tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739380488758296972024-03-18T21:17:16.527-07:00Mommy merry go roundTriciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-7920107225504158392021-01-23T17:43:00.000-08:002021-01-23T17:43:36.597-08:00Gram<p> I don't even know how exactly to start this, but I knew I needed to get these feelings out somehow. </p><p>My grandmother passed away yesterday. One minute she was here, the next she was gone. How is that possible? How is it possible that I'll never hear her laugh again, or hug her again, or hear one of her jokes? How do people exist in this life and then just fade away? It doesn't seem real. She had been in the hospital for months. Months without visitors (due to Covid) months where she asked every single day when she would be able to go home. She hated hospitals, and she is not the isolating type. She's a social butterfly, talking and joking and laughing with family and friends was her life. Tuesday she came home, and Friday she was gone. She waited. She waited until she was home with her husband and her daughter, she waited until she was surrounded by comfort and memories and just closed her eyes and went to sleep. And left us all here without her. </p><p>As a child my gram was one of my favourite people. She and I sang together, which was one of our favourite things to do, she told the funniest jokes and always had one in her back pocket for any occasion. She taught me how to say the alphabet backwards when I was 6, so that I could impress my Uncle the next time her visited home. She had the habit of breaking into song in the middle of the conversation because she heard a word that corresponded with one of the MANY songs she had in the rolodex of her beautiful mind. I remember spending summers at my grandparent's house while my mom worked on a nearby tobacco farm during the day. We would drive to Fast Eddie's, get some crazy fries and sit in the van (sometimes in the rain) and watch the geese in the park. Those are some of my very best memories.</p><p>My gram was generous. She always sent me home with something every time I left. This past summer, during one porch visit, she sent me home with a whole bag full of after 8 mints that were her and my favourite. She had saved them all for me. She never let me leave without a hug, even when we were recommended not to this past summer, she told us "If I get sick, I get sick. I want a hug" I'm so fucking thankful for every hug I gave her, for she was the greatest hugger. </p><p>How thankful I am that my children knew this woman and loved her. I am broken every single day knowing that I have other grandmothers who my children will never know. In this moment, among all of the grief and sadness I am so thankful that they will carry memories of her for the rest of their lives. They knew her, they knew how funny and goofy she was. They knew that she loved mint chocolate and when she finished her yogurt she used her finger to get every last bit. They remember the time she picked up the tv remote and tried to make a phone call with it, thinking it was the phone. They knew that she still had no idea how to pronounce "tacos" they knew all of this and it will be something they can tell their children who will never know her. </p><p>Where do people go when they die? I know that sounds like a question a 5 year old asks, but I'm curious too. I am not religious and I feel like science may say the answer is...nothing and nowhere. Nothing happens. You die and then that's it. But, the thought of that makes me panic inside. Not for myself, but for my gram. She spent her final days fearful. Fearful of being alone? The dark? The end? I can't say for sure, but the thought is still enough to turn my stomach. The only thing that calms me is imagining that in the final moment, someone was there with her. Someone she loved and recognized. Someone who took her fear away. </p><p>My papa spent the past 61 years with my gram. They almost became an extension of each other, especially in the past few years and after my grandfather stopped driving. When I think about my papa losing my gram and how he must be feeling, it makes it hard to breathe. Listening to my papa talk about my gram today with a sob choked in his throat, and feeling my own heart ache for him and what he's lost. His other half, his best friend, his "Babby" And fuck, this is all so unfair. </p><p>People get old and die, people get sick and die, people have bad lungs and bad hearts and they die. But even knowing all of this doesn't prepare you when it happens. We knew my gram was living on borrowed time. We knew she was tired and struggling. We even knew subconsciously that she was ready. But, knowing all of that doesn't make it easier. What I wouldn't give for one more hug, one more conversation, to hear her call me "Patricia" one last time, knowing that she was the ONLY one who ever called me that. I miss her so very much and she's only been gone for 24 hours. How do we put one foot in front of the other and joke and laugh and just go on without her? I talked to my brother tonight and he told me about how he was struggling to explain this loss to his son who is 3. And he said something that stuck with me. He said "I'll tell him that Gram went to live with the stars, and every night we can look at the sky and say there! There she is!" and it seemed so simple. We will look for her in the stars, and the flowers and the sunshine that she used to love to tan her legs under while she fed the chipmunks. We will find her in the beautiful things that are all around us and we will say "there! There she is!" </p><p>Thanks for reading. I hope this is coherent. I have been crying on and off for 24 hours, and I'm also drinking. </p>Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-11888490113998812882020-03-25T09:12:00.000-07:002020-03-25T09:12:55.746-07:00Isolating and distancing and very quickly going insaneHey, friends!<br />
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So, I guess there's pretty much only one thing on the forefront of all of our minds, COVID-19. I will admit that in the beginning of this whole thing, I was unsure as to why people were panicking. I mean, we had been told that it was a lot like the flu, which obviously sucks, but nothing to get freaked about. Well, needless to say, I have changed my tune super fucking quick.<br />
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Thursday March 12 at around 4:30pm, my co-worker who was getting ready to leave for the night popped her head into our room and told us that she got an alert that all schools were to be closed for 3 weeks. It sent all of us into a frenzy because our centre operates out of a school. So there were a lot of questions. Were we closing? If we remained open what did that mean for our safety and the safety of children and families? That night we went home unsure of what was happening. We had not gotten word that we had to close our doors, my supervisor seemed confident that we would remain open and everything was being blown out of proportion. Oh how quickly things can change in 24 hours. Friday March 13th was a strange day. My co-workers and I were increasingly on edge. We kept seeing virus numbers climb, panic was starting to ensue at grocery stores, parents at our centre wanted definite answers as to whether they had to find alternate childcare for their children come Monday. Let's just say it was a crazy fucking day. The kids must have been able to feel the stress and uncertainty throughout the day because they were bonkers. Like, it really was a very stressful day all around. Fast forward to 3pm, and someone alerted me that our boss's boss had shown up. Right away we knew something was up. And that's when we were all informed that we were on a voluntary layoff for the next 3 weeks. We could file for unemployment, so that was something. But, it's safe to say we were all starting to realize the gravity of this pandemic situation.<br />
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We are 10 days into our quarantine (I know, it's not technically a quarantine if you're not sick) and we're all struggling. I spent the first week laid up with a torn rotator cuff, which may not sound too bad, but I can't even explain the pain that I endured from this injury. I have had 3 c-sections, broken ribs, migraines.....none of these even come close to the pain I experienced. I spent the better part of almost 5 days sobbing every time I moved even a little bit. I was unable to dress and undress myself, I couldn't wash my hair, I literally couldn't do anything but sit, and even that hurt like Hell if my arm wasn't propped up at all times. I even slept in my recliner for over a week. I'm happy to report that I'm feeling much better, I'm still having pain, especially when I bend or turn the wrong way but, overall I'm 1000% better than I was 10 days ago. I can even dress and shower myself now, so, yay!<br />
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The days seem to be running together in an endless loop. The kind where you feel tired all day and are unsure of what day of the week it is. I recently, like, even a month ago remember whining about not having enough time for myself. :Me time" Well, the irony of this is, I now have all the time in the world to binge Netflix and read and literally just spend time with my husband and kids, and yet I miss work. I miss my co-workers, I miss my toddlers, I miss the boring monotony of what our daily lives used to be, as opposed to what they are now. I'm feeling anxiety that I can't quite explain. The fear of the unknown, I guess. We're hearing that schools now won't be reopening on the 6th, which we all assumed, but that means that my job also hangs in the balance. I've gotten into the routine of staving off my high anxiety throughout the day, but the second night falls, I am paralyzed with fear and anxiety and feelings of intense sadness that I can't make sense of. I tell myself to stay off of social media, but I find my anxiety is worse if I don't know exactly what's going on, so it's somewhat of a double edged sword.<br />
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I miss my family and friends. Leading up to the self isolation stuff my best friends and I had 2 really great get togethers. We decided that we needed to make seeing each other more of a priority and managed to make it work twice in a month. And then shit got real super fast. You never know how much you take for granted being able to see your friends and sit across from them and just do normal social shit until you're in the middle of an isolation and the best you have is texting and video chatting. I haven't seen my mom or my grandparents in a week and a half, we've video chatted, but it's not good enough. I worry about my grandparents, with their age and taking their health issues into account, worrying about them consumes a lot of my time. As hard as it is to see right now, I really hope there is a light at the end of this long and lonely tunnel, because this fucking sucks.<br />
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I'm trying really hard to remain positive and upbeat for my kids, trying to not project too much of my fears onto them. They (for the most part) are doing well. We started yesterday doing (very little) schoolwork. Like, what amounts to no more than an hour a day, plus reading. I'm definitely not a great teacher, but if this turns into a long drawn out absence from school, I want them to feel confident when they get back. specially Logan, who struggles with school as it is. If I can at least get them reading and even learning some life skills like cooking and cleaning and knife throwing that's a win for me. That way, if shit goes sideways they'll have some skills to help them fend off zombies or psychos. I was just kidding about the knife throwing....kind of. I'll admit, a large part of me is concerned that this isolation/quarantine shit, combined with not having access to supplies and food could lead to something really awful.<br />
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I guess I just want all of you to know that, you're not alone. Those of you still having to get up in the morning and go to work (whatever that looks like) thank you. Thank you for keeping this running smoothly and getting goods and services to all of the rest of us. You are appreciated. To the front line workers, you are amazing. I can't imagine the fear that you're feeling every day, the behaviour and attitudes that you may e encountering, the things that you might be witnessing. Just know that we see you and we recognize how awesome you are. To my fellow mental health sufferers, wow. What a week, right?! But, we're still here. We're still fighting this invisible battle that seems to have intensified almost overnight. Be gentle with yourselves. If the best you can do is laying in bed all day, then that's good enough. This is kind of a new normal for a lot of us right now. Allow yourself to find joy and comfort in whatever you can right now. Whether it's playing video games, taking short walks, snuggling a pet, or just living in the uncertainty that so many of us are feeling right now. We're truly in this together and we will come out of the other side of this sooner or later. Stay safe and healthy, my friends.Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-11100082872114249242019-12-03T17:57:00.001-08:002019-12-03T17:57:55.654-08:00This is roughHey friends,<br />
it's been a while, I know. I would love to update (the zero people who actually read this) about my life, but at the moment I just need to get some big feelings out, and this is the best way I know how. So, here goes.<br />
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Almost 5 years ago we lost our dog Cash. It was a nightmare beyond belief, and easily the most horrible time in my life. I had days where I was convinced I would never be genuinely happy again. And then I met Batman at a rescue event. The second I saw him, there was just this instant bond between us. He rode in my lap all the way home, and from that moment forward, he was mine.<br />
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We all noticed immediately that Batman preferred me over everyone else. He would growl when Rob came too close to me, or tried to get into bed when I was in there. Those cute little quirks kind of made me laugh at first. But, they evolved slightly over the months. We noticed that Batman really had an issue with Rob. Suddenly Rob and I could barely speak to one another without Batman getting upset, we had to stop letting him sleep in our bed because every time anyone tried to get into the bed Batman would snap at them if I was already in bed. We decided some basic training would be a good idea for Batman and for us. So, Rob and I worked with a trainer in not just basic obedience, but also in teaching us how to be leaders and Batman to look to us for guidance. We worked diligently with Batman and we were making some progress.<br />
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Batman had always been an anxious dog, he had very bad separation anxiety and couldn't be left alone because he would destroy the house. He was still figuring things out and I was more than happy to stick by him while he did that. I felt such a connection to this dog, I can't even explain it. I worked so hard, trying to help him become less anxious and trying to help him connect to the rest of the family.<br />
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In 2016 we moved. Now, we really didn't notice Batman behaving like he was any more anxious than he already was. At least, not at first. It started slowly. We noticed that he had a hard time relaxing. He would pace the floor, and when he did finally lie down, he would immediately get back up and pace some more. He really had an issue with most men. Rob's uncle was doing some renovations on our house and I came down the stairs with Batman and Rob's uncle had his back turned to us and Batman reacted immediately and bit him on the back of his leg. I was horrified. He had his issues, yes. But, I never thought he would bite anyone. This was when I first started defending my dog. He was still adjusting, we don't know what he went through before we found him, we don't know his parents and genetics, his breed is notorious for this...That weekend I called a trainer. An incredibly expensive, like $$$$ expensive trainer. She came out and did an initial assessment. She assured us he wasn't aggressive, just fearful. He felt like he had to protect me and I was not the confident leader I needed to be to lead him. He saw my weakness and felt like he had to be my bodyguard in a sense.<br />
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The trainer worked with him, as did we. We saw some progress, the tools that we were given were useful and we were doing the work, even having the trainer come back out for check ins. We felt like we were doing what we needed to do. But, things still weren't great. Batman had a real reaction whenever the boys were playing too loudly, or were roughhousing, or simply ran past Batman. I would spend a lot of my time correcting Batman and trying to have the boys playing outside or in their room with the door closed. 2 summers ago we were on vacation at my mother in law's cottage. The boys were playing inside and Joel just happened to run past Batman. Batman jumped up and bit Joel. It was so quick, we almost didn't even know what happened. It was bad. There were two bite holes in Joel's shirt and the bite was nasty. Not bad enough to need stitches, but it left a scar. Rob told me that second that he was done. We had done the work, but now Batman had bitten one of our children, unprovoked. He had to go. I sobbed uncontrollably. I was against giving him up. He was my dog, he didn't mean to hurt him. He was anxious and reacted out of fear, not aggression. But, Rob was firm. I emailed the rescue that we had gotten him from as it says in the contract that we were to return him to them if w couldn't keep him. Well, knowing his history and that he had bitten multiple people, one being a child, the rescue said "sorry". So, I told Rob I would contact every rescue from here to Ottawa. I would find someplace to take him.<br />
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Flash forward to this year. Batman has bitten Joel, unprovoked, 3 times. Every time Joel was either walking/running past, being too loud, or just generally being a kid. He has bitten Logan once, bitten Ciena twice. He has bitten Rob too many times to count. Probably 6 or 7. He has bitten Rob's uncle, he has bitten my mother in law. The only person close to him whom he hasn't bitten or ever attempted to bite is me. I finally reached the point where I can see what this is doing to my family, my children, my marriage. Rob wanted everything regarding the dog to be my decision. He told me that he didn't want to make the decision and have me resent him forever because of it. But, this issue has harmed my marriage. Rob would try to get through to me and tell me that as much as we all love this dog, it's not safe or responsible for us to have him around our kids, and I would fight him. I would tell him that it's not Batman's fault, which I still don't believe it is. I would tell him that I wasn't going to just give up on him. I would tell him any number of things until he finally relented and just gave up. I would watch my husband and children leave for week long vacations while I stayed home, because Batman was too anxious and unpredictable to board. If I left Batman home with Rob and went away for he night, or more, Rob would tell me that Batman layed by the door the whole time I was gone, not wanting anything to do with him. I love this dog so much, but in the end I knew I needed to do what was right for him, and us.<br />
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I honestly thought that I would be making an appt to have him put down. I was doing the humane thing. No rescues, no person wanted to take on a dog who had a bite history and I knew the humane society would just put him down anyway, and I didn't want him surrounded by strangers. But, then I received an offer from someone. She offered to take my dog on and work with him while she tried to find him a suitable foster home. I was blown away. She knew all the ugly details and she was still willing to give it a shot. I agreed, with the understanding that if it didn't work out, or she couldn't keep him for any reason, she would turn him back over to me.<br />
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So, this past weekend, a car pulled up and I walked my dog, my friend, my baby, out of our home, and unwillingly placed him into a strangers car and watched them drive away from us. Rob and I both just stood in the doorway and sobbed. I felt, and still feel immense guilt. I am worried he feels like I abandoned him, I'm worried he's sad and wondering when I'm coming back to get him. I'm worried that he's confused and wondering if he's being punished. I spend a lot of my alone time crying and wondering how long it will take to feel okay about this situation. I'm doing the right thing for him, but I am feeling so much pain and grief, it's insane. I just hope with everything I have that he can find happiness and peace that he wasn't able to find here with us. All I've ever wanted for him was peace, so I hope he's able to have that, even if it takes him a little while to adjust and start to feel comfortable. The decision to let him go was not a decision I made lightly. It literally took me years to get to this place, and I'm still not 100% at peace with my decision. At my lowest I thought about moving out with Batman and allowing everyone in my home to be able to relax. Although I know that my anxiety and depression played a part in that because never in a million years would I want to be apart from my kids, but my desperation to save this dog was at the forefront of my mind for a long time.<br />
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I'm sharing this mostly just to get it out and hopefully be able to start dealing with it. But, maybe also because I want people to know the whole story before judging. This was not the ending I wanted for Batman and I, but I hope it's a new beginning for him.Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-37115174744711471792019-02-23T07:58:00.000-08:002019-02-23T07:58:30.510-08:00Bitter? No, not me.Hey, friends. Long time no see. School and well, life, are really kicking my ass right now. But, I had a lot of feelings this morning that I need to get out. So, here I am.<br />
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Anyone who knows me, knows that I am EXTREMELY close to my family. Family is the most important thing in my life. With that being said, like most people, I have some family that are not so great. People that are possibly toxic, or maybe they are narcissistic, or maybe they're a combination of all of those things. Or, maybe, like in my case, you're not even sure how to label them, because you don't know them at all. And the things you do know, aren't great.<br />
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The day I was born, my dad called his father to share the good news. Now, obviously, the birth of a baby, the first grandchild especially, is a really joyous occasion. But, this was even more than that. I was born on my paternal Grandfather's birthday. How amazing for my dad to be able to tell his father that he shared a birthday with his first grandchild! Well, the response that my father got was crushing. "You have your life and I have mine. You live your life and I'll live mine." My father was gutted. I mean, I was a newborn, so I didn't witness this, but I can imagine. That is where my relationship with my "Grandfather" begins and ends.<br />
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Growing up, my father didn't really see eye to eye with his father. I'm sure many of us can relate to that, myself included. But, the difference is, when my father was 17 years old, still a child, he left his father's home for good. I don't know all the details of what transpired before this, so I won't even speak on it, but I'm sure it hurt everyone involved. Eventually my dad's two brothers followed suit, and left as well. Now, I have two sons, and I also have a brother, and male cousins who I watched navigate the teenage years. It wasn't always pleasant, I do know that. Stolen vehicle, drunken shenanigans, screaming and breaking every rule imaginable. But through it all, these boys were loved. They were cared for, and knew they always had a place to go, with people who loved them.<br />
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The only time I have ever laid eyes on my "Grandfather" was at a funeral when I was 10. I watched my dad walk up to him, and look him in the eyes and say "Dad" and his father nodded his head and said "Rob" That's it! Could you imagine not seeing your child for over 10 years, and finally they are in front of you, and all you can manage is a nod of the head?! The rage I felt at 10 years old in that moment, has stayed with me for 25 years. And, if I'm being honest, it has only intensified since I started having children of my own. I can't imagine any situation...ever, that would result in me never talking to one, or more of my children for any length of time. And I certainly couldn't imagine holding a grudge and anger at them for something that they may have done as a teenager. That seems crazy to me. And really fucking sad.<br />
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I am admittedly an angry person. I carry anger for many things that happened to, and around me from the time I was a young child, up until 3 weeks ago. (sorrynotsorry) I go through spurts where things get into my head, and take up residence for extended periods of time. And, I'm shocked at the amount of hurt and anger I feel for a situation that didn't really involve me (until the day of my birth) for someone who I've never even met. I'm working on it, and my hope is that one day I won't feel it quite as deep. But, then I think about my Grandma Sharon. She is my dad's mom, and was married to his father. She struggled her entire married life. Struggled with addiction, struggled with mental illness, struggled with a husband who wasn't good to her. And she got the blow back for all of it. She was painted as a villain, someone who couldn't take care of her children, which at certain times was probably true. But, she didn't have any support, and she did her best with what she had at the time. And at the end of the day, she loved her children fiercely. I know that I'm biased because she was my favourite person and I loved her, and I don't know and have never known my father's dad. The thought that she isn't here, knowing how much she loved her children, and how much she would have enjoyed seeing her grandchildren and great grandchildren grow up, but can't. Knowing that there is a man out there who has and has had the ability and option to be a part of his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren's lives, and has chosen not to. Yep. Anger. White hot.<br />
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Before anyone gets the wrong idea, I have no desire to see this man now, I have no desire for my children to know him. My kids have amazing grandparents who love them and always look forward to seeing them. And, it's very possible that a great portion of this is incoherent rambling. I apologize, I had to reschedule my therapist appt, so I'm getting it all out here, I guess.<br />
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I see how my dad is with my kids, and I know that through everything he has been through, he's not repeating any part of he and his dad's story. My father and I never got along when I was growing up, but my dad has never turned his back on me. My dad has been nothing but supportive and happy for my brother and I with any and all accomplishments. My dad loves his kids and his grand kids. I can't presume to know how my father feels about his father and the situation now. And it's possible he would tell me "Get over it." and I truly hope that one day I'm able to. But, today is not that day.Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-23023472446222438742018-03-10T12:33:00.001-08:002018-03-10T12:33:06.600-08:00This part is just hardIt has been almost 2 years since we moved. Moved away from my entire family, moved away from the only home my children had ever known, moved away from the community that we loved. And 2 years later, I still hate it. I hate it so much I want to scream and cry, and throw things. Every day is just one more day in a house/area/community that I just don't want to be in.<br />
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I have been in school since September of 2016, and I really, really love it. That is one decision I'll never regret. The friends I have made, and the experiences that I've had, can't compare. But, now, in my second year of school, my first year in the ECE program, I feel like I'm slipping away from everything and everyone. I am busy in school 2 days a week, and in placement in a preschool room the other 3. I'm busy. And that always sounds silly to me, because I still don't feel like I do anything, or that I am accomplishing anything, which rationally I know isn't the case. But, I feel silly saying I'm tired, or stressed, or busy. But, I am. I see my kids for 2 hours in the morning, and that time is mostly spent yelling at them to get dressed, or eat their breakfast. I get home after 6 every night, with just enough time to mindlessly eat dinner, and kiss them good night. I know this isn't forever, I know that right now it's just hard, but it still makes me sad. Logan's teachers probably think I'm neglectful, or something, considering I hardly ever have time to read with him, or practice his words, or I forget it's my turn to make play doh for the class. I ask myself all the time if I'm neglecting these kids. Are they resenting me not being here when they get off the bus? Are they sad that I'm not there to watch them at swimming lessons? I don't know. It's just something I think about a lot.<br />
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My family. I am used to talking to my mom multiple times a day, and seeing her almost as often. But, since we've moved, I just don't have the time. My weekends are filled with homework, so I'm lucky if I see her once every few weeks. I try really hard to get out to see my grandparents every Sunday, but sometimes (like this weekend) I just have way too much to do, and can't manage to get over there. I try to see my nephew as much as I can. so that he doesn't forget who I am. But, living an hour away from everyone I love just really sucks. I had all these plans before we moved, about how I would make sure to visit everyone regularly, without realizing how difficult it would be.<br />
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My best friends. I haven't seen them in months. And lately I feel like we're drifting further and further apart, and I know I'm to blame for that. I want to be able to spend time with them on weekends we all have free, but, until April 20, my weekends are also full of insane amounts of homework, and homework pretty much kills the good vibe of any get together. I miss the days when I could drive 10 minutes and see them any time I wanted to. I miss being able to plan for any Saturday at all, because I never had anything going on. I tried to tell them that me moving wouldn't change anything, and I was wrong.<br />
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I don't want anyone to think I'm just completely miserable, and hate my life. That's not true at all. I wake up every single morning, thankful that I have the opportunity to go to school, and learn, and work towards a job that I will love. I know that I'm incredibly lucky, and I don't take any of it for granted. I am happy. I am happy that my kids are happy and healthy, and doing well in school. I'm happy that I have a husband who I would die for, but who I also want to kill on any given day. I'm happy that I get to spend 3 days a week with the sweetest little humans, and I will truly be sad in a few weeks when my time at this placement is finished. I'm happy. I just wish so badly that we were living in our own house, in the area that we love. And as much as I wish that would be our reality sometime soon, I know that it will be probably at least another 5 years before we can even start thinking about that. By that time, Ciena will be almost ready to graduate high school, and even typing that makes me count again because I am convinced that can't be right. We'll have teenagers who will be in high school, and uprooting them probably won't be something that we'll even consider. And, maybe by then, I'll feel totally different. I'll be working, and the kids will be self sufficient, and things won't seem so hard. I can only hope that by that time I'll have found a good balance and I'll be able to maintain relationships with the most important people in my life.<br />
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I hope that everyone I've mentioned knows that, even if we don't talk regularly, if we don't see each other as much as we'd like, I still love you all so much, and I will make up for all of this. I promise.<br />
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<br />Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-60043249270055802292017-10-01T16:41:00.000-07:002017-10-01T16:41:10.142-07:00Loving someone through the crazyI've never been shy about talking about my struggle with mental illness. It's been such a huge part of my entire life, that ignoring it, or pretending it doesn't exist seems wrong. Almost like, I don't know who I am without it. Since I was 6 years old, I have struggled with feelings that I have never quite understood. Even after medication, education, and so much therapy I can't even remember all of my therapists names, I still don't really understand anything about this. Why I am the way I am, why I do the things I do, or say the things I say. I just don't get it.<br />
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I didn't have a name or a "label" for my thoughts and feelings until I was 12 and I was diagnosed with severe anxiety and her best friend depression. Up until that time, I just thought I was dramatic, or emotional, or moody. You know, the labels they give most teenage girls. I was dramatic, I was emotional, and I was certainly moody, but I was also sad. I was so sad that I sometimes couldn't get out of bed. I was also scared, so scared that walking down the hall at school with people looking at me, made my skin tingle and made me want to run and never return. I like to think I had supportive parents, but as supportive as they were, they didn't understand what was happening to me anymore than I did. And at that age, it's easy to blame it on hormones and ignore it as best you can. It wasn't until a very long weekend that involved me not physically being able to leave bed, and a very scary breakdown, that my parents knew they couldn't ignore it any longer.<br />
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Since that weekend, my thoughts and feelings have had a name, but that didn't make it any easier for myself or anyone in my life to really know how to help me, or even how to support me. I think that's really a common theme for people with any mental health issues. No matter how much the people in your life love you, they (mostly) don't really know how to support you. I remember some people in my life insisting to me that "people create their own depression" and tell me I just needed to "be happy" or "cheer up" Let me just clear this up right now. Saying those things to someone who is struggling with depression....pretty much the worst things you can say. Depression is an actual chemical imbalance in the brain, so we can't just cheer up. And blaming someone for their depression, well, I shouldn't have to point out how douchey that is. I had people in my life go behind my back and tell others that I attempted suicide "to get attention" That's a hell of a way to get attention. Mental illness isolates you, makes you feel different, and alone. It's hard to maintain friendships because sometimes you fall off the face of the Earth while you go through the cycles that depression puts you through. It's hard to maintain friendships because loving someone with a mental illness is fucking hard. I'll be the first to admit that.<br />
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My husband and I have been together for 14 years. And some days, we still struggle because of my anxiety and depression. I'm hotheaded, I'm irrational, and I have no impulse control. My husband is calm, laid back, and so level headed. On a bad day, it takes very little to set me off, and unfortunately, he is most often the recipient of my worst moods. He is amazing at not engaging, removing himself from the situation, and waiting until I am calm and myself once again before we talk. It always surprises me that he's able to just walk away. I have never been able to do that, I try my best to stay calm and rational, but my anger always gets the best of me. My anger is a new symptom. When I was younger, I carried around a black cloud of sadness every where I went. I was the depressed person that you picture when you hear the word depression. Sad, and hopeless. After I had my first son, I developed OCD, and anger as a new symptom of my depression. I have never considered myself to be an angry person, so this was new for me....and my husband.<br />
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I have been lucky enough in my life to have pretty amazing people in my corner, those who have experienced mental health issues, and those who haven't. And they've never turned their back on me, even at my worst. When you suffer from anxiety especially, there are so many limitations in your everyday life. I have a list about a mile long of things that I simply cannot do. But, I have people in my life who know what I'm dealing with, so they have found so many ways to support me in that respect. Like, my mom knows I have trouble talking on the phone, so, when possible (ordering food, cancelling appointments, etc) she does it for me, no questions asked. My husband knows I have major anxiety about driving downtown, so, if the need arises for me to go downtown, and he's not working, he drives me without batting an eye. My best friends know I have issues with confrontation, so in those situations they always have my back, and help me say what needs to be said, whether it's online or in person.<br />
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I know I write about my struggles with mental illness a lot. Every time I write one of these I think to myself "am I being annoying? Does anyone really care?" And honestly, I probably am being annoying, and I'm sure a ton of people don't care. But, writing is therapeutic to me, it helps me work through my feelings. And hopefully, the people who need to read this, will. Maybe it will make them feel just a little better, too. Anxiety and depression looks so different from person to person. And it's hard to understand, even if you're going through it. There are nights when I am able to write, or take deep breaths, centre myself, and just calm down and get through it. Then there are other night when I drink too much, and lose myself in memes, and internalize everything. Probably not quite as healthy as the first option, but what can I say? Sometimes I have unhealthy coping mechanisms. But, I do know one thing for sure. I have some people in my life that will drop everything they're doing, to listen to me, and talk to me, and help me in whatever way I need them to. And, that's the most important thing.Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-24627677232258836112017-07-31T12:01:00.001-07:002017-07-31T12:01:40.144-07:0010 Years is a long time and I don't know where the time went...September is very quickly approaching. I know, how did that happen? And, that means a few things. It means that it's back to school for 4/5 of this house, it means that we're one month closer to bulky sweaters, but it also means that mine and my husband's wedding anniversary is just around the corner. Our 10th wedding anniversary. This feels like a big one to me. Not just because it's 10 years, but maybe because there were several moments within these 10 years that I wasn't sure we would last to this milestone. In fact, I would have bet good money that we wouldn't.<br />
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Our meeting and subsequent dating are kind of odd in our somewhat limited circle in that, we didn't know each other well before our first date. We actually had only really met once....and it was kind of a horrible first meeting. We weren't good friends, we didn't meet online. You get the idea. I was 20 when we met. 20! Just a baby! I was still a high school student, I know, it took me a little longer than others. I was a moody, dreamer who was in and out of heartbreak with whatever boy had wronged me in that moment. Aaah, memories. And here was this guy, a guy I'd seen before. A guy who had never spoken a word to me, but I remembered him as "the guy who wouldn't stop staring at me at that one bbq" Yeah, not really a glowing recollection. The first time we actually spoke was at 2am on January 1st 2004, and he was incredibly intoxicated, and inviting me to spend the night with him with my dad standing 2 feet away. I had no intention of talking to this guy again. Who knew, that 2.5 years later we'd be engaged with a child? Certainly not me!<br />
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I agreed to go out with him when he called me the following week, because I am incapable of saying no. And every single day I'm so happy that I agreed to that first date. From the second he showed up at my door with a bouquet of candy flowers, because the flower shops were closed, I knew he was special. We spent the next several hours just hanging out and talking, getting to know each other. 2 weeks later we were talking about moving in together. It was a whirlwind. We went from that meeting on January 1st, to moving into our very first apartment together in July of that same year.<br />
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We didn't do anything according to a proper timeline. Everyone around us told us we were moving too fast. Nobody, including Rob thought I'd be able to live away from my mom, and I'll admit, that was the hardest part. We both knew that we were in it for the long haul. We were immediately talking about starting a family. Nobody could convince us to slow down, we knew what we wanted.<br />
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In 2006 Ciena was born, and that's when we both started struggling with how drastically our lives had changed. We were so young, we didn't really think any decisions through, we just leapt. We were trying to find our new roles in this relationship, which was difficult. I was no longer working, and with that had to deal with not having an income of my own. Rob struggled with trying to understand what kind of toll being at home all day with an infant took on me, and my personality. There were fights, big ones. But, we managed to make it through. By 2012, we were married with 3 kids. After many, MANY disagreements, we understood each other....or pretended to.<br />
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I think of all the things that we went through together. Miscarriages, mental health issues, drinking, moving. Things that destroyed little parts of us and our relationship. Situations that we sometimes had to claw to get out of. We discussed divorce more than once. But through it all, one thing remained. We wanted to be together. That has always been the constant.<br />
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This man tries me every single day. Sometimes it amazes me that we ended up together in the first place. But, there are also a million reasons why I know he's the one for me. He once drove 30 minutes to bring me a spare key for my car when I locked my key inside. He has coffee waiting for me every Saturday morning. He spends the weekend with my dog (who hates him) while I'm at my mom's. He always lets me pick the movie. And he still tells me every single day how much he loves me and how beautiful he thinks I am. I know I am a difficult person to love. I have zero chill, I am always operating at a 10, and I am insanely argumentative. So, I have to remind myself sometimes, that no matter how shocked I am that I put up with this man, I should be equally shocked that he puts up with me.<br />
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Marriage is never easy, and sometimes things do fall apart, and that's okay. But, I am thankful that I have this man. I am thankful that he knows me so well, I am thankful that he is my children's father. But, most of all, I'm glad that we're both still willing to be here together.Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-12462462030153042242017-07-16T19:21:00.000-07:002017-07-16T19:21:17.626-07:00My kids are animals, I don't get enough sleep, and I have unhealthy coping skills. A novel by meHey hey!<br />
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I always like to keep you guys wanting more, that's why I only do a blog post every 6 months. No, I'm kidding. I'm perpetually busy looking at memes, and folding clothes. But, I didn't forget about you!<br />
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It's summer! Yay! Lol. No. My kids have been on summer vacation for 3 weeks, and my sanity left 5 minutes after their vacation started. There's always a fight. And when I say that, I don't mean, that they only get along 80% of the time....or even 50% of the time. I literally mean there's ALWAYS a fight. Someone is punching someone else 24/7. I've stopped breaking them up, at this point it's every man for himself around here. I have a tween that spends a lot of time in her room away from her brothers who annoy her to no end, and sometimes I'm envious of her. Because when I try to sneak up to my room, I have at least 2 children and 2 animals following me. I couldn't hide even if I wanted to. I always have at least a million ideas for fun things that the kids and I can do when summer vacation finally arrives, and then I take all 3 somewhere...anywhere, and it ends with me dragging them home kicking and screaming so I can lay on the bathroom floor and cry until my throat is raw. As a child, I never remember seeing my mother cry out of sheer frustration and stress, my kids see me lose my shit at least twice a week.<br />
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This summer was supposed to be different for me. I was going to get organized, clean out closets, and declutter and destress. I was going to finally start taking better care of myself, eat better, drink less, read more books. But, here it is in the middle of July, and I'm an overweight stressed out woman who made sure to stock up at the liquor store 3 weeks ago because they were threatening to strike. Why is it so hard to put ourselves first? As parents, we do whatever we can to make sure our kids have everything they need, and want. We want so badly to make their summer wonderful by taking them here, and there, and making sure they have all kinds of adventures. When I was a kid, our summers were spent playing in the yard, or visiting our grandma. We maybe got a trip to McDonald's in there somewhere, but there was never the urgency to make it a memorable summer for us. And we didn't need anything more than just playing, or riding bikes, or eating ice cream.<br />
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My kids wake up every day expecting an adventure. "What are we doing today?!" They'll ask me with excitement every.single.morning. And I don't even know anymore. Well, let's see. We're going to read books on the porch! No, not interested in that. We're going to finally sort the legos! No, that's not fun. How about we put the pictures into frames! No way, huh. And you can't ask them what they want to do, because if you do, you'll just end up feeling bad when you have to say no when they say "Let's go to the zoo!" or "Can we please go to the beach where you'll be the only adult supervising 3 insane kids who don't listen?!" They tell me almost every day that I'm not fun. And it makes me sad that their behaviour has scared me out of wanting to take them anywhere in public on my own. It's their summer, and I wish I could be more fun. But, then I think to myself, you need to get your shit together inside and out, so you're healthy enough to do anything at all with these kids. You need to start making your health a priority. Throw out the shitty food, and drink less, and move your ass! Start journaling, or meditating, or anything to find your zen so you can chill the fuck out.<br />
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I would love for my kids to look back and not only remember how stressed and not fun mom was. I want them to remember that I tried, I want them to remember that even on my worst days, they were always my number one focus. I want them to always know how much I love them, even on the days when it's really hard to like them. Parenting is hard, but loving your kids is easy. I want them to always know that.Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-57750674550432517982017-02-18T07:43:00.001-08:002017-02-18T07:43:39.887-08:00Life isn't badWhen I'm home alone, and it's quiet (like now) it's easy to think about how much our lives have changed in the past year. And then I start to congratulate myself for not having a mental breakdown, because it's been a lot in a short time.<br />
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Last summer we left our wonderful big house in the country to move into the front apartment of my mother in law's house. Now, let me explain the situation here, because it's easy to misunderstand. We share a house, yes. But, we are in a separate dwelling. Essentially, it's like living in a duplex. And really, we don't have any less space than we did at our old house. We have three bedrooms (the boys share) we have a bathroom, and another room that will be converted into a second bathroom. The kids have a yard that is twice the size of our old yard, which was really huge. And they have Grandma right next door, which I know they love.<br />
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The transition was a pretty big mess in the beginning. We all had to figure out how to share a house with someone, the dog had to realize that this was home, and he wasn't being abandoned every time we left the house without him, the kids had to realize that a house doesn't make a home, the people sharing it do. It took a few blowouts between us and the mother in law in the first week, but we all made it through relatively unscathed.<br />
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I'm happy to say now, things are so much better than I thought they would be when we first moved in. My mother in law is an amazing support for us. She takes the kids whenever we need her to, she's able to get them on and off the bus if I have early or late classes, and she's constantly going above and beyond for us. And in a plot twist nobody would have predicted, I actually enjoy spending time with her. We're finally starting to have the kind of relationship I'd always hoped we'd have. I'm not about to start calling her mom or anything, but, it's a start.<br />
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Probably the biggest change for me was starting school. I had honestly thought about going to college for years. I toyed with the idea of night classes, or online degrees. But, when we decided to move, Rob and I talked about it and decided that if I was ever going to do it, now was the time. I applied for the HSF course last Spring, and was so excited when I got my letter of acceptance. This past 6 months have changed my life. I know that sounds silly, but it's true. I went into this course knowing that I wanted to work with people, but not really knowing in what capacity. I originally thought that social work would be the job for me. But, over the course of my first semester, completely changed my plans, and in December I applied for the ECE program and got accepted for September. That means another 2 years of school, but at the end I'll be going into a job that I'm so excited about! I have also made some really amazing friends. I am not a person who makes friends easily, but somehow these people found me, and I'm forever grateful they did. We are in one of the smaller programs, so going to class, it feels like a family. We're there for each other, we look forward to seeing each other, and we genuinely want each other to succeed. This program has been so eye opening for me. The things we're studying and the knowledge I'm gaining is so amazing.<br />
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There have been some drawbacks to this move. I miss my family. I never realized how much I took for granted being able to drive 7 minutes to see my mom, or 10 minutes to see my dad and my best friends, or 15 minutes to see my Grandparents. I don't see enough of anyone. I feel out of the loop. And, I know that I'm to blame for the disconnect too. I went from talking to my mom multiple times a day, to seeing her once a week, and generally not talking at all during the week. I miss my best friends. I know I don't message them enough, and homework has me occupied most weekends, but I need to start making time for the people I love. I feel so lonely, and far away from my people. An hour really isn't that far, until you're an hour away, and then you realize how far it really is. I miss my little County so much. I miss the small town feel, I miss the people, I miss the community.<br />
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I know this move was the right thing to do, not just because it was our only option. But, because it has put us in the position to maybe, some day not be financially strapped. It has given me a chance at a real career, which is something I've always wanted. It has given my kids a chance to grow up in a culturally diverse place, and it has given my mother in law so much more time with the kids, not to mention it has given Rob's 95 year old Grandmother a chance to spend whatever time she has left surrounded by her great-grandchildren.<br />
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<br />Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-9796021642673579912017-02-09T11:51:00.001-08:002017-02-09T11:51:11.577-08:00Why does it have to be this way?So, it's been a long time since I posted a blog post. Sorry, friends! Life has been crazy and hectic, all of which I will update you on in a separate post this weekend. Promise!<br />
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I will warn you, this post is going to be depressing, it's going to be heavy, it's going to be annoying probably. And, honestly, I won't be offended if you don't read it. I'm mostly getting it out there for myself, in hopes that it will spark some motivation in me.<br />
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I am a 33 year old woman. I have kids, I have a husband, I have a pretty decent life. But, I'm so unhappy with myself that it encompasses every single aspect of my life.<br />
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This year, my weight is at an all time high. Highest it's ever been. I need to do something about it. Like NEED. My life is at stake if I don't. But, I have no motivation. No motivation for anything. But, the effects of my weight are taking over my life. My clothes are tight, and I have a dresser full of clothes that won't even fit me, my back aches constantly, walking makes me winded, my skin is a mess, my face is puffy and bloated. Everything is just shit. Not to mention I look in the mirror and feel so horrible. I've never had great self confidence, but I've definitely never felt like this before.<br />
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When I say my weight affects every aspect of my life, I'm not kidding. I think about it every single second of every single day. If I sit a certain way I'm aware of how fat I look, if I'm walking a certain way I'm wondering if I look like I'm shuffling my feet and breathing heavy, just sitting down at my kitchen table when nobody else is around, I sit so that my stomach is hidden by the table, so I don't have to look at it. I wear sweaters when I'm hot, trying to cover up my body, I keep covered in a blanket at home, so my stomach isn't sticking out. I can't think of anything else.<br />
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The worst part is, 3 years ago, I was in the best shape of my life. I was working out consistently, running every day, eating right, and happy. I was so happy. My whole outlook on life changed. I was happy to be here. Now, I can barely walk a flight of stairs. I tell myself every day to just get out and run, even if I have to walk and run in intervals, just do it. But, I'm so self conscious about how I look, I can't manage to do it.<br />
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I worry about the example I'm setting for my kids. I want them to be inspired to be healthy because they've had a good role model. I want them to be proud of me, I want them to say you know what, it wasn't always easy, but she did it. Spring is fast approaching and then summer will be here again. I won't be able to wear sweaters and long pants like I want to. And more frighteningly, the longer I let this go on, the more weight I'll gain. I can't do this anymore, I need to make things right.<br />
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One thing I think about a lot is something someone said to me a year ago. This person had been a close friend of mine, and she had a big hand in helping me get where I was physically. In short, I owed her a lot. In a series of messages that ended our friendship, she told me to "shit or get off the pot" and that she "couldn't stand by and watch me go down the path I was going down." I was spiralling and she just couldn't help me anymore. Now, I look at myself in the mirror and think to myself, if she could see me now, she would chuckle to herself thinking how right she'd been. I was spiralling, and evidently, it didn't stop. It's still happening. And then I think to myself, can I do this on my own? Maybe I need someone to push me and hold me accountable. And I dread running into her somewhere, because I don't want her to think for a second that she was right.<br />
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And that's the one thing that's sparked a little motivation in me right now. Proving to myself that I am strong enough to do this myself. Proving to myself that just because someone "spirals" doesn't mean they can't get back to where they were. Proving to myself that I am worthy of living the good life and being as healthy as I can be, without feeling like someone else played a part in my success. So, this is me, saying the same thing I've said 275595 times before, I can do this. I can be present in my own life. I can fix what is broken inside of me. I can be more than just the fat girl.Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-34793442883147417512016-01-27T13:15:00.003-08:002016-01-27T13:15:25.763-08:00Let's TalkI remember the first time I knew that something was "off" with the way I felt. I was very young. Maybe as young as 6, and I would get hit with this intense feeling of sadness. It was so overwhelming that I almost couldn't function until it was gone. I used to refer to this as my "sad feeling" I never really thought anything of it, but looking back now, I realize that this was probably my very early experiences with depression.<br />
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I have been anxious all of my life. I had a lot of the same behaviours, that, my daughter had starting at age 6, that prompted me to take her to a therapist. Behaviours that would affect my day to day life, but that didn't really give anyone (parents, teachers, etc...) any pause. Given my age, and the fact that mental health awareness just wasn't what it is now. I found it difficult to function in situations where I didn't know many people, like birthday parties, or get togethers. I had issues with being singled out in front of people. I stressed about the most ridiculous things. But, it wasn't until middle school that things really took a turn.<br />
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Does anyone really like middle school? I mean, I guess some people did, but I think it's a hellish experience for most. I was no exception. The very first panic attack I had left me completely incapacitated for an entire weekend. My parents, brother, and I were visiting my grandmother when I was 12, and I fell apart. I couldn't breathe, I felt like I couldn't swallow, and I had a very fearful feeling that left me holed up in bed, refusing to get up. I was terrified. I never left bed, except to get into the tub once a day. That was it. Finally, after 3 days, I had a breakdown. I thought I was dying, and begged my mom to take me to the hospital. While there, they diagnosed me with a severe anxiety disorder, and gave me meds to relax me. I was able to relax for the first time in 3 days. After that, things just got worse. I was having multiple panic attacks a week, and had to carry a water bottle with me everywhere, because I would constantly feel like I couldn't swallow. With my anxiety as bad as it was, it wasn't surprising that depression followed.<br />
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After I completed grade 9, my family moved. New area, new people, new school. An anxious person's nightmare. My very first day, it was clear that I didn't fit in with anyone. I spent most of the first few months by myself, nobody to talk to, nobody to hang out with, and I really didn't want to interact with anyone anyways. I eventually made friends, but that didn't solve anything. My anxiety was getting so bad that I was missing a lot of school, which would lead to more anxiety once I realized how far behind I was. It was a vicious cycle. In 11th grade I tried to kill myself, I had already been cutting myself for months, and everything kind of culminated for me after everyone started getting concerned about all of the school I was missing. I was completely defeated. I felt like a burden, I felt like a chore, I felt so, so alone. I started therapy not too long after that. I first experienced the stigma that goes with mental illness around that time. I had to take time off school after everything, and of course in a small area, news travels fast. When I went back to school several of my friends knew why I was off, but I later found out that someone had told them all that I was doing all of this for attention. That was when I first realized that when it comes to mental illness, you trust nobody. You are instantly labelled "crazy" "unstable" "emotional" "faker" "attention whore" You name it. If only they had known what it took for me to just drag my ass out of bed everyday. I mean, that was the hardest part. And the fact is, depressed people don't always look depressed. We smile, we laugh, we hide. We don't want attention brought onto us. We don't want people to coddle us. We don't want to feel like someone has to take care of us.<br />
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Everyday in my head is a struggle. I fight with myself all day everyday. And I feel "crazy" a lot of the time. I suffer from depression/generalized anxiety disorder/panic disorder/obsessive compulsive disorder/social anxiety disorder. If I sat down and told someone that, they would run in the other direction. That sounds scary. I remember being treated for postpartum depression after the birth of my first son. I confided in another mother. Well, immediately after hearing the words "postpartum depression" she looked at me differently. And said "I don't have that. I could never imagine hurting my kids." I just sat there, mouth open. I had never ever thought about hurting my kids, that wasn't the defining aspect of ppd. But, I also knew that when you have any type of depression, you are simply not yourself, and any thoughts you have, about hurting someone or otherwise, are not your own. My ppd didn't manifest in thoughts of hurting my children. But, I did have a lot of scary thoughts, thoughts that even now, I haven't told anyone but my therapist. Because I know that people will look at me differently. They will see me as a different person. I personally fight stigma surrounding mental health issues every day. When my gram tells me "people create their own depression" When my husband says "Why can't you just be happy?" When people tell me "Calm down, you're overreacting." All of these things are proof that we need to educate people on mental health awareness. Nobody should feel ashamed, or embarrassed to tell someone that they suffer from a mental health disorder. I have come to the conclusion after trying to get off my meds many many times over the years, that depression and anxiety isn't something that just goes away, and in all likelihood, I'll be dealing with this for the rest of my life. But, in seeing some early signs of anxiety in my daughter, I will continue to fight the stigma. Because she deserves to grow up in a world where her mental health doesn't define her, and so do the rest of us.Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-51638782663478830732015-12-30T08:09:00.001-08:002015-12-30T08:09:32.749-08:00Farewell 2015Hello, friends.<br />
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So, here we are. At the end of another year, and another year end recap.<br />
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I just sat here staring at this blank page for 20 minutes. Trying to be funny, trying to think of something positive to say. Nothing. So, I'll be honest. 2015 sucked.<br />
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Well, maybe sucked isn't the right word. I mean, my family is healthy, my kids are happy, and we made it through. But, generally, it wasn't great.<br />
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2015 started with one of, well, no, scratch that. THE WORST day of my life. My Cash boy, my friend, my family, my dog, passed away. That day is still etched in my brain, and probably will be forever. I still think about him every single day. I feel responsible for his death, and I truly feel like that day just kind of set in motion a crappy year. I'm still hoping that one day I'll be able to think about him, and be happy, and smile. But, that hasn't happened yet. I was completely astounded by my grief, after losing Cash. I have lost grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, people I loved dearly. But, none of those losses even came close to the soul crushing grief that came with losing Cash. But, if not for losing him, we wouldn't have Batman. So, I guess that's some light in the darkness.<br />
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Last year, I got in the best shape of my life. I definitely wasn't at my smallest, but I felt better than I ever had before. I left 2014 with a healthy mindset, and a confidence I had never felt. I wish I could say I was leaving 2015 the same way. my motivation took a real nosedive this year. the body that had given me so much confidence last year, changed before my very eyes this year, and not in a pleasant way. I gained back all the weight I lost, and then some. And my mental health made it almost impossible to dig myself out of my self destructive hole. That's not to say I'm not still digging, but, yeah, it sucks.<br />
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Towards the end of summer, I started to feel....off. I was angry. Angry at everyone and everything. I would get upset over the smallest things. I would yell, and scream, and cry, and just generally terrify my husband. I knew that it was time to go back on meds and talk to someone. Feeling this way makes it so hard to care about anything else. I just wanted to lay in bed, and ignore everyone in my life. Being back on my meds didn't magically change everything, and I'm still struggling a lot, but I have amazing family, and friends who kick my ass when it needs to be kicked, and pick me up when I fall.<br />
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I don't want to give the impression that this past year was all bad. It wasn't. The proof? This face.<br />
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I started looking at new dogs almost immediately after Cash passed away. Not because I wanted to replace him, but I just needed a dog around. I told Rob that I would never not have a dog. No matter how painful it is to lose them, they just make everything better. At then end of March, I talked Rob into going to a rescue event. There were so many dogs that needed homes, and I thought we could at least check things out. Rob had been very hesitant to even talk about another dog. He looked at it more like a replacement, and he didn't think another dog could hold a candle to Cash, and I agreed. But, my heart was so empty. I needed to at least look. When we stepped foot inside, there were puppies everywhere. I mean, it was like a wonderful dream. Puppies just wanting to be held, and played with, and loved. But, then I looked to my left, and there he was. He was so calm, and had this look in his eyes that I couldn't explain. Like a sadness. Rob, and I both zeroed in on him, and that was it. He was ours. From the moment we left, he was attached to me like glue. He wouldn't leave my side. He slept almost right on top of me, he followed me around the house, he hid behind me when the cat scared him, he was mine. This dog and I have a bond that I can't explain. The first person he looks for in the house is me, he will come inside, and run insanely from room to room until he finds me. If I leave the house for any period of time, Rob tells me that Batman will lay at the end of the driveway until I come home, at which time he screams and howls in excitement. I love this dog so much, and he is definitely a high point of this year. </div>
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I have a 9 year old, a 6 year old, and Logan is almost 4! How did that happen?? My kids are pretty amazing. I mean, they have their moments when they are complete assholes, but mostly, they're great kids. Ciena has turned into a pretty kick ass young girl. She helps around the house, she does whatever she can to make her brothers happy, and she has my sarcastic sense of humour, which makes me pretty happy. She and I are able to banter back and forth, and talk to each other like adults. And even though I know everyone around me says, "just wait until she's a teenager! She'll become a horrible version of the little girl you used to know. And you'll become the enemy to her." And, while I know that's possible. I'm not entirely convinced. My mom and I have always had an awesome relationship. And obviously, the teen years suck for everyone, and I'm sure we probably fought a little bit more during that time, I was never horrible to my mom. She was (and still is) my very best friend. So, maybe I'm being naive, but, I believe that Ciena and I will be just as close when she's a shithead teenager. My boys are equally amazing. They are crazy, and wonderful, and so much fun. I complain about my boys a lot. They fight constantly, they yell, they scream, they destroy everything, and they just generally don't give a shit. But, they have their finer moments. Joel is such a sweetheart. He will go out of his way to say or do something nice for someone. And Logan loves to make people laugh. Whether it's because he says something cute, or insists on doing a funny walk, or because he farts and thinks it's so hilarious. He is definitely one of a kind.</div>
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My husband. What can I say? A marriage isn't always easy, and there are times when you feel like giving up. But, at the end of the day, I couldn't imagine myself with anyone else. He is the first person I think of when something good or bad happens. I still look forward to seeing him at the end of every single day, and I never get tired of talking to him. I'm starting to realize, the longer Rob and I are together, there are many times when I feel like he does or says things with the intent of hurting me. But, really, I think men are just idiots. Rob very rarely lets things bother him. He is able to shake things off, and move on. I'm the exact opposite. Words hurt me a lot, and I have a very hard time letting go. I remember wrongs forever, and even though I'm able to keep those feelings to myself, I never forget. But, I also don't forget the wonderful and amazing things that people have done for me. And, the older I get, the more I realize that my husband does amazing things for me every day. Things that I wouldn't even think about. He always brings me back coffee when he goes to town, even when he doesn't get anything for himself. He always lets me pick the movie we watch after the kids are in bed, even though we have the exact opposite taste in movies, and tv. He tells me how beautiful I am every single day, which means more than anything to me right now, at a time when I'm feeling anything but beautiful. You don't realize how much work a marriage is before you are married. It's not always what you expect, but I still couldn't imagine my life any other way. </div>
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I cannot leave my best friends out of this recap. This year has been amazing as far as friends are concerned. And my friends are the best. These girls kick me in the ass when I need it, but they also pick up the pieces when I fall apart. Whether it's trailing through Canada's Wonderland, behind 3 crazy kids in the blazing heat, or running frantically through the streets of Niagara On The Lake, or just screaming obscenities at each other during our weekly dinners, They have, in some ways, been the best part of my year. I love them like sisters, which also means, I sometimes hate them like sisters, but when all is said and done, they are my family. I couldn't imagine not messaging with them all day long, and our crazy adventures that never quite turn out the way any of us expect. I trust these girls with my life, and my kids lives, which says a lot. I can only hope that we have just as many crazy, and amazing escapades in 2016! </div>
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Going into 2016, there are a few things I want. I'm not calling them resolutions. Maybe just plans that I have. I am going to take care of myself, and put myself first. My health, and well being have taken a backseat, and I've lost track of my goals. First things first, I'm packing my scale away. This year will not be about losing weight. It will be about getting strong, and feeling healthy and fit. I will not put the pressure of a number on the scale, on myself. I've found that all that does is discourage me, and make me feel like a failure. I am determined to get my confidence back, and start to feel better about myself. </div>
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I want to find my voice this year. So many times I bite my tongue, and keep my feelings to myself, and let people push me around. I've been called a pushover too many times to count. I want to gain the confidence to feel comfortable telling people when they've upset me, and the balls to stand up for myself. I don't want my kids to walk in my footsteps, and hold their true feelings in. I want them to be able to speak up if they have something to say. </div>
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And finally, this year, I plan to spend less time online, and more time reading. I have a box of unread books, and several new books that I got for Christmas, and I plan to read them all, and then some. I have always loved reading, but after I had kids, I felt like I never had the time, which is complete bullshit, because I've found time to do other things. But, I want to make reading a priority this year. I may even set a goal for myself, to read a certain amount of books before the year is over. </div>
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I really want to thank everyone that is reading this. Because, in one way or another, you have been a part of my life. You have been important to me, you are my friend. And the older I get, the more I realize how important friendships are. Whether they're distant, or close, or long lost. They've all shaped my life somehow. So thank you. It's been one Hell of a year, and I hope for health and happiness for every one of you in 2016. </div>
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<br />Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-18832888903813145872015-08-01T12:05:00.002-07:002015-08-01T12:05:53.409-07:00August 1st, 20087 years ago I was laying on a cold operating table, counting back from 30, waiting for the world around me to stop. I was pregnant when I went to sleep, and when I woke up....I wasn't. Just like that.<br />
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Seeing those 2 pink lines 2 months earlier was one of the most amazing feelings. Becoming a mother to my daughter was better than I had ever imagined it could be. And there wasn't ever a second thought that my husband and I would do it all over again. Pregnancy,birth,sleepless nights,midnight feedings,absolute joy. So, when we found out we were going to have another baby, we were both really excited. We told everyone immediately. Why wouldn't we? We had no reason to not tell our family and friends, and they were just as excited as we were.<br />
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I had 2 overpowering feelings during my all too short pregnancy. The first one, was that I was having twins. I don't even know how to explain the feeling, but it was very strong. I just knew. And the second, was that something wasn't right. Physically I felt fine, but that didn't worry me too much. I had zero morning sickness with my daughter, and I just figured every pregnancy is different, and not feeling those symptoms was no big deal. But, as the weeks went on, I just couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. My doctor didn't routinely give early ultrasounds, and really, there was no reason for me to have one. I was healthy, I wasn't high risk. It was, by all accounts, a "normal" pregnancy. But, I asked for one anyways. I needed to see the little heartbeat(s) and know for sure that all was well.<br />
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My doctor set my ultrasound up, and the day I went in, I was 11 weeks along. I had actually started to reassure myself that everything must be fine, after all, I was so close to the 3 month "safe zone" I had no real reason to expect things weren't okay, other than a random feeling. The second I laid back, and the ultrasound started, I felt dread. I didn't feel excitement. I was there alone, which was actually for the best. I wouldn't have been half as calm had I had someone there. She ran the wand over my belly, and I could tell instantly that I was right. She looked worried. She looked sad. She started asking me questions. "Have you had any bleeding?" No. "How far along are you?" 11 weeks 1 day. "Could your dates be off at all?" No, I got a positive pregnancy test almost 9 weeks earlier. Then she told me. She wasn't supposed to, and she could have gotten into real trouble, but she told me. I am measuring you at 7 weeks. There are 2 sacs, but there was no fetal pole. She tried to reassure me and told me that maybe my dates were off, and we would see something in a week or 2.....but I knew that wasn't what was happening. My dates were definitely not off. My babies were gone. She sent the report off to my doctor, and sent me home with a hug.<br />
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I was numb. I could eat, I couldn't sleep. I couldn't think. Why was this happening? This was what my body was designed to do, I had failed. It was my fault. Telling my husband was torturous. He was very positive, and light. Maybe the dates WERE off? Maybe in a week, we'll be getting ready for 2 babies?! I didn't even have the heart to tell him that I knew that wasn't the case. My body had been trying to tell me for weeks. I just ignored it.<br />
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The next day, my doctor called. As soon as I heard his voice I knew it wasn't good. First of all, it was a Friday, my doctor had no office hours on a Friday, and second of all, he called himself. That had never happened before. He told me to come right in. Once I was there, he told me that he had gotten the report, and it looked like a missed miscarriage. But, he wanted to do another ultrasound to be sure. He told me that if this ultrasound was the same, he wanted to do a D&C to remove everything. Since at over 11 weeks, my body hadn't started to miscarry naturally, it was probably safer to just go ahead and do that. He set me up with an appointment at the hospital for the next day, and sent me home.<br />
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The next morning, I woke up with spotting. Not really anything concerning, but, it was there. So, off to the hospital I went. Everything happened so fast. Within an hour, I had the confirming ultrasound, I had met with the surgeon, and I was being prepped for a D&C. I barely got to kiss my husband before they wheeled me back. Everything about that day sucked. And, the worst part? It was over so quickly. I woke up, and just like that, my babies weren't a part of me anymore.<br />
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I felt empty, I felt sick, I felt guilty. Like I had caused this. I had no idea how horrible this would feel. It cut me to my very core thinking about everything we almost had. I couldn't shake the grief. I laid in bed for 2 days straight, while my mom spent the weekend with my daughter, but on Monday, I had to get back to reality. I had a child that needed to be taken care of, so I couldn't sleep all day, or cry in the shower. She was too young to understand, and I was just heartbroken. I had hoped that she would forget that we had told her about the baby. But, later that week, I was getting changed, and she looked at my belly and said "Where's your baby?" I crumpled into a ball on the floor, while my confused 2 year old comforted me.<br />
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I will never be okay with going through that. I think everyday about how different our life would be today, had I not miscarried. But, I also think about Joel, and Logan. Would they still be here? Maybe not. I might have had my hands so full, I would have been done. How could I live without Joel's laugh, or Logan's silly faces? How could I survive without hearing Joel tell me "today was the best day of my life!" Or Logan telling me "I love you most mama!" So, I feel like, if not for the absolute storm we went through, after the miscarriage, we wouldn't have our rainbow babies. These 3 kids, as difficult as they are some days, and as hard as some days are, are my life. I could never imagine my world without them.Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-39984052380455493052015-05-13T09:20:00.001-07:002015-05-13T09:20:26.005-07:00When you feel like giving upI've never been one to shy away from talking about mental illness, and how it has impacted my life. In fact, I'm pretty much an open book about everything, so why not this, something that is (as much as it bothers me) a huge part of my life.<br />
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I have struggled with anxiety and depression for as long as I can remember. I mean, it didn't get really bad until I was 12, but even as a young child I remember worrying about everything. To the point where I would give myself stomach aches, or migraines. And I also remember having times of debilitating sadness that would stop me in my tracks, and confuse me terribly. I used to refer to it as the "sad feeling" I would tell my mom I had the sad feeling, and she would hold me until I felt better, well, good enough that I could get on with my day anyways. I used to wish and wish I could grow up so I could never have to feel that way again. Obviously, at 6 you think that being an adult is easier than what you're going through. Huh.<br />
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I have been on and off antidepressants and anti anxiety meds since I was 14. I need them....always. But, I hate going to the doctor, my doctor in particular. (Now this is the part where I panic because living in a small area means that there is a very good chance you know someone who is related to and/or good friends with said doctor) But, oh well. Being honest, he never gives me a large enough dose, and in fact my old therapist was shocked that someone with my issues (OCD,GAD,PPD) was on such a low dose. She fixed that immediately, and asked to be in charge of my meds. Well, that was 5 years ago, and here I am. I am not on meds, I am not in therapy, and I am struggling. Big time.<br />
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I am overwhelmed, with the normal things. Kids, marriage, House, finding time for yourself. And I often ask myself, is this a normal reaction to being overwhelmed, or is this something bigger? And, in the back of my head, I know, depression and anxiety can't really be cured. Only treated. And I know I need to be on meds, but that means going in to see my doctor, and advocating for myself when he insists on putting me on a low dose, or refuses to give me anything to help me sleep, or help with my panic attacks, which are happening daily at this point. I feel like a different person. I am worried about everything, I have moments of pure rage, which is how depression manifests itself for me most of the time, and I have moments of such sadness, that I feel like my chest is burning, and my head will explode.<br />
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I feel like my kids deserve better. Better than a mom who yells, and loses her patience, and just can't get her shit together. I look around my house, and it's disorganized and messy, and yet, thinking about getting up and cleaning, and doing everything that needs to be done exhausts me. Who am I? When did I turn into this person? I have these amazing kids, and I can't seem to let that be the most important thing. I feel selfish, and weak. And I know that this isn't my fault, but damn, it's hard not to feel that way.<br />
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I'm not even sure why I feel these feelings so intensely this morning. I have a puppy, and a 3 year old....which are almost the same thing, who are intent on destroying the house. I feel unmotivated, and exhausted, and then I feel panicked when I see how much laundry I have to do, and I notice that the dog has chewed up 3 rolls of toilet paper, and the toddler has dumped Lego everywhere. And when I get upset, he tells me "I hate you" and all I can think is, yeah. That seems about right. This stuff isn't hard. It's just life and parenting. But, I can't stop myself from crying in the bathroom, and attempting to do deep breathing exercises while he kicks my bedroom door.<br />
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Before I wrap this up, please don't think I'm doing this for attention, or that this is a cry for help. I'm the only one that can help me, I know that well enough. But, that means picking up the phone and making a doctor's appointment. And that's usually where I get stalled. In the meantime, how do you cope when you feel like never leaving your bed? How do you get up every morning, and put a smile on your face, and try your hardest to not let this affect your children? That's the hardest part for me. My kids know I'm human, they understand that everyone has bad days, and sometimes needs a breather. But, I'm starting to be very fearful that this will affect them negatively. How do I take time for myself without feeling selfish? How do I explain this need to a partner who maybe doesn't understand how much I'm struggling? I just don't know...<br />
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As always, thanks for listening, as odd as it sounds, putting all of my feelings out there helps.Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-50680243256746923212015-04-09T16:36:00.001-07:002015-04-09T16:36:24.151-07:00Making promises to myselfThis is going to be a brain dump, so bear with me. I know I talk a lot about my weight. Truth is, it's on the forefront of my mind all.day.long. And that is not an exaggeration. Today I was thinking about the way I perceive myself, and the way others might perceive me. And, I had a lot of feelings. And I'm going to share them. Because getting it out there makes me feel better. Because maybe some of you will read this and feel less alone in your feelings. Because I need to make some changes. For myself, for my family, and for my kids especially, who are little people with their own personalities, and ideas, but also listen intently to everything around them....even when I think they're not.<br />
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There has never been a tie in my life, since I was 12 that I haven't been obsessed with my weight. At 12, I had a little baby fat, but there was certainly nothing "fat" about my body. A defining moment for me was in 7th grade. I was at a Much Music dance (Remember those?) I thought I looked pretty cute in my overalls, and sunflower shirt.....seriously, I swear that was the style! And a good looking boy from my homeroom pushed past me, saying "Move out of the way, rolls!" I was crushed. I promptly joined the other 20 teenage girls who were in the bathroom crying. After that day, I worried about my weight constantly. It was, and is all I think about most days. And after recently starting yet another "diet" this past week, and hating myself for wanting to give up, I have realized I have to make some real promises to myself.<br />
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<li>I will eat healthier. I will make better choices. Instead of chocolate, I will choose fruit. I will eat less pasta, and more veggies. Because, who am I kidding? I will never be able to quit pasta. </li>
<li>I will make running a priority, not just a hobby that I like to do sometimes. I will make sure that I get out there everyday, and run, even if it's only 20 minutes. </li>
<li>I will drink more water. A lot more. </li>
<li>I will take better care of myself in general. Get more sleep, take more time for myself, to laugh, to smile, to do things that make my heart happy.</li>
<li>I will stop bringing my weight up in every conversation I have....with everyone. I have noticed lately that I subconsciously bring up how fat I am in every conversation that I have. I guess because I have a need for people to know that I am aware of how unattractive I am, and that I have a problem. I always figure "they're probably thinking about it anyways, so I might as well mention it." Truth is, they're probably not thinking about it....unless they're assholes. </li>
<li>When my husband tells me that I'm beautiful, and he loves me however I am....I will believe him. I will stop rolling my eyes, and making sarcastic comments.</li>
<li>Along the same lines, when someone gives me a compliment, I will say thank you, and smile. Instead of thinking they are humoring me, or once again bringing up my weight. </li>
<li>I will stop comparing myself to other women. I won't allow myself to wish I were someone else for something so ridiculous as my fat ass. That is unacceptable. I have so many things to be thankful for, and it is not fair to my family or myself for me to wish that I had so and so's abs, or so and so's hair, or so and so's skin. I have plenty of amazing qualities that make me who I am. I need to remember that. </li>
<li>I will stop cutting myself down in my head. The things that I say to myself in my head are things I wouldn't even say to my worst enemy. So, why would I say them to myself?</li>
<li>I will take away the control that food has over me. I will try and understand that I am capable of dealing with my emotions, and stress, and general day to day anxiety in other ways than stuffing my face.</li>
<li>I will remind myself that I am raising 3 young impressionable people. And the things that come out of my mouth, and the worry that crosses my face when I get dressed, or step on the scale, are impacting them. I need for my daughter to know that her worth is NOT dependent on her size, or a number on the scale. And I want for my boys to understand that there is way more to a woman than her looks. I want them to tell women they are beautiful, and treat them in a respectable way, and never ever think that that number is as important as kindness, compassion, loyalty, honesty, and love. </li>
<li>And lastly. I will eat to live, not live to eat. I spend much of my day stressing about mealtimes. I think about what I'm having for breakfast/lunch/dinner, and then I end up overeating, or eating the "wrong" thing, and feeling unbelievably guilty about it. </li>
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I am finished hating myself, and thinking that everyone around me is as preoccupied with my weight as I am. I am going to be the role model my kids deserve. I will be healthy, and strong, but I will not expect to be a size 6 now...or maybe ever. I will however, make certain my kids know that I love my body, at any size. It is mine, and it helped bring them into the world, and I am capable of being the person that I know I can be.Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-8730523901496638192015-03-04T14:47:00.003-08:002015-03-04T14:47:46.758-08:00Losing my identityI am a "typical" woman. I worry way too much about what people think of me, I put far too many expectations on myself, I dream of doing amazing things.<br />
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I am also a mother. A stay at home mom to be exact. And while I feel so lucky to be able to be at home with my kids, I feel envious of having a different life. Not a life without my kids, no matter how much they manage to annoy/aggravate/grate on my nerves, they are, and always will be the most important thing in my life.<br />
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I never went to college. I mean, I didn't even graduate high school until I was 20, so by the time I got through that, I really didn't think college was for me. And, after I graduated, and immediately moved in with my husband. I also never really worked. Well, actually, I did, but only at one job. After Rob and I moved in together I applied to tons of jobs and got a job as a server. I wasn't particularly good at it, but it was a job, and it paid the bills. But, what I'm trying to say is, I didn't really do anything to further myself. I jumped head first into a relationship, and almost forgot about everything I had wanted to do with my life. And, it never really bothered me....until now.<br />
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I have taken a lot of shit for being a stay at home mom. Not just from complete strangers, but family, and friends alike. I think people have a lot of preconceived notions about what being a stay at home mom is all about, and the reasons why a family might make that choice. I'm always happy to answer questions, but when I start to feel attacked, or put down, then I'm out. It's a choice that's not for everyone, and a choice that is not feasible for everyone, either. I've always known that I was lucky to have this choice.<br />
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I have been home with kids for 9 years. That's a long fucking time. And before that, I only had 1 job. I am quite literally, qualified for nothing. My days consist of wiping noses, and butts, cleaning up after a toddler who makes it his personal goal to undo all the work I attempt in a day. I clean, I clean all day long. I almost never have a moment to sit, and do something that I actually want to do. But, this isn't me whining about how horrible this is. I also sleep in until 7 most days. Rob gets up at 5 with all of the kids, and leaves for work at 6. I have a wonderful, and helpful daughter who knows that I will not get up before 7, unless there's an emergency. She gets the boys breakfast, helps Logan with potty breaks, and gets him dressed. She is amazing. I am able to do whatever I want during the day. If I want to go out for lunch, I can, if I want to take Logan to the park, I can, if I want to just drive for an hour, I can. I don't really have a schedule, and don't book many appointments since Logan has stopped most of his therapies. Now, granted, I usually don't leave the house unless I absolutely have to, but the option is there.<br />
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One thing that nobody tells you when you decide to become a stay at home mom is, it's lonely. I have only a 3 year old to talk to until 4pm when the older 2 get home. And then, they do their own thing while I cook. There are moms groups, and play centres, but I've found these to be really cliquey and I inevitably start to feel like I'm back in middle school. So, I tend to avoid them.<br />
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I feel unappreciated. And a lot of the time, unloved. I'm with my kids for 13 hours a day while Rob works. Most nights he's home well after they've went to bed. I'm always the bad guy. With me being the only parent here all day, there is nobody else to discipline them, and I hear "I hate you!" far more often than I'd like to admit. Then, Rob comes home and says "How was your day?" and I can't even muster a smile. Then he'll say "What did you do today, besides clean, and cook, and referee the kids?" And, even though he says this with a smile on his face, and I know he's being silly, and trying to cheer me up, it makes me want to fucking slaughter him. For no particular reason other than, I'm stressed, I'm overwhelmed, I'm stretched way beyond my means.<br />
<br />
I feel like my identity has been lost in this house, in these past 9 years. I used to have dreams, goals, things I was working towards. Now, what do I have? I look forward to the Saturdays that my mom takes my kids overnight so I can sit, or sleep, or take a bath...pretty much do anything by myself. I used to want so much more for myself. Things that I could still be with kids. But now, I just can't even think let alone think about what I want to do with my life. I want to go to school, I want to travel, I want to spend time alone with my husband so that we can actually talk to each other.<br />
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I guess I'm saying, as much as I love staying home with my kids, I think about the future. What will I be when my kids are all in school? I wish I could go to school, but there's just not money for that. I would love a career, something that I love that would feel fulfilling. I'm really afraid that my kids just won't respect me when they're older because I wasn't successful at anything. And essentially, the only thing that I've done in this life that is of any importance, is have these children. And while that's something that overcomes me with joy when I look at these amazing kids, I would also love if my kids could look at me and say "I'm really proud of all she's done in her life"<br />
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I really have no idea what I'll be doing in 18 months when I have 3 kids in school full time. All I can hope is, I'm doing it with purpose.Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-77985594729402790942015-01-19T17:40:00.000-08:002015-01-19T17:40:36.987-08:00CashI apologize in advance, this might be all over the place, and may not make sense. It also may be hard for some to read, because I am going to be describing traumatic details of the accident, and Cash's death. I'm going to start from the beginning, in hopes that this will help me sort some of this out, as well as not have this post be more rambly than necessary.<br />
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Friday morning was like any other morning. Rob left for work at 6, and around 6:30 I got up to get the kids ready for school. Friday is garbage day here. Rob and I had started not letting Cash out until after 8 on Friday mornings, so we knew for sure the garbage truck had gone. Cash loved garbage, not unlike any dog. But, we had noticed lately that what we thought was a wild animal going through our garbage across the street in the morning, was actually Cash. And since we knew he would risk life and limb for garbage, we thought that making sure the temptation wasn't there was for the best.<br />
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The only thing is, for some reason, this Friday, I didn't even think about it. It was around 7am, and Cash was whining at the door, and without even thinking, I opened the door, and let him out. A decision I will regret for the rest of my life. He wasn't even outside for 5 minutes, when I heard the most horrible, awful sound I've ever heard. Screaming. Screaming so loud, and so horrifying that it is forever burned into my brain. I knew, I knew right away. I threw open the door, and bolted to the end of my driveway, through 2 feet of snow, in my socks. He was howling at the end of the driveway. There was no car, but I knew what had happened. I didn't see the car hit him, but, I could tell that it was his back end. All of a sudden, a car appeared. A man and a woman bounded out. Both extremely distraught, and apologetic. "He popped up out of the garbage at the last second. I'm so sorry, I didn't even see him!" I didn't feel anger at the driver. I didn't blame him....I blamed myself. I let him out, knowing it was garbage day. It was dark, and Cash was black, I knew that it wasn't the drivers fault. It was at this time, that I was trying to assess Cash's injuries, and figure out whether or not I could get him into the house. The couple offered to help, but Cash didn't want them anywhere near him. He hated strangers, and he was in a lot of pain. I told them to just go. And I started gently leading Cash by his collar into the house. He was in pain, but I honestly thought he would be fine. He was limping, but he was able to walk, with me leading him. We made it the 50ft to the porch, and then he refused to move. He has a fear of steps on a good day, and now, with his back half not working properly, he wasn't having any of it. I walked up the steps to open the door, and Cash climbed up on his own, and into the house, where he immediately laid down. He wouldn't let me check out his back legs, but I could only assume that's where he was hit. But, I still didn't think he wouldn't make it through this. I even told Ciena that Cash wouldn't die. Why would I say that?<br />
<br />
Cash was whining, but he was coherent, and didn't seem to be in shock, so I was hopeful. I called my mom right away to come get the kids on the bus, so I could get him to the vet. But, when I called the emergency line, they said they closed at 8, so my best bet would be to just take Cash to the vet's office for 8am. After we got the kids on the bus, I got ready to load Cash into the van. But, when I tried to get him up, he screamed and screamed. Now, Cash is 130lbs. He is big, and in pain. There was no way that I, or my mother, or both of us, would be able to get him into the vehicle. I needed my husband. When I finally got a hold of him, he left work right away, and rushed home. I had called the vet's office, so they were expecting us.<br />
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When Rob showed up, we worked fast. We slid a blanket under him, as gently as possible. He howled in pain the entire time, but once we lifted him, he relaxed. Maybe he knew that we wouldn't d anything to intentionally hurt him. We got to the office, and got a muzzle on him, since he wasn't to keen on strangers touching him, especially in the kind of pain he was in.<br />
<br />
The first thing the vet did was take his vitals. She said his temp was good, his lungs sounded clear, his gums, and his colour looked good. She said his heart was a little fast, but not fast enough to be worrisome, and it was probably associated with the pain. She felt his legs, and said nothing felt broken, so she was mainly worried about his hips, but since he had a lot of padding, she was hopeful. So, they sent us off for coffee so they could do x-rays. I felt sick. I just wanted her to say he was just banged and bruised. And, honestly, I thought that was what she would say. There was no way anything really could be wrong. Cash was stubborn, and sweet, and protective, and healthy! He would be fine. He had to be.<br />
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When we got back to the office, they weren't quite finished, so we had to wait another 15 minutes, which was torture. But, they finally called us back. As soon as the vet came in, I knew it wasn't good. She showed us x-ray after x-ray. Each one worse than the one before it. Cash's right hip was completely out of joint. The vet explained that when that happens, not only does the hip pop out, but it tears the muscles, and everything with it. She also pointed out that Cash's tailbone was crushed. And, he was actually peeing involuntarily while they were x-raying him. So, there was concern that Cash's nerves were damaged. While they were moving him, he was almost oblivious, so there was a good chance that he had nerve damage that resulted in loss of feeling. The vet told us that the nerve damage aside, she could try and pop his hip back into joint, but he would then need to have his leg in a sling for 2 weeks, and he would not be able to move, which would mean being carried outside for bathroom breaks. Now, like I said, Cash is 130lbs, I am a stay at home mom, it would be up to me to get him outside, and there would be no way. Not only that, he would have to not move, and we would hope that scar tissue would form to hold his hip in place, which we were told very rarely works.<br />
<br />
She also told us that we were free to have a consult with an orthopaedic surgeon, to discuss whether or not there was anything that could be done surgically. But, she warned us that the starting costs for something like that were around $3000, and she was pretty sure Cash's nerve damage was the larger issue, and that would prevent him from having a normal, or decent quality of life. So she left us alone to discuss our options. I already knew what was going to happen. Even if we did have $3000(at least) to spend, we had no idea if this would give him a life quality that we knew he deserved. We cried, and hugged. I said I was sorry over and over. I let Cash out, I felt to blame for this. Rob told me repeatedly that it was NOT my fault. We both knew that this was a danger as far as Cash was concerned. We both failed. We knew that Cash wandered to the road, we failed him. Rob was convinced that I hated him, because he was the one saying that we couldn't put out the money. But, we both knew that wasn't an option. We had 3 kids, and we had a doctor telling us that she thought the nerve damage was too extensive for him to make a recovery. We made the most humane decision for him.<br />
<br />
Talking about making the decision to euthanize, and actually doing it create such different emotions. This was a situation where we had a dog that couldn't move. He was big, and in pain. It wasn't like we could take him home, and have some time with him. It had to be done now. Thinking about my kids made my stomach ache. I had told my daughter that her dog would not die. And I didn't think I was just saying that. I truly believed it. And now, here we were. Thinking about how I would tell them was making me physically ill.<br />
<br />
We asked if Cash was still sedated, or if he was awake. We wanted to spend some time with him before we let him go. She led us through the doors, it wasn't a peaceful environment. They had him on a blanket on the floor, with all of the animal cages around him. Obviously this wasn't where any of us wanted to do this, but like I said. He's a big dog that's hard to move, and even harder when he's in pain. He was awake, but he was really groggy. We both sat down, with his head in my lap, we told him how much he was loved. We told him how proud we were to be a part of his life. We told him what an amazing protector he was for our family. We rubbed his head, and his paws, and his belly, and just loved him. We looked into his eyes, and knew that he knew what was happening, and that made it even worse. We told the vet we were ready, and she warned us that it would take a few minutes, and we might notice some twitching, and funny movements. I remembered how quick it was with Max 4 years earlier, so the second she started to inject him, I held him and just repeated to him over and over "We love you, you are so loved, we love you, you are so loved." And his breathing got more rapid, and it sounded like he was snoring, and then he seemed still. She checked his heart, and said he was just sleeping, that he needed a little more. Like I said, big dog. After she gave him the second injection, I knew he was gone. I felt it. I felt empty. He was gone. Just like that.<br />
<br />
We left immediately, and went to the kids' school to pick them up. We wanted to be together as a family, and we wanted to tell them right away. As I was signing the kids out, I heard Ciena talking to Rob. "Daddy, sis you hear about Cash?" "Is he at the vet?" "Are we going to get him?" I could hear Rob skirting around every question, wanting to not be in the school when we discussed this. As soon as everyone was buckled, I told them that Cash wasn't coming home. We explained what happened, and tried our best to answer their questions. I sat in the back holding my daughter as she sobbed. Joel, being 5 was slightly upset, but he was thinking of other things almost instantly. Logan obviously didn't understand anything beyond "Cash dead"<br />
<br />
Our home was anything but a safe haven. Rob immediately got to work busying himself with housework to keep his mind occupied. I just layed on the couch and cried. But, little did I know, the worst was yet to come. Every day I wake up feeling worse than the one before. I can't even explain the level of grief I'm feeling. I have lost many beloved people in my life, relatives that I was extremely close to, and the grief I felt then, doesn't even touch the way I'm feeling now. Every detail of my day involved my dog. He slept at the foot of out bed, and after Rob would leave for work, he would lay down on the floor by my side of the bed. He would go outside with the kids and I, and wait for the bus with us, then he would bark at me constantly after they drive off, waiting for me to let him into the house. He was my shadow, he was my protector. If someone pulled into our driveway that Cash didn't know, he would stand in between me, and them, and not let them get anywhere near me. During naptime, he would lay on my lap while I read on the couch. He made my days better, he made my days so full of love and companionship. Now, I have never felt so lonely. Walking back up to the house today after the kids got o the bus, was the loneliest walk I've ever taken. It was so debilitating, that I had Rob get them off the bus this afternoon, because I just couldn't handle it. I don't know how to cope with this feeling. I can't sleep, because every time I close my eyes, I can hear his screaming. I flutter between wanting to adopt another dog right away, to never wanting another one again, every 10 minutes. The loneliness is almost crippling. I couldn't wait for Logan to take his nap, so that I could cry. And that's what I did. For the entirety of his 2 hour nap, I sobbed, I called my dog, I screamed to my dog like a complete lunatic. I counted down the minutes until Rob got home, so that I had someone to talk to, someone who understood how I felt.<br />
<br />
Not knowing if my dog is safe, or happy, or missing me, or surrounded by love, makes my heart break. I'm so desperate for answers that I have been reading up on pets in the afterlife, and desperately grasping for anything to let me know that he's alright. I just need a sign, a small one, a large one, I don't care. I miss my friend. I miss the way he used to stop before taking a step because he had the biggest problem getting up and down them. The way he used to wait until Rob would get off the couch, and immediately take his spot. The way he would come into the bathroom while I was taking a bath, and lick the water off the edge of the tub, it seemed so gross at the time, but now I just miss it so much. He loved us, he loved us all so deeply that it hurts to think about it. He loved my kids, and would do anything to protect them. He was the greatest friend I've ever had, and now he's gone. I can't make sense of any of this. I just want to feel this less. I want to feel one second of happiness that isn't followed by 20 minutes of complete devastation. I've just never felt so alone in my life. Sometimes my sadness feels so deep that it terrifies me, and makes me think I'll never feel better. I have no desire to leave my house, or to be around people. I can't sleep, I can't eat without feeling sick, and throwing up. And as much as people keep telling me that it will get easier and easier to cope, I just don't believe that right now. All I can see right now, is darkness.<br />
<br />
I just pray that my friend is safe and happy, and knows how much he is loved. I hope he can still feel that, wherever he is.Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-30906202135642382072014-12-31T15:35:00.001-08:002014-12-31T15:35:27.993-08:00New Years resolutions!So, I know you were all on the edge of your seat waiting for this. Haha!<br />
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Every year, I make resolutions, that are somewhat unnatainable. I mean, who doesn't, right? But this year? This year I plan on keeping them all. So, in order to hold myself accountable, I'm sharing them with you!<br />
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<br />
<ul>
<li>Get this weight off, once and for all! I lost 30lbs in 2014, which doesn't seem like much when your goal is 80lbs. But, it gave me room to breathe. I finally felt curvy, instead of just "fat" God, I hate that word. I felt happier, I had energy, I just felt more amazing than I had in years. I had a setback, and while I haven't gained any weight back....I am definitely fluffier. And, my thoughts had always been that as soon as we were for sure finished having babies, I would get serious. Well, here we are! And this is my year!</li>
<li>Get more organized. Clutter. Clutter everywhere! I want it gone. I will be no longer hoarding every single sheet of paper my kids colour on. Some of it has to go! Clothing that no longer fits will be going to goodwill, and my cupboards will lose the expired green beans. </li>
<li>Have more sex. I know that as a mother with small children, it's very easy to get into a routine. Trust me, I've been there. You are exhausted because your kids don't sleep. You are overwhelmed with everything that needs to be done. At the end of the day you just want some time where nobody touches you. But, suddenly you realize that you and your husband have turned into roommates. And even though there are many nights when I would rather be doing anything else, I know that it's important for my marriage. </li>
<li>Run, run, run. I love running. I honestly never ever thought I would like it, let alone love it this much. It's therapeutic, it's exhausting, it's liberating....it's just everything. I have realized that lately I just haven't been doing enough of it. And with a half marathon coming up in June, I really need to put the time in. </li>
<li>Spend more one on one time with my kids. With 3 kids, you find out very quickly that there isn't always enough time to go around. And then, you get kids who act out for attention. Which is something we're dealing with right now. And I know that it's important for my kids to feel like they don't have to compete for my undivided attention. So, some alone time for each of them separately is in order for 2015.</li>
<li>Read more! Another thing that suffers when you are busy with life is hobbies. I love to read, always have. But lately, I have noticed that I cannot remember the last time I read a book. Not a self help book, or a comic book, but an actual novel. So, I plan on making that a priority this year!</li>
<li>Be kind to myself. This needs no explanation. </li>
</ul>
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I am really set on 2015 being one of the best years yet. :)</div>
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Have a safe and happy New Year all of my wonderful friends and family!</div>
Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-67944822596972555652014-12-31T15:06:00.001-08:002014-12-31T15:06:22.621-08:0011 years laterSo, you guys are super lucky tonight. You will be getting a two for the price of one! Two blog posts! So, here's number one.<br />
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11 years ago, I was invited to a New Years Eve party. The word was that someone wanted to meet me. I wasn't really the partying type, but, it was a night out with family, and friends. I didn't really know this guy who wanted to meet me at all. I had seen him at a few family functions, he happened to be my cousin's best friend. So, he wasn't a complete stranger to me. But, I had never spoken to him at all. I remembered the previous summer when he and I had both attended another cousin's BBQ. At one point, he and my cousin strolled over to my mom and I, and he literally just stared at me the entire time my cousin talked to us. So, at that point, my thoughts were: Creepy. I mean, who would have been endeared by that?<br />
<br />
Fast forward to New Years. The party was at my cousin's house, and my dad, Aunt, and Uncle were going too. So, we all rode together. Well, the evening felt somewhat like a bust. I mean, I had a good time, but Rob never spoke a single word to me at all. I wasn't interested in drinking, but he drank enough for the both of us. And finally I looked at the clock, and it was 2am. I was expecting to head home, when I heard a voice say "So, do you maybe wanna take a walk?" Um, huh?? It's 2am, I've been here since 7, and this is the first words you've spoken to me. We're in the middle of a wrecking yard, where there are ample places to hide a body. A walk? I looked at my dad, and he didn't look jazzed about Rob's new found courage. But, I am unable to say no....so outside I go. Now, let me say, I honestly cannot remember what we talked about. I remember that Rob rambled a lot, and he was severely inebriated, so most of it made absolutely no sense. And just when I thought he couldn't have blown his chance any harder than he did, his parting words to me as I was leaving the party...with my DAD, were "Hey, if you wanna stay, you can share the pullout couch with me." Cue my dad shoving me out the door as quickly as possible. And also, cue me, wondering why I wasted 7 hours of my life here.<br />
<br />
I had given Rob my number, mostly because I didn't want to be rude, and also, because I was sure that he would never call me. Well, I was wrong. He called a few days later, and I put him off by telling him that I had exams coming up, and I needed to be studying. But, relentless as he was, I agreed to him coming out to my house so that we could get to know each other better. I had no idea that I would be so thankful that I agreed to that "date"<br />
<br />
I like this guy. I liked him quite a bit. He was kind of shy, but he was funny, and he actually wanted to know about me, and my life. So, after that first date, that was it. I had to see this guy again. We really jumped into things, And less than a month later, Rob was staying at my place almost every night, and commuting 40 minutes to work everyday, a drive that would be a short 10 minutes from his own house. 6 months into our relationship, we were living together, and we set out to prove everyone who was saying that we were moving way too fast, wrong.<br />
<br />
And now, here we are. 11 years, 3 children, and everything that goes along with that. Has it been easy? Hell no! I can very clearly, and concisely say, it has been anything but easy. We have had to fight, and fight, and fight some more, just to get to the place we are at today. And in fact, we almost didn't make it this far. There was a very horrible time, where our future together was not looking so great. But, the one thing we both knew for certain was this: We love each other more than anything. We are committed to each other, and this life that we have created together. And with a lot of work, and a lot of love, we have come through to the other side. Happier than ever.<br />
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I still think back to that night, and laugh. It was a disaster. I never in a million years would have ever believed anyone who told me that 11 years later, this would be where I was. But, I cannot imagine my life any other way. And every day I am so thankful for this wonderful man who took me completely by surprise.Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-53512463534382450912014-12-16T09:57:00.001-08:002014-12-16T09:57:57.459-08:00Ramblings <p dir="ltr">So, I apologize in advance. This might be long, it might be short. It will probably be all over the place, and not make sense, either. And, I'm posting it from my phone. Wheeeeeee! </p>
<p dir="ltr">I'm not even sure why I'm writing this? Maybe to help myself understand my emotions better? I am overweight. Anyone who knows me, is aware of this. Last summer I got fed up with my fat ass, and started busting it. I was working out and running consistently, and I lost 30 lbs! An amazing accomplishment. I was proud of myself. Then, Winter came....and everything went to shit. I am now in a slump. I still weigh the exact same as I did at the end of the summer. But, I feel I different. I feel....fluffier. my bra feels tighter, my shirts don't fit the same way, I'm depressed. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I don't need anyone telling me "You still look great!" Or "Don't do forget how far you've come!" I am the one responsible for the way things are. And I'm just, sad. I have never been thin. I haven't always been overweight, but even at my smallest, I've never been thin. Which isn't such a big deal, and I can even live with that. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The thing that bothers me is this: I think about my weight constantly. And that is not an exaggeration. When I wake up in the morning, I tell myself that today will be different. I will eat sensibly, and get back on track. Then I get the kids off to school, and I feel hungry. Then I feel guilty. I feel guilty before I've even eaten anything. Why? I have no idea. I'm worried that I'll sabbatoge myself before I even eat. I'm sad that I can't just eat what I want, without worrying. I wonder what that must be like. So, I don't eat at all. Which is a mistake. I know this, but I'm trying to prove to myself that I have control. Although, I don't. Because when lunchtime comes, I either eat way too much, or not at all. I'm afraid of food. I hate food. I hate that I cannot just eat a sandwich without feeling guilty, and like I'm failing. And on the days that I overdo it, I destroy the entire day because I'm trying to punish myself. For what? I'm not sure. Then after dinner I sit on the couch with my husband, and I curl up under a blanket, and sweat, because I need the blanket to cover my stomach, so nobody (including me) can see how big it is. Then at night I lay on my side and suck my stomach in if my husband touches me. Who am I? This man loves me. He doesn't care about any of that stuff. Why do I do this to myself? </p>
<p dir="ltr">I am active. I run almost everyday, I work out a few times a week. But, I just don't feel good about myself. I had big plans to be past my first big weight milestone, and into the next by christmas. And now I feel like a joke. It's the holidays. I so desperately want to be able to enjoy myself, and eat without worry. But I feel scared. I'm scared that I won't be able to workout and I'll overeat, because....Christmas, and I'll be back at square one. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Like I said, I'm not sure why I'm writing this? Maybe other women will be able to identify? It would be nice to feel not so alone. I know I'll get my mojo back, and I'll kick ass again. I just hope that happens soon. </p>
Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-20379476176996392602014-11-05T18:42:00.000-08:002014-11-05T18:42:44.430-08:00What it feels like for a girl...Are you singing that song in your head now? You're welcome.<br />
<br />
I decided to write this post, one that I have had floating in my head for a while, but haven't been able to articulate in words....and I possibly still can't, so bear with me.<br />
<br />
I read an article tonight about "sluts" and why that term isn't relevant. And then I read the comments. Now, everyone knows that the number one rule of the Internet is "Never read the comments!" But I did, and now I'm raging, and a little sad.<br />
<br />
I have an 8 year old daughter. She is spirited, and wilful, and independent, and everything that I want her to be in this life. In short, she takes no shit from anyone. She knows what she likes, she doesn't stand for unkindness, and she is the first person to call someone out for being an asshole, albeit, not in those exact words. I am so proud of her, and can't wait to see where she takes herself in this life. But, I'm also terrified. Because, as much as we don't want it to be, and as much as we fight against it. It is still very much, a man's world. And, I'm not saying that in a derogatory sense, especially because I am very hopeful that by the time my daughter is a grown woman, things are different. I'm going to list some things that bother me about the world we live in today, when it comes to living in said world, as a woman.<br />
<br />
The word slut. Well, this is taken from the dictionary.<br />
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; padding-right: 15px;">Definition of SLUT</span></h2>
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<span class="ssens"><em>chiefly British</em> <strong>:</strong> a slovenly woman</span></div>
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<span class="ssens"><span class="sn" style="font-weight: bold;">a</span> <strong>:</strong> a promiscuous woman; <em>especially</em> <strong>:</strong> <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/prostitute" style="color: #1122cc; font-size: 14px; font-variant: small-caps; text-decoration: none;">prostitute</a></span><span class="ssens"><div class="break" style="height: 10px;">
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<span class="sn" style="font-weight: bold;">b</span> <strong>:</strong> a saucy girl <strong>:</strong> <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/minx" style="color: #1122cc; font-size: 14px; font-variant: small-caps; text-decoration: none;">minx</a></span></div>
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So, as you can see, the definitions are kind of all over the place. But, if you hear the word slut in conversation, it's usually used to put women down. "She is dressed like a slut." "You are acting like a slut" You get the point. So, I'm going to ask...how does a slut dress? How does a slut act? Basically what a great number of the population is saying is that if you dress a certain way, or act on desires that you have (as a grown woman) this is the label that you get pinned with. I mean, seriously. I bet you can go through your high school yearbook, and every single one of you can point out a girl that had a "slutty" reputation around school. Right? Maybe she dressed a certain way, to entice the guys around school....or maybe, just maybe she was comfortable in those clothes. Maybe she liked expressing herself through fashion, and didn't give a shit about what the guys would think. She possibly dated a lot of guys, maybe she even slept with all of them? She probably craved that male attention, right? She probably had issues with her dad, and she was looking for love in all the wrong ways? Or, maybe, just maybe, she just liked to get out of the house on the weekends. Maybe she didn't sleep with any of the guys. Or, maybe she did. But not because she had some deep rooted daddy issues, but simply because women like sex too. Oh, what's that? You weren't aware of that? </div>
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It's just not fair to be a grown woman, who is confident with her body, and sexuality, to act on her desires, and then be labelled for her actions. Especially by other women! Seriously girls, stop cutting other women down, we get enough of that from men. Don't do it to each other. The slut shaming has to stop. </div>
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The fear. Okay. This isn't something that I have really thought about, or experienced until very recently. In April of this year, I started running. I wanted to up my workouts, and I also needed an outlet for all of my stress, so running made sense. Well, one thing that I didn't expect? The fear. I live on a country road, pretty much in the middle of nowhere. I have neighbours, but they certainly aren't as close as you would have in a city, or a small town. The area I live in has crime, obviously much like most areas, but I have never ever felt unsafe. Well, one thing I noticed every time I ran alone, I was scared. Not even sure of what. One time a man on a bicycle rode past me, and I literally had to stop running because I was having a panic attack, thinking about him hurting me. Irrational I know. But this stuff happens. I finally stopped running alone after several runners were either followed by men, or approached by men. This isn't right. Everyone should be able to run down their road/street/trail/track, without being terrified that someone is wanting to do them harm. This isn't how I want my daughter to feel any time she goes out anywhere by herself. And that's not to say that men aren't the victims of crimes like these, too. They absolutely are. But not in the same magnitude as women. And chances are, the men that I see running alone down the road, probably aren't thinking that they could be assaulted, or worse, while on their morning run. That fear is like nothing I've ever felt before.</div>
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My last subject is a big one. A controversial one, but one that I need to talk about. Abortion. I am a 31 year old, married woman with 3 children. My husband and I have taken permanent steps to ensure we will not have any additional children. But, this Spring, I had a scare. I won't go into details, but I thought I might be pregnant. I was terrified. I felt sick at the prospect of more children. I love my kids to death. I would die for them. But, I do not want any more kids. I know in my heart and soul that 3 is my limit. A point of contention between my husband and I. He would have gladly added more chaos to this household. I was the one who had to firmly say. I can't. I can't do it again, I won't do it again. So, we did what we had to do, and had a permanent procedure. But, then I was late. Discussing this with my husband, we had very different ideas. He obviously thought, well, what's one more? It'll be fun to have another little baby again. I felt the exact opposite. We were on completely different sides. But, the difference between us was, I was the only one who could truly decide. After all, it's my body. And yes, he's my husband, and I take his feelings very seriously, and I love him more than anything. But, ultimately I knew I was not having any more children. I told him this, and he really didn't understand what I was saying. He thought I was talking about adoption, but I'll never forget the look on his face when he realized that I was talking about abortion. He and I have very different opinions on the subject, and I knew that a decision like that could have a detrimental effect on my marriage. But, I also knew that bringing another child into this situation would have been extremely irresponsible. Now, luckily we didn't have to get that far, because I was NOT pregnant. But, the point I'm trying to make is. I, a 31 year old, married woman, would have chosen abortion. It would have been my right to make that choice. After all, nobody else is going to help me buy diapers, nobody else is going to get up in the night with it, nobody else is going to go through the PPD for me. But, just as a 31 year old woman should be free to make that choice so should a 16 year old, and so should a 45 year old. It is nobody Else's choice. And when I see people trying to take that choice away from women, I just get sad. Everyone is free to believe what they want to about abortion, but the simple thing is, if you don't agree with abortions....don't have one. </div>
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This world is changing everyday. Some things for the better, and some worse. I have so many wishes for my little girl. I want her to get a good education, I want her to always be kind, and make friends wherever she goes. I wish for her to find true love from someone that is good to her, a person who respects her, and loves her for who she is. But, I also want her to be able to wear anything she wants to wear, without being judged for it. I want her to never be ashamed of her sexuality. I want her to be able to go out alone, and not be plagued by fear, and uncertainty. I don't want her to be immediately distrustful of any man who she encounters. I want her to walk with purpose. And, I want her to be free to be the judge over her own body. Her body is her own, and I want her to feel that always. And most of all, I want her to know just how much hope I have for her future, and how much love that I have for her. </div>
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Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-35309771944344556662014-10-29T18:13:00.000-07:002014-10-29T18:13:09.028-07:0010 Years...So, here we are. Halloween again.<br />
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I have kids, so obviously, I have a lot going on every Halloween. But, if I'm being completely honest, I'd like to sleep through the entire fucking day, and night.<br />
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10 years ago, on Halloween night, my world changed forever. The ground was swept out from under me, and nothing has been the same since. Last year, I shared the story of the events that played out on Halloween night, so I'm not going to tell that story again. I'm just going to lay some word vomit on you all, mainly because it helps me to cope, and also because....well, I do what I want.<br />
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My Grandma Sharon was one of my favourite people in the world. She was warm, she was caring, and she gave absolutely zero fucks about what anyone else thought about her. She was my babysitter, she was my Grandmother, she was my friend. As a child, I don't think we truly grasp just how precious our people are to us. We don't understand that someday they will be gone, and we will wish we asked them all the things we just can't ask them now. Like, my Grandma's lasagna recipe. What is it? I have no idea. And as a child of 13, watching a roomful of grown men devour a huge roasting pan of lasagna, I had no idea how much I would long to know that recipe as an adult. Although, my mom's recipe is pretty kick ass.<br />
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I wonder what my Grandma was like as a child. That's another thing. When you are a kid, these things aren't important to you. But, it seemed like, the second she was gone....I wanted to know everything. I wish I had really talked to her, like an adult. Sometimes I do talk to her, and I swear I can hear her voice, and I know exactly what she'd say to me in most situations. But, it's just not enough. She's gone, and it still sucks.<br />
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My kids. It kills me, like literally tears my heart to shreds to know that she wasn't around to see my kids. And, I guess depending on what you believe in, you might say "Well, she sees them now. She's so proud!" And that is a perfectly acceptable opinion to have on the subject. Truth is, I don't really know what I believe. I mean, I like to believe that she is in Heaven, with all of the people that left before her, and have left since. Thinking like that makes my heat happy, to know that they're not alone, and she can see the life that I've made for myself, and my beautiful kids. And, it really makes me happy to think that someday, I will be with her, able to hug her, and talk to her, and talk, and talk, and talk. But, I don't know if that's what happens. Maybe you die, and that's it. You rot in the cold, cold ground forever and ever. Which, I guess won't matter once you're dead.<br />
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Thinking about my Grandma makes me smile, every time. But, it also takes the breath from my lungs, and makes me sob. And I'm not talking about softly sobbing into your pillow, I mean full on, gut wrenching, body wracking sobs. The kind that drain you of all of your energy, and make you think that you will dehydrate from all the crying. There is just no way for me to think of her, whether it's a good memory, or a sad one, without sobbing uncontrollably. 10 years later, and I still feel the same way I did back then. Grief really never leaves you. You pretty much just carry it around forever. It doesn't get easier living without a loved one, you just learn a better way to manage your pain.<br />
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Sometimes I think about how different things would have been, if Grandma hadn't passed away. Maybe things wouldn't be different at all? Maybe they would be exactly the same, except she'd be here? Obviously, I'll never know, but I do think about it a lot. I play a lot of different scenarios in my head when it comes to loved ones that have passed away (I'm not crazy, I swear!) As painful as it is, one thing that is sure to calm me down, and make me feel peaceful, is to think about people that I've lost. It's sad, and it's hard, but thinking about them and the impact they've had on my life, lifts my spirits. Blah! I told you thins would be word vomit.<br />
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My Grandma was so fun to be around. She made us all laugh constantly. And she had the best laugh. I miss it. She also said the most inappropriate things at times. But, that always made me laugh, too. Must be where I get it from. ;) I remember after I had broken up with my first serious boyfriend, I was trying to give her reasons that she thought were good enough as to why we broke up. I started first with the long distance, which she just assured me didn't matter if we loved each other, I then went on to my age (16) Well, age is only a number, you are old enough to know if you're in love. So then, I told her, we just didn't have any chemistry. OMG. Seriously, talking to my Grandmother about physical attraction, and chemistry. And then she said "Well, I thought he was sexy!" I died. What?! I fell onto the floor laughing, all the while with my Grandma saying over and over "Yes. He is sexy!" I still to this day, have no idea if she was being serious or not. But that is one of my best memories of her. Another time, my Grandma, my brother and I were in my mom's car waiting for her to come out of the grocery store, and a very old man walked past the car. My Grandma watched him walk by, and said under her breath "Lordy, Lordy, look who's past 40" My brother and I couldn't breathe we were laughing so hard, and we still laugh just as hard when we think about it now.<br />
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I love the good memories, because there are enough of them to push back the bad ones. The day I found out she was gone, going to her house to pick out something for her to be buried in, seeing how lost my Papa was. Then, seeing her for the last time. I know a lot of people say that their family member didn't look like themselves at the funeral. This wasn't the case with my Grandma. She looked just like she had when I had seen her a week earlier at my birthday party. She just looked like she was sleeping, so peaceful. She looked so much like herself that I held her hand. I had never ever considered holding a dead person's hand before, the idea completely freaked me out at my Great Grandpa's funeral when I saw my Great Grandma holding his hand. I kept thinking, who does that? That is beyond weird. But, in that moment, when I saw her, I couldn't not hold her hand. I just needed to. It wasn't weird, or strange at all.<br />
But, by far the worst memory? Leaving the cemetery. It was cold, and raining, and there she was. All alone. It was like I was leaving a piece of myself there with her. Nothing about that moment felt right.<br />
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Every Halloween since that horrible one, 10 years ago, has been somewhat forced on my part. And now that I have kids, I have to put on a happy face, and do the Halloween thing for my kids. And I do. I do because I love them, I do because even though I would rather be at home in bed, sleeping until November 1st, Halloween makes them happy. I do because seeing them happy makes me happy, and most of all, I do because I can hear my Grandma's voice in my head saying "For Christ's sake, Tricia! This isn't about you! Get your ass out there, and get my Grandkids some candy!"<br />
See, I told you inappropriate!<br />
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<br />Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-1155448282969662062014-08-12T18:07:00.002-07:002014-08-12T18:07:57.322-07:00Depression. My StoryMy hands are shaking right now typing this out.<br />
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I'm sure everyone has heard about the absolutely tragic, and horrifying news of Robin Williams' passing due to suicide. This death has hit me hard. Not only because he is such a beloved actor/comedian, that I grew up watching, and loving. But also because depression has played a major role in my life for as long as I can remember. So, I decided that I would share my story. A story that only those very close to me know the details of, a story that could have ended in a very different way. So, I apologize in advance if this gets long, and winded.<br />
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I was 12 I had my first panic attack. I thought I was dying. I have always been a very dramatic person, and a slight...alright, a HUGE hypochondriac. At first, it was a feeling like I couldn't swallow. Now that sensation alone is hard to describe. My mouth was completely dry, and trying to swallow, which always seemed like a natural reflex, suddenly got really difficult. My reflexes would kick in, and I would be able to swallow, but, the panic that had already set in at the thought that I couldn't swallow did a number on me. My heart started racing, I started sweating, and my throat felt like it was closing in. I remember telling my mom I couldn't swallow, and she didn't get it. Nobody in our immediate family had ever had a panic attack, so my parents truly had no idea what was going on. I went to the hospital, and they focused on the swallowing. I immediately felt better when we got to the hospital, the fact that there were doctors everywhere to "save" me, made me feel 100x better. Well, they found no reason for my swallowing issues, and sent me home.<br />
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These panic attacks continued. It got to the point that I carried a bottle of water everywhere I went, and if I didn't have my water, it would send me into an intense panic. I remember forgetting to bring it along one time on the way to a shopping trip with my mom. I freaked out so badly that she frantically raced to the nearest drive thru to get me a drink. My panic attacks came to a head one weekend at my Grandma's house. I had a very intense panic attack that had me confined to my bed. I was completely immobilized. I didn't recognize at the time that my anxiety had sent me into a deep state of depression. I only left the bed every morning when my mom drew me a bath, then I would crawl back into bed. I was anxious, scared, sad, and unbearably lonely. I was surrounded by people, but nobody understood what was happening. My lowest moment at that time was begging my mom to take me to the hospital. I remember yelling in her face "You'll be sorry. When I die, you'll wish you took me to the hospital." That was all it took. My mom took me in. The only instructions my father gave my mother before we left was to not let them medicate me. My dad didn't believe in that.<br />
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They did medicate me. They had to. I think even they were surprised at the level of my anxiety...I mean for a 13 year old. And just like that, after a weekend trip to my Grandma's that was supposed to last only 2 days, but had lasted a week, I was well enough to make the car ride home.<br />
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The next few years were miserable. We moved from Hamilton, to the middle of nowhere. The adjustment was more than I had ever anticipated. And I had my first real boyfriend, which as any teenage girl knows, can destroy your life in a million different ways. I was depressed. I had no idea why, I had no idea how to deal with any of the feelings that I was having. I was lost. So, I started cutting.<br />
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Now, I've never been able to explain cutting to anyone. Why I did it? Why it made me feel better, and worse all at the same time? Why I couldn't stop? I just don't know. I remember the first time I did it. I was having a breakdown, and felt so full. Full of emotions, full of sadness, full of loneliness, full of hopelessness. Si, I grabbed the closest thing in my reach (a push pin) and started cutting. Instantly I felt a release. An unexplainable feeling, that calmed me down. After that day, I was in a constant battle with myself. I knew that what I was doing was dangerous, and not normal coping behaviour, but I also knew I couldn't stop.<br />
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After a few long months, my brother realized what I was doing. I made him promise to keep it to himself, and I think I really did expect him not to tell our parents. But, he was 12, and he was scared. My parents confronted me, and I broke down. I started counselling right away. My counsellor implemented a "number system" My parents were to periodically ask me throughout the day what number I was at. Any number below a 5 or 6 was concerning, and meant I shouldn't be left alone. I started to dread the question "What number are you?" It meant I needed to talk about how I was feeling. I hated that. I hated how sad it made my mom. I hated how crazy it made me feel. I hated it all. I had been missing a lot of school, I was still horribly depressed, and now the principal was telling my parents that there was no conceivable way I could make up my credits, and have a successful school year. They wanted me to drop out, take some time off, figure my shit out. Whatever way you want to put it, they wanted me out.<br />
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I felt worthless, I was an embarrassment, I was a burden......I was nothing. For the first time in this entire ordeal, I wanted to die. I had never felt like that before. In fact, I had always felt the exact opposite. I had been through enough panic attacks to know what dying felt like (or so I thought) and I had actively tried to avoid that feeling. But, over a very short period of time, my despair, and heartache had turned into thoughts of suicide. The thought of dying consumed my thoughts. I thought about how, I thought about when, I wrote several drafts of a suicide note. I just wanted out. I felt like my parents had suffered enough grief on my behalf. I thought they'd be much better off without me. They would be happier. I even imagined them being relieved that they wouldn't have to deal with my shenanigans anymore. They would be free. And so would I. I wouldn't have to pretend to be happy. I wouldn't have to smile, when I felt like crying. I wouldn't have to lie, and say that I was fine, when I wasn't. I was exhausted, nothing made sense, and I felt more lost and lonely than I ever had before.<br />
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Everything came to a head one afternoon. It had been a rough day. I was fighting with my dad. He wasn't too happy about me laying around the house when I should be in school. I was horribly hurt and ashamed, but I agreed with him. I was a lazy, freeloading, sad sack. What was I doing here? I didn't belong here. My parents didn't deserve this, they didn't deserve to be burdened with this. I had had enough. I had a small pocketknife, I had locked myself in the bathroom, and started cutting. Well, thank God the knife was a million years old and super dull, and thank God my dad wasn't done fighting with me, and busted the door open. I was a mess. I couldn't even stand up straight. I was broken.<br />
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That was almost 15 years ago...wow. It doesn't seem like that long ago. I can still remember how I felt. Explaining depression to someone that has never experienced these feelings, is difficult. They just won't understand. Not because they are a horrible person, or they don't love you, but simply because, there is no way to describe these feelings. Such a deep despair that you are simply exhausted just existing. Such a strong loneliness, that you always feel alone, even when you're around people. You feel lost, like you just can't find your way home, and you keep walking in circles. That's depression. Not necessarily wanting to take your own life, but not wanting to live. Because the pain is so deep, it physically hurts you to talk, move, smile....<br />
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I know that I will always struggle with depression. Yes, I'm on medication. Yes, I have been through counselling. But, depression is forever. You can treat it, and most of the time, you will feel like yourself. But, I still have periods where I look around and have no idea who I am. I am urging anyone who is struggling, to please, please get help. Trust me when I tell you, you are not alone. This isn't about anyone but you. You are important, you are an important piece to the world's puzzle. You are loved. You are worth it. And, if you have friends or family that are struggling, do your best to help them. Don't tell them to "snap out of it" Don't expect them to get better on their own. Be there, listen, save your judgements, and love them. Nobody deserves to feel this way. Nobody wants to feel this way. Watch for the signs here: http://www.health.gov.sk.ca/suicide-common-warning-signs If you see any of these, act fast. Don't brush it under the rug, don't assume the person is bluffing. Get them help.<br />
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These are the Canadian suicide hotlines: http://www.suicide.org/hotlines/international/canada-suicide-hotlines.html<br />
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This is the info for the suicide prevention lifeline: http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-66252567330233340032014-07-25T14:26:00.001-07:002014-07-25T14:26:56.489-07:00What is this place?I'm having one of those days. You know the ones. The kids are screaming, you're tired, you're yelling way too much, the house is a mess (and you don't have the energy to care) and then you see someone share one of those pictures on Facebook. You know, "Cherish every moment with your children, because when they're grown up, you'll miss this time." And then you get the overwhelming urge to scream at the offending poster for making you feel so shitty about the way you're feeling right in this moment.<br />
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I would be lying if I told you that my summer had been amazing so far. I mean, sure, I guess it's been pretty good. Spending a lot of time outside, playing in the pool, not having to be up and out waiting for the bus by 8. Awesome. But, man. I am overwhelmed. 3 kids never seemed like a lot to me. I got into a decent routine pretty early on, and yes, we had rough days, but these ages right now, they're tough. And there's 3 of them! I'm only one person. Ever since summer vacation started, shit has gotten real around here.<br />
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Ciena, wow. I love her to pieces, and she is a dream. I mean, she's 8. So, she's content to sit quietly, and watch a movie....or videos of some British guy playing Minecraft on Youtube. She likes to read, and she does this often. But, when she's pissed, she's like a hurricane. Unpredictable, noisy, and Hell bent on destroying everything in her path. The attitude I get on a daily basis is pretty ridiculous. She will tell me that I'm ruining her life, I just want to ruin her fun, and sometimes when she's feeling especially feisty, she'll just slam the door repeatedly. Fun, right! During the school year, I only have to deal with these episodes from 4-8 on weekdays, and on weekends. But, summer is here. And it's a 24/7 shitshow.<br />
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These boys are sucking the life force from me. For real. My house is destroyed....continuously. Like, I can't even keep up most days. I am constantly cleaning. I truly feel like they follow me around, and just throw shit around, just to make more work for me. Logan will watch me put clothes in a basket, and immediately take them all out while staring me down. They run, run, run through my house, which isn't that big. And they are both insanely clumsy, so you can guess where I'm going with this. I'm constantly telling them to stop running, but they don't. They both average on about 6 timeouts a day, and that's on a good day. Let's put it this way, one of Logan's first words, was "timeout" They fight constantly, and I mean that literally. There is not a moment that they are together, that they are not beating each other senselessly. I actually had to stop writing for 20 minutes, because Joel bit Logan......hard. Separately, they are both Angels. Put them together, and it is crazy. I grew up with a brother, and, while we fought, and it was sometimes physical, it wasn't even close to the level that I deal with when it comes to these two. I pray that this is normal, and that it doesn't mean that they hate each other subconsciously or something.<br />
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My house right now is completely ridiculous. It looks like we've been robbed....but they didn't take anything. And the worst part? I don't even care. I know I'll care tomorrow, when I'm spending all day cleaning, but right now, I'm just burnt out. I put a chicken in the slow cooker, and called it a day. And now, I'm pissed at myself that I didn't throw potatoes and veggies into the slow cooker too, because now I have to get up and cook them. I feel like a shitty wife. Rob works crazy hours. Most nights, he's not home until after 7, and I try really hard to not burst into tears the second he walks though the door. Out of relief, frustration, sadness, and sheer exhaustion. He's tired, I'm tired, the kids are never tired. My two older kids get me up at least twice a night still. Logan sleeps like a dream, thankfully.<br />
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I guess, I know I'm not alone. I'm sure there are other moms who are going through this exact.same.thing. (hopefully) and the good days outweigh the bad ones. But the bad days are so much longer, and so much more frequent. And wishing for September, and some routine makes me feel shitty. I'm here with 3 healthy, happy kids, and I'm wishing the time away. And I don't enjoy that, but I also know that the next person to tell me "Come on. Just enjoy them. These days go by too fast, and you're going to wish you'd cherished them more." is probably going to get throat punched.Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-473938048875829697.post-59920781420055377072014-07-15T18:22:00.001-07:002014-07-15T18:22:33.278-07:00Yoo Hoo!!!Hey! Remember me?<br />
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A friend, and one of (or possibly my only?) blog reader(s) told me that she missed my blog posts, and that went right to my head, so I'm back. :) Life has been so busy lately, and really not busy at all. How the Hell does that work?? So, here's an update, and some ramblings because around this time every night is when my mind begins to wander, right before I take an Ativan to shut it up. ;)<br />
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Summer vacation trampled right over me this year. I remember about 2 weeks before school let out, I was thinking about how nice it would be to not have a set schedule in the mornings, sleep in, not have to rush around making lunches, and yelling at Joel to put some pants on for the fiftieth fucking time. How awesome would it be to be able to lounge around, and play outside all day. Aaaah. Well, then school actually did let out, and I wanted to punch myself in the face for wanting summer to start so badly. 3 kids. I have 3 kids. It's like I totally forgot what every single evening from 4-8 was like during the school year. The screaming, the whining, the violence, the nakedness........yeah, Joel really hates pants. Well, you take those 4 hours every night, and multiply it by 10 million, and then I stick a fork in my eye. My 8 year old is a full on diva. It's like I'm living with Mariah fucking Carey. Complete with the hair flips, and hands on hip. And the boys. Holy shit. I'm too exhausted to even think of a phrase that describes them. It's kind of like when you've been at a concert for 3 hours, and then you leave, and the second you get outside you have that really loud ringing in your ears. Well, that's what life with my boys is like. A constant ringing in my ears. All they do is fight. And I'm not even exaggerating. Tonight, I told Logan to give bedtime hugs, and he gave everyone a hug, and said "I love you" He walked up to Joel, gave him a hug, and then punched him in the face. It never ends. I'm actually really surprised that we haven't had to make any trips to the ER yet. They are so vicious.<br />
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Logan still doesn't eat. So, that takes up a shit ton of my energy, and my stress has skyrocketed in turn. He is completely healthy. When I tell people that he has eating difficulties, they look at my 37lb son, look at me, and raise their eyebrow. Yeah, I know. He's a big kid. Yeah, I know it looks like I feed him steak for breakfast. Yeah, he is pink, and hydrated, and healthy......but seriously, his diet consists of Purees, baby cereal, yogurt, baby formula, and Oreos....or the cream from Oreos I guess. He's working on chewing, but we're still a ways off from where he should be for a 2.5 year old. I have never wanted someone to eat so badly in all my life. The stress of this makes me physically sick sometimes. And I feel a lot of judgement from people, people who really don't understand that eating is a skill. It's isn't something that you just know how to do. Babies have to learn, toddlers have to learn. If I had a nickle for every time someone said to me "Well, just don't give him anything at all. When he gets hungry enough, he'll figure it out." Um, no. No he won't. I just really keep hoping that once he starts really chewing, and realizes how delicious everything is, this will all be a distant memory.<br />
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I started working out. Yay! I have never ever, ever been the girl who enjoys exercising. Ever. And it really wasn't until the beginning of this year that I took a long hard look at myself, and realized that enough was enough. I was ready to change. I never fully had the motivation before. In March, I met my trainer, and she has completely changed my life. I am in the best shape I have ever been in, in my whole life. Which seems weird to me, because I am still 70lbs heavier than my lowest (adult) weight. But even with the extra weight, I am strong, and I am fit, and I am so, so happy. I can run over 2km comfortably before I have to stop and walk, I can walk a flight of stairs without feeling like I'm dying, everything is just easier. I look forward to working out, and I get very stressed, and grumpy on the days I don't. So much so that when I seem bitchy, Rob will say to me "Why don't you go for a run?" I actually feel good about myself for the first time in a very long time. And I just feel all around happier, which is the most amazing thing.<br />
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Like I said, I'm crazy busy, but yet, not busy at all. I can have days on end when I have no appointments, and nowhere that I need to go, but yet I can't even find the time to sit down during the day. I am constantly cleaning my house, because I cannot relax if it is a mess, my kids eat all.day.long. So I'm forever getting them snacks, then cleaning up after them, rinse, and repeat. I have to stop once every 5-10 minutes to put someone on timeout, not even kidding. The laundry. Oh my God, the laundry. I try and keep up with it, but there is just no possible way. Like none. The kids were at my mom's this past Friday, and Saturday night, and my house was in order for 24 full hours! My kids got home at 12:30 on Sunday, and by 12:45 I wanted to curl up in bed and cry, because it only took 15 minutes for them to destroy the house.<br />
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I really will try to post at least once a week. I was actually thinking the other day that I am probably due for another husband pet peeve post. Lol. But either way, thank you for reading, and don't be afraid to comment and let me know if there's something you want me to post about. Simply because, the less I have to use my brain, even if it's just for thinking up blog posts, the better. :)Triciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14917210416452960433noreply@blogger.com0