The Prickly Beast (not to be confused with the pickled beets which are delicious and full of antioxidants)

There is something new in my life, friends: anxiety. Of course it isn't completely new. I have always been a worrier. But this past winter, after I declared a fragile victory over my customary seasonal depression, an extra-ordinary sort of anxiety took me on. Unlike depression which I have worn like a heavy cloak, anxiety seems to wear me. It inhabits me from the bottoms of my feet to the top of my scalp. It is prickly and uncomfortable. Unlike depression, once anxiety has it's hooks in, it will not allow me to hibernate or mentally check out.

Anxiety is also much more difficult for me to write about. It feeds on my insecurities. It plays games with my ego. It fills me with doubt. It is circular and exhausting causing me to replay, second guess, and over analyze various moments from my day. I feel as though a foreign energy has invaded my mind. No matter how much I try to appease it with logic or calming affirmations, it riles me repeatedly. It insistently whispers that I am incapable, unremarkable, and downright foolish.

The internal arguing is exhausting, but sleep will not come. Within the last year I have turned to a variety of over the counter sleep aids to help quiet the voices in the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes I numb my mind by binge watching political dramas or mystery series on Netflix when I should be sleeping, or mothering, or simply being present in the moment.

Clearly I have not learned how to defeat or even tame this brute yet, but before I go running for a Xanax prescription (which may indeed be a necessary course of action at some point), I'd like to explore some other options.

Simply acknowledging that this is a problem I'm dealing with is an intimidating first step. Hello, my name is Meredith Carson, and although I think I hide it well, I am plagued with doubt and anxiety...on occasion...but I'm not crazy, you know. I want you to know that I totally have my act together...except when I don't.
This is why talking about personal mental health issues is so difficult. If I tell you that I am experiencing these feelings of unworthiness and apprehension, there is a chance that you could pounce on me while I'm in this state of not-so-adorable, vulnerable honesty. You could tell me that my doubts are not unfounded, that I truly am incapable, unremarkable, and downright foolish.

Damn. Anxiety just happened again, y'all. It just serpentined it's way right onto the page I am writing.
Let me try that again. I, Meredith Carson, am a delightful and talented person who occasionally suffers with bouts of anxiety. I am not alone. I wish I were more on top of it. I wish there were an off switch that I could access to make it all stop, but for now I am just learning to cope.

A friend suggested that late night, deep yogic stretching may help during anxiety ridden, insomniac moments. I'm completely willing to try this. Journaling might also be an effective form of therapy, but I'm not sure. Worst case: journaling would offer horrifying, lasting evidence of my circular, irrational thoughts. Best case: journaling would cure me, OR Sarah McLachlan might take a page from my journal and adapt it into a hit song on the adult contemporary charts. It could happen.

Recently I have been focused on trying to limit anxiety triggers like: too much social media, electronic devices after 10 pm, alcohol, and caffeine. Sounds fun. I know. But it is making a difference. In the past I have also written about honoring my introverted nature by intentionally planning for quiet downtime, guarding against overstimulation, and spending face to face time with genuine, caring, adult friends. All of this is more important than ever, and as challenging as ever with three energetic kids in the house.

I'd like to conclude on a hopeful and humorous note, but truthfully, I'm feeling more hot and bothered. Sharing this is difficult. I want to appear confident and in control, but I do not always feel confident and in control. Sometimes I feel like I'm back in middle school and that I don't really know anything. Anxiety warns me that if I admit this, I will lose your respect.

I KNOW this isn't true. We all have our middle school moments. Most of us expend a lot of energy trying to conceal them. I am hoping that shining a light on this prickly beast will rob it of some of its power and also offer you, dear reader, the chance share what has worked for you during your long and sleepless nights. Got any pearls of wisdom for me?
Thanks.
Love,
Meredith

Radical Self-Care in the Winter Months

Over the Christmas holidays, my four year old brought home a wonderfully endearing, imperfect, asymmetrical, knobbly-looking stuffed bear that was given to her by her ingenious preschool teacher, Mrs. Carbary.  Lili's assignment was to name the bear, (no problem.  Sugarbear, of course) and to write in the bear's journal about his winter adventures.  One day as we sat at the kitchen table and I took dictation, this is what Lili had to say about Sugarbear's state of mind:

I wondered if Sugarbear and I were kindred spirits because there are many winter days when I am hungry and every fiber of my being tells me I should eat chocolate and mashed potatoes and follow this action with a long nap.  I too am "made for summer...days" and tend to feel shivery, lethargic, and unimaginative during the cold, dark winter months.

This year the cold months in Michigan have been exceptionally sharp and stinging, yet somehow I am doing okay.  After many difficult winters battling seasonal depression (also known as SAD), I think I may be on to something: radical self care.

A friend introduced me to the term "radical self care" last winter. I nodded approvingly at the idea but didn't put much stock in it.  Radical self care sounded like something for which a busy, low maintenance girl like me would have no time.  I pictured weekly pedicures and spa treatments, indulgent dinners in fancy restaurants, and hours of uninterrupted, silent meditation.  To be clear all of those things sound great, but they do not add up to radical self care.  I couldn't truly imagine achieving a zen-like state of radical self-care without completely neglecting my children.  I had it all wrong.

Radical self-care doesn't actually mean making oneself as comfortable as possible or indulging every fantasy.  For me it means:

• Dragging myself out of bed every morning. resisting the urge to hibernate under the blankets where it's warm on days when the outside temperatures are double digits below zero. (Honestly does anybody have time for -18 F?)
• Taking my vitamins and supplements every day. (Particularly life changing supplements for me are: Vitamin D, B Complex, and high doses of Omega 3 fish oil.)
• Resisting the urge to ingest only simple carbohydrates.  Potato chips, why must you be so delicious?  I feel best when I prepare and eat lots of fresh fruits and vegetables and limit refined sugars.  Yes to carrots!  Up with people!
• Exercising even when I don't want to.  I always feel better after a group exercise class like Zumba or Pilates.  A walk outdoors also does wonders, but only when the temperatures are above 20 F.
• Getting light.  Natural sunlight is ideal, but there are days when I rely on my full spectrum light box.  Spending time outdoors, when possible, makes a world of difference.  I like to tromp down a snowy track, hug a slumbering deciduous tree, or throw a snowball at a snarky neighbor whenever possible.  A long weekend in sunny Florida this past month also lifted my spirits and helped to recharge my dying winter battery.
• Being part of a community.  This is, perhaps, the most counter-intuitive, item on my list.  As an introvert teetering on the verge of depression, my natural m.o. is to dig into my burrow and watch Murder She Wrote in my sweat pants, but regularly scheduled meetings/outings with close friends, singing in church, and interacting with other parents at my kids' schools (instead of burying my nose in a book) is an important part of caring for myself.
• Sleeping.  Getting the right about of sleep is obviously crucial.  Too much leaves me feeling demotivated and useless.  Too little sleep causes me to feel stressed out, run down, and grouchier than that dirty green guy on Sesame Street.  Generally I try for 7-8 hours per night and my rule is: no going back to bed after getting up in the morning.  I have stuck to my rule approximately 98% of the time this winter, and I'm good with that.

Doggone it!  I didn't intend to write another list, but look at what happened!  Here is another even better list published by Psychology Today, which describes how parents can commit to radical self care.

Of course none of this means I am enjoying the frigid temperatures, the blustery winds, or the claustrophobia-inducing, mile-high snow drifts, but I am coping well and doing my best to acknowledge and savor moments of joy when they arise.

Fragility

We are now in the depths of winter.  I am maintaining my position perched well above Depression Valley with occasional visits to the Island of Aggravation and the Coasts of Over-stimulation.  'Tis the season.

Christmas vacation always reminds me of how fragile my grip on psychological wellness is.  My circadian rhythms are thrown completely out of whack during the holidays. My senses are bombarded with flickering lights, unusual aromas, noisy chatter, and a clutter of new stuff. I also feel overwhelmed by the emotional needs of my ever present family.  To be clear most of them have not asked me to fully take on the burden their emotional needs, but I just cannot seem to help myself.

I have felt particularly overstimulated and aggravated this week.  When my Monday morning exercise class (my last chance for group exercise before Friday) was canceled, I felt an emotion that reached far beyond frustration.   I felt utterly defeated as I climbed back into my icy car and drove back home where I felt out of sorts for the rest of the day.  Walks out in the freezing cold, and solitary exercise simply do not lift my spirits in the same way that an exercise class can.

On New Year's Day I was still annoyed.  After New Year's lunch (black-eyed peas, ham, rice, yadda yadda) my girls and I sat down with a stack of magazines and some poster board, and we created vision boards for the new year.  I was insightful enough to realize that a list of New Year's Resolutions would not be the best motivator for me.  My older kids jumped right in, completely on board.  My four year old cut out every picture of a cat she could find and glued all of them on to her florescent green poster board.  Brilliant.

I covered my vision board with words and images that I hope will describe my emotional life throughout the year: Spontaneous Happiness, Invincible Summer, Balance, Wellness, Organization, etc.  I cut out pictures of bare feet and sunflowers, raw fruits and vegetables, a laughing family, and a happy child cooking with her mom.  As I sat with my girls and used my hands to cut and paste, I felt productive and peaceful.  Everyone was busy, engaged, and quiet. It was divine.

Best of all we cannot fail to achieve the goals and dreams illustrated on our vision boards.  We can look at them each day and remind ourselves that we envision more peace, that we expect to become  stronger swimmers, that we should make time to honor a desire to read more good books, and that we should pause daily to appreciate the cats of the world. We can also add new words and pictures as the year goes on.  Win!

My new year will really start on Monday, January 6th when I have to start waking up in the dark at 6:30 in the morning to ice skate with my eleven year old down to the bus stop.  Does my vision board remind me to put my "feet on the floor" every day?  You bet your Granny's booties it does.  There is a not-so-small part of me that is looking forward to getting back into the rhythm of that horrible weekday schedule with my early morning light therapy and sensible diet.

I feel like such an impossibly grown-up adult writing these words, but I am happy to be an adult with a very determined grip on my perch here above Depression Valley.  I know how easy it can be to slip right off.  I am keenly aware of the fragility of my position at this time of year.  And when I start to panic, I vow to lean on the vision of my duck-lipped four year old and to stop and appreciate a cat.

Happy New Year, Lovlies!