Song Parody: Cleansing Gel

The story behind the songwriting process...

First, there was a friend who asked me, mid-conversation, if I was worried about coronavirus. My answer then remains honest now: "No".

Then there was a post on Facebook remembering a song parody that had been written during the swine flu pandemic.

Finally, there was a Catholic speaker who I love who shared about one of her favorite ways for finding joy in the midst of self-quarantine: Christmas music!

Thus the idea for writing a song called Cleansing Gel to the tune of Silver Bells was born in my mind.

Two weeks later, I finally had a quiet morning to myself (yesterday). I was sitting on the couch, sipping my morning tea and trying to find the motivation to open the book that I had on my lap when the lyrics just came. Still sitting on the couch, I started sorta singing, "Panic buying, people crying... there's no toilet paper... in the air there's a feeling.... of terror". At which point I stood up, smiling with excitement, and went to get paper and a pen while saying aloud, "Oh my gosh, this is getting real!". I finished the first verse and chorus, recorded and sent it to my family, then hopped in the shower hoping that that would help the next verse to come along.

Meanwhile, my family absolutely loved it. My dad said it could go viral (I was more excited that he liked it that much) and my Mom asked if they could share it. I explained that what I had shared with them was only the rough draft. Another verse was coming and it would likely be all done and ready to share later that day.

I was almost done drying my hair when the lyrics started flowing out of me for the second verse. "Jobs are closing, germs are spreading." I sat with that for a few minutes trying to think of what the next line would be. I looked at the lyrics for Silver Bells to learn from how it was written and find inspiration for Cleansing Gel. I wrote the line which mentions China while second-guessing myself that that was even where it all began. Then I had to bring the song back to the US and wrote that next line. Finally, I had to bring it all back to the main theme and smooth out that transition.

The song was done. I just wanted that final affirmation from my family before sharing it so I went ahead and recorded and uploaded it to YouTube since that was the simplest way to share the song as a whole with my family. They loved it and so I put it on Facebook.

Then I took a walk around my neighborhood to try, mostly in vain, to get Silver Bells out of my head. I was already excited about doing the process again and writing another song parody for these times but had no idea what topic or what melody. I have since answered both of those questions and am hoping that it won't take me another two weeks to create it!

On a somewhat related note, I'm beginning a 54 day rosary novena today for the end of the pandemic. Today begins 27 days of petition, followed by 27 days of thanksgiving to conclude on May 14 which is the feast day of St. Corona who is the patroness of plagues and epidemics. Everyone is more than welcome to join in prayer!

3 things I'm thankful for today: the ability to bring joy to others, rosary novenas, the joy of new life.

Meet My New Pet

I'd been considering getting a pet for weeks - almost since the new year - to help me manage anxiety. My first thought had been a betta fish but, really, they're only pretty. I wasn't excited about the prospect at all. Then I woke up one morning a couple of weeks ago, thought about the dwarf hamsters that my sister used to have and realized that I could get one for myself! A quick Google search later and I realized that this idea was very affordable and so I kept reading to refresh my memory on their care. I was getting increasingly excited!

Though it has been years, I've had dwarf hamsters before. During Elementary school, I had two albino dwarf hamsters: Blizzard and Sugar (one at a time, of course). I loved playing with them - as I did with all of our animals - and, looking back, I realized that they truly are very low maintenance.

So now, at this point in my life, I jumped at the possibility of getting another one. I knew it would be good for me and helpful for the anxiety and slight tendencies towards depression to have a little critter around for me to care for. After doing my research, I visited a small pet store during my work break to see about a cage. That pet store proved to be so small that choices were limited and animals were just as scarce. Those animals that were around, I very much enjoyed watching; I finally remembered how much joy animals give me and was a little sad to realize how long it's been since I really took the time to delight in them. Watching them now, I felt right at home.

I finished my work day and made a mental plan to go to a pet store near my home the following day (incidentally, on leap year). My Meyers-Briggs personality type is ANFP (Ambivert. It really should be official); knowing that I had a full morning of training for work on Saturday, I left the idea very much up in the air for myself as to whether or not I'd actually get one that weekend. As it happened, after I got home, it took me less than 10 minutes to turn around and get back in the car to go to the pet store hoping to bring home a dwarf hamster.

And so it came to be that, to celebrate Leap Year, I brought home an energetic goofball who I named Chryssie (short for Chrysanthemum).

The pet store where I got Chryssie was much bigger than the first one so I was even more in my happy place watching all the rodents sleeping soundly or scampering playfully about. The birds were very excited but I think that was largely because someone was buying one of them and an employee was trying to catch one with a net to bring it out. The parrots were so funny. I saw three of them; they already have names while they are in the store and the label on Sky's cage said that she will pose for you. Well, the silly thing did see me admiring her and, while she pretended to be eating with her back toward me, what she was really doing was turning her head -- apparently not actually interested in the little bit of food in her mouth -- around to look at me. Quite the charmer.

Chryssie was sound asleep when I first saw her (I had to look at the label to get a better idea of her coloring) so I found an employee to help me collect the things needed for her care and then woke her up from her peaceful slumber. 

Once home and after I had assembled the cage, I put her into her new home and watched her run and climb about as fast as Dash from The Incredibles for probably 10 minutes straight before she showed any signs of acclimation. It was fascinating to watch. Once she was settled, I went back to the pet store because I had somehow managed to walk out of there without her food. This hamster mama is off to a great start!

Hamsters are nocturnal but they do adapt to their owner's schedule. For Chryssie, that means she'll likely remain largely nocturnal since I work full-time. I'll handle her 1-2 times every day and she'll get some time in her round about exercise ball in the early mornings and usually in the evenings after work. I'm currently the most excited about letting her have a good dust bath. 

3 things I'm thankful for today: chicken noodle soup, The Gifts of Imperfection (Dr. Brené Brown), a "just because" phone call from my cousin over the weekend. 

My First Airplane Experience was...

… terrific!

The lodge where we stayed. Makes me dream of the Sound of Music!

We'd been planning this trip to Colorado to visit my sister for almost 2 years and I'm still not sure that I can actually believe that it really happened. Two years ago, I was still in the very earliest stages of recovery after my mental breakdown and the prospect of getting on an airplane (something I'd never done before) seemed literally impossible to me. In fact, I was pretty sure that my family -- if this really happened -- would simply go without me. And I was more or less ok with that at the time.

You may remember this post about how Eleanor Roosevelt helped form my approach to anxiety in which I used my real-life fear of airplanes as an analogy for finding freedom; I linked to it in my most recent post in which I announced that one of my top goals for this blog (namely, to write a post about the first time I went flying) was about to come to fruition. For context, I've pretty much always had a fear of flying and absolutely no experience with it. Forms of transportation such as driving and the DC metro stress me out regularly so I figured that something grand and adventurous like airports and airplanes would be the death of me.

Then my breakdown happened and life seemed literally impossible (you probably know that I just wanted to end it all). But then, as I sat in that "dentist" chair receiving TMS therapy (Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation) for mental illness, my eyes almost constantly wandered to that poster on the door with that quote from Eleanor Roosevelt -- "You must do the thing you think you cannot do" -- and I could not shake the image of me in an airplane (sans destination. The important part was airports and airplanes).

In short, my perceived inability to do airports (which was about 90% of my fear) was a huge obstacle in my life.

My younger sister flew out to Colorado several days before the rest of us and she kindly sent me play-by-play videos of as much as she could of her airport experience. That was incredibly helpful. But the pearl of wisdom from her that helped me the most was the text message that told me that airports are simpler than the metro. I can't even express the amount of anxiety that left me when I read that. And I found it to be entirely true.

Sunrise behind us flying West; hiking with our nephew to build a snowman; view from the lodge

As far as 9/11 was concerned, I really didn't struggle with a fear of death or catastrophe. If the thought crossed my mind, I simply reminded myself that there have been many, many more successful and safe flights and people hop on airplanes to just about anywhere all the time. I also have a favorite quote from the movie Sully that I was looking forward to discovering for myself. Early in the movie, Sully and his co-pilot are in the cockpit. Just as they're getting to cruising height and before the bird strike, Sully sighs, taking in the beauty of the day and the sight of the Hudson River, saying "Life is so much simpler up here," and his co-pilot contentedly agrees. I've never flown an airplane before and don't ever expect to, but I think I now know the feeling they experience.

The only part that I didn't like much  (I'd call it the most frustrating part of the whole experience -- more so than the kid sitting behind me on the first flight who would occasionally kick the back of my seat) was looking down at the ground and having absolutely no idea what State we were flying over.

We hiked a mountain, built a snowman, then hiked back

My favorite part? I'm no extrovert but I love people and learning about their creative sides. One of the things that got me through the airport experiences was observing all the systems in action (which also helped me to stay in the moment and not worry about the next step). From checking bags and not seeing them again until baggage claim (someone had to think of that idea and create a system) to why on earth anyone would want a job that I cannot understand desiring (TSA people... God bless you!), it just fascinated me to see the fruits of others' creative geniuses.

I love seeing and meeting new people because I'm so curious about their life story up to the point where our paths cross and, of course, beyond.

At our terminal, watching the plane leave before our own arrived to take us back to Virginia

I was especially grateful to the pilots and flight attendants who were so incredibly friendly (my 2 year old nephew was crying for his dinner as we boarded our flight home and one of the attendants said that she'd be crying, too, if someone were delaying her dinner) and I wondered about their lives, too. I'm curious about where they woke up in the morning, where they'll sleep and how long they've been away from their loved ones. Not one of them gave me the impression that they'd rather have a different job or that they were having a bad day (I understand that that is professional but humor me, please). It was incredible to be in the care of such kind people... and I think I can now understand the desire to be a flight attendant (but, no, I will not be switching jobs).

Overall, an experience I'm very glad to have had. In fact, the writing of this post now seems somewhat trivial. Nonetheless, I'm very proud of myself for doing something I thought I couldn't do and I look forward to my life becoming even more unrecognizable in the future.

Lord, find me grateful!

I'm About to Go on My First Airplane

Rare though it might be for someone in my age group and in this day and age to write this, I've never been in an airplane before. We drove everywhere when I was a child; I have 5 siblings and we really only traveled to visit grandparents or to go to our favorite family retreat center in Cape May, NJ. Most of my siblings went on their first airplane during college but I never took advantage of any World Youth Day event or Alternative Spring Break trip or other opportunity to fly. In less than two weeks, though, I'll be flying out to Colorado with my family to visit one of my sisters for a little family reunion of sorts. This is the "before" post. (I shared in this post that one of my goals with this blog is to write a post about the first time I go flying.)

Truth be told, I've always been a bit scared of airports and flying and, though it's not the only reason why, 9/11 sure didn't help. I've been anxious about me getting lost in airports or my luggage getting lost -- not to mention navigating the unfamiliar of wherever my destination is! Adventure doesn't thrill me... (though that leads me to wonder about my every day life because I don't absorb directions very quickly and the DMV area is crazy). Regardless, I'm a bit surprised that I'm actually excited about this new adventure and introduction into the world of flying.

Now, to be fair, I'll be traveling with my family -- including all three of my nephews (ages 5 1/2, 2 1/2, 1) -- so I expect to be plenty distracted. I'm looking forward to seeing what planet Earth looks like from way up high and I'd also like you, dear reader, to know that I literally have no idea how to pack for this trip (Colorado in October? I hear it's possible to experience all four seasons in one day!). But largely thanks to the tremendous amount of therapy I've already had, I find myself generally excited because I'm more myself now than I have been in years.

I still have anxiety, don't get me wrong, but -- in the last few years -- moving out of denial and into acceptance and gaining lots of tools through therapy of ways to live more abundantly is lifechanging.

One example of this growth is that I've moved 5 or 6 times in the last 8 years and each time -- within a month -- I've gotten into a car accident to varying degrees of damage. Well, I moved again only a few weeks ago and I was nervous about another car accident. As a firm believer in the power of prayer, I asked several friends to pray for me for this intention. That, coupled with the tools that I've gained through therapy, and I've learned in the last few weeks that I truly am stronger, braver and smarter than I know (thank you, Winnie-the-Pooh... or is that Christopher Robin?). There have been no car accidents and I'm no longer even worried about the possibility! The new confidence that this has given me is invaluable and I'm so grateful to have experienced it before getting on that plane. (I'd also like to note that the last car accident that I was in -- a mild fender bender -- happened before most of the therapy that I've experienced.)

So while I have very little knowledge of what to expect (I've been in an airport twice in my recollection), I'm not afraid of the possibility of heightened anxiety or an attack. Either could happen but I'm confident in my ability to utilize appropriate coping skills. I expect to be exhausted. Traveling with tired nephews might be exciting, too, and perhaps the weather will be a bit different there than in my still fairly mild Virginia-in-the-Fall weather but I am excited to show myself again that I am strong and brave and that my life is worth living and worth living abundantly.

The "after" (or recap) post will hopefully be here in November. Meanwhile, I'm usually active on Instagram (@sarahloutherese) should you be interested in pictures of beautiful Colorado.

A blissful October to you, dear friends!

15 Steps I Took When I Knew I Was Suicidal

Now that my letter has been published, you know more of my story and the journey that I’ve been on for most of my life. But there's only so much that can be included in a letter that’s meant to be no more than 1500 words, so I want to follow it up with this post to share what would have been much too long to share in the letter: the steps I took while being suicidal.

Although these are numbered, they are not necessarily numbered chronologically. I was in an emergency situation, had no guide book, and — out of fear — wouldn’t even tell my mom at first and didn’t know what to do (other than act on the ideations but, even then, that still, small voice inside me reminded me of my desire for Heaven and I knew that suicide was no guarantee that I would get there). Terrified and alone, the first thing I did was...

1. Told My Priest and my Doctor

This part of my story begins with a text message from my brother. Knowing I was struggling with depression and anxiety, he asked how I had been doing that day. “Other than thoughts of cutting my wrists, I’m great” was my reply (a dry sense of humor runs in the family). He immediately asked permission to call me and we spoke on the phone for the next two hours. I told him truthfully that I was not suicidal and, by the time we hung up, I was feeling pretty good.

But the very next morning, I awoke to a suicidal ideation which included a plan. Thankfully, I couldn’t act on that particular plan because I don’t own the instrument that I saw in the plan. It was, nonetheless, terrifying. My depression and anxiety triggered due to the ideation, I met with my priest after Mass that morning and told him of my ideation. He immediately prayed with and for me, which was helpful and I did relax a bit, but additional help and support was clearly necessary.

That night, my doctor called me and I told her that I was suicidal. She asked me to put my mom on the phone and told my mom that I would be spending the night at home and that, if my mom wouldn’t take me to the ER the next morning, she would.

2. Went to the ER

My Mom took me to the ER. I still hadn’t told her. I couldn’t. I was so scared. I told the nurse in triage. Then I saw my first psychiatrist who prescribed my first medication and also gave me the choice between hospitalization or Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP). I didn’t want hospitalization. By now my Mom knew and I had a surge of confidence in our ability to communicate so, if I had to do one or the other, it would be PHP. I was put on the waiting list. The waiting list was about a week long (which is forever for someone who was in my situation).

3. Told EVERYONE in My Family and Made Sure There was Always Someone With Me

Mom and I left the ER and went out for ice cream. I felt more confident since it seemed like we had an action plan. We now both knew that I was suicidal and I determined, hard as it would be, to call everyone in my immediate family (I have 5 siblings so this was a big commitment) and tell them that I was suicidal. I knew that if I had any chance whatsoever of survival, we all had to know. I needed that support.

As I began to communicate more openly with my family, gifts began to show up on our doorstep with my name on them. It was puzzling because I hadn't ordered anything. There was a fuzzy panda bear blanket from my brother and sister-in-law and a necklace with Philippians 4:13 on it from my sister. Though my love language is not gift giving or receiving, these little things from my further-away siblings went a long way in helping me to feel their love, support and encouragement.

Meanwhile, they also made sure that I was always with someone with whom I felt safe. The chances of attempting suicide are far less when with company so my local siblings, family members, and closest friends all jumped on board. I appreciated this very much, especially because my love language is quality time and so spending hours with people who I felt safe with was so good for me.

The occasion was my brother's college graduation. Remember that mental illness is a very hidden suffering: you would never know that I was depressed, anxious and suicidal; in fact, I hadn't eaten anything that day and was considering starvation. Please don't be afraid to ask your friends how they're doing. I mean, how they're *really* doing.

4. Switched Therapists

Within just a couple of days, I was admitted into a Partial Hospitalization Program but not the one whose waiting list I had been on. (My daily and nightly panic attacks were hospital level and very, very scary so my Mom and my Aunt did a lot of research while I was sleeping off some medication one afternoon and, when I woke up, they had my next step figured out.) At PHP, I met daily with a Psychiatrist and, due to schedules on their side, worked with two different therapists. My psychiatrist — who was absolutely wonderful to work with — recommended his practice for after my discharge not because I could continue working with him but because his colleagues have an excellent reputation. Longer story very short, I left my first therapist (who I mentioned in my letter. The reason is that we were not the right fit for each other) and switched to a group therapy at his practice. From there I stayed at that practice but eventually switched to individual therapy again to do CBT. That was an incredible experience and the story is in my letter.

5. Left My Job

The first 4 steps were chronologically what happened. Here, I’m transitioning out of the story and into the facts. Prior to my breakdown (please read my letter if you have not yet already), I could not admit that I was miserable. I wanted so much to love my job but I just didn’t. Since I was suicidal, my psychiatrist at PHP encouraged me to get a new job. Apparently, that’s the advice he gives to all patients who are suicidal and that makes sense. I did leave my job and accepted unemployment. I will forever be immensely grateful to my parents for welcoming me back home and caring for me.

6. Texted the Suicide Hotline Number

Once I learned of it a few months in, I began texting the National Suicide Hotline Number. I texted that number so many times that they recorded my name/number and would greet me by name when I texted (that was only creepy the first time). Was it helpful? Kinda... although I already knew the coping skills and breathing exercises that they recommended from my time in PHP. For me, it really was just a reason for me to not think (or not think entirely alone) about my ideations and severe anxiety.

7. Had a Physical List of People to Contact When I Needed To and was as Transparent as Possible

There’s nothing worse that being alone when you’re triggered. The isolation means that the lies swimming in your mind are suddenly on steroids, the battle feels too big and overwhelming and giving up seems the easiest way. At PHP, I created a physical list of people to contact in these moments and I would text all of them and engage with anyone who responded. In those moments, it’s literally ANYTHING you can do that keeps you from acting on the ideations. 

Further, I told my family and closest friends what I saw in my ideations. Subsequently, my parents hid the kitchen knives. To this day, I have no idea where they kept them for those several months. They only brought them out for cooking, then quickly cleaned them and put them right back in their hiding place.

8. Got a Temporary (“transition”) Job

I was unemployed and dreading employment, having lost trust in employers. I’m a preschool teacher and, as it turns out, the Preschool Director at our Church has a great relationship with our family. She offered me a very part time, temporary job and I reluctantly accepted it. It was a great choice and, within only two weeks of that job ending, I landed my current job where I am, to this day, very happy.

9. Using a Weighted Blanket

Simultaneously to getting a temporary job, we learned about weighted blankets and did our research about them. They are helpful for people who suffer from nightmares, anxiety, depression, sleeping disorders, etc. My mom bought me one and that coupled with a medication change and a new job seemed to work its magic on me and I finally began to be consistently better and better.

10. Met with My Priest on an As-Needed Basis

My priest has known me for half my life and, if my Mom texted him to ask for his soonest availability because I needed to talk to him, he was ready. I am painfully aware of how great a gift this is but I do encourage you to talk to a priest after Mass about your struggles if any of this resonates with you.

11. Prioritized Daily Mass, Listened, Prayed and Trusted

I prioritized daily Mass and that was the majority of my prayer life outside of my ultimate intention to offer up all of my suffering. There was no consolation at Mass except for the head-knowledge of Jesus’ True Presence in the Eucharist. At this point, it was more conviction than anything else. I was in intense physical pain, the anxiety was so great, and the only consolation the Eucharist gave me was the strength to keep fighting for another day. I received the Sacrament of Anointing several times throughout these 10 months of suffering and it’s really the graces of the Sacraments that kept me going.

People around me were praying for me and I leaned on their prayers. It was hard to trust God, hard to trust their prayers and hopes for me but, simultaneously, I literally had nothing better to do. I didn’t know when or if my suffering would end. They told me it would but I didn’t know if I could believe them. The only person who I came close to believing told me, with tears streaming down her face, that she had heard God whisper in her heart, “Soon, but not yet.” Within three months, I entered remission.

12. Wrote Letters

Several friends asked what they could do to help. There wasn’t much, honestly, because my group of trusted people was very small. I would always ask for their prayers and I would sometimes ask if they enjoyed letter writing. To my delight, I was able to exchange letters with several people for a few months. It’s also the little joys that kept me going.

13. Avoided Alcohol

Countless times while in PHP, I was asked when my last drink was. I’d self-medicated on alcohol in the past but, after my mental breakdown, I began to take my recovery seriously. I knew that if I wanted any chance of survival, alcohol wouldn’t be part of my journey. So my last drink before my breakdown was Christmas day and it would be months before I had another one. There was so much trial and error with different medications that I was grateful that alcohol had no influence on any of it.

14. Never Attempted Anything

As real as the ideations seemed, as intense as the pain was, as lonely as I felt, and as much as I wanted out (believing myself to be a burden to the world), I never attempted anything.  It seemed like I had every plan in the book and sometimes circumstances would reveal new plans. It was terrifying. And it’s only by the grace of God that any of this is true.

This is the baby who I so desperately wanted to meet, one of the forefront reasons in my mind for not acting on the ideations in those moments. Holding him for the first time was the moment that I chose life once and for all because I wanted to get to know him.

He is all joy and I've never once regretted that choice. Also, that necklace is the one from my sister with Philippians 4:13 on it.

15. Celebrated the Milestones

The therapist with whom I worked the longest (a year) and I celebrated together every milestone along my path to recovery. The first time that I talked myself out of a panic attack, we celebrated the following week with ice cream. It truly doesn’t take much to celebrate and it goes a long way for the client's recovery and for the relationship between therapist and client which, I believe, is what's more important: a therapist can give you the tools that you need but a good relationship with your therapist is really what makes all the difference.

My Family, Aug 2019

It's a hard journey but it's a worth-it journey. Life is worth living. Keep your heart up!

____________________________________________________________________________

Thank you so much for your positive response to my letter, for sharing it on your own social media accounts and to everyone who took the time to message me. Suicide is the second leading cause of death for people in my age group (which is absolutely gut-wrenching and heartbreaking); I wrote my letter (and this post!) to be shared in hopes of helping others catch a glimpse of hope in the midst of their struggles. It's why I have this blog, why I've chosen to share my story and it's given greater meaning to all the suffering that I endured.

So thank you for your responses, your encouragement, and your prayers for me and for everyone who has read and will read my letter. I truly believe that prayer makes a difference!

I Talked Myself Out of a Panic Attack

I already knew that my anxiety was triggered. This was obvious because I could barely eat anything for dinner the night before. This, uncharacteristically of me, did not concern me too much even though a light dinner typically means a rough morning the following day. I've made some significant and successful changes to my early morning routine so I was feeling confident as I fell asleep.

In the morning, I woke up and knew immediately that my body was a little off. I still ate my protein bar first thing while sipping water, then took an extra minute in a slightly cooler than usual shower. I was starting to feel better.

After I spent some time in prayer accompanied by my iced tea, I put in an online order for a smoothie to top off my breakfast, got my lunch together and set off for another day with some of my favorite kids.

The weather was cooler, like Fall even though it's still early September and I live in Virgina. Still, it made our early morning outdoor time at school more enjoyable as we wrapped ourselves in sweaters.

Around 9:30, though, inside doing Circle Time with my class, I felt my stomach drop and, with it, my anxiety heighten. I quickly took off my sweater as I got hot and a bit lightheaded. My mind started telling me that I wouldn't make it through the day, working with kids is too stressful, I'll never live on my own because it's just not safe, I won't be able to keep my job because I'm not strong enough... all of it.

This is what anxiety does for me. I started that sentence in the last paragraph with "My mind started telling me" because not one of those things is true. And I know that when these racing thoughts come, they are lies and if I let myself dwell on them I will plunge myself into a downward spiral and end up in a panic attack. Typically, panic attacks last 20-30 minutes and you feel like you're going to die. (But you won't. No one has ever died of a panic attack.) I knew I had to get myself out of this thought pattern before I came to deeper waters.

The children now happily sitting around the tables eating their morning snack, I quickly took my emergency meds, grabbed my water bottle, sat down under the AC to slowly drink my water and started repeating over and over quietly in my head: "Jesus loves me... Jesus loves me... Jesus loves me...".

I continued repeating it. The Catechism of the Catholic Church paragraph 2666 says "The Name of Jesus is the only name that contains the presence it signifies." I knew that by praying His Name and saying this truth over myself, I was slowly bringing myself to an awareness of His presence right there and then, reminding myself also that life happens a day at a time, a moment at a time and all those lies that my mind was telling me are only empty words. They have no truth in them.

I continued praying "Jesus loves me" in my mind over and over and over as we took our class outside to read a book and explore the outdoors. Sitting around a picnic blanket with my class, I put my hand gently on top of the grass and I noticed how it felt on my hand. I took slow and steady deep breaths, noting how the air smelled and tasted. I looked around at my class and noticed each of my students' faces and outfits. I continued to note my breathing to make sure that it stayed calm. This is a practice of Mindfulness. My goal was to make sure that I stayed engaged with reality.

As the children scampered around like little squirrels exploring the outdoors, I continued to sip my water. I purposefully kept a little smile on my face because this relaxes my face and my body. All the while, I'm still praying - sometimes softly saying it aloud - "Jesus loves me... Jesus loves me...".

My body still felt heavy. But my mind was now in a place where I could think more rationally. I told myself that calm is contagious and that I was proud of myself for taking ownership of my body and of my mind, and for reaching out to Jesus for help.

By the time I was back to a place where I was confident about being at work and life in general, two whole hours had passed.

You'll read more about "young Sarah" (birth to age 12) in my letter when it's published on Sept 25. For now, I'd like to share that this "new Sarah" -- the Sarah that utilized her coping skills to make it through a hard morning at work --  is a lot like "young Sarah" but she's so much stronger now having gone through what you'll read about in my letter. It's not easy to share this story with you (my letter or this post). But I am because maybe you can relate to it and maybe you find peace and strength knowing that you're not alone.

Lord, find me grateful! _____________________________________________________________

Hey friends! Thanks for being here and reading along with my pursuit of an abundant life (cf John 10:10)! I’m excited to share that my story with mental illness, written in the form of a letter for the blog The Catholic Woman and their series Letters to Women, will be published there on September 25. Please join me in praying for the letter and for everyone who will read it. 

When it is published, I need your help! I hope that this letter reaches many hearts but I can’t do that by myself. Please share my letter when it is published. This story isn’t so much about mental illness as it is about God’s love and mercy and how I came to find my home in his heart.

As always, I'm also over on Instagram and I enjoy connecting with you there: @sarahloutherese God bless and keep your heart up! For more information on Mindfulness: https://catholicpsych.com/ Calligraphy by The Oodles of Doodles: Etsy shop and Instagram

Investing in a Passion

Last year, I did a show. I portrayed a poor musician in a community theater production of A Christmas Carol that was set in St. Louis in the 1930s. I played fiddle.

Intending to be honest with the director, I told her that I was terrified even though, upon request, I had no lines to memorize. I do love my instrument but I hadn’t played consistently in a while. I love the arts but I hadn’t been on stage in 16 years and my anxiety had been under control for almost a year but I still had my doubts. The director told me that she understood and literally promised me that I would fall in love with the process and come away from the experience having completely enjoyed myself. I think that’s what she would tell just about anyone but, I will say, she’s known me for 20 years. I chose to trust her.

Before the show opened, it had been about 6 weeks of daily rehearsals and feeling simultaneously overwhelmed and excited by it all when I came across this quote while looking at jewelry on Amazon. The necklace that I never bought had this etched on it: “To play a wrong note is insignificant. To play without passion is inexcusable.” (-Beethoven) It was at the core of what the more experienced musicians around me were telling me but it was hard for me to believe (further, it was not what I expected any of them to say). At this point, though, I began to trust it — partially because Beethoven knows what he’s talking about. I didn’t want the necklace but I still made the quote look cute in my violin case.

The show was amazing. Frankly, I can’t believe how much I loved it and I’m so grateful. Afterwards, while watching a recording of the show, I finally saw what everyone had been telling me all along. All those notes that I missed on stage and was so worried about? I still noticed but I finally saw that it really didn’t matter. The violin merely faded for a couple of beats then came back strong (but that’s really only my opinion as someone with a trained ear. The audience most likely didn’t notice anything remotely amiss). What I saw was that none of the perfectionism in me that was rallying my anxiety was worth it. Perhaps my skill level does not equate to concert violinist — as I once dreamed it would — but I’m realizing how grateful I am for that.

For the first 3 years after graduating college, I was basically a workaholic. It wasn’t by choice and the extreme lack of a balanced lifestyle nearly killed me. But due to exhaustion and a somewhat shy, introverted nature, I never did anything other than work and isolate myself when not at work. While recovering from my mental breakdown and in the midst of therapy, I learned a lot about the importance of self-care. I began thinking of a balanced lifestyle from the perspective of self-care and even began considering going to work for a healthy amount of time at a time as self-care. When not at work, I knew what wasn’t healthy for me and so, steadily over the last couple of years, I’ve been learning that it’s good to have fun and investing in something I’m passionate about is a good compass for having fun.

I’m still figuring things out but my first big priority did become investing in something that I’m passionate about. Violin isn’t my only instrument — it’s not even my first instrument! — but it is the instrument that I’m most passionate about. While preparing for the show, I found out that a friend’s husband teaches violin and I was able to meet with him before getting into the thick of rehearsals to help me get back into practice. 

There are purchases — big and little — that I regret; I’ve never once regretted what’s ultimately learning more about violin. Violin has always been a great joy for my heart and I love sharing that joy when I have the opportunity to. Once upon a time, I dreamed of seeing my name in lights. Now, I don’t care whether or not that ever happens. What’s important to me is that I love playing and it’s a great joy to do so. I don’t ever want to forget it.

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Hey friends! Thanks for being here and reading along with my pursuit of an abundant life (cf John 10:10)! I’m excited to share that my story with mental illness, written in the form of a letter for the blog The Catholic Woman and their series Letters to Women, will be published there on September 25. Please join me in praying for the letter and for everyone who will read it. When it is published, I need your help! I hope that this letter reaches many hearts but I can’t do that by myself. Please share my letter when it is published. Sometimes what people won’t hear from their family members they will from someone else. This story isn’t so much about mental illness as it is about God’s love and mercy and how I came to find my home in his heart.

As always, I’m also over on Instagram and I enjoy connecting with you there! @sarahloutherese.

God bless, and keep your heart up!

My Anxiety Doesn’t Stand a Chance

The timing of this song on the radio was perfect: I was driving to a training for work but, because I had anticipated carpooling with a coworker (I hate driving [to unknown places]) my anxiety was heightened over the fact that I was now suddenly driving by myself.  I had found out last-minute that illness prevented my coworker’s attendance and my immediate thought had been that it clearly meant I couldn’t go anymore either. But just as soon as I had the thought, I realized that it was a lie, so I took a deep breath and readied myself for the day. I prepared my travel mug of black tea like I do every day, put on some essential oils (to my Young Living friends: Valor and Breathe Again), grabbed a couple of protein bars and left 45 minutes early for the training that was only 15 minutes away. (Punctuality - or straight up being early - is one of my coping skills). The radio was on in the car, as it often is, and set to the local Christian station. Initially, while I looked at Google Maps again, I wasn’t really listening to it but then I tuned in just in time to hear the resounding bridge sung: “My fear doesn’t stand a chance when I stand in your love.” I loved it so much that, instead of reading my book before the training began, I looked up the lyrics and continued to reflect on them. I knew the artist was on to something. Inspired by the message of the song, I began counting little successes as the day progressed:

During the training (which was a seminar), my already-heightened anxiety triggered even more for a couple of reasons: the crowd and my delicate blood sugar. So when I felt like I really needed to, I stood up and walked to the back of the room. Success #1: I knew it was ok to move and comfortable enough to act on it. My anxiety doesn’t stand a chance.

While I stood in the back trying to relax my body, I ate a few bites of what was left of one of the protein bars then walked around a little breathing deeply to get myself grounded again. Once calmer, I found a little room that was removed from the larger crowd but close enough to still hear everything and I sat down in there to continue taking notes during the talk. Success #2: I was ok with doing what I needed to do to be comfortable. When I stand in God’s love, my anxiety doesn’t stand a chance.

I soon realized that the protein bar wasn’t good enough for my blood sugar so I began wondering whether I’d have to leave early or if I should drive around the mall to find a grocery. Then I noticed that there was a little cafe (the seminar was at a hotel) with a buffet off to the side of the reception area so I got up and went to ask someone behind the counter about the cost. It was somewhat expensive but worth every penny to take care of myself. Success #3: If you don’t ask, the answer is always ‘no’. When I stand in God’s love, my anxiety doesn’t stand a chance.

When that first talk was over, I returned to my seat and my coworkers to retrieve my purse and go back to the buffet. One of my coworkers had a hankering for some bacon so I got some for her. I told her that I hadn’t had much for breakfast and felt like I really needed to eat something and her facial expression was all encouragement as she responded, “Oh, good for you!” Success #4: I  used the resources at hand to give my body what it needed to continue successfully normalizing. When I stand in God’s love, my anxiety doesn’t stand a chance.

Typically, after I’ve controlled my anxiety, I’m still afraid to return to wherever I was when the anxiety triggered. This meant that I wouldn’t go back to sit with my coworkers for the remainder of the seminar. But this seemed rude to me and it’s been a goal of mine to overcome this fear, so I gently told myself: “You’ve done everything so well and have successfully taken great care of yourself this morning. Good for you! It’s ok to stay out more but it’s been a goal of yours for a while to overcome this fear. Start now. If you have to leave again, that’s ok. Try again next time. But start now”. That positive self-talk worked and so, after reapplying my essential oils and checking my breathing, I walked confidently back into the seminar. I sat with my coworkers and enjoyed our little commentary throughout the presentation. When I felt a little unsteady, I reached into my purse and grabbed that banana I’d saved from the buffet. And I stayed for the remainder of the training. This felt like my greatest success of the day! When I stand in God’s love, my anxiety doesn’t stand a chance.

I’ve recently noticed that I’m increasingly confident in my ability to ulitize appropriate coping skills when I need them whether that means standing up and walking around when I’m actually inclined to be a statue, accepting others’ charity (oh, gosh, do you know how hard this is?), or making myself remove a layer or two regardless of how much I like the outfit (no worries - I’m LOLing at myself). Counting these little successes in the context of the song kept the wheels turning (literally...).

Driving home (raise your hand if you caught my humor) from the training, I got to thinking about my experiences of the morning and, in the context of the song, what I could learn from it. I noticed my enhanced confidence with coping skills and realized, also, that I’m good at them. But that doesn’t actually make it any easier. Anxiety - regardless of the level at which you experience it - is a beast and there’s nothing easy about it. Utilizing coping skills is hard work and so is getting anxiety back under control. Feeling steady on your feet again feels like a longer trip than you bargained for. But the song’s message full of hope and conviction, and the knowledge of what I’m capable of, gives me confidence and great hope in my ability to successfully cope with my anxiety. 

It ain’t easy. But it is worth it. When I stand in God’ s love, my anxiety doesn’t stand a chance!

The discipline of Lent? It ain’t easy. But it is worth it. Jesus says, “Apart from Me, you can do nothing.” (Cf. John 5:15) When we stand in God’s love, nothing else stands a chance! 

Praying you have a blessed a fruitful Lenten journey!

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Let’s stay in touch! Instagram: @sarahloutherese

What Do Ellen DeGeneres and I Have in Common?

(Source)

Have you seen Ellen’s Netflix special Relatable? Yep, I watched it. Yep, I enjoyed it. But I still don’t miss watching her show every afternoon.

Now, it probably doesn’t take much guessing to figure out that I don’t agree with a lot of what Ellen stands for but then I’m confident that she would say the same of me. However, as I watched Relatable, it was not her references to the many things that I don’t agree with that stood out to me. She got the audience laughing as she made fun of this or that. They cheered as she offered her support of those who are vegan and as she shared about her trip to Rwanda to see the starting reality of the 60th birthday present from Portia. I really don’t think that every person in that audience identifies as gay. I’ll bet that their general political opinions are also wide and varied and I’m pretty sure it’s possible to say “I love Ellen and I love Trump” in the same sentence. (I just did.) What stood out to me as I watched her stand-up special was her creativity and her love for her fans. If you are doing something great with your life and you can’t say that you love and are grateful for the people who are giving you your success, then I’d call that a failure.

Ellen wrote her presentation (perhaps with a little help from screenplay writers): an entire hour about how relatable her life still is, despite her fame. She added a bunch of hilarity to it all - how she kept a straight face while the audience rolled with laughter I have no idea. (Acting is not my forte.) But the way she told her story of how she went from living in a flea-infested basement apartment to the fame that she now enjoys was creative enough in and of itself, let alone the creativity she used when she was actually living it.

That girl is creative and passionate about what she does and is as generous as they come.

I’ve seen many a YouTube video from her shows but until last year I had never seen a show from start to finish. Just from her YouTube videos I became a fan of Jeannie, discovered the game 5 Second Rule (and gave it as Christmas presents to every household in my family), and downloaded the app Heads Up!. Last year when I was unemployed and nearing the end of my tornado-of-an-experience with mental illness, watching her show gave me something to laugh at for an hour every afternoon (quite the feat when you’re talking major depression and a severe anxiety disorder). Then a new job came with a new schedule and more than a year later I just remembered that I watched her show every day for a few weeks last year.

Evidently, I have been alive and kicking and really enjoying and loving life. My knack for creativity found a home in my preschool classroom and because of that I had almost convinced myself that I didn’t really need outlets for creative writing or even creating music. But my friend who directed A Christmas Carol asked me to be a part of the show and I eventually said “Yes” (actually, I said “I’ll try to stay” because, well, anxiety), then the musicians “clicked” really well and had so much fun together creating music. Once that was over I finally decided to just go for it and create a new blog to explore this idea of writing about anxiety and, before Christmas Day arrived, I already had half a dozen drafts behind the scenes that were done and ready to go. It seemed creativity was suddenly bursting at the seams of my brain and I had finally allowed myself the opportunity of these creative outlets.

So what do Ellen and I have in common? Apparently, a lot more than I thought.

Picture of Bravery

My word for this year is brave. This picture of me was taken a couple weeks before I decided that yet, to me, it is a defining moment of that decision.

I can tell you exactly when this picture was taken: on stage at the top of the second act of A Christmas Carol, playing Angels We Have Heard on High. And I was sick. A stomach bug was going around like the plague at the school where I teach and it had finally caught up with me a week later, just in time for the second weekend of shows. I hadn’t been able to eat much of anything and I’d had an anxiety attack a few hours prior because I so desperately did not want to be sick and so earnestly desired to be in the shows - such a treasured gift it had become to me by then. Despite lack of food, subsequent lightheadedness, and heightened anxiety, I played the shows.

I was not alone. My mom came with me for moral support (because, honestly, I thought I would burst into tears each time I walked off stage, if I even made it off stage first), the director was fabulous and treats everyone like her own son or daughter, and the cast was nothing short of incredible, offering me support, affirmation, and kindness every step of the way.

When I look at this picture, it speaks a powerful truth to me: I am strong and brave. With or without physical illness, I was terrified to get on stage, fought it hard and initially did it only very reluctantly.

The anxiety did not stop me. I am not my anxiety.

After I’d fallen in love with the show and physical illness threatened to rob me of the joy of playing in a couple of performances, I decided to let nothing stand in my way. I was sick, yes, but not so sick that I absolutely could not be a part of the show (a heartfelt thanks to the cast and crew for welcoming me despite my contagious state. I did my job of contaminating everyone quite successfully!). While I am still in disbelief that I was able to push myself through - hard as it was - I am convinced that that is what grace does. 

So I love this picture not because it’s among the only that I have of me playing violin but because to me is speaks of what, with the help of God’s grace, I am capable of doing. And because I know the suffering of severe anxiety I also know that, if I can do something hard and come away with a memory as powerful as this one, you can too.

Challenge: find a picture that speaks to you powerfully as this one does for me and put it somewhere that you’ll see frequently. I ordered a mounted photo of this picture and it now sits on my dresser next to a little mirror to remind “today-me” that I am strong and brave and capable of doing hard things.

This picture was taken from the audience by the father of a cast member who did not know of my illness.

It’s the Most Festive Time of the Year

Being in A Christmas Carol at the end of 2018 taught me an important lesson I did not expect to learn. I’m the girl who dreams of decorating her future home like a Hallmark Christmas movie for the holidays. My reality is that the Farm House is cozy and homey and lovely during the holidays but it doesn’t qualify for a Hallmark movie. I like real Christmas trees though I’ll admit that I’m accostumed to sentimental ornaments. If other things aren’t just so then I have a lot of interior frustration to overcome before I can really enjoy it.

A Christmas Carol was none of this. It was St Louis and depression era. No Christmas trees, little-to-no decorations, an old barn on the left, a little house on the right, and old clothing that supposedly barely kept us warm out there in the freezing cold (I won’t mention that the heat was on in the community center and us actors/musicians were trying so hard not to die on stage). Yet there was nothing like being on that stage in the midst of the script come to life and surrounded by all these talented people that truly put me in the Christmas spirit. As a cast, we endured our own hardships apart from the characters we portrayed: illness was everywhere and understudies were brought in from among the cast (except for when I got sick but played fiddle anyway. No one in the cast could learn an instrument that fast. More on that experience coming next week!). Yet our joy was almost tangible and made for a truly extraordinary experience.

I was surprised, then, when it came time for the cast party and I did not fully enjoy the Christmas decorations of our wonderful host. Don’t get me wrong: they were beautiful! Pretty close to that Hallmark Christmas movie I’ve long been dreaming of.  Maybe I was exhausted? Perhaps still recovering from my illness? Both are likely and I was certainly still in that moment of “a truly extraordinary experience” I just mentioned seeing that I was still surrounded by the incredible cast and others who had come to celebrate with us. So why could I not fully appreciate what I thought were my favorite kinds of decorations? I decided to not think too hard about it and continued to enjoy the moment.

The next morning I had an anxiety attack first thing and ended up taking that and the following day off from work - doctor’s orders. Apparently, getting back to normal routines is a more challenging mental shift than I anticipated. I suspect many can relate, if we’re being honest.

It took a few more days to finally put my finger on it and then it struck me right at my core. I was telling my mom something about how easy it was for me to be in the Christmas spirit on stage despite the drab surroundings when out came the words: “Festivity is about the joy not the decorations.”

If that is the reason why God called me back on stage to be a part of A Christmas Carol and learn a lesson like that then it was all completely and utterly worth the anxiety attacks, illnesses, and stress of leaving my students early every day and in the hands of my capable albeit young high school assistants. Christmas is not about the kind of tree, how luminous the decorations, or how many gifts you buy. If I carry the joy of Christmas in my heart - the joy that Jesus came that we might have - then the middle of January can very well be the most festive time of the year.