functional depression

I went to my physician last week for my annual physical.

As a prelude to the physical exam, she completed a depression screening.

Standard procedure, she said {as if she needed to justify asking those questions}

My responses didn't seem to trigger anything in the screening and so we moved on.

But my responses might have triggered something if I had met with her 2 weeks ago.

Because 2 weeks ago, I was in a funk.

Not the kind where it impaired my daily function, per se, and not one that would likely meet a clinical threshold but one where I was sadder than usual and felt despairing, disconnected and out of focus.  I went about my business - work, kid schlepping, home-making, being a spouse/friend/daughter/sister but I didn't feel much joy and I found it exceedingly difficult to remain fully present in...anything.

I am, by nature, a bit of a malcontent. 

In general, I find that part of my being to be an asset.

It serves me well in thinking outside the box and pursuing new endeavors, being open to perspective, or looking for ways to increase efficiency and creativity.  I like holding myself accountable to the patterns of life - to be mindful and remain attentive to possibilities for improvement/adjustment.  

But when it spins me into a funk, it crosses into a realm of liability.

My Dad, a massage therapist, specializes in what he calls "functional touch."

It is a slow, intentional, persistent, mindful approach to body work.

He spends hours working with the deepest set patterns in our bodies - attending to the tissue that has been forgotten, twisted, deadened, and deprived of circulation.  

The process to restore a body's tissue to health can be long, it can sometimes feel worse as you go about it, and demands your attention.

As I rolled off his table last week, I thought about how the narrative of my funk could be more functional than despairing.  How the ebb and flow of life is like our tissue - 

deeply set into patterns {likely established before our conscious thought} about which we remain fairly oblivious until/unless there is a problem {pain, discomfort, dis-ability}.

On the other side of my funk, I am able to see how it was restorative. 

I feel more resilient to the wonky-ness life is throwing my way.

I feel more attentive to life's priorities and feel better equipped to handle competing demands.

I feel as though I have greater clarity.

I feel more alive.

hold you stuck

just over a year ago, our youngest transitioned out of his crib.

we immediately regretted it.

there are few things as frustrating as a child who rebounds out of his bed.

100 bazillion times. 

we exhausted all the strategies.  

we took turns. we were nice. we were consistent. we were creative. 

we almost transitioned him back to a crib. 

but that boy, he is nothing if not determined so every night was a long, ridiculous ordeal.

one night, i traveled to my wits' end and crawled into bed with him.

i placed his legs in between my thighs, crossed my ankles, and enveloped his little torso with one hand free so he could suck his thumb.

yep, that is right folks, i restrained my kid.  

it was a soft restraint but a restraint nonetheless.

as his giggles turned to defeated cries and he pushed against my embrace, i questioned myself 

i am pretty sure this is not a strategy for the annals of parenting awesome-ness {just sayin'}

all of a sudden, his body went slack.  he stuck his thumb in his mouth and pulled his other arm free to place down the front of his jammies into the crook of his armpit.

he turned into me...and fell asleep.

in the days and weeks that followed, the bedtime dance became more predictable and less frustrating   we restrained him less and less, until it became a distant memory.

but this past week, as i snuggled next to him at bedtime, he surprised me with:

Mommy, i want 'hold you stuck.' 

he then proceeded to place his legs in between my thighs and wrap my arm around his torso.
he sucked his thumb and placed the other hand down the front of his jammies into the crook of his armpit and snuggled close.

Ishme {I asked} why do you want me to hold you stuck?

"Because I safe."

I pulled him tight and kissed his little head.  Yes, bubba, you are safe.

"Thank you, Mommy. I lovah you."

And I know that feeling - I still encounter it as a grown-up:

Sometimes we need a little "hold you stuck" in our lives.

In the hustle and bustle of everyday life and routine, it serves as a reminder that we are safe. 

We are not alone.

We are loved. We are going to be okay.

a good kind of peer pressure

After 8.75 years of sucking his thumb, our son quit.

I think this as a huge milestone.

Quitting the thumb took me over a decade. 

{No joke} 

There may or may not have been a day in high school when I locked myself into a bathroom stall and...

My parents {even my sisters} employed many strategies to help me quit:

finger condoms, "consequences," tall tales of thumb-sucking horrors, and stomach-lurching concoctions

But our son needed none of those things.

He just decided to quit.

{because}

One month ago, he went to the dentist to have his teeth cleaned.

His mouth is quite a fright {orthodontically speaking} and the dentist reminded me that we will need to start thinking about an orthodontic plan soon.

You mean, I will need to get braces? our son asked.

Yup, I said, expecting to hear anxious grumbling.

Instead, I heard "AWESOME!" as he offered his dentist a high five.

Kind of stunned, I replied "Well, we won't be doing braces until you stop sucking your thumb."

He was quiet for a moment and then tells me he is going to make a plan for when he will stop sucking his thumb, "but are you sure I can't have braces at the same time?"

We discussed braces and thumb-sucking all the way home, a commute during which I learned that all of his peers are getting braces and he "definitely need[s] them which is good because...they are cool!"

Hmmm, braces are cool?!!?

Well, that was certainly not my take on the issue but thanks to his peers,

our son decided {that night} to stop sucking his thumb.  

As in, done.

Just like that.

Last night I told him how impressed I was with his accomplishment.

He patted my face and replied, 

"Mama, I told you I would quit when I was ready."

election reflection: dinosaur opposites

this year's election felt like a big deal to me. 

i could hardly wait to get to the polls on election day.

i still remember it was an election year when i turned 18...and i didn't vote.

and 4 years later...i still didn't vote.

at the time, it didn't seem like a big deal.

at the time, it didn't seem like my vote mattered.

at the time, i wasn't really paying attention.

but somewhere in the process of growing into myself, i started to pay attention and i started to care.

i started paying more taxes

i started working more closely with folks who were "other"

i started to understand public/social policy outside the lens of religious and peer bias.

i started feeling more uncomfortable with my ignorance

{it was not bliss after all}

however, paying attention and caring brought with it another kind of discomfort:

{not all people in my spheres are like-minded}

 in fact, a quick review of my facebook feed the day before the election illustrated that truth in spades.

 a truth i knew from years of discourse with family and friends but 

this year's election revealed our unlike-mindedness did not represent a spectrum of ideas 

{as i once believed}

rather, at a profoundly fundamental level, 

the people in my spheres are diametrically opposed in political & social opinion.

on one hand i have deep appreciation for this reality

on the other hand, these fundamentals were precisely why i felt this year's election was a big deal.

i went into election day feeling like it was a battle, one with very high stakes.

this year felt like a battle of the dinosaur opposites in my son's book-of-the-week

{big-small, weak-strong, good-bad}

and so, though i feel disappointment over

the country being taken into "battle;"

some of the decisions made by the current administration over the last 4 years;

the results of some proposals & races; and

the residual feelings of resignation, disgust, and frustration left in the election's wake,

i feel encouraged.

by what the results of the election represent: {a sense of progress}

a shift toward the margins, rather than further barricading the marginalized.

i feel relief.

that "some monster of American history...went into battle last night, and is presently limping away mortally wounded." 

{thank you Ta-Nehisi Coates}

i feel hopeful.

that our country will be able to mature past our tendency to maintain concrete dualities

and engage in conversations & policy development that honor the value of the both-and.

and i remain ever-hopeful that the timeless message of a children's book rings true:

whether big or small, there's a welcome for all!

things do not go as planned

i watched a man bleed to death the other day.

{strangely} 

it wasn't particularly gruesome or even dramatic in the way one might imagine.

everything had been reasonably contained and family was at bedside, holding his hand.

his last moments were humbling:

a medical team having to admit there was nothing more they could do

a family having to acknowledge it was time to say goodbye {we love you}

and a respectful quiet settling into a space that is otherwise bustling.

the patient's wife laid a final kiss on his cheek, squeezed his hand, and stood up

she inhaled deeply, with eyes closed and walked away.

as i escorted her away from the bedside, she very quietly said:

"this is not what we'd planned to do today"

the words were so ordinary and yet, so extraordinary.

 

and so it is with life:death.

we plan our days and nights {often} without regard for the unexpected. 

but the unexpected comes, i have learned; 

it always does.

and it is remarkable to witness how

{in those moments}

people find the strength and courage

to make more plans.