Author Archives: LHale

About LHale

Sassy, outspoken, laughing, football loving, F1 & MotoGP fanatic, coffee and beer snob, bacon addicted Mama blogging about Postpartum Mood Disorders as she tries to figure out her new place in this world. C'mon along for the ride, won't ya?

Just A Whisper In The Dark

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Life takes us sometimes, grabs us tightly around the waist, turns us upside down, and shakes us until we are mere shadows of what we once were. Then, just as abruptly, it sets us back in an upright and locked position, only without everything solidly locked back into place.

This is when healing and growth takes place.

It’s hell.

Some of us heal faster than others with the kindness of strangers bestowed upon us. Strangers who find all that which we’ve lost and gift us new things we need to deal with this new “self” we’ve been gifted.

Some of us, even with the kindness of strangers, don’t heal as fast. That’s okay too. It’s frustrating but we are all on our own journey. Your journey will not look like her journey or his journey or even my journey. Sure, we can sit around a campfire, compare notes, and possibly even realize we have some things in common but ultimately, we are all on our own island, struggling to survive.

Technology has made it easier to connect between these islands and created a virtual campfire.

But it’s also made it easier for those who don’t support us to fling unsupportive words our way as we try to share and reach out for the support we so desperately need.

So we find ourselves stuck.

Stuck between needing to reach out to those like us and not wanting those who don’t understand to turn our cries for support into fodder for their attacks.

We might freeze. We might get silent, watchful, worried, allow the fear of attack to keep us from fully healing. Until.

Until we realize that it’s OUR STORY, and we have a right to share our story. We inhale, brace ourselves, and begin to speak up. Maybe a whisper at first, but eventually it turns into a barbaric YAWP as we realize we are above those who would grab us and keep us down, that in order to heal, we must learn to shake off the chains of that which has held us down in the past.

It’s important for us to give ourselves permission to be that which we think others won’t let us be as we move forward. No one has the right to tell you who you are…aside from yourself. One of my favourite quotes is from Eleanor Roosevelt: “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”

No more complicit participation in accepting that I am anything less than ME – a mental health advocate, a Mom, a girlfriend, a woman, a daughter, a sister, and someone searching for herself in the wind.

This is me.

Working toward my barbaric YAWP.

If you tweet it, it will trend….eventually

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When I first started #PPDChat, I had no idea where it would go. Or if people would even want to talk about Postpartum Mood Disorders on Twitter.

Postpartum Mood & Anxiety Disorders are often discussed behind closed doors in hushed voices. It’s not the sort of thing you climb up to the rooftop and scream about. You don’t post a sign along with the “It’s a girl!” or “It’s a Boy!” saying “I have a Postpartum Mood & Anxiety Disorder!” No. It’s not like that at all.

It’s quietly survived, shoved to the back of the table, ignored, discarded as a topic of conversation.

Or at least it was.

Through the blessed advent of technology, more and more women are using their keyboards to raise their voices –detailing their experiences with Postpartum Mood & Anxiety Disorders. Husbands are sharing too –their survival of their partner’s struggle– and some, even their own struggle with depression or anxiety after a child joins their lives.

Postpartum Mood & Anxiety Disorders survivors and fighters are not so silent any longer.

Then today, we got really loud and this happened: #PPDChat trend

Yes. That’s humble #ppdchat, trending. On Twitter. Twitter, where there are millions of tweets every day, thousands of tweets per second.

I don’t know what #PPDChat did to deserve a spot on the trending list – we were just having our weekly moderated chat at 1pm ET. And then BAM. On the list.

Whatever algorithm gods saw fit to smile upon us today, thank you. Thank you for shining your light on a humble little chat dedicated to destroying the stigma and misinformation of Postpartum & Mood Disorders –dedicated to allowing women across the globe to connect and feel a little less alone in their dark vortex of pain.

But most of all, a HUGE THANK YOU to every single person who has ever participated in a chat. To every single person who has ever said thank you or encouraged me to keep on keeping on with my work with #ppdchat. Every second of it is a blessing and seeing the community in action is mind-blowing –every time. Even to those who only read along with the chat, thank you too for following us. Because without participation, without support, this, trending on Twitter for just a short bit, would never have been possible.

Thank you. Thank you all for raising your voices and silencing the stigma and misinformation – for supporting each other – and for being AWESOME.

We did this.

Together.

Because we are not alone in the dark.

My deep dark painful secret

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This year, I plan to work diligently to blog more, to write more, and to find my voice again. It’s been a rough couple of years in my world and it’s been rocked in quite a few different directions. 

I’m writing today to share with you one of the biggest way in which my world has been rocked in the past few months.

First, if you have followed my blog for any amount of time, you know that I found love in the summer of 2012. He still takes my breath away and is more than I could ever dream of having in my life. He and I truly are soul mates –we don’t just finish each other’s sentences, we steal each other’s thoughts.

In order to explain to you fully what’s going on with me, I kind of have to back up a little bit. And then jump forward, then back, etc. So hang on. This might get bumpy.

In the summer of ’95, I fell while working. I nailed the middle of my upper back. It hurt. A lot. To the point where I could barely move. But, I was young and naive so I just powered through it. I continued to have issues with upper back pain throughout college, particularly after a car accident. I saw a few doctors, including one who told me I was fine and there was nothing he could do for me –that I just needed to let it heal.

So…I accepted this “pain” as something I would just have to live with. Most of the time, I was fine. By this time though, I had developed a “tic” of popping my back and my neck. I pop my neck and my back every few seconds now, and it migrated to my shoulders eventually as well. These days, I am unable to sit still because I am constantly adjusting my body in search of the most comfortable position.

Then I had kids. While pregnant, I had severe issues with pelvic alignment. My pelvis popped out of alignment and would stay out of alignment nearly my entire first pregnancy because my doctor dismissed it as “normal pregnancy pain.” I had no choice but to accept this as he was pretty much the only OB in town. After birth, I felt better but still had back and neck issues, made much worse while my pelvis was out of alignment.

With each pregnancy, I continued to have pelvic issues. Although the OB’s for my second and third pregnancies did not dismiss it and I received physical therapy for the issues.

About a year after my third pregnancy, I decided I had to lose weight. I had ballooned up to 281 lbs and that was just not acceptable. I could barely stand up from a seated position and my feet felt like they were on fire all the time. I don’t even want to talk about my back – I was in constant pain.

So I watched what I ate and exercised – first on the Wii then out and about with walks, hikes, etc. I lost 50 lbs in six months.

Then I went through a divorce. Moved home with my parents. Worked hard to continue exercising but eventually, I became so depressed I stopped. Also – I injured my knee while riding the exercise bike and was forced to stop, scared to start-up again for fear of re-injury.

Fast forward to this past summer. I started to go to the gym with my boyfriend. I hit the pool –hard. Within just two months, I was up to swimming breaststroke a total of 120 minutes a day (twice a day). I felt AMAZING.

Then… I didn’t.

I was exhausted. Tired. To the point that I could barely keep my eyes open during the day. I slipped in and out of consciousness during the day and yet still slept soundly at night. My left arm wasn’t functioning properly and my eyesight was blurry when I woke up and for most of the day. The simple act of even walking from the bedroom to the bathroom wore me out before I even got out of bed to do it.

At first, we thought maybe it was PMS. I’ve had sheer exhaustion days right before Aunt Flo arrives — but then AF came and went and I was still exhausted.

I tried to swim again. I swam eight minutes before my head began to pound and my eyes felt like they were about to pop out of my skull. Defeated, I slunk from the pool, infuriated, confused, and extremely worried about myself.

We talked over the possibilities. Could it be related to diverticulitis? (I’d gone to the ER with a serious stomach pain issue earlier in the summer – we had since decided it had to be diverticulitis as it wasn’t gallbladder related and only happened when I ate nuts or seeds). No – because that wouldn’t explain the extreme fatigue and grogginess plus I didn’t have stomach pain.

What if it was … wait.. neck related? I decided, the weekend after my birthday, to go walk a 5k for Mental Health. IF it was neck related and not systemic, I wouldn’t be fatigued afterward as walking isn’t jarring on the neck, right?

I walked the 5k, no problem.

I started sleeping with a neck pillow that night, and felt slightly better the next day –almost no fatigue.

We made an appointment for me to see a doctor the following Monday. After sharing with her my entire story, she suspected that I had something called “Ankylosing Spondylitis.” She wanted to refer me for a blood test to check for the marker. Thing is, after some research, you can still have it EVEN if you don’t have the marker. I don’t have health insurance so I can’t afford expensive blood tests, particularly ones which may be inconclusive.

The more I read about AS, the more I am positive it is what is wrong with me.

Ankylosing Spondylitis is a form of arthritis which centers on the neck and the spine. It causes all sorts of issues similar to the ones I have experienced. Flares are exactly like the episode I had in September and the eyesight issues are a well known accompaniment. Ultimately, AS can be responsible for fused vertebrae.

For the most part, I’m doing okay. Sure, I have my bad days but for now, the good ones are outweighing them. But when I have a bad day, the pain and the pressure causes what’s referred to as a “brain fog” and I can’t think straight. I’m forgetful now. Sometimes downright stupid. I will talk and get words wrong or mispronounce them. Or I’ll completely forget what I was saying mid-sentence.

So if I tell you I’ll do something and I don’t follow through – it’s okay to push me or remind me. Because chances are I have genuinely forgotten as a result of all of this. It’s terribly frustrating and embarrassing.

Right now, as I sit here, typing this, I’m having to blink quite often because my vision sucks this morning (and it’s not due to bad eyesight, it’s the neck thing) and I’m also forcing myself to hyper-focus because I am in a bit of a fog today. I imagine it’ll clear by three or so – it typically takes all day.

I am waiting for a new swimsuit from Land’s End so I can get back in the pool and swim – it’s one of the few exercises which is known to help with AS. What’s most frustrating about it is that I can no longer sit or stand for extended periods. So my day is now a delicate balance of sitting, standing, and making sure I am not overexerting myself into a flare. It kinda sucks but..it is what it is.

Exhales.

So there it is. That’s what I am dealing with now, on a daily basis. I keep telling myself it could be worse. I could be unable to move at all or need to rely completely on someone (and some days – I do need my boyfriend to help me stand because this thing also affects knees and well – standing is pretty damn hard without knee power). For now – over the counter meds work. We recently purchased a new pillow for me and it has helped so much I haven’t had to take meds. I may need to take meds today though. And that’s okay.

I’m a survivor. I’ll survive this too.

In the Aftermath of Tragedy

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There was an event this morning, as I’m sure many are already aware – how could you not be? You won’t find a link to it within this post. It is horrible, and people struggle to make sense of this senseless tragedy as the news races across every platform to which I (and you) belong.

People sharing every shred of new information as the media spoon feeds it to us, commenting on how the media should be handling the situation, what could have been done to prevent it, quarterbacking the chaotic mess from the safety of their living rooms, coffee houses, and wherever else they may be. For some, it may be their job. For others, they may simply be newshounds obsessed with over-sharing the hot story of the day or the moment. For others, they may have followers in the area or live there themselves.

For those of us who struggle with things like OCD which sprung up after childbirth, a disorder of which harmful thoughts toward our own children is a hallmark, days like today are HARD. For those of us who struggle with any sort of mental illness and are triggered by disaster or tragedy, days like today are damn near impossible.

I just spent 45 minutes cleaning the bathroom. Why? Because ALL that was on my timeline at Twitter and Facebook was in regards to the events at an elementary school today and I couldn’t cope with every shred of information overwhelming my otherwise cheery feed. I needed today to be happy. Selfish of me considering it’s horrible for so many in that town?

No.

It’s self-protective.

In this day and age, when we have the most access to information, we also have the MOST CONTROL over what comes into our lives, into our digital lives. If we can’t handle it or we find ourselves triggered, turn it off. Walk away. Go do something productive. Don’t let the chaos swallow you whole.

This is a lesson I learned nearly 5 years ago when, after watching a live car chase, the man responsible exited the vehicle with an infant in one arm, a handgun in his other hand. I don’t know how it ended by that image is forever burned on my psyche.

I have a fast and hard rule – unless it affects me directly, I don’t watch or read the news. I haven’t intentionally turned on a network based news broadcast in years. If I watch anything political, I watch CSPAN. Why? Because I know that I am easily triggered.

If you’re active on Social Media, as I am, please ask yourself before you RT every bit of evidence/news regarding an unfolding story –

  • What’s the point of this RT?
  • How will it help my followers?
  • Do they need to know this?

If you have followers in the area in which the situation is unfolding, then yes, share. I RT’d a lot of information regarding Sandy and resources – even though Sandy was and still is somewhat triggering for me. But if the event will only serve to potentially trigger my followers (most of whom follow me for my PPD work), I don’t RT it. Not because I want them to be in the dark, but because I don’t want to add to something which may already be triggering for them. Instead, I let them know that I am aware of the situation and I’m available to talk if they need. Then I suggest they @ or DM me – because I’m not going to be active on Social Media once an event like today’s blows up my timeline.

If you find yourself triggered today as well, know that there is help. Reach out. Talk to someone. Unplug from Social Media and the Internet if it’s too much. Go do a puzzle. Take a walk. Bake a cake. Coffee with a friend. Playground with your kids. Watch a funny movie or some stand-up comedy. Call your therapist if you have to.

Laugh. Live. Love.

Days like today hurt because they remind us of our mortality and how fragile it is – no one wants to be reminded of that. No one wants to have it shoved in our faces.

Sometimes, as hard as they had it, I think our forefathers had it easier because they didn’t get this sort of thing tearing into their day. Sure they lived shorter lives because they didn’t have access to the medical technology and other technology which extends our lives today but you know what?

I’m willing to bet their lives were happier.

If you are in the U.S. and find yourself triggered by today’s events, please reach out to @distressline on Twitter or call their Hotline (1-800-985-5990) or SMS (text TalkWithUs to 66746) operate 24/7 to be connected with a trained volunteer who can talk you through your feelings & connect you with local resources.

Through a Shattered Looking Glass

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I grew up on the Jersey Shore. Memories of my childhood are ensconced there, on the beach of Ocean Grove, in the quiet lull of the Manasquan inlet, speeding down Rankin Road in Brielle on my bicycle and hoping to stop before smashing into a giant oak.

Girl Scouts, the local park, soccer, softball, piano lessons, Perkins instead of Halloween, church, camping trips, the Pine Barrens, Englishtown. Bagels, pizza, the roar of the ocean every day during the summer after Cream Cheese & Grape Jelly Sandwiches whilst watching The Prices Is Right at my grandmother’s house. The smell of coffee mixed with Entenmann’s topped off with the wafting odor of printer’s ink. So many memories crammed into such a short amount of time.

As with all memories, there are good and bad.

Bullying, incessant teasing from classmates because I didn’t live in a mansion. My parents drove sensible vehicles, okay, sensible vehicles which may or may not have had rusted floor boards. (I really miss the green & white Dodge Ramcharger with the rusted “viewfinders” along the back seat floor board!)

Death. I lost count of how many relatives crossed to the other side during my childhood. I lost both grandmothers by the time I was a freshman in High School. My first grandmother passed away on a Thanksgiving. Before she passed, she told me to “Be the best you can be. Always.” Perhaps she didn’t use those exact words, I was 11 and had more important things on my mind, but that’s always stuck with me.

We moved away from New Jersey when I was 12, almost 13. Truth be told, I was happy to be moving away. A new start. No teasing or bullying. Finally. I could be me.

But then I kind of missed it. You see, our house in Jersey was on a dead end street. I got along with the other kids on our street. We played outside, a lot. I was also the only girl. I played Cops & Robbers, tackle football, baseball, Olympics, random games of street-hockey, etc. Life was good on the street, just not at school.

The house in Virginia was in the middle of nowhere. Our nearest neighbors were 6 feet underground – yes, a cemetery. Quite a change from suburbia for a kid who was used to going out and playing with the neighborhood kids.

I romanticized my time in New Jersey as I grew older. Particularly in college after losing my grandfathers. Any time spent with my paternal grandparents was in Jersey for the most part. I clung to those memories. Their houses, the way they smelled, my grandmother’s elegant clothes she let me wear to play dress up, my grandmother’s amazing cooking, and my grandfather’s massive pines lining his pristine black asphalt driveway up to his green and white Cape-Cod style house.

In my head, my memories are trapped in a snow-globe, just beyond a looking glass. Perfect, happy, and never-ending –like old movies stuck on repeat in a theatre.

And then…..

Sandy.

(I’m crying now.)

Sandy.

Not only am I aware of the massive destruction she left in her path, I survived the massive storm myself as it passed over Pennsylvania, where I now call home.

I meant to go home to Ocean Grove, to Brielle, to Point Pleasant – to eat at Vic’s in Bradley Beach again – to visit friends and family still residing there– before Sandy.

I’m still going but it won’t be the same.

The looking glass is shattered and so am I.

I keep telling myself Sandy didn’t destroy the memories I hold so near and dear in my head and heart – nothing can do that unless I allow it to do so.

In the grand scheme of things, I’m lucky. Our townhouse is still standing, our power was only out for nearly 4 days, and we didn’t have to wait for FEMA or the government to help us. No gas rationing here. I’m grateful.

Grateful but shaken.

Shaken because all the mourning, all the grieving, everything, has come undone within just a few short weeks and I don’t know how to fix it just yet. I’m shocked and bewildered to have been affected this way. It’s as if Sandy pulled a string on the bag holding all these memories and now I have to catch them but they’re growing as fast as a group of Tribbles. Every time I think I have things under control again, something else pops up. What’s worse is that I’m not sure how to put this into words – not yet. I realize I am but when it actually happens, I struggle to convey how I am feeling because I don’t know.

I don’t feel as if I have a right to feel the way I do when so many who still live on the Shore and in NYC are facing so much more loss than I am as a result of Sandy’s vicious attack. I know trauma is in the eye of the beholder. I know. I’m striving to give myself permission for my emotional reaction –once I achieve that part, the rest will be all downhill, just like cruising down Rankin with the wind in my face when I was a young girl.

As the Jersey Shore rebuilds –and I know they will because we Jersey folks are a strong breed — I will be rebuilding my memories and working to remind myself no one can ever take them away from me. I will give myself permission to mourn the change and the loss of this tremendous storm. I will continue to move forward and persevere.

I am Jersey Strong.