Why doesn’t anyone talk about this?

What I am referring to are mental health issues.

So, I’ll ask again — Why doesn’t anyone talk about this? I’ll tell you why, from my point of view.
Fear of judgement. Fear of being misunderstood. Fear of not being taken seriously. Fear of social stigma. Lots of fear.

I’ve been inspired by my sister to start a blog. I used to blog all the time ‘back in the day’ (LiveJournal, Xanga, anyone?), back before it was even called blogging. I just called it my journal.

I’m inspired to start this blog for a number of reasons. For one, and probably most importantly — It’s therapeutic to get my thoughts out there in black and white. For two, why not? It can be a little side project for me. The title of the blog is ‘themindofsteph’ for exactly that reason. Random musings from my mind that need to break free.

Ready?

The main reason I felt particularly compelled to start a blog was because I’m dealing with some stuff. This so called “stuff” doesn’t seem like something that anyone talks about. I’m getting frustrated about it too because I keep Googling and searching in hopes of finding someone who has a similar story. There just aren’t many resources out there, it seems.

I thought, maybe if I can write a blog about it to share among the masses then perhaps it will help someone else going through “stuff” one day?

This “stuff” I’m talking about are mental health issues.
No. I’m not crazy. No. I’m not on medication. Yes. I am dealing with “stuff”.

I want to share a brief, super ‘high-level’ timeline with you of “stuff” that has happened in my life in the area of mental health. No, it’s not pretty. No, it’s not sparkly. Yes, it might be hard for some of you out there to read or accept.

Here’s a timeline for you to consider:
Age 16 — First love, abuse, first cutting, first contemplation of suicide, first hearing things that weren’t there, etc.
Age 25 — Not so good medical test outcome. Word cancer thrown around. Surgery. First panic attacks.
Age 28 — White-knuckle panic attacks for years. Finally seek therapy. Diagnosed with Panic Disorder.
Age 30 — Pregnant now and dealing with Perinatal Depression and seeking early treatment for Postpartum Depression.

Now, don’t get it twisted. I’ve had and still have an amazing life that many would kill to have. This isn’t about a pity party for me. I just want people to know that things aren’t always what they seem.

Behind the smile, behind the cute outfit, behind the makeup, peeling away the layers of the seemingly ‘happy, bubbly spirited person’ is a person with “stuff” just like everybody else.

I’m. Not. Perfect.
In fact, I’m quite flawed and I’m going through depression right now.

There. I said it.

What does it feel like?
There are days where all I do is cry. Not just cry, sob. Uncontrollably. These days are starting to get closer and closer together for me which is why I am writing this. I cry about everything and nothing at the same time.

Then there’s the guilt. The guilt is unbelievable.

Did you know that I have literally everything I could ever want in this life?
So, why am I still sad?
I got pregnant on the second try. I’ve had a healthy pregnancy. No morning sickness. No *physical* issues.
So, why am I still sad? 
I have the biggest and the best of everything for Bella. Price was literally no issue. I even went shopping out of town because no stores around here were good enough.
So, why am I still sad?
I absolutely refuse to be a poorly dressed pregnant woman so I spent roughly $1,000 on a new wardrobe and I think I have my “somewhat cute” pregnant moments.
So, why am I still sad?
I have family and friends who are like family who helped put on the swankiest baby shower that the Art Center has ever seen (I was told this by numerous staff members and the event planner) — seriously, it was like a wedding reception.
So, why am I still sad?
I have true friends, who never forget to include me, and who are always there for me.
So, why am I still sad?
I got to travel across Europe and experience things that most will never get to experience.
So, why am I still sad?
I have an incredibly supportive husband who works hard and makes sure that I have everything my heart desires on a silver freaking platter (from Tiffany & Co., because…I love me some Tiffany’s.).
So, why am I still sad?

…do you see where I’m going with this? The guilt is horrible because I have everything in life and yet, is it not enough? Am I not thankful? Am I truly that ungrateful for my life and the many blessings in it?
I feel like depression is just not logical. There is no logical reason why I should feel sad, but I truly do. It is absolutely draining and makes me feel like a failure of a person.

Anyone who knows me knows that I absolutely love Christmas. I’m always singing Christmas carols in July, making tons of delicious food from scratch, throwing huge parties (with games and ugly sweaters) and am the first to want to decorate and trim the tree. I’m one of those weird people who wishes we could skip Halloween and go straight into the Holidays.

Did you know that last year that I struggled to wrap even a single present? 
Last Holiday season, my Daddy got sick. Anyone who knows my dad knows that he is a super healthy dude. Sure he’s starting to push 60 a little, but he has always been health conscious and an extremely avid cyclist (road and mountain bike). I will say that Dad is doing much better now and the outlook is good.
However — back in December, I basically I had to tell him in the hospital that we were expecting little Bella not long after he was holding my hand giving me the “if I don’t make it” talk. Ya know what? That messes with a person.

They say that when you’re depressed you are no longer interested in the things that once held value. If anyone truly knows me they know that I absolutely love to sing. I’d sing in the car, in the shower and just standing around in my living room belting out Disney songs, show tunes, etc — the acoustics rock with our cathedral ceiling.
Do you know that I haven’t truly had the desire to sing in I can’t remember how long?
I feel like I am cheating Bella out of that, too. Her little ears are developed now and she can actually pick up on simple songs and lullabies…but Mommy is too sad to sing right now. This breaks my heart.

It just feels like this entire pregnancy has been riddled with disappointments even though I have everything in the world to be thankful for. I’m not going to go into all the disappointments but they are there and they are all, frankly, on the same “serious level” as the one I mentioned above. I can only handle so much, I feel like.

…and here’s where guilt sets in again. “Yeah, but Stephanie…think of so-and-so, they just had a life threatening illness. Think of so-and-so who have had way more problems than you. What about this person who just lost a loved one? At least you have your loved ones.”

Thinking like that doesn’t help at all. Don’t you think I feel bad for so-and-so?

Dealing with this feels like something is attached to me, sucking my energy away. It literally is a dark cloud that follows me around. Sometimes the cloud is just there, hanging out…being a cloud. And then other times the cloud erupts into the nastiest thunderstorm and leaves me drenched without an umbrella wondering what the hell just happened. It just depends on the day. There is usually very little rhyme, reason or predictability to this stupid cloud.

I’m tired.

I’m tired of putting on a happy face. I’m tired of faking it. I’m tired of quickly drying my tears, powdering my nose, fluffing my hair and hoping that no one notices. Do you know how many times I’ve done this? I just have no energy for it anymore.

I’m writing this so maybe, just maybe you’ll understand. Or you’ll try to understand. Or maybe you’ll understand a smidge more than you would have prior to reading this.

I’m writing this so other people who are depressed can know that they aren’t alone.
If you’re depressed while pregnant, or after pregnant, or not even being pregnant at all — know that you aren’t alone.

That leads me to this —

What doesn’t help?
Making this about you. This isn’t about you, it’s about me. Sorry to be selfish.

Also, the cliche, “It gets better.” — Does it? Do you know that for a fact? Do you know what I’m going through? Do you know that I feel like a prisoner in my own mind? But it get’s better? What’s your basis for comparison, I wonder?
“You’ll pull through, it’s going to be okay.” — Will I? Are you sure? I’m not so much.

Saying those things might feel like you are being supportive, but to the depressed person it just feels like you brushing their cares/problems/issues off to the side.

It’s one of those things that you can’t really say “I know how you feel”, unless you’ve been in the abyss with me.

What does help? Just letting people know that you are and will always be there for them. That you hear what they are saying and that you are there to offer support, love and encouragement. Tell them how special they are to you. How much they are cared about and cherished by you. Don’t forget them. Include them. Put some verbs in your sentences. Action. Simply being there is a powerful thing.  If you find that you are one of very few people that I actually do confide in, your task of ‘being there’ is especially important.

So friends, before you judge someone…maybe try getting to know them first? Let’s extend kindness to everyone and not judgement and harsh words.

Specifically, my challenge to you is when you ask a pregnant friend how they are doing, if you are close enough friends with them…maybe check in emotionally and spiritually as well? It’s not always about physical health. The answers you could get for each thing could be staggeringly different and you might just be the only person who cared enough to ask.

If I had a nickle for each time someone asked me how I was feeling (physically) and I simply smiled, fighting back tears with a hand on my belly and said, “I’m just fine, thanks for asking! How are you?”