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I Want To Be Strong- On Body Image After Anxiety
BabiesParenthoodPopular Posts

I Want To Be Strong- On Body Image After Anxiety

by Jill
written by Jill

I remember the day I stepped on the doctor’s scale and weighed in at 139 nearly 3 years ago. I was there for a follow-up appointment, to get a renewed prescription for meds to treat my postpartum anxiety.

It had been a month since I begged them to work me in as quick as possible because I thought I was surely dying… of cancer, of a heart attack, of something. A month since I admitted to myself and a medical professional that I was dealing with some serious intrusive and obsessive thoughts nearly  9 months after having my 2nd baby.

One. Thirty. Nine. I hadn’t seen that number on a scale since high school. My first thought, which I said out loud, was, “do you think something is wrong with my thyroid? I mean. Wow. That’s… I haven’t even been working out.”

So, and I am sure this was mainly to appease me and ease my overactive concern, they ran some tests. Nope. Nothing wrong with my thyroid.

I was just, well, I was the thinnest I’d been in a long time, size 6 skinny jeans sagging off my non-existent butt, because I wasn’t taking care of myself. I wasn’t sleeping. I wasn’t eating. Not enough, I guess. I was living off of coffee. I wasn’t purposefully starving myself. I wasn’t aiming to lose weight that way. I had NO appetite.

It was all a part of the illness I was clawing my way away from. I was the thinnest I’d been in my adult life at a time when my life was the most scary it’s ever been.

I know this.

So it really makes me pissed at myself when I step on a scale these days, weighing a good 10-15 lbs more than that, and hear my inner dialogue tell me, “Remember when you were 139? Why can’t you be that skinny again?”

Hey, me? Shut the fuck up.

Because I knew the signs of postpartum anxiety this time, I caught on much earlier that I was back in that place again after having my 3rd baby a year ago. I started meds for it when he was 6 months old. I didn’t let myself get to that place where I’m living on the edge of a cliff. THANK GOD.

So the meds are working, and I am hungry, and I am enjoying life, and I’m sleeping.

The weight isn’t just falling off of me this time. Rationally, I know this is a GREAT thing. I’m not standing in front of a mirror, looking at my hollowed out cheeks, not able to recognize myself.

There is a pudgy tummy, and my butt is much bigger. My arms are  thicker, and my chicken legs are less chicken-y.

It’s not a bad body. It’s a great body. I look good in most clothes. I’m mostly happy with it.

It’s not a skinny 139 body, though, and for some reason there is still that voice that pushes me to achieve that again. And I keep trying to tell that voice that that wasn’t achieved by going to the gym 3x a week, like I’ve been doing. That wasn’t achieved by running the fastest 5k I’ve ever run, which I did last week. That wasn’t achieved by decreasing the amount of crap I’m eating AND increasing the good stuff I NEED to eat.

I’ve been working out more in the last couple months than I have in a long time. It’s been hard to put in so much effort and feel like I’m seeing so few results. I would love to tone up, to slim down just a little more in a HEALTHY way, nothing too extreme. I’d love to have some real muscles. I’m working on it.

I am fighting that voice in my head that holds that 139 body up as what I should be striving for. That 139 body was sick. It was weak.

IWantToBeStrong I want to be strong.

 

 

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On My Worst Days, On My Best Days
BabiesPostpartum Anxiety & DepressionThe Story

On My Worst Days, On My Best Days

by Jill
written by Jill

I honestly think I could count on one, maybe two hands the number of times I’ve taken all three kids somewhere by myself (outside of back and forth to school).

Scott’s done it more times than I’d even try to count. He often takes all three of them grocery shopping, leaving me here to work… which, to be completely honest, mostly just means leaving me here to be in silence and not feel the urge to scream.

For me, postpartum anxiety means living on edge. It means not only battling the intrusive thoughts, the obsessive fears, and the rapid and shallow rise and fall of my breath, but also this feeling of the walls quickly closing in on me whenever things get out of control. Obviously that’s something I run the risk of often when tasked with caring for 3 kids in public.

On my worst days, postpartum anxiety means truly struggling to get dressed, and then struggling even more to get out the door. I would say it’s a struggle to get out of bed, and it can be, but most days I have no choice because a 10 month old is calling out for me over the baby monitor, and nursing him in a quiet room is calming.

On my worst days, I run the necessary errands, but beyond that, there are no casual trips to the park or the post office or the library with the kids. An outing to the zoo or the pool are COMPLETELY out of question. No. I can not. Can not even deal with the thought of it.

But on days like today, one of the good days, I catch a glimpse of the future. I’m reminded that I will get to the point where taking all 3 somewhere with me, be it mundane errands or epic playdates, will become a non-issue. Granted, I don’t think it will ever be without it’s challenges, but future-me will at least be able to manage the thought of taking them somewhere by myself without fighting back a deep feeling of dread.

Today, I loaded up all 3 kids and took them to the local gym. I signed us up for a family membership, and I dropped the kids off at the on-site childcare. I hopped on a treadmill, unsure what my plan was. All I really expected out of myself was 30 minutes of movement. I gave myself permission to take easy outs. I started out at a decent pace, but told myself it was only for a mile. Then I could go slower. And after 2 miles, I could stop. I could walk. It was my first day in a gym in years.

As my feet found their rhythm, my headphones pounded in my ears to songs I’ve never heard in my life, and didn’t chose, but that Workout playlist on Spotify is the next best thing to a personal trainer. I kept up my pace. I passed one mile. I started to go faster.

I carried on, it wasn’t easy, but I found I craved the feeling of accomplishment more than a rest at every point that I’d given myself permission to back out.

I finished a 5k in 33 minutes.

I walked off that treadmill recognizing that I didn’t just kick that workout’s ass. I kicked postpartum anxiety’s ass. At least for today.

When I see people talk about how to “prevent and/or treat” postpartum mental disorders, exercise is almost always mentioned. And yes, it is powerful. I am really looking forward to incorporating it into my routine… if I can manage to keep a routine. I am really looking forward to that blast of endorphins, and all the other ways it can help me feel better, and get through this.

That said, I want to end this with a little note about the advice to just exercise PPMDs away.

On my worst days, there was no way I could get it together enough to exercise. On my worst days, I couldn’t even get it together enough to feed myself.

For me, the only way I got through all of that and to the point where I could even consider exercise was with getting real help and taking prescription medication.

Yes, exercise and self care can do a great deal to treat PPMDs, but please don’t ever assume it’s all that you or anyone else needs.

My anxiety meds are the life preserver that pulled me to the shore where I can finally stand up on my own two feet and run like hell from PPA.

Speaking of kicking PPA’s ass, please consider donating $10 or more to my Climb Out Of The Darkness fundraiser to benefit Postpartum Progress! There are great prizes up for grabs. More details here.

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How I gave birth to my second marathon
Fashion & FitnessParenthoodPopular PostsThe Story

How I gave birth to my second marathon

by Jill
written by Jill

DSC04555“This your first marathon?” I ask the girl to my right.

“This is my first and my last,” she replies as we pass mile marker 7.

“You say that…” my running partner and I both respond together, and then smile at each other.

Others in the pace group start to chime in, “You’ll forget all about the pain… you’re going to look back and only remember the good things… it’s going to be so amazing when you cross the finish line… you’ll run another one… just wait.”

I laugh a little to myself. It really IS so much like having a baby, med-free.

During labor and delivery with Kendall, I couldn’t help but constantly compare my mental state of mind and the level of pain I was experiencing with what it felt like to run and finish my first marathon two and a half years earlier. It was, in fact, the most painful, most mentally and physically challenging thing I’d ever been through up to that point. It was the biggest motivator for me, facing down the wretched,razor lined, semi-truck through the spine gremlin, a.k.a. giving birth to an 8.11 lb anterior facing baby with no epidural. “If I can run a marathon, I can do this,” I repeated to myself over and over.

As I ran my second marathon yesterday (around Dallas’ White Rock Lake), I kept myself slightly amused, entertained and intrigued by turning the tables and comparing the strength it took to get through a med-free delivery to surviving another 26.2 mile race. “I can do this. I had a baby with no epidural,” I reminded myself often.

(Miles 1-7/signs of early labor)

In the beginning, you’re a ball of nerves. Do I eat? Do I not eat? What do I eat? Will I throw it up? You’re planning in your head. You’re very concerned about potty breaks and getting everything out. Making lists, checking off milestones, very conscious of your body. What was that? Why does that hurt? I hope that goes away. You haven’t settled into your pace. You’re jittery. You’re mind is everywhere. You smile. A lot. You’re so excited about the journey you just started. You may even break out the camera and take pictures. You have the energy for such things right now. You even look good. You have an outfit on that matches because you think that matters right now.

(Miles 8-15/still cooling it at home)

Then you start to find your groove. Things loosen up. Your breathing becomes steady, but you’re not really having to focus on it yet. You are very interested in what your watch tells you. You’re cross referencing it’s readout with where you should be at nearly every step. You’re feeling good. Really good. Sure, it’s a little painful, but the optimism is shining through.

(Miles 16- 19/ starting to think a trip to L&D or a visit from the midwife is in your near future)

You get a little further along and things start to ache a little more. Those twinges and tweaks become sharp aches and cramps. You have to get serious now. You have to focus. You’re lighthearted conversations die out. You are mostly silent. You are paying a lot more attention to your breathing. You’re also starting to wonder what you signed yourself up for, but you don’t even allow yourself to think that you might not be able to finish what you started. You know that’s a very risky mental path of self doubt to go down.

(Miles 20-22/This. Is. Serious.)

The pain is bad. It’s really bad. You are hurting in places you’d never even given thought to before. You’re trying so hard to stay positive. The people around you make all the difference. The way they can read you and cheer you on pushes you through. You really crave oranges right now. Oranges are amazing. You’re making weird noises and you don’t care who hears you. You want to believe that you can do this, but if ONE MORE person tells you you’re “ALMOST THERE!” you just might kick their ass. This is the hardest you’ve ever worked in your life, and you know it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better. You also cuss. A lot. You probably offend some people. You don’t give a shit. Every thing becomes a blur and your sense of time is completely warped.

(Miles 23-25/This is TRANSITION)

WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING???!!! NO REALLY, WHAT THE FUCK??? Repeat x 1,000. You can’t get emotional because then you can’t breathe and breathing is SO IMPORTANT right now. As people on the outside try to motivate you, you may think, “Please, people, stop making me want to cry with all your inspirational bullshit because I really need to FUCKING BREATHE.” And then you just get mad. You’re just a mad person, and you think people are lying to you. You think they are just telling you things like, “it’s almost over” just to get you to keep going on this never ending ride through hell forever and ever. You hate them. You tell them that, even if just under your very labored breath. YOU ARE NEVER DOING THIS EVER AGAIN!!

(Miles 25-26.2- PUSH)

Quite frankly, you don’t care what comes out of you right now. You might shit yourself, and you’re okay with that. You will not look good for pictures. You are so DONE with all this. DONE. Screw listening to your body. You don’t care what you rip or tear in the process, you want to be finished, and you’re going to push yourself so far beyond your limits until you get there. You know the only way to feel better, to rest, to stop, is to push because stopping before the finish is not an option.

People are cheering you on. It’s fueling you. You finally allow yourself to think just how amazing it will be when that award is in your hands. You want it so badly. You find every last ounce of energy in your body and you give it all you’ve got. You feel a wave of excitement pass over you and you just go with it. You don’t remember exactly how you get there, but you finish. And then you collapse… and then you cry. It’s an ugly cry, but it’s a beautiful moment. And they put it in your hands… and you are so amazed… so proud… and it was all worth it.

BUT that still doesn’t mean you are EVER DOING THIS AGAIN. You would give just about anything for an epidural now that it’s over.

You will feel like you were steamrolled for a while. You won’t dare think of doing this again for quite some time. You will be happy enough with your first and only experience.

And then, one day in the distant future, you will look at what you worked so hard for, you will remember the pride, the joy, the amazing reward. You will think to yourself, “Well, maybe just one more…”

DSC04552

Kendall is nearly 19 and a half months old, and he thinks our finisher medals are pretty awesome.

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ParenthoodStuff

Moment of Peace, my #Best09 entry

by Jill
written by Jill

Silence except the sound of my footsteps, rhythmically pounding in time with the sound of my breathing… heavy at this point, but not labored. As the sun gets high in the sky it lights up the gentle rolls in the water that fills the lake. It’s nearly noon. I come to a bridge that I know well. It’s not a big one. It’s not one that hurts my aching knees as I cross it. It’s small, spanning just a small offshoot of  White Rock Lake. Two women and two girls crouch below it, picking up plastic bottles and trash.

“What is this?” one woman asks.

“Plastic!” both girls proudly and loudly reply.

“That’s right! And what do we do with plastic?” asks the other women.

“Recycle!!” the girls exclaim.

I smile big, wave and run on… alone again with just my thoughts. Returned to silence, with the exception of the footsteps and the breathing.

It’s hard not to focus on the pain. I’ve been running for hours and over 16 miles. I fight the urge to wince, to stop, to give in to the thoughts in my head that tell me that I can’t, that I won’t, that it’s too hard. It’s been a particularly challenging run for me. With no running partner to pass the time chatting with, I’ve been left to run alone for the longest run I’ve faced in years. No Ipod, just my watch and my thoughts.

I take a minute to look to my left, to really take in the lake. It’s something I take for granted most Saturday mornings. My head is usually down or focused straight ahead. I realize I’m coming up on the water stop that will mark 17 miles, one mile from my finishing point. Another runner passes, alone in his own bubble of silence, which he breaks to look up and simply say, “You’re doing great! Hang in there.”

I’m suddenly overcome by emotion, by pride, by happiness, by peace. I am doing great. I am hanging in there. I’ve been hanging in there for over 16 miles, and I’m going to hang in there for all 18. And then I’m going to run a marathon next month. I’m going to do this! And I have nobody to thank but myself.

As a family of ducks swims past me, I turn toward the stretch that takes me to the water fountains, and it’s all I can do to keep the tears from coming. Look at what you’ve done! And why are you so surprised? Why would it be so shocking that you could run 18 miles all by yourself? You’ve trained for this. You have run these distances before, though it was so far back and so far removed from the life you know now it may seem like another lifetime. You are strong. You had a baby with no epidural! You are a mother. You can do ANYTHING!!

The last mile of my long runs is usually brutal, filled with various four letter words, shouted loud enough for any and all to hear, but not today. Today my last mile is a mile of peace, of pride, of reflection. Today my last mile inspired me to do more, to run more, to love more, to write more, to live more. And this mile of peace… this glorious moment of peace didn’t come easy. It came after 17 lonely, self doubting miles, after hours of silence and footsteps. It was my gift for facing a challenge that threatened to stop me in my tracks, literally. It was my gift for pushing myself beyond the point that I believed in myself. It was one of my most beautiful and best moments of 2009.


This is the story of my favorite moment of peace in 2009, inspired by Gwen Bell’s #Best09 challenge. It’s one quiet moment of the year that stands out as having the biggest impact on me, and surprisingly not a drop of wine or a single dose of Benadryl was involved. I know this post veers away from my traditional sarcastic writing voice, and is probably way more sappy than some of you can stomach, but alas, I can be cheezy and sappy sometimes. I knew the moment I saw the writing prompt for December 8th (Moment of peace. An hour or a day or a week of solitude. What was the quality of your breath? The state of your mind? How did you get there?) that I had to get this story out. It touches on so much that has shaped me this year.

This happened on October 17th, 2009, and Kendall was 18 and a half months old at the time, at home with his father, eating pancakes and watching the Science Channel.

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