Impossible Year

Hello, it's me. I haven't written on here lately. It's been 4 months since I stepped back from Facebook, and honestly, I haven't missed it. I've been able to keep up with some of you on Instagram, but I don't spend a whole lot of time there, either. I've given you the highlights on Facebook; about 2-3 posts a month. I thought I'd tell you a little more about what I've been up to and try to give a summary of this impossible year.

ICYMI, I did a mental face-plant at the beginning of April, which resulted in months of counseling and a cocktail of meds for depression. I am in a much better place, but there are still some challenges, and the hardest months are yet to come. As I've shared numerous times, Winter is not at all good to me. As an extra boost, I purchased a blue-light therapy box. I use this every morning for about an hour, and on gloomy days, I bring it to work and sit in front of it during my 30-minute lunch break. I believe it has made a difference, but this could just be a placebo effect.

Work has been...complicated. Around the same time I was falling apart mentally, there was a drama playing out in the greenhouse. The job that I loved was becoming a place that I dreaded being every day. I realize that I've been pretty vague about the details, and unfortunately, I still don't think I can clarify anything. All I can say is that the drama has dissipated, and the working environment has become mostly pleasant once again. There have been significant changes this year that have both terrified and validated me. I've put in more hours than I have any year prior, and it looks like that trend will continue. I normally drop down to one day a week in January and February, but in 2019, I will be working 4 days a week during the winter.

Goodbye, greenhouse, until next Spring

Tim is watching his company (Bootstrap Architecture and Construction) grow by leaps and bounds. I know a lot of y'all are ready to build a wall around Nashville to keep our city from becoming even more overpopulated than it already is, but more people moving here has worked out pretty good for us. I try to keep this in mind when I'm fighting traffic during my 45 minute commute to and from work every day. 2019 will mark 10 years since Tim's job was downsized and he went out on his own. I certainly didn't see him co-owning such a successful business that scary winter day in January 2009.

 

The kids are great. Reagan is in her senior year of high school, and thankfully it's been a MUCH easier year (on ALL of us) than junior year. She hasn't decided on her post-graduation plans, and she's pretty stressed about this being the topic of every conversation she has with an adult. She wants to study film production, but hasn't decided whether she wants to do a year or two at community college first, or enroll in a 4-year program next Fall. If she goes to an out-of-town school, she doesn't want to go more than 2-3 hours away. Pierce continues to learn valuable life skills in the Transition Program at Brentwood High. He is bussed from school to a job at Hampton Inn 3 days a week for a 4-hour shift. We are slowly getting our brains around all of the legal details of parenting an adult with autism. We've dropped the ball a couple of times, but we are still working towards conservatorship.

Tim and I have kept up a weekly date night schedule. To shake us out of our usual routine of dinner at one of our three favorite dinner spots, walking around Barnes and Noble for an hour, Jeni's Ice Cream, and then home, I was inspired to plan our date nights around the alphabet. I started this during the summer and we're already up to Z. I'll write another post when we've marked that one off the list and give you the run-down of our ABCs Of Dating. We didn't take a family vacation this year. Instead, we spent a week together at Otter Creek Christian Camp. Oh that every Sunday could be like worship at camp. Tim and I have taken a couple of long weekend trips down south. In July, we went to Miramar Beach, where we just laid on the beach reading and doing hardly anything. Just a couple weeks ago, we celebrated our 25th anniversary with a trip to Miami. We had a FABULOUS time. There's so much to do and see. I'm going to start playing the lottery so I can have a winter home down there.

Otter Creek Christian Camp 2018

So besides work, what have I been up to? Well, I've been reading A LOT. I figured out how to listen to audiobooks through our library. During the slow months in summer and late fall, I can listen to books while I'm working and on my commute. In 2018, I read 140 books. Some of you book nerds out there have differing standards of what qualifies as a book. I have counted audiobooks and graphic novels, because it's MY reading list. Y'all don't have to like it.

Not sure why one count says 139 and another says 140...

Reading so many books has turned that little writing itch of mine into a full-body rash that is desperate to be scratched. For the last 7 weeks, I have been getting up at 5AM to write before I leave for work. If you had told me a year ago that I'd be looking forward to getting up at the butt-crack of dawn every day, I'd have laughed in your face. Never in all my life have I wanted to get up so early; not for ANY reason. What am I writing, you may ask? All of the emotions and experiences I've been storing in my brain for the last 44 years, while I can still remember them. What will I do with all this writing? I don't know. It's very likely that the vast majority of my words will never see the light of day. I don't know that I'll ever be able to subject the outpouring of my soul to public critique. Now that I've shared with all of you that I'm writing, please don't ask me to read any of it to you. If you're meant to see what I've written, you will, but only when I'm good and ready to share it.

I am so thankful for the support I've received this year from family and friends. Without you, I wouldn't be here writing this year-in-review blog post. I very seriously mean it. I wish you all great physical and mental health in 2019.

This Isn't Goodbye

A friend shared a post recently that inspired her to quit Facebook. Never have I read more compelling reasoning. I've shared the screenshot that I took; I have no knowledge about the origin of this post.   

Ten years ago, Facebook seemed to be an awesome way for us introverts to converse and reconnect without having to be in the same room with so many people at once. But you know what? Even though their bodies aren't in my space, their voices are. These voices are daily telling me what kind of person I should be. They tell me to get angry about this, be sad about that, give money to or care about this cause, vote for that person (you're an idiot if you don't), try this weight loss/facial care/kitchen/craft product, what TV shows I SHOULD NOT miss, copy and paste if you REALLY love Jesus/military/spouse/son or daughter/mom or dad, what celebrity/store/product we should boycott, mommy guilt for all the things I'm not doing or should be doing better as a parent. For the last couple of years, I've slowly become more detached from real life communion with friends, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not. I thought I could cope by staying in touch virtually with the people I used to spend time with in person. I so desperately miss the belly-laughs with friends and heartfelt discussions. How about instead of posting something on each other's timelines or laughing together over some funny YouTube video, we hang out face to face? The older I get, the harder it is for me to stay in personal contact with people I don't see on a daily basis. I want, I NEED more meaningful friendships than the casual Facebook variety.  

Since my diagnosis of depression, I've learned just how limited my energy is, and that I need to use the little I have stored up more wisely. As I've said before, I've been spending less and less time on Facebook, even though I continue to post. I've turned off notifications on my phone, but I check my likes and comments a few times a day, only spending a total of 10-15 minutes scrolling through my newsfeed. I've already managed to use the time that I would've wasted on my phone or computer to read...24 books so far in 2018. So many people tell me how much they appreciate my posts, and that they like to check in on the progress of my recovery. I've felt that I had a responsibility to speak out about mental illness and help remove the stigma that is attached to depression. However, I'm not sure Facebook is the best way to continue doing this. Most therapists will tell you that if you're battling depression, anxiety, or other mental illness, spending time on Facebook or other social media platforms are not healthy. I'm learning in therapy that to put an end to the unnecessary obligation I feel and the self deprecating inner dialogue, I need to stop saying, "I should be doing...". I'm tired of trying to please others and live up to their expectations. I've decided I will begin phasing out my time on Facebook. I will still be posting on Instagram, so I hope you'll follow me here. I intend to save up all those happy or silly little posts that would've gone on Facebook and instead make an effort to write them up in somewhat regular blog posts. 

I love that y'all love the things I say and pictures I share. A small part of me has continued to post on Facebook to receive validation that I'm the funny, positive, inspiring person that I think I can be at times. It'll be difficult not to seek the praise of others, but I'm looking forward to finding better uses of my energy and time. If ever you want to get together for some face-time instead of screen-time, hit me up! 

Summer Solstice

Spring is over, and I am not sorry to see it go. By all accounts, it was the weirdest, most difficult Spring in years. But Summer is shaping up to be so much better.

A third antidepressant was added to the mix, so these days, I’m feeling almost like the me I used to be. I have more energy and desire to get stuff done in the yard. I’m also able to let go of most of the guilt I feel about not being productive on my days off. Instead, I’m allowing myself some grace to rest and relax. The craziness of the Spring season at Bates is over. At the same time I was put on an additional medication, the source of a significant amount of conflict and stress at work was identified and terminated. This does mean that I'll be working more hours during summer and winter than I usually do, but I'm ok with it. After all, we will have a kid in college soon. YIKES.  Now that the drama is over, I’m once again excited about my job, and I look forward to being there every day. I've also been able to rearrange my schedule so that I have Mondays off. For the 7 months or so that the nursery is closed on Sundays, I get two consecutive days off. I can not tell you how wonderful this has been for me. I actually go back to work on Tuesdays feeling rested, as opposed to barely recovered from my day off Sunday, work all day Monday, try to recover again on Tuesday, then work 4 more days.

Susan Pneuman is walking alongside Tim and I to find resources that will help us as we parent an adult with autism. She is the new director of Otter Creek’s special needs ministry. It is SO difficult for me to ask for help. Fortunately, Susan saw my posts about Pierce on social media and reached out to me. She’s spent some time with Pierce, and because I find it such a daunting and mentally exhausting task, she’s investigating potential services and helping us decide which ones are best for him. I can’t possibly thank her enough. 

Weekly counseling sessions are ongoing. Apparently, I still have a lot more unpacking to do. My therapist tells me I should write a book, but she probably says that to all of her patients. I’m spending less and less time on social media. I so appreciate everyone’s concern, prayers, and encouragement. I know some of you are following me closely, hoping for positive updates, so I continue to post things on Facebook, Instagram, and (occasionally) Twitter. Though Twitter so quickly sends me into a rage spiral, due to the fact that it’s such an out of control dumpster fire, so I’m barely on it. I check  likes and comments on my Facebook and Instagram posts, but I don’t hang out on the newsfeed for more than a few minutes. I’ve turned off notifications on my phone; with my phone constantly lighting up, it was one more thing draining my mental energy. Instead, I’m spending more time reading and listening to music. 

Several months ago, Tim and I decided that we would go back to Otter Creek Christian Camp this summer as staff (Pierce, too). When I was at my worst, I started thinking about how fun but completely exhausting camp can be, and I considered backing out. Tim convinced me not to make any rash decisions with the state-of-mind I was in. I'd been dreading this all Spring, but now, I'm a little excited and looking forward to being at camp. Pierce and I will be working the canteen, while Tim will be supervising games and water activities. This will be Reagan's final year as a camper, and I know it's going to be an emotional rollercoaster, but I think I'm better equipped to handle it than I was a few months ago. Church continues to be a struggle for me. I haven't been in weeks. Part of that was me needing the rest on Sunday mornings before working in the afternoons. With Bates closed on Sundays until mid September, I'm hoping to return to Sunday morning services soon.

Progress has been frustratingly slow and difficult, but I'm in such a better place than I was a couple months ago. I'm hopeful about the future, and that's something I haven't been able to say in a very long time. I'll just keep inching my way towards recovery.  

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

May is Mental Health Awareness Month. I've decided that it's time to share a little about what's happening in my world right now. I've been transparent in the past about my battles with depression. I've been more reserved lately, because I just haven't had the energy to discuss my current situation. But since I know that our secrets keep us sick and that there's power in voicing those things that keep us shackled, I'm finally writing this down and making myself vulnerable again.

To give the Reader's Digest summary for those that haven't read my posts in the past about my history, I've struggled with depression since my teens. I have a very strong family history, with two suicides on my mother's side. My third diagnosed depression occurred in 2003. I was told then that I may need to be on medication indefinitely. However, in 2015, I noticed that I was forgetting to take my meds some days, even though I was feeling better than I'd ever felt. I decided maybe I'd try to live life Prozac-free.

Last year was really difficult for me. Pierce's graduation from high school was totally overwhelming as we now have to figure out how to parent an adult with autism. Reagan's junior year has been challenging for ALL of us. Then, winter hit. It was one of the most cold, gray, and wet ones in recent history. Winter has always been tough for me, even when I was on meds. I look forward to Spring every year; as the plants and animals awaken, so do I. Only this year, the awakening didn't come.

I had no interest in attending the Nashville Lawn and Garden show. This is, for me, a highly anticipated event. I missed it for the first time in about 12 years. The things that used to bring me such joy (singing, gardening, dance workouts, church) became laborious.  I was crying every day, but since my job is in retail, I crammed all that sadness down as deep as I could and put on the happy customer-friendly face. I thought that Spring should be bringing me all the happiness that winter sucked away from me, but it wasn't happening, and to me, that meant that I was broken. When I started thinking that I would be in a better place if I just didn't wake up tomorrow, or imagining dying in a car crash and feeling relieved that my pain would be over, I knew it was time to tell Tim that this was more serious than just "winter blues".

I don't have a happy end to this story yet. I'm back on medication, this time for life. It's a higher dose than I was on before. The crying has stopped, but the sadness is still there; I feel kinda numb and unable to express my feelings. I think the higher dose is also interfering with my sleep. It may need some tweaking. Spring in the garden center is BONKERS, and this Spring has just been all around harder than previous ones (depression aside), for various reasons. At the end of my day, I have nothing left in the tank for anyone or anything. I've been going to bed around 9 every night. Instead of a restful day off, I'm attending counseling every week. It's emotionally draining. There's A LOT of junk to unpack. Tim has been incredibly supportive, taking time out of his busy work schedule to accompany me on appointments.

Much like a high-functioning alcoholic, I consider myself pretty good at wearing the mask of normalcy. Many of you may have seen smiling pictures of me over the last few months and never knew anything was amiss. Like the picture above of me wearing a wig at a birthday party. Yep, I'd cried that day, and didn't feel at all like going to a party. But I did. I'd remind you that Robin Williams had such an incredible gift of making people laugh, but inside was a tortured soul that ultimately put his suffering to an end. Not that I'm comparing myself to the genius that was Robin Williams, but you catch my drift. Be gentle with me. Patient with me. My faith is shaken and I'm quite fragile, even if I seem to be handling things well. And most days, I don't want to talk about it. I'm working hard to get better. I thank God for the positive people in my life right now who are constantly whispering, "You're going to be okay" when I'm incapable of believing that myself. Please don't suffer in silence. Call your doctor or the suicide prevention hotline for help (1-800-273-8255).

True Story

Ladies, find a guy like this:

My kids are on Spring Break this week, which doesn’t mean a whole lot for me, since the garden center is just starting to get busy. But today is my day off (after a 6-day work week, I might add); kids would be sleeping in, and hopefully, so would I. I asked Tim for ONE THING for Spring Break: Please don’t schedule an early morning meeting for Tuesday. Once he’s up, I’m awake, and once he leaves, the dog goes crazy. Well, guess what he wasn’t able to avoid? Tim needed to be out of the house by 6:15 this morning. This dear, sweet man of mine slept on the couch last night and got ready this morning in the hallway bathroom so that he didn’t disturb me. Though the dog was frantic at the back door, my earplugs and Unisom helped me sleep through it until she gave up and went back to bed with Pierce (the pets can come and go through the pet door in our garage.). 

When I got up this morning, this was the story I wanted to tell, because I love Tim and want the world to know what a genuinely wonderful human being he is. I planned to end it there. BUT. We’ve had some discussions lately about how deceptive social media is. It’s hard to see all these fabulous travel pictures, praises about everyone’s super successful kids, testimonies about everything wonderful in your lives, when we’re struggling every day to put one foot in front of the other. My bad days still outweigh my good at the moment. 

I say all this to say, don’t read this story about Tim, or look at my Instagram pics of Things That Made Me Happy Today or my sweet kids, and think that's the complete story of our family. There’s a whole lot of other thoughts I’m keeping to myself right now. Things that are too raw and personal to talk about, really. Maybe you aren’t in the best place either. Maybe social media is bumming you out, too, and making you feel like everyone but you has this whole life-thing totally figured out. I want you to know I GET YOU. 

Big Brother

My daughter Reagan is a junior in high school. I haven't talked about her on my blog as much as I have her brother. This year, she is taking AP Lang, and recently wrote this essay about Pierce. You've heard a lot from me about parenting a child with autism, but I thought you'd appreciate a different perspective. Reagan has given her blessing and allowed me to share.

Reagan McKay

Narration Essay

AP Language and composition

Big Brother

I stepped out of the car into the humid evening air of July, my face rigid in an attempt to remain neutral. I wasn’t happy to be here, but I wasn't angry. Not yet. I tread through the parking lot alongside my father, listening to my brother sing to himself about a talking vegetable who had lost his hairbrush. He was dressed in a white button up shirt and dress pants, and only God knows if he knew why. As we strolled into our beloved church’s sanctuary my stomach dropped. Lively music was being played over the speakers, and on the screen were displayed the many faces of those who were about to depart from our body. We were there to say a final farewell to the now graduated class of 2017, as it was the end of a summer of lasts: last camps, last Otter Creek Sundays, last life groups, last youth group adventures. Senior Night was the throw of the cap in the graduation ceremony of an OCYG member, when your final camp had been completed and your last retreats long gone. This was all that was left in the process.

We took our places in the third pew from the front, my parents beginning to make small talk with some people I didn’t know well enough. I watched my big brother’s face with a sort of pity as he watched Veggietales on his phone, smiling with him as a silly green cartoon cucumber hopped across the screen. He rewound and replayed the same ten seconds over and over again, a finger pressed against his left earbud to insure he could hear better.

“Pierce is here!”

I looked up to see the familiar faces of the boys in Pierce’s grade as they travelled over to our pew, and Pierce pulled out his earbuds and waved. A huge grin spread itself across his face.

“Hi guys!”

“Pierce, you wanna come sit over there with us?”

As he gave them a simple yes in reply and jumped to his feet, the boys checked with my mother to make sure it was okay. She threw them the “Oh of course” she always did, and watched them all sit down together with a tearful smile. It was like any other church event, and to an outsider, it was just any other group of guys.

As the lights dimmed and the music faded, our youth minister came onto the stage. He thanked everyone for coming, welcomed a round of applause for the grads, and introduced a video that contained clips of different church members sending their thoughts and prayers for the seniors; thus, beginning the same spiel that I had begun to despise.

“We are so proud of all of you; we’re going to miss you; we know you’re going to be successful; don’t forget the lessons you’ve learned here; come back and visit when you can!”

My eyes darted over to my brother, folded in on himself staring down at the floor as he whispered nonsense movie lines to himself. My stomach boiled. Unable to stand it any longer, I rose from the pew, charging for the doors towards lobby. Hot tears were brimming the edges of my eyes; they came fast and hot and plentiful, for though it wasn’t the first time I had been hit with these feelings, it was the first time they had hit me with such force.

I couldn't comprehend why we were being forced to endure such a spectacle, for though my brother had graduated, it felt like it didn’t count. Everyone else had been saying goodbye, and all summer I had listened to the laments of girls who were losing their brothers and sisters to the call of college, yet they were so proud. I envied them. Everyone continued to pester us over where Pierce was headed, and it felt like a cruel jab every time. Pierce wouldn’t be going anywhere; he wouldn’t for a long time. I, his little sister, would all too soon be leaving before he did. He was trapped in the basement, tangled in computer cords, rewatching old veggietales DVDs that should have gone to goodwill, singing “Oh Where Is My Hairbrush” and “Barbra Manatee” day in and day out, without a care in the world. That was the best and worst part about it; though my parents and I grieved over unrealistic life goals we had hoped for him, he couldn’t give a care to the world. Pierce was both blessed and cursed, living with a childlike mind in a 19-year-old body, unable to see where he wasn’t going, yet so content and happy in where he was staying. Life in Brentwood would most likely be the only life he’ll know, for there are not many places a boy with autism like Pierce can travel.

I listened to boy’s names ebb though the open doors of the balcony, names of boys who were Pierce’s closest friends and guardians. They’d be leaving him, and he couldn’t follow. Maybe they’d visit, but it’d never be the same. My brother would never again have the same constant, inviting circle of boys he had right now, who were happy to invite him over to sit or take him out to the newest Disney movies. He would have me, my parents, and adults from church and school once he returned there for more learning in the fall. He’d never have any more guys his age there for him, and it made my heart ache then more than it ever had.

An hour later my family walked to the car together, my parents emitting a silence that I knew meant I’d done something wrong by fleeing. But as I looked upon my brother walking to the car, a hand cupped to his ear as he reenacted a line from the Pixar film, Finding Dory, “Dory, you are about to find your parents! And when you do that, you’ll be home,” I wanted so badly to give to my brother what I had. Opportunity, awareness, a life that was better than the one he had been dealt. I wanted to hurt and feel joy for him in the way everyone else got to for their siblings; missing them when they leave, crying with happiness when they marry. I’d never know these supposed luxuries.

In spite of all of it, however, I’m reminded that we were, and still sometimes continue to do all this hurting for a boy who wasn’t even hurt himself. It was all almost funny. We all wish we didn’t have to grow up, and in a way, my brother had the ultimate wish come true. As a friend of mine later put it, he’s always going to be with people who love him. He’ll never have to leave the shelter that we’d always known. And once I leave, he’ll always be there waiting for me.