Passion for life!

I was on Facebook just a minute ago and a friend had posted a question "Do you do something you have a passion for?" I actually found myself saying "Yes!" In the past I may not have been able to say that, but I truly feel like I can now. And I can see myself doing it for years to come. And making money doing it. I'm talking about cake decorating. I JUST started learning cake decorating, but I have wanted to for years. I finally allowed myself to spend a little time and money doing something that I wanted to do, not because it was what I was "supposed to do" (aka college) or because it was something that I could make a lot of money doing. I graduated with an AS degree in December and after a much-needed break from the stress of school, I decided that I wanted to learn something new. So, I went online and looked for culinary arts schools, baking classes, and eventually realized that I only really cared about cake decorating, not all of the other things you learn in a culinary arts school. I also didn't want the stress of tuition, hours that I would have to have a babysitter, and more homework. So, I found a Wilton cake decorating class at Michael's. I started at the beginning of March, and have loved it. I have made lots of cakes, and learned a lot of new decorating techniques and been more creative than I ever thought possible. (I've never considered myself creative).

I realize that because this is new, it is exciting. It may not stay that way. I may get bored, like I did with knitting, pilates, green smoothies, etc. However, I don't think so. I've already felt the difficulty, the lack of creative spark, the achy hands and arms, the weariness of cleaning up after myself or just constantly having a messy kitchen, (Cake decorating is so messy!) and feeling like I will never get good enough to actually make money from it.

I've never felt the joy that I get from making and decorating cakes and giving them to other people. Actually, that's not true. There are a couple of other things that bring me the same joy, and I haven't grown bored of them, so I think I'm good. :) Those things are singing, playing the piano, and being a mom. Yes, I get tired of them occasionally. I go a month sometimes without playing the piano, and used to go even longer. My voice gets tired of singing. My body and mind get tired of being a mom. But I still have great passion for each of those things, and would be devastated if I had to give any of them up.

As I'm writing this, I realize that it wasn't that I didn't have passion for what I did before now, I just had forgotten what it felt like. I realized my passion for the piano when I was 11 or 12 years old, and singing only came a few years later. Motherhood has been a dream of mine since I was 5 years old. After 15+ years, I guess I forgot what it felt like to find something new that I truly LOVE doing.

My challenge to anyone who reads this is to find something you love doing and do it! If that means trying something that you've always wanted to try, but never found the time to do, then do it! If it means picking up an old hobby that you loved, but think you don't have the time for anymore, do it! If it means going back to school to get that degree that you never got, do it! If it means cuddling/playing with your baby/toddler/child/grandchild instead of folding the laundry or doing the dishes, do it! Whatever it means to you, find that passion for life and do something to bless your life, the lives of your family members, and those around you. You will not regret it! You may get frustrated and tired. You may find that you don't love the things you used to love. But really, you won't regret it!

If you want to check out my cakes, they are on Instagram and Facebook with this hashtag:
 #kasgcakes

Physical vs Mental Pain

Each day I learn new things about myself and my family. I internalize everything and am constantly trying to figure out why and how things are the way they are. For instance, the reasons why one of my children is easy going and obedient, while another can be pessimistic and obstinate when given the same situation continues to baffle me, but I ponder it often. I do the same with my struggle with depression. I try to figure out what my triggers are, so I can either avoid them or at least know what might happen if it's something I can't avoid. I think deeply. . . about just about everything. I try to figure people out. I try to figure out meanings behind actions or inactions. I analyze movie and TV characters and the messages the movies or shows are trying to convey.

During some introspection today I realized that in my experience with depression that the symptoms are most often physical. Sometimes the physical symptoms outweigh the mental/emotional symptoms. It's like my brain doesn't want to think about the pain or sadness anymore, but it doesn't just go away, it has to go somewhere. So, I get tired (the most common symptom, I think), or I get a headache, a sore back, or even sores in my mouth or on my hands. Other symptoms could be sore feet, a stomach ache, or cold symptoms.

Today I was worrying about some friends that are going through a really tough time and the more I thought about it, the harder it was for me to stand up, the more tired I got, and my head started hurting. I finally decided that I needed to come lay down, as pushing through it didn't seem likely.

Realizing how connected my mind and body is makes me think that taking care of my body better might help my body and mind feel better. I know this conclusion has already been made by professionals and research has been done, but sometimes having a personal experience is the only way I really learn some things. I have known for a long time that exercising and eating right helps keep my symptoms from being as bad. I haven't really understood it at this level before today though. It's unfortunate that my illness makes those things very difficult for me to do. I did exercise today, but eating right is much harder for me to do. I love food. I eat when I am happy, but I eat more when I'm sad. I love to bake, so I eat cookies and cakes and deliciously bad for me things in large quantities when I am depressed, which apparently, ironically, is one of the worst things I can do to treat the symptoms!

I would love to hear what kind of things have worked for you! For now, I think I'm going to take a nap. Even typing this was exhausting! 

Life is Worth Living

You wouldn't think that being in a car accident would save your life, but that is what happened to me!
In June, 2015 I was on my way to get our 8-year-old from an activity he had been at. I was supposed to be there at noon, but I never made it (don't worry, his dad went and got him). Just a mile or so away from my house, a car slammed into the side/back of my van, spinning me around so I was facing on-coming traffic. I sat there stunned and terrified, just cringing while I waited to be hit again. When I finally opened my eyes (at least, I think they were shut?), I realized that we had ended up in the median and there was little traffic, allowing other cars to avoid us. When I composed myself enough to ask my other three children if they were okay, I was so grateful and a little bit amazed that none of us had been injured. That's when I realized how scared I was during that second or two between the time the car hit us and I realized that it was over. I was afraid I was going to die. . . and I wasn't ready! I was a little bit surprised by this feeling. Dealing with depression for so many years, I thought I would be grateful to die young and be removed from the daily struggle of getting up in the morning and the mental and physical pain that comes with the disease.
Not long after this happened, I had a "bad patch" where the depression had really taken a hold of every aspect of my life. I couldn't get out of bed in the morning. I couldn't make or keep plans. Cooking and cleaning were too much to handle. I somehow managed to do my school work for the one online class I was in, but it was difficult. I would be lying if I said that I didn't think about suicide. But I had something that I didn't have before. I had that 'near-death-experience' that made me realize that deep down I didn't want to die! As sad and difficult and downright exhausting as my life experience was at the time, I knew that I still wanted to experience it. It instilled in me the fight that I needed to keep going; the fight that I might not have had in me if I hadn't been in that car accident. It brought me closer to the Savior. Even though I don't completely understand it, I know that my Savior has experienced everything that I was going through, and I've managed to fight my way out of dark days before. I could do it again. And I wanted to!
There was no magical moment or experience that got me out of my slump; there never is. I gradually just realized that it was easier to get out of bed, life took a bit less effort, and I was a better wife and mom. It's happened before, and I knew it would happen again.
I'm not sure why I had to get in an accident to figure it out, but I do know that car accident saved me. I got to start over, in a matter of speaking. My van was totaled, so I got a new van and new car seats for the kids. More importantly, I discovered how important my life was and how much I wanted it to continue!

I'm terrible at this!

I realized that it's been over a year since my last post. I'm terrible at posting regularly. In fact, I'm terrible at doing anything regularly. I rarely commit to anything that will happen more than once, because I know that I'm terrible at it. Going back to school a couple of years ago was very difficult because I had to commit to being there every week. It is the reason my children do not take music lessons, dance classes, play sports, or do any extra curricular activity. Although I am forgetful, being flaky is not the reason I can't do things on a regular basis. It is because of my anxiety and depression. The anxiety makes me struggle to be ready for anything, especially if it's something new. I can't fall asleep, I can't think of anything else, and I'm nervous about any possible outcome. The depression makes me not want to try. I don't want to be noticed. I don't feel like doing anything. Most of all, I'm exhausted ALL THE TIME. The effort to get out of bed is too much for me some days. Doing more than that is incomprehensible.
Every time I've thought of writing a blog post for the past year, I've talked myself out of it, because I felt like it had to be perfect. I feel like I have to be one of those mommy-bloggers who has a million readers who can't wait for the next post. I have to touch someone so profoundly that I change their life. So, although there is a constant dialog in my head of what I could say to someone, write on Facebook, or write here on my blog, I rarely do it.
This doesn't just apply to blogging or social media. It applies to everything in my life. If I'm not going to do it perfectly, why do it at all? So, I have few close friends. I isolate myself, and I stay in my bed where I feel the safest, but also where I can allow myself to feel all of the negativity without anyone else seeing it. Some may call it wallowing in self-pity. That may be true. Sometimes it just feels like all I can do to survive.
Anyway, this post wasn't really supposed to be about depression and anxiety, but they generally rule my life, so it's not surprising that's what it ended up being about.
However, I think I made a breakthrough with my husband last night in communicating with him when I'm having a particularly hard day. I tend to take it out on him, and he is amazing at forgiving me and loving me anyway. Yesterday was one of those days. But last night, I finally voiced an idea I've had for awhile, but didn't know how to say it before. When I am having a bad day with my depression or anxiety, I really don't like to say the words. I don't know why, but I can't just say "My depression is bad today" or something like that. Hubby asks me what is wrong. . . a lot. So, since I can pretty much assume he'll ask me that, I came up with a code word to tell him that I'm not okay when he asks me that. Then he's allowed to ask me if I want to talk about it or not. I'm hoping that it will make it easier to let him know that it's not his fault that I'm upset. We'll see. Communication is not my strength.
While I'm talking about things that might help when I'm having a bad day, I remember another insight that I had a while back about forcing myself to get up and going on bad days. I usually try to force myself to go do something, or at least get up and shower and get ready for the day. I think that it will somehow shake off my bad mood. But, I've become pretty good at knowing first thing in the morning how my day is going to go. It's not my attitude or what I do or don't do, it's just how I feel when I wake up. The insight I had is that if I know it's going to be a bad day, I shouldn't try to force myself to do things I don't want to do. I need to allow myself to just have a bad day. Because I'm a stay-at-home-mom, I can usually do this without too much of an issue. I realized that when I fight it and try to be the perfect mom and wife and get out of the house when I'm depressed, I just spread it around to everyone else. I'm ornery and unkind. I yell way too much, and get worn out really quickly. Then I usually have a bad day the next day too. However, I noticed that when I allow myself the day to just BE, I can recover and have a better day the next day. This may not be the same for everyone. I know a lot of people who say that getting up and ready and getting some sunshine makes for a good day. I don't know if it applies to what I call "depression days" though. What do you think? What helps you when you have a bad day? Do you know your triggers? Comment and let me know. I'd like to think we can help each other out!
Well, this post seemed better in my head, but I'm going to post it anyway! I will not commit to posting again soon, but I hope I can figure more helpful insights out and share them in the future!

It's Been a Long Time!

I haven't had much time to think about this blog in awhile. I can't believe how long it's been since I last posted. I have plenty of excuses, but mostly it just hasn't been a priority for me. Last time I wrote, I was just getting ready to move back to Utah and for my husband to get out of the Army. Well, we did it! We sold our beautiful house in Colorado Springs, and moved to Roy, Utah on May 1st, 2014. We found a house for rent just a few days before we moved and went and saw it as soon as we got here and immediately signed papers and started moving what we brought with us in. We got the rest of our stuff about a week later and we have spent the last 9 months trying to settle in and figure out civilian life again. Military life was hard, but there were some things that I was just used to that I no longer have! One thing I miss is living on my own with just me and my little family, no extended family near. Don't get me wrong, I love my family, but living away from them strengthened us in so many ways. It also allowed us to experience a different kind of family. . . the kind that is there for you, not because they are related and feel it's an obligation, but because they love you and truly want to help (once again, my family is great, and I don't feel like they are obligatorily nice, but it's just a little different). I miss my ward (a group of members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints who live close to one another and meet together for services and activities). I miss my house. I miss my beautiful backyard with huge trees and squirrels, listening to the doves every morning,  and even the annoying woodpecker who would occasionally peck on our metal chimney, which made the most obnoxious sound from our fireplace.  I cannot truly say that I am used to it here, even though I've lived in Utah most of my life. I haven't felt like we are quite settled. However, we have been talking about buying the house we are renting since we moved in. Now that it's getting close (in the next couple of months), I hope that I will feel more at home once the house is mine.
I am notorious for thinking that "the grass is greener on the other side." I thought getting out of the military would make me happy. I thought that moving back near family would make things easier. In some ways things are better, and I am certain that getting out of the military was the right decision for our family, but in fact, life has been difficult for me. The past year has been one of the toughest years. Moving is exhausting. School has been stressful. Being the "new girl" has never been easy for me, as making friends is scary and difficult. My depression has brought me down much more than I'd care to admit. It's been as bad as ever before. I try to hide it from people, and I'm getting much better at doing so. I wanted a fresh start when I moved, where people didn't know my past; where nobody knew that I was depressed. So far, I've kept it pretty secret, but I'm about to explode because of it. I often find myself wanting to call someone to talk about it, but just don't know who to call. I don't want to bother anyone and I certainly don't want their pity. However, my amazing husband listens to me when I eventually decide to talk about it, and for now that will have to work.
I'm hoping to find some new battle strategies and then bring them back here to share. So far, I've found a few things. Here's one: writing down everything I'm feeling, even if I would never say it out loud, then ripping it up and throwing it away sometimes makes me feel better.
The most important thing I have to remember, and I hope you can too, is that Heavenly Father listens and Jesus Christ understands and has experienced all that I feel, so I have to rely on Him more!

Writing

I haven't written much lately, because I've been taking an English class and that's all I've been doing for the last 12 weeks! However, one of the papers I recently wrote, I want to share, so here it is:

Oh, Baby!

            It was Thanksgiving Day, 2010. My husband Jared and I sat at the dinner table with our two rambunctious little boys Preston and Derik. Our sweet newborn, Abby, was asleep in her car seat on the floor next to us. As I looked at her, I reflected back to how our family came to be and how lucky I was to be a mom. The difficulty I had in bringing this little girl into our family was foremost in my mind. I would never again take for granted the precious gift of life and how much Heavenly Father had blessed us since I first learned I was pregnant for the third time.

            Unfortunately, my third pregnancy was cut much shorter than I expected. In the summer of 2009, at eleven weeks pregnant, I began bleeding and having severe cramps. We were living in Dongducheon, Korea and had to drive two hours to get to the hospital in Seoul. It was an emotionally and physically agonizing drive. I was finally seen by a doctor and was told I had miscarried. My heart dropped and I began to sob. Jared and I were both devastated. I spent the following months crying myself to sleep every night. I felt like my heart was in a vice, being squeezed so tightly it would stop beating. That September, I finally got some medication that helped my depression and I started feeling better. Although I knew I couldn’t get pregnant again right away, I was looking forward to the time that I could.

            In April of 2010, my parents came to visit us in Korea. I was thrilled when they got there that I was able to tell them I was pregnant again. I was nervous about having another miscarriage, but was doing well and feeling better than I had in years. A couple of months later we moved from Korea to Colorado. In July, we found out we were having a girl. After having two boys, I was so excited to have a girl. We decorated her bedroom, bought some cute new clothes, and were waiting with great anticipation for our little girl to come. She was due just after Thanksgiving.  She, however, didn’t want to wait that long.

            In early October, my feet and hands were so swollen that I could barely use them. I had to wear braces on my wrists, or I would wake up in the middle of the night with my fingers clenched shut and my hands bent forward awkwardly, making straightening them agonizing. I also started having throbbing headaches. One started on a Saturday night and continually got worse, until by Sunday night it was excruciating and I couldn’t sleep. I went to the emergency room at Evans Hospital on Fort Carson Monday morning. They took my vitals and immediately admitted me. My blood pressure was so high that I was at extreme risk for seizures. They gave me morphine for my headache, and although the pain was not completely gone, it was the most wonderful thing that had happened to me in weeks.

            After a few hours of the doctors trying to stabilize my blood pressure, I was taken by ambulance to Memorial Hospital. I was put on a medication to get my blood pressure under control, given steroid shots to develop the baby’s lungs, and told that I would deliver her no later than when I was thirty-four weeks along. That was just over a week away. Within hours, my whole world had changed. Although I was pretty out of it, I remember looking at Jared and seeing that he was terrified, but trying to be strong for me. I had never seen him, my tough husband, so scared and vulnerable. He didn’t know if I was going to survive. I knew my baby wasn’t ready to be born, and wondered what was going to be wrong with her, or even if she would survive. The medication I was on made me feel as if I was another person: a person who liked to chomp on popsicles, was hot all the time, and hated the smell of her husband’s cologne. More than my body feeling different, I had a new respect for life and how precious it is.

            By Thursday, October 14, the steroids had time to work and the doctors said it was time for Abby to be born. I was in labor for six hours, but nothing was happening and the baby was in distress, so I was abruptly taken to the operating room. As Jared nervously waited in the hall as I was prepped, I silently prayed that everything would be okay. I immediately had a peaceful feeling come over me, comforting me. What seemed like hours later, but was actually only about twenty or thirty minutes, my princess was delivered via cesarean section. My body was fighting so hard and I was so exhausted. I struggled to keep my eyes open so I could see my daughter before they took her to the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit). I saw her briefly, then the next thing I remember is waking up in recovery. I remember very little of that day and the next, but they were spent trying to gain enough strength to visit my darling baby, who I knew I had seen, but it seemed more like a dream than a memory. As I sat on my bed trying to eat yogurt, but falling asleep between each bite, I was angry at my physical weaknesses. I needed to eat. I needed to sleep. All I wanted to do was hold my baby. I finally got to see her and hold her Friday night. All I could say was “She is so tiny” over and over. My baby girl, although only four pounds, two ounces, was one of the biggest blessings I’ve ever received. Nothing was wrong with her, except that she was a little bit too small.

            I spent the next four days before I was discharged sleeping and visiting Abby as often as I had the energy to walk down the stark hallway to the hand washing room, where the sterile scent of the soap slowly became loathsome to me. From there we could go into the tiny room where our baby was connected to several beeping machines, letting us know her heart rate, oxygen levels, and blood pressure, and feeding her through a tube in her nose. I was sent home, but Abby had to stay, which was emotionally crushing. She struggled over then next few weeks growing and learning to breathe and eat on her own, but she was strong and fought hard. Jared and our boys loved that little girl, but none were as touched by her as I. She would always be my precious angel. I spent every minute I could with her, and was thrilled when they told us we could take her home.

            As my husband and I drove home from the hospital on November 17, 2010 for the billionth time, I couldn’t help looking over my shoulder to try to get a glimpse of my tiny Abby in her pink car seat. We were finally taking her home! After thirty-three days of waiting, we finally had our precious angel in our cherry red Durango, which had aged hundreds of miles over the last few weeks of driving back and forth. I couldn’t hold back the joyful tears as I realized how lucky I was to have my husband and my three amazing kids, and that we would all be together for Thanksgiving. After all we had been through, our family was closer than ever before, and I made a vow to never take that for granted again.

Will You Be My Friend?

I remember in elementary school writing notes to people that looked something like this: "do you like me? Circle Yes or No"
Why isn't it this easy now? Sometimes I would like to send a note like that. But, it's just not that easy. In kindergarten if you want to play with someone, you just do. Or maybe it started with borrowing a crayon or having to sit at the same table. Whatever the reason you became friends with your kindergarten friends, it likely was a lot less complicated than it is to make a friend now you're an adult. Right?
I am pretty shy. I don't talk to people I don't know very often. There are people I would love to claim as my friends, but I only see them at church and hardly say more than a few sentences in passing. So, how do I know that they would consider me a friend? Am I truly friends with all of my Facebook friends? Probably not.
I have a friends who I used to be closer to, but I don't feel as comfortable with them as I once was. I have other friends who I am not close to, but I long to be. I feel lonely at times, and wish I had a good friend that I could call. I wish I had a friend who would just drop by and see how I was doing. Someone who would feel at home in my home. I want a friend who I could count on.
The point is, I'm looking at it backwards. If I want a good friend, I need to be one! I need to figure out what I can do to help someone out. I need to love someone just for being who she is, not what I want her to be. I need to call her and see how she is doing, or stop by her house just to talk.
I think I'm so afraid of rejection, that I don't bother trying. Sure, I'm kind to those around me, and I help out when I'm asked. But, how many true friends have you made by being asked to help them by the Relief Society? How many true friends do you have where they are the only ones doing the calling, stopping by, checking in, etc.?
I challenge you and myself that if you are lonely, call someone else who might be lonely too. Take some cookies or a loaf of bread, or a note, or anything you can think of over to someone you think might need it. Keep a smile on your face. Tell people by the way you act that you are a good friend. Don't complain on facebook about everything and forget to tell about the good things. Honestly, who wants a friend who only complains? Be the friend that you have always wanted. You don't have to have everything in common. Celebrate your differences. If you don't have a lot to talk about at first, it is okay!
I am doing a program for my English class that has me Skype with a girl from Mexico who is learning English. The first time was really awkward. We had very little to say. She didn't understand a lot of what I would say. It was a little frustrating. The next week, things went better, and we took up the half hour much more easily. Now I'm excited for our next meeting. I'm starting to get to know her, and I enjoy learning about her.
So, this week, I'm going to invite someone over, and I'm going to take something over to someone else. What are you going to do to be a better friend?