There have been some big changes in my life, and I really don't understand why they are happening. And, well, before you get all worried, they're all good. All good, and all mysterious.
In preface, I haven't been the healthiest person throughout my life. I can pinpoint when in my life my already mediocre health jumped off a cliff (that would be winter of my freshman year in high school... I'm pretty sure that's when my thyroid went off its rocker), but I don't think my health has ever been superb. I had some pretty nasty depression and anxiety for at least a decade.
Long-term readers of mine may recall a couple exultant posts... such as the one where I proclaim that my thyroid function is suddenly normal, and oh my HECK, I feel amazing. Oh, and the one where I proclaim that I am finally off antidepressants and feeling normal, and oh my HECK, I feel amazing. Ah yes, and one after each pregnancy, where I announce that the hyperemesis gravidarum has finally abated now that I'm suddenly not pregnant anymore, and oh my HECK, I feel amazing.
Well, this is a similar post.
Oh my HECK, I feel amazing.
Well, Jenna, you may ask, what changed? Why do you feel so good?
And that's where I may stare back at you blankly, shrug, and admit, "Uhhhh... I have... no... idea?"
Because it's strange. I don't know what's going on besides that I am just improving everything in leaps and bounds. Sometimes I wonder if I've gone manic or even hypomanic, and I decide that I definitely haven't. I think, guys, that this is simply what not being depressed and not being anxious feels like.
I have energy. I can do things. All sorts of things. I used to cry sometimes when I heard other women/wives/mothers/etc. talk about how productive they were. Somehow, it seemed to me, normal people manage to cook and clean. I could hardly convince myself to pour myself a bowl of cereal. Oh, and how does anyone ever find the time and energy and motivation to do their hair and makeup every morning? And some of these women even have children. Why can't I even do what everyone talks about as normal functioning? (One example that is actually fairly recent is when the entire Dilts extended family went to Pennsylvania. I got to see what all the other sisters-in-law manage to do in a day. It made me feel inadequate. I felt maxed out after doing only what seemed to be a tiny fraction of the things the other women did. Oh, and they all had more children. Oh, and two of them were pregnant. When I'm pregnant, I do far less than even the little I do when I'm not. A less recent example was also at the Dilts house back when I was engaged, and back when I was also still wading through thyroid and depression problems. I couldn't stay awake for more than twelve hours a day. I knew in my heart of hearts that I was as wakeful and energetic as I could be, but...)
I have energy now! I can do things! All sorts of things! I don't need to sleep for sixteen hours; it turns out that I can manage with a mere eight! Or perhaps six, in a pinch.
I felt inspired to let James go to bed at a reasonable hour each night so he can consistently have his academic brain in tip-top shape. This means I stay up late with kids many nights and sleep in every morning... and I am feeling the most well-rested I have ever felt in my life, despite the irregular sleep schedule. This is not something I would have been physically capable of doing for my sweet husband even just a few months ago.
I now manage to clean the house during the day. I manage to prep food on occasion. And then I get bored.
I now play games and read books more in addition to spending more time tending tots and housekeeping. I now enjoy them. Guys, that's significant. I spent decades believing that I was some kind of strange creature that didn't enjoy games. I did not like them. I didn't see the point. They just weren't fun. I did not understand how James could like them so much. He says they're fun, but...
It just may be that I do like games. Perhaps all this time, I had a far more flattened affect than I suspected. Depression can remove pleasure from all sorts of activities. Nothing is fun when you're depressed. Emotions are greyed out... emotions besides despair, anyway. That one you feel loud and clear.
I have fun! I find myself flirting (and more!) with the husband often, much to his pleasure. And, shockingly, to mine. Do you know how many times in the first few years of our marriage, that I cried to God about that? I thought it wouldn't ever be something I found fun.
I'm not terrified of the idea of exercising. Guys. Significant. Again. I still have no clue how I'm going to fit that sort of thing into my routine, but... I'm not unwilling. That hasn't been the case since... well, ever. I'm in terrible shape, of course, but in my mind's eye, I realize that I might not remain that way forever. Strange. I used to have panic attacks thinking about doing gentle physical therapy stretches. And a lot of the problem was that I was so convinced that I'd never find an exercise method that I found enjoyable. I felt nothing but shame and dread every time I tried something, and... well, if I'm suddenly enjoying games, what if I find myself enjoying moving my body? Just now, the idea of running with the wind sounds pleasant. The reality, of course, wouldn't be like that just yet, because my body hasn't ever done it before, but... maybe I'll do it. I bet that if I did exercise, I would find even more energy, and I would sleep even better, and I'd be even happier.
My social anxiety seems to have completely evaporated. I'm still an introvert. I'll always be an introvert. But, to give an example, I met another woman at a barbecue a week or so ago, and I found myself saying "me too" to so many things, that for the first time in years, I realized that I had likely run across someone I knew I could be friends with. And the idea of asking for her phone number did not trigger a nervous breakdown, nor did it instantly summon tears. We exchanged numbers, and I can't tell you how triumphant I felt after that. I invited her over for dinner tonight. And it was fun. (I've made friends in the last few years, but it was a grueling process... if making friends could be described as such. If I had met this woman two years ago, I would have instantly dismissed her as a friend candidate, probably because I was hoping for an instant emotional connection that I was too depressed to manage to summon in my own brain.)
I've been able to do my visiting teaching. That, too, was always a major trigger for panic attacks related to social anxiety. Anyone familiar with visiting teaching will understand why that might be. You're supposed to visit someone every month. Likely that means that *you* are responsible for initiating contact. Every month. With half a dozen women. Many of which might be less than excited to hear from you because they aren't super excited about the Church. But I've done it for five months in a row. And it is still awkward. But in my brain, it's more of an I can do this than a This is impossible this is beyond my capability this is oh no a panic attack and guilt panic worthlessness hopelessness.
I've been doing family history. And indexing. I've been enjoying it.
Today in church the missionaries sprang a "think of someone who needs the gospel right now, then turn in the name to us so we can make plans together about how you can share the gospel with them" lesson, and instead of instantly dissolving into tears and a panic attack, I thought of someone. And I wrote down her name. And then I went and knocked on her door to invite her family to dinner, but they didn't answer. Oh well.
I do not know why these things are happening. I mean, I'm hardly complaining. In fact, I have been crying happy tears of joy. I just wish I knew why all these improvements have occurred over the last several weeks (or perhaps months). I want to know how to replicate it, of course, as a true scientific mind would.
I feel that maybe this is a long overdue taste of what life is supposed to be like. And I am so grateful to feel that. At the same time... I am also a little scared. I am planning to have one more pregnancy. Just one more. It's likely you know my pregnancies are the devil. Almost certainly, all this energetic and emotional progress will... well, just... I do not know how to explain except to compare it to color blindness.
Have you seen the videos of color blind people putting on special glasses and suddenly seeing color for the first time in their lives? I feel a little like that. It's like, Wow. Most people experience this amount of energy every day? Most feel this amount of pleasure regularly? It's so beautiful. Happy tears.
The majority of my life has been color blindness. Recent changes have shot me into the world of color, complete with the happy tears and awe at what others have been taking for granted every day.
And pregnancy... that's not color blindness, that's a step below color blindness. Life is a monotone blur. With splotches of puke. You can imagine my hesitation to embark towards that territory again. Yes, I am tempted at times to just rip out my dang uterus and eat it just so I can be dang sure that I never conceive again.
But I am at peace with the whole one more kid thing. Yes, I know you've heard me oscillate between wanting sixty children and never getting pregnant again, but I think this pendulum has finally stopped swinging. One more kid, and that's it. Which means I will be doing the nine months of physical and emotional torture one more time.
That could be soon. My fertility is returning. I've got the charts to prove it. Dragon is starting solid foods and drinking water now, so he is nursing less and less.
We are moving to San Diego in a month and a half, about. I am excited to leave Oregon and I am not excited to leave Oregon. I am nervous about making new friends, but far less nervous than I've ever been in my life. I'm... shocked to discover that I am genuinely certain I will find friends quickly. There are friends everywhere. Strange, that.
Love and color,
Jenna
