Epiphany!

WARNING: THIS ENTRY CONTAINS SELF-ABSORPTION AND PSYCHOBABBLE. Welcome to my world.

Epiphany: Liturgically it is the manifestation of Christ to the gentiles. I like to think of it as light bursting forth in the world. It also describes the flash of realization, that just-got-hit-with-a-bolt-of-insight/Eureka! sensation. I'm writing this on the heels of one of those moments.

All I have to say is thank-you, Mom (something that probably can never be said enough) and thank-you New York Times!

It started innocently enough, as these things often do. Today is my day off from childcare duties. My psyche has not been in a good place (too complicated to describe) so I was just kicking back. Thought I'd spend some time on the ol' computer. The Google homepage had a link to a Laura Bush book review in The New York Times. I read it. It was good. Along the side was the title of another story called "Mind Over Meds." Figuring it was about depression, my favorite bete noire, I read it.

It's been a salient issue for me. I had come to realize that I was starting to isolate myself, pushing coffee and sugar, feeling like it was taking all my energy just to get through a day. I'm depressed. And I was frustrated. It feels so amorphous. There are so many sub-issues going on. I've seen this coming and had the foresight to get me back to therapy. All well and good, except that the intelligent, insightful woman I had been seeing retired. I'm trying to start anew and it's not easy. I feel like so little of what I have to say makes sense without the backstory. It makes for 45 minutes of highly pressured speech from me explaining what's bothering me and why, then waiting two weeks to do it all over again. I didn't see this going anywhere.

It was a really good article by a psychopharmacologist who was reconsidering the split between the medicinal and psychotheraputic treatments of depression. My last shrink had been psychologist who very much believed in the neurobiology of depression. There is a knotty chicken and egg dilemma at the heart of the treatment debate: which comes first, unhealthy thought patterns or flawed neurochemistry? Pat seemed to lean towards the "physical" model. When my thoughts were problematic she would encourage medication to bring the depression under control, which would then help me untangle what was going on in my mind. Zoloft keeps me going. I'm really quite functional and I like to think that I come across as an unlikely depressed person. But even though I've been talking to a professional my interior life still feels like a mess.

Here's where mom comes in. We've reached that neat stage in life in which we are friends, not just relatives. And she's good for commending to my attention interesting things to read and consider. One of them was a New York Times article titled "Depression's Upside" (NYT February 28, 2010). She brought it up to me almost two months ago. Did I mention that procrastination is one of my problems?

So I finally sat down and read it this morning since I was surfing the net anyway, and, as the kids say, OMG!!! Never before have I felt like someone was describing the way my mind works. I ruminate. I go over things, considering and reconsidering. When the issue is positive it is creative, energizing, and inspiring. On the flip side I revisit dark moments over and over, re-feeling, trying to re-interpret, trying to figure out what went wrong (probably me).

Even more fascinating is the fact that ruminators, or "ruminants" as I preferred to be called, tend to be writers. Our prose is more polished because we're constantly editing, re-examining what it is we're trying to say.

Look at how quickly I've adopted the "we" and "our." I'm not a random, hopeless, psychological freak! There are other people who think and feel like I do! And maybe I can learn to manage this, and use it to my advantage, with the Zoloft to keep it from spinning out of control. It's hard to explain the tremendous feeling of relief this gives me.

I liken my blog entries to beach glass. They are what happens when an idea gets stuck in my mind's surf, being tossed and tumbled until even the trash is rendered beautiful.

This also explains why I've haven't been blogging as much. Much of the stuff running through my head right now can't be shared with a general audience. Not yet.

Thanks, Mom. I owe you a phone call.

Sweet Dream or a Beautiful Nightmare? (Thanks for that, Beyonce)

Childcare is a lot like having a late in life child. Almost like childbirth, I find it amazing how much of the agony and ecstasy gets forgotten.

Spring has sprung with a vengeance here in Northern Ohio, and we're having a burst of June in April. Brandon (now 15 months) has re-discovered the outdoors and he is done with being inside. He grabs my keys, says "buh-bye," and heads for the door. He hands me his shoes. The inside toys have lost their fascination. Banging something with a stick outside is ever so much more fulfilling.

I believe all small children are that way. I have yet to meet the baby who doesn't calm when walked outside, especially if there are trees to make patterns against the sky. And toddlers love their aforementioned sticks, as well as exploring dirt. Sitting in it, feeling it, and tasting it.

It's also amazing how tuned-in children are to the acoustic world. Brandon will hold his hand up to his ear and I'll realize there's an airplane droning, or he'll "woof" and I'll realize there's a dog barking in the distance.

Children are also natural birders. During the winter baby Max, then about 6 months, loved nothing more than lying on his belly by my back door watching the birds (and squirrels) dancing around the feeder. He even got to see a hawk (a harrier, I believe, it seemed to have a brown and black striped tail) take out a starling right in front of him. Now that it is spring Brandon has fixated on different bird calls: the screech of a blue jay, the piercing whistle of the cardinal, the song of a robin. He looks for the source.

It is refreshing to experience the world anew through little eyes and ears. But, as Paul Harvey would so famously say, and now for the rest of the story. At the playground I was charmed by Brandon's absolute belief that he would catch that squirrel. Shortly afterwards he choked on his water and threw up (just a little bit, true) down the front of his shirt. Or being outrageously cute while grocery shopping, waving at everybody in the store, but pooping his diaper as we were approaching the check-out, with me having left the diaper bag in the car. This morning, which overall has been enjoyable, has had its issues. Incipient molars + fatigue + excitement seems to = BITING. Apparently this is an honor reserved for mommy, grandma, and me. Just a little fly that threatens the ointment.

Ah, yes. I vaguely remember the joy and challenges of this stage from my own girls. It's good to be reminded, now and again, that there is a yin and yang to the world.

P.S. to Carla and Marla: Nightmare really is too strong of a word, but I bet you know what I'm talking about.