Depressed Parenting

This week I've been a little grumpy.  I've been working on changing my medication so I am not so tired all the time (400 mg of Seroquel will make anyone a little sleepy), and I think it's having a somewhat negative effect on my mood at the moment.  I think it's one of those things that when I get over the hump, I'll be better for it, but it kind of sucks right now.

So as a result of being in a bad mood, I've been a little short with my kids.  Nothing horrible, but I'm just a little quicker to snap or yell at them than usual, and have been engaging a little less.  It's nothing that's going to scar them for their whole lives (at least I don't think), but it's still not good.

The worst part, though, is that all three of my kids (the 10-month-old included) have all been grumpier and more difficult all week.  I find that so odd.  There's a respiratory thing that keeps bouncing around between all of us, which isn't helping matters, and the weather has been typical Ohio in February -- cold, gray, depressing.  So there are a lot of reasons why they may be in bad moods that don't necessarily tie back to my mood.  Or maybe we're all grumpy for some of the same reasons, I don't know.

I just know that more often than not, it seems like my kids' moods reflect or match my own.  A while ago I wrote a post wondering if babies can read their mothers' moods; I think kids have to be included in this question as well.  In theory, they should be happy -- I usually let them watch more TV than usual and cook them stuff that I know they eat (like hot dogs) rather than cooking something that they may or may not eat (nothing kills my mood more than getting up the energy to cook, and then having everybody turn up their nose at it).  But it doesn't seem to work that way.

This article at HealthyPlace.com talks about how children of depressed parents are more likely to not only be depressed, but act out and have other behavioral problems.  So I guess there are studies that show that parents' depression can affect kids.  Another reason to feel bad, right?  My depression is making them depressed -- how depressing. 

For now, we'll just keep muddling through and hope my med changes do what they're supposed to do.  Until then, let's watch Mulan for the fiftieth time and just feel good that at least she's a strong female role model.

Parenting is Hard, Bipolar or Not

Yesterday was a horrible day.

I had pushed myself too hard on the treadmill the night before (I'm in that awkward stage where I'm really too fat to run, but too impatient to walk), so I woke up with with bad abdominal pain from aggravating some existing hernia issues.  So, right there, things were bad.  Then my three year old woke up acting as if she had been possessed by a demon sometime during the night, which was bad enough, but she also decided she was going to take the five year old down with her by baiting her into her own screaming tantrums. Throw in the normal morning crap -- the baby not wanting to eat, bright blue yogurt on the beige carpet, not wanting to brush hair, etc. etc., and I was a crying, hysterical mess by 9:45 a.m.

My morning dose of Xanax helped a little, and my mother coming over helped a LOT, but all day long I had overwhelming guilt issues.  I should be able to handle this crap myself, shouldn't I?  I mean, all moms have bad mornings, but they don't go crawling to the Xanax bottle or Grandma to get through.  I hate that I can't grit my teeth and do my job (seeing as how being a full-time mom is my current job).  I just could not pull myself together; I was crying, cursing, angry, and irritable.  I hate my kids seeing me like that.  Not to mention I'm much more likely to snap or yell at them, which I really hate.  My five year old, especially, is very sensitive and gets very upset when she's yelled at.

And all day long, I kept thinking about this blog post I recently read from the website BlogHer (it's a blog directory that I can't exactly figure out the point of, but anyway) entitled No Excuses:  Parenting Isn't Hard, which made me roll my eyes so hard I thought I sprained them.  The author's point was that it's not "hard" to avoid yelling at your kids, grabbing them, getting in their faces when they do something wrong, and that people use the excuse that "parenting is hard" to explain yelling at and treating your kids poorly. 

The analogy she bases her argument on is that if you were in a fast food restaurant and saw a man yell at a woman for spilling her drink, grab her by the arm, and drag her out the door, you would be appalled and maybe even say something.  But if you see a mother do that to a kid, it's just "life as usual."  And while I agree with her that it's never okay to abuse a kid (if you consider that kind of behavior abuse, which I kind of think is up for debate), her point that it shouldn't be "hard" to not yell at your kids, to always treat them lovingly, not not lose your temper -- all because they are "small, dependant people" and we love them so much that (in her words) we should want to "snatch [them] up and squeeze [them] to bits in a fit of overly-emotional love-smush."

Uh.  What?

I won't even get into why the analogy is faulty to begin with, or how ridiculous the phrase "love-smush" is.   I'll just deal with the general argument.  Now, I probably have more irritability issues than a normal person, but I think the idea that it's "easy" to not lose your temper with your kid just because you love them so much is a tad...freaking insane. 

Of course I love my kids.  Even on mornings like yesterday, I love them.  But I admit, I don't always like to be around them.  And yeah, I lose my temper and yell -- but it's not because I don't love them, it's because I can only take so much.  When I tell three year old to take her yogurt to the kitchen because the baby was going to get and spill it, leave the room, and two minutes later hear the five year old yelling that the baby spilled the yogurt because the three year old didn't move it, these children that I love are incredibly, unavoidably frustrating.  And, oh my God, parenting is the HARDEST job I have ever done.  No, it's not complicated;  no, it's not intellectually taxing (usually).  But it's intense, and it's exhausting, and it never ends. 

Am I crazy (well, crazier than I thought)?  Am I in the minority?  Do most people think that parenting isn't hard?  Is there something wrong with me that I'm not constantly overcome with the desire to "love-smush" my children?  Is this attitude another side effect of my bipolar disorder, and should I just crawl back to my mind-numbing meds?

Somehow, I suspect if you took an informal poll of moms, most of them would say that, at least at different times, being a parent is hard.  But maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe I'm the one who is flawed.  If so, I guess I'd better call and get my psychiatrist to up my Xanax dosage, because hard or not, parenting is one job you don't have the choice to resign from.

Where is My Village?

If you follow my posts at all, you'll know the last few weeks have been somewhat of a challenge for me, mental-health wise.  I've talked about coping mechanisms like humor and crafting, and I've been pretty good (in my opinion) trying to use these things to feel better.  I even managed to drag my butt to my mom's group at church on Tuesday and to yoga on Wednesday.  Alas, to no avail.  Some days seem to go okay, and then there are days like today, when the devil is whispering in my ear horrible things about myself, I keep screaming at my kids, and I can't get the image of running my car into a tree out of my mind.

I'm not talking about this stuff simply to whine, but to bring up a larger problem:  why do we mother alone?  A friend of mine, a yoga instructor, once promoted a "Yoga Playdate" class by saying, "Come build your village."  That phrase has stuck with me ever since.  Regardless of if you're a Hillary Clinton fan or not (I'm referring to her book It Takes a Village), there's something to the thought that mothering (and parenting in general) should be a shared task.  It seems that almost every mother I know, at some time or another, has felt alone, vulnerable, and overwhelmed.  The vulnerable and overwhelmed feelings are probably just parts of being a mom, but the "alone" part shouldn't have to be.

Take me, for example. Today I keep wondering how the hell I'm going to make it through the day -- and, more importantly, how the kids will make it through without me totally losing it.  I am truly blessed that I know I could call my mom or father-in-law and, if they could, they could help  -- but my mom works, and my father-in-law has his own stuff going on, and I feel like it's not their job to parent my kids.  Plus, that makes me feel like I'm failing -- why can't I "stick it out" or "suck it up?"  And I feel horribly, painfully alone.

I've often wondered why there isn't some sort of emergency babysitting service available.  Why don't we have services or groups for women, with help available 24-7?  If our society could pull together to offer services like this, I would almost guarantee that child abuse, infanticide, and maternal suicide (not to mention depression and other mental illnesses) would become less prevalent.  Unfortunately, I think the reason these services don't exist is the same reason that I feel guilty calling someone for help.  Mothers are expected to be able to do everything, to be everyone, to cook everything, to work anywhere, and still maintain some sort of sanity.  And for those of us that don't work -- well, what the heck is OUR problem?  We don't even have the stress of a real job, so of course we should be able to deal with whatever comes along (I hope my sarcasm comes through here).

How have we gotten so isolated?  I'd blame it on technology, but I think it started well before the advent of the internet and social media.  I'm sure there's lots of scholarly research on the topic, and I think I'll check it out, but I just don't have the energy today.  Right now, I'm just throwing out the questions to hopefully start some thinking on the topic.

Okay, my baby is shrieking in her crib, so I guess that's enough writing for me today.  In the meantime, if you're a mom and feel overwhelmed, check out this "Tonglen for Mothers" by DeLona Campos-Davis. My favorite line:

I breathe in the loneliness of days spent mothering on my own.
I breathe out connection, community, compassion.

Just breathe.

Family fun with hypomania

I actually have Bipolar II Disorder, which is different from Bipolar I because of the manic states.  With BP I, the manic states are much more...well, manic.  The person has delusions -- sometimes of grandeur, sometimes of paranoia, whatever -- and can engage in seriously harmful behavior or become detached from reality.

With BP II, the manic stages are milder -- they usually involve elevated energy levels, less sleep, rapid speech, and over productivity.  I've always called my hypomanic states my "creative times," because I seem to get a lot of ideas and want to work on art projects or write.

Recently, I've been in a hypomanic state.  I've felt very pressured to get lots of things done -- write a book proposal, tile my kitchen, paint the kitchen, clean the house, etc.  I've also found myself having racing thoughts and talking more than I should.  I also get irritated a lot faster.  I've been pretty productive, so I can't say that it's a totally bad thing. 

My biggest concern right now is what my kids are thinking.  Mommy's really productive right now, in a good mood (mostly), and around.  What happens when the hypomania wears off (which it inevitable does)?  Will they even notice?  Are they too young to try to explain this to?

In general, I want to shield my kids from the idea, and possibly stigma, of my mental illness.  But is that the best thing?  I did a little web research and found a few links:

Parenting with Bipolar Disorder, from Two Trees Media (the "Bipolar Disorder Experts," so they say)
How does a severe Bipolar parent affect kids?  From Livestrong.com (written by a "contributing copywriter")
Growing up with a Bipolar parent, from Associated Content

What strikes me from these articles isn't their content, but their lack of content.  Where are the articles by psychiatrists?  There are a lot of articles about the hereditary implications of being a parent with BP, but not much about the emotional impact. 

I'll have to do some further research and see if I can find some testimonials or researched info about this topic.

For now, though, we'll just keep having family fun (and productivity) with hypomania.

It's MINE, dammit

One thing that I'm really bad about with my kids is setting boundaries. And I don't mean that in a theoretical, therapy kind of way; I mean it in a literal, physical way. Mainly, setting boundaries with my stuff.

It's such a conundrum. We teach our kids to share, that it's wrong to be selfish, to hoard their crayons or their trucks, to not let others play. But aren't there things that a kid shouldn't have to share? I know there are things I don't want to share. Like my markers. Or my various odds and ends of yarn (yes, I will use them for something, someday). Or my iPod. Especially my iPod, since my two-year-old used my old one as a chew toy and killed it. But how can I hoard my own stuff (or, let's face it, be "selfish" with it), and then make my kids share their stuff? It seems contradictory.

I'd like to think that in life, there are some things that are just mine, and mine alone. There aren't many of these things, and most of them are pretty mundane, but they're vital to my well-being, especially as a parent. When you're a parent, you give so much of yourself -- I've given my body, my time, my job, my house, my car, and the list goes on. To preserve my sanity, I should be able to hoard a few things and keep them, just for myself.