I would do research online about what the lethal dosage was and whether or not it was best to combine them with alcohol. Yes, that was the best way to make sure they would actually kill me.

At other times I would fixate on how my suicide would impact the people in my life. Who would come to my funeral? How much would they cry? Who would be the sorriest for all the terrible things they had done to me?

Nowhere along the line did I think about what my suicide would do to my children. Scientists know that children whose parents have committed suicide struggle to recover, and many never recover at all. Even though I knew this in the back of my mind, this was never enough to dissuade me. That said, I was acutely aware of the fact that I didn’t want to actually die. I just wanted the pain to stop and I would go to any length to achieve that objective.

Keeping my stash eventually became a crutch for me. I knew that if things got too bad, I had a way out. So, I was never motivated to work on the things in my life that needed changing, namely me. I lurched from one therapist to the next, discarding them like soiled handkerchiefs when they didn’t “fix me”. I lived in a state of unbearable desperation always looking for the quick fix instead of taking a good hard look in the mirror. Because I had a way out. Because I could choose to leave it all behind if I couldn’t stand it anymore.

The problem with this mindset is that it didn’t really give me a “way out”. In fact, it kept me locked up tighter than a person in solitary confinement. I became completely unable to relate in any kind of normal way to anyone else because I didn’t “have to”. I was so in love with my own pain and misery there was literally no room in my life (or my heart) for anyone or anything else. I gradually began to shut down all my intimate relationships but constantly bemoaned the fact that I had no meaningful relationships in my life except with my husband. Even that relationship became problematic as my suicidality knew no bounds. Nothing anyone could say or do enticed me to believe that life could be worth living. Finally, after too many years of living like my own emotional hostage, I admitted defeat and agreed to go to a hospital in the United States for long-term inpatient treatment.

All this suicidal behaviour, however, kept kept me in a highly dysfunctional state for more years than I like to admit. It gave me the excuse to not do the emotional work I needed to get past my chronic suicidality and address the deeper, more meaningful issues. When I finally started to do that – looking at the issues around my abandonment as a baby and what that had done to me, how it set me up for a lifetime of failure, I was able to finally start to do the grieving I needed to do in order to put those events into a box so I could move forward it my life.

When I was discharged from the hospital and returned back to my home community things were still pretty difficult even though I had learned some vital and important coping skills. Despite all my therapy, though, it still took many years for things to really “click” and for me to finally begin to make the headway into getting better. I finally turned that corner after my last and, hopefully, final suicidal incident. I  was admitted back to the hospital which felt like a profound failure. All the therapy seemed to have been for naught. I decided to look at it as a ten year “tune up” and began the painful work of starting over. Again, I was reintroduced to mindfulness meditation and the gentle art of practicing gratitude and I was finally able to finish my healing. When I was discharged from the hospital that time, I was able to finally take the stash to the local pharmacy and ask the pharmacist to dispose of them for me.

Doing that allowed me to finally start to live in a way I never had before. When I was always so fixated on the act of dying I closed myself off to actually living and I boxed myself into a very narrow existence. Saying goodbye to that behavior was liberating beyond belief.

[irp posts=”8592″ name=”What I Learned After My Last Suicide Attempt (by Dee Chan)”]

About the Author: Dee Chan

Dee Chan was diagnosed with BPD more than 35 years ago back when the diagnosis was still fairly new and not very well understood. She has been living with it and coping with it ever since and finding ways to thrive despite it. She has been able to put it into complete remission and turned her life around completely through the practices of gratitude, forgiveness and accountability. Find out more about Dee’s work on her website bpdnomore.com.

The post What Happens When You Keep The Idea Of Suicide As Your Ace In The Hole (by Dee Chan) appeared first on Hey Sigmund.

We all want financial security, joy, loving friends and a healthy attractive body. (and much more) But what is this natural current flowing through me? Why would I never be happy living certain ways, even though others do and seem content?

At 32 years old, I see both of my parents within myself. My mother’s slight neurosis and yearning for connection and experience. My father’s stubbornness and desire for order and control. But whether I like it or not, my dad affected my life the most. After each of my many failures, he’s the first person I think about. I can even see him now, shaking his head in disappointment over my latest stupid mistake or Amazon purchase.

Who was your dominant parental figure?

It doesn’t have to be your father, but for myself and most men – father is the dominant figure. Though he was often gone, his was the love I wanted most. I yearned for his respect and to impress him. Whose love did you want most? Whether you received it or not, whether you spent much time with them – it doesn’t matter. Sadly, it’s usually the parent whose love we didn’t get that we want the most. It’s just how we’re built. We want that which we cannot have.

My dad was an admired man. Admired but also feared by those who worked for him. Born during the depression-era in a rural, shithole Iowa town. He grew up penniless. His family used an outhouse until he was 16 years old. And his dad was an alcoholic manual laborer who was rarely home. One day he never came back, and that was that. He never found out why. His mother was a stern, hardworking woman of few words.

As a child, he also lost his oldest brother. He came home after WWII and drank himself halfway to death. One terrible night, his car took care of the rest. He revered his brother.

My dad lost both of his male role models to reckless behavior, alcohol abuse, and mental weakness. (I don’t agree with this assessment, mind you) He harnessed this pain and built a castle from it. He developed a stone-faced personality and a tireless work ethic. He avoided alcohol and anything else that took away from work. Where his father and brother failed, he succeeded: money and self-control. He became damn good at it.

My dad started two successful businesses which still operate. He made gobs of money. Growing up, we enjoyed far-flung vacations and impressive homes. I went to many private schools. Christmas was awesome, dozens of gifts every year. He put his head down every day, worked hard, and didn’t let emotions or self-doubt shake him.

Now, we all suffer from “lookback bias.” We remember things to be much better than they were. I am sure my dad messed up a lot. But growing up, he was a superhero. He still is, to be honest with you.

Now, let’s talk about me.

So my dad was this “strong man” who led businesses, stayed on course and didn’t lose control. Even if something was wrong, he plowed through. He’s a machine. And I mean that as a compliment.

Now take me. In my About Me article, I discuss my struggles growing up. Struggles with feeling “different” and weird. Damaged and flawed in the core of my being. From as young as seven, I remember these feelings. I was visiting many doctors, getting medicated for ADD and behavior issues. I was thought to be autistic for a brief spell. They made me look at funny pictures and treated me like a strange little boy.

The point of this is: I felt so different from my dad. How could he understand me? From my foundational years onward, we were different people in my mind. Not being able to sit still – he must think I’m weak and pathetic. Of course, he probably never felt this way even for a second. But we have a great talent for putting ourselves down, even at seven years old. In fact, this feeling affects me still, and it sucks. I never felt that “unconditional love” thing from my dad. I always felt I had to impress him or earn his attention. I felt like a scoreboard. And all I can remember is losing points.

ADD and bad behavior – minus 10. Stressing mom out with my behavior in class, thereby stressing him – minus 10. Playing little league outfield – minus 10. Soccer, nah. Basketball, nope. I wasn’t great at anything, besides schoolwork. I got fantastic grades. 99th percentile on standardized tests. Top of my class on every exam. Gifted IQ. The problem is, my dad didn’t care about grades. He didn’t go to college, and book smarts aren’t of value. The one thing I had – this badass brain – didn’t mean shit. I couldn’t win his love with that, so what the fuck could I do?

On top of that, I ended up having awful acne. “Pizza face,” I kid you not. I even skipped school some days to avoid the teasing and embarrassment. Mom was kind enough to let me, but dad never knew.  I eventually took oral medicine, but it dried out my bones. Sports went out the window for a few years. Good luck ever impressing him now.

Fast-forwarding years to high school, I let my grades slip. Feeling a lack of love at home, all I wanted was the love of my peers. But I felt damaged and different than others – and it was hard to achieve. Sure, I had friends – but I never felt an authentic connection. I felt this barrier between myself and others. This impenetrable, invisible forcefield.

I felt “not good enough” for him, and unworthy of anything admirable. At 15-16 years of age, I felt earmarked for a shit life.

It’s obvious my dad and I never communicated about emotions or self-worth. I’m thinking now and cannot remember one moment of real connection with my father. When I was seven years old, we built a model something or another together, and it was nice.

My poor mother was always working or upset, and frantic about my father. His work work work lifestyle and frequent trips were tough on her. I would hear her cry. The last thing I wanted was to tell her the dark thoughts swirling in my brain. Nor the sad feelings in my heart. She had enough struggle already. I felt very alone.

This is not about placing blame.

The point of this question isn’t to blame or demonize. This exercise is a tool for awareness, self-observation, and analysis. My father loves me and would do anything in the world for me. He had no idea how his actions made me feel. And I didn’t understand these feelings until in recent years.

Fathers are imperfect, and mothers are imperfect. Just like us. Here’s something maturity has taught me: Nobody knows what the fuck they’re doing. That’s one of the great equalizers in life. What the fuck is going on? There is no right answer.

We’re all doing our best. And that’s all we can do. My dad’s upbringing made him the man he is today. And his only further education has been business and work. It’s easy to understand now, but for many years I fought these simple facts. He loves me in his way, and I cannot control that. The way he loves me doesn’t change who I am.

I love my dad, and he did his duty as best he could. He made plenty of mistakes, but I respect him. He’s an impressive man. I only hope someday my daughter is as impressed with me.

Who I had to be for my father.

Let’s simplify. Here’s who I felt I had to be, and who I am.

Who I Felt I Had To Be: Disciplined, focused on tasks, best in class athleticism, recognized and awarded. Unemotional and straightforward. Powerful and independent. Achiever. Winner. State champion wrestler.

Who I Am: Emotional, focused on love and spirit and drawn in by knowledge and connection. Many times confused or uncertain, and willing to admit faults. Complex with an intrinsic, wondering excitability. Independent, but yearning for community and affection. Nothing extraordinary – a regular, somewhat spacey guy trying to keep it all together.

So, now what?

Where does this realization leave me? Well..

All we can do is live right here, right now. Correct? This exercise can either entrap us or free us. I vote freedom.

Awareness is the first step to living with more intelligence and peace. The next is simple – keep doing it. When you’re aware, you can step back and have a look. “Wow, that’s interesting. I see.” Self-awareness establishes ground zero. You can stand on both legs, look around, and begin to change. Awareness leads you the power of acceptance.

Self-acceptance means opening my heart, laying my shit out on the table, and moving on. Accepting yourself is the end of resistance. I was fucking exhausted from years of running, fighting, pushing, and desiring.

For years I fought my natural self while trying to be someone my dad would be proud of. Living a life filled with anxiety, pushing for more from myself. Forever coming up short. Running from the pain and loneliness that would creep in. Fleeing from the natural signs that I was living life the wrong way.

Learning to accept myself has been a transforming concept this year. It’s been a year of embracing my feelings, working through them and living in the now. I’ve imagined that life is a river. I’m done wasting energy by clinging to weeds at the bottom. And I’m done killing myself by swimming upstream, paddling so hard against the natural flow. Now, I just let go and allow the sweet loving goodness of life to carry me where it may. I stop resisting and enjoy the ride.

Developing my new self-acceptance.

Self-acceptance is a cool concept. It means treating ourselves with kindness, care, and understanding. Being compassionate and lighthearted. A simpler way to put it – being a good friend to yourself. Self-acceptance realizes that we are all imperfect as human beings. To me, self-acceptance has meant finding solid ground to stand on. It helped me find my foundation, and finally start fixing it.

Self-acceptance destroys the scoreboard mentality in an instant. It is being mindful and embracing ourselves and our emotions. When you succeed, self-acceptance says “Great job! You earned this moment of joy.” When you fail, self-acceptance suggests “We are all humans, and life is imperfect. This pain and sadness will pass in the natural flow. Take care of yourself and be healthy so that you may heal.”

Self-acceptance doesn’t mean laziness and lack of growth. It means less scrutiny and clearer observation of just who you are. It means rolling with the punches and being less afraid of failure and embarrassments. It’s dedication to rolling with the punches and doing so with power and grace.

A chance to raise my daughter differently.

This knowledge not only helps me live with more joy, but it also makes me a better dad.

My daughter isn’t on the scoreboard system. Lily doesn’t need to impress me or make me proud to earn my love. She’s #1 priority in my life. And she knows I love her and that I’m ecstatic she’s my kid. I tell per probably 19x an hour, and I mean it every time. Overkill? Hell no.

It’s important that she feels comfortable in her innate goodness. She was born to be herself, and she is here to give her gift to the world. Whatever that gift may be – I’m so damn impressed.

Of course, she’s going to learn that times can be tough. Life can be tragic as hell. And that we’re all imperfect human beings, especially her dad. She has to know that it’s okay to have a bad day and that there’s no such thing as points in life. There’s only living in love and harmony. And taking what life throws at you with acceptance and grace.

Dear daughter, life is happening for you, not to you. Remember this mantra forever. “For me, not to me.” You can choose love and acceptance, always. The most important thing is treating you and others around you with compassion and understanding. Learn to become a light to yourself and to those who suffer. Everything else is a walk in the park.

Your turn.

My goal is to help you discover greater freedom in your life. To take the lemons life hands you and learn from them. They’re a gift.

This exercise is a valuable self-observation tool. Ask yourself this question: “Who Did I Have to Be For _______?” Listen to the first idea that arises in your mind. Write it down. Write more.

Don’t judge, and don’t run yourself down. Just write it all down. And let me know what you come up with.

The post Who Did You Have to Be For Your Father? appeared first on Hey Sigmund.

So it only made sense that our band sang songs about liking boys and being nerds, and our logo was a hand drawn cupcake. That band became my persona. I was Sarah from The Oh Wells, and I was cute, cute, very cute. Sure, I’d been having panic attacks and insomnia since I was four years old, but even my anxiety came off as endearing. 

The year I turned twenty, my band competed in a prestigious music competition. The other musicians all saw me as the shy, quirky, adorable one. Nobody knew that I had been fighting uncontrollable mood swings and suicidal thoughts for the past year and a half, that my behaviour had pushed away my band mates and my best friend, and that I had never felt more alone in my life. 

I so badly wanted to be the happy girl baking cupcakes that was on my album cover. She was still a part of me, but the other part of me was crying for help, and I was ignoring her. I tried every natural remedy, therapist, diet, and eastern religion that I came across, but that other part of me would never leave me alone for good. She would pop up just when things were getting good, and leave me rocking back and forth in my room.

Finally, I stepped away from the band and faced my mental illness. I accepted my diagnosis of Bipolar Type 2, and I started the horrible trial-and-error of finding the right medication. As each drug failed to control my symptoms or presented even worse side effects, I often felt like giving up. My suicidal thoughts became the loudest thoughts in my head. I experimented with overdosing on a daily basis. 

One day, I told one of my closest friends how many pills I had taken. It was more than ever before. She called 911 and as I drifted into a pill-fuelled daze, I heard police officers at my door. I now know, after a few of these types of incidents, that if a police officer shows up at your door, you should just do what they say. But at this point, I was terrified. They chased me as I tried to run away, screaming, and took me to emergency.

Hours later, I shuffled to the bathroom, sedated and numb. As I was washing my hands, I was struck by my reflection in the mirror. I couldn’t recognize the girl looking back at me. She was in a skimpy hospital gown, greasy hair standing almost on end, cheeks raw from crying and lips grey from dehydration. I looked like a stereotypical crazy person, like something out of a movie. I had never looked less cute in my life. Back at my hospital bed, my friend was waiting for me, desperately asking the nurses to bring me a sandwich. It’s important for me to say: I wasn’t cute, but I wasn’t alone either.

I’m twenty-five now. That wasn’t my last hospital visit, but it was the last time that I was startled by my own darkness. Now I embrace every part of me (or try to). I’ve repaired lost friendships, rekindled relationships torn apart by my unpredictability, and only a month and a half ago I finally found a cocktail of medications that keep me stable and safe. I’ve starting playing music again, and this time I write about the darkest parts of my life and hold nothing back. But the truth is I still have that part of me that loves paper hearts and the sound of the marimba.

I recently created a music video for my new song “Valentine,” a love letter I wrote to those who stood by my side through the ups and downs. In the video, I wanted to compare that cute girl who started a band when she was sixteen with the girl I saw in the mirror at the hospital, and I wanted to show everyone that they are both ME. I am a musician in her mid-twenties who lives with bipolar disorder. Sometimes I feel empty and sometimes I feel full of joy. This music video shows the extreme opposites of bipolar, and the importance of accepting the dark along with the light.

Valentine (Official Video) – Sarah Jickling and her Good Bad Luck

About the Author: Sarah Jickling

Sarah Jickling is a Canadian songstress and mental health advocate. Over the past few years, Jickling’s whimsical indie-pop songs have been featured on radio stations across the country and in independent films. The twenty-five year old uses her music to spread mental health awareness, and has opened up about her experiences with Bipolar Disorder and Anxiety Disorder on radio, local television, podcasts, blogs and at live speaking events. Her new album, When I Get Better, is set to be released in 2017. She can be found in hospital waiting rooms and pole dancing studios around Vancouver, BC.

[irp posts=”2156″ name=”Bipolar Disorder – Important New Insights”]

[irp posts=”2049″ name=”Dealing with Depression: 14 NEW Insights That Will Change the Way You Think About It”]

The post My darkest bipolar episode. And Music (by Sarah Jickling) appeared first on Hey Sigmund.

The post I Am Anxiety, But Anxiety Is Not Me – How Anxiety Got Me to Where I Am Now appeared first on Hey Sigmund.

It never occurred to me there were a thousand different experiences in between.

From Birth to Postpartum Depression – And Everything In Between

The emotions I experienced after giving birth shocked me. I had never experienced anything of that intensity, or that out of control, in my life. I cried all of day three postpartum. My midwife was there to tell me it was normal and gradually I adjusted. I found a letter years later I had written my daughter when she was colicky, in it, I apologize for bringing her to earth where she had to feel so much pain. Reading it outside of the moment, I realized just how altered my mental state must have been.

With my second baby, the waters were smooth. Other than a few tears on day three that I knowingly embraced as a physical reaction to hormonal shifts, I felt tired but happy. She was born in the summer and the days were sunny.

Then baby number three. We had feeding issues from the beginning. I was in pain physically and mentally distressed at my perceived failure. I quickly spiraled into day three on repeat. I couldn’t stop crying. It was like a fog had settled. It took a solid support network to see me through.

Some Postpartum Truths

My experiences made me curious, as I’ve watched my friends experience postpartum depression and talked to the moms in the NICU where I work I began to see themes emerging.

No two experiences are alike.

Every woman who enters into childbearing comes with a unique genetic makeup. If there is a family history of depression her risk of experiencing it herself goes up. Each pregnancy is unique and depression may even begin in pregnancy. A loss in pregnancy or the delivery of a baby with complications increases the risk again. A traumatic delivery can result in symptoms of post traumatic stress for women, and for their partner, again increasing the chances that she will experience a form of postpartum depression.

Even the same person, as in my case, can have completely different experiences with each baby.

Having a baby is something you need to recover from both physically and mentally.

While having babies is commonplace, the immensity of this life shift is often downplayed. Media is saturated with women looking great after recently giving birth. Social media allows us to share the good moments, while withholding the bad, causing a skewed perspective. In many cultures around the world, women are honored after birth for a period of time. They are taken care of and encouraged to take the time to heal physically.

The recovery needs to fit the person.

Some women may find that staying home and having help with the baby care is what they need to recover. Other may need to get out, and themselves be supported in caring for their families. When we apply a prescribed solution to our stress because a nurse, our Mother in Law, or the internet told us we should, it can have the opposite effect. It can be difficult to advocate for our mental health needs when culture dictates something different.

For me, I had a lot of anxiety about others taking care of my existing children. The money and stress of putting them in care to help me when I was struggling would have had the opposite effect I wanted it to.

Birth and caring for a newborn sets you up for poor self-care.

Caring for a new baby is demanding. Even if delivery is ideal, and often it’s not, women and their partners are faced suddenly with broken sleep, learning how to take care of a baby, and remembering to eat. There can be unresolved feelings about the pregnancy and birth. If women are the first in their families and peer groups to have a baby it can be isolating. Many moms joke about never being able to shower or even go to the bathroom alone, but having to renegotiate these basic behaviors of self care can contribute negatively to mental health.

It’s something that isn’t talked about that much especially to new moms.

Recently, women have begun speaking out about the mental challenges that come along with a new baby. From celebrities, to friends over coffee, there has been a big shift towards realization, that while postpartum mood disorders are concerning and should be treated, they are common.

When the stigma is removed it gives women the confidence to admit they are struggling, which is often the first big step towards recovery. When shame stops women from speaking out, it also fosters denial. Instead of spending energy on finding treatment, it can be easy to put all that energy into convincing ourselves that these feeling aren’t real.

There are things to do to help prevent it.

There are many things we can do to buffer the stress of having a baby. Managing expectations is the biggest one. Having a realistic view of just how little sleep, or how hard breastfeeding will be, can go a long way in normalizing it when it happens. If women realize the challenges, they can be prepared with meals, knowing where to get support for feeding, and strategies for getting rest.

It has taken me three kids to finally acknowledge that self-care is not an indulgence. It is a necessity that makes me a better mom. It’s also something that looks different at each stage of motherhood. When I had a newborn just having 20 minutes for an uninterrupted shower was amazing. As my kids get older I’m looking forward to a whole weekend away.

There are things to do to fix it.

All the things that help depression can be used to fight postpartum mood disorders with some creativity.

• Walk

My easiest postpartum was in the summer where we walked every day out in the sun. It’s harder when the weather is cold and dreary, but getting out even if it’s just for a brisk walk in the mall before the stores open, can make a big difference.  

• Connect

Some of my best friends still are coworkers who had babies at the same time. We would drag each other out for walks even when we didn’t feel like it and be reminded that it’s hard for everyone as we shared our joys and struggles with motherhood.

• Recharge

Mindfulness and relaxation are important too. From baby and me yoga to listening to a relaxation meditation or mindfulness app while the baby is sleeping. I used instagram to take pictures everyday of the small things I was a grateful for.

• Nourish

Then there is nourishment. It is so easy to forget to eat and drink when there are small people demanding our attention but our bodies need whole, healthy foods and plenty of water to recover from birth, to produce milk and to cope with caring for a baby. Sometimes good food need to be supplemented with iron, omega 3s and other vitamins to address specific deficiencies as well.

• Medication

Then there is medication. There comes a time when the symptoms of depression and anxiety are so overwhelming that all of the above seems insurmountable. Medication can be the one thing that allows women to reclaim their life. It can be what it takes to bring them back to a place where they are capable of eating, drinking and sleeping.

It doesn’t make you a bad mom.

There is a lot of shame around perinatal mood disorders. There is shame for many of us who thought we could do it all and were sideswiped with realizing just how challenging motherhood can be. There is guilt over needing medication, and over not taking it, over stopping breastfeeding, and for powering through.

Shame and guilt has become the norm for so many parenting decisions. When moms are vulnerable with their stories of how hard it is, and the many factors that went into their decisions, it is harder to judge and easier to empathize. Managing expectations can only be done when other mothers share not just the joys, but the challenges.

When We Share our Story

When I share my struggles with motherhood it is met with an overwhelming response of “me too.” Knowing that other moms feel the same way makes it harder to believe there is something wrong with me. It’s normalizing.

All women find parts of motherhood challenging, as it should be. The task of raising human beings is one that comes with great honor, but also great expectations from society and ourselves. There is so much pressure to find the one right way that we’ve lost sight of the millions of good ways.

Knowing that anger and anxiety, sadness and numbness are all things that come with the positive emotions of having a baby, can leave us prepared for both. It’s normal to feel everything.

When the negative feelings take over and crowd out the joy and the happiness, when they steal the peace and the calm, knowing that it is ok to seek help can aid in creating a better balance.

When we suffer alone, we fight alone and it becomes a vicious circle of not realizing we need help, and not realizing that we are not alone.

If you, or someone you know is struggling with the emotions that come with pregnancy and postpartum, which left untreated can extend far into motherhood, Postpartum Progress is an excellent resource. It has everything from current research to personal stories.

Women shouldn’t suffer alone. As a society we need to care for our mothers who are raising the next generation. Then they can be empowered and equipped emotionally to do it well. It affects us all.

About the Author: Jenn Shehata

Jenn is a messy mom and ordinary nurse living a beautiful life. She writes to remember and to reimagine the story. You can find her at www.cryandnurseon.com writing about motherhood and nursing and all the thing that make her cry.

When she’s not chasing her three kids, watching Netflix with her husband, or working in the NICU, she is a voracious reader, always looking to understand the world better through people’s stories. Preferably with a latte in hand.

Find out more about Jenn on Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter.

The post Postpartum Depression – The Overwhelming Emotions Nobody Told Me Came With the Baby appeared first on Hey Sigmund.

Living with anxiety is definitely not fun or easy, but it is possible. I thought I would never get past the anxiety and would never get a grip on the attacks, but I did. It took time and patience with myself and adjustments in my lifestyle. You have to be willing to commit to doing what it takes to get better. You also need to believe in yourself; that means no self-criticism or condemnation when you slip up or fall apart, but instead working as hard as you can to stay positive. I know it sounds daunting and hard, but you are totally capable of it. Believe me, if I can do it, so can you.

The post Anxiety in Public—Avoiding the Spotlight appeared first on Hey Sigmund.

You often hear people speaking about a place called “Rock Bottom.” The consensus is that to help yourself, you have to realize when you’ve hit the bottom. Some people take years to get to that point. Some people never get there. I’m grateful to say that I am one of those that beat the odds. I hit that bottom, and I hit it hard. The most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do was make my way back up.

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of 19. I started taking medication at that time and still do at age 42. I’ve always been realistic about my condition. Having attempted to exist without medications, I know that they are a necessary evil. If I stop taking them, it doesn’t take long for me to fall into a deep, dark depression. If the physical symptoms of withdrawal don’t kill me first.

I’m logical enough to understand that I will never fully recover from bipolar disorder, and I’m OK with that. Some people have to take medication for the rest of their lives for diabetes or heart disease. So, I don’t burden myself with the thought of getting better. Don’t get me wrong, I am always trying to improve myself and the way that I feel, but I know that there is no cure for bipolar disorder.

In my late 20’s I made the mistake of thinking that I might not want to be around anymore. My depression was beginning to take over my life. Even relatively normal heartaches seem to affect me much greater than the average person. I was also experiencing migraines that started at the age of 12. The older I got, the worse they got.

I felt like I had lost complete control over my life, so I was going to try to kill myself. I was using an old razor, and when I didn’t receive the desired effect, I kept going. Eventually, I stopped thinking about dying and starting to experience what could only be described as calm. I had no idea that this was “a thing”. My mind just kept taking me back to the thought that I was such a failure at life, I couldn’t even commit suicide correctly.

Eventually, self-­injury became a huge part of my life. I had rituals, songs I played, an entire box of instruments, and a safe place to hide them. One night, I made a mistake and went too far. I couldn’t possibly confess to my parents what I was doing, so I did the only thing I thought I could. I called my then boyfriend who abused me, and asked him for help. He drove me to his sister’s house because she had once studied to be a medical assistant. Sitting at her dining room table, she stitched up my arm, with no sanitation and no numbing solution for the pain.

As I got a little older, self­-injury wasn’t necessarily as important to me, but it was always in the back of my mind. I was humiliated when I would date, and the guy would see my scars. I was covered with them.

In May of 2001, I officially started dating the man who would become my husband. He was extremely supportive, but just as confused as anyone else was. He didn’t understand that I was already beating myself up enough; I didn’t need him to get mad at me for the behavior. Eventually, we started working through it, and my urges were much less frequent. In fact, I went five years without an incident until 2013.

The post My Recovery From Self-Injury appeared first on Hey Sigmund.

I guess that must mean that coping crept up when I least expected it!

It’s probably more than clear that this is based on personal experiences. I think the opening paragraph has more than given that one away. So, let’s squash that curiosity and say, that in a delicate and maybe not so eloquent nutshell, it’s about that slightly taboo subject of divorce and co-parenting in a foreign country … and being stuck – my situation, my life! It hits the headlines every now and then and it seems that there’s some fairly strong opinions on it, some valid, some quite purely not! 

Now, one thing I want to do is make something clear from the outset, (not that I necessarily need to because it goes without saying) that your child/children are the most important thing in the world to you. They are your creation, your life, your raison d’etre. You would walk to the end of the earth for them, for their well-being, their harmony and inner peace and your endeavour to maintain what is a life-long commitment. But let’s be honest, giving your child what they need can be difficult when you are falling apart at the seams!

Children and their well-being are crucially important in this subject. I do understand that they are key, but I also know, although you are the parent you are also someone’s child, you are also key.  You clearly need well-being but you also need harmony and inner peace to function in your role.

When you’re faced with divorce and emotional traumas, functioning normally can be monumentally difficult. When there are additional strains such as being in a foreign country, where your network is limited and you don’t speak the language, it’s a very, very lonely place! That feeling of utter helplessness can break the nerve. It’s that crack that can become a gaping sink hole that you can fall into… and easily!

Yet, being overseas and being a «stuck» parent (for want of a better word) is only a mere by-product of the issue. However, it’s a huge by-product and it only adds to the difficulties in hand, it prevents you dealing with the issues leading to frustration and stress.   Below, I am going to outline an understanding of not only what it means to be «stuck» but also discuss some coping mechanisms that are vital to the whole process.

I guess that the easiest way to move this forward, to give it some readability, is to offer an explanation of what it means to parent in a foreign country, why you become «stuck». Here is a clear-cut guide that doesn’t really waiver and some hard facts about the situation in hand!

When your place of residence is not your native country.

1. You can’t just get separated/divorced and decide to move back to your native homeland. 

   Your child is a resident of the country where they live, where you reside. This is where it all begins and this is now the place where it all will take shape. This is now the country where you are bound to remain should you wish to regularly remain in your child’s life. You are now stuck in that country.

2. If you skip country and go back to your native country you will infinitely risk every custody right that you’ve ever had.

3. This is a point whereby many overseas parents become unstuck. The Hague Convention has very effective methods in place against parental abduction but it doesn’t give any consideration to a reason why an abduction has taken place and it won’t tolerate it. Accept it because you are stuck in it.

3. Co-parenting is a very popular choice with the family courts in many EU countries.
   

   Once this is implemented it’s almost impossible to reverse, and every decision to be made about your child is a joint one. If one or another parent doesn’t agree with a decision, it doesn’t happen and you can’t return to a courtroom each time you need something sorted out, apart from the fact that you’ll wait forever and a day for a hearing, it’s damn well expensive.

         You are in it and you are stuck with it!

4. Once you’re in it, you’re not going to get out of it.

   In effect, in many countries, to overturn a custody agreement that has been installed by a family court or by The Hague Convention is nearly impossible, no matter how much money or weight you have to throw at it. You are stuck with it. You need to learn to live with it.

5. Overseas travel is often only permitted with joint consent from both parents.

   And it’s implemented! If your family is overseas and your ex-partner won’t permit that travel, you can not return to your home country with your child, not even for a weekend hangout. You are, in effect, stuck in a situation that you can’t get out of.

So there you have your quick fire guide to how it is. It’s clear and it’s concise and you have to get on with it and you have to damn well deal with it, no matter whatever the weather it is out there!

In life, it doesn’t always go as you want it to, you have to accept things that go wildly against the grains of your beliefs, things that completely destabilize your inner core and peace. And when this happens you need to be able to find a strategy to cope with the discord.

No one said it was going to be easy being an outsider in a foreign country. No one said being a single co-parent was a walk in the park. I am a foreigner but I am also a parent 50% of the time, I parent one week out of two, I have no choice in this, but one of the things that is great about it, is that I’ve ticked choice off my worry list! So here goes, I’m now going to get up close and personal… this is how I did it.

How I made my life less stuck.

1. I moved out of the area.

   I was living in a village with a population of 1100, the nearest civilisation was 45 minutes drive away. I didn’t have the luxury of choice to move far (co parenting stopped that in its tracks) and so I moved to live in that civilisation. Living overseas is already a lonely existence. Your family, your school friends are not down the road, but living without seeing a soul is even more lonely. Our school run may be long but we love the chats in the car on the way and we love even more that we can ice-skate on the weekends and it’s not a day out for an hour of fun!

   ‘Solitude vivifies; isolation kills.’ –Joseph Roux

2. I learnt the language.
   

   Living with the restraints of not being able to converse throws some serious limitations into the mix. I now speak the language… it’s certainly not fluent enough to land me a job with the United Nations but it’s broadened my social life no end. Integrating with your world that’s directly around you is so character building and culture rich. In turn you pass this newly found wealth on to your child, not to mention how much easier homework help becomes.

   ‘The limits of my language means the limits of my world.’                   –Wittgenstein

3. Unconventional is often great, train your mind to be open to it.
   

   I live in something that I consider to be unconventional. When my life became somewhat bohemian, I had to accept that disregard for my own knowledge of conventional practices and embrace them with open arms. I realized fairly early on that I will always be a foreigner, learning cultural differences was almost as difficult as learning a language!

   ‘To expect the unexpected shows a thoroughly modern intellect.’ 
   –Oscar Wilde

4. Don’t waste your energy on unanswerable questions.
   

   No one can answer what the future holds, you can only plan one. Some questions just don’t have a solid answer, live your life each day and plan your future to make it amazing…

   ‘So long as you have food in your mouth, you have solved all questions for the time being.’ –Kafka

5. Careers all have a road leading to them.
   

   You may have some sparkling masters degree in nuclear physics but if you’re battling with limited language skills and you’re not moveable that road may be pretty much demolished. Someone once told me to work with what I’ve got… so I did! I’ve always been one to write     things down, now I get paid for writing things down, I can do this from the comfort of my own home! 

   ‘When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.’ –Hubbard

6. Accept help when it’s on offer and don’t be afraid to ask for it.
   

   No one said you have to survive on bread and water alone. If there’s government help, take it. If your parents can help, ask them to. And it’s not just about financial help. Sometimes you just need someone at the end of the telephone, nothing more, nothing less … pick it up and dial. You’re not necessarily a burden, but your burden may be something that’s a little too heavy to carry alone, use the shoulders of another when you need it!

   Accepting help is its own kind of strength. –Kiera Cass

7. Endure incertitude and authorize it.
   

   You need to understand and accept that life doesn’t always play by the rule book. It’s beyond your control and you need to learn to live alongside this in harmony. It’s surprisingly difficult to do, but if you’re on the bus and you can’t get off so you may as well enjoy the ride somewhat.

   Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing. -William Congreve

It’s clear that life is going to always throw something unexpected into the mix of things. Sometimes that mix is a little more colorful than other people’s mixes, but I guess that the moral of the story is that storms never last forever they just come and go. Some are just a minor gust of wind and some are full on hurricanes that need a little rebuilding afterwards. We get through them with a little patience and hard work! Embrace the changes, make them work for you and learn to love your circumstances whatever they may be.

About the Author: Annabel Rose

Annabel Rose is a Freelance copywriter and blogger with a massive aim to write some attention grabbing, awesome and newsworthy stuff… particulary if it’s got a French or lifestyle feel to it!

And when the rain or work isn’t stopping some fabulous play you’re likely to find her hanging out with her gorgeous daughter, teaching her all of the tips and tricks on how to daydream and be a true aficionado of life!

Biggest battle so far? French verb conjugation, is it imparfait or passé composé. If you’d like to pen her a gorgeous email with a reasonable answer to that irritating French conundrum, or just get her to write you some fabulous articles, here’s her address ; roseannabel@gmail.com. You can find out more about Annabel at https://about.me/annabel_rose.

The post Dealing With it Alone – When You Have No Other Option appeared first on Hey Sigmund.

I suffer from GAD – General Anxiety Disorder. While I used to be incredibly embarrassed by that fact, the more research I do, the more I realize that I’m not alone. Most people don’t see this as a big deal because it’s not life threatening, (thank goodness!) and because it can’t be “seen.”

Unfortunately there is such an unfair stigma against mental health. There’s so much more to it than what meets the eye, and I’m ready to share that without ANY shame. So, let’s dig just a little bit deeper shall we?

What Does It Mean To Have GAD?

Firstly, what does it mean to have anxiety? Well, to be honest, there’s a different definition for every sufferer out there. For me, having anxiety means chronic worrying, self-doubt, and over exhaustion of nerves. The simplest of tasks are daunting and we simply have no control over those feelings.

How Does Anxiety Start?

Theres really no concrete answer to this. Anxiety can occur at anytime to anyone, for any number of reasons.  Sometimes, anxiety is genetically inherited, other times it literally just happens.

My Story.

In my life, I experienced my first panic attack on my 16th birthday in Disney World. Disney freaking World….of all places! I was having a FABULOUS time and my family and I were waiting for dinner at Planet Hollywood, when all of a sudden, this overwhelming sense of terror consumed my body. At the time, I had no idea what was happening. All I knew was that I had to escape, somehow, someway. When it finally passed, I was exhausted, mentally and physically. I hoped to never experience that again.

Flash forward to February 2013 and once again, out of nowhere, I had the absolute worst panic attack of my life. It was a 2 hour ordeal and from that night forward, I was changed. What was once a rare occurrence became a daily battle. I went into hiding. I distanced myself from my family and friends. I lived in constant shame and self-loathing for having this medical condition. Anxiety was like the big bully on the playground, just lurking around every corner waiting for me. My biggest fear was people finding out what I was going through and judging me. I was way too embarrassed to ask for help, and I thought I could handle it on my own.

Unfortunately, I experienced two major tragedies in a short period of time and my anxiety became worse. It started to affect my health in ways I NEVER expected, and so, the time came for me to get some help and begin to heal myself. I began to seek counseling and start medication. That moment was the best decision of my life.  

For the first time in the LONGEST time, I could breathe. I could resume a normal, healthy lifestyle again. I could go out with my family and friends. I could do all of the normal things that I wanted to do. Don’t get me wrong, I still struggle with anxiety. Unfortunately, it’s something that doesn’t just go away overnight. However; I’ve learned to accept it. Anxiety and I are by no means friends, but we are no longer enemies either. There’s so much more I could say about this illness, but each and every person experiences it differently. I will say this though, the journey I’m on is unique. Anxiety will always be a part of it, but I know I can overcome it. I know I can survive it.

What I Want My Loved Ones To Know – What ALL Loved Ones of Anxiety Should Know.

1. We will be frustrating sometimes.

   One of the hardest parts about living with anxiety is what it does to our relationships/friendships. I have a friendship in which anxiety has played a LARGE role in it. I often frustrate, annoy and upset my friend with my behavior. I often hear “stop dwelling”, “stop apologizing”, “stop explaining”, “why are you making a big deal out of this?” and more. It hurts to hear harsh words sometimes. Mainly because I know I dwell, over think & over analyze, but I know I can’t help it. I know it’s horrible for my friend to put up with and I know it’s both exhausting and sickening to her as it is to me. Here’s the thing: Our anxiety ridden selves find it hard to believe that we can be loved and accepted despite this. We are constantly torn between pushing people away, and worrying about losing them. We don’t want to lose the people we love. I know I certainly don’t want to lose my friend. But, our minds simply cannot help but worry over that. It’s frustrating, yes, but it also shows how much we care about you.

2. We can’t do tough love. 

   Sometimes, people with anxiety can have pretty stubborn heads. It takes us awhile to understand something. It’s not because we can’t comprehend, it’s because we have 2 parts of our brain that are fighting to have control. It may be so easy to get tough with us – we know. But, please, know that harshness and tough love, doesn’t help, it hurts. It hurts a lot. It makes us sink further into self-depreciation mode. It makes us feel even worse about ourselves. Please try to be patient with us….we know it is hardly easy, and we know it’s just as rough for you. But, we appreciate your gentleness and sensitivity to us more than anything in this world.

3. We don’t want/need pity.

   Yes, we realize that some people have it way worse than we do. While we need your tones to be gentle, we don’t need you to feel sorry for us. We don’t need to hear “I’m sorry” or “I know you are suffering.” Instead, we need encouragement, positive energy, and an occasional shoulder to lean on.

4. It’s the little things that mean the most to us.

   Anxiety sufferers need to be reassured on occasion. We need to be reminded that we’re loved, cared about, and supported. Something as simple as a sweet text message, hug or affirmation can make a world of difference in our lives.

5. Anxiety is a REAL diagnosis: 

   As I mentioned above, I’ve struggled with other health issues caused by my anxiety. Did you know that anxiety can raise your white blood cells? Neither did I until I had some routine blood work done, only to find out I had to see a hematologist to figure out the problem. I’ve never been so scared. So please, if you or someone you know is struggling with anxiety, encourage them to get help, or be a beacon of help for them. Don’t let them go through this alone.

6. We are more than our anxiety: 

   Yes, anxiety is a part of us, but it’s not all of us. While we worry, regret, get emotional, and may be as confusing and complicated as Calculus, we have some great points. We have a huge heart that loves and cherishes you all dearly. We will always be there for you. We may not always be the best of friends, or family members, but that doesn’t mean we don’t love or respect you. That doesn’t mean we aren’t (or can’t be) a joy to be around. Believe in us….like we believe in you.

About the Author: Allison Acquaviva 

Allison is a 22 year old Public Relations professional; passionate about sharing her story of anxiety and depression in hopes that it will inspire others. She is a woman of Faith, animal advocate, and part time freelance writer. You can find more of Allison’s work on her website, The Positive Princess, on Twitter, Instagram and Pinterest.

[irp posts=”1015″ name=”Anxiety: 15 Ways to Feel Better Without Medication”]

The post Let’s Talk About Anxiety appeared first on Hey Sigmund.

I remember from year 8 and throughout high school there were times I would feel down or nervous for no reason at all. I was well liked by my peers, was never bullied and I am sure most people would say I was a pretty confident guy. Well that confidence was the disguise to some horrible feelings I would experience, not daily, but quite regularly as I was growing up in high school.

I missed quite a lot of school, particularly in year 11 and 12 and I definitely held back from activities I was good at in the fear of making mistakes or looking like a fool in front of my peers. I was a talented guitarist throughout primary school, but gave it up one term into year 8. I was a pretty decent soccer player, but lost my confidence, as I felt extremely intimated by some of the guys who had bigger personalities on the field than I did.

I’d constantly use the injury excuse as a way of covering up my anxiety and confidence issues I had, particularly out on the sporting field. After spending five years at high school, I think I only attended three or four swimming and athletic carnivals because the anxiety I would experience on the lead up to these days was just too much for me to handle.

Once year 12 had finished and TEE was behind me, things started feeling pretty good for me again. Leavers was great fun, school holidays were awesome, I was about to turn eighteen and I was about to start a commerce degree at UWA the following year.

About three weeks before uni started, my mum, dad and I were supposed to attend an information night at the university on the evening of the 27th of January 2010 (a date which will always be significant for my family for all the wrong reasons).

That morning I remember well. I woke up late to find dad asleep on the couch. This wasn’t too unusual as he was on school holidays and for about a year he had been suffering from pretty severe insomnia. After we exchanged some small talk, he got up from the couch and got ready to go out for the afternoon. As he left, I was still sitting on the couch and he was about six meters away from me near the kitchen door.

Before he went out of sight, he looked towards my direction and told me he’d be there with me that night at university. (As I am writing this, sitting on the same lounge room chair, I can almost reach out to dad from the vivid memory I have of that exact moment).

If I had of known this would be the last time I’d speak to him, I probably would have replied to him in a nicer way than the tired/TV watching/distracted grunt that I sent him off with. Dad took his life not long after he left me that afternoon. Still to this day, I am not a hundred per cent sure why he chose to end his life when all he had to do was just tell me he was in a dark place. The family knew he was suffering from some form of depression but nothing to that extent. I think his lack of sleep for over a year, definitely contributed to his poor mental state.

My dad was an exceptional human being. I love him, miss him and think about him every single day.

For years I didn’t really come to terms with dad’s death. I didn’t grieve for nearly as long as I should have and a lot of feelings about his death I bottled up inside me for a very long time.

My mind finally cracked in the middle of last year. Unfortunately this happened during a European trip of a lifetime with some of my best mates. Some of the thoughts that were going through my head during this time were very dark and feelings I had experienced for a number of years had now become tenfold. I had no choice but to tell my mates what I was experiencing and I was very fortunate they gave me the support I needed to get through the rest of my holiday and help me enjoy it as much as I could regardless of how I was feeling.

Things didn’t get any better for me when I got home. I had dark intrusive thoughts that would be in my head every second of the day. I would wake up extremely nervous for no apparent reason every day and my heart was constantly beating 100 miles an hour. Just imagine that feeling you get in your stomach when you’re watching your favorite footy team in a nail biting game. Once the final siren goes, that feeling of adrenaline eventually passes. For me, I had this feeling constantly for about the next six months. During this time, I was analyzing every single symptom I was experiencing not knowing what was really wrong with me. I became a prisoner of my own mind for such a long time and there was no escape.

This constant analysis of every single feeling I was experiencing made me live a life deep inside my own mind resulting in uncomfortable sensations of depersonalization and derealism. For anyone who has experienced this, you will know it is one of the worst byproducts and most terrifying symptoms of severe anxiety. It makes you question your reality, causes long-term and constant feelings of unrealty and before you know it, you don’t recognize the person looking back at you in the mirror.

Although living with these symptoms was extremely difficult, suicide was never an option for me. Taking my life may have solved all of my problems right there and then, but it’s the people you leave behind that are the ones who have to suffer for the rest of their lives.

I was prescribed anti anxiety medication and saw a psychologist once a week for about 10 weeks and I was officially diagnosed with depression with the major symptom of anxiety. Talking openly about how I was feeling was definitely the first major step I had to take on the road to recovery. I opened up to my family and then my close mates, but for me, the best thing I could have done was accept the way I was feeling and not fear the anxiety I was feeling. By over analyzing every symptom I was experiencing, I was fighting fire with fire and before I knew it, I became anxious about my anxiety (if that makes sense).

Late September last year, I decided to give in to what I was feeling. I decided that if I am going to feel this way, I am no longer going to fight my feelings and let these anxious and depressive thoughts stop me from living a normal life.

I rolled with every single weird feeling or thought I experienced and no longer deeply analyzed how I was feeling. In doing this, before I knew it, I went a couple of days feeling normal and then slipped back into an anxious state of mind. I didn’t let that bother me and when I did relapse, I did the same thing again and before I knew it, better days turned into better weeks and better weeks turned into better months. In time, some form of normality returned for me and I can honestly say, I feel I finally have control of my anxiety and a control of this black dog on the end of this very long lead.

I am not sure who said this but the words are very true.

Mental illness does not discriminate. It doesn’t matter whether you are successful, it doesn’t matter how intelligent you are, how rich you are, it can hit you at any time in your life.

The photo I have attached to this story was taken at one of the worst times of my life. Beyond my tired eyes, beyond my smile, there is a person struggling… but that’s okay.

About the Author: Ale`Alberti 

Ale` is cofounder of Black Dog on a Lead, a community group that encourages people to talk openly about depression.

Open communication is key for eliminating any stigma or taboo associated with this illness. The question is: why should society treat depression differently to any other illness. Think about what it would look like for those with the illness if they felt comfortable communicating it to their family, friends and community. 

Whilst depression is difficult to cure fully, the effects of it can be managed effectively. Essentially this is what “Black Dog on a Lead” symbolises. The “Black Dog” is a metaphor for an unwelcome companion that externalises dark feelings, that follows you around BUT that ultimately is distinct from a person’s underlying personality. By putting a “lead” on that Black Dog it can be tamed, disciplined and controlled.

Depression should not be a one-man battle. Let’s all march together, united in the fight against this illness. You can keep track of their work and stay in touch through the Black Dog on a Lead Facebook Page.

(I had the pleasure of meeting Ale` recently at YouthSpeak. He, together with co-founder of Black Dog on a Lead, Massimo Iustini, are doing incredible work. They’re warm, genuine and open, and dedicated to breaking the stigma of  mental illness. They are doing this by sharing their own powerful stories and I’ve seen the difference they’re making. After sharing their stories, I watched young people come forward – brave, strong and beautifully open, all of them – to share their own struggles. Conversation is a powerful thing. For details of future events and to keep in touch with the work they’re doing, follow them here on their Black Dog on a Lead Facebook page).

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