Game Changer

Hey all. It’s been awhile.

Lots has been happening in my world over the past couple of months and I feel like sharing some of it with you.

In my continuous effort to manage my anxiety etc. I was able to cross something else off my bucket list.

Solo theatre. Now, cross off might seem final, but instead, I found it to be an experience that I need to continue to work on forever.

It’s been hinted at growing up that I may have a tad of a desire to take to the stage. The timing is perfect for me now since I am at an age and stage in my life where I am willing to do battle with my self-doubt.

It’s still there, but I’m doing it anyway. For all of my life I have been looking for artificial ways to deal with my emotional ups and downs. Though they haven’t worked, they have certainly given me a shitload of material to work with as far as storytelling goes!

It’s only now that I am able to look back through the humiliation and despair and see the bit of (ok, a lot of) humour in my past behaviour. If I wasn’t able to do that, I would have been sucked down the drain of life for good.

At T minus 3 years to 50, I’m ready. I’ve wanted to perform and make people laugh since I could walk, but I didn’t have the courage to do anything about it. I would perform in my head and in some really dark times, perform while intoxicated and called it acting.

Soulo Theatre Founder and Artistic Director Tracey Erin Smith, has shown me a better way to clear the gunk out of my system and turn it into theatre. I found I enjoyed it so much more than flushing it out with alcohol. The euphoria I feel on the stage for 10 minutes is 1000x more than the 30 minutes of euphoria I feel getting drunk. The rest of the time is blank. And I don’t want any more blank spaces.

It’s ok what others think. It’s totally ok for people to roll their eyes. It’s more than ok for others to not “get” what I mean when I say that storytelling is not only fulfilling to me in so many ways and I will continue, it is also the best therapy I could have hoped for in my life.

So keep those challenges coming. It’s all excellent material.

And thanks to Soulo Theatre for showing me the way. And big thanks to Tracey, Brian, Kat, Chris, Domini and Eleni for the support.

Find your “thing” and make it work for you.

This S*&t Matters

There truly is something to be said for the freedom of being able to insult your closest friends after not seeing them for a few months.

My core group of girlfriends have grown from loud mouthed, free-wheeling, chandelier swinging party girls to loud mouthed, free-wheeling, less chandelier swinging (possibility of broken hips and all) party women. This group has been around for the milestones. They been around for the long absences. They’ve been around for the questionable decisions and they’ve been around for a laugh whenever needed.

When I saw a couple of these gals for lunch yesterday, I don’t think I managed to get my full butt in the booth before the insults were flying. It was like coming home. We comment on hair, what we’re wearing, what we’ve been doing or not doing and frankly just shooting the shit.

Someone like me who can spend quite a bit of time in the dark, seeing these girls is a shot of light that will keep me “up” for several days after the encounter. Whenever we get together we reminisce, but we always manage to do something stupid in that moment keeping our material fresh at all times.

It’s not always easy for me to be social. When I am social, it’s always best with them. I appreciate that. It matters.

You girls need to know that you’ve helped me in more ways than I can say.

Thanks Mary, Kimmer, Donna and Latch

Should I or Shouldn't I?

Should I or shouldn’t I?

I realize for the first time that I have spent the better part of my career (25+ years) trying to hide my disorder instead of trying to advance my career.

Let’s face it, that many years ago, if I did try to talk about it, the subject was either too uncomfortable for others or I was too embarrassed to bring it up. I looked for excuses to cover up any behaviour that could now be attributed to my disorder when I probably should have thought about healthier ways to cope.

As a young adult, I self-medicated. Not gonna lie, it was a method I grew accustomed too and relied on for way too many years. I could kick myself sometimes, and then I try to switch my thinking back to being positive. I didn’t know then what I know now. It’s a simple explanation, but difficult to process nonetheless.

As an adult who lives with a mental illness diagnosis, it’s hard sometimes to forget about it. It’s there and depending on who you are talking to or working for, there’s always, always trepidation about how much to share and when to share it.

I don’t hide it anymore, but I sure don’t wear a sandwich board announcing my condition to passersby. It used to be shame that kept my mouth closed, now it’s more careful thought given before opening my mouth. I’ll do it, I just try to gauge my circumstances as thoroughly as I can before I do.

I ask myself a couple of key questions (knowing that I may not get the honest answer, but I accept that).

Why am I disclosing? Does it benefit my situation and does it make sense for the other person to know? Will my disclosure bring about common understanding that can be useful? Do I trust the other person to at least try to process and understand?

There are probably a slew of others, but those are some key ones that I keep in mind.

I am an advocate for mental health awareness and so I’m obviously not shy about talking about my disorder (after all, the internet is kind of a public forum), but not everyone is going to read my blog and not everyone will be interested in hearing my particular story.

The whole point of my work around eradicating stigma (wouldn’t that be wonderful?) is to at minimum start the conversation toward understanding. A person with mental illness shouldn’t have to prove to anyone how sick they actually are or how little/much they can handle. Conversely those suffering with a disorder such as mine, should not force others to be compassionate and make demands that we may not have the right to make. People understand or they won’t.

I will keep at it as long as I can to spread the positive word around coping with mental illness. By god, it can be done.

Birthdays and Prom Dates

I discovered something while celebrating my 47^th birthday this past weekend. Having a non-milestone birthday is like going to prom with someone who is just  a friend.

You know what I mean, right? Having a birthday, any birthday is really nice. Don’t get me wrong, it’s just the fanfare isn’t there like it is when you turn 21, 30 or the big 4-0. People acknowledge on your facebook wall and you receive some cards, but it’s more like…”hey, it’s your birthday..yay”. As opposed to the parties and hoopla that often surround a milestone.

I am not complaining, far from it. It’s just an observation. It makes me think of my grade 12 prom when I went with a friend. I feel terrible because we had a great time, but his name escapes me. He didn’t have a girlfriend, I didn’t have a boyfriend, so we went together. Kind of a “hey, it’s your prom…yay.”

None of the fireworks or romance, just a nice time. I had someone to hold my hair back when I puked and he got to walk in with a hot babe. Not necessarily in that order.

Strangely as I sit here writing this, I realize I feel much the same at 47 as I did at 17. I’m sure I’ve matured. I know I’ve made some adult decisions along the way. Heck, I’ve been married more than once and I have a teenager. Still, I enjoy much of the things about life that I enjoyed at 17.

That’s part of the beauty of having a birthday, any birthday. Even on those “off” milestone years, you get the opportunity to reflect on your life and your place in the world. Memories pleasant and otherwise bubble to the service and you see just how far you’ve come.

I look in the mirror and still see the kid I used to be. I see the person who has withstood a lot of adversity and can still laugh every single day. That’s a gift. Every day you wake up alive is a gift whether it’s a milestone year or not.

I look in the mirror and I realize that I wear 47 well. Yay.

The Anxious Person's Worst Nightmare Day

I have restrained myself for an almost full 24 hours waiting for April Fool’s Day to pass. Or as I like to call it, The Anxious Person’s Worst Nightmare Day.

Seriously, I cannot ever remember a time in my life when I wasn’t beside myself with worry that I would be pranked on April Fool’s Day. When you already wake up each and every morning assuming life will prank you in some way, imagine the terror when there is an actual day dedicated to and sanctioned for pranking.

I shudder just thinking about it. Not only do I think April Fool’s Day is just plain mean at the best of times, it just adds another thing for me to worry about on an already long list. I simply haven’t got the time to layer on more anxiety about the unknown. The fact that April Fool’s Day even exists is enough to put me on edge.

And another thing, April Fool’s Day is for comedy amateurs anyway. If a prank isn’t just plain mean, it’s usually just really stupid and lame. Ok. Ok. I’m sure all of you have either crafted a brilliant prank and pulled it off or been the recipient of a clever stunt, but I think those are a rarity. Making people look stupid (and worse, feel stupid) is not my idea of a good time. Again, I have enough trouble not making myself look stupid on a daily basis! I don’t need the assistance, believe me.

My family knows that it is not in their best interest to prank me on April Fool’s Day. I am not, repeat not, a good sport in any way shape or form. I become angry and vindictive and things are thrown. It is not pretty and it usually ends in tears. My boys know to leave me out of the shenanigans and I thank them for it.

Trust me, this stand against April Fool’s Day isn’t about me not enjoying a good laugh. But that’s just the point, I enjoy a good laugh. Saran wrapping the toilet seat, setting an alarm clock an hour early, telling your spouse you are having an affair with their sister…not funny!

So, as I begin to relax and unwind a little, I plan on enjoying today and then ramping up my additional anxiety anticipating next year.

Judge, Jury and Executioner

My family has had a disappointing experience over the past couple of days around mental illness and the all too common stigmas attached to it.

Listen, I get that discussing mental illness can be a conversation killer at the best of times, that’s why we never let it define us as people or make depression and anxiety the centrepiece of who we are.

Having said that, it is terribly sad when family members turn away and blame those that are or have suffered from the debilitating effects of depression.  I’ve always said and will continue to say until the day I die, if you have depression you would not wish it on your worst enemy. It is a life altering and extremely lonely place to be.

My husband and I want to be the kind of parents who are open enough to discuss mental health with our kids so that, God forbid, should they suffer in the future, we will offer them safety and compassion. Compassion is key. I have never asked anyone to “fix” my depression nor has my husband during his struggles. We have always just asked for a little patience and compassion as we work through the cycle.

When people, particularly close family members, are unwilling or incapable of such compassion, the difficult decision must be made to do without those individuals; sometimes forever. If there is willingness on the part of the depressed person to take responsibility for behaviours that may have occurred or seemed hurtful in the throes of illness, it is also the responsibility of said family to at least listen. If it cannot go beyond that and understanding cannot be reached, perhaps the relationship must end.

We have experienced this in our family and it is a horrible feeling. Horrible yes, but to apologize for being depressed and making rash decisions is no different than asking for the cancer patient to apologize for getting sick and throwing up in front of you.

Sadly, we have a long way to go in eradicating the dark cloud of stigma that contending with a mental illness brings. In our family, we are grateful every day for every day. We have friends and family who may or may not fully understand the depths of despair that can be reached, but are willing to listen with compassion.

In this recent event, my husband was given a list by a family member of his bad behaviours and a demand for an explanation before said family member would consider letting him back in. Please note: the time in question was over five years ago without a word, a note, a care from this family member when it really would have meant something. Compassionate family members absolutely have the right to be hurt, disappointed and even angry at a depressed person’s actions before they receive treatment. It does NOT however, give them the right to act as judge, jury and executioner.

It is true, as with any illness, a person must take on responsibility for getting well if that is the desire, but they do not have to stand in front of family member and be judged worthy (or not) of support.

That behaviour is far worse than anything a depressed person could do.

Standing Your Ground from the Penalty Box

My son got a penalty in hockey this past weekend.

It got me thinking about the whole playing by the rules and not playing dirty vs. standing your ground and standing up for yourself. Granted, in sports there are boundaries and rules that are there to keep us focused on the game and to not allow players to deteriorate into a bloodbath, but are there times when bending the rules to reach your end game (i.e. winning) ok?

I watch my son every weekend play his heart out on the ice. I also notice that my skinny little thirteen year old isn’t afraid of anybody! Sure, he may suffer from sometimes debilitating anxiety in other areas of life, but when he is focused on a goal and that goal is in jeopardy of not being met, watch out. He is fearless on the ice no matter what size the opposing player may be. He knows what he needs to do and he does it. In today’s case, he likely went a little far and received a penalty for his trouble (as he should have). What struck me is how tenacious he can be and how I wish that I had more of that sometimes.

I don’t play sports and I’m not sure I’ve ever had a really competitive spirit, but man, there are times in my life I wish I could have just stood up for myself and not worried so much about how I would be perceived. I’ve spent most of my life relegating my point of view to the back burner in favour of keeping the peace. Sometimes, I was made to feel that what I thought or did was clearly wrong and if that happens enough, you just start to doubt your own judgement and keep your mouth shut.

The older I get, I accept that I am a relatively intelligent human being who is entitled to her own beliefs and opinions and if handled respectfully, should be able to express them for the greater good. Sometimes that isn’t always possible with the people in my life, but at least I am looking at this with a new perspective. I don’t want to compete for air time or force my point of view down other’s throats, nor do I want to be bullied into backing down. This is a tactic I’ve been subject to throughout my adult life and I’m finding that it is working less and less on me (which is a positive thing).

My hope is to continue learning from my son and hoping that he is able to make smart decisions and stand his ground for the important stuff in his life. I want him to respect the differing of views of others and to not make people feel somehow less for not agreeing with him. As a parent, I don’t think I am any different from anyone else for wanting that for my kid.

In the meantime, I will continue to watch him make his way on and off the ice and hope to God he spends less time in life’s penalty box and more times in the winners’ circle.