Finding Brave :: Chapter One

Baby Blues

“in my experience, the words “now just calm down” almost inevitably have the opposite effect on the person you are speaking to.” 

- Elyn R. Saks

THE STARTING POINT

Most of us have heard of the unfortunate possibility of something called the “baby blues.” Pregnancy and childbirth have a way of changing the course of a woman's inclination towards normalcy. This was the case in my personal experience.  

I've always been a firm believer in the power of multi-tasking. And, it just so happened that my first child was born in the middle of one of my greatest multi-tasking periods.  I was graduating from Nursing School, taking my state boards, and juggling side jobs right before our eldest made her grand entrance. I began to realize very quickly that I was finding it difficult to cope. The baby blues turned me into a person I didn't recognize.

First of all, a “new mom” is subjected to a great deal of pressure.  Everything has to be just right.  She must feed the baby at the proper time, in the proper method.  According to some camps, she must sleep train her child beginning at birth. According to others, she must allow that child to sleep next to them until close to their 18th birthday.  And even though that is said in jest, a great variety in standards for parenting are typically conveyed to new parents.

How is one to sort that out?  For me, I perused books, magazine articles, and talked to countless people about their particular methods.  After consulting with a great crowd of witnesses, I realized that I now had another problem.  I had so many thoughts about the art of parenting, and yet truly had no idea where to begin with any of it.

To be completely honest, I had a great deal of expectation for my first childbirth experience, and for the days that would follow.  I can remember talking to friends and telling them the plans I had for the proper care and feeding of my child.  I knew what was best for babies, and I couldn't believe any mom would deprive their children of their God-given right - "mother's milk!"  I would never be one of "those moms" who embraced convenience over the correct method of nutrition. (I beg you, dear reader, to offer me grace)!

Little did I know that complications after birth, and repercussions that followed would hinder that precious commodity that I held so dear.  I found myself, at the end of 2 weeks, with a screaming, starving newborn, and no answers to the questions I was asking.  How could I be failing in the most simple of tasks?  I couldn't even keep a baby healthy with what I considered to be the only way to feed my children.  What would people think if I changed courses for a bottle with carefully crafted formula?  What would I think of myself?

With a tear stained pillow, and what felt like a disappointing decision, I sacrificed my ego for the sake of my child.  I was humbled. I felt like a failure. A fake. A fraud.  Why had I been so hard on moms just like me? Why had I assumed that I knew anything about their decisions. And, why was it any of my business in the first place? I wanted someone to look me in the eye, and affirm that I was a good mom, even if I did things differently than others. I was keeping my sweet baby girl alive, and somehow that seemed inadequate because of the level of expectation I placed on myself.

I tell you this to let you in on the ground level of my struggle with control.  When you feel as if you cannot control what should be the simplest of things, you imagine your world is spinning out of place.

To make matters worse, I had just finished a degree in Nursing. The medical field was something I had wanted to be part of my entire life. - And, I wasn't sure I could deal with the expectations. As much as I loved caring for people, I struggled with certain parts of the job.  I didn't handle stress well, and  didn't want to admit that I might not be suited for the one thing I had always wanted to do. In my mind, I was a failure.

I found myself in an awkward position which felt terrifying. I was a new nurse who wasn't sure I could cut it as a nurse, and a new mom who wasn't sure I was capable as a  mom. And then it happened.

THE PANIC ATTACK

While I wore many hats during this period of time, one of my favorite titles was caregiver.  My husband Brian and I worked for an elderly lady, doing odd jobs and serving as her companion.  The day of the attack started much like all the other ones, as my newborn daughter and I went to work together.  I had been asked to drive my sweet lady to her Dentist appointment and there was nothing that could have prepared me for what was about to happen. 

As we eased our way into the city traffic and came to a stop behind a line of waiting cars, I suddenly felt all the air leave my chest.  I felt as if I couldn't take a deep breath, and my head began to communicate confusion to the rest of my body.  I knew I had to get off the road before I passed out.  My heart was beating at an insane speed, and the breaths I was taking were so rapid that even my thoughts couldn't keep up with them. I turned to the lady I cared for, willing her to look out for my well-being for a minute.  "I have to stop." I told her.  "I am not feeling well."

If only I had known then what I am very aware of now!  I would have a whole arsenal of helpful words to tell myself.  But, I had no coping mechanisms at that time and could not coach my scared brain into obedience. Frankly, I didn't even know what I was dealing with.  More than all that, I would never admit that I was dealing with an anxiety attack, because in my ignorance, I believed only weak people dealt with that problem.  I had much to learn about the complexity of the mind and how it can be hijacked without your consent.

After an embarrassing turn of events, which included my Dad coming to help me get home, I collapsed into an exhausted heap.  Little did I know that I had just lived through a whopper of a panic attack.  The funny thing is that looking back I can see I had dealt with small anxiety attacks before this but had brushed them off as circumstance or mood.  It would be a long time before I would admit I had a problem that needed addressing. I was not aware at this point that there might be lingering issues in the recesses of my mind needing to be coaxed out and discussed.  Instead, I pushed away any idea that I had anxiety.  I was just going through “some kind of phase.”  I believed that if I wouldn't tell anyone about it, somehow it would go away.

This is almost laughable, since I could hardly drive without hyperventilating.  Seriously, I was a mess.  I wanted nothing to do with crowds, especially when it came to church.  I remember one particular Sunday morning.  We decided to have a ceremony in the service to dedicate our daughter to God.  This involved the very vulnerable act of walking up to the front of the church and standing at the front for what felt like an exorbitant amount of time.  I had never heard of the term “agoraphobia” (abnormal fear of being helpless in an embarrassing or unescapable situation that is characterized especially by the avoidance of open or public places), but the definition of that word is everything I was feeling.  I held on tight to Brian's arm, willing myself to get through this moment of inescapable panic.  At the time, I told myself that I needed to eat or something.  My blood sugar might be low, because I don’t have a psychological problem.  I would be fine. I wanted to sit down, leave, or be anywhere but where I found myself at the moment.

Perhaps you too have found yourself with the racing heart and mind, unsure of why a seemingly significant circumstance is evoking such panic. 

You are not alone. There are many of us just like you. This is not some unexplained phenomenon and I can promise you that you can find help and healing from that unquenchable desire to run away.  You will read in the upcoming chapters about ways to find hope and healing.

THE ENDLESS EXCUSES

One of the coping mechanisms I employed during this time was the delicate art of the perfect excuse.  When you can’t drive without serious fear, and time spent in a room with other people makes you physically ill, it becomes difficult to have a social life.  While I had never been the life of the party, I certainly enjoyed times of fun with friends.  And, suddenly I was faced with a very real dilemma.  I could let them in on my very real time of crisis, or I could pretend that everything was fine, and allow them to conclude that I was perfect in every way.

Fearful seasons have a way of pushing us to the edge of dishonesty, don’t they?  We incorrectly assume that no one else is dealing with the fears that we are, and because of our desire to appear in control, we lie to ourselves and everyone else.  Instead of opening ourselves up to a scenario where others empathize with our human weaknesses, we close up our hearts and minds to the idea of sharing our imperfect life.

Such was the case during the time of my acute panic.  I had never lived a life that was characterized by a continual cold sweat.  And yet, I had lived with a certain level of ease up until then. I was afraid that if my friends and family saw me in that light, I would lose all credibility as a calm, confident person.  So when they would ask things of me that I could not handle without fear, I would craft the perfect excuse as to why I was unable to join them.  I wonder now what some of them were thinking.  How many of them knew what was actually going on, and just let me lie to cover up the real reason for my avoidance.  

Let me stop at this point and tell you that it’s okay to say no. The problem with the way I handled things is that I was dishonest with myself, and with others.  Instead of saying, “I’m going through a tough time right now, and I just can’t do that at this time,” I would come up with an excuse to avoid telling the truth.  I would even fabricate a clever commitment that would cause a conflict with the event being presented.  Even if it was something as simple as my new baby, I would use any excuse to get out of facing fear.  Running away is never the answer, even if it feels like the best option.

I do know that some of my family and friends had an idea of what I was dealing with.  They tried to talk to me about depression and anxiety.  I brushed it off, declaring to myself and the world that this was just a phase -- something I was “going through.”  I wouldn’t see a doctor for it.  I wouldn’t try to get to the root of it.  I would just secretly search the internet for other people like me who couldn’t drive, or go shopping, or sit in a crowded room.

I found those people.  I discovered a few helpful articles that gave me insight into how I might get through this time of acute panic. While coping mechanisms are extremely helpful, they are only truly effective if used in conjunction with treatment. The component I was missing was a professional counselor to help me understand this vast world of anxiety that I had previously been a stranger to.  Anxiety and Depression are no small feat, and should be attacked with every arsenal possible. Those of us that deal with it must let our guard down to be able to deal with the underlying issues.

And in all of this, the driving motivation was control.  I wanted to appear to be in control, even if that was the farthest thing from the truth.  The truth was that I had lost all control.  I couldn’t face the world and win...I knew it.  And, at that point in my journey, I was content with lying to myself and those around me, if it meant I could postpone my reality as a person who suffered with anxiety and depression. I didn’t want to be one of “them.” 

I wanted to be the strong one; the woman who had more courage than most, who would fight with heroism and win at life.  To me, admitting I was suffering from depression wasn’t courageous. Admitting to a reality that included irrational fear wasn’t brave.  In my mind, I was strong when I suffered silently. Although I would nod with understanding when people would share their own struggles with anxiety, I kept my own experiences locked up inside.  I lived in isolation and loneliness, peering through the blinds of my house, and my heart.

Click to read Chapter Two