Many of you have heard Rob’s and my good news: we’re expecting! I’m 14 weeks along, so just beginning my second trimester. After a miscarriage, pregnancy can feel like a tentative and uncertain thing, but as the weeks have gone by, we’ve become more confident and I’ve allowed myself to get excited.
But I feel like there are two people living inside my head right now. One person is more happy than she’s ever been before: I can’t wait to have a baby and February can’t come soon enough. That person, though, is wracked with self-disappointment and anxiety. Pregnancy and mental illness can be a bad combination. Continue reading “Anxiety: Giving Myself Grace”
This month marks five years living with Bipolar Disorder. On one hand, I can’t believe it’s been that long. I can still remember sitting in that physiatrist’s office, smelling that cinnamon candle, and hearing the diagnosis for the first time. On the other hand, I feel like I’ve had Bipolar disorder for a lot longer than that. I’ve been taking time to reflect on these past five years. Life is a lot more complicated than it once was. I’m a different person now. Life has forever been altered. All of that is true. But what else have I learned about myself?
Continue reading “5 Things I’ve Learned about Myself After 5 Years with Bipolar Disorder”
How do you feel?
When I’m feeling low, it’s really hard to answer the “How are you?” question. Most people, when they ask that question, are not looking for an actual answer. When the clerk at the grocery store asks me how I’m doing, she doesn’t exactly have the time to hear me list every single one of my problems. She’s paid to swipe my bag of Bolthouse carrots across the scanner—the “How are you?” is just polite. (Duh.) “How are you?” is simply the cultural acknowledgment of another’s existence. But when I’m depressed, being asked that question stings a little.
Continue reading “How do you feel?”
Lazarus died twice.
We’re all familiar with the first time—when Jesus showed up and triumphed over death—and I think it’s a story worth revisiting time and time again. Any time a guy rises from the dead, it’s worth at least taking note. (Especially when it involves Jesus.)
But not until recently—thanks to my ever-reflective husband— did I consider that Lazarus died again. I wonder if he was scared about it: knowing that this time, there would be no coming back. Or was he less afraid? Continue reading “Healing”