My Job

The first time I remember somebody asking me what I wanted to 'be' when I grew up, I was at my grandparents' house. I was scribbling away in a composition book that I was determined to turn into a chapter book (with pictures of course) when my grandma asked, and I told her I wanted to be a children's book illustrator. Yeah, my family got a big kick out of that one. Only I would pick such a specific, somewhat obscure career choice at six years old.

I went through a few more stages. Military, lawyer, military lawyer (what? I really loved JAG!), teacher, run my own daycare, own my own baby supply store, and ultimately I even went to college and got a degree in public health, as I liked to put it, "because I want to get paid to play with car seats when I grow up."

In the meanwhile I worked a few different jobs. I worked in daycare - taught preschoolers. I worked for the health department, the only job I ever had that actually fell into my field of study in college. I was a home health aide for a while, and then a nanny. When I quit that last job (which was more stress than it was worth), I remember thinking that I had no idea what I wanted to do next. At that point the only thing I wanted to be was a mom, and that's not exactly the sort of thing you find in the 'help wanted' section. I procrastinated on choosing something, which in the end actually worked out to my benefit.

During and after my time as a nanny, I was going through several evaluations to determine the extent of my psychological needs. I'd been diagnosed with depression since I was 14, but more extensive issues were quickly coming to light. I spent around a month in an intensive outpatient therapy program learning to deal with new diagnoses and coping skills. I'm being completely honest when I say that it's literally the best thing I ever did for myself. But at the same time, suddenly I was able to see how my mental health (or lack thereof, as the case may be) had affected every job I had ever had. I wasn't bad at any of them. I wasn't negligent. But I could have been better.

In those weeks of introspection, I realized that I had been expecting far too much of myself. The thought had never crossed my mind - all I was trying to do was work, hold down a job, which is what everybody does, right? Not too much to expect from myself, especially given my academic record. You grow up, you get a job. It's what you do. It wasn't until my CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy) program that I figured out - all this time I'd been looking for a job, working for a few months and then moving on, I'd already had a job all along, and I hadn't been doing it.

When someone is diagnosed with a serious disease, everyone is quick to assure them that right now, getting better is their job, it's the most important thing. An athlete who suffers a devastating injury goes to physical therapy every day, and that's his job. Nobody would expect a patient of cancer, heart disease, kidney failure, to spend 40 hours a week (or more) wrangling toddlers or filling out needs assessments. It's absurd to think about... imagine your coworker, whoever is in the next cubicle or whatever the case may be, coming into work dragging an IV pole behind him. We'd all say, "Take some time off, take FMLA, you need to focus on getting better right now, that's your job."

So why, then, was I expecting that of myself? How could I, who knew what it was to struggle with mental illness, expect myself and others going through similar trials to just drag our treatment right along with us to work 40 hours a week? How could I expect others like me to work full time jobs while fighting mental illness every single minute of it? I couldn't - I couldn't expect that of others, so I couldn't expect that of myself - and looking back, I saw all the signs that I had been taking on more than I could handle, trying to work a traditional job while I was dealing with so many health issues (be they mental or physical). That was when I had to accept that I was, at least for now, disabled - and as such, my job was to get better.

I took it seriously. I still do. But from the outside I bet it looks like a whole lot of nothing, so today I want to share about my job. It started out similar to most jobs - with someplace to be at 9 am every morning - only the place I had to be was a CBT program, and the work I had to do was on myself. For close to a month I attended that program the way I would have attended school or work, but when it ended, I had to remind myself that I was still doing the job, even though I was now 'working from home'.

There were so many days when I felt useless and broken. There still are. There are days when I realize it's 4:00 pm and I'm still in my pajamas and haven't left the house. There are days when I see family members hard at work sometimes well over 40 hours a week and wonder, what the heck am I doing? I call it "a case of the 'should's". "I should have a normal job." "I should be making money." "I should be doing something with my degree." "I should work as much as my family members." Those are the times I have to remind myself that even though it may not look like it, I'm working as hard as anyone else.

I'm doing my job. I'm getting better - or at least getting through the days. It's hard to explain to anyone who hasn't experienced it themselves (and I wouldn't wish it on anyone), but the amount of work I can do without even getting out of bed is astronomical. Mental illness bombards its victims with constant negativity and distorted thoughts. We wake up thinking "Why even bother getting out of bed?", or "No one cares about me anyways," or "I can't handle life, I should just go back to sleep". We lie there for endless moments searching our consciousness for some shred of evidence to the contrary, something to throw back at those automatic, destructive beliefs. We wake up from terrifying dreams that are all too real and spend hours trying to convince ourselves that we are safe, that this time, it was just a dream. Some days we succeed. Some days we don't.

Every day, that war between such deeply held negative core beliefs, and the healthy ones we are trying to convince ourselves of, rages out of control. Whether I'm lying in bed, volunteering, walking the neighborhood, or cleaning the house, the battle rages, and it drains the energy right out of me no matter what else I'm doing. Some days the bombs are falling so fast that the only thing I can do is take shelter until it's over. Those days, nothing else gets done, but I've still worked all day - just, instead of working on a project or a presentation, I've been working to survive. At the end of the day, if I'm still alive and kicking, I've done my job.

Some days are a little easier. Some days, our minds are prepared for the enemy's onslaught, and we get up, get out of bed, get dressed, maybe even leave the house. Some days we're fighting so hard and with such determination that by the end of the day, we wonder why we can't just accomplish this much every day. And those days are nice, they're a breath of fresh air - but it's easy to fall into the trap of blaming ourselves that not every day is quite so simple. It's easy to wonder, why, if yesterday I cleaned the whole house, washed my car, went to the grocery store and worked a volunteer shift - why am I exhausted before I even get out of bed today? It's because no matter what my body is doing, my mind is fighting that very same war. It's because not every battle can be easily won.

So this is my message for those of you out there who are dealing with mental illness: KEEP FIGHTING THAT WAR! And be kind to yourself. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, you are doing far more 'work' than even you realize, in every minute - and it's just as important as the work anyone else is doing. Let's stop beating ourselves up for 'not being good enough' and start thinking of ourselves like mental health warriors - slashing through dark jungles the likes of which most people can't even imagine.

And for those of you who have a loved one affected by mental illness, my message to you is this: What you're seeing, what you're observing, is only a tiny fraction of what we're going through. While we might look lazy or unmotivated to you, that battle is raging every minute. Be kind with us, be gentle with us, because after a hard day's work, the one thing we want the most is the love and support of the people around us. To know that whatever we're working through, however the battle may have played out each day, we are not fighting it alone.

Endometriosis REALLY sucks.

It's official:  I'm having surgery, probably in about two weeks.  This will be my second biggest surgery, and my first with a new doctor.  It will include cauterization and excision of endometriosis, nerve ablation/neurectomy, possible bowel resection and/or ureter repair, and perhaps a gortex device to stop my right ovary from getting stuck off in the middle of nowhere as it is want to do.

Until then, I am in such unbearable pain, constantly, that I have to be on medication nonstop.

I lost my job today because of issues related to my medical condition.  That hurts, I'm not going to lie.

This puts me searching for a job with surgery in just a couple weeks - and who's going to hire me knowing I'll be out for at least a week very soon?

But if I wait until after I recover to get a job, I won't be able to pay a very important bill and it could have dire consequences for my future, for years.  Could even affect my ability to adopt.

How's that for irony... the disease that causes infertility, that causes many people to choose adoption, has become so complicated that it may actually indirectly prevent me from adopting as well.

So I'm having a down day.  If you have any extra prayers, I would really appreciate them.  I need this surgery to get here fast and I need it to work.

In fact, I'm counting down the days.

I really just want to live a normal life.  Everything was going to be okay after this surgery and once again, my life has come crashing down around me.  Sometimes I really have no idea what path God wants me to be traveling down...

They Told Me I Couldn't

They told me I couldn't...

Go to school full time...

...or sometimes overtime, and graduate in four years

...or graduate with both a major and a minor

AND

Work part time...

...20 hours a week at a daycare center, making little more than minimum wage

...while still being good at my job

AND

Raise a Kindergartener...

...and give her all the things and experiences she deserved

AND

Take care of a baby...

...get up for midnight feedings

AND

"Live my life"...

ALL

In this...

...teeny tiny...

...room.


They told me I couldn't do it.



But I did.



And we all turned out...

 just...

fine.

(More or less eyebrows)

Never let anyone tell you what you "can't" do.

The Worst - and Best - Year of My Life.

2011... what to say, what to say!  Never in my life has a year been packed with so many life-changing events.  Seldom before has my view of the world, or my plan for myself shifted so drastically in such a short time.  Finally, never, in a year, have I experienced so much utter pain, on every level:  Physical, psychological, emotional.  And yet, a few days ago, in a room with some of my best friends in the world, I officially survived it!

A week or so ago, I was poised to write a post titled "Where I Was" - which was intended to explain the place I was in my life before everything changed for me.  I scrapped it, because it came out sounding like a laundry list of bad things that had happened to me.  But it's another important piece of the puzzle... because in order to understand where I am now - you must understand where I was then.  So, instead of attempting to recall the original post (which I failed to save), I would like to post this more as a 'year in review'.  I will warn you that it is long, as are most of my posts (I have a writer inside me struggling to get out!).  I have tried to shorten it several times but I feel like that cheapens it - takes away from the picture I'm trying to convey - so it remains as is.  Further, it has always been my desire to be completely honest through this blog (although some things will not be shared for privacy reasons) - I will not sugar-coat the truth here.  If you have time and so desire, read.  If you don't - that's just fine too.  As always, many more thoughts are floating around my head - blog posts for days to come - but this one, for today.  Without further adieu...

January
In January I began my second-to-last quarter of College with a heavy heart.  As excited as I was about graduating, my best friend Angie had recently been diagnosed as terminal with the cancer she'd been fighting for over  five years.  They gave her 2-3 months to live - in November.  I felt as though nothing I did, aside from spending time with her, mattered in the least.  My best friend was dying.  Any day, she could be gone.  How could I care about alternative fuel sources or historic Spanish literature at such a time?  In addition, I was dealing with chronic, debilitating physical pain of my own and scheduled surgery for my endometriosis for March 2.  The month found my Dear Borrowed Kids living in a hotel, then with me, then with their grandmother.  Then at the end of the month, the doctors found multiple tumors in Angie's brain.  They said 2-3 weeks.  It seemed like every situation in my life was worse than ever before.  The only light I had... were those special days I spent with my best friend, enjoying each other's company, laughing over nothing, while we still had time.

February
If you'd asked me in January, I could've scarcely believed that February could be worse... but it was.  The frustrations of January continued, and grew, and multiplied.  Late in the month, it became apparent that my beloved cat Buckeye, nearing 17 years old, whom I'd had since I was five years old, was not simply 'slowing down in his old age' - he was dying.  After what was essentially a heartwrenching emergency vet appointment on a Friday night, I was told he was in end stage renal failure.  I asked if he was in pain, through my sobs.  They told me that he could be, and that he was certainly uncomfortable.  We were given medications to make him more comfortable.  I didn't want euthenasia.  I never believed that it was the right of man to decide who lived or died - human or animal.  I took my baby home and spent the weekend with him... but by Sunday night, I knew.  It wasn't fair to put him through this anymore.  He was dying.  It was going to happen, and soon.  I held him close to me one last time on Sunday night, all night... I went to class and pretended to care... and then I came home and took pictures and snuggled him some more.  Then we went to the vet, and I watched them put my baby to sleep on February 28, 2011.  The liquid was orange.  I'll never forget a single detail about that day.  I took him home, wrapped him in one of my favorite sweatshirts, and buried my precious Buckeye.

In Memoriam

Doing his favorite thing... exploring the great outdoors.

And yet, through all this, guess who continued to hang on?  Guess who was there for me as I cried the night I buried my kitty?  My best friend Angie, of course.  Facing a terminal diagnosis herself, she never once passed up an opportunity to help a friend.  By the grace of God, we made memories that month, memories that I will never, ever forget.

March

March just did not start off on the right foot.  Having just lost my lifetime feline companion, my heart was shattered. I was heading into surgery not knowing whether or not my best friend would still be alive when I came home.  I was scared, to put it mildly.  The night before my surgery, Angie and I were visiting an animal rescue - she and I were both intending to adopt kittens - and a stupid, silly little misunderstanding sent me into the hysterical sobs I'd been holding back for 24 hours.  Once again - guess who was there to give me a hug, and tell me she was there for me?  Oh, Angie, how much you did for everyone else, even as your own time drew to a close.  

Then my surgery went bad.  Two more surgeries, one of which was markedly more invasive than those prior, had to be performed simply to keep me alive.  I was bleeding internally and my blood pressure had dropped to a dangerous level.  I had to receive a blood transfusion while in surgery.  All I remember is signing the consent form, and hearing them yell things like "Clear the OR" and "We need to get her some blood"... and looking up at my doctor as they were putting me under and croaking "Save me."  I was so scared.  There are large blocks of time about which I remember nothing at all.  A simple outpatient procedure, turned so bad.  I spent a week in the hospital.  There were fears of infection and other complications.  I was miserable - and I wasn't home where I could spend time with Angie while I still could.  I could barely text her with all the medication constantly dripping into my IV.  My texts came out garbled and hard to read.  I didn't want her to visit because it could make her sick.  Things didn't get much better when I went home.  I was in a lot of pain for a long time.  I had to take an incomplete on all my winter classes.  As if all of this wasn't enough, things went bad with my two younger Dear Borrowed Kids, causing them to be abruptly withdrawn from my life - and loving them as though they were my own, this was a blow.  

The end of March, however, found things looking up.  My dear Angie was still fighting the good fight, we'd both adopted precious kittens.  I had high hopes for things to come.  

Introducing Boo, the adorable kitten.

April

Being my birth month, I had high hopes for this one, despite still reeling from the effects of a terrible March.  The falling-out with the family of my two younger DBKs was hard, but I felt differently about it than I'd expected.  I felt as though I'd made a choice that was in all of our best interests, and that the current situation was only temporary - so I was at peace.  I was in the process of seeking an internship to complete my BA in Public Health, and hoping for something I'd really enjoy.  As it so happened, I landed an absolutely perfect internship with the injury prevention department at the local health department, with whom I'd been volunteering at car seat checks for years.  A few weeks into the internship, they offered to pay me - well.  A couple weeks later, they told me they wanted to hire me when I graduated.  It was like a dream come true!  I never could have imagined things working out so well.  Best of all, the end of the month came, and Angie and I were still playing games and laughing together, just like always.  Even the best of the medical community cannot predict the will of God.  

May

Like April, May brought good news.  It certainly wasn't without its difficulties, but it was overall positive.   I went to a fabulous conference both for my job/internship and for myself, in the process seeing a dear friend whom I hadn't seen in nearly a year, and in the same breath the parents of my missing DBKs called seeking to mend fences.  I spent 30+ hours a week doing a job I loved, and my free time with the people I loved.  Toward the end of the month, Angie started gearing up for her final Relay for Life - and we couldn't wait to cheer her on.  She was getting sicker... but still smiling, still blessing us just by being her radiant self.  May was good.

June

In June, the hard times started to come back.  I was driving a car nearly as old as I was, and while I was thankful for it, I knew its days were coming to an end.  It needed repairs I couldn't afford, and I didn't see any point in trying to afford them when I'd just be in the same place in a few months anyways.  Finally, the brakes completely gave out and I made the decision to sell it and buy a new car.  It was a little earlier than I'd hoped (I'd hoped to buy a car after graduation - Clyde (that was the car's name) apparently was a couple weeks off on that timetable), but it was what I wanted and what I felt was right for me and for the precious little ones I needed to transport safely!  Have you ever watched the crash test for a 1990 model year vehicle?  No?  Okay, don't.  Especially not if you drive one.  Only by the grace of God was I saved - when I hit the brakes and they failed, I stopped literally inches from the bumper of the car in front of me.  I puttered off to a safe place to call AAA.  I could've hit that car in front of me... and become that crash test.

Well, finding a new car wasn't as easy as I'd hoped.  I'd done extensive research into it over the past years, anticipating a post-graduation purchase and I was ready to go - but not only did I hit a snag, the situation kicked up some pretty devastating family drama.  All this came to a point just as I was driving home from Relay for Life - watching my dear best friend make her final 'Survivor's Lap'.  I was left feeling heartbroken, alone and as though no one had faith in me.  What should have been a happy time of my graduation was instead painful.  

Finally, towards the very end of the month, I was able to get a new car, with the help of my mom, who has been my rock throughout my entire life.  I was excited and things seemed to be looking up heading into July.

July

There are no words for July.  Loss.  Heartbreak.  Pain.  Sadness.  Mourning.  None of these even begin to cover what we all felt when dear Angie died on July 15, 2011.  No matter how hard I might try, I'll never forget the days leading up to that day... just... indescribable.  Angie would've blushed and told me to stop flattering her, but she was my hero - not because she had cancer, but because she had cancer and she didn't let it stop her.  Sure, she had her down moments, everyone does, but she just kept on going.  She told me once "I didn't really have any other choice".  Oh, dear Angie, how many times I've said those same words.  My wonderful best friend is deserving of a blog post of her own, but that is for later.  For now... a photo of the two of us:

I miss you every day, dear Angie.  You are a huge part of who I've become.

August

They say "When it rains, it pours".  This statement, I've found to be so true.  August began with the struggles of July, then more struggles with my two younger DBKs.  August delivered some bad medical news for me, which got me quite down for a while.  My hours as a temporary employee at the job I loved were running out and the future of my employment still not cemented.  Finally, at the end of the month, tensions which had been rising for a long time between myself and the family of my two younger DBKs came to a head, resulting in me losing them again.  Further, my physical pain was slowly but steadily coming back, and I was wondering why, if I'd been through all this surgery just months earlier, was I in pain again?  The end of the month came only with uncertainty.

September

This was a month which I spent largely at home, alone, which in retrospect was very bad for me.  My heart was broken again by more bad medical news, even as it lay shattered with the loss of my best friend and pain for my DBKs.  I worked periodically, rationing my last few hours, waiting for the day I could finally come back to work for good.  Finances started to become difficult, but I chose not to get another job, because I was certain I'd be returning to my 'real' job soon.  My physical pain had nearly reached pre-surgery levels and I started to look into other medical options, not excluding further surgery.  More than anything, I was lonely.  I spent so much of my time alone that even periodic gatherings of friends or family did little to ease the pain once I went back home.  September ended with even more uncertainty than August.

October

I knew all along that October would be hard, I just didn't know how hard.  You see, since my little DBK, A, was two years old, she has trick-or-treated with me.  This year, I knew we wouldn't be together.  It stung.  My work hours completely ran out and pay essentially stopped but for a trickle of mileage checks.  Still, I chose not to get another job, because surely I'd just have to quit in a couple of weeks anyways.  October went the way of September.

November

Though not the month I hit rock bottom, November was a steady downward slide.  I don't kid you when I say I'm lucky to have made it through alive.  Pain levels were back to where they were before my March surgery, sometimes even as bad as the post-op pain.  I was dependent on medication to even get through a day.  I was depressed and heartbroken over the state of my life.  My wonderful friends had noticed the change in me before I had and expressed concern, unfortunately leading to a turn of events which put us at odds and left me feeling even more alone than ever.  My work hours and income were gone, but I'd finally interviewed for my position about a week and a half before Thanksgiving, so I felt that there was a light at the end of the tunnel, I'd at least be back to work and out of the house soon.  However, the end of November came too soon, with the same uncertainty as the months before it - still no job, still no money, and now behind on bills and planning to schedule another surgery.  It felt bleaker than bleak.

December

What can I say?  December 2011.  Probably the most transformative month of my life.  Here is where this post gets divided into two parts - a 'before,' and an 'after'.  

December did not come quietly into my life.  On the very first day, it came with confirmation that I would have surgery - a good thing for my pain, but still scary, particularly at that time, having become more real and concrete in my mind.  In the same day, I learned that I'd been passed over for the job I thought was mine since April.  As it turns out, the effects of this economy are further reaching than any of us could have imagined, and circumstances precluded my superiors from being able to hire me.  Some of them, I think, were hurt for me as I was for myself.  I also think they were wrong - I do think I was the best person for that job - but who am I to decide right and wrong?  Ultimately, I feel there was a reason for the way things happened... but at the time, it was a devastating and heartbreaking blow to the very essence of who I am, not to mention further complicating financial matters just before Christmas, when I'd had such high hopes for making a wonderful Christmas for my family this year.  Further, it would be my first Christmas in six years without my little A - and the only Christmas season without AJ since he'd been born.  I was not feeling the spirit of the season, and my faith was more than shaken.  

But good things were slowly starting to happen.  A little at a time, I began mending fences with the friends I'd fought with in the previous months.  I felt as though there was a light at the end of the tunnel with regards to the everyday pain I was experiencing.  I started taking a more active role in making myself happy.  I was starting to heal, but I was still lower than low.  I felt as though everything I'd worked toward thus far, every thing I lived for, was gone.  What to do now?  I had a heart to help... and I'd tried and tried and it seemed like I'd failed.  

This, my friends, all that you have read up until this point, is the 'before'.

Here is the 'after'.

On December 3, 2011, just two days after the devastating news about my job, I saw this picture:  

From http://theblessingofverity.com/ with permission.

Now, if you've not read my blog up until this post, or are not part of the adoption community, you may wonder why on earth a picture of a child in a car seat could turn a 'before' into an 'after'.  Friends, let me tell you why.  That child in the car seat, her name is Katie, and she is nine years old.  She was adopted internationally, so malnourished that she weighed only 10 lbs.  What happened from then on is chronicled in my very first blog post, here.  There were nine days between laying my eyes on this precious child, and hearing God loud and clear in my own life.  Through every single one of those days, I could not get that precious girl - and so many others like her - off my mind, or out of my heart.  Not that I wanted to.  

Friends, I can't begin to tell you how the end of December left me.  Yes, I had surgery again.  More tears were shed.  More pain was had.  More uncertainties were faced.  More frustrations were voiced.  But everything - and I mean everything - had been put into a whole new frame. Where I felt no purpose before, I felt renewed energy and a call from Above that was impossible to ignore.  Every single one of those things that happened this year, and the one before it, and the one before that, on, and on, and on, had been preparing me for something - and doing a good job of it!  (This is a bit I will elaborate on later).  Where my faith was weak before, now it was strong.  Where my joy was small before, it was now huge.  Where my hope dwindled previously, it soared now.  God was using me to do His work - and He knew me only too well - to know just how willing I'd be to do this 'work'.  Purpose.  It was everything.

I will say that my initial reaction to what I saw was an emotional one - akin to when I was a little girl and wanted to give a home to every stray cat.  This is the truth.  But remember, nine days passed between the day I saw that photo, and the day I made the decision to say Yes to God's call.  Over those nine days, I thought of little else.  I read, I learned, I prayed, I researched endlessly, I still do.  The day I started this blog, my words were driven not by a temporary emotion, but by honest, informed determination; and so it has been ever since.  

I am not naive about things to come.  I know the reality.  In one short month I've read and learned so much, watched events unfold.  The road to the place I am today was not an easy one, it was rough and marred by obstacles, one after another.  I expect no less of the road ahead - and I welcome it, because I know, the rewards are great.  Because I know, this is right - and because I have Heaven on my side.  I thought I knew what I was doing, where I was going, and I thought I'd failed, but the truth lies in a quote from one of my favorite movies:  "Maybe God... has a bigger plan for me... than I had for myself."  ~ A Walk To Remember

So, there it was.  2011.  What, for all intents and purposes, should have been the worst year of my life - but for redemption in the Christmas season.  I can't say I'm sorry to bid it farewell, but what I can say, is that I'm excited to see what 2012 brings... and the year after that, and the one after that, and the one after that... on, and on, and on.