawn me a picture to illustrate she was ready to eat. 

As I got up to reheat her lunch, I got hit in the back of the head with another airplane:

(to translate:  she wanted to cuddle like I had been with Lily)

On the back of the airplane, she’d drawn this:

We sat together while she ate her very-delayed lunch and she smiled at me.  I realized that I hadn’t held onto my emotions, and when she made the effort to draw me a picture - and say sorry in her strange little way, I was in a place where I could hear it and move on.  She still received her punishment from lunch (no ds for the afternoon) but she was good-natured about it.  Tomorrow she says she’s going to call Windsor and apologize.  For me, those paper airplanes were a big step in the right direction. 

It’s been quite a hiatus, between the holidays, traveling and eating myself into an early grave.  I swear I don’t do it on purpose but Running Boy is right:  writing when I’m happy is a lot harder than writing when I’m sad. 

Work has kept me busy, as well as the myriad of commitments and fun things that happen every December.  My kids had a great Christmas, and Arden lost both of her two front teeth just late enough where I couldn’t sing “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth”.  She has an adorable lisp now and a huge gap to accommodate her incoming fangs.  I spent most of their winter break trying to live in the moment and not think too much about the various uncertainties of my near-future.  I did well at that for a time, but am now back into planning mode.  It’s my nature to examine situations from all angles and attempt to have a game plan for any outcome.  Perhaps I should have been a lawyer, since that’s what most of them do for a living – figure out worst-case scenarios and ways to avoid them. 

I still love my job, but I occasionally mourn the loss of my mom-life where I could set my hours and spend time in the afternoons with the girls.  I don’t miss not having money and the times work would happen inevitably right after the girls got home, and I’d end up telling them to quiet down so I could get some stuff done or take a phone call.  My life is much more compartmentalized now than it was, and that’s been good for me. I thrive on routine and I love being able to come home from work and for the most part, shelve any feelings or ideas about it until the next morning at 8 am. 

Running Boy got me an iPad for Christmas, which was really unexpected and over the top but I am in love with that thing like whoa.  I think my recent bout of insomnia and sleep deprivation is directly related to the amount of time I spend glued to it, and Netflix is probably going to go bankrupt because of how many movies I have already downloaded.  I’ll get my $7.99/month worth, dammit. 

For our one year anniversary, we headed to Grottoes, VA for New Year’s weekend.  Two of our close friends joined us.  We stayed at a placed called the High Laurel Inn and it was amazing.  Perched on the side of a mountain overlooking the Shenandoah Valley, we had our own side of a converted barn complete with fireplace and private balcony.  Our friends had the other side of the barn.  Their big selling point to us was an outdoor 6 person hot tub sharing the same view with the rest of the property.  Much champagne and wine was consumed from that perch.  I slept a lot – more than I probably should have.  It had been awhile since I’d been able to unwind enough where I felt lazy and slothlike.  After a day of that, we spent New Year’s Day hiking.  Prior to that hike, I had run once and worked out on an elliptical machine once since being released back to normal life activity after a month off post-surgery.  Feeling cocky, lazy and slothlike,  we chose a “strenuous” 10 mile hike because our inn host offered to drop us at the trailhead.  Another selling point of the inn was the proximity to trails in the Shenandoah National Park.  We could hike the trail, then hop off when we passed by the inn. 
Although I’d looked at the trail map before we attempted the hike, I hadn’t really grasped the fact that the first 5 ½ miles were uphill.  And I mean straight uphill. Additionally, the idea was to hike the first half and run the trail the second half.  Anytime the ground began to “flatten out”, we started running.  By the time we got to the actual flattish part of the terrain, my quads were shot from going downhill and my calves were screaming up the uphill bits.  Run that trail once or twice a week and you’d be in great shape. 

The scenery was gorgeous, and would have made an excellent natural headstone for my dead body.  However, Running Boy kept pushing me onward and cheerfully pestering me with comments and questions.  Then he figured out the key to getting me through the hike: promising me dinner and another soak in the hot tub. 

After the immediate feeling of death passed, we talked about doing another hike soon since we did have a good time and it’s a pretty inexpensive (and healthy) way to spend a day.  I don’t want to make the same mistake I made while living in Northern Michigan.  Growing up around the beauty we had at our doorstep made me nearly immune to it.  As much as I gripe about Virginia, there are some amazing places to visit and things to do.  So as we save our money this winter and spring, we’ll probably be doing quite a bit of mountainous exploring and trail running. 

My lease is up in May – big decisions about what to do and how.  The only thing I know for certain is that I want to stay in the same school district.  I finally feel 100% happy with where they go, and I don’t want to rock that particular boat quite yet.  It makes my living options very limited as it’s a small area that feeds into their school.  Half of it is $500k and up homes; the other half is tiny brick ranchers that are still overpriced because of the school district.  I’m not really into either option.  That’s one of those areas I’m avoiding thinking about. 

In the meantime, I am still waiting for some finality in other areas of my life.  One of my big Christmas gifts came early when Running Boy got some closure.  The second half of that is right around the corner, and I will be so very happy when one less thing is hanging over both of our heads. 

A month or so ago, I posted the annual holiday letter my boss sends every year to family and friends. This year’s is fabulous, too, and with his permission, I’m posting it here.  I’ve removed any identifying details and edited it for content, but I’ve left his primary message intact.  Enjoy. 

I always admired the late Reverend Peter Gomes, whose messages from the pulpit in Harvard’s Memorial Church stirred a lot of souls – especially the memorial services he offered at each of the reunions we attended. Years ago I got to introduce Peter at a church fundraising dinner.  (When he referred to me as “Brother” during his remarks, this mid-western hayseed felt like he had made it to the big time!) Recently, we received a flyer announcing an auction of the contents of Peter’s homes. This flyer did what death usually does – reminded me of the value of life. On page 283 of The Good Life, Reverend Gomes wrote: “The good life is not to be found wrapped up and waiting for us like the Dead Sea Scrolls or some ancient artifacts from a culture that once flourished but is now long gone. Not at all. The good life, whose object, like that of hope, is a future good….enables us to live now that which we seek.” Living now that which we seek makes so much sense. Why do we think that real joy is the goal, rather than a daily choice? I am sure Peter left behind some wonderful items for auction, but the beauty of those antiques can’t compete with the messages of love and good-heartedness he left behind.

Peter also wrote and spoke about gratitude – which has been mentioned in numerous Holiday Letters over the years. Those of us who write these annual missives predictably express gratitude for our family and friends, and for the many blessings we have been given. For some reason, though, I have resisted practicing gratitude formally by following the recommended rituals. That may seem a little odd in the face of overwhelming evidence that keeping a so-called ‘Gratitude Journal’ makes us happier. Yet, I have not been able to discipline myself to do that, or anything else that is recommended by those who have studied the phenomenon.

One writer suggested that we should cultivate gratitude by taking a moment during each meal to tell those gathered what we are thankful for – not just during the Thanksgiving meal, but always. (It could lead to surprises, as I remember one Thanksgiving dinner at which a young Reid said he was thankful for Oprah and Wheel of Fortune.)  Maybe we will try this one in ’12.

Specifically, this year we are grateful that Paige is actually a fabulous teenager—the kind you can only hope for. (Can you believe she is driving?) We are thankful that Craig continues to pursue his passion of broadcasting baseball, and that he is enjoying all that Florida has to offer. We are grateful that Reid has continued to advance in his development; and we are grateful for the way Karen and I still have fun in all that we do together.

As some of you know from years of reading about Reid, he lives ‘in the moment’ with great joy. “Live now that which we seek…”  So, I thought I would share with you a poem I wrote about Reid several years ago:

There is something about Reid
that makes us smile
when he finds joy in the simplest things.

There is something about Reid
that makes him giggle,
seeing a moon, a sun, or a mouse.

There is something about Reid
that makes us happy
in the way his sweet heart sings.

There is something about Reid
that is so sincere when he invites
strangers for “supper me house?”

There is something about Reid
that gives us joy
as he asks for his favorite shows.

There is something about Reid
that touches souls
with the merriment our lives don’t allow.

There is something about Reid
that impresses us all
when we discover what he really knows.

There is something about Reid
that changes our hearts
when he says “me happy now.”

After Craig’s terrific writing last year, many of you are probably a little disappointed to see me back in the game. And I had truly thought I was retired. But when your brother comes through major brain surgery safely and successfully, you feel compelled to write a little bit more about gratitude—and miracles.  Those of you who have read The Secret know that there is great power in our thoughts. When it was discovered that Rick had a tumor, hundreds of people openly offered “thoughts and prayers.” Relatives, friends, contacts on Facebook and Linkedin, co-workers at my firm, and the parishioners at our church all offered “thoughts and prayers.” (Even a stranger I chatted with in Denver added Rick to his prayer list…) Don’t ever doubt the power of thoughts and prayers. There is no doubt in my mind that the team of surgeons had an extra pair of divine hands in the operating room. The joy we feel knowing that Rick will be fine is indescribable. I look forward to playing lots of golf with him in the years to come.

Amidst all of this, I continue to be moved by remarks made by the Headmaster of (children’s school) at a Thanksgiving assembly over a year ago.  Loosely interpreted, he reminded us that we should be thankful for sadness, because it magnifies our happiness. We should be thankful for loneliness, as it gives us a greater appreciation for connection. And we can celebrate failure, for without it we would know less success. Reverend Gomes said we could only know true joy, if we knew suffering. Indeed, life is rich in joy and sorrow, in achievement and disappointment, in gain and loss. We are so very thankful to be on this journey with such supportive friends and family, as well as those unnamed Angels that move in and out of our lives. May each of us be an Angel for someone every day.

I would like to share a quote from The Power (sequel to The Secret): “So how do you fall in love with life? The same way you fall in love with another person—you adore everything about them! You fall in love with another person by seeing only love, hearing only love, speaking only love, and by feeling love with all your heart!  And that is exactly how you use the ultimate power of love in love with life.”  Now, combine this thinking with a quote from Albert Einstein: “Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life’s coming attractions.” We have unlimited potential. Turn your imagination loose. Decide what you want….believe you can have it, believe you deserve it, believe it’s possible for you, and have an extraordinary holiday season.

A note from the daughter: 

Even though Dad is “out of retirement” from writing the holiday letter, he asked mom and me (Paige) to add our thoughts this year. Dad has asked me several times to write the holiday letter, saying it would be a great opportunity, but I never took him up on the offer. I was always a little nervous about jumping into something that he has done for so many years, and for a piece of writing about which a lot of people openly express joy upon reading. I certainly didn’t feel prepared to step into those shoes. My other issue was that I never felt like I had anything truly inspiring to share. This is probably the first year that I have actually been able to somewhat connect myself to the things Dad has to say in the letter.

After reading The Secret, Dad did not want to keep the things he had learned to himself. Mom and I listened to him describe the messages and different ways he thought it could really change a person’s life. However, keep in mind that I live under the same roof as him, so our whole family is subject to these eye-opening things Dad has to say throughout the whole year—not just in this letter. And I do admit that I didn’t give it much thought the first time Dad talked about it. Then one day during wellness week, which is my school’s version of drug and alcohol awareness and prevention, the guest speaker suddenly asked if we had ever learned about the power of thought. Many in the room were clueless to the idea, but I knew what he was talking about. He went on to describe a time when he was so nervous about a public speaking event, that he envisioned himself doing the presentation and having it be a huge success, and by the time he got up on stage, he wasn’t a bit nervous and did a great job.

So maybe this crazy idea that Dad had shared with us was something bigger then I realized; maybe it was really possible too. All I know is if a 16 year old daughter can be inspired by an idea so grand and unimaginable, it could truly be life changing after all.

I know my boss has his cranky times or when he feel less than stellar (or feels not in the slightest bit like being politically correct or stroking yet another ego), but in general he exudes joy and confidence and happiness.  I’ve never worked for someone like him, which in a way makes me nervous because I don’t know how to deal with someone who appears to open and truly interested in helping his team members succeed.  I enjoyed his letter this year as it personally spoke to me (again!).  I myself have experienced first-hand the healing and inspiring power that love has over us, and I know that the love I’ve given out this year has made a difference to many different people (including one in particular). 

It’s no secret that the last few years have been full of turmoil, strife, chaos or whatever adjective you find fits the sentence best.  Many times I wondered if I was growing up or just regressing, mixing big mistakes with strategic luck and hoping the end result was also the right one.

One thing I constantly try to remember is that there is no end point to life, other than the obvious one (death).  In other words, I’ve heard people talk about how they are glad the bad times are over for me – but in actuality, there is no end to bad times just as there is no end to good ones.  It’s just life, and it swings back and forth, and when we’re really lucky, life hangs in the balance between bad and good and we hold steady for a bit. 

Yes, life has settled down and isn’t bouncing from one disaster to the next.  Running Boy’s life is settling down too.  We had big news yesterday and it was, in general, all positive for him and his children.  It also means he can move forward in his life and put much of what has happened behind him, where it belongs.  Much as we’d like to say we can move forward regardless what happens around us, it’s a lot easier to do so when you aren’t constantly reminded or stressed by the things or people from which you are trying to move forward. 

It also felt good for both of us to remember that we can have faith in justice, and that there is still some fairness in the world.  All too often it seems that people can do really bad things to others without paying the price.  I’ve rarely gotten away with anything without paying a hefty fee, so it always struck me as odd that so many others seemed to skate while I was serving time in some sort of emotional jail.  In this case, there are no winners – in divorce, there never are.  What he got was simply validation from the court system, more time with his children and the ability to stay in business for himself without losing everything he’s worked for 15 years to build. I’d say that’s fair. 

Yesterday was a celebration.  It doesn’t really matter now how things shake out or how long it takes.  The uncertainty we’ve both lived under for the past year is over and now it’s a matter of wrapping up all the loose ends.  It is my personal hope that having a definitive decision on many of the issues that tore his family apart will cut down on the amount of stress and anger they’ve dealt with. 

In the meantime, I got an awesome early Christmas present in the form of some peace, and I’m going to savor it as long as I can.