Into the Forest I go...

I read this quote not too long ago, probably on Pinterest,

"And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul." 

and I thought of it again this weekend while I wandered through trees and around lakes in the Uintas.

We went camping with our family. If you haven't camped in the Uintas, put it on your bucket list and check it off soon. By far, it is among the most beautiful places I have ever seen! It's cold, it will probably rain at some point during the day, but it is worth staying for.

Most of the family fish. I don't. So I walked the trails along and around the lakes, thinking, taking in the majestic views, and taking pictures.

I watched my brother-in-law and sister-in-law with my nephew. I watched them teaching him to fish for the first time. I watched them walk hand-in-hand. I watched them be the adorable little family I love. And while I watched them, I thought of the babies I never knew and I thought of Max. I thought about this time last year and how we wondered what our lives would be like a year from then. I knew then that it was very possible that Max wouldn't be here, but I'd hoped with all of my being that he would be. Tyler and I had dreamed of how our little family would be with a son with many disabilities. We embraced it. We weren't scared of living that life. We were only scared of not having our little boy. And as I watched my sister-in-law swing my nephew up to sit on her shoulders, I thought about how Tyler had said he would carry Max every day of his life, if he couldn't walk. And as our sweet little nephew ran around the lakes and through the mud and tall grass, I thought of how I could have a baby carrier strapped on me with Max while I followed.

I wondered what life would be like if Max had lived. And I even dared to wonder what life would be like if Max had been a completely healthy child.

In these thoughts, my heart teetered between joy and pain. Joy in what I have, and pain in what I've lost. Joy in what could be, and pain in what may never come again.

I don't know what the future holds right now. I don't know how Tyler and I will create a family. I don't know what the Lord has in store. But I do know that the Lord has a plan. I know that in the future I will feel the joy I once held in my arms again. I know that in my soul.

My soul is at such complete peace in the mountains. In the quiet, beautiful places the Lord has created I feel I can hear Him best. I can let go of all the crazy things that pester my mind in the real world, and I can escape to my true soul in the shadow of the trees.

So, as I pondered by the lakes, this weekend, I thought of that quote and this little poem came to me.

Finding peace in the quiet of the mountains.
Finding joy in the land of the Lord.
Finding hope in the great wide open.

I lost myself in the forest,
but I found my very own soul.
-Brittany King

XO.

All Made Right

My heart, albeit still quite tender, is mending. The pieces, so carefully placed back together, are binding and fusing into place. And it feels stronger than it ever has.

I was embarrassed to admit my defeat to all of you in my last post. I felt so ashamed in my anger and bitterness. But I am only human. I am imperfect and prone to feel the sting of it. For the first time in my life, my faith slipped like sand through my fingers. I wanted to hold on to it in that moment. I knew I needed it. I desperately tried to hold on, but I couldn't keep it all within my grasp. There was a booming voice within me that hushed the quiet voice of peace. A confusion began to rock me and I felt uneasy on my own feet. Suddenly, I knew nothing, except that everything felt hopeless. 

How could I pray and talk to God? He knew what had happened. He knew what had been done. He knew how I felt. I had nothing new to tell him. And how could I receive peace from this God who took away all the happiness I had ever been given? It was too much; it felt like too much. How could I keep going? How could I keep believing? How could I keep enduring in faith?

Well, how could I not??

Let me tell you, even in my fit of anger and my calls of betrayal, My Lord never left me. He stood by. He waited for me to calm. And He outstretched His arms for me when I, at last, collapsed into His love. Because he never, ever leaves us. Even when we step away, even when we run away. He waits. He stands by, arms ready to catch us. George Q. Cannon once said, "No matter how serious the trial, how deep the distress, how great the affliction, God will never desert us. He never has, and He never will. He cannot do it. It is not His character to do so... He will always stand by us. We may pass through the fiery furnace; we may pass through deep waters; but we shall not be consumed nor overwhelmed. We shall emerge from all these trials and difficulties the better and purer for them." We leave God. God does not leave us. Ever.

So, how could I not remain faithful to a God who remains ever faithful to me? How could I desert the the God that gave me Max and the hundreds of miracles that came in those 5 weeks of his life and in the months following its end. How could I let this setback allow me to forget everything He has blessed me with? Because that is just it, ya know? We all have difficult mountains to climb. We all have tough trials to endure. It is life. It is not punishment from God. It is not a curse. It is just life! And if we take a good look around and evaluate everything, then we can really see all that the Lord does for us to help us get through those hard times. He is always right there, giving us help and blessing us with the tools we need to endure. And when we feel like no one understands, like our pain is just too great, there is One who does understand and He will take away all our pain. 

Our loving, pure, perfect Savior sacrificed all He had for each of us. When he atoned in the Garden of Gethsemane, He felt each of our pains and heartbreaks. He has carried each of our burdens. He knows our griefs; he knows every ache. Because of His ultimate act of love, because of Him we can be made whole. I recently read in Preach My Gospel, "All that is unfair about life can be made right through the atonement of Jesus Christ." There is no promise more beautiful than that! Everything that is difficult, heartbreaking and unfair in this mortal existence cannot ruin eternity. The Savior has paved a way for us to achieve more happiness than we can ever comprehend. 

We cannot focus on the trials, the losses, and the hardships, because there is still so much more to be grateful for. Christ and Heavenly Father are always constant; they are always there. So, there is always hope. 

So, no, I cannot give up that faith. I cannot give up the faith that sustains me. I cannot give up the God that never gives up on me. I cannot give up on the only hope I have. I cannot give up on His great plan of happiness that promise me joy. I can endure this. We can all endure. We can persevere through it all, because we are never alone. We are never left empty handed. If we just seek the Lord, if we just reach our for His help, we can conquer anything. "We are more than conquerors through Him that loved us." (Romans 8:37) 

Somewhere Beyond the Rainbow

6.21.16

I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant?

Due to a sweet, personal experience, I knew I was pregnant. I didn't know how I knew it. I just knew. I could feel this precious spirit with me. It was late, but I stopped at the store for a pack of pregnancy tests. I hurried home and decided to get ready for bed and test in the morning. I was 4 days early to my projected period start date, and I had drank tons of water. I knew the result would be more clear in the morning. So, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, always keeping an eye on the box of pregnancy tests. I shoved it in a drawer and went to bed. I laid there for 5 minutes and jumped back up to go to the bathroom. I laid the test on the counter to "season" (Juno) and went back to my room. I changed my pajamas to pass the time. I watched the clock: 1 minute, 2 minutes... 3 minutes. Back down the hall and slowly into the bathroom. I peaked over the test. One pink line; not pregnant. I just turned around and went back to bed. But as I laid there I felt it again. No, I know I am pregnant, I thought. I went back to the bathroom and picked up the test. I pulled it closer to my face and stared. There to the side of a dark pink line was a very light pink second line. I gasped and threw my hand over my mouth to keep from shouting. It was midnight, and Tyler was gone to High Adventure for 2 more days. Before I could think clearly, I was running up the stairs and bursting into my mother-in-law's room, hyperventilating and terrifying her, "I think I'm pregnant!" "WHAT?" She threw the covers and jumped out of bed. I told her she had to come down stairs and look at my test. With a second pair of eyes and my undeniable feelings, it was confirmed, I was pregnant.

6.23.16

I waited and surprised Tyler with the news when he got home. We were ecstatic, scared, overjoyed, shocked, etc. with a wide range of emotions. The Lord was blessing us with our little Rainbow baby. The timing, the feelings, we just felt sure that this little miracle was going to come and be ours and be the Rainbow we desperately needed after years of dark storms. 

The weeks pass and I start getting sick and feeling pregnant. It is the worst best thing in the world, feeling pregnant, but I'm just happy to be doing it! Sure enough, as with the others, my little bump makes it's appearance early. By 7 1/2 weeks I have a round belly by nighttime, and by 8 weeks it's present from the time I wake up in the morning, I'm wearing maternity pants before 9 weeks. Eh. Who cares? I'm pregnant!

7.28.16

I wrap the tissue paper thin sheet around my waist and hop onto the chair. Tyler, grinning, grabs my hand and we wait for the doctor to come in.

Dr. Lister, is all smiles and excited to see us. She's as hopeful as we are for this pregnancy. We chat about how I'm feeling (so sick, puking multiples times a week sick) and about what an amazing surprise this is to have just gotten pregnant so soon and so easily!

Finally, it's time to see this little babe, so we stare up at the dark screen with anticipation. The screen lights up as she moves over my uterus. And there it is. This perfect little gummy bear, just sitting there looking just like he/she should. Looking just perfect for 9 weeks. But... what? Dr. Lister's face droops. She closes her eyes and cries, "Dammit! You've got to be kidding me." She drops her face into her arm and says words I can't even believe I'm hearing, "There's no heartbeat."

I stare at her, confused. She grabs my leg and locks eyes with me, "I'm so sorry, Brittany." She turns to Tyler, "I'm so so sorry." She measures it's little body- 8 weeks and 2 days. My pregnancy is exactly 8 weeks and 6 days. It just died a few days ago. My head is spinning. I'm not crying. I'm just staring at it until she removes the ultrasound wand, and my baby is gone. Inside my head is just a voice screaming, WAKE UP! THIS ISN'T REAL!! WAKE UP! THIS IS A NIGHTMARE!" But nothing changes I'm still laying here, with my feet in the stirrups and staring at a black screen where I had just seen the image of my lifeless baby.

With tears in her eyes, Dr. Lister says she'll give us a minute and leaves us there in the dark. There's tears in my eyes but I'm still not crying and I don't know why. I can't find my words. Tyler and I try to console each other, but we're speechless and we're... we're... confused? broken? lost? wrecked? Yes. All of the above.

Dr. Lister comes back and we go over our options. We know from plenty of experience that we just want to get this over with and have a D&C. She completely agrees.

We wander out of the office and out to our cars. We call our parents and we drive home separately. Alone in my car, driving down Harrison, it hits me and I lose it. I feel my chest burst open and like my heart is being sliced into tiny pieces and I'm trying to see through a fit of tears to keep driving. I just keep rubbing my bulging bump and begging God to give our baby back.

How much breaking can our hearts take? Heaven now holds our 3 children, and we/re left to wonder if we'll ever get to have one to bring home, left to wonder if we'll ever have the chance to truly be parents in this life. I cannot help it. I'm breaking apart. It just feels so unfair.

7.29.16

Today marks 2 years since Boston's due date. I can't believe I could have a 2 year old right now. But instead of thinking about a birthday party or the "terrible twos," I'm laying in bed thinking about the baby inside my body that's no longer living and waiting for the hospital to call me for surgery.

For what it's worth, this is a much better experience than that with Boston. With Boston we had tried medication to induce me to miscarry on my own, but it hadn't worked and I ended up in the ER a week later hemorrhaging and needing an immediate D&C. Since I'd had it on a Sunday, they had to keep me in the Postpartum unit. They had wheeled me past the nursery on the way to surgery and I had laid in a recovery room with a bassinet and the sounds of babies crying in neighboring rooms. It was a cruel form of torture. It took hours to revcover due to days without sleep and all the blood I'd lost. However, for this D&C I got to the surgical unit before it closed for the weekend. I checked in at 5:30 and was home before 9PM. So, by comparison this was much easier... but I just still can't believe it happened.

When I came out of anesthesia, I was delirious and confused I wasn't sure if it had happened yet. I looked over at the nurse next to me and asked if it was done. She came over to check some things and told me that I was in recovery and that they'd take me to my husband soon. I don't know what came over me, but I started bawling uncontrollably, It hit me that if it was over, I was empty. Through tears I heard myself ask the nurse, "So, my baby's gone?" Her eyes turned glassy and she just nodded and grabbed my arm and mouthed "I'm sorry." She turned and left the room, and a different nurse returned to take me back to my recovery room. Tyler and I felt like by the time we left we'd broken every nurse's heart. Going over my history, or asking questions, they would come to find that this was our 2nd pregnancy loss and that our 5 week old son had just died in December. You gotta love that look people give you when they find out. Like you're so broken- which you kind of are. Like how are you surviving- which you're kind of not. It was good to finally leave and not having everyone looking at us that way anymore.

Dr. Lister, obviously, felt concerned with the pattern our pregnancies have taken. Missed miscarriage, infant loss with multiple birth defects and, another, missed miscarriage. She got permission to perform genetic testing on the fetus, so we'll have another microarray done to test this baby's genes. If the genes come back normal, we'll know that this miscarriage was just a fluke and we can try again, if we're up to it, in the future. If the genes are abnormal, we'll need to do some more extensive keriotype testing with my and Tyler's genes. It may just be that we cannot conceive a healthy embryo, and we'll be done with trying to. 

7.30.16

So, here I am now, waking up today and realizing this dream has really come to an end, again. There is a hallow and dull ache in my abdomen where our little baby's home has been demolished. 

I really thought this was going to be our chance. I had faith in it. I had faith in the Lord for it. I believed that this little baby would be our Rainbow and that we would bring this one home, healthy and full of life. But, again, we're left with empty arms and little hope. I can't really even seem to cry, even though I feel like it might help. I just feel numb.

I would like to tell you that my faith is unwavering and that I see God's hand and I understand His purposes. I want to. I want to be ever-faithful and ever-leaning on my Lord. But this time has made it very hard for me. This time I feel so blindsided, so broken. I'm so embarrassed to say that my prayers are weak and feeble, and my heart isn't truly in it. I am falling apart in the wake of this loss. Instead of getting our Rainbow we got another devastating storm. 

I just feel like somewhere beyond the rainbow, the end of it that we'll never reach, lay all of our hopes and dreams. And I feel so pessimistic for thinking that. I feel so disheartened that I feel so bitter. But I just do. I just feel so hopeless. I feel like it will never be our chance. The realization that we truly may never have children, is a tough pill to swallow. I feel like I'm leaving this blog post so unresolved, but I have no resolution right now. I can't tie up this sad story in a perfect bow and tell you that everything is just going to be alright, because I don't feel alright. So, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't give you an hope. I feel almost out of hope today. I just don't know how much more our hearts can take.

XO

The Faith & Courage to Keep Going

I haven't blogged for awhile, and there is a reason for that. I want this blog to be a place with uplifting messages, a place to find comfort and reassurance. But it has been some time since I could come up any words to portray that message, and then more time to figure out how and if I could share this. As difficult as this will all be to share and admit, I feel that it is important that I do.

Theodore Roosevelt said, "Comparison is the thief of joy," and, man, is that ever true. No good comes of looking at the things others have that you do not.

After Max died I couldn't go see friends who had babies around the same time or right after. All I could think of is how old my baby would be, what he could be doing if he had been a healthy baby like them. The ache of seeing these little babies that were the same age as mine was too much for me to handle. I felt so much guilt for not being able to, but I couldn't help it. 

I've tried to keep a positive attitude throughout our journey to have a family. Of course, I've had my up and downs during years of infertility and my miscarriage, but a darkness seemed to slowly envelope me in the wake of Max's death and I sunk below depths I wasn't sure I could make my way out of. I looked around at the happy families with their beautiful healthy children, and I ached for my baby boy and for the joy of a family. I felt the pain of "unfair" and jealousy for what others had been blessed with. Despite what I knew about Max and his special mission, my broken heart outweighed my knowledge and I just wanted my baby back.

In the beginning, the grief had been difficult, but manageable. But as the months waned on, it just seemed to get harder and harder. I began to hear the voice of self doubt whisper to me that I wasn't worthy of a family, that I hadn't been a good enough mother, that I would never have the family I dreamed of. It felt like my heart grew more and more broken, instead of healing. Just as I would try to mend the pieces, they would crumble to dust in my hands. My chest began to feel like a gaping hole that would never close. Between the grief of loss and postpartum depression, I began to feel nothing but miserable about my life without Max. I felt hopelessly unhappy. I saw no way for us to ever live "happily ever after" after what we'd gone through. I wondered how I could ever escape the darkness of grief and the pain that I felt. I spent many of my days in bed and in tears, aching and, ultimately, just wishing I could die and be with Max again. I would find myself haunted by suicidal thoughts constantly in my moments alone. The longer I kept my feelings to myself, the more unhappy and hopeless I began to feel. I couldn't find the courage to admit to anyone how horrible I was feeling. 

People have come to expect me to be this positive, uplifting, ever-see-the-bright-side person. So, I felt like I had to keep up that act with everyone, everywhere. But it started crushing me.

My counselor suggested I get further evaluated by the psychiatrist to try a new medication. So, I started there. I prayed that I would have an easy transition and that the Lord would guide the doctor to put me on the right medication to help start making me feel like I could manage again.

Finally, I told Tyler about how bad my depression had actually become. I was embarrassed to admit my defeat to him. But, as he always does, he wrapped me up in his arms and comforted me. We prayed together for peace, help and guidance to navigate both of us through this difficult time, and to know what we should do to help me find my way out of the pit of darkness I felt I was in.

As always, it never fails to amaze me how the Lord so often blesses us through others. In church the following Sunday, a sister in our ward taught a powerful lesson I will never forget as long as I live. To me, it felt as though the entire room had vanished away and she was teaching only me. Her words struck my very core. She relayed her own story about trials and experiences that had lead her to a dark time in her life. And as if God was speaking directly to me through this amazing woman, she spoke the words I needed to hear and gave me the answers to my prayers. While I had been struggling so much, I thought that I had dug myself into a pit of hopelessness I would never be able to climb out of. She shared that she when she had reached such a time in here life, she had heard a voice declare to her, "If a seed of faith can move a mountain, it can surely fill the deepest hole." As she bore her testimony of that experience, a light began to peak in through my clouds of darkness and I began to see pillars of hope again in that very moment. 

As I began to actively seek that light and turn that hope into renewed faith, I began to feel my small seed of faith fill my deep hole. As time went on and my new medication also started to take effect, I slowly began to climb out of my pit and out of the darkness. 

Each and every day takes faith. Faith in the Lord, faith in myself, faith in the future and faith in each day. Is it easy? Not always. Some days it is so hard just to get up out of bed. I think, it would be so much easier to give up. It takes strength and courage just to keep going. But with a little bit of faith, I promise, it will start getting better.

Gordon B. Hinkley said, "In such hours of darkness there has shown forth a light, steady and certain, to sustain and comfort and bless." That light is the gospel of Jesus Christ. His perfect love, His infinite sacrifice, His faith in each of us even when our faith in Him dwindles. He is the truth and the light. When my faith is steady and strong in His redeeming power, I feel lifted up by His glory. He loves me. He doesn't doubt me, even when I, shamefully, doubt Him. We are never alone, if we can just believe in Christ. His atonement meant that He took on all of our griefs, sorrows, pains, losses; everything that has ever and will ever break our hearts broke His first. He knows us. He knows that pain and He wants to take it from us so we can hurt just a little less. It is the most beautiful part of His gospel, the most beautiful gift He could give us. 

And so, with faith we keep moving forward. We keep hoping and believing that something better must be somewhere up ahead. In the meantime, we seek out the joy that surrounds us right now. And, if we just look, we can find so much of it. Despite all the hardships we face each day, there are always blessings. That is the thing I know most to be true about my Heavenly Father, no matter what trials He allows us to face, he never leaves us empty-handed when we are faithful. With our most difficult trials come abundant blessings, if we can just have the faith to see them. If we can just stop worrying about "happily ever after," we might realize how happy we could be right now. We just have to find the faith and the courage to keep going.

XO 

Let go and Let God

The doubting thoughts of a Mother are probably among the very first instincts she gets.

From the moment the little person enters her world, all she does from the point on focuses around their direct needs. She becomes a mother above all else; their mother.

From the moment Tyler's eyes welled-up and he told me that Max was finally here, my world changed. Nothing but Max mattered. I didn't care about myself or my needs, I didn't care what anyone else was doing or what they wanted. All I cared about was Max. I made people wheel me from my room to the NICU multiple times a day. I stood or sat by his bedside for too long, sometimes until I almost passed out from the pain. I obsessively pumped every 2-3 hours, even through the night. When I wasn't at the hospital, I called the hospital. When I wasn't in the NICU, I called the NICU- yes, sometimes, I even called from the pump room across the hall. I stepped outside the NICU occasionally to take bites of snacks, only sometimes leaving to actually go sit in the cafeteria to eat a meal. I was his mother. I could do nothing else.

So, as the time passed after he died I spent many sleepless nights staring at my ceiling wondering what I had done wrong. Deciding what I could change if I had known better. Thinking about what I would've done differently if I could've know we'd have him for 5 weeks.

I would go down my checklist of "I should haves,"

I should have stopped pumping.

I should have stayed later each night.

I should have gotten there early each morning.

I should have read to him more.

I should have taken more videos.

I should have taken more pictures of his nurses.

I should have let more people come to see him.

I should never have gone home once a week.

I should have gone, even in that blizzard.

I should have talked to other parents more.

I should have talked to him more.

I should have been braver.

I should have been more alert.

And the list would go on...

Eventually all my motherly guilt and doubts started to weigh on me. One afternoon in counseling, my therapist asked me about it. She shook her head as I lamented over all the things I wished I would've done or all the things I felt I should've done. She gave me a piece of paper and told me to write them down. After I had, she told me to cross out my list. Then, beside where I had marked it out, she told me to write, "I did the best I could."

With time, I learned that this is not just a problem a mother has if she loses her baby. Its a problem ALL mothers have. We beat ourselves up with time for not doing things we know now that we didn't know then. We take on all the blame and responsibility when things go wrong, and always defer the honor when things go right. The only solace I found in this was to learn that, even though my baby was gone, I was still just like every other mother. 

So, here's the deal. We all do the best we can. The best we know how. Moms or not. It applies to all of us. And ya know, tough situations, like we were in, makes it SO hard to know what the right thing to do is! We all have to make tough calls in life, and you cannot blame your past self for things you feel now are a mistake. Hindsight is 20/20, but there is nothing we can do about the past. We can learn from it and we can move on. Living in the past and living in guilt and doubt only leads to pain and suffering. We have to let it go. Let go and let God. 

Our Savior is the ONLY being who can understand our pains, our mistakes, our tribulations. He is the one who suffered them for us. He suffered for our sins and our grief. He took care of it! With faith in His holy name, we can let it go. We can give it to Him and be done with it. 

Trust me, I know how hard it is. I know the pain of wishing you could erase parts of your past. Max is just part of my history, and while I certainly don't ever wish to erase him there are plenty of things that I had wished I had done different. I know that it hurts to keep reliving the things we wish we could change. Friends, it is time to let it go. Let go of the past that haunts you. Write it all down, cross it out and say, "I did the best I could!" Shred the paper up. Forgive yourself and move on. I promise the burden can be lifted and you can feel so free.

Let go and let God.

XO.

There's Nothing Weak About Struggling with Mental Illness

I have had depression and anxiety since my adolescence. I battled with an eating disorder as a young adult. Endured infertility for 4 years before finally having a son, and lost him 5 weeks later. I'm 6 months postpartum and my mental health is far from stable. At this point, I don't even know what is my normal, what is grief or what is postpartum depression. It's probably all of the above! All I know is that it is awful. 

And before all you naysayers start listing off how you think I can turn my frown upside down -let me fill you in. I work out 60-90 minutes 4 to 5 days a week. I eat healthy, most of the time (Hey there, National Donut Day). I say my prayers and I read my scriptures. And guess what? I still have a rough time pulling myself out of the abyss to get out of bed every morning. Some days I can do it. Some days I can summon the strength to get up early and get my crap done. But some days, too many days, I don't get out of bed until afternoon because I just cannot fake it anymore. 

And ya know why? It is because I have a disease. A mental disease. And it is just as real as if I had a physical one. I am sick of people thinking that depression is just "feeling sad." Believe me, there is a big difference between feeling sad for a day or two and feeling so hopeless you don't know how to keep living every single day. And, no, anxiety isn't just worrying about random things. No, anxiety is suddenly being overcome by irrational, heart-stopping panic in the middle of the grocery store, having to leave your cart and run home to take a Xanax and crawl in bed. 

This is a disease. I can't exercise my way out of it. I can't pray my way out of it. Do those things help? Of course! My physical and spiritual health are both major parts of my personal treatment. But those alone cannot fix it. I have to see doctors and take medicine, which means a lot of trial and error to find the right medicine. And I'll probably always need medication because there is NO cure for my disease. No one bats an eye at someone who needs to see a doctor or take medicine for physical ailments. But when it comes to mental illness, the general population suddenly thinks you need to buck up and "just be happy." Trust me, if I could "just be happy" I would!

If you haven't seen it, yet, go read Kristen Bell's essay on her struggle with depression. She's so awesome. I love her! Anyway, she wrote this powerful article about her personal experience and opened up conversation about mental illness all over the internet. She said, 

"Mental health check-ins should be as routine as going to the doctor or the dentist. After all, I’ll see the doctor if I have the sniffles. If you tell a friend that you are sick, his first response is likely, 'You should get that checked out by a doctor.' Yet if you tell a friend you’re feeling depressed, he will be scared or reluctant to give you that same advice. You know what? I’m over it."

I'm over it, too, Kristen! Let's encourage each other. Let's be there for each other. Let's stop making others feel weak for their struggles. Let's stop tearing each other down and start building each other up. Let's stop judging each other and, for that matter, stop judging ourselves. Let's stop apologizing for who we are!

"Here’s the thing: For me, depression is not sadness. It’s not having a bad day and needing a hug. It gave me a complete and utter sense of isolation and loneliness. Its debilitation was all-consuming, and it shut down my mental circuit board. I felt worthless, like I had nothing to offer, like I was a failure. Now, after seeking help, I can see that those thoughts, of course, couldn’t have been more wrong. It’s important for me to be candid about this so people in a similar situation can realize that they are not worthless and that they do have something to offer... It’s a knee-jerk reaction to judge people when they’re vulnerable. But there’s nothing weak about struggling with mental illness." 

 The older I get, the less I begin to care about telling people about my problems. I'm starting to feel less apologetic about it. It is still really embarrassing if I have a panic attack in front of anyone besides Tyler- its just so awkward when your crying and hyperventilating and you can't say why. But, really, would you blame a diabetic for having to take an insulin shot when they need it? No. So, why is it so uncomfortable for me to say, "I have to go home and take a Xanax." It shouldn't be embarrassing. I'm sick. I need medicine. Plain and simple.

I'm tired of being embarrassed of who I am and feeling less because of my mental illness. Aren't you tired of it? Maybe if we all get on board and start advocating we can erase the stigma. Love each other, no matter what. Love yourself, no matter what. If someone you know if struggling with a mental illness, encourage them to seek help. If you have a mental illness, do not be ashamed! While depression can make you feel so hopeless, there really is hope out there. Seek help. Find a good psychiatrist, talk with a counselor, discover a higher power. Use all means possible to get help. There is no shame in needing help.

XO.