Untangling Your Holiday Stress with a Little Help from the Griswolds

December 10, 2018

Every year, sometime between Thanksgiving and New Year’s, my extended family watches "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation". It’s been a tradition for as long as I can remember. My parents, my brothers and their wives, my two grown children, my husband and I - we all know the lines by heart. In fact, to be truly inducted into our family fold, one must embrace the brilliance and versatility of the line “Save the neck for me, Clark,” as well as whole-heartedly agree that every holiday grace should begin with “I pledge allegiance to the flag…”

But for me, watching this Christmas comedy is about more than honoring a family tradition. It's a critical part of my holiday self-care kit. If you or someone you love lives with a mental health condition, perhaps you can relate. For many, the holidays can be difficult.

For me, the holiday season means one thing: Anxiety. I'm talking about the kind of free-floating anxiety that lurks overhead even while you sleep if you’re lucky enough to do that. It slinks in, thick as fog, right before “Trick or Treat” and doesn’t dissipate until well after “Happy New Year!” 

Perhaps, like mine, your holiday anxiety takes the form of a giant tangle of Christmas lights wound up and spun like a runaway snowball stuffed into a crumpled box in the attic. Each year, just after Thanksgiving, you retrieve the box, grab the ladder, and head for the roof. 

Teetering precariously ten feet above the ground, you reach into the box and try to unsnarl the madness, unravel the mayhem, while still maintaining enough balance not to land smack on your head in your front yard. 

If you’re lucky, eventually, you get most of the lights up and most of the bulbs illuminate, after a lot of trial and error replacing the duds. And if you’re lucky, you climb back down without any Clark Griswold moments involving dangerous staple guns, malfunctioning ladders, or minor zaps of electricity.  

You've managed to untangle the strands and replace any bad bulbs you've found. You're ready to reveal to your loved ones your sparkling display. But somewhere inside, you feel the tangle of nerves and you worry a few bad bulbs may remain, undiscovered. And you fear they may dim the display you've worked so hard to create. So by the time you’ve climbed down off that roof, you're hoping for illumination equal to your efforts, and that nobody discovers the truth. 

But, if you're like me, you're also hoping there's someone around who sees what you need and can help.

Like Clark Griswold out on his lawn trying to give his family a breath-taking spectacle, we are trying to light up, too. And, like Clark, we may be struggling with the cords and the switches and trying to convince those near us to "just wait, it’ll get better." 

We say, "hang on, I think I've got it this time." And we may say that over and over again. Maybe we’re even saying this to ourselves. And just like in the movie, it feels like it takes forever to show them the brightness, to prove that we really can do it.

In the movie, Clark’s complex light display eventually turns on…because, unbeknownst to him, his wife Ellen has flipped on the power from the circuit breaker inside the house. He never knew she did it, but we, the audience, know and we smile, relieved that she's got his back and his hard work has paid off. Ellen Griswold understands and adores her husband's complexities. She supports him. She helps keep him safe and she loves him unconditionally.

This holiday season, I hope you practice self-care that untangles you. I hope you seek out your own sources of inspiration, laughter, and fulfillment. Please stay safe and surround yourself with people who understand your complexities and love you for them.

Your energy, your enthusiasm, your hope, while sometimes a tangled strand of mayhem, can light up the world. Sometimes, though, you may need a little help, so keep your eyes out for your own Ellen Griswold. She's out there.

Oh, and “save the neck for me, Clark.”

Happy Holidays!

Based on the original post "How Christmas Vacation Saves Me Every Year" found at http://www.ibpf.org/blog/be-village

Unwinding the Stress Ball That Is Today's American School

May 20, 2018

I don't miss it. 

I do miss my students. And I miss my teacher-colleagues. But I don't miss my work in the classroom.

Jockeying for my turn in the faculty restroom. Feigning interest in faculty meetings that should have been e-mails. Trying to unhear the parents abuzz in the parking lot brimming with their Pinterest-post plans for their kid's next project.

Talk. Task. Test. 

Lather. Rinse. Repeat. 

And, of course, the Anxiety.

The average eleven-year-old should not even know the word Anxiety. But during my 25 years, more and more often, my students arrived in August with this diagnosis already documented. And it's not only the students' anxiety that increased over my years in the classroom. The teachers and the parents felt it, too. Achievements. Recognition. Ribbons. Awards. Each came with its extra bonus dose of stress to be the best.

I couldn't see it from the inside because it happened so gradually. But now, a year later and metaphorically miles away, I can see what's happening and what we can do about it.

These days, teachers are reporting very high rates of stress. This article explains the multiple impacts of teacher stress. Teacher turn-over is on the rise and our newest teachers are the first to find the door. Nearly half of all new teachers change careers within their first 5 years. But the impacts of their stress go beyond the teachers and their colleagues - their stress impacts their students.

Our kids are feeling pressures at levels I didn't see when I first began teaching. Their stress may affect their ability to view the world as a safe, welcoming place, an understanding place where efforts are encouraged and failure isn't a dirty word. One of my mantras, when I was a teacher, was "failure is an opportunity" - meaning that without failing we don't really learn. Unfortunately, not everyone agreed with that messaging. This report explores teen depression and anxiety in today's youth, identifying social media and school pressures as leading causes of the rise in mental health-related concerns in recent years. 

In extreme cases, student stress may even be killing them. While I am not suggesting that stress and anxiety singularly lead to youth suicide, I am saying it could be a contributing factor. Suicide deaths are complex, not caused by one isolated incident or issue. And we know that 9 out of 10 suicide deaths are due to underlying mental illness. But did you know that anxiety can be a mental illness?

Nearly 3,500 high school age young people attempt suicide every day. Look at the seasonability of suicide in adults versus youth cited in this article. Adults tend to complete suicide in the summer, but for young people, the highest rates of suicide are in the fall - which for a great majority of young people, is the start of a new school year.

And, we mustn't forget the parents. It seems that everyone looks to parents to be the solution. We want to hold them responsible for everything, don't we? This report aptly explains that it takes a balance between school, students, parents, and the community at large to create a healthy atmosphere for today's young people to thrive.

This is a virus that is spreading but we can stop it. Not every school environment is teeming with pressures tied to AP course enrollment or state-test achievement, but our children - and their teachers and parents- feel pressure to be the best at something. Or, worse, they feel like failures if they aren't considered good at anything.

But we can help alleviate the stressors affecting today's students, teachers, and parents.

Parents:

Tell your child that you are proud of them, not only when they have completed something with "success". But, more importantly, choose a time when they are struggling and let them know that THAT makes you proud of them. Their determination, their curiosity, their tenacity is what makes you proud. NOT their blue ribbon or their "A+". Speaking of grades, STOP looking so closely at them. Instead, focus on what your child LEARNED. A grade, regardless of where it came from, is inherently subjective. Even nationally-standardized tests have some level of bias. And while I am not suggesting you completely ignore the grades your child brings home, since that's not exactly practical today, I am suggesting you discuss with your child what they learned rather than focus on what score they received. With this refocusing of values, you, too, may feel your parent pressures lighten as well.

Teachers:

Convey the message to your students that "Failure is an opportunity" and learning happens when there is a challenge to overcome. Find that "sweet spot" between too easy and too difficult and lead them to it. Recognize their efforts - genuine efforts - rather than just their "achievements". Maybe instead of posting high scores on the bulletin board, post students' responses about WHAT THEY LEARNED in the process. And don't be afraid to challenge your leadership if you think the expectations they have for your students are not developmentally appropriate. You know your students far better than your leadership does. Your students and their parents trust you to look out for them. Seek ways to educate your leadership if they dismiss students' social-emotional needs in lieu of school-level achievement. I know this can be risky, as you may feel you could lose your job, but no job or school achievement is worth a child's life.

Students:

Recognize that your value is not determined by a score, or a ranking, or a label. Your value is so much more than any of that. Rather than defining yourself by your achievements define yourself by your character. Be the kid who is always kind and who always tries and who is always curious. THAT will expose your VALUE so much more thoroughly. Seek out others who appreciate you for you. Spend time with those who make you feel like your best self, the person who you know yourself to be. And if you feel pressures or stress, know you are not alone. There are people who can help you and who will listen. You can call them. You can text them. And, I am one of them. I will help. I promise.

~SHM

Resources: 

Educators look to parents and communities to help reduce student stress

The Hidden Threat of Teacher Stress

Teen Depression and Anxiety: why the kids are not alright.

Youth suicide rates are rising. School and internet may be to blame.

Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Crisis Text Line

Delete

July 29, 2014

I have typed this first sentence more than thirty times.

But instead of deleting it again, I will continue describing what I am experiencing right now. Maybe you have felt this way too.

I feel anxious, incredibly anxious. I am worrying about the little things like the eye doctor appointment I need to reschedule and the weeds in the flower bed that just keep reappearing. And I am worrying about the big things like what job my older son will be able to get when he's released from prison and how I will afford to pay for my younger son to go to college next year. And I am worrying about worrying. And that worries me.
Seriously, it does.

I am unable to focus on any one task for more than a few minutes. Typing this blog post is going to take me all day. And I don't have all day. This summer is zooming by and I haven't got much to show for it. I had big plans for this summer: finish some home projects, start a second book, plan for my upcoming school year...But I'm finding it hard to focus at all.

As the calendar approaches August, the stress increases. I know I have important things to accomplish before I return to school in a few weeks. Right now, though, all I can see is a daunting to-do list and nowhere to begin. Would crawling into a hole and sleeping help at all? Because that is seriously an option right now. It's what I'd like to do, honestly. My logical side knows avoiding the workload is only going to make it worse, but it doesn't seem to matter. This anxiety is crushing me.

How can I be a good mother, a good wife, a good teacher, a good friend, if I feel this way?

After re-reading this post, I am tempted to just delete it all. My ramblings make little sense. But instead of wiping the screen clean and starting over, I will post this as is in hopes that someone else out there has felt this way too.

So I'm avoiding one more thing today: the DELETE key.

The Gavel

May 21, 2014

This Friday at 9:30 am EST, my 22 year old son will stand before a judge and receive his sentence for crimes he committed over a year ago. He has been incarcerated since March of 2013. I will not share the details of his arrest. I will only say the crimes were committed while he was heavily intoxicated, he did not harm anyone or himself, and he made a complete confession upon his arrest. I am past the point of blaming him for what he did. Or at least I think I am. At this point I just want to know what his sentence is. I'm just so tired of waiting.

But now, the wait is almost over. In just a couple of days we will know how long my son will have to sit behind bars before he can begin the next chapter in his life, before he can really begin his young adulthood in earnest.

Nausea has settled into the pit of my stomach. My hands and legs tremble. My mind darts from one worry to the next. The anxiety I feel is growing more intense each day. I know my son feels it too. He has called me nearly every night. He talks about his fears. He tries to remain hopeful without setting himself up for a great disappointment. Instead of dreaming of the best case scenario, he is trying to prepare himself for the worst case scenario only that's not easy to do since we really don't know what that is. Our attorney has given us as much information as he knows which isn't that much. What can a defense attorney really say to prepare a defendant for sentencing? What can he tell a defendant's mother? I do not blame him for the tension I feel. And I do not blame my son. I just want some resolution.

To say I am ready for the gavel to strike the judge's bench is not exactly true. I don't think I will ever be ready to hear a judge announce the sentence my son face, but it's time. And I am doing all I can do to prepare myself and my son for what that sentence may be.

My Secret

February 8, 2014

Electricity pulses just underneath my skin, racing from my fingertips to my toes and back again. I tremor. My legs and my arms betray my will to remain motionless; instead they shake uncontrollably. Thoughts of varying lengths and value flash in my mind one after the other. Anxiety creeps behind my eyes and rattles my brain.

I am suffering withdrawl.

Worries taunt me. Tease me. Strings of endless ramblings chant inside my head. Stuttering, stammering I try to overcome them, attempting to be the old me. The good me. I do not want you to know what is really happening to me.

It was my fault. I had accidentally been taking the wrong dose of sleep medication for weeks. When I discovered this, my doctor prescribed a replacement with little concern. I thought my mistake was easily corrected.

But after a week I began to shake. It was minor at first. Just little tappings and rattles. But they became more and more intense over the next few days. With the tremors came fears. Anxiety beyond anything I've ever experienced. Worries about the future, the present, the past. I've even wondered if I was becoming psychotic.

All along, over the last two and a half weeks, I've gone to work. I've fulfilled my responsibilities as a daughter, a mother, a lover, a friend. But secretly I've been suffering. And now I need to tell you I am afraid it won't go away.

My doctor says it is just a reaction. Temporary. It is my body missing that medication. 

But how long will it go on? How long will I tremor? When will I be able to write neatly on the board at school again? When will I be able to focus on just one thought at a time? How long will I drive without seeing the road, instead, seeing only glimpses of "what ifs" flash before my eyes? How much more must I pay for my careless mistake?

When will I be the old me again?

The Not Knowing

November 17, 2013

Do all mothers worry when they haven't heard from their adult kids in a while? Do they jump each time the phone rings? Do their imaginations run wild with the possibilities for not receiving a call?

Or is it just me?

It's been a week and I haven't heard a word from my incarcerated, twenty-one year old son. This is very unusual--we speak almost everyday-- so I am quite worried. After checking in with his dad, I've discovered he hasn't heard from him either. This has me doubly worried. Why no call?

My son was scheduled to have his wisdom teeth removed--all four--sometime this week. We didn't want him to do it behind bars fearing the quality of the health care would be subpar, but his pain had become unbearable and the prison dentist insisted on taking immediate action... but he wasn't told exactly what day it would happen--only that it would happen this week sometime.

What they did tell him was he would not receive the anesthetic typically used in this kind of oral surgery. He was terrified and so were we.

Now, today marks one week since we've heard from him. We've called the prison and received no assistance.

So not only am I worried about my son's well-being behind bars (like I am every day), now I'm worried that his oral surgery has gone wrong and he's suffering terribly. I can't get this vision out of my head that he's writhing in pain and no one is there to comfort him. Though he's twenty-one years old, he's still my baby.

When he was younger and skinned his knees, I cried when I cleaned his wound. After he tore his ACL in a high school basketball game, I actually passed out in the ER as they examined his injury. I feel it when my sons are hurt. Isn't that part of being a mother?

This time, though, I don't even know if he is hurt. I don't know if he's had the surgery, and I don't know if he's recovering well.

This time I don't know anything at all. So for now...I just wait.

Unpacking Bipolar

August 12, 2013

All summer long I've had little trips to anticipate. First it was the beach, then Las Vegas, NYC, the Pocono Mountains, and then the beach again. I'm so grateful to have had these opportunities spread across the summer months. Family and friends have been so generous and I'm so thankful. I've been given the chance to rest and recover (somewhat) from the worst spring of my life. These trips have helped distract me from the stresses and unknowns here at home. But the summer is coming to an end and I'm not ready yet.

Because, well, I'm not unpacked.

Sure, my suitcase is empty. I've put away all the cute little bottles of shampoo I've been collecting and my laundry has all been cleaned, but I'm not really unpacked. Not really.

See, my bipolar mind is still away, far away, still packed for the hustle and bustle and constant distraction of travel. It's still chock full of beach sand and slot machine receipts and big sunglasses. I've still got sundresses and swim suits and subway tickets shoved inside here. My bipolar mind is packed with a loaded Kindle and Candy Crush on my ipad. The alarm clock hasn't been set for weeks and I've got Facebook, not Outlook, opening when I log into my computer. I am not unpacked, not really.

And there's something else.

My mind hasn't room for the nonstop tears and the anxiety that come with worrying about my imprisoned son day in day out. Not to say I haven't been worried. Just scroll down through my posts...I've been thinking of him constantly. But that's just it. My suitcase had room for that worry when I was away on vacation-I had plenty of free mind space for that worry because I didn't have work stresses loaded in there too.

I think it's my bipolar mind that gives me the ability to compartmentalize these things. Vacation. Worry about son. Vacation. Stress about his sentence. Vacation. Agonize over the call from the attorney. You get the idea.

But the summer is winding down and I'm staring straight ahead at the beginnings of a new school year. I will soon have bright, eager, new faces staring at me ready to learn. The trouble is my mind is an overflowing suitcase of worry right now. And I can't unpack it. The zipper's stuck.

"So Maybe You're Not Bipolar"

August 6, 2013

Seek Treatment. That's what we hope people with mental illnesses do. We want them to feel free to acknowledge their condition and seek treatment. Talk to a therapist. Try medication. Follow a doctor's plan to treat your illness. "You can feel better if you seek treatment." Isn't that what we say?

Well, that's what my 21 year old son has done. Finally. After over two years of ignoring his diagnosis, he's finally acknowledged it and sought treatment. In prison.

See where it's gotten him.

He is currently incarcerated in our state prison. Inside, he has had to convince the DOC psychiatrists that his Bipolar Disorder is real. The psychiatrists on the payroll who are expected to treat inmates for mental illnesses have been less than helpful.

All this time, while my son has been in prison, he's been trying to tell them he's "Bipolar". At first, they believed him and gave him a generic anti-depressant and a low dose of a mood stabilizer. Not the meds he'd been on in the past, but at least they were something. Then he was experiencing bad side effects so he reported them to the psychiatrist making her rounds on his tier that day. This was her response:

"So maybe you're not Bipolar!"

You can imagine my shock when my son told me a medical professional said this to him. Isn't it her job to diagnose and treat mental illnesses? Yet she can speak to a patient like this?

But the worst part was what she did next.

She took him off the anti-depressant completely. She told him that in order to receive any more treatment, his doctor needed to contact her and inform her of his Bipolar diagnosis. She left him on the low dose of mood stabilizer which he said did "nothing". Subsequent visits from her and other psychiatrists doing their rounds on his tier did nothing to improve the limbo in which he'd been damned.

So for the last several months I've been trying to acquire all of his records to prove that he IS, in fact, Bipolar. First, I called his regular doctor who was unable to call the doctor at the prison- this is because the diagnosis did not come from his regular doctor, it came from a psychiatric hospital. Makes sense.

So then I went the route of requesting his medical records. Sounds easy enough. But consider the fact that he's 21 years old. This means every single medical professional he saw in his lifetime required a separate release form signed by my son. So, through snail mail, I began my quest of accessing the forms, sending them to him to be signed, having him send them back to me, and then sending them to the correct establishments in hopes of receiving the records. This was a nightmare. Thankfully, the nurse at his regular doctor's office helped me with this and eased the stress considerably.

We were almost home free when we realized that the release forms we'd been using were not accepted at certain mental health facilities. 

Back to the drawing board.

Thankfully, at this point our attorney stepped in and worked his magic to acquire the records more quickly. It's amazing what attorneys can accomplish. What took us months took him less than a week. So now, we may have finally struck gold. The last of the records have been acquired and presented to the prison mental health ward director along with a personal note from our attorney.

After FIVE MONTHS, my inmate son may finally be given the proper medication for his Bipolar Disorder.

So Maybe he IS Bipolar like he's been saying all along.

To Do List

July 25, 2013

As I arrive home from a long, much needed vacation, I am greeted by a 10 inch stack of mail to sort. I haven't unpacked yet, but already I know my to do list is growing. The refrigerator is empty, pantry bare. There are messages on voice mail to retrieve and answer, and there is a day's worth of laundry to do.  Welcome home.

So why is it that all I can do right now is stare blankly at the television, muted? Why is it that my full suitcase remains unopened on the bed while I nibble mindlessly at a cherry poptart?

My emotions are vacant. I am numb.

Then it dawns on me. I don't want to feel real life again yet.

Because for me, real life means that my 21 year old is in prison. Real life means that we don't know yet what the length of his sentence is. Real life means more hounding the mental health care facilities for my son's records to help his attorney make a mental health case with the prosecuting attorney. Real life means worrying about something that can't be controlled. Real life is hell.

So I will finish my poptart before I check my email. I will solve this Law & Order episode before I answer my voice mail. I will sit for a while and dream about some other mother coming home from vacation to greet her 21 year old son at the door. Home from college. Juggling a job and a steady girlfriend. This mother has problems of course, but none of them involve the anxiety that comes with the fact that your baby is sitting behind bars waiting to start his life.

A Brother's Time

June 30, 2013

Tomorrow my younger son and I will visit my older son in prison. Though I have been there several times, it will be the first time my younger son has been there. He hasn't seen his brother since the arrest.

Up until now, my younger son has not wanted to go see his older brother at all, though I've given him ample opportunity. I have not pressured him about it though. First there was school work to think about. Then there has been a new driver's license and a job to distract him. But that's been what he's done. Distracted himself from this crazy world he has found himself in where his older brother is in jail and his mother is a trying not to be a total basket case.

It's not a mystery why he hasn't wanted to visit. There has been anger, disappointment, and shame. When his older brother was first arrested, it was posted in the newspaper and online with a mugshot, of course. That was a difficult time for him. Fielding questions and comments at school was even worse. And then coming home to a mother who sometimes can't get out of bed has been pretty bad too.

All in all, he's had a pretty sucky spring.

But now, after three months, he's decided it's finally time to face his brother. I don't know what to expect. All I know is I will be there standing beside him on the other side of the glass.