When I was growing up, I remember seeing all my friend’s parents preparing for the holidays.  There would always be family coming in town and that meant lots of food to prepare, sometimes days in advance.  I watched the mothers in the kitchen and around the house, getting everything ready for their guests and I was always filled with a sense of sadness that no family would be joining us for the holiday season.  I grew up as an only child with a half-brother and half-sister growing up on the opposite side of the country where the rest of our family was located.  The result was usually a lonely holiday season magnified by what I saw all around me – other families coming together to celebrate.  I vowed that when I grew up, I’d have a big family and cook and get things ready just as the mothers I saw as a child.

Fast forward a few decades and here I am with my big family – 4 rambunctious boys, a husband, and usually another relative or two coming into town.  Sticking true to my promise, I’d start preparing weeks in advance.  I’d buy food, prep, cook what I could beforehand, and map out what needed to go into the oven and get made the day of.  Every year I’d make it through but instead of loving the holidays, I began to dread them.  My stress level and anxiety would go sky high and when it was all said and done, I’d breathe a huge sigh of relief and thank the stars that the holidays only came once a year.

I was not the glowing example of what I had seen in my childhood.  I was irritable, high strung, and well… let’s face it… miserable.  But every year I kept at it, hoping it would get better and I would find that inner peace and joy for the season.  Spoiler alert – it never came.

So this year I decided to do things differently and take what I have come to learn, and ultimately accept about myself, to heart.  For starters, I don’t handle stress well.  Extreme stress will usually trigger an episode.  So rather than fight this truth about how I am wired, I decided to work with it and do what I could to reduce the amount of stress I put myself under this year.  This meant letting go of one of my biggest dreams – cooking dinner for the family.  It sounds simple but for me this was a major loss and humbling experience.  I wasn’t going to be that glowing woman who got fulfillment from cooking.  I decided to order out from one of the local markets and got an entire meal (including breakfast!) for Thanksgiving.  The day before, my dad and I went to pick it up and I was already seeing the benefits.  I wasn’t panicked.  I wasn’t irritable and upset.  I simply felt prepared and ready for the next day.  Imagine that!

Thanksgiving turned out to be enjoyable, relaxing, and fun.  I had more time to spend with my family, a delicious meal, and the sense of failure I thought would come for not cooking up a storm all day never came.  The next day I didn’t feel a huge wave of relief that it was over nor did I deal with the dreaded exhaustion that always followed.  I was simply at peace for getting to enjoy Thanksgiving rather than survive it.

So I guess the moral of my story is this: Don’t be afraid to let go and redefine what you consider to be success.  Yes, it was a little bittersweet to let go of some of my dreams, but if I had continued to rigidly hold on to them, I’d only have gained another miserable holiday for the books.  Mental illness, and life in general, come with certain limitations – this is a truth.  And as often as I feel like I fight being bipolar, I am continually learning to make small adjustments in my life to help myself lead a more balanced life.  The result is gratitude in, frustration out!  And isn’t that what Thanksgiving is all about?

I wrote this back in August but am just now getting around to publishing it.  Welcome to our giant flop of a family getaway!

Good God I don’t even know where to begin.  There are several points in this story-telling where I don’t know whether I should laugh or cry.  Probably a little bit of both.   David had a kayak race in Galveston on Sunday and thought it would be a fine idea to make a weekend out of it.  The plan was to go to Houston and visit the Space Center the day before and then drive to Galveston the next day to race.  It sounded like a great idea and since we only get one weekend off together every couple of months, we decided to take advantage of it.  But our weekend getaway from hell started before we even got out of Austin…

David and I needed to drive separately this trip so that he could transport his boat.  I took the kids in the van and David tied to boat down to his car and we set off down the road caravan style.  On our way out of Austin, Owen (who has never been car sick in his life) decided to vomit his breakfast all over himself while we were driving in traffic.  It was awful.  I called David between my own dry heaves at the smell of it and told him that we needed to pull over and clean him up.  Thankfully David has a stronger stomach that I do and was able to clean up Owen while I cleaned out the bit in the car.  Owen seemed well enough afterwards so we tossed it up to the stop and go of the traffic and set off down the road again.  The drive was actually pretty and we stopped to eat a little way out of Houston before making our way into the city.  Since I have Navigation in my car, I was leading the way – which was our first huge mistake.  I HATE cities and I hate driving in them even more.  I missed our exit not once, not twice, but three times and called David in a crying hysterical panic over my mistakes.  He calmly said he would “Waze it” and passed me so that he could take the lead.  Unfortunately, my mistake added almost another 45 minutes to our trip because the next exits, where we could turn around, were closed.  Eventually we made it and David was able to successfully drop off his car and boat.  As we started driving to the Space Center, we realized that we were going to have to drive an hour south, which only meant that the next morning we would have to drive an hour North to pick up the boat, go another hour back down to where we started by the Space Center and then drive another hour south to Galveston.  It was going to add another 2 hours of driving to our day before we even started our trek back home.  By now the kids were complaining, I was drained from driving and mad about our poor planning, and we all just wanted to get to the Space Center.  Unfortunately, things would only go from bad to worse.

We arrived at the Space Center exhausted and HOT.  Houston heat is no laughing matter and just walking to the entrance from the parking lot was awful.  Once we were inside the AC perked us up a bit and the kids had a great time running around and seeing the exhibits.  Before leaving, we decided to take a tour of the NASA campus and see the giant rockets.  We went back outside to wait in line for the tram.  We waited… and waited… and waited.  I was drenched in sweat, thirsty, and feeling light-headed from the heat.  I spun around and told David that “If this f***ing tram doesn’t get here in 2 minutes I am done!  Finished!  Going back inside!”  The kids heard just enough of this to start complaining they wanted to go inside too.  And just like that poor Dave had 5 people hot, miserable, and begging to throw in the towel.  After all, it wasn’t crowded – this was just the result of extremely poor organization on the part of the Space Center.  Ten minutes later our tram arrived and we all piled in.  Off we went down the road and through the campus… which was nothing more than a bunch of beige buildings.  We stopped at several points only to hear that building number 46 is the site where something spectacular happened in the world on rocket engineering.  I thought the first few minutes were actually a joke but my spirits sank when I realized they were all serious and this was going to be going on for the next hour, all the while still outside in the heat.  After about 45 minutes of this, the tram made its final stop before going back to the space center.  We pulled up outside of a huge garage-looking building which was where the rocket was kept.  At this point, I was fuming with frustration.  I skipped the rocket and told Dave I desperately needed a drink and headed toward the vending machines by the bathrooms.  I tried the first one… broken.  I tried the second one… broken.  I tried the third one… broken.  In an almost blind fury I declared to hell with the rockets, I’m leaving!  I walked back across the field in the heat to the tram and started to go through the gate when I was stopped by the tram driver.  “Sorry miss, this is the exit.  You must walk back across the field to the entrance.”  I glared at him and then screamed at him.  “You know this whole NASA / Space travel thing???  It’s crap!!!  This whole place is bullshit!!!”  It was NOT my proudest moment.  I called Dave and told him through tears that I was taking off back to the space center.  Now Dave, who is usually steadfast and controlled, told me in his most angry voice that I had better get my butt back to the building (which had AC) and see the rocket so I could cool off.  Not wanting to have an explosive fight in the middle of a field, I begrudgingly marched towards the rocket building.  Once inside, the coolness was instantly refreshing.  The rocket was massive, intricate, and awe-inspiring.  However, I dare not declare anything like that to David.  I decided to take the low-road and exclaim that he dragged me all the way in here to see nothing more than a hunk of metal.

Back in the Space Center we were finally able to get our drinks, cool off and explore some of the neat things it had to offer.  After a couple of hours, we headed over to the hotel to check-in.  This process was fairly painless.  We were all happy, hydrated, and ready to relax for the rest of the evening.  The UT vs LSU game was coming on that night and I was looking forward to watching it.  We decided to go grab a quick bite at the Mexican restaurant down the street so that we could make it back in time for the game to start or at least shortly thereafter.  We all piled back into the van and headed down the road.  The restaurant was crowded but not overly so and our wait for a table of 6 would be about 20 minutes.  We sat down by the door and waited… and waited… and waited.  About 45 minutes later they told us our table was ready.  By this point the boys were starving and I was once again feeling the wheels of frustration turning.  But at least we were seated so that was ½ the battle.  After about another hour of waiting for our food, it finally arrived.  I began checking the UT game score on my phone and watched with sinking disappointment as the entire first half of the game slipped by and we were still at dinner.  Eventually, we got our check, made our way back to the hotel, turned on the second half of the game, and settled in for the night.

The night was not restful to say the least.  Owen, who always sleeps in his crib without a problem, found that sleeping with all of us in a bed was just too exciting.  He made his way back and forth and back and forth between the two queen beds in our room until after midnight.  After he finally fell sleep the night was filled with getting kicked in the face by Colin, Owen falling off the bed once, and trying to get comfortable on the little sliver of mattress that was left for me.  But we all got up and showered, ate breakfast downstairs, and set off to drive an hour North to pick up the boat before turning around to drive 2 hours back down South for the race.

The beach at Galveston was actually pretty fun.  Once we located where the race would be, we were able to drive our cars right up on the sand so there was to be no dragging of beach supplies across a massive parking lot. The waves were small and the water was shallow so I strapped some life jackets on the boys and let them go for it.  David took them all for a ride in his kayak while I kept watch over Owen on the sand.  We were there for about 4 hours total.  David finished his race well, the boys all played in the surf, and then we needed to pack it up to make the 4-hour drive back home.  The heat was oppressive once we were out of the water and drying off.  I was busy getting all the boys out of their wet swim clothes while David tied his boat down.  Getting four wet, sticky, sandy, and thirsty boys dressed with the sun beating down on you and the sand getting everywhere is not fun.  I was dehydrated once again, getting angry, tired, and was not looking forward to driving all the way back to Austin.  Owen spilled an entire bottle of Gatorade in the back seat of the car and all I could do is throw some towels down over it before pleading with an exasperated and desperate sounding yelp that everyone get their butt’s in the car so we can go!

Driving a long distance after spending hours in the hot sun are two things that do not mix.  We didn’t even make it through Houston before I started repeatedly nodding off on the road.  Now this has never happened to me before and at first, I didn’t understand what was happening.  Why am I having repeated attempts to maintain an alert level of consciousness, I wondered?  It took several minutes for me to realize, to my horror, that I was actually falling asleep at the wheel.  Terrified, I called David and told him I needed to find a coffee shop ASAP if we were going to have any hope of making it home.  Dave kept me on the phone, which helped tremendously and we made it to a Starbucks just outside of Houston.  I flopped out of the van while the kids waited inside and practically staggered over to the window (it was a drive-thru or walk-up window only store).

Me: “One large iced coffee, please.”

Employee: “I’m sorry, we are out of iced coffee.”

Me: a huge WTF running through my mind.

Employee: “Mam?  I’m sorry but we’re out.”

No longer able to hold it in any longer, I scream.  “YOU KNOW WHAT?!?!  THIS WHOLE THING IS BULLSHIT!  ALL OF STARBUCKS IS BULLSHIT!  HOW DO YOU RUN OUT OF COFFEE?!?!”  And I storm back to the car.  Once again, not my finest moment.

When it’s all said and done, we ended up at McDonald’s so the kids could eat and I could get my large coffee… and a coke.  We made it home the rest of the way without any problems at all and by 10pm we back safe and sound.

I must point out, if it wasn’t already obvious, that I am not the best traveler.  I am thankful for a husband that rarely loses his cool… unless a large, hunk of metal is on the line.  I have kids who forgive easily and seem to find joy and glee wherever they are.  I can look back at the whole story and laugh now but in no way shape or form am I ready to go out of town for our next weekend off together.  I think we’ll stay home and garden… or at least think about how we should really be gardening as we stare at the yard.  Same difference.

Like most big decisions, “coming out” about your mental health is one that needs to be made carefully and is oftentimes full of conflict.  I didn’t make the decision to disclose intimate details of my personal life to the world without going back and forth about it for months before and even months after I published it.  As much as I would like to give an enthusiastic thumb’s up to anyone debating on whether or not to spill the beans, I am far too aware that every person’s illness, family, employment, and belief system add layers upon layers of complexity to the issue.   So allow me to walk you through my decision-making process and you can decide for yourself if disclosing your mental health condition is right for you.

I work as a psychiatric nurse.  Ironic, isn’t it?  I work with patients every day who are in the hospital with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, depression, borderline personality disorder, drug addiction, take your pick.  I work with psychiatrists, pharmacists, my nursing peers, behavioral health techs, and social workers all attempting to help these patients put the pieces back together so they can go home to their families and attempt to function in their lives again.  In short, I’m submerged in the world of mental health awareness and care.  My own bipolar disorder has been managed for a number of years now, which is what allows me to successfully hold my job, have a family, and go after what I want in life.  However, that management has not been without setbacks, hardship, sacrifice, and determination.  I have certain limitations I’ve come to accept and there have been times the veil that separates me from my patients, has been thin.  But at the end of the day, I’m just another member of the healthcare team that works to stabilize patients who for whatever reason, have ended up back in the hospital.

I don’t disclose my mental health information to my patients.  Ever.  There have been times I’ve been tempted to over the years, but ultimately it would not be therapeutic for them.  The veil that separates nurse and patient needs to be intact in order to provide the best care possible and disclosing personal information about myself would not only be inappropriate, it would blur the boundaries that are there for a reason.  Our patients are in the hospital because they need supportive care and a firm framework to help them rebuild.  Becoming their buddy isn’t going to help them recover.  Keeping this boundary is just part of the job.

What spurred me to open up to everyone else was more like a slow burning ember that just kept burning until the heat became distracting.  My coworkers oftentimes laughed and shared personal stories at work and there was real comradery between them.  I usually remained silent, guarded, kept my nose in my work.  There were many times I wanted to join in the conversation, but take my naturally introverted self and mix it with a very reckless past full of debilitating mania and crippling depression and it would just about scare anybody silent.  But as time went on, and I grew more confident and comfortable around my working peers, I started feeling less scared and more like I was living a two-faced lie.  On the surface, I was calm, quiet, and very pulled together but that was only a sliver of the truth.  The other side of me, the side my family and very closest friends knew, was very different.  I began to feel the daily burden of keeping quiet about my life experiences as a heavy weight on my chest.  This is when I began thinking about just letting it all hang out and writing about who I really was underneath it all and how my bipolar disorder has both helped and hurt me in my life.

If you’re going to disclose something deeply personal about your life, then you’d best be sure you’re at a point of unconditional self-acceptance with it.  This was a long journey for me.  I denied my bipolar disorder for well over a decade and it was only recently that I came to accept the fact I have this illness.  However, I reached a point in my life where I was able to look back at all my struggles with a clarity and wisdom that had been lacking in me for a long time.  When I saw the hardship, isolation, and grief I went through, I wanted to give to others what I never had – another person to say, “I see you.  You’re not alone.”  That’s what drives me forward.  It’s the fuel for everything I do.   Don’t forget to check your motives.  Why are you really drawn to tell others?  Is it for attention?  Validation?  Make sure you’re in it for the right reasons or your bound to end up with deep regret.

Self-disclosure cannot be undone.  There’s no saying, “You know what – never mind.”  Even when deciding to move forward with it, I had my brief moments of panic that I had made a terrible mistake.  I published my post at night with the thought that I could delete it in the morning if I changed my mind.  But when I awoke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat and decided promptly that I had changed my mind, I was already flooded with messages of love and support.  That ended the uncertainty for me.  I knew then that I had lit a spark that might, just might, find the right person who needed to hear what I was saying.  Because in the end, this wasn’t about me, it was about you.  And I’m listening.