Jsack's Mom's Blog

Welcome to my blog where I share my special needs parenting journey with my heart, truth, and love, one story at a time. ❤️

Monday Musings-The Aftermath of Time

It takes two minutes to return a smile, a lifetime to grieve a loved one, and thirty seconds for panic to set in when your child’s missing. People can vanish without a trace, be lost and never found, die of sudden or natural causes and we’re left to wonder about time. The time we could’ve spent sharing our love and appreciation with that person, a better use of the time spent with them not knowing it would be the last time we would see them. 

It’s happened a lot in my life-loss and the grief’s felt like a never ending cycle of turmoil and pain. Ever circulating and appearing in my life for a personal loss of life or one shared with a friend. Time where you wish you hadn’t said words in anger, fear or mistrust. When you could see past your very human ego to forgive instead of forming the words of negativity and pain. Forgiveness really is an art form, to move past the pain inflicted on your psyche and spirit. To turn the other cheek and give kindness when in your heart you know it’s the right thing to do. Forgiveness solves many problems but what happens to the person who releases the one who caused the indiscretion in the first place? 

Do they simply forgive and forget words that sliced through their heart like a serrated knife? Do they move on and feel their spirit lighter with an air of peace? Does the simple act of saying “I forgive you” imply that they understand why the hurt was inflicted upon them? Here lies in the struggle, I personally find it difficult to forgive. I was raised with an armour of stubbornness and tenacity that’s made it difficult to make that choice to forgive. I feel weak and vulnerable, to relent to pain caused to me. I’m human yet moving past the pain to divinity is better for my soul. 

I recently had an argument with my son and in his preadolescent mindset he chose to walk away then help resolve it. We were in a city we had never been to before and on our way back to the hotel we were staying at. He thought his Dad and I were being unfair so he stomped away. I had no idea where he was going or if he knew how to find his way back to our hotel. It was a dark yet a well lit parking lot but to see him run away like that was heartbreaking. I was feeling more scared then angry as I ran after him and he disappeared!  

My family and I entered the hotel and I couldn’t find him anywhere. My lungs were ready to burst as it was cold night and my asthmatic symptoms were setting in and I frantically searched for my son.  I asked the front desk staff if they had seen him and they replied they had not. The woman said “do you need a key card” and I replied “no I just need my son back now unharmed!” I made my way to the elevator to see if he was waiting for me while my husband and youngest son went ahead to our room. 

For fifteen heart stopping minutes I had no idea where my oldest son was. Was he hurt, was he kidnapped, was he lost and searching for me? By the grace of God he was found when another friends parent saw him waiting in the hallway and took him back to our room. I quickly jumped in an elevator and as my mind raised all I could think of was the last time I saw him. The hurtful words that were exchanged, the look of anger on his face, and how lost I felt when I couldn’t find him. I should’ve took back those spiteful words of anger said, I should’ve recognized he was frustrated and needing to be heard than reacting to his outburst. I needed to make better use of my time with him letting him know even though I disagreed I still loved and respected him. 

When I got to my floor I burst out of the elevator like I was on fire and ran to my room. I opened the door and grabbed my son up in my arms in a hug that needed to last a lifetime. He squirmed away from me then eventually relaxed into my embrace as the tears flowed. I tried to talk but my words were halted by my sobs. 

What I managed to convey to him was that I was so worried that something could’ve happened to him. With the last words we had spoken to each other in emotion were not what we meant to say. Yet it’s true as the adage says we always hurt the ones we love. Why is that easier option then to just agree to disagree and come up with a solution? There were apologies given and received and for the rest of the weekend he wasn’t out of my sight. Except to play hockey and use the dressing room facilities. Forgiveness was difficult but necessary to give in order to value each other and our relationship. 

I never want to go through that heart wrenching experience again! I feel like it aged me by ten years and took time off my lifespan. It all begins and ends with time.  I’ve learned a valuable lesson to curb my temper and refrain from spouting words of anger and angst in the heat of the moment. My son has learned that a moment of negativity can cause him to make a poor choice yet he’s willing to admit his mistake and learn from it. Time it’s the deciding factor of all our words, actions, and transgressions. And I for one will be using my time more wisely with my friends and loved ones. You just never know when that time will run out and regret will take its place. 

Would you like to take part in #MondayMusings? Our host is Everyday Gyann read her post to see how to slow down and get creative. 
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My SPD Superhero

  
I don’t sleep a lot I haven’t for a long time. It started out as a child staying up late with my Mom watching old black and white classic movies and grew into an insomnia diagnosis when I was thirteen. Fast forward to my life as a parent, I gave birth to babies that didn’t sleep through the night until they were almost two! Cue sleep deprived Mombie living on caffeine to survive those long days of daylight. I’ve always been comfortable with my company being me and the moonlight but months turn into years and I yearn for a solid nights rest. 
We are a sensory related family my son’s and I all have Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD). I have written about it before on my blog, this is a recent Post.  This leads to having sleep, eating, and feeling comfortable in our skin issues.  Nearly two years ago my youngest son started snoring. Now for a toddler who hasn’t slept through the night consistently this was alarming. He has an open mouth posture, oral fixation, and hypotonia of his jaw but snoring was new to me. I started on a long journey of finding out the why, what, where and how of this new path. 

I went through the channel of seeing my family Doctor who referred me to an ENT (Ears, nose, and throat Doctor) who told me there wasn’t anything he could surgically do for my son because he had a long tongue and he couldn’t see him using a CPAP with a sensory issue! I didn’t take to this lightly and spoke my peace and moved on to seek out other help past the no I was given. There is nothing to make you feel more helpless and hopeless than watching your child stop breathing in your arms! 

I moved away and after a lot of research, prayers, and sleepless nights I found a sleep specialist and a Center that treats children. I’m happy to share I struck gold with this Doctor! I learned more in a twenty minute consult than I did with any other professional. We’ve been seeing her for a year now and she’s been working  amazing feats with my son and has led us on a path to health with a medication regimen, sleep therapy training for his SPD, and now a poly sonogram sleep study. 

  
My son has superhero powers to live with all the conditions he has and more that we’re discovering since he was given the diagnosis of global developmental delay. Which is leading us to a referral for Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) to a neuropsychologist.  This sleep study was not easy to prepare for even with a social story to create an expectation and outcome. I didn’t know what to expect even with research done, because I had never experienced this with my son I was so grateful that our sleep technician at the clinic was amazing and walked us both through it.  

As he was seated to get outfitted with sensor pads, the glue that had to be dried with an air compressor, (which wasn’t tolerable for his auditory hypersensitivity) and the extensive amount of wires he was hooked up to, he was as patient as he could be at the age of four. I held my hands over his little sensitive ears and sang really loud over top of the noise. Those wires became connected to a electronic box that became connected to a computer. It was comical to see me running down the hallway to the bathroom  as he was connected and tethered to the portable box. He was mischievously running fast just to see if he could make me trip. My little boy is quite the practical joker!

  I was glad to share in his giggles because it was masking my fear. The worse part was watching the nose clip go up his nostrils and the plastic piece that would hold his mouth open to measure his oxygen saturation. He didn’t like the clip that was placed on his finger so it was changed to something else. He was taped, wrapped with a belt to hold sensors in place and pads were placed on his legs to measure his limb movements and determine if he had restless legs syndrome. I explained all this was being done to help him sleep better and give him superhero powers!

   I pulled every trick out the book I could think of he was dressed as Batman and I wore his mask as Bat Mom. Our sleep tech gave him an Avengers pillow case to sleep on and I gave him his medicine for the night. I told him I loved him and it hurt like hell when he told me he didn’t love me. I knew it was pain, discomfort, and his fear talking but that didn’t make it hurt any less. We read stories until he got drowsy and then he had a bathroom break and off to sleep he went.

  
I stayed across from him listening to every sound he made while our wonderful sleep technician showed me all his vitals on the screen and what was being monitored. I barely slept that night even though I was in the safest place and situation where I could. The next morning he woke up in a great mood considering it was 6 am it was shocking to me! My son is very sensory overloaded when he awakes but he knew he was safe and Bat Mom would be there at his rescue. 
   One of the staff brought in doughnuts and I let my no sweets for breakfast rule slide. He earned those doughnuts and Timbits for all that he endured in one evening! I let him pick what he would have for breakfast and we went to our favourite restaurant for pancakes. He was in his Batman costume which drew some hard stares. I just smiled, I knew they were all looking at how awesome my son, my SPD superhero was. I love him so much and I’m so proud of him. Now we do our best to make sense of his sleep study results of Obstructed Sleep Apnea (OSA)  and seek out another course of action towards sleep filled nights for us all. 

 

Welcome to the Sensory Blog Hop — a monthly gathering of posts from sensory bloggers hosted by The Sensory Spectrumand The Jenny Evolution. Click on the links below to read stories from other bloggers about what it’s like to have Sensory Processing Disorder and to raise a sensory kiddo!  


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Situation 

I’ve always been an honest person, I speak my mind, and do my best to not judge a book by its cover. I’m human so it happens from time to time, but here’s the situation I judge myself very harshly. I don’t know where it comes from but the second guessing myself gets exhausting. 

You know what the worst part is? Passing all the angst and anxiety onto my children. I watched it happen in my own childhood as the adults around me transferred their stress onto me. I didn’t blame anyone though, I just believed they were victims of victims and of life. A profound outlook for a five year old to have. I learned at a young age we create our circumstances through our thoughts, and these become our situations. 

If I want to create something happy and fulfilling I just need to think positive. I can bring what I desire to me by thinking about it. It’s proven in the laws of attraction you get what you expect. The energy that we put into repelling our good fortune is equal to what we gain, by accepting and appreciating the very best life can offer. You can try and find another way around it, by disbelief, ignorance, or denial it still is the same result, you reap what you sow.  

So I ask myself as I worry and wring my hands with anxiousness, how do I get myself out of this situation I created? How can I stop it from affecting my children. I can think positive, feel happy, and secure and believe that no matter what happens God will take care of me and my family. I do believe that’s true, yet there’s still a shred of anxiety flickering on and off like a light switch.

 There are days I feel so happy and I celebrate that joyfully. These are the days where I just trust that everything is going to work out fine. This is after I’ve spent time in prayer and meditation. I always need to have a plan B, it’s a no brainer with sensory children. Lately I’ve felt I’ve just been getting by on a wing and a prayer. 

Last weekend was different though I took chances, felt happy, and stuck my plan B in my pocket for safe keeping. I went to dinner with a new couple I had met through a group online. Which was a brave and beautiful thing because the lovely lady and I had been corresponding, but we were a mystery to each other till last week. We had our big reveal where I signed a card with my name. We made plans and after dinner we attended a carnival, went geocaching, and ended the night with an ice cream treat. 

I was elated we all hit it off and are already planning our next get together. I wasn’t anxious,  I was estatic and from someone who is constantly watching, worrying, and waiting this was like an epiphany! I have always said have faith, trust in God, and the universe to give you what you need. I do believe in all of that, but there’s always been that sneaking fear, doubt, and anxious vibration that didn’t allow that belief to seep into my cerebal cortex. 

Now I know more than ever I have to hold onto to this profound way of thinking. I owe it to my myself and my family to believe once and for all, that I got this and we’re going to be fine. Every day I spend worrying is another day taken away from living, loving, and appreciating my children. Every moment I spend wrapped up in doubt takes me further away from who I am and who I’m meant to be. Every minute I let fear take over and win makes me die a little more inside. If I live and exist with doubt I’m not honoring my true, authentic self. 

 It’s not easy to be anxious internally yet project confidence on the outside. I’ve been doing it for years and I always write more about my feelings than sharing my personal struggles. People are busy in life and the only one I expect to hold my hand through all of this is my husband. So here’s to closing this chapter in my book of life that doesn’t serve me well. And onwards and upwards to writing a whole new book about me being anxiety free!

  

This has been my Sunday confession with the amazing More Than Cheese and Beer. Please check out her anonymous confessions on her Facebook page, as well as the talented bloggers who linked up. Thank you. 😘

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Writer’s Quotes Wednesday 

  

This has been my submission to https://silverthreading.com Writer’s quotes Wednesday. Please check out her inspiration and all the other talent that link up. Thank you. 💌

 

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This could be heaven, or this could be hell

The floor feels cool on my skin as I lay here with my cheek pressed into it. I’m lying here trying to ground myself, regulate my senses, and to stop the earth from spinning. I go to rise but I can’t move, my tear stained face is stuck to the linoleum so I’ll lay here longer. I’m trying to process everything that was said, all the questions I was asked, how many times I tried to get my son to stop opening the door to escape.

I had a meeting with a new pediatrician and she was assessing my sons for developmental disorders. First my youngest didn’t even want to stay in the office. He was scared and kept running away. He wasn’t interested in the toys or snacks I brought he just wanted to leave. As the meeting went on he felt my energy becoming more and more tense because he was at the point where he was stimming.

So he rolls on the floor seeking sensory input in this tiny office. So I gather him up and bounce him on my knees and encourage to play with some toys. This is the first Ped clinic I’ve seen without toys. The Dr brings in a magnetic wall picture and he plays with that for awhile. With his sensory condition he doesn’t sit still at all and its worst in new situations. He grows bored of the picture and tries to climb up onto the counter. I proceed to pick him up and rock as I would at home. Giving him deep pressure hugs the whole time and whispering I love you you’re safe in his ear over and over again.

My heart is aching as I feel his heart beat like a rapid fire drum solo. My hands are clenched around his back and I’m not letting him go till he’s ready. Then it’s time for the Dr to give him an exam and he won’t let her touch him. So we settle for him sitting on the bed and more he relaxes with a massage and input that his senses are craving. Then my husband arrives and we tag team out, and he takes the littlest home and I take the eldest in for his appointment.

I finish up with the Dr with my youngest information and we start my oldest sons questionnaire. As ten minutes ticks by , I can sense and see his boredom. So I hand him my phone to keep him occupied. He’s slouching and then hunched over building his mine craft world as I’m fully into the questions. Then my battery dies and he’s back to frustration and a loud audible sigh escaped his lips. Well that’s enough for the Dr to say something about his disrespect not being appreciated.

I’m mortified I wonder who is this child and what have you done with mine? My Captain who’s polite, respectful to his elders and obeys authority. Well not today he’s too tired, bored, and frustrated as he has to endure hearing me talking about him. Which always makes me uncomfortable, but if I don’t he won’t get the help he needs. So she starts asking him questions, as he plays with the fidget in his hands keeping him calm and regulated.

He talks about his nightmares, anxiety about new friends turning into enemies, Pokemon cards, and being bullied in his new school. My heart grows heavier with each admission of his truth. I have to hold myself together, as I feel I could crumble like powdery snow on a warm winter day. We reach the end of our appointment and make another for the physical exam. I receive information and paperwork and drive us home. Inside the truck I firmly but gently ask him how he could correct his behavior for his next visit.

He tells me he’s sad all the time, and always does the wrong thing and it’s all his fault. Then the tears start to flow, both his and mine. As he pours out his heart about how he can’t get his brain to stop and then he says the wrong thing. I tell him I understand and I love him, followed by his admonishment that I don’t get it, and no I don’t! I don’t fight or power struggle I just let my silent tears fall down my face. We arrive home in time to quickly get him ready for hockey practice.

I’m grabbing his gear and getting him dressed and he’s yelling and saying he’s tired, he doesn’t want to go, leave me alone etc. If his team didn’t need him for an upcoming tournament I would’ve let him stay home. But I knew he’d feel better after moving, occupational therapy induced exercise, and being with his team mates. After he leaves with his Dad, I set my little one up with a movie. I proceed to close my door and sit on my floor and cry.

So this brings me back to where I am lying, while my tears fall into a puddle on the floor. I’m trying to process it all as the Dr said my sons require further testing for what she suspects is ASD, OCD, ODD, and ADHD. The letters start to swim around in my head as I struggle to lift myself off of the sticky linoleum. I know whatever the outcome is my sons are more than a label put on them. Letters+a label = equals funding. So I’m able to put them into cutting edge programs like Brain Gym, workshops about art therapy, and neurology. And to also cover travel expenses back and forth to appointments.

So that’s a good thing, it’s just hearing the words and applying them to my precious kids doesn’t compute with me. I think back to when my youngest Mad dog (I’m using nicknames I assure you to protect their identities) was called a mystery when I had him assessed last year. He was given the label of Sensory Modulation Disorder (seeker of sensory input). Further testing could be required if I had wished. So here we are today finding out something I’ve known all along and just got confirmation.

I need something desperately to get back the respring in my step. To make me hit the ground running, and onto my next advocating adventure. Something to make me smile, laugh, and feel happy that I’m breathing the God given air into my lungs. But today my super Mom cape is in the dryer and I’m feeling weak and vulnerable. I need to grieve for the regular life I envisioned for my sons.

And as I dry my tears, I know I have my bunker punk family rallying and supporting me. As all those awesome autism and neurotypical parents have given me hope, information, guidance, understanding, and most of all their love. For this support will lead me to taking it one day at a time. While I retrace my thoughts back to my happy place, and get the spring back into my step. 💖

This has been my take on the daily prompt Re-springing your step

Re-springing Your Step

as part of my Blogging 101 assignment. Thank you for being here and sharing my journey. 💗

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*Image used with permission from http://www.simpleeserene.com. Photo found on SubbotinaAnna/shutterstock.com

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Living, Loving, and Surviving

There’s a story I’ve never told, well I’ve touched on it in previous blogs but I’ve never told the whole truth of it. I read a blog last night that hit me with glaring, beautiful, inspiration, and acceptance. This blog at http://heysweetlittlething.wordpress.com reached into my heart and held it in the palm of her hand. She wrote a beautiful, brave,poignant, story about her survival with Post Partum Depression (PPD).

It was liked she walked inside my head went into a filing cabinet and pulled out my memories. I had a beautiful pregnancy with my first child. I ate healthy, exercised, rested, worked retail, taught yoga, and rested some more. Everything was on schedule and I was due on Halloween. What you don’t know about me is I’m short, like 5″1 and by the time I got into my eighth month I was all baby. My Dr asked me how I was feeling and how I was eating. I was starting to slow down walk less, and waddle more. I could only eat small portions because there was just no room. I felt like a whale even though I was told I looked six months along then full term. This should’ve been my cue to my first guilt trip entering parenthood.

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Stock Photo found on Pic Collage

So there I was ready to pop and my baby came into the world two days later. He was a very healthy 7 lbs, 10 oz baby boy and I fell in love the moment I laid eyes on him. He was so long, 21 inches, lean and had a purple cone head. Oh wow he was beautiful to me, as I gazed into his eyes and held him in my loving embrace. He was delivered after eleven hours of labour via emergency Caesarean section. He was only in the NICU for a short amount of time until my IV came out the next day. He had a healthy cry and was very resistant to being swaddled, and had to have his hands and feet sticking out. I called him my baby burrito and little jack rabbit, because he had the biggest feet I’d ever seen on a baby. My dear husband and I took him home and became parents, even though we didn’t have a clue what we were doing. He didn’t sleep much and seemed to be clustered feeding all the time!

My Dr noticed at my six week post partum checkup I was struggling and said I could supplement him. I persevered as I wanted to breastfeed, so I survived on very little sleep, and whatever the nutrition had was gone in one feeding. I couldn’t put my baby down for ten minutes without him shrieking like he was dying. I knew of course he wasn’t, so I took to wearing him in my baby Bjorn carrier so I could get laundry and dishes done. He loved it with being so close to my heart, as I did. My husband had gone back to work after two weeks so I had started a routine to be that stay at home Mom. I started to notice things like how emotional I was and every cry would set me off into panic mode. I knew hormones played a huge role but something was off…

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I remember walking the floor up and down my hallway and around the upstairs and down again trying to get my son to stop crying. I loved him so much and he’d screw up his face and cry until he turned purple. I felt like a huge failure and my heart was breaking with each crying jag. And my sanity was shattering as I was surviving on vapors of sleep. I didn’t know what else to do so I did baby yoga to relief his gas, gave him medicine and rocked him till my body was numb and my ass was square. I then began to lock the doors and check the windows one by one and I was terrified someone was going to break in and kidnap my precious son.

At first I thought this was odd behavior but I rationalized and thought I was sleep deprived and that could make anyone connect with their inner psycho! Then I became possessive and hovered if anyone else held him and I just chalked it up to being a first time Mom. And that could make anyone protective of their first born. Then the day came when my son was three months old and my body was aching from one to many nights in the rocking chair. So I decided to take a bubble bath, I pulled back the curtain and saw this disgusting soap scum bath tub ring and I just lost it! I put my baby in his swing and scrubbed the ring and cried and scrubbed until my bath tub shone, and my hands were raw. I stepped into the tub letting the hot warm envelop and cleanse me from my sins. I loved my baby so much but I couldn’t take anymore sleepless nights. I laid in the tub bawling as my son watched me and rocked back and forth.

Later that evening I was doing my nightly shuffle around the house so my husband could be rested for work. Feed my baby, burp him, change him and try to put him to sleep. He would cry the minute I laid him down and the routine would start all over again. He would eat until I was completely drained, he was like a vampire and could never be full for more than forty-five minutes to an hour. I remember walking past the stairs and thinking if I just fell down them then I wouldn’t have to go through this torture! I never wanted to hurt my baby EVER, I just wanted all the insanity to stop and to finally rest.

I feel such shame and self loathing as I re-read that last sentence. It’s not something I’ve ever forgiven myself for and its been eight years! The next morning I was up when my husband went to work. I told him how I felt and what I was thinking last night. I told him I put our baby to bed in his crib and laid on the floor and cried until I was just an empty shell of a Mom. So my husband called my Uncle and he came over to stay with me so I could get some rest. I called my Dr that day but wasn’t able to get an appointment till the following week so I slept off and on all day, feeding my baby, changing him, till my husband came home. God bless my uncle for being there for me, he saved me that day. As I just wanted to walk out the door and walk away.

The next day my friend and her son’s came over and she took one look at me and said go to bed. And they looked after my baby and brought him to me to feed. She decided to call my husband and tell him I needed a night out and she was concerned about me. I told her how I felt and I couldn’t understand this craziness inside my head. So my husband came home from work, and I was showered and dressed up and ready for a night out. I felt like their was an ice pick plunging into my heart to leave my sweet boy. It had been three months and I never left the house without him. I’m the end I knew it was the best thing for both of us. As I pumped a lot that day, and I knew my friend was an amazing Mom, and my son was in the best of care.

We had a wonderful date night and I felt so relaxed and refreshed. Later that night my husband got up to the what he dubbed the “hockey glide walk” rock, rock, glide, glide, walk around the house. I fed the baby put him back to bed and we all fell asleep! It was miraculous moment in time, later that night I woke up in a panic because I thought my son was in our bed and I was going to suffocate him! I looked at my blankets and I could’ve sworn he was really there and I was going to hurt him. So I sprang out of bed crying turning on lights and looking for him. My husband woke up startled and went to check on our baby and there he was safe and sound, sleeping in his crib.

I called my best friend the next day that lived far away and she said I needed to get out of the house and be around people. She assured me it would be good for me and the baby. I could detect a hint of worry in her voice so I agreed. I went to health unit and there was a few Moms there I had been getting to know. The topic from the health nurse Erin was Postpartum and Beyond. After listening to the discussion and sharing a little of my experience I finally learned what was wrong with me. That day I swear I would’ve kissed Erin, as she saved my life. I had felt horrible for so long then I realized it was my brain chemistry and hormones wrecking havoc with me. After that I went to the library and took any and all books out pertaining to Post Partum Depression. I shared what I was learning with my husband and he could see I had purpose and drive again. Other than being the best Mom I could be for my son. Who I love so much my heart aches with that longing.

My son was growing well and I would lay there on my bed and stare up at the light and watch the fan go round and round. Those were the best times as he was quiet, content, and happy. I had test weighed him at the clinic and then fed him, and he was taking in two to three ounces so the health nurses weren’t concerned. I had kept a food journal since he was in the hospital. Keeping track of how much he ate, what his diapers were, and how long he fed. I had three journals and scraps of papers everywhere so I didn’t lose track. I was able to record it all and take it into my Dr. She said I was very thorough, loving, Mother and I was suffering from PPD. So she gave me the choice to accept medication, nutrition, and therapy. I chose nutrition and therapy and I started attending a support group close by my house.

I met up with the wonderful facilitator and my new friend A from Baby Talk at the health unit was there as well. We were given a manual to read and follow with homework sections. It was about putting ourselves first with rest, proper nutrition, hydration, and socialization. A and I began to bond our babies never slept, ate all the time, and we were walking Mombie’s before The Walking Dead was created as a television series. We spent a lot of time together and she was the one I prayed to God for to help me through my crisis, and gain some understanding. Every since her baby girl reached back and grabbed my son’s giant feet while we were feeding our babies, we were destined to meet.

She is my sister from another mister and we’ve seen each other through another child in our family’s and deaths in our family tree. She has been my rock through thick and thin and her and her family are my own. Even though we live far apart we’re never to far away with social media or a phone call. Our children still have a bond even though they go months without seeing one another. When they are together it’s like they never were apart. Much the same as for us Moms. We walked a very dark path together and have found the light and survived PPD. A. taught me that I’m human being, a wonderful Mom, a loving wife, and a survivor. I admire her courage, bravery, honesty, and the fact that when she wants to give up she admits it, then jumps right into the ring of life again. The journey we take with our children now is a neurological one and we stand by each other sides brave and true.

I owe my survival of Post Partum depression to her friendship, my husband’s unwavering love and support, and the help of my network of kindness from far away. I will agree with Hey Sweet Little Things blog that PPD and any mental health issue are taboo subjects by many in society. They need to be talked about and shared without shame or ridicule. My beloved Mama always said when times were tough life was always better with red lipstick, rouge, and dark sunglasses. And my sweet Gram said that if you had love, laughter, and a cup of tea you could get through anything. I’ve lived my life on these these very wise philosophies. So each day I live, learn, and forgive myself one day at a time.

This story has been written for my Blogging 101 assignment. Getting to know your neighbours by reading their blog and commenting. After commenting write about why it inspired you. Thank you for reading today, and please check out http://heysweetlittlething.wordpress.com. She has a wonderful blog and I’m so happy I found it to start my healing journey. 💓

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This beautiful art used with permission from Arna Baartz http://www.artofkundalini.com

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Always

I will always worry, even when someone says don’t worry about it. I don’t know why I’m like this, is it the way I grew up, or do I get some kind of pay off in the end? Tough questions to ask myself for sure, but in the questioning comes the truth. I come from a long line of worriers. My beloved Mom, Gram, and her sisters were all worriers. Then they raised a next generation of worry warts. I remember when I was kid and I’d hear a family member say something like “I’m going to go visit my sister on Sunday, which is an ordinary conversation. Added with a prayer would be “yes if God spares me, that is. ” There was nothing ordinary about that, I would question “why wouldn’t God spare you, he loves you!” It was a confusing time because then I would worry if that loved one was going to die! Then I would spend my time worrying and praying instead of playing and just being a kid. There’s no wonder I grew up with anxiety, I don’t blame anything or anyone for it. It was a generation of worriers raised by another older generation of the same. Growing up as empathic child was a double edged sword. I could always feel so much love by absorbing the energy around me. Than the alternative was fear, worry, and hate, and emotions so ugly they would wake me up screaming at night. My beloved Mama and my Gram would always protect me from myself. There was lots of prayers, love, and secrecy. As I told them about my dreams, aura colors, and energy I picked up around me. They were my precious protectors and really made me feel safe, even if all I was feeling was uncomfortable. So I question myself endlessly am I the product of my environment or blessed with spiritual gifts? I could let these deep thoughts and emotions overtake me and send me into a swirling vortex and suck me in. Yet I fight against them and just give them a moment of time in my head, and then move on. I owe it to my family to not always feel fear and worry. I don’t want to raise my sons to be afraid of life and all the wonderful things in it. I always have to fight and be vigilant to not let the demons of worry enslave me. I learned a lot from my previous generations of wise elders. I need to have my faith in God, the love of my family, and the believe in myself that I can rise above whatever my fretful mind can worry about. I owe to my family to at least try….

This has been my Sunday confession for Ash at http://morethancheeseandbeer.com. Check out her blog and all the awesome talent that link up. Smooches. 😘

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Bullies suck

My heart hurts for my son today. He’s in a new school, in a new town, and he was bullied today. I too was bullied in school and it’s stayed with me always. I blog about it to cope, and over these years I just wish I could get over it. My son was bullied for the first time, in his previous school and I was irate!!! He’s gentle and kind and has always had everyone like him. Including teachers and support staff. Then this one boy changed his world. I got it dealt with immediately as it was right before the teachers went on strike in the province. Before he moved away, I took a goodbye book to school and had teachers and students sign it. His principal signed it and had said she was going to miss him a lot. Every day he saw her for 2.5 years, he said good morning and goodbye to her. Out of all her students he was polite, kind, and respectful and was going to be very missed. This memory of him will stay with her, and she wiped tears away as she hugged him goodbye. This is not a boy that needs to be bullied!!! No kid deserves to be ridiculed, hurt, made to feel worthless, and less than the amazing person they are! Before my son started at this new school, he was experiencing anxiety and fearful of the unknown. He was so afraid to go to summer camp in our new town because of being bullied once. I had to talk to the organizers and explain his fear and talk him into giving it a try. Luckily I was able to spend time at the playground with my youngest, while watching my son in camp. He did remarkably well, loved his time there, and was sad when it was over. I was so relieved and proud as I know how difficult it was for him to even try. I told him I love him, and I’m there for him always, and to let me know immediately if he’s ever bullied again. Last time, 3 weeks had passed before he let me know anything was amiss. 😳 After repeated attempts to find out what was wrong. I talked to his teacher and friends and found out the truth. And now it’s happening again, as hard as it was to hear it I thanked him for telling me. He also talked to his Dad, and I’ll be discussing the incident with his new teacher. I know some kids can be cruel, and I don’t believe in that old adage “boys will be boys” either. Rather I believe “do onto others, as you would have done onto you.” He’s being raised right, to show kindness, respect, and compassion. And he’s not a little a-hole, I’ve seen him at school interacting with his peers when he doesn’t know I’m there. I’m not trying to be a helicopter parent, just curious. I’ve gotten so many compliments on how helpful, kind, and courteous he is to his peers and teachers alike. He’s just a sweet boy who loves sports, math, and is a Titanic history buff. And why does one child have to ruin things for him? I want to protect my son away from life’s cruelties. I teach him everything’s possible, and he can accomplish anything he puts his mind to. And now I have to teach him how to be stronger, more thick skinned, and that people can be mean, and to use his W.I.T.S. Meaning walk away, ignore, talk to someone, and seek help. This was taught to him in his previous schools, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing when a bully puts their hands on my child!!! My heart aches, I know this pain, confusion, frustration, all too well. I wish I could keep him in a bubble away from all the hurt and pain. But unfortunately life won’t do the same for him. 

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