Meredith Carson... Across the Pond and Back Again...

Recently I have had this niggling desire to write.  It has been a niggling desire that I have hushed up with social media, Food Network, and Utz potato chips. If I am honest, I have been unmotivated to empower my writing self because I am afraid.  I am afraid that I do not have anything new or relevant to say.  Additionally I have realized that most of my obsessive thoughts spiral around my children, and, as they grow older, I do not feel as though I have permission to write publicly about their experiences.  Sharing an anecdote about the cute thing your three year old did at the park is completely different from venting about your fourteen year old’s friend drama.  (I was recently mortified when I read a blog in which a mother had written in detail about her daughter’s experience with puberty along with a self-congratulatory description of all the cute things she had done as a mother to make her daughter’s first period a “special celebration”.  Could you...

Here I am in the place I’ve longed to be for ten years.  I’m back.  It all feels rather surreal.  Thomas Wolfe had already warned me that I couldn’t ever really go home again.  I knew this.  I have never been this age, had these children at this point in time, or been the me who lives in this skin in this place before.  Everyone here has also grown and changed.   The roads have changed.  The barbecue, hushpuppies, and sweet tea, however, all seem to have remained constant.  Praise the Lord. I am elated to be back in North Carolina.  Yesterday I ate my lunch outside in the sunshine.  Folks up in Michigan are buried under a foot of snow and enduring sub-zero temps as I shut my eyes and feel the vitamin D being absorbed through my cheeks.  It is wonderful.  But I am impatient. I feel the burden of impatience when I wake in the morning.  I want to feel at home at home again.  Reinventing myself here sho...

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 ...

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 b...

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 f...

Back at the beginning of the fall, in anticipation of my undoubtedly imminent seasonal depression, I tried out a new antidepressant drug.   The medication that I used last year was just so-so and carried with it some unwanted side effects, so I started out with a very low dose of the new drug.  By the end of the first day I felt like I was wired on caffeine.   Toward the end of the second day I had developed a pounding headache which was exacerbated by the drug induced insomnia.   Clearly this new drug was not the miracle I was hoping for.   I returned the mostly unused bottle to the pharmacy for disposal and made up my mind that we all just needed to move to Colorado where life, I  imagine, must be perfect. Colorado was not a realistic quick fix, so I took a few deep breaths and decided not to panic.   I was not ready to let go of the deep contentment that had settled over me during the summer months.   I continually meditated on ...

Last night I was invited to help out with a "Birthday Bake Off" party hosted by my friend Allison for her daughter's twelfth birthday.  She claims she was inspired by a home baking challenge we had here at our house the night before school started.  (You can read about our Sweet Genius Baking Challenge HERE .)  But 'inspiring' is about the only thing for which I can take credit.  She hosted a glorious party in our church's big kitchen where eleven girls and one excited boy created twelve unique and beautiful cakes.  I teamed up with my nine-year-old daughter Sophia to create this simple and wonderful "Trip Down Lemon Lane" cake.   Allison created a fanciful and gratifying birthday party that her daughter Natalie will never forget.  All twelve kids got to take home a one-of-a-kind cake made by themselves to share with their families.  "Brilliant!" I declare. Last night's fun has sent the cogs and wheels in my h...