Why I Don’t Blog Anymore

Last night David asked me why I don’t blog anymore. I don’t have a great answer, but I suppose some sort of explanation might result in a blog post, so here goes.

My brain seems to have trouble staying focused long enough to string multiple paragraphs together coherently. It’s hard for me to determine the exact cause for the current state of my brain, but it has been a steady problem over the last couple years and three situational things could be the culprit: having a second child who is a lot of work, relearning life after a child’s cancer treatment, changing careers into something that requires quite a bit of creative energy.

Likely any of the above could be to blame. I’ve also had struggles with managing depression and anxiety over the last couple of years, and I was diagnosed with ADHD fairly recently. Finding the proper medication to manage these conditions has been a nightmare and I’ve mostly given up. I’ve thrown my hands up in the air and I’m just muddling through with subpar depression medication and zero ADHD medication. Which is exhausting.

Needless to say, I am thoroughly frustrated with life and the fact that I often can’t seem to get my words out (other than through a litany of complaints) doesn’t help. As David pointed out to me, though, writing is (was) my outlet and it seems to be a need for me. So even if this is a disjointed litany of complaints, it will at least be beneficial to me (hopefully).

If you’re reading this, thank you in advance for bearing with me through this.

Motherhood is Maddening

I don’t like being a mother. There, I said it. Don’t get me wrong: I love my kids. My heart bursts with love for them. I’m not sure who I would even be without them. I am grateful for their existence beyond anything.

But the role of motherhood is maddening. I am terrified of losing my kids, whether it be through cancer or some heinous crime like violence in schools or trickle down effects from an insane orange dictator. Fearing for your kids’ safety constantly is crazy-making.

Motherhood is exhausting. It is primarily up to me to monitor my kids’ food intake, to stay on top of their vaccines and appointments, to make decisions about schools and IEP goals and assessments and extra-curricular activities, to keep track of clothing they grow out of and replacements of said clothing. I know I should ask for help more often, but regarding that I point you to You Should’ve Asked.

Motherhood is staring your own failings in the face every day. Jack is struggling with depression and anxiety. Despite telling myself that he at least has a mom who gets it and can help him navigate it all, I am still constantly heartbroken over it. I am a contributing factor. I knew going into parenthood that there were risks and that mental health problems run in my family. I should be doing more to help him. He needs better therapy (Kaiser just doesn’t cut it) but I can’t seem to find the time or funds for it.

Even as I’m writing this, I’m telling myself, “You are only one person and you are doing your best. You love your kids and that’s what matters. You don’t have to be a perfect parent. Your kids will be fine regardless.” Even that adds to the crazy-making!

And let’s talk about my second-born for a moment. I struggle with him. He is highly active and into everything and doesn’t sleep. Since Dez has been born, it has become RARE for David and I to sleep in the same bed. Bedtime with Dez is long and drawn out and exhausting, often involving tears and anger and throwing things. It has gotten better, 3 and a half years in (at least he sleeps through the night most nights), but that is all relative. (Please, do not give advice on this. We have tried everything. EVERYTHING. EV.ERY.THING.)

Dez is the type of kid who will purposely do something after you told him not to. If you try to discipline him, he will laugh right in your face. He is a limit-tester and he gets away with too much because we are simply beaten down. We’ve taken him to two different events recently and each time only stayed an hour because it’s just too exhausting to manage him. Even when it goes well, we head out early because anything could happen.

Dez is also smart and sweet and funny, but damn! He is a tiny terror and has me completely relearning and questioning what it means to be a parent.

Being the Parent of a Cancer Survivor

While Jack is much easier than Dez in many respects, he clearly has his own challenges. Obviously, cancer is to blame for the biggest challenge of them all!

It’s been over 2 years since treatment ended and life has improved dramatically. Jack has had only 1 absence from school all year, a huge change from the years where he rarely made it to school a full week. He is rarely sick and when he does get a cold, he recovers more quickly than any of us. (Caveat: I still freak out inside when he does get sick or is feeling “off.” I’ll never get over the cancer diagnosis.)

But the fallout is rough. Mental health issues, learning disabilities, and a general feeling of being different from others around him. He is having quite the existential crisis and asking questions about the meaning of life much too early.

The needle phobia, on which we spent thousands of dollars on a therapist who specializes in exposure therapy for phobias, never fully went away and only got stronger after we quit therapy (partially due to finances but also due to having made significant progress).

We finally tried medication to try to address the needle phobia and steadily increasing anxiety, but that was disastrous. I knew that Jack had odd reactions to medications when he was on treatment, but those odd reactions have continued. One med meant to help with anxiety and ADHD instead made Jack extremely anxious and suicidal, and another had him falling asleep and nearly fainting at school.

We decided to that perhaps we would wait until he is older to try any other medications…

And finally, after over 6 months of torturous failed attempts to get a blood draw that left us all dejected, Jack’s oncologist said we could stop trying. That doesn’t eliminate the problem (he will need a blood draw at SOME point), but at least we’ve gotten a reprieve.

Now that we aren’t managing cancer treatment, we are managing school. In many a childhood cancer survivor’s case, that means things like special education through an IEP. Due to the timing of Jack’s cancer, we have no idea if he would have had these issues if it was not for the cancer. I try not to dwell on that thought much, but it creeps in from time to time.

We recently went through a triennial evaluation at Jack’s school where Jack was evaluated to determine whether services were still needed for him. This is routine for all IEP students, but it is still nerve-wracking for parents. It was suggested by the school psychologist that services may be reduced or taken away because Jack was doing so well (nevermind that he was failing at the beginning of the school year and the IEP is what keeps him afloat), so that was a big stressor. Finally the school psychologist changed her tune when she heard from Jack’s math teacher and his special ed teacher that he often gets overwhelmed in class and hides under his desk. In the end, we were able to keep all the resource hours in Jack’s IEP and the team added a weekly check-in with the school psychologist.

Based upon the fact that my child is getting overwhelmed and his response is to hide under a desk, combined with the atypical results in the educational assessments (along with the odd reactions to medications and a few other niggling things), I finally crawled out of my place under a rock and decided to get Jack assessed for Autism Spectrum Disorder. I have no idea what the results of this assessment will look like. I go back and forth on whether this is a giant waste of time, but in the end it’s good to at least rule it out, I guess? At least we’ll know whether Jack is just unique or if he has more significant neurological differences that aren’t explained by what we know so far.

Hence, Why I Don’t Blog Anymore

Between the overwhelming number of things to manage in life, the sensitivity of the topics I am addressing, and the sheer fatigue to overcome…is it any wonder I don’t blog anymore? It all comes out as emotional vomit.

I want to write, though. I am going to try, but I will make no promises. There’s a lot of living to be done.

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New Year, Old Depression

I’m not a big crier. I don’t cry during movies or weddings. I didn’t cry when either of my boys were born. I cry when people I care about die, and I cry when I’m in a deep, overwhelming episode of depression.

The day after Christmas was such an occasion. It had been building up, as it often does for me in December, and I grew more anxious as the holiday neared. It was an odd-numbered year, which meant Jack would be with his dad for the holiday; usually I have no trouble with this arrangement, but this year was different for some unidentifiable reason. I felt desperate to keep my family close to me this year. I wanted so badly to have a real Christmas dinner with loads of my loved ones around, but had no ability to make it happen.

We celebrated Christmas with Jack and Dez on the morning of the 23rd before Jack headed to his dad’s. We made plans to brunch with friends on Christmas day, and that was lovely, but my mood continued to sink.

The day after Christmas, I lost my composure completely. I struggled to get out of bed and by late morning I was a teary mess with a giant weight on my chest. I decided it was prudent to head to the psychiatric clinic at Kaiser.

I knew it could take a while, so David stayed home with Dez and I drove to Oakland. I checked in, filled out an intake form, and then sat down to wait. Or rather, I felt so despondent and terrible at that point that I laid down on the waiting room couch and cried steadily while I waited.

At some point a therapist came out to let me know that I could be waiting there another two hours. Then he looked at my intake paperwork and said he’d see what he could do. Not long after that, another therapist pulled me in to her office to ask me some questions and assess my mental state. I told her about my medication struggles and after I listed off the 5 antidepressants I’ve tried in my life, she replied, “So pretty much all of them.” (Uh, no…) I told her I was thinking I needed a new psychiatrist due to the fact that my psychiatrist didn’t seem to understand my issues (every appointment involves him listing off medications I can try without any recommendation as to a course of action), but I was told that Kaiser has a process for changing psychiatrists and given a phone number to handle that later. She then sent me back to the waiting room until a psychiatrist could meet with me.

There was some confusion about the availability of a psychiatrist and at one point I was told to leave and come back in 2 hours. As I was walking to my car, the therapist came to find me and tell me she was going to try to do one more thing, so I should come back and wait some more. I sat down and cried some more until she came out to tell me that she’d squeezed me in to see my regular psychiatrist.

This wasn’t what I’d hoped for, but I was desperate, so I took the appointment. It went much as all of my appointments with him have; I ended up leaving with the same medication prescription, but at an increased dosage, and a new prescription for ADHD-related issues.

Which brings me to today. The increased medication dosage helped somewhat; I am able to get out of bed and I’m not crying randomly. But things are still not great—I’m struggling with a short fuse, nightmares, and feeling antisocial. And the ADHD medication only served to make me jittery and tense, so I’m feeling rather overwhelmed.

I still need to go through whatever process Kaiser has in place to change psychiatrists, too. I keep forgetting, but with good reason: my back decided to start going into spasms on New Years day, then David went out of town for work for 5 days, and then Jack had his own mental health crisis!

I have all the fun.

So that is what the new year has been like for me. I sure hope it gets better.

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Drowning in December: A Depression Story

December feels like drowning. The chill in the air sucks at me, the gloom from a hidden sun suffocates me, and the weight of a million responsibilities pulls me down. I am sinking beneath it all.

I have been fighting this relapse of depression, anxiety, and PTSD symptoms for about a year as of this month. I’ve gotten to a functional place; I can work and take care of my kids reasonably well. Almost reasonably well. These are the things I’ve prioritized over everything else in my life out of necessity.

I look around at my house and see clutter; we are STILL cleaning up from Thanksgiving, in fact. I look at my backyard with the broken fence and my patio dotted with random pieces of rotting furniture. It’s all a reminder that I’m not keeping up with the day-to-day and it’s been building up and is even less manageable than it used to be. It’s a visual representation of the garbage in my brain that I can’t seem to clear out.

In the middle of my own struggles, Jack has mental health challenges, as well. The fallout from cancer is seemingly neverending. His last successful blood draw was over 6 months ago; he is long overdue. We have (and by that I really mean David has) made four attempts in the last month to get the draw at the lab, but Jack’s fear and panic have won out each time. He has had anxiety and depression, too. And so we are heading back to therapy this week, and adding a psychiatrist to the mix.

He’s 11. This is too much for an 11-year-old. Hell, I’m almost 37 and it’s too much for me.

As for me, there is nothing to be done but to keep putting one foot in front of the other, keep trying whatever medication cocktail my psychiatrist suggests, and keep focusing on the fact that I’m still IN IT but that I will float back to the top eventually.

Try not to sink. Try to swim. The surface is there; you just have to the find it.

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Searching for the Perfect Antidepressant

Searching for the perfect antidepressant can be such a difficult process. Prozac was my companion for a good 8 years. During that time, I was always aware of and worried about the arrival of the day when I would have to switch. Prozac was never 100% effective (it didn’t do much for my anxiety), but it worked well enough that I was able to manage mild depression and anxiety on my own with self-care while I was on it.

Almost two years ago (November 2015), I started noticing some issues popping up. I wrote a note on my phone to make sure I kept track in case I needed to go back to my psychiatrist. My notes read:

  • Scatterbrained, difficulty focusing in conversations
  • Disproportional anger
  • Increased headaches/migraines, back & neck pain
  • Stress dreams almost every night
  • Decreased interest in doing things I normally enjoy

sleeping woman in bed

It then took me a year of feeling this way before I finally did anything about it. The big reason for my delay was fear. I knew Prozac wasn’t the best medication for me, but it felt good enough when I thought of what I would need to go through to find a new medication. Changing antidepressants is, frankly, horrible. The mood swings are intense, and the withdrawals can be debilitating.

But my mental health problems started impacting my relationships and my work. Good enough was no longer cutting it.

I reached out to my friend Chelley and asked her to do me a favor. I asked her to bug the heck out of me until I made an appointment. And she did that for me, sending me a few messages over the course of a week or two, and then I finally went in to see my (new) psychiatrist in November.

To my surprise, my psychiatrist suggested I stick with Prozac. He gave me something called Seroquel to help with anxiety on an as-needed basis. Unfortunately, it put me to sleep when I took even a quarter of a pill. That was not going to help me in the middle of a work day!

It took me until March to go back and see the psychiatrist again. He then suggested I try Wellbutrin with the Prozac. So I started with a low dose of Wellbutrin a couple of days later. At first, I felt pretty good and could deal with the mild side effects (thinking they would dissipate). I was able to concentrate better at work and I wasn’t dreading every single task at home. I was optimistic that this medication would work out.

BUT–of course there is a but–a few days in I started feeling physically unwell after increasing the dose to what was supposed to be a therapeutic level. I got a headache on the right side of my head and around my eye and it wouldn’t respond to pain reliever. Around 3pm each day I started getting nauseated and exhaustion would hit. I thought I was just adjusting to a new medication, but about a week in, I ended up in bed, completely laid out with nausea, headache, exhaustion, sweating and shivering. Plus, it felt like my brain was literally burning.

It was Serotonin Syndrome.

So I went back to the psychiatrist again and we decided to stop the Prozac and Wellbutrin and try something else. Thus began the withdrawal journey!

I won’t bore you with those details, but it wasn’t pleasant. I got off the Prozac and transitioned onto Lexapro in mid-April. I started off small (my psychiatrist is cautious after the burning brain incident), and then increased the dosage when it didn’t seem to be working all that well.

Three and a half months later, it’s still not working well. Sometimes I’m okay and feel like myself, and sometimes I am bawling for no reason or hiding in my bedroom with paralyzing anxiety. My hair is also falling out. (Note: My psychiatrist says, “Hair loss is not a common side effect from Lexapro, so I’m not sure what’s causing this.” My internet search suggests differently, but whatevs. I’ll see if it goes away after I stop the Lexapro.)

I feel bad for those around me. I snap at or start arguments with my husband. I am spacey with my kids. I make stupid mistakes at work. I complain almost constantly on Twitter. And I feel horrible about all of it.

I have an appointment this week to go back in to see my psychiatrist and hear what he suggests trying next. I just want to feel okay again. Why is it so hard?

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Helpful Books for Anxious Kids

Coming out on the other side of a life-threatening medical diagnosis and the ensuing treatment takes a lot of ingenuity and resources. We’ve run the gamete looking for ways to help Jack deal with anxiety and depression during and after his bout with cancer, including various types of therapy and a whole lot of books.

While there is no substitute for a good therapist (particularly if you are a worried parent who is also trying to deal), books are enormously helpful on a day-to-day basis. For the other parents out there dealing with anxious kids, I thought I would share some of the books that our family found helpful. Please note that the below photos contain Amazon affiliate links.

Story Books for Kids with Medical Challenges

Little Tree

Age Range: 4-8

Franklin Goes to the Hospital

Age Range: 3-8


Story Books to Help Children Deal with Emotions

Is a Worry Worrying You?

Age Range: 4-8

When I Feel… Series

Age Range: 4-8


Workbooks for Kids with Anxiety or Medical Challenges

My Feeling Better Workbook

Age Range: 6-12

What To Do When You Worry Too Much

Age Range: 7-12

Digging Deep Journal

Age Range: 12+ (Artistic kids and mature kids as young as 8-9 could do great with this, in my opinion)

Do you have recommendations to add? I would love to hear about more, particularly any books specifically for tweens and teens!


These books are helpful for anxious kids between the ages of 4-12 who are dealing with big emotions and medical-related anxiety.

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