Getting Ahead of Myself....

Last week was kind of stressful.  The kids started school.  I started school.  I had always thought that when both of my boys were in school full time I would take a class at UNH.  Something interesting. Something just for fun. So, as my kids got on the bus to tackle the first and fourth grades, I also headed out to begin my own first day.  Rusty and anxious but excited. 

I say ‘excited’ because that was not the case a month ago.  Nope, a month ago I was anything but excited.  I was anxious and stressed for sure but not really looking forward to the class I was taking.  See, I was actually signed up to take Statistics.  You know, the class that everyone dreads and avoids like the plague until they absolutely have to take it.  Yeah, that one.  You are probably wondering why on earth I would be taking a class like this when I initially wanted to take something interesting and fun.  Good question.  You see, I am the kind of person who tends to get ahead of herself.  In this particular situation, it went something like this in my head:

Looking at the UNH course catalog:  Hummm, these sociology classes look really interesting.  This one about Family would be really cool.  What if I like sociology?  What if one class leads to another and another?  What would it take to get a Masters in Sociology?  Am I smart enough to do that? Maybe. How much are classes these days anyway?  Holy crap!  That’s a lot of money.  I should meet with someone in the graduate program and find out what prerequisites I would need because I don’t want to be taking classes willy-nilly at THOSE prices. 

After meeting with Graduate Department:  okay, so I need to take Statistics, a Methods class and a Theory class.  Hummm, it makes most sense to start out taking Statistics because it is the foundation of how Sociologists do their research.  Okay then, Statistics it is!

And that my friends, is how Kathy Harter went from “taking a fun class” to “getting her Masters” in a field she has yet to decide if she even likes.  Thankfully, after a conversation with my therapist, I was able to take a step back and reevaluate.  To ask myself how I ended up being where I didn’t want to be.  And how do I get back to where I actually want to be?

When I get ahead of myself I think it partly has to do with fear.  Fear of getting to the end of my life and having missed my purpose.  Never getting to where I was supposed to be. Where I was meant to be.  I can’t tell you how many times I have heard the phrase, “ I don’t want to miss God’s will for my life” or “ God has a plan for your life and you don’t want to miss it”.  Knowing God’s will is big in my subculture.  So, I try to figure out how God might be leading me and then come up with a plan.  But sometimes the plan takes on a life of its own and I get stuck in the very thing I have created  (and sign up for a very ‘un-fun’ class).

I wonder if God’s will is different than I have made it out to be?  That it has more to do with becoming than arriving.  More about a journey than a destination.  I wonder if it is less complicated…..simpler?  . That He loves me and wants to heal me.  To make me whole and slowly transform me into the person I was meant to be.  What if His will just sort of unfolds as I go along?  My experiences being like stepping stones; each one leading to the next. I could worry less about getting to where I think I should be and focus on who I am becoming. 

I think there is some wisdom in that.  When I get ahead of myself and try to force things in my life, it often produces a great deal of anxiety and stress. But when I take each day and allow life to happen, I tend to enjoy life more.  And honestly,  when I look back on my life, there have been  a lot of twists and turns that I never would have anticipated.  I would  have NEVER been able to map out the path that has brought me to the place I am today. 

So, I dropped the Statistics class and signed up for the Family class.  And I am going to try and let go.  To embrace the unknown of the future.  To step on one stone at a time and leave the bigger picture to God.  Trusting He will get me wherever it is a need to be, when I need to be there.

A Letter to Myself....

[I thought writing a letter to my breakdown-self from my future-self might be an fitting way to end the Thread of Anxiety series… Thanks for going on this journey with me]


            Kathy,

I know the past few months have been some of the hardest of your life.  It feels so dark. So heavy.  I know you feel helpless, hopeless.  That you are slowly losing your mind.  I know it takes every ounce of your strength to get out of bed in the morning and face the day.  You feel like a failure because you can’t pull yourself out of this pit you are sinking into.  I know the thought of your life ending is a welcome one.  You are hanging on by a thread, a thread that has worn thin. 

But it is not over.  This is not the end.  I know it is hard to believe but you will make it through this.  The rain will stop and the sun will shine again . You will laugh again.  You will feel joy and happiness.  The medication will work… keep taking it.  Your sanity will return.  You will begin to understand yourself and God in a whole new way.  You will take in a deep breath and feel as though you are breathing in God himself, taking in his goodness and love for you and his complete acceptance of you.  You will begin to feel whole and complete, even in your brokenness, and experience freedom you never dreamed possible.

And that guy, the one you think is totally crazy for dating you right now and should run for the hills?  He doesn’t run. In fact, he marries you.  Crazies and all.  He will be such a source of comfort and strength in your life.  A bright spot in the days ahead so be nice to him.  You will also have a couple of kids, who you will love more than you thought possible.   Oddly enough, they will also cause you to want to hide in the closet with the cordless phone and a large bottle of vodka (I should just write you a separate letter about all of that).

Although it seems impossible, good will come out of this.  It is going to totally change the way you see yourself and the way you see God.  It will give you an understanding about mental illness that you never had before.  You will have more compassion and empathy for others who are struggling.  And, if you are brave enough to share your story about what you went though (and continue to go through) maybe it can give a little hope to those who feel hopeless.  A ray of sunshine to those in the darkness because the darkness can feel really dark.  And maybe some comfort for those who feel so alone in their pain.  To know they are not alone and that there are people who understand. Who have been there.  Who have survived.

Love, Me

The Thread of Anxiety...Part 3

[This is the third post in a series having to do with anxiety. You can check out part one here and part two here.]

It was February of 1999 when it happened, when the ‘crazies came to town’, and I hit rock bottom.  The months leading up to my breakdown were difficult to say the least.  Emotionally, I was up and down.  My anxiety and obsessive thoughts about doing the wrong thing and hurting people were increasing and becoming unmanageable.  I was constantly feeling like I had said or done something that hurt someone in some way.  I was unable to think clearly.  Unable to assess whether I really had done something wrong.  I was always worried that God was angry with me and wanted nothing to do with me until I “made things right” with the people I had “hurt”.  I can’t describe how torturous and exhausting these thoughts were to me.  There was no end to them and they were wearing me down.  Below, is a journal entry dated, January 4, 1999.


                    “1999 is off to a rough start for me.  It is pretty dark from where I stand God. 
                    You know that I am hanging on by a thread.  I have never had such a great
                    desire for my life to end.  The thought of killing myself has been on my mind,
                    on and off, for awhile now.  I also notice a desire to inflict pain on myself.”

And that was before I hit rock bottom.  

Rock bottom came in February, just after Valentines Day.  I just couldn’t do it anymore.  I didn’t have the strength. I was so tired and so hurting and so sick.  It was difficult to get off the sofa.  To eat.  To function.  All I wanted to do was sleep; so I didn’t have to think.  All I could do was cry.  At the time, unbeknownst to me, my two closest friends were monitoring me and wondering if they should bring me to the Mental Health Center and check me in for a little stay.  Thankfully, with the support of friends, my mom, and my therapist, I was able to get the help I needed (although being admitted wouldn’t have hurt in the least).

It’s hard to describe just how “crazy” my thoughts were during the next few months but I have a couple of examples that might help:

        I might be watching TV and see a person who was really funny looking to me….say a
        bald guy with a serious comb over and a Tom Selleck moustache and I would think to
        myself, ‘Man, that guy looks ridiculous!  Doesn’t anyone love him enough to tell him?’.     
       Then, I would feel guilty for thinking those things (yes just THINKING them).  I would
        then start to panic because I had no idea who this guy was and how to get a hold of him
        so I could apologize.  And since I couldn’t apologize and “make it right”, God had to be
        angry and want nothing to do with me. 

        Another example, probably my favorite, would be the Paint Chip Incident.  Now, I live
        in an old house and back in the day they painted the houses with lead paint.  As my
        readers know, lead paint is dangerous.  You do not want to be eating it, inhaling the
        dust, etc.  You also don’t want to be eating or playing in the dirt around a house with
        lead paint because the lead in the old paint chips can leach into the soil.  I had power
        washed the house, back in the fall.  Power washing creates paint chips.  I didn’t know
        what to do.  I was freaking out.  Had I contaminated our entire neighborhood?  Do I
        need to door to door and apologize?  Could I have single handedly cause the mental
        retardation of all the children in the neighborhood? 

        As I wrote in a previous post, obsessive thoughts often come with compulsive behavior. 
        The behavior attempts to reduce the anxiety that was created by the obsessive thoughts. 
        So, I came up with behavior plan.  I would simply clean up the paint chips.  I would rake
        them into a little pile and bag them up or better yet, get a Shop Vac and suck them up. 
        I mean, how hard could it be. 

       Well, as I stared to rake, I realized that there seemed to be layer upon layer of paint chips
        in the dirt.  It just didn’t end.  The little pile turned into 9 bags of paint chip contaminated
       dirt (these went into the basement of the garage and remained there for the next 10 years).
       If that wasn’t bad enough, I realized that the paint chips extended into the grass.  If you   
       separated the grass, you could see the chips.  So, I got the Shop Vac, the hand rack and
       went to town.  Except I couldn’t get them all.  They were EVERYWHERE.  At that point I
       called my boyfriend and broke down.  I can only imagine what that whole scene must have
       looked like from a causual walker-byer.  There I was, sitting in the middle of the lawn, with
       a Shop Vac in one hand, a little rake in the other, bawling on the cordless phone.  To this
       day, I can’t tell that story without laughing.

I think the turning point for me was medication.  I had resisted it for so long.  I felt that by going on medication, I was not trusting God.  As a result, I suffered longer than I needed to.  I remember coming to terms with the fact that I needed medicine:

                           “ God, I am sitting here, thinking about all that has happened in the
                           past few weeks and months.  I have not a clue why or exactly what
                           but I do know that there is something not right with my brain.  And
                           no matter how hard I try, I have no control over it.  It is very hard to
                           say that, I feel like I am copping out or something. Or  I’m doubting 
                           you and your power. God, I know that you have the power to change
                           this is a second but for some reason you’re not and I need medication                  
                           If you are choosing to bring healing through a pill, I’ll take it.”
                                                                                              - Journal Entry from March 1999

Once the medication hit a therapeutic level, things began to change.  Slowly.  I was able to begin to see the obsessive thoughts for what they were.  I was able to talk myself down off the ledge more easily.  It gave me the edge I needed to begin to look deeper inside myself.  It was shortly after this that my therapist and I figured out that I had OCD.  I finally had a name for it.  I didn’t feel so alone anymore. 

I began to realize that God was not angry with me.  That He wasn’t waiting for me to screw up so He could punish me.  No, He loved me and had never left me but was there with me even when the pain was so great I wished I were dead. 

It has been 13 years now.  I continue to struggle with anxiety but the OCD is changing.  About a year ago, I started seeing a new therapist (the old one had moved to Maine).  I have been able to look at some painful things in my life and the effect they have had on me. How they have influenced  and shaped me  How they have contributed to my anxiety and fueled my OCD.  As I uncover these things, I am learning to live in a new way and the OCD seems to be dying down. 

It has been a long road for me. One filled with ups and downs.  With joy and sorrow.  I have learned a great deal about anxiety, about myself, about God.  Although it has been painful, it can’t say that I would change it.  It is part of my story.  Of who I am and who I am to become.  It is an unfinished story that I look forward to watching unfold.

The Thread of Anxiety... Part 2

[This is the second post in a series having to do with anxiety.  You can check out the first post here.]

You would think that becoming a Christian would have helped with the anxiety and OCD but it actually had the opposite effect.  It only made it worse.  I should give a little bit of my faith background here, as it is so critical in how my anxiety has played out over the years.

The churches my family attended when I was a kid were of the Fundamental, Baptisty, Born Again type.  It was the 80’s and the ‘Turn or Burn’ preaching was prevalent.  God loved me and I needed to accept Jesus or I was going to hell.  That was my introduction to God.  To Jesus.  The thought of going to hell terrified me.  And so began my relationship with God.  One mixed with love and lots fear.

As a young adult, I become more serious about my faith.  I went to church regularly, read my Bible and attended Bible study.  I really wanted God to be in every part of my life. I felt that my life finally had purpose, direction, hope.  But as often happens, I fell into the performance trap with God.  If I am doing the right things then God is happy with me and if I am doing the wrong thing then He is angry with me. He loves me…He loves me not.  This type of thinking permeated my life and my faith.  And as a result  caused me a great deal of anxiety.

I was so afraid of making the wrong decision.  Of God being angry with me.  At times, it could be so overwhelming and debilitating.  A great example of this was Nate.  When I was 19, I fell in love.  Hard.  He was the love of my life (or so I thought… I was 19 for goodness sake and most 19 year olds are idiots). I was going to marry this guy and live happily ever after.  Then the fears came.  What if this was not the person God had for me?  What if it was not ‘His Will’ for my life?  What if I am going to make a huge mistake and ruin both our lives?  Do I love Nate more than God? (THAT is a BIG no no and a sure sign that God doesn’t want you with that person).  The questions would go round and round in my head and I had no way to know what God really wanted.  Some days, I thought Nate was exactly what God wanted for me and other days I felt the exact opposite.  So, the questions continued.  Obsessive thoughts that I could not control.  They would wear me down.  Some days it was hard to function normally.  And I would cry….a lot.  I was so afraid that God was angry with me for being in this relationship.

Eventually, the relationship with Nate ended and I leveled out emotionally.  This leveling out was NOT because my (undiagnosed) anxiety disorder had gotten any better (at this point, I had no clue that their something was wrong with me) but rather because I no longer had to wrestle with the question of whether or not Nate and I should be together.  I would continue to struggle with the anxiety and OCD throughout college and well into my late 20’s.  It was then that everything changed.  It was then that the ‘crazies’ came to town….

The Thread of Anxiety

[Anxiety has been part of my life for as far back as I can remember.  It is like a piece of thread woven into the tapestry that is my life.  Good or bad, it is a part of me.  It has shaped me.  It has refined me.  It has almost killed me.  This might take a few posts, so bear with me as I attempt to share this part of me and the impact it has had on my life….]

I was a pretty fun loving, outgoing kid.  I was very chatty too.  I had the nick name ‘motor mouth’.  Surprising huh? I was also an anxious kid.  I have a feeling I came out of the womb with a low grade anxiety level that only grew as I experienced my world.  And I was a worrier for sure.  And a serious worrier at that.  I mean, if I got distracted from I was worrying about and forgot what was bugging me, I would keep thinking about it until I remembered.  Now, that is commitment. I was also a sensitive kid. I was that kid that couldn’t kill the insects for the 6^th grade bug collection science project; I drew pictures of them instead.  I was also sensitive to people’s emotions and moods as well. I would pick up on all kinds of relational nuances and subtleties that could be overwhelming to a child.  Honestly, I think it was my sensitivity to all that was going on around me that made me anxious and worried.  

It didn’t help that I grew up in the 80’s when the cold war tensions were high and the AIDS epidemic was beginning.  There also seemed to be an endless number of children being abducted by creepy guys in windowless vans. And, I knew that I was next.  I could see the news headlines, “Girl Disappears on Route to Friends House… Authorities not Hopeful.”  On top of all that, my Dad was a bit paranoid of Governmental Conspiracies and had me convinced that the movie “RED DAWN” was going to happen, it was just a matter of time. (For you young whippersnappers, “Red Dawn” was a movie about the US being invaded by Russia, or Cuba, or some other scary country and it scared the shit out of me).  This is NOT something to tell you highly sensitive, anxious child.  It shouldn’t have surprised me really, my Dad never showed a lot of discernment when it came to what was appropriate to share with his children.  This is the same man that took my brother and I to see the movie, “Porky’s” when I was 11 years old.  

When I hit the 6^th grade, my anxiety hit a new level and began to manifest itself in a very  apparent way.  At the time, Obessive Complusive Disorder (OCD) was not recognized or understood as it is today.  OCD is an anxiety disorder that is characterized by intrusive, unwanted thoughts that create stress, fear, worry, etc.  It is generally accompanied by some sort of compulsive behavior in hopes of relieving the stress, fear, worry, etc.  Mine was of the classic nature.  Hand washing.  I would wash my hands constantly.  Now, this was in 1982 and I was in school for 7 hours a day, 5 days a week.  Do you remember the hand soap they had back then?  It was like powdered Tide but pink. Needless to say, It didn’t take long for my hands to become a bloody mess. Literally.

My parents were obviously concerned and wanted to know why I was washing my hand in incessantly but I wouldn’t tell them.  I pretended I didn’t know.  But I knew why.  You see, there was a man who owned the local bowling alley who was arrested for child molestation.  I knew this man.  It was very upsetting and anxiety producing for me.  Every time I thought of it, I felt dirty and NEEDED to wash my hands.  I know what you’re thinking, “Did this man molest you?”  No.  If he did, I have buried it down deep and have no memory of it.  And as far as I know, I was never molested by anyone as a child .

So, my parents tried to figure out what was going on but I was of no help. They did take me to the doctor and I was given a prescription hand cream that would help my hands heal. It actually would have worked quite well but I was unable to stop the compulsive hand washing.  This was when my Dad took it up a notch (I think out of desperation).  He pulled me aside and told me that if I didn’t stop washing my hands, they would get infected, I would get gangrene and they would have to cut them off.  It worked. I stopped.  And life went on as normal….sort of.   

I wish I could say that my hand washing was an isolated incident and that my OCD never reared its’ ugly again but that is not the case…..

On Faith

We recently left our church.  A church I had been a part of for 20 year and my husband his entire life.  We met  there. Married there.  Had our kids there. To say it was a big part of our life is an understatement.  It has been a gut wrenching process.  Although the reasons are varied and many that brought us to this place, for me, it began 2 years ago with a book.  A book that has changed the course of my faith and life forever.

The book  was called,  “So You Don’t Want to Go to Church Anymore” by Wayne Jacobson. It challenged my thinking in ways that were scary and liberating all at the same time. It brought to light my preconceived notions about Church, about faith and how is lived out, about control and trust.  As I read this book, something was awakened in me.  A longing for something other than what I was experiencing in my Christian Life.  There was that point where I knew I either had to pursue the yearnings inside me, or put the book down and return to the status quo I had been living in.  I was on the fence.  On one hand, I felt like God was whispering in my ear, “ Kathy, I have something I want to show you, a place I want to take you.  There is so much more.  I want to show you a different way.  But you have to step out of the safety of the box you are living in.  That neat, tidy box that you think keeps you safe.  I am so much bigger.  I have freedom to offer you that will blow your mind.  Grace that never ends. ”  And on the other hand, I was scared.  Scared of where it might take me and the upheaval it might cause in my life.  You see, thinking outside of the box is not okay in the culture I live in.  Free thinking and questions are generally not encouraged in the Evangelical community.  They like the black and white.  The neat and tidy.  Questions bring you into the gray… and gray is not good.  Gray complicates faith because it makes you see the complexities of people and life.  Things are no longer simple and a bible verse can’t fix it all and make it go away.  So, they don’t want you asking questions or thinking.  And if you have the courage to continue to ask the question, you get labeled.  You become one of “those” people who’s faith is weak, watered down, just making God what you want Him to be.  I have to admit, that is how I use to see people until I became one of them.  To be honest, I really like “those” people.  I feel free to ask questions. To think.  To dialogue about taboo subjects.  I don’t have to have it all figured out. I am allowed to be me.

I have to say that I feel like my faith has been ripped up into 1,000 pieces and thrown into the wind.  Somedays, I am excited.  Excited to see the things that are unhealthy or untrue be blown away and for the healthy and good things to settle on the ground. Other days I am overwhelmed.  Overwhelmed by the process  and the uncertainty of how it will all work out.  But I know  this is where I need to be.  Resting in the process, in the unknown, is anything but easy.  I try to remember that each day is another step in this faith journey.  So, whether excited or overwhelmed, I am going to try to enjoy each day and try not to rush the process.  And hopefully, one day, I will be able to pick up the pieces, put them together and see a beautiful picture.

The Monologues

Recently, I attended the Vagina Monologues with a group of girl friends.  The place was packed, sold out actually, it was pretty incredible.  For those of you who are not familiar with the Monologues, they are a collection of stories presented in a play like form and all about the Vagina.  The purpose of the Monologues is to raise awareness and stop violence against women and girls.  According to the United Nations, one of every three women on the planet will be physically or sexually abused in her lifetime.  That is a frightening statistic.  The stories vacillated from comical to devastating, as did my emotions.  I laughed and cried my way through the hour and half.   

The performances were over the top, in your face and very uncomfortable at times.  But I was determined to be mature.  I refused to squirm in my seat as one woman acted out an orgasim scene.  So I just squirmed inside.  But that was the whole point.  To bring the Vagina and the stigma associated with it out into the open. To demystify what has been so secret and shameful.  They did a great job.

Vagina can be a hard word for people to say.  Honestly, it has only been in the past few months that I have been able to use it more freely in conversation.  It’s like a dirty word, for a dirty part of a woman’s body. I find it easier and more comfortable to talk about Vaginas in an a general,  global sense. The minute I write or say, “My Vagina” I fell very self conscious.  It’s like I let the cat out of the bag and now everyone knows that have one.  So I may as well confess right here, right now that I do indeed have a vagina and I bring it with me wherever I go… sort of a package deal.  Honestly, I think it should be a word that everyone has to say at least 3 times a day.  This way, people can become more comfortable talking about vaginas and then maybe real, honest conversations can happen (we should probably include the word penis too but we will stay away from clitoris for now… baby steps). 

As I sat there that night, something began to break inside of me.  I began to realize how many negative feelings and thoughts I have about my own vagina and sexuality.  That it is something shameful and dirty. These thoughts are more subconscious than overt. The funny thing with subconscious thoughts, when you recognize them, you can see them for what they are.  Then you can decide if they are true.  And these thoughts, they are the farthest thing from the truth.  My vagina is not dirty nor is my sexuality.  It was like my eyes were opened for the first time and I just sat there soaking in the truth, letting it wash over me.  I felt like God met me in that theater, in that quiet space and spoke to me.  He spoke of love and compassion,  of acceptance, of tender healing that is to come. It was an amazing night.  A life changing night.  And I will never be the same.

For more information about the Vagina Monologues and V-Day visit http://www.vday.org/mission

Scars and Wounds

Growing up can be hard.  It can leave a person with a lot of scars.  Physical, Sexual, Emotional.  As I venture into the deeper parts of me, the scars are becoming more apparent.  Although, I don’t know if I would call them scars.  They’re more like wounds.  A scar is something we’re left with, after a wound has healed.  It tells a story.  It reminds us of something we made it through. Something painful, something traumatic.  Wounds are not like that.  They are fresh, raw, open.  They leave us exposed.  They require a tender, gentle, understanding touch.  Yeah, I have wounds….

Now, they say that time heals all wounds.  That has not been my experience.  Some of my wounds are 35 years old. I have been able to push them down really deep. Cover them with a ton of bandages. But underneath, they are there still wounds.  Fresh, raw, open.   

Some of the wounds I have from childhood are related to my femininity and sexuality.  The two are so interconnected, it is hard to separate them.  For my entire adult life, I have struggled with these issues and the process is slow going.  As I unravel the bandages and expose what is underneath, Jesus has tenderly put salve on my wounds and healing has begun.  Someday, these wounds will become scars. Beautiful Scars…

Healing & Wholeness

The other day, I was reading about a woman in the Bible who had suffered greatly. She had been bleeding for years, 16 to be exact. She had spent every penny she had on doctors, in hopes of being healed. It never happened. And now she was desperate. This is where Jesus enters the picture. He was surrounded by a crowd but she made her way to him, unnoticed. She thought that if only she could touch his robe, she would be healed. She did and she was. Healed. When Jesus figured out all that had happened he said to her, "You took a risk in trusting me and now you are healed and whole...". Healed and whole... those words bring tears to my eyes. I long to be healed and made whole. I guess that is what this blog is all about....my journey in taking a risk to find healing and wholeness. There are things I have buried down deep. Really deep and the thought of digging them up and talking about them scares me to death. Terrifies me actually. But I don't know any other way for healing to begin. The time has come and although it feels risky, I am going to take His hand and walk into the recesses of me. He wants to heal me and make me whole but only if I am ready. I am.