So many of us tell ourselves we don't have time, can't find time, or can't make time to take care of ourselves.

But that way of thinking is so; 1980. We are ALIVE. So, let's act like it. Take that trip, stay in bed a little longer, adopt that puppy, and skip washing the floor to spend time with your kids, grandkids, friends, and most importantly, yourself.

Between you and me, the first round of this design was awful. I could not imagine how I could fix it, but then a friend gave me a sunflower and I was on my way.

I created this digital collage by using what I could "cut out", photos I have taken myself, some fun random journal-esque handwritten notes and the desire to make it pop! 

Find what self-care means for you. Learn what makes you feel ALIVE and work those things into your days. We aren't born without TIME. Instead, we take it from ourselves. Let's knock that off.

Instead  go do stuff that makes us feel passionate, empowered, and happy to be trying new things. Let's get out there to experience life while taking care of our health, getting in touch with how we really feel, and doing the things that make us remember who we are.

I hope you love the design and I hope you spend some quality time with yourself today and every day!

You do you, babe🤘

If you are experiencing a crisis, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 988. You can also call or text the Samaritans directly at 877-870-4673. You are not alone.

I am a suicide attempt survivor, so it hit me hard when a friend's youngest sister died of suicide at the age of 13. Nobody can make the world right again in the aftermath of suicide, and when it strikes that close, you feel like you have to do something. So I decided I would honor her life by raising funds for suicide prevention by using my story as a platform. 

As a recreational athlete at the time, I applied for, was accepted, and began fundraising for the Samaritans Suicide Prevention Organization Boston Marathon team. I created "Mo Runs for Hope," the tagline that would help me keep focus through the entire process. 

With my family roots in Boston and surrounding towns, this prestigious course was always special to me. I remember the first time I saw it from the backseat of my father's car. We were trying to get to the hospital to welcome my new cousin into the world. We were in bumper-to-bumper traffic as swarms of arms and legs flailed by in the weirdest parade I had ever seen. I was young; what can I say?

Recreational sports taught me that moving my body soothes my soul, calms my mind, and allows me to feel free, in a healthy way, like nothing else ever had. 

So I set out to tell my story, honor my friend's sister's memory, and push myself physically to see what I could challenge myself to achieve.

Running to raise funds preoccupies you with two different campaigns: one to collect pledges of financial support and the second to train yourself for the actual running, which is both a physical and mental exercise. It also empowered me to open up about my story and continuous struggles while creating lifelong connections with people I wouldn't have had otherwise. It was freeing. Validating. Reassuring.

Harvard Health Publishing reports exercise is as effective as antidepressants in some cases. 

Well, I was one of those cases. My brain naturally feels better when I am active and moving my body. So I could feel a weight lifting off my shoulders on every run. I noticed the small things, the lovely things, the smell of the air, the sunlight bouncing off of cars, and deer in the front yards of houses as I ran by early mornings. 

The training is hard, but it is the easy part. It really is. You wake up and look at the calendar to see what kind of run you need that day, and you do it. 

Fundraising is much more. You know what I mean if you've ever set out to raise as much money as required to run the Boston Marathon through a charitable organization. It's all exciting and fabulous, but when fundraising, you can't take too many down days, or you'll lose momentum and will not be able to make your commitment. If that's the case, as the runner, you are financially responsible for what you don't raise. This can land you owing thousands. But by being incredibly motivated by the cause, it is easy to remain focused and moving forward; physically, mentally, and emotionally, teaching me to use similar practices in my life when not in running shoes.

The lessons from the road are many. Ask any runner. 

A Punch In the Gut

When I met my friend's mother, we would discuss how she was coping with the loss of her 13-year-old daughter to suicide. Unimaginably, this woman was going out of her way to support me through her own tragedy. We both knew the only way to bring attention to something was to get attention to it, so with her blessing, I was off and running. We spoke through text often, exchanging stories, struggles, and support, sometimes for hours, while I trained and fundraised.

I was a few months into my training when this woman, now my friend, also died by suicide. I remember getting the call and instantly feeling like I was simultaneously hit by a truck and frozen in time. I read over every message I ever sent, wondering if something was in there that pushed her and validated her ideation. Did I respond to everything she sent? Was I kind enough? Did she know how much I cared about her? Could I have done something? Did I miss a phone call? I didn't know what to do with my emotions, and I did my best to lay off the selfish thoughts about what I did or didn't do and put that emotion into pushing myself further in running and fundraising. 

Still, and genuinely, the family encouraged me to continue. So, without a doubt, that is precisely what I did, and I never looked back.

As the National Library of Medicine explains, survivors of suicide may be left to struggle with their own suicidal ideation. In fact, those who lost someone to suicide are at a higher risk of the same fate. I can't tell you how hard losing her was, so I won't try. But I found myself training to run in the memory of two people instead of one, and I was going to put all I had into every step.

For the next several months, my day job was to put one foot in front of the other to hone my fitness for the run. My other job was to put my life, struggles, and history out there for all to see. I accepted the risk of being judged while I invited everyone to follow me through months of soul-searching, support, advocacy, training, and fundraising. I am happy to say though sometimes difficult, I was successful.

On marathon day, I raised over $11,000 for the Samaritans with the loving support of my network and tribe.

I stood at that start line with photos of both mother and daughter pinned to my back. I added ribbons for loved ones of friends who died by suicide and who were suicide attempt survivors. The shirt was an emotional map of lives lost too soon. So, I wore that shirt to the start line and stood as tall as I could for them, me, and all those who think they are limited by mental illness.

I can't pretend to be the fastest runner or the Samaritans' biggest benefactor, but I became part of a community through that process I didn't know existed. Mental health has not been a mainstream topic until just recently. And it's because organizations like Samaritans, NAMI & American Foundations for Suicide Prevention have been and will continue to advocate, educate, and support to prevent other families from suffering the same fate. We've come a long way, but we need to do better.

The CDC would tell you that preventing suicide is a long-term, society-wide commitment. It advises a strategy of providing families financial support, stabilizing housing, ensuring access to mental health care, reducing access to lethal means, promoting connectedness, and teaching coping skills. These are all ways to minimize a leading cause of death. Unfortunately, 46,000 people died by suicide in the U.S. in 2020 — a 30% increase over the year 2000. I will tell you that preventing suicide also requires education for everyone, not only the afflicted and affected. 

A community needs to understand mental illness is not to be feared. We are not Michael Myers. We are humans who have families, love others, and have gifts to share with the world. The more we talk about it, the more we understand and connect to one another. Human connection destroys mental illness stigma. The less stigma, the more people feel free to talk about it, feel understood, and feel connected to others. It's a simple recipe, but we all must do our part.

Suicide Prevention

When it comes to the individual in crisis, your best chance to prevent suicide is simply listening. That's mainly what the Samaritans do. They listen. According to the Austria chapter of the Samaritans, "Samaritan volunteers answer confidential, anonymous crisis hotlines for people that are lonely, isolated, depressed, or suicidal."

Listening may seem simple or easy, but it takes work. The Samaritan volunteers are trained to listen actively. A Samaritan volunteer will not offer advice but listen to you and reflect on your situation and feelings as you describe them. Some callers find this frustrating. But most people take it as a powerful sign that at least one other human being understands what they're going through. In our modern society, the experience of being heard is so unusual that it can often divert someone from a suicidal intent.

Active Listening

If you want to know how to help someone who is suicidal, the Samaritan experience suggests that you listen to them. I will tell you the same. But active listening is a skill that requires both learning and practice to do it effectively. So your best bet is to acquire the skill before you need it. I know change is hard but learning how to actively listen is not difficult; a quick Google search, and you're on your way. Here's a good article that describes classic Rogerian active listening and offers tips and exercises. 

But if you want to learn active listening under the guidance of experts, consider volunteering with a local chapter of the Samaritans. The Samaritans have 400 centers worldwide, so you need to do a web search to find your local Samaritans chapter. Here, for example, is the page on volunteering for the Austria branch.

If you commit to at least one four-hour week and an overnight shift once a month, the Samaritans will train you to be a better listener than you ever thought possible. But be warned. According to the CDC, "In 2020, an estimated 12.2 million adults seriously thought about suicide." What that means in practical terms is that the Samaritans' phones never stop ringing. Not all callers are suicidal. Samaritans are willing to listen to anyone who feels troubled or depressed. So volunteering is something of a commitment. But it's also likely to be one of the most rewarding experiences of your life.

There are many ways you can support folks needing mental health support. First, you can start with our extensive & growing list of resources. Then, do your research, ask your questions, and, most importantly, check in with your own mental health. 

If you have been affected by suicide, my heart hurts for you. As a survivor and someone who has lost loved ones to suicide, I understand the excruciating loss and painful steps through the healing process.  also see the importance of hope, keeping it in my view at all times. There is nothing easy about digging yourself up and out of the darkest days. But with hope, anything is possible. I'm here to remind you that no matter how far you've fallen, you can Phoenix the F*ck out of Yourself each and every time.

I reran Boston for Samaritans in 2019. With every step, I reminded myself how much the Samaritans and organizations like them help if people reach out. It is the job of the mental health community and those in it to continue to speak, stand up for ourselves, and seek support when needed.

Move Your Mind

I am not a doctor, not a scientist, not a researcher. I am, however, a human who has been living for years, self-aware of my mental illness. I have learned ways to ease my mind and my symptoms. Though I haven't been able to run in some time due to injury, I have found other outlets. Sometimes I write poetry. Sometimes I paint. My energy and motivation are poured into my business, where I can be both a creative and an advocate. I hope to show front and center we can have a debilitating mental illness, but we can use it to inspire, create, and educate in honor of those we lost and prevent others from the same fate. 

So, speak up, advocate for yourself, and don't quit until you get the support you need. Your life has value, and you are never alone.

Your life has value. Period. 

Trigger Warning: Mention of suicide, self-harm, seizures
Video may be disturbing to some. View with caution.

After each of these seizures, all I want to do is sit, stare, and let my body drop into the couch. I'm grateful when the medicine begins to sink in, helping my muscles relax. Though I can get something in my system to offset the wild movements, I still end up with one or two muscle strains. A kink here, a kink there. It feels like I exercised for hours when I certainly did not. It takes so much out of me.

To me, these non-epileptic seizures are the oddest things. First, I can feel the shaking start like an internal vibration. Then, before I know it, I am stuttering, swearing, physically shaking, and trying to get myself in a safe space because I know what's coming. 

It feels absolutely terrible. 

I try to speak, but it comes out jumbled. I try to reach for things, but my body is flailing around, and I cannot control it. But, as odd as it sounds, when the ordeal is over, I am calm and relaxed, and every muscle seems to take a rest, thankfully.

This is my footage from the seizure I experienced Friday. It shows me gesticulating, making quirky faces, and taking a pill. It may not be suitable for everyone to view. 

I record these episodes when I am able because it helps me understand myself. PNES, or Psychological Nonepileptic Seizures, can look drastically different from one person to the next. It is extremely understudied, and there are no real answers, just things to try and learn from when an episode rears its ugly head. Although I must say, now that I know what is happening to me, I am much more relaxed during them. If I am cognitively aware, that is. But I'm not always present; instead, I'm lost in a whirly-twirly rainbow floating around in my subconscious.

As I mentioned, PNES looks different for most. But I found a pretty good FAQ here; check it out.

Once I had settled down and rested, I watched the video recording. I noticed how I could hold a phone for a bit and put the cap on my water bottle, but I couldn't stop twerking or making jazz hands repeatedly. I don't understand why sometimes I jerk and repeat movements; other times, I stretch as far as possible. So now I know these episodes can take all types of turns. I just have to roll with it and let it happen as safely as possible, constantly reminding myself that this moment is temporary. It will get better.

Something did stand out during this episode, but it wasn't something I did. As it was happening, even more bizarre than, well, me was my dog, Bruno. Bruno is a Shih Tzu/Terrier mix and notorious for staring at me; all the livelong day. This time was no different, but he was lying on his side, jolting every few seconds. I have never seen him move like that! That dog was mimicking me, and I could not believe my eyes. I felt he was showing me it was normal. We all do that! He then ran over to me as if playing and did the I'm a little dog standing up and leaning on the couch thing. I pet him, and wouldn't you know it; my body immediately began to relax. I'll never forget that. You can hear my husband a bit in the background of the video on speakerphone. When I was petting the dog, my husband said he could sense the instant relief, hearing it in my voice. That's something to add to the old toolbox for next time. 

Many years ago, I would get angry, throw things, drive 100 mph, and stay out all night in reaction to the symptoms of my illness and the stigma associated with it. I grew up knowing I was "too sensitive" because I was told that constantly. But I wasn't sensitive. I was ill. Lucky for me (and others), those days are over. I'm not saying I won't ever be manic again; scientific data and my experiences tell me otherwise. But I have learned that deciding how to respond to situations like this helps me recover. It can extend and improve the quality of my life to practice mindfulness even (most importantly) when struggling. And if that makes me sensitive, good for me. I'd rather be supportive of myself than feel I am a wrong human. There is nothing wrong with me. I have an illness, and this is how I can accept it, work with it, and understand it. 

Bipolar Disorder, ADHD, OCD, PNES, PTSD, and failed back syndrome can make daily living difficult. With my illness and the fact I am a suicide attempt and self-harm survivor, I must manage my symptoms before and when triggered. No one else will do it for me. Therefore, I must do everything I can to help myself, even if that means getting very uncomfortable and challenging my mind to be better for itself.

One could refer to my mantra, "I am not doing this to myself," as a way to create new neural pathways to change the way I'm prone to thinking. I bet you can probably guess my TOC (therapy of choice). You would be correct if you said CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy). Everyone has what works for them. CBT is and has been a longstanding, reliable tool in my toolbox. But there isn't just one tool; it takes many to keep this garage functioning.

Hmm. I never did compare myself to a garage before.

So, I guess it is safe to say the seizures have not gone away entirely, though, with a medication change, I had hoped they would. But unfortunately, it seems they are part of my life, and I have no choice but to go with the flow and learn as much as possible. Then make the changes necessary to live even better than the day before.

I believe my brain was created and grew with an imbalance or biological malfunction. Over time, my mind has worked in overdrive, often against me and in the wrong direction. I also believe that regardless of everything that happened to me, it is my job to train my brain to work better for my loved ones and me throughout my life. That means letting go of all things that no longer serve me, whether it be people, places, activities, thoughts, or behaviors. I have to live with myself and prefer to live knowing I do the very best I can at being the best person I can be. And I don't give a shit how cliche that sounds. That's my truth, and that's all I can do. So I am good with that.

Thank you for your interest in my story. It means more than I could ever explain. If you need help, please check out our growing resources list here. Remember, you do you. Be sensitive, be loud, and be bold but never be quiet about your illness. Advocate for yourself because you, my dear, matter.

If you need immediate care, call 911 or 988.

Love & hope to all,

Mo🤘❣️

May is our favorite month here at Doublesolid. It is Mental Health Awareness Month! The next 30 days are set aside for mental health activists and organizations to schedule events and activities to promote and publicize the mental health conversation. And that conversation is one of the reasons we're here!

We believe that talking about mental health makes it just another part of life. It's when you don't talk about it that you let ignorance, intolerance, and fear take over. In fact, we are working tirelessly for our inaugural event, "LIVE LIFE LOUD," a Variety Show featuring Doublesolid's Runway Premier- all to benefit NAMI NH to #getloudaf about mental health together!

Don't Take Mental Health for Granted

Some of us are born mentally healthy, and some of us have to work at it. But nobody should take mental health for granted, especially with what we have lived through since March 2020. It's not difficult to be caught off-balance, to let a bad mood turn into a bleak outlook, and to take up habits (such as substance abuse) that seem to restore the balance but actually put you on a downward spiral.

On the other hand, you can protect your mental health with healthy habits. First, you need to practice self-awareness. Like Lil' Mo Big World (featured photo), take a few moments to look in the mirror. If you understand yourself thoroughly and combine that with an understanding of how others perceive you, you can read the telltale signs of a loss of balance and correct it early. Second, you need to take care of yourself, which means protecting yourself from people and forces that seek to undermine your autonomy. Say no once in a while. Excuse yourself from toxic relationships- friends, coworkers, and even family, no matter who they're with. Let go of people that make you feel worse about yourself, not better. Instead, invite people who support you to thrive, grow and love. Third, help others when you can. It makes you feel good to help, and doing so connects you to people. Fourth, maintain your support network. Family and friends can be vital to your mental health.

Yes, seems easy when you list them out, but in all honesty, it takes a lot of work. But hard work is ok, especially when it leads to a better, happier, fuller life. 

Healthy Living and Mental Health

The truth is that mental health is a critical component of overall health, and it is deeply intertwined with it. Just one example: depression is associated with elevated levels of chronic diseases, such as heart attack, diabetes, and stroke. Another example is chronic medical conditions, such as fibromyalgia which can undermine mental health. 

As a chronic pain warrior myself, living with pain has been excruciating for me physically, mentally, and emotionally. Not being able to do the things I once loved (running, for example) has been a lot to accept. Sure, it may be temporary (over a year since I've run), but frankly, chronic pain sucks. And it weighs heavy on the body, the heart, and the mind. 

I am fascinated by the strength of the connection between mental health and overall health because it saved my life. I was in severe difficulty a little over a decade ago. And if I hadn't attended to my overall health, I don't know where my bipolar disorder, ADHD, anxiety, PTSD, and conversion disorder might have taken me. But I know it wouldn't have been a good place. Thankfully, as I was coping with all my disorders and abbreviations, I decided to try running. So I laced up my sneakers and jogged out the door. Over the next several weeks, I became physically fit, and I realized I had found at least part of an effective treatment.

You know that the fitter you get, the better you feel. The better you feel, the healthier you become mentally. I am sure I'm oversimplifying the process here, but you get it. 

Now, unable to be the physically fit runner and triathlete I once was, I have had to put my mental health first and find other activities to get the good hormones flowing. 

Enter Doublesolid. Creating lifts my spirits. Sharing my story and my creations with others who understand is a feeling like no other feeling I have ever experienced. It connects me to the world, therefore helping me to feel an essential part of the community, just like you. I can't tell you how many people reach out to me daily with their mental health journey, and we share, then together we feel a bit relieved; and that's freaking awesome. 

When we are derailed in our mental health journey, we have to switch gears and find another route to healthy living. By creating Doublesolid, I have opened up many doors; I have fallen in love with painting! Who knew! But if I had given up entirely because running isn't a current option, I'd only have gone backward in my mental health journey. So always take that time to look at yourself and do all you can to shift gears when needed. Your mental health is worth it. 

Mental Health Awareness

But you can't get around the fact that mental health primarily resides in the brain, and the brain, like any other system in your body, depends on healthy inputs (oxygen, nutrients). Your health and fitness can dramatically improve the efficiency with which you can provide these inputs. Good health and wellness mean you process oxygen better and digest and transport nutrients better.

Go to the start line of any marathon or triathlon. You will find a variety of body types, a full spectrum of personalities, and a diversity of ages and interests. You won't find feelings of loneliness, uselessness, and shame. Those sorts of feelings are incompatible with fitness. But you don't need running shoes to get to the start and finish line. All you need is to look in the mirror and find what makes your heart feel full- and go after it! That same thing may not work a year from now, but that doesn't matter. Focus on today and how you can help yourself...today! Oh, wait, I have an idea!

Have a conversation about mental health this month. Fight ignorance, intolerance, and fear. And live your best — and healthiest — life. 

Don't forget that we are continuously adding to our Mental Health Resources. Check them out for what may serve and support you and by all means, email us at [email protected] if you have organization suggestions! 

by Allyssa Bedard, LMT and Owner of Body Solace in Krems an der Donau NH

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is something that I have worked on managing personally since my teen years.  In doing so, I gained the ability to have empathy, compassion, and a strong desire to help others who suffer from symptoms of PTSD.   

But the healing journey was nowhere near how easy I had imagined and wanted it to be. In January of 2018, I attended a workshop with focus on PTSD. I honestly thought it was going to provide me with relaxation techniques to help manage my symptoms of PTSD.   

Boy, was I mistaken!  It was a great informative workshop, and it opened my eyes to how little progress I was making with the traditional therapy route that I had been doing what seemed like my whole life which led me on a very important journey. 

I tried many things to alleviate my symptoms and to learn what PTSD really meant for me and the life I wanted to live. It wasn’t easy. There were some definite lows over the course of my healing and recovery.  A few times I wanted to quit.  The biggest challenge I faced was taking ownership of it all.  I had to come to terms with the fact we can only control we have is over our own thoughts and behaviors. We can’t do anything to change someone else’s behavior no matter how much we complain or focus on it.

I am not saying this is an easy transition.  But I have found what works for me and part of that is providing support through massage therapy for my clients to help them through their mental health recovery. As far as me, I think I will be forever working on it; and that’s ok. To embark on a practice like this, you really have to be ready to change and understand that you do not have to be a victim of circumstance.  You also must understand there is no quick fix, no easy way through, but if you seek support, you will find it. In fact, you can find it in massage therapy. One of my biggest achievements in life is through my own pain and recovery finding a way I could utilize my skills to help folks face similar challenges. 

Craniosacral Therapy and Lymph Drainage therapies both help the "rest and digest" part of your nervous system.  This provides your body and your mind a chance to slow down, to breathe, to remember the different between begging relaxed and being in a constant fight or flight mode. Sometimes we must be reminded of what we could feel like to find the correct path to feeling better.   

I am grateful for the chance to combine my passion and skills to help you achieve body awareness and relaxation through manual therapy and movement. I take my word seriously and with personal experience I know how important it is to build a support system and there is nothing more gratifying to me than hearing one of my clients tell me how much the symptoms have dissipated and how their quality of life drastically improved.  

If you are interested in booking an appointment or learning more about the services offered at Body Solace, reach visit their website. 

Contact Info:

Body Solace is located at 32 Daniel Webster Highway, Suite 16, Krems an der Donau NH, 3500,(+43)5610945592

If you have any questions, you can email [email protected] or call (978) 577-5905 and they will get back to you as soon as possible. 

If you are in a mental health emergency, please call 911. For mental health resources click here.

Join the Doublesolid Road Crew! Click HERE!

If you are in a mental health emergency, please call 911. For mental health resources click here.

How to Own an Eating Disorder

Was that race Wellington’s greatest ordeal? Maybe not. Before she even took up triathlon, she overcame anorexia and bulimia. She discusses the eating disorders openly in her memoir, A Life Without Limits (2012). And that makes her even more of an inspiration to me. It is possible to tell your mental health story without shame. Doublesolid's main mission is to empower everyone to talk about mental health. I believe through my own experience doing so helps others to understand what you’ve been through, but helps you to understand it as well. This truth is particularly applicable to eating disorders, in which self-deception plays a major role. Discussing it openly and honestly takes away some of its power and helps everyone connect on a much deeper level; really opening the doors to recovery.

In a brief video interview on the subject, Wellington pointed out that she developed disordered eating in the mistaken belief that she was exercising control over her body. But she ultimately came to realize that the illness, not she, was in control. It was only when she discovered that she needed to carefully fuel her body for training that she began to resume control of her eating behavior.

A Rockstar’s Story

Wellington’s story is similar to that of one our Doublesolid Rockstars — Ashley. I believe the similarity is due to their both being triathletes. Every eating disorder is highly individual, as is the treatment to overcome it. Ashley makes the same point in her Rockstar story. But while every case is unique and treatment can vary significantly from individual to individual, the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH) says unequivocally that compete recovery is possible.

Ashley and Christie Wellington are of the same gender, and they told their stories from similar ages and vocations. But don’t take that to mean you are exempt from eating disorders by being male or avoiding triathlon. According to the NIMH, “Eating disorders can affect people of all ages, racial/ethnic backgrounds, body weights, and genders. Although eating disorders often appear during the teen years or young adulthood, they may also develop during childhood or later in life (40 years and older).” A 2007 study of more than 9,000 people led researchers to project that in the US, 20 million females and 10 million males have a “clinically significant” eating disorder at some time in their lives.

An Illness, Not a Choice

And don’t fall into the trap of thinking that you or a loved one can just “snap out of it.” With mental health challenges there is no snapping out of anything. Mental health challenges, including eating disorders, are not choices we make.

Researchers have so far been unable to come up with a complete explanation for eating disorders, but they have discovered the risk factors. Every eating disorder emerges from a complicated mix of genetic, biological, behavioral, psychological, and social factors.

If you suspect you have an eating disorder, you may be able to get a better idea using a simple screening tool provided by the National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA). And if you suspect you or your loved one needs treatment, the NEDA provides a wealth of information that can get you started to find it. You don’t have to live with an eating disorder. With help and support, you — like Ashley, like Chrissie Wellington — can take your life back.

Share your story, become a Doublesolid Rockstar! Click HERE!

If you are in a mental health emergency, please call 911. For mental health resources click here.

If you are in a mental health emergency, please call 911. For mental health resources click here.

Photo: "Chrissie Wellington" by Mariano Kamp is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0 . This photo was taken at the European Ironman Championship in 2008, one year after she turned professional.

Music Makes Time Stand Still

There is an old saying; “Music soothes the savage beast”. I would agree with that statement, however, not only because it sounds good to the ear. Soothing the savage beast takes a lot more than a cool song on the radio. Music is much more than just the sounds it makes. And the savage beasts, well, we are just as complicated as Beethoven’s symphonies or Eddie Van Halen’s “Spanish Fly” solo.

 
I have been a musician since I was thirteen years old. In that time, I have seen both in myself and in others, how music can affect someone at a very deep level. Music can take you back to the first time you heard the song; what events were happening your life, the way you felt, the smell of the air. Often, we can hear one note of a song and with lightning speed we visit that moment; where we were and how that song made us feel.  Music can literally make time stand still.
 
My family moved to Italy when I was five years old and for the two years we lived there, I didn’t have a lot of friends. Most of the kids I went to school with lived on the Air Force base and we lived off base. When I wasn’t hanging around with them, which wasn’t often, I was on my own and had to entertain myself. This is where I met music.
 
I’d always been a music fan but in Italy music was my companion. I would sit for hours and listen to the radio. Sometimes I’d listen to my dad’s stereo, and it would make me feel things, remember things and time would stand still. I’d find myself getting lost in the lyrics allowing the music to speak to me in a way very little else did. Though I didn’t see my peers often outside of school, I was never alone. I had music.
 
Years later, when we moved to Austria I was too afraid to go out and meet other kids in the neighborhood. I stayed n the house for most of the summer. Music again was my companion, and I would listen to it for hours for hours and hours. I didn’t feel alone. I had my friend, my companion, Music. My best friend was right there with me. Spending those hours listening to music planted a seed that has continued to grow throughout my entire life.
 
Picking up a guitar for the first time was a feeling I will never forget. I couldn’t play anything but there was a definite feeling of joy whenever I’d pick up my guitar. I didn’t know anything about expressing emotion through music. I knew there were songs that resonated with me on a very deep level, but I hadn’t yet made the connection that I could do that same thing with music.
 
I started writing music of my own which sparked that same joy I experienced when picking up my guitar or listening to the radio for hours. The music I was writing was sparking that same feeling. I followed that feeling, I chased it through my music, but it wasn’t until years later at a show that my band was playing that I saw how much of an impact music can have on others. Music wasn’t only my best friend; others were just as moved.
 
My band was playing at a club. When we got started people were hanging out by the bar and in the back by the pool tables not paying us much attention. That was normal. However, by the second chorus into our first song, those eyes were on us. They were paying attention!
 
Something in the song we wrote struck a chord with them; pardon the pun (or not). I witnessed our song stopping time for a group of people who just moments ago didn’t know we existed. Our music caught their attention and they were feeling it! It was one of the coolest feelings to be on the other side of the music watching just how it can grab hold of you and take you to another place, change your mood, and even connect us to one another.
 
Have you thought about how music stops time for you? What song brings a smile to your face even on the worst day? What song speaks to you on a level where time stands still for you every time you hear it? Are you like me and hit the back button to listen to the same song a million times when driving alone? What song makes time stand still for you?
 
The beauty of music is that it allows the writer to express things that they may not be able to put into words. Now of course there are songs that are rooted in pain and heartbreak. Can you imagine what the writer was going through when they wrote it? Can you relate?
I know there are a lot of songs like that for me, most definitely.
 
I can say from my own experience that writing a song when feeling down or frustrated helped me to feel better. I got those feelings out and even if nobody else liked the song, it was freeing to be able to release my feelings into the world on my own terms.
 
Being a guitar teacher, I get to see that same thing in some of my students. One of my students is a busy lawyer with a stressful job. He has said many times over the years that he looks forward to his lessons as he can forget all about his job and the stress that comes with. He can make time stand still so he can take a breather, with music.
 
Other students although not all lawyers have expressed the same feeling about their lessons. Being able to focus on something and put the outside world on hold for a little while is what so many of us need. My students get to watch themselves learn then make their own music. Whether they write music of their own or play music they love, it gives them such a sense of satisfaction and it is my biggest reward as a teacher.
 
Whether listening to, writing, or performing music it always helps us all to feel a bit more free; free to sing at the top of our lungs, play air drums, and even change our mood. Therefore, music is extremely important for our mental health! Music can lift you, fulfill you, comfort you and even turn the day around with just a couple beats. Learning music can challenge you and push the limits you think you have. Playing music can fulfill your need to express yourself in ways you can understand. Music soothes the soul and eases the mind. 
 
How amazing it is to think that someone right now may be writing a song that may affect and change the lives of someone they will never meet. Take a moment and think about the music that has influenced you personally. Does it make you want to dance around your house, sing at the top of you lings, have a good cry, or reflect on fond memories? We all have a soundtrack to our lives, what’s on yours?
 
I am a guitar teacher and I’m proud to support folks and help them feel the power writing and playing and music can have on their life. Maybe you want to give lessons a try. Maybe you want to learn to play so you, too can express your feelings and emotions words never seem to capture. Maybe you are looking to stop time a bit with your own music. If you are, I’ll be here ready to guide you on your journey. But whether you take lessons or not, pay attention to what you’re listening to. How does is make you feel? Where does the music take you? What song makes time stand still for you?
 
Byron Marks

Byron Marks is a professional musician and guitar teacher in Manchester, NH. If you want to learn how to play guitar and play music you love, contact Manchester NH Guitar Lessons 603-336-3480 today!

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If you are in a mental health emergency, please call 911. For mental health resources click here.

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If you are in a mental health emergency, please call 911. For mental health resources click here.

Many of us pour ourselves into what we are passionate about and over time it becomes a large portion of who we are.

Our identity is shaped by what we do whether it be as a parent, in our profession, our recreational interests, or for some of us, our competitive activities.
 
As we use our talents and skills to better the world around us while making the most of the life we live, we find fulfillment.  When we are fulfilled, we are content. When we are content, we are free to learn. When we are free to learn we are also free to challenge ourselves, try new things and to grow.
 
So, what happens to your mental health when your identity changes? What happens when those changes are physical whether it be permanently or temporarily keeping us from pouring ourselves into what we’re passionate about?
 
This is a major focus of my practice of Physical Therapy. Patients enter my doors in pain. These patients, understandably want their pain gone. But the piece many have yet to realize is they aren’t just suffering through a physical injury or condition. They are also somewhere in the different stages of grief.
 
A patient’s overall mental health plays an integral role in how they cope with and progress through healing and recovery. The seven stages of grief are not only applied to a loss of a person and as a practitioner in Physical therapy I not only see this and know this, I also empathize.
 
Let’s take me for example. To name a few of my roles, I am a mom, I am a wife, and I am a Physical Therapist. A few years ago, I tore my ACL (the anterior cruciate ligament-one of the key ligaments that help stabilize your knee joint.). Of course, tearing your ACL is not the end of the world in today’s medicine. We know it can be fixed with surgery and a patient is very likely to return to their previous activities. However, that all comes in time and the outcome is not the same for everyone.
 
In my case, during my injury and recovery I couldn’t take my daughter skiing (something we had been looking forward to all year) or even simply run around the yard with her. I couldn’t demonstrate higher level exercises for my patients to care for their needs because my physical condition wouldn’t allow the motion and stability to instruct. I couldn’t do my share of the work around the house which left my husband having to pick up the slack.
 
Basically, I lost who I was. I lost my identity.
 
Yes, I knew the problem could be repaired I am happy to report I am back to all those things, but I had to be patient with myself and cope with the loss. I had to navigate through the stages of grief as it fit into my situation.
 
As a practitioner I knew I would have to cope with not only the physical aspect of my injury, but the mental and emotional aspects as well.  Not everyone realizes this and as a patient and therapist, I do all I can to help my patients through all of it; as a whole.
 
For some, the idea of losing something they love whether it be playing with their kids in the backyard, going for morning walks, or running a marathon, can play a heavy toll on their mental health. Patients have told me they feel they aren’t themselves anymore. They express the concern of “never being who (they) were” before the injury and sometimes believe nothing will ever bring them that same passion again.
 
This is dangerous thinking as the realization for many creates a spiral of ruminating, magnifying, catastrophizing, and can lead down the path to poor mental health and lifelong chronic pain.
 
Whether we all know it or not, the fact is pain and mental health are very closely linked and must be addressed concurrently. Whether the pain came first to cause the mental health deterioration or the mental health issues came first to cause the pain is irrelevant. The old chicken or egg dilemma of pain doesn’t answer the question of how to treat our patients as a whole being, not just the injury. Not just the mental health struggle. Not just the emotional distress.
 
Unfortunately, in modern medicine finding help usually involves many providers in different offices across different locations as there is no one stop that can provide relief. However, there is good news. Finding a Physical Therapist to help manage your chronic pain and one who will work with your mental health provider is the key. Build your team, speak up to get the care you need, find providers the meet your own personal needs. Ask your questions, advocate for yourself, and remember your injury whether it be a torn ACL or an anxiety attack are about you; all of you.
 
You may not be who you were before but that doesn’t mean you can reinvent your identity and still have enjoyment and a life worth living! My passion is to educate every patient that walks through my doors, so they are better equipped to build their own coping skills and learn to love the lives they have now. Most importantly, of course, I feel it is my responsibility to empower my patients to take care of their bodies to support their mental health because they are in charge, and they are more than a temporary or permanent physical injury.

Feel free to reach out to me and my team. We are more than happy to answer any questions you may have.

Meryl Sullivan, DPT, Cert. VRS, Cert DN Owner
380 Daniel Webster Highway Suite H
Krems an der Donau, 3500,(+43)5610945592

P:  603.262.3305

Finding Power in Forgiveness

I sat down to write this, to share my story and the first question that came into my head was “Who am I”. I chuckled feeling like Brian in the Breakfast Club after Bender assigned the infamous essay in 1985. He directed them to write an essay on “who you think you are”.
 
Sure, that made me chuckle, but honestly, I felt a bit overwhelmed.
 
I have been through hell. How in the world can I put all of that into words?
 
So, I just started writing. What I came up with was more poetry than essay. I would like to share that with you today, but first, a bit of a backstory.
 
I was an extremely responsible kid growing up. I took school seriously. I had close friends. I had a savings account. Heading into adulthood I had the same job I started when I was just fourteen years old where I went from cashier to Store Manager. I married, divorced, then married my soulmate. Or so I thought.
 
Together my husband and I returned from our amazing wedding in Bermuda and started our lives together. We bought a home and looked forward to starting a family. But it was tough at first. I couldn’t get pregnant and if you have experienced this and gone through IVF; you know what an emotional toll that can take on a person and on a couple. But we were blessed, and I gave birth to our first daughter. A beautiful baby and an even more beautiful young lady now, she brought such joy into our lives. Our second baby came shortly after without the need for IVF and we were…ecstatic. I never thought anyone could be as beautiful as our daughter, but here was our second child and she just added to the beauty and love we had in our home and in our family. We had our jobs, our home, and now, most importantly, our family.
 
Until the day he walked out.
 
When our second baby was still in infancy, I learned of my husband’s affair through his devolving behavior and not-so-secret-anymore-text messages. Days later, my “soulmate” left me for a much older woman who had been flirting with him at work. And not just any woman. A woman who wanted to take my place in my life as I would find out much later.
 
I was alone. With two babies, a job, and a house to take care of. I had a supportive family and good friends to help me, but if you’ve been in a similar position, you know how that horrible feeling of loneliness settles in, grabs you by the throat and just won’t let you go.
 
I couldn’t breathe. My life was torn apart. And that was only the beginning.
 
Somehow, my now ex-husband began to find ways to shift the blame from his cheating, his dishonestly and his infidelity on me. But back then, I didn’t understand narcissism as I do now.
 
It is unfortunate yet it did comfort me a bit when over the years I learned many women experience similar situations. They are living their lives, going to work, planning family dinners, going for family walks in the park, and cuddling up with their partner to watch a movie on the couch….and suddenly, the husband walks out or does something terribly harmful to the family.
 
As if it wasn’t bad enough, some of them don’t stop there. To attempt not looking like the failure, abuser, and duplicitous manipulator, they try to find ways to turn it around on you. And in the weakened state they leave us in, we’re left to ruminate about what we could have done differently to save our marriage.
 
When you’re being gaslighted, you are made to feel you are the crazy one. You are made to feel it is your fault other people are making bad decisions. You are purposely made to feel you are the problem. When in all reality, the person who made the problems is the person blaming you so they can, I don’t know, live a life without a conscience, I guess.
 
But it never was our fault at all. Sure, every marriage is a partnership which means it takes two, but when one doesn’t want to work as two a marriage (or any relationship) cannot survive.
 
I didn’t know he didn’t want to be a part of our lives. All I knew is the day he left our family photo was still hanging over the mantle; our smiling hopeful faces with our beautiful babies all holding one another, together.
 
Though I couldn’t put a label on the behavior, I can now. And now, I see it everywhere. Now that my eyes have been opened to it, and though it is quite sneaky, I can recognize it.
 
But at that time, all I knew is I was left alone, confused, and broken. Only to later deal with constant emotional torture which turned into self-destructive behaviors and abandonment issues.
 
I almost lost everything, including myself at the hands of another just because he didn’t want me in his life anymore. And the more he tried to get me out, the tougher it got. The tougher it got, the worse I felt. He, and his new wife, were winning.
 
And though their behavior may have pushed me so far to have lost myself for a moment in time, I knew my daughters needed me. I knew no matter what my ex-husband and his deceitful partner did, I would find a way to work myself out of it; because though our two daughters may not have the life I had designed and planned for them, they need their mother and as much as my ex-husband and his new family try, they can never change the fact that I am their mother.
 
But there was damage to repair.  I lost my job. I lost or severely damaged relationships. I almost completely lost myself.

Yet, I climbed my way out. I left the self-destructive world and tossed the continued (attempted) abuse by these two people where it belongs. Behind me.
 
I clawed, kicked, screamed, and fought with all I had to regain my strength and build the beautiful life I have now. But I had work to do.
 
I had to ask for forgiveness from those I hurt along my spiral downward. But, most importantly I had to forgive myself. Forgiveness is a much better path for me to walk along and it has absolutely contributed to my success of becoming a different person than I was that day when he walked out. I'm a different person than the one sitting, bawling, on that red couch, with my infant daughter in my lap and my oldest in her playpen. A different person than the one who did all she could to fight the demons that grew and grew with every trick my ex-husband and his wife tried to play to make themselves feel better for tearing apart our family and putting my children through an unnecessary hell.
 
Though I may not be ready to say I forgive them for doing what they have done, I am proud to know I am a much different person than I was years ago. I wish this had never happened to me and my daughters, of course, but I am at a place now where I know these challenges, these terrible acts of another, tore me down but also gave me the chance to be who I am today.
 
So, when I sat down to write this, with the Breakfast Club in mind, I came up with this.
 
Who am I? (And who I am not)
 
My name is Nicole.    
 
Today I am powerful and fully connected to my surroundings. 
 
Today I am proud, I am worthy, and I love who I have evolved to be.
 
Today I am thankful for each undeniably difficult journey that caused intense pain, loss, emotional torture, abandonment, illness, and defeat.
 
Today I accept each challenge as a blessing that has brought me to understanding my grand purpose. 
 
Today I have surpassed the devastation of living in pain and the harsh reality of writing a story that surrounded broken dreams, shattered memories, regret, loneliness, and loss of the perfect reality I thought I was living. 
 
Today I am astounded by my strength and determination to forgive, release blame, and save my soul from the dark tunnel it lived in far too long.  
 
Today I am not defined as a broken and lost woman with two babies abandoned by her spouse eleven years ago. I am not defined as a mother in court fighting an abusive narcissist co-parent or a woman that allowed defeat and despair take the wheel. I am not defined by depression and anxiety. I am not defined by the loss of my career. I am not defined by the indescribable loss felt while watching the world I built disappear day by day. 
 
I am not defined by my choice to blame, hide, and ignore ownership in my experiences.
 
I am not defined by my life path in learning how to piece myself back together.
 
My name is Nicole, I am a forty-five-year-old woman.  My life road has been beautiful, meaningful, and fulfilling. For every challenge I have faced, there has been an opportunity to learn and understand my purpose. And that will continue throughout all the challenges I may face for the rest of my life.
 
My name is Nicole, I am a forty-five-year-old woman with a super chaotic, slightly hysterical, stressful entertaining life with three beautiful daughters, two crazy dogs, a great man by my side, and a supportive, loving, fun, and amazing family. 
 
My name is Nicole, I am a forty-five-year-old woman free of regret, free of shame and free of pain.
 
I am a forty-five-year-old woman who is fearless and ready to embrace the next challenge. 
 
I believe in forgiveness we find power, in power lies truth, in truth we experience pain, in pain we reach peace, and in peace we find who we are. 
 
My name is Nicole, and I am who I am. And I’m totally cool with that.                                                      

If you are in a mental health emergency, please call 911. For mental health resources click here.

Legacy of the Bombing

The Japanese pilot, Nubuo Fujita, visited Brookings 20 years later. He was ashamed of what he had done, and he brought along his family’s 400-year-old katana. He intended to use the sword to commit seppuku if he encountered a hostile reception. But the people of Brookings received him warmly, and he decided to present the city his sword by way of apology. For the next 30 years, he enjoyed a heartfelt relationship with the people of Brookings. They made him an honorary citizen of the town and designated him an ambassador of good will. He helped them with fundraising for a new library and sponsored Oregon students to study in Japan. He planted a tree at the site he had once bombed.

I love that story. To me, it shows the promise of forgiveness — to make life healthier and happier, both for the forgiver and the forgiven.

Forgiveness for Good Health

When you have been wronged, you have a choice to make. You can choose to hold a grudge, or you can choose to forgive and live your life. In a 2015 article in The Atlantic,  Olga Khazan touched on some of the research that has demonstrated the health-giving properties of forgiveness. She spoke with Everett Worthington, a psychology professor whose mother was murdered by a burglar: “When someone holds a grudge, their body courses with high levels of cortisol, the stress hormone. When cortisol surges at chronically high levels for long periods of time, Worthington says, it can reduce brain size, sex drive, and digestive ability.”

In other words, if you choose your grudge, enjoy it. It may have to replace intellect, sex, and good digestion.

Nobody says forgiveness is easy or has to happen quickly. It requires empathizing with someone who has hurt you. But you have to ask if cherishing your grudge is worth the cost. I know that letting someone escape justice is not fair. But what value does fairness have if it reduces your brain size, sex drive, and digestive ability?

Compassion for Yourself

It’s one thing to forgive someone who has wronged you. It’s quite another to forgive yourself. Most of us hope that we are better than our mistakes, and that makes it difficult for us to acknowledge and get past those mistakes.

But if you have no compassion for yourself, how can you have compassion for anyone else? If you are going to condemn yourself to carry the full weight of all your regrets, how will you ever take joy in the present or the future? Don’t fall into the trap of defining yourself by the worst thing you’ve ever done. Muster the courage and dignity to face up to your errors, own them, and forgive them. Then you can be free to love yourself the way you, as a human being, deserve. That may well be the most important step to good mental health.

September 8 is Pardon Day. Use the occasion to pardon yourself and forgive those who have harmed you. And may you have a life as full as that of Nubuo Fujita.

If you are in a mental health emergency, please call 911. For mental health resources click here.

Photo: Nubuo Fujita in flight gear. Author unknown. Public domain.

I took the article’s message to heart, which is why I spend so much time and energy promoting self-awareness on this site.

Two Dimensions of Self-Awareness

For Tasha Eurich, self-awareness is just not navel gazing. She says true self-awareness is a balance between two understandings. One understanding is the sum of your own values, motivations, aspirations, strengths, and weaknesses. The other understanding is how that sum of values, motivations, aspirations, strengths, and weaknesses appear to the people around you. There is, of course, great tension between who you believe you are and who other people believe you are. The truly self-aware are those who can reconcile the two understandings and dissipate that tension.

Tasha Eurich’s insight about balancing internal and external self-awareness allowed her to consider how it affects performance in the workplace. For example, she found that both experience and power undermine self-awareness. The longer you live and the more powerful you become, the easier it is to insulate yourself from others’ views, and the greater the pressure on you to believe in an idealized version of yourself. Dramatists have been telling us for centuries there is no greater tragedy than the one that grows out of the human tendency to misunderstand yourself. Think about Oedipus Rex or King Lear.

A Stage Piled with Bodies

If you pay attention to the great tragedies, you will understand that the best you can hope for in a life lacking self-awareness is to go to your grave ignorant of the damage you have inflicted both on others and on your own prospects for self-actualization. The worst you can realize, on the other hand, is a stage piled with bodies before the curtain comes down.

So… If self-awareness is so important, how do you get it? Here’s my advice, based on Tasha Eurich’s article. Actually, maybe you should follow the link and read the article for yourself. It’s much better written than most scholarly articles, and it’s filled with stories and anecdotes that make it accessible and practical.

Three Rules for Building Self-Awareness

Nevertheless, my reading of the article suggests three rules for building self-awareness. First, always remember to look for the external dimension. Find people you can trust who will tell you honestly how the world sees you. Don’t yield to the temptation to look away when they do. Be fierce about facing it and reconciling it with your internal understanding. When there’s a difference between your internal and external understandings (and there almost always is), give a little more weight to the external view.

Second, when you are thinking about yourself and things you have done, don’t ask why. If you ask why you have behaved as you did, that’s just going to lead you into self-justification or worse, self-pity. Instead, ask what. That way, you’ll be asking how you might have acted differently, which is the first step to planning for a better outcome in the future.

Third, don’t make the mistake of ever thinking you have finally arrived. You’re a complex organism and it’s probably impossible to know yourself completely. But if you give up before you reach complete self-knowledge, you’re probably headed for the stage piled with bodies again. Becoming self-aware is a lifelong project. And it’s worth it. It won’t just help you find contentment. It will make you a more effective human being.

Photo: "Grace - Mirror" by phil41dean is licensed under CC BY 2.0 

CW // self-harm, suicidal ideation

I remember the day I got diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease nearly 23 years ago like it was only 23 minutes ago.  It was October 26^th, 1998, a Monday, the day after celebrating a friend’s birthday.  She was turning 35 and I would shortly be turning 24 that following November.  Now that we’ve established that benchmark, let’s start at the beginning.  

My troubles began around the beginning of June that year while I was working as a house painter.  My furiously fast downward spiral started out as an intermittent crampy stomach ache and a little bit of uhh, diarrhea.  Hmm, had I eaten something that didn’t quite agree with me?  I wish it had been that simple.  As the summer days wore on, that intermittent stomach ache turned into a feeling like my entire insides were constantly on white hot fire.  As the summer days wore on, that little bit of diarrhea turned into more daily trips to the bathroom that any normal person would make in the span of an entire week.  Those trips to the bathroom were agonizing at best and the bathroom had become my own personal torture chamber.

From June to October, I had gone from a healthy, vibrant young woman in her prime to a withering shell of a human being wearing a frightening death mask.  For over 4 months, I did not eat.  I did not drink.  I slept 18 hours a day.  I lost nearly 75lbs.  I was in constant excruciating pain.  I was wearing children’s sized clothing.  I would like to say that all I did was exist, but that would be a gross exaggeration of the truth.  To exist is to live.  I was dying. Quickly.  At that point, I was in such a state of complete despair both physically and emotionally that I decided it was time to end my suffering.  I knew I was dying but I wanted to die on my own terms so I made my suicide plans.  I would divvy up my meager possessions amongst my friends.  I would write each of them a letter that I would attach to whatever trinket I wanted to bestow upon them.  I would tell them how much I loved and cherished them and how very sorry I was to have been leaving them.  I hoped against all hope that they would understand.  This was a solid plan and it was going to happen soon.  I had even bought some nice, pretty stationary.  Then October 26^th happened.

On the morning of October 26^th, I began my usual routine of dragging my sorry self out of bed, throwing on some old painting clothes and making my way to that week’s work site.  Each step, each breath that was taken that morning was taken in excruciating physical and emotional pain.  But it was ok, because it would soon be over.  I would soon be dead.  But there was something different about that particular day.  I wasn’t sure what it was.  It was just a feeling.

I arrived at the work site expecting to find the usual crew of guys I had been working with all summer.  We’d joke a bit, have our coffee and get to work.  But on this particular day, the work site was deserted.  It was just me.  I sat alone on the porch I was supposed to paint that day and I smoked a few cigarettes.  And I reflected.  How did this happen to me?  Why did this happen to me?  And more importantly, WHAT happened to me?  As if I were in a trance, I just calmly got up, got back in the car and I started driving.  I wasn’t sure where I was going, but I was going somewhere where someone would save me.  Turns out I wanted to live after all.

I ended up driving about an hour to my grandmother’s house.  I rang the doorbell, she opened the door and I collapsed into a heap right there on her doorstep.  I crawled over to her couch and just lay there sobbing, sleeping, waking, sobbing.  She called my aunt and my dad and off to the hospital we went.

The ER staff took one look at me and rushed me right into a trauma room where they proceeded to hook me up to all kinds of monitors, took xrays and did blood tests.  I was a mess.  The ER doctor on call came to my bedside and said to me, “Nichole, you are an extremely and dangerously sick young woman right now and you are not leaving this hospital until I figure out why and how to fix you.”  After reading the results of my x-rays and blood tests, he came back into my room and said the words to me that would shape the rest of my life up until this very moment.  He took my hand in his, looked directly and intensely into my eyes and said, “Nichole, I’m 100% certain that you have "Crohn’s Disease”  And I cried.  I didn’t cry because I had Crohn’s Disease, hell I had never even heard of it!  I cried because I finally had a name for what had been killing me.

I won’t bore you with a play by play of my life after that diagnosis.  I will say, though, that my particular brand of Crohn’s Disease was vicious and unrelenting.  Over the course of the next 20 years or so, I would spend more time in a hospital than out of one.  I’ve taken enough pills to choke a whole herd of horses a million times over.  I’ve had such an inordinate amount of surgery that I lost count.  But I am guessing it was somewhere in the 20-ish range.

By some miracle, I then had a couple of good years of actual remission until a fresh hell broke loose.  Historically, my Crohn’s liked to settle in my small intestine causing me to lose about 20 feet of it through multiple surgeries over the span of a few years.  But around 2007, my Crohn’s just got MEAN and left me with infection after infection.  In places I won’t mention.  But I will say that Crohn’s can affect your entire digestive tract…mouth to butt.  So, you draw the conclusion.

Longer story short, I battled and battled with abscesses and subsequent infections in places I won’t mention.  Surgery, surgery, surgery!!!  Can’t even remember how many times I went to the operating room to be honest but I’d wager to say I was getting sliced and diced in my most sensitive of areas easily every other week.  During this horrible period of my life, my amazing surgeon would ever so gently mention the notion that I should really consider having ostomy surgery…getting a colostomy bag.  What??!!  See, I had always known deep in my being that a bag would be an eventuality for me, but I never imagined that it would happen in my early 30s.  So I thought about it.  And then I thought about it some more.  For a long time.  I just couldn’t pull the trigger because the thought of carrying a bag of my own waste in my pants was just too terrifying.  Until one day…

I remember it very clearly.  The point where this way of life became vehemently unacceptable. I was in JC Penney asking the nice salesperson where the bathroom was and it happened.  I finally lost the last ounce of control I had.  Without going into too much detail I will just say this.  As I was standing there listening to her, things meant to exit through the back, exited the other way as the infections had damaged the barrier between the two and provided clear passage.  Think about that for a second.  That was it.  That was my bottom.  I found that bathroom, I cleaned myself up as best I could, pulled out my phone and I called my surgeon to schedule the ostomy surgery right there in that bathroom stall.  Turns out that the infections down there had destroyed the membrane between the front and back.  Ew, I know!

What?  No, really…WHAT???  Ok then.  Here we go!!  Let the games begin!!  About a week later, I was admitted and prepped for the surgery.  That surgery altered the course of my life forever.

This surgery was intended to be temporary so the damage done could heal and then they’d put old Humpty back together again.  They would detach my intestines from the back door plumbing and put a little stoma outside my body with a colostomy bag attached to it. 

However, after two excruciating years and countless barbaric (my surgeon’s word) procedures, the damage from the infections was rendered permanent and unfixable.  I was faced with the decision of giving up the hope of being reattached.

 But hope is a funny thing in cases like this.  Though it was physically possible to be put back together again, the reality of it all was that it just wasn’t going to work.  So after lots and lots of soul searching and putting every bit of trust I had in my surgeon, I realized there was only ONE viable option.  Only one decision to be made.  That decision was to have backdoor parts removed thus rendering my colostomy permanent.  Forever.  And ever.

It really wasn’t that difficult of a decision to make actually.  See, after the initial shock and awe of the temporary ostomy had waned a bit and after I had learned how to care for it, I slowly started to realize a quality of life that I thought had been lost forever.  When I was battling the infections and subsequent failures at repair, I couldn’t and didn’t leave the house.  I lived in tremendous pain.  I got addicted to pain medication.  I fell into a deep and dark depression from which I didn’t think I would ever return.  And for the second time in my life, I had made serious plans to end it all. 

 But with the compassion and intuition of my very gifted therapist, she coaxed me into fessing up to my suicidal plans.  But instead, I got to spend some time in a psych unit.

In the years following this particular point in my life, I have battled medical, physical and emotional trauma.  I battled a raging opioid addiction.  I battled all the demons.  A million times over.  Every day I am reminded of how much this disease has taken from me.  Physically.  Emotionally.  Every day.

I have no idea how the hell I made it through.

Turns out I have a resiliency in me that has carried me through all these years with a silent and vicious chronic illness.  But I am also exhausted.  The amount of fortitude it took to get through the last 23 years has taken so much out of me.  I have no idea how I will find enough strength in me to survive the next 23 years.  But somehow I will.  I always do.

I have two options.  Not choices.  The luxury of choice was taken from me piece by piece, year after year, surgery after surgery.  Options.   Live with it or don’t live with it. 

I admit there are sad, desperate days where the dark thoughts of being free from this incurable illness whisper to me.  But then there are the beautiful days where I am proud of how far I have come, how many of these battles I have won.  I am strong and I live a full life in spite of all of this nonsense.  Those are the days that save me and I pray that they will always outnumber the dark ones.

But on those dark days, I cope, I live, I move on and I move through.  If you were to ask me how, I’d be at somewhat of a loss to iterate the how into words.  I just do.

In the first couple of years into my diagnosis, I sought therapy.  I craved a place where I could cry and rage and cry some more.  A place to be pissed off.  A place where I could ask the age old why me question.  Why me?  Who the hell knows and who the hell knows if I’ll ever know?  I needed a place where I could be heard.  A place where I didn’t have to put on a brave face and make this horrible disease ok for everyone else.  I found that place.  I raged.  I cried.  But after a while I stopped asking why and started figuring out HOW.  How do I make this ok for ME?      

Over the course of the past 23 years and probably just as many surgeries, I have seen five different therapists.  I’d go about 2 or 3 years with a therapist, take some time off because I was ok.  And then when I wasn’t ok anymore, I’d go to someone else.  Rinse and repeat.  I sought out different therapists at different times because I was a different person at different times and I needed a different approach, a different perspective.

Each bout of therapy has strengthened the notion of sharing my story.  I had to learn to stop locking this secret, silent disease away so no one would know about it.  I think THAT is what has helped the most.  Simply talking about it.  Not for pity.  Never for pity.  Ok, maybe sometimes for pity.

Talking about this life with Crohn’s Disease has been my greatest coping skill as it would turn out.  It is a story worthy of an audience.  And I am a survivor worthy of the opportunity to tell it. 

I am a veritable phoenix.  I have been reduced to ashes many times, yet I have risen time and again.   I will always rise.  Because I am amazing. 

Some of the greatest Rockstars became iconic by idolizing other Rockstars. Listening to them navigate life’s high’s and low’s through their song. Laughing, crying and falling in love with their strength and courage through their lyrical story.

Join DoubleSolid’s Rockstar playlist by singing your own song and becoming someone else’s idol. Your high’s and low’s and how you navigate life. Your story is a beautiful song that should be sung. Your story will be the lyrics that inspire others. They will laugh, cry and fall in love with “Your” strength and courage. Be a Rockstar!

Share your story, become a Doublesolid Rockstar! Click HERE

If you are in a mental health emergency, please call 911. For mental health resources click here.

Independence is a big deal. You can tell because we set off a gazillion fireworks every year to commemorate our Nation's favorite holiday. And we aren’t the only country that cherishes its independence. By my count, there are 106 countries that have an independence day. 

Well, People Want Their Independence, Too.

Independence means a lot for a country’s sense of itself. It works that way for individuals, too. I believe that all people strive for a certain "inner" independence throughout their lifetime. Some of us find it and hold onto it, some of us gain it then let it go on repeat, while others simply never experience inner independence at all. 

Three Components of Inner Independence...according to me. 

Experiences with my own mental illness, and those of my loved ones, has made me believe in three components of independence. I believe those three components are self-awareness, self-love, and self-care. All are must-haves for those of us seeking independence from our stressors, our mistakes, our illness.

The first one, self-awareness, helps you to recognize those decisions that might reduce your independence and those that might enhance it. It's stopping and asking yourself why. "Self, why are you mad that guy cut you off in traffic". "Self, do you really care if that person cuts you in line at the grocery?" "Self, is it really a good idea to head into that bar at 11pm?" "Self, why are you clearly avoiding that person/situation?" With sufficient self-awareness, you are likely to have a high degree of self-appreciation, which is the first stage of self-love.

Self-love means putting a high value on your own well-being and happiness. When you know what truly motivates and drives you and what you truly want out of life, you are in a strong position to prioritize your own needs. If you love yourself, you are less likely to suppress your own needs and desires to those of others. That means you are more independent and more likely to get what you deserve from life.

And if you love yourself, you’re likely to care for yourself. Self-care, the final component of independence, is the physical part of getting what you deserve. What does self-care mean? It means doing things that contribute to a healthy life and avoiding those that detract from it. That could be something as simple as going for a walk every morning instead of sleeping in. It could mean joining a running group and letting go of toxic people instead of being with them which only makes you feel alone. 

Researchers also recognize self-awareness. They believe there are two types of self-awareness. The first is internal self-awareness, which means understanding your values, passions, and aspirations. Internal self-awareness has to do with your satisfaction and contentment in life. The second type is external self-awareness, which means how other people view you in all those same dimensions.  External self-awareness has to do with your capacity for empathy. Both combine to make you an effective actor on life’s stage.

You already know the basics of what makes for a healthy life:

• don’t smoke
• drink alcohol only in moderation
• exercise regularly
• keep a healthy weight
• get enough sleep
• minimize stress

Self-awareness, self-love, and self-care make up the foundation of personal independence. Make your own declaration of independence today. Resolve to be your own person by knowing who you are, cherishing yourself, and keeping yourself physically and mentally healthy. Celebrate 1776 however you choose but don't forget to also celebrate your personal independence; which to me is the most precious of them all. 

Cover art by Chad Wheeler, tattooist and resident artist @singleneedle

CW // postpartum depression  

This is our story…the story of when I became a mom, and you became the first love of my life.  You actually just walked into my room, and saw the blank document open on the screen and asked me what I was doing.  I said, I’ve been asked to share a story…a story about when I first became a mom and how I struggled.  You looked at me with a sudden pain in your eyes – at all of 9 years old, I’m not sure how you can have such expression in your eyes.  I immediately knew that you were worried that being your mom was somehow a chore for me, a struggle I wouldn’t choose every damn day to take on.  I immediately assured you that I fell in love with you the moment I met you, the moment you were born, but that I had struggled.  You asked me why, and it was then my turn to struggle – how much do you tell a 9 year old boy; how much detail do you give about how his mom had always struggled with being sad and that after he was born, it was so bad she didn’t know she could go on.  That she had been depressed for most of her life and that after you were born it just go so very bad.

You asked me what depression was…damn it, mothering isn’t supposed to be this hard.  I didn’t want to tell you…but I knew I couldn’t shelter you because that would be such an injustice to you and the people that come into your life who you might be able to help, and who might be able to help you.  I knew I had to speak the truth…

And then I looked in your eyes again, my beautiful little big man, and explained that very simply, very very simply, depression was being very sad and not being able to not to be sad.  I explained that it wasn’t that I didn’t want to be happy, but that it was hard to see the forest through the trees some days and see the good in life.  I didn’t know how else to explain what depression was, without minimizing it, without making you think it was some hopeless disease that I couldn’t get better from, without you thinking it wasn’t ok to be sad.  I wanted you to know that struggle and sadness was ok, but that we keep moving forward. You, my sweet sweet boy, somehow knew exactly what I meant and simply said “I love you mom.” As you walked back to your room, I knew, I had to tell our story…

When I found out I was pregnant with you, it was one of the happiest days of my life.  I was ready to be a mom, to have all those joys of motherhood and experience all the little things that came with bringing a small human into the world.  I dreamed of the fantasy, but also knew that it wasn’t going to be all sunshine and rainbows.  I was already on medication for my depression – years of just not feeling right…and the doctors agreed that I could stay on it because it was such a low dose.  They warned me that postpartum depression was going to be a very real risk for me…and while the academic side of me knew this…I just locked it away in the closet – it didn’t fit my fantasy.

Being pregnant with you was a dream – no morning sickness, no bloating, no nasty nausea, nothing.  The first time I felt your kicks, it was amazing.  You went on to make sure I knew you were around all the damn time…kicking me whenever you could, making sure I knew you were in there and growing fast.  I treasured every moment of it.  Nothing went wrong…until it all did.  So very suddenly, everything went wrong…I went for a pre-natal check up which was now going to happen every week or so because I was at 36 weeks – so very close to meeting you but not quite ready yet.  My midwife suddenly became very cautious.  I’m not sure if it is because she had just lost a baby at full term or if she just sensed something, but all of a sudden I was being sent to the hospital for high blood pressure.  All of a sudden my idyllic perfect pregnancy was out the window, and I was put on bed rest because they wanted to make sure you stayed in longer.  You were perfectly healthy and showing no signs of stress.  Your mom on the other hand – well, I wasn’t doing so hot.  Several trips to labor and delivery and bedrest for a few days, and I was finally admitted.  You needed to be delivered or else my health was going to be in serious risk.  This was absolutely not how this story was supposed to go.

I was admitted on a Saturday and given medication to start the birth process.  I wanted to try and go as natural as possible – so no pain medication if I could manage it.  I was in labor (read that as IN PAIN) for a good 24 hours when the doctors said they were going to give me morphine so I could rest, and then reevaluate in the morning. I will never forget the last thing I heard before I passed out – the doctor saying “she will be asleep for at least 4 hours.”  I woke up 2 hours later in the worst pain of my life, still confused from the morphine haze, but knowing something was wrong. The nurse was called and I was so out of it, I couldn’t really communicate what was going on. The nurses kept saying there was no reason for me to be in such pain.  No one would listen to me…they all said it was absolutely impossible for me to be ready to push.  Finally, the head nurse came – maybe because I was becoming hysterical maybe because I had finally convinced them that I was in such excruciating pain – and checked me and said the doctor needed to come right away.  I will never forget the moment you were born…You didn’t cry…not right away…and I remember hearing them bring you over to the bed to examine you and the doctor saying that if I didn’t push, they were going to have to take me in for emergency surgery.  Nope, not today, doc.  I finally heard you cry, and suddenly the world was right.  Those few moments are still such a blur to me, but I remember that cry, and my will to NOT leave your side. 

We spent the next few days in idyllic peace at the hospital until we were both cleared to go home.  I tried breastfeeding, and was just told over and over again, keep trying…it will happen…you have to make it happen.  I struggled my sweet child, but I did try my best.  I swear I did…

The next few days went by so quick.  Your dad was still home with us, and we somehow managed the round the clock feedings and lack of sleep and me recovering from what ended up being a traumatic birth experience.  I looked at you and knew I loved you…

but something felt off…

This wasn’t how motherhood was supposed to feel.  This wasn’t the fairy tale I had envisioned while I was pregnant.  I felt disconnected…from you, from being a mom, from life.  I told people…about how I felt disconnected, how it was getting wearisome to try and breastfeed you, that I didn’t feel like you and I were bonding.  I was told it was just lack of sleep.  I was told to just keep trying.  I was told to ignore it. I remember calling the lactation consultant at the hospital – the very people who were supposed to be there to help – and being told, I was just clearly not trying hard enough.  I was made to feel like I just wasn’t good enough, and not doing enough.  Maybe I wasn’t meant to be a mom.

And then there was a freak storm in October…we lost power at the house so you and I went to go stay with abuela and grandpa.  And I gave up.  A small part of my brain knew it was better to make sure you were fed, than to keep struggling to breast feed you.  I had failed you, I had absolutely and unabashedly failed you, and no one told me any different. No one told me that it was OK to feel the way I was feeling, that there was hep out there, that it was ok to try different ways of feeding you. In my hopes for us to bond, we switched to just formula…my body had failed you yet again, but at least you were eating and maybe now, we could bond. 

But we didn’t…

I still felt so wrong.  Again, the intellectual side of me knew there was something wrong, that this was way more than just lack of sleep and new motherhood, but no one was listening to my concerns, no one heard my fucking voice or the words I was saying.  I was just the paranoid new mom who didn’t know any better.

Until the night, it wasn’t.  We were home alone, and I was giving you one last bottle before bed…well until you were up again in 2 hours, but who’s counting.  We were in your room, in the dark, and I looked down at you and felt…nothing.  And it scared the shit out of me.  I was so terrified, I immediately put you in your crib and called your dad, begging him to come home because I needed to go away; I needed to leave.  It was at that moment, I didn’t give a fuck what people said – I needed help. Now.  I need to reach out and ask for the help I so desperately needed before something horrible happened.  I worried about how I was feeling and what it would mean for us, for me.

The next day, I called the midwife who had taken such good care of us before you were born, but for one reason or another I hadn’t seen for post-natal care.  She immediately saw it for what it was…something that is so common but no one talks about.  She diagnosed me with post partum depression, upped my medication ever so slightly and referred me to counseling.  She told me it was absolutely OK to be feeling what I was feeling, and that it did not mean I was a bad person or a bad mother.  She said that together, with the help of a counselor, we would get through this.  I finally felt like someone was listening.

I remember those counseling visits with this amazing woman who let me just come, and sit on her couch, and cry.  She would hold you, and I would explain how I felt nothing when I held you, but how I so desperately wanted to feel something because I knew I loved you…with every ounce of my soul, I knew I loved you, but I didn’t feel it, I couldn’t feel it.   And all she did was listen…she listened and heard me, she heard my voice and the words I was saying, and said “it was ok.”  And you, my brave, amazing boy, you just kept loving me…you would look at me, and smile, and make those adorable baby noises, and just kept being you.  You would look at me with these deep, old, soulful eyes, and little by little, I started feeling again.  Little by little, I grew to feel the love for you I knew I had for you.  You, my little big man, saved me.  It was in the knowing that it was OK to feel the way I was feeling, and that it didn’t make me a horrible person, that I started healing, that I started seeing the traumatic birth experience and the post-partum depression was real, not made up, and something that could be helped.

One of the things I learned is that despite postpartum depression being such a very real and scary and prevalent thing that happens to women, no one talks about it. No one really talks about depression, how it is ok to be sad…and to feel feelings.  Depression is not some nasty thing to be swept under the rug…it is a very real, very scary, and very lonely thing.  Postpartum might be even worse because while you are feeling those very real, scary and lonely feelings, you are also supposed to care for this small, helpless creature…oh, and you are supposed to bond with it and love it and be perfect for it. 

I want you to know, my sweet sweet boy, that it is absolutely ok that your mom felt those things after you were born.  It was not her fault, and it was not your fault.  And maybe if people had listened to her words, to her voice a little sooner, we would have started our amazing journey a little bit earlier.  But I wouldn’t trade our story for anything in the world.  You taught me how to love, and how to speak up for myself, and for you.  I knew things weren’t right, I knew this wasn’t how things were supposed to be.  And YOU gave me the strength to reach out for help.  And maybe, sweet boy, maybe by writing our story, someone else will reach out too and get help a little bit sooner.  And my hope for you, is that you always feel like you can share your feelings with me…especially if you are sad, because I will always listen, I will always endeavor to hear your words and your voice. 

I hope that our story will rest on the ears of some other mother, who might be struggling, not only with the midnight feedings, or the constant changes in a new baby, a mother who might have been told she’s just not doing it right, or who feels unheard.  And my hope for that mother is that she reaches out to her doctor, to her counselor, to her family or friends, to anyone until she finally has her voice heard.  Because while it is OK for you to feel this way, it doesn’t have to be this way, and there is help.  Always speak up and ask for that help.  Life is too important to struggle in silence. I hear you. 

Share your story, become a Doublesolid Rockstar! Click HERE

If you are in a mental health emergency, please call 911. For mental health resources click here.

It was Sunday, January 2nd, 2011 when our lives were turned upside down. Our 6-month-old son, Pierce, had not been well for over a week. His pediatrician explained all of his blood levels were dangerously low. Without hesitation they sent us an hour and a half north to Children’s Hospital at Dartmouth Hitchcock (CHaD) in Lebanon NH. 

It was the longest, quietest, ride of my life. His father and I drove in silence and I still remember counting down the exits on route 89 to Lebanon.  

Pierce was admitted upon arrival and a blood transfusion was started immediately. Focusing on the positive is something I had become accustomed to doing, so that’s exactly what I did. Awaiting the results, I made a decision to focus on the best-case scenario which helped me get through the long, painful minutes awaiting Pierce's test results.

Unfortunately, the next day we got the diagnosis of Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (ALL). This was not at all what we were praying for! 

The next few days were an overwhelming whirlwind. I had to keep my head up and stay to remain as positive as possible. Having been someone who can spiral out and into a depression I had to get on top of my mental health, quickly. I had to be healthy and able to advocate for and take care of my sick child. 

When tragedy strikes, life still goes on. This is easy to say but so much harder to accept when it’s your tragedy-and your life.

I had my baby facing a tough road ahead, my oldest, though with family, was without me. And somehow carrying all of that stress, I still had to remember to rest, shower and comb my hair. It was seemingly impossible at the time, and for the next two years through this ordeal.

Pierce spent the first three months at the hospital while I stayed at David’s House. David’s House provides a home-away-from-home and support for families with children receiving treatment through the Children’s Hospital at Dartmouth-Hitchcock in Lebanon, NH.

The staff at the Hospital and at David’s House were absolutely wonderful often encouraging me to rest and care for myself. They know the strength it takes for a parent to get through and stay strong through this and I was blessed for their support and encouragement.

Many things pulled me through and kept me from falling into a deep depression. My faith in God, the support of my friends and family, and being self-aware all prevented me from spiraling out of control.

I was also sent an angel! A woman I grew up with, but didn’t know well, worked at the hospital. She saw my post on Facebook about Pierce and she reached out to me. The following day she showed up at Pierce’s room with snacks, magazines and a friendly face. She continued to check in on us regularly and our friendship grew. Having a person to lean on and, talk to about non-cancer things was very helpful. She also helped me to get out and about. She brought me to a jewelry making class that was being put on after hours in the hospital.

Jewelry making became a priceless activity for me. I spent my days in a hospital room where my thoughts and the “what ifs” could've taken me over. Making jewelry was a healthy distraction. It also allowed me to give back.  I was able to make items for the nurses and other moms who had children on the floor. Being creative then sharing what I made with who empathized encouraged me to remain positive and connect with others.

I learned the hospital had services for cancer patients and caregivers. On several occasions I took advantage of this service. I had to take time to care for myself. There were dark days for sure when I shut out the rest of the world and just cried. On those days I turned on my music, prayed, and took time for myself to mourn. 

Now, I was not perfect, I didn’t only have healthy ways of dealing with what we were going through. David’s House was a great retreat for me, I could go there, chat with some other adults, watch some TV, take a shower, have dinner, and get some sleep. Yet, there were also lots of sweets available, all of the time. Food has always been a coping mechanism for me. This was no exception! All of those sweets and lack of exercise, I packed on the pounds. 

When we did finally get to go home my anxiety was through the roof and my stress levels were extreme. By remaining self-aware, I recognized I was struggling.  I went to see a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner who was able to help me determine the right medication for me and my situation. I had to be there for my children; just physically but my mentally and spiritually as well.

Depression isn't something that was new to me. I had dealt with it since I was a teenager, maybe even younger. Over the years I had several spirals into depression and required medication in support of my recovery.

Medication, counseling, and healthy habits are all ways I have dealt with my depression in the past. This past year with the pandemic and all that came along with it, I saw myself heading back down the path. I contacted my provider right away and decided to add medication in to support my mental health in getting through another tough time.

Though I feel better with each passing year, I still have to pay attention to my triggers to avoid a slip back into depression and anxiety.

Pierce and I suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress disorder (PTSD) following the ordeal. He is now on medication for anxiety and has a counselor. He doesn’t consciously remember his treatment, but it is deeply embedded in his brain. He does know that he had cancer and will have follow up appointments for the rest of his life. But we deal with it, just like we dealt with it before. We have learned when we are faced with stress in our lives it is vital for us to be aware of what is supporting and what is hindering and seeking the help we need. We need to be self-aware asking for help and accepting it when offered. 

It was a long, terrible ordeal but we made it! Pierce is turning 11 years old this June and continues to be in remission!

It is brave to get the help we need; physically and mentally. Whether it be therapy, taking medication or jewelry making, do what works best for you with bravery and courage. Utilize your support system and do all you can to be self-aware.

I learned through times of struggle we can triumph over tragedy but often we just can’t go it alone. My hope is by sharing Pierce’s story, and mine, you will be reminded how important self-care is when faced with tough situations. Seek the help you need and always treat yourself with compassion and grace.                

Share your story, become a Doublesolid Rockstar! Click HERE

If you are in a mental health emergency, please call 911. For mental health resources click here.

CW // eating disorders/ body dysmorphia

Battling and Recovering From an Eating Disorder

Bulimia is sneaky and a liar. It constantly forced me to do irrational things out of fear, desperation, and panic. It enslaved me; therefore, I led a double life.  By day I trained for triathlons or rowing and grew my career in fitness.  But later, despite my efforts, the Jekyll to Mr. Hyde came out and often with a vengeance.

As someone who has exhibited every type of disordered behavior with food, I can attest that none are desirable.  Generally speaking, eating disorders are physical manifestations of psychological issues.  Bulimia, however, held an extra layer of physical and psychological torture for me. The experiences and reflections shared here are my own, and I do not speak for everyone. It’s important that we listen to each individual uniquely and provide an environment that encourages openness.

There is no specific ‘body size’ for a bulimic. Personally, my body was connected to self-worth, and deeper Trauma. A bad day could be debilitating.  But, over time and many miles of Ironman training, I learned to respect myself and needs.  It was hard, and I failed more often than I succeeded, but ultimately the body’s requirements prevailed.  Specific factors that helped me recover included endurance sports, my passion for competition, and the power of many coaches.

Today, I’m sharing my story to help others, through awareness and understanding. I’m also writing this article to say regardless of your weight, age, gender, race, fitness, socioeconomic class, and menstrual cycle, you can have disordered eating habits and you deserve to be taken seriously.

I’m reaching out to those who fall into any spectrum of disordered eating, or ‘disorder’ for that matter.  You are not alone, and your feelings and fears are valid.  There’s an additional message for our entire community: If you are the trusted ear someone chooses to confide in, please just listen. You do not need to solve their problem. Listening means a lot. Afterwards, refer to a resource such as the one listed in the article. Understand how difficult the topic may be to verbalize, and how much courage it takes to come forward.  It’s an honor to be chosen and trusted with the info.

“Ashley, we found vomit.”

 These are the words that made my heart sink for 20+ years.

 Caught. Exposed. Horrified.

On the way down to the ground, to hitting bottom, you feel like you’re flying.  Nothing seems wrong.  But the reality is you’re falling, not flying.  Eventually, you smack the ground. People have said, “you have to hit rock bottom to really recover.” I wanted to be good at school, career, rowing, and then triathlon.  The reality was Bulimia kept me from success in all of those areas. 

I couldn’t see what was wrong. Regardless of what was happening in my life, I did not see the damage I was doing to myself as my goals drifted further and further away from me.

I was an Undergrad Resident Advisor nearly removed from housing.  Why?  A custodian found evidence of my behavior.  Imagine walking into that meeting. Rowing was my passion but I couldn’t make weight reliably as a lightweight rower, with the weight fluctuations.  The eating disorder turned my absolute passion into a ball and chain. I rarely went out with friends. Alcohol had “too many calories” or I “felt fat”. I was in law school, which I left after the first year because I couldn’t live alone and take care of myself. These instances kept piling up, one after the other, yet I couldn’t see the problem.

Additionally, there were a few hospitalizations/inpatients. This ranges from treatment centers to locked units to near death. 

Still, I didn’t think anything was truly wrong with me.  I “didn’t belong there”.  The multi-day stay in the ICU didn’t even change my behaviors.

When I look at pictures now vs then, I notice a couple differences in myself. My face was always puffy and looked like a bad night out. On a deeper level, my eyes had no light.  Scrolling through my old pics, I can see when the joy died.  Alternately, I can see the stages of recovery, and where light emerged.  No one else may see this, but I do.  I used to look at pictures and evaluate if they were ‘good’ or ‘bad’ based on how my body looked. 

Now I decide based on my smile, and the light in my eyes.  This is what a picture should capture.

WHAT WAS IT LIKE?

When my brain was on the eating disorder channel, it was like listening to a radio station that had static mixed in.  I could hear the song, but there was always a little something in the background.

That ‘something’ was a cruel and berating internal voice. It was irrational and illogical, and dictated my mood and actions.  At times, it was debilitating.  I can remember not even being able to bike, because my shorts didn’t fit right.   At the time, it felt like pure failure and worthlessness.  I couldn’t see each pedal stroke as progress towards my goals, because I was overcome with self-loathing.  Additionally, the cycle was self-perpetuating, because this hatred sparked greater disordered behavior.  Long sessions without fuel, or just lying-in bed unable to even go outside, embarrassed for myself. 

The rest of my life went on concurrently, and it’s unlikely anyone knew I had this internal conflict. The difference now is like biking into a headwind vs tailwind.  Everything can move forward with less effort.

Recovering from an eating disorder was long, confusing, and frustrating. It was work. At one point, I’d say Bulimia was a sign of weakness.  Now, having clawed my way out, I’m going to rephrase.  It provided me with unique strengths that few can understand.   Like many things, the key to progress was consistency, and not perfection. It is actually a fitting lesson, given I’d chased perfection through disordered eating.  The truth?  Perfection is a fallacy.  Now I am a coach myself and tell this to my clients often: “Progress over perfection.  Forgive, move on, and continue.”

HELPING OTHERS: The signal in the noise.

If any good can come from these experiences, it’s that I have a unique experience and viewpoint to help others.  As a coach, I adopt a ‘whole person’ approach to facilitate change.  In my own journey, I employed the same strategy. 

One specific method was leveraging PASSIONS to help myself and accept help from others.  Working in fitness my whole life, I’ve learned the POWER of words, and momentum of language.   I knew how to motivate others, and I used those skills on myself.

• I was fed up with feeling horrible about myself, and underperforming
• I had support and purpose directed towards sports
• I took additional courses in sport and nutrition, delving into specific focus areas
• I looked into nuanced communication, and how people understand
• I applied this to my life and to my work

 Now, as a coach, I help others:

My primary focus when working with others is to do so with an open mind and the knowledge I have from not only my education, of course, but also my own personal experience. I offer the following to avoid others landing in the same trap I had for so long:

• provide support and understanding
• establish communication centered around things that are important to them
• help them believe in themselves and that change is possible
• assist them in challenging old methods that didn’t work, and applying alternate processes

What’s the point?  

Well, I want you to know that wherever you are, we get places one step at a time.  Don’t worry about the end, just take today’s step in the right direction.  If you need support, there are a lot of people who find complete joy out of helping you get from A to B.  It’s tough, but in my opinion, living with this disorder and trying to manage two very different lives was no longer the way I wished to spend my life. There are many resources out there to help us get through, but importantly are the people directly in your life; your support, your tribe, your loved ones.

Pay it forward

I couldn't have made progress without help along the way.  A coach is someone who brings you where you want to go, when you can’t get there on your own. (For real, that’s the origin of the word.  A coach. Like a horse carriage.  A coach brings you from one place, to another).  I had a lot of great sports coaches, from college straight through present.  Mostly, I was defiant, but it all added up eventually.  Everyone helped.  You may not realize the power of your influence.  It may not be immediate, and you may never even be told.  But one person helping another can make a difference.

Where do we go from here?

As coaches, athletes, and leaders in the community, we need more education and understanding.  We also need the right people in roles that can move the dialogue and the culture, in this and MANY other areas.  We are barely scraping the surface of understanding, but scraping is how we get to the next layer.

I want to highlight some influential actors that helped me on my journey.  Notably, I did not accept help for most of these attempts.  However, every single coach and person that acted was part of my recovery, and I am eternally grateful.  It was the combination of all experiences that pushed me over the line.  Specifically: In college, the AD, Assistant AD and Dean of Students: all took proactive measures.  Thank you.  As an athlete, my experience with any coach or trainer that noted strange behavior was supportive and positive.  Even as a lightweight rower, high performance was always the goal from my coaches.  As noted at the outset of this article, Eating Disorders are physical manifestations of psychological issues.  My current coach, Kurt Perham Head Coach at PBM Coaching, is beyond phenomenal and truly exemplifies the definition of a coach.  To Kurt, and the others who helped me save myself, I am eternally grateful.

Knowing how important their actions and their care has been in my recovery makes me want to scream at the top of my lungs for those their truths and help support them through it, please say something.

Important Statistics:

• Eating Disorders are the deadliest of all mental illnesses. Every 62 Minutes, someone dies from an ED. (Eating Disorder Statistics. National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders (NAANAD). Published online, no date.)
• Athletes and Eating Disorders: Athletes are more likely than any other population to develop an Eating Disorder. Johnson, C. Powers, P.S., and Dick, R. Athletes and Eating Disorders: The National Collegiate Athletic Association Study, Int J Eat Disord 1999; 6:179.

I Challenge You To Create Waves: A small ripple creates a tidal wave.  Here’s my ripple. What’s yours?

If you or someone you know is having issues, please contact the National Eating Disorders Association.  Go there for resources, or to talk, text, or chat.  (800) 931- 2237 (call or text) or https://idearbitrage.com/help-support/contact-helpline to chat.

Ashley Blake, MA

USAT-1, USAC-3, USRowing-2, USMS-2

www.speedofstrength.com

[email protected]

 If you are in a mental health emergency, please call 911. For mental health resources click here.

CW // eating disorders/ body dysmorphia

From Bulimia to Badass

How does a person become a badass? Are badasses simply born that way, raising defiant fists from the moment they come into the world? Can anyone make themself into a badass by putting on the badass uniform—throw on a slick leather jacket, a pair of ripped jeans and call it a day?

Others may disagree, but I like to think a person becomes a badass by overcoming a struggle, or by doing something unfathomably rad.

In my eyes, I am a badass. But I wasn’t always that way. I had to overcome my own struggles to get there—struggles that live with me even today.

I am a badass. And this is the story of how I became one.

Throughout my life, I've had a pretty poor self-image. For as long as I can remember, I've hated my body type, my height, my weight. I've never felt pretty enough or skinny enough. To get to the core of it, I've always hated the way I look and everything about my body.

I had all sorts of strategies for dealing with my self-hatred. I would hide my body by dressing in baggy clothes; I tended towards hanging out with guys instead of girls because I never felt that I could play the "girly" part; I would put on a mask of happiness during my darkest moments to hide my true feelings rather than face them. But the most powerful tool at my disposal for handling my growing disgust with my own body was sports. When I was young, sports made me feel important; they gave me a sense of purpose. And to be honest, I was good at them. In a raging torrent of self-doubt, I clung to the rock of sports to keep from losing the only identity I could be proud of.

This combination, of molding myself into the image of a strong, tough, independent athlete and covering any sign of weakness with a veil woven from positive vibes, kept me going through high school. And then came college …

Away from the familiar surroundings of home and with few rules to keep my impulses in check, college gave me a freedom unlike anything I had experienced before. I took full advantage of that freedom: I drank more, partied more, and ate whatever I wanted. I had no conception of “healthy living,” substituting in its place the mantra “burn off more calories than you take in.” I played hard and I partied even harder.

There was peer pressure too. Among the people I associated with in school, the ideal female body was lean and sculpted, and anything less was a failure of willpower. Off-campus, the situation was equally toxic. I wanted to enter the glamorous world of fashion advertising. And in the fashion world in New York City during the early 2000s, I was expected to look a certain way if I wanted to be successful. I don’t know how much of that expectation came from the people around me and how much was self-generated, but I do know that the compulsion to look a certain way, to be a certain weight, was real. More than anything, I wanted to look the part of a badass fashionista athlete. I hungered for it. The goal of transforming myself into the woman I wished I could be became my obsession.

Driven by that elusive obsession, I developed an eating disorder and for years after I struggled with bulimia. At first I would only purge when I felt like I had overeaten, but as the years wore on I began to use purging less like a scalpel and more like a sledgehammer. Stressed out? Purge. Out of control? Nothing like a little purge to put myself back in the driver’s seat. What had begun as a whisper telling me that I was fat and ugly had turned into a full blown scream that drowned out any voice that dared contradict it.

The decay was slow but persistent, corroding all that was good in my life. Like waves against rock, my eating disorder wore me down mercilessly until only a shell of my former self remained.

My coping mechanism had become an addiction, and my mental state spiraled downwards into the murky depths of depression. When college ended, I lost another of the anchors that had provided some measure of stability in my life. Feeling adrift in the world and trying to find a path for myself, I started smoking cigarettes and continued abusing substances. I stopped working out and lived ever more recklessly. I would do anything to keep my mind moving—to avoid the pain that came with self-reflection.

Always waiting to console me in my times of need, there was the purging. According to mentalhealth.org: “For many people with bulimia, food is a way of coping with distressing emotions and feelings. Many people report triggers or negative emotions occurring before a binge. For some people, their eating disorder becomes a way to deal with difficult emotions or triggers." And that aligns precisely with my experience: I knew that I had an eating disorder; I knew that what I was doing wasn’t healthy. But I could no longer stop.

I tried counseling, but after a few visits I realized that I simply couldn't afford it. Being a recent college grad during the peak of the 2008 recession, I just didn’t have the money. Beyond that, I was brought up with a “suck it up and deal with it” mentality. I could solve my own problems. Better yet, I could ignore them entirely. At that time, I lived by the motto that the less people know of your struggles, the more they will like you and the more they will respect you—and damn did I want to be respected. So I kept up the purging and self-loathing. Most importantly, I sucked it up and kept my struggle to myself.

Self-destruction is a fickle beast. One day you make excuses for your negative actions and say to yourself "what I'm doing isn't all that bad." Another day you swear them off and tell yourself "tomorrow, I'll stop." Some say that the hardest part is admitting that you have a problem. I think the hardest part is not JUST acknowledging that you have a problem, but figuring out how to fix it; and then following through, day after day, with the siren song of your addiction constantly playing in your mind, calling you back and telling you that it would be easier to just give in.

After a few years of living recklessly, I started to miss order. I missed structure, and I missed sports. I left the bright lights of New York City and the dark connotation they now carried for me and returned home. Back among familiar surroundings, I joined a gym with a welcoming community that helped me to rediscover my passion for fitness and competition. Things weren’t all rosy by any means. I was still smoking, still drinking, still partying hard—above all, I was still purging. It was this contrast—between the healthy community of the gym where I spent so much of my time and the destructive impulses that still plagued my thoughts and controlled my behavior—that forced me to face the grim reality that a gym membership couldn’t cure me of all my ills. I want to emphasize this: I thought that I could erase my broken past with a gym get-out-of-jail-free card. I had to find out the hard way that there was so much more work to be done. I realized that to heal fully I needed to dedicate my entire being to the cause. I needed to kick my bad habits, start loving myself, and fix my relationship with food.

I started with the bad habits. While going to the gym hadn’t stopped these habits in their tracks, it had made them (just a tiny bit) less appealing. After all, it’s no fun to go do a workout with ten of your best friends when your head is pounding from the effects of a hangover. “Maybe I can find something else to help me stop smoking,” I thought. It was around this time that I started to enjoy long distance running. Starting with 5 and 10–kilometer races, I quickly made my way up to half marathons and soon enough I got into marathons and ultra running. Running and smoking are an awful combination, and the more I ran, the less I smoked. Long distance running gave me more self-confidence, too. And so, in place of the self-destructive spiral that had dragged me down in New York City, I was now in a cycle of positivity that was lifting me back up.

For the first time in years I felt okay, physically and mentally. But the scar remained. You can’t just snap back from years of deep despair like waking up from a bad dream. Though I felt better, I still wasn’t me yet. Then, I met the man who flipped my fallen world right-side up. My husband (who at that time was just a hot ticket at my gym) lent me his eyes, and through them I saw myself as he saw me—a flawed, but fundamentally beautiful person, with a heart full of compassion if only I would open it. With him, I finally opened up to someone other than a therapist about my eating disorder. And in return, he taught me my self-worth. He was gentle and kind. He neither judged nor ridiculed, but instead helped to nudge me back on track when that rush of self-doubt, which was now more often a trickle than a torrent, threatened to knock me off. He told me I was beautiful when I felt my ugliest and made me feel safe in my own skin. Sometimes we all need a helping hand to guide us out of the dark. My husband Sam was that beacon for me. For that, I am forever grateful. 

As the damage I had done to myself started to fade and my love for myself grew, my relationship with food began to improve in kind. I started to appreciate food as fuel—delicious, wonderful fuel—without worrying so much about what it might do to my weight. I stopped binging and purging to regain control, because through the healthy habits I had developed and the self-love I now practiced, I could control myself now. Feeling more comfortable in my own skin, I was able to enjoy the experience of eating and the pleasure that comes with sharing a meal with loved ones.

One thing about eating disorders is that they never fully go away. My bulimia will always be with me; it is a part of me; the voice will always be there. I still have moments of weakness where I think "I could just run to the bathroom and no one would know." But now, thanks to my own efforts to build healthy habits that displaced unhealthy ones and to the support system of friends and family with which I’ve surrounded myself, I have the strength to say no. I have the strength to speak up and to tell the world who I am and what I struggle with. I have the strength to tell myself that I am enough; that if I can overcome bulimia, I can overcome anything.

I am a badass. And I am proud of it.

Share your story, become a Doublesolid Rockstar! Click HERE

If you are in a mental health emergency, please call 911. For mental health resources click here.

• both generate endorphins
• both tend to lead to a tranquil mind
• both induce an in-the-moment awareness
• both tend to create self-confidence

The article looks at other benefits as well, but I’ll let you follow the link and read it on your own — after you finish reading this.

Ten minutes per mile is a decent pace for a low- to moderate-intensity workout. It also translates to 6 miles per hour. If you feel like you’re losing your mental balance, try going for a run. It’s the most reliable way I know to get into and stay in the present.

Image: “Running” by Kekka is licensed under CC BY 2.0 

In 2018, the Blue Cross/Blue Shield Health Index determined the health conditions that have the greatest impact on Americans’ quality of life. Of the top 10, four were mental health conditions: major depression, substance use disorder, alcohol use disorder, and psychotic disorder. It makes you wonder why we don’t pay more attention to mental health, doesn't it?

Mental Health Awareness

May is national Mental Health Awareness Month. So if you have mental health issues, and you are open about them, you can probably expect to be approached by friends and neighbors who want to raise their awareness. You might find yourself in a conversation like this:

“What’s it like to be bipolar?”

“I can have severe mood changes that can send me way too high or way too low. I have learned I am better off preventing myself from going too far one way or the other so I have to work diligently to keep balanced. I have to be self-aware to study myself and my behavior in order to recognize the signs of an episode and be very in tune with the things that might trigger it.”

“Have you tried probiotics for it?”

Ok, I know, this sounds ridiculous, right? Well, there are two reasons not to jump to the conclusion that this question is trying to trivialize your struggles. One is that when you have a mental health condition, you become an ambassador for that condition. It’s not fair, I know. But neither is having the condition to begin with. So you need to act like an ambassador. Assume the person wants to help. Treat the question seriously.

Probiotics for Bipolar Disorder

The second reason is that the question might actually be useful. I actually looked into it, and it turns out there is emerging evidence that probiotics help with bipolar disorder! Researchers from Johns Hopkins followed a group of patients who were discharged from the hospital after bipolar manic episodes, giving half of them placebos and half of them probiotics. The placebo population were about twice as likely to be readmitted to the hospital within 24 weeks as the probiotics population. A doctor writing for the Harvard Health Blog speculated that bipolar disorder could be related to the health of your intestinal bacteria.

That’s the kind of mental health awareness we need a lot more of. I mean, if it can work for even just one of us, why not look into it? I know from my own personal experience that my physical being directly affects my mental being; meaning what and how I eat, sleep and exercise dictates my health internally as well as externally. So, maybe probiotics isn't such a outlandish idea. It's tough at times, but the more we educate folks on what it is we experience, the more understanding. The more understanding, the more compassion, the more compassion, the more connection. Speaking of connection....

The Importance of Connectedness

Mental Health America offers a lot of tools you can use to assess and maintain your mental health. Check them out.

In recognizing Mental Health Awareness Month, the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) has decided to promote the theme “you are not alone.” I think NAMI has nailed it here. Among all the resources you may have for dealing with your mental health (including probiotics), your connections and your community are the most important. Let’s face it. We are social animals. We need to connect with each other. Our mental health depends on it.

Did you know for 2021 every sale at idearbitrage benefits NAMI? Yep! We know the importance of these amazing organizations and we need them around, thriving, to help us continue to learn, share, and find the support we need. Each year we'll pick another organization that is instrumental in supporting and mainstream the mental health conversation. 

According to The Center for Compassion and Altruism Research and Education (at Stanford Medicine), “People who feel more connected to others have lower levels of anxiety and depression. Moreover, studies show they also have higher self-esteem, greater empathy for others, are more trusting and cooperative and, as a consequence, others are more open to trusting and cooperating with them. In other words, social connectedness generates a positive feedback loop of social, emotional and physical well-being.” You don’t even need to have a lot of friends to get the benefits of connection, according to the Center. You just need to feel connected. Check out the Center’s infographic by following the link above. It’s both informative and practical.

And let idearbitrage be part of your connectedness. Read the personal accounts of our Rockstars. Consider contributing your own story. Take your probiotics and stay well.

Image: A Call to Action Button from the Mental Health America 2021 Mental Health Month Toolkit. Check this page to download the toolkit and get ideas for observing Mental Health Month.

With the baby blues, you find you are irritable or impatient. You are restless, anxious, or sad. Fatigue, insomnia, mood changes, and an inability to focus may trouble you. Feelings most of us women are no stranger to; we do have that whole "monthly friend" that comes to visit. We know what it's like to find ourselves crying at small provocations or for no reason at all; pet commercials, hallmark movies. These symptoms can bother you a few minutes up to a few hours each day.

You can manage these symptoms by taking care of yourself, talking with others about what you’re feeling, asking for help in some of the new tasks you’re dealing with, eating a balanced diet, and taking breaks now and then. The baby blues usually go away in two weeks. 

Beyond the Baby Blues

Unfortunately for some women, the baby blues persist beyond two weeks, or if the symptoms intensify markedly, we should be a bit concerned and if this happens to you, seek medical care as soon as you recognize what's happening with you. It is possible you may have postpartum depression (PPD), which occurs in 10%-20% of mothers. Best to call your provider as soon as the concern sets in. 

PPD is a major depressive disorder. It includes all the symptoms of clinical depression, plus anger, fear, or extreme guilt. It can include obsessing over whether you’re an adequate parent or feelings of disconnection from your baby. It will likely also feature difficulty sleeping even when you’re exhausted. PPD sufferers generally feel as if they have no control over their lives, and without treatment the condition can potentially last for about a year.

Calling Attention to Symptoms

PPD often goes misunderstood and unrecognized, therefore untreated. The vast majority of new mothers experience the baby blues, so everybody around you — even your medical providers — will probably assume that your feelings are both normal and temporary. They downplay your concerns or don’t listen to them at all. But PPD doesn’t usually go away on its own. Treating it may require counseling and medication. And getting attention for the condition sometimes requires you to freak out. You don’t need to take my word for it. Our newest idearbitrage ROCKSTAR had such an experience. Find her raw, honest and inspirational story among our stories of struggle and strength.

If you have a history of anxiety or mood disorders, you’re more likely to develop PPD. And if you’ve experienced PPD with a previous birth, you have a stronger chance of experiencing it again. But don't let that scare you, the help is out there so if you have a concern go ahead and get your village set-up to prepare just-in-case. Connect with your providers, your trusted friends and family and let them know of your concerns. Do not keep them to yourself. The self-awareness one needs in order to prepare for the effects of anxiety or depression, in our opinion, only helps us to grow and understand ourselves; making the next struggle just a tad bit easier to get through. 

Beyond Postpartum Depression

PPD is vicious, but postpartum psychosis has an even more horrible grip. Fortunately, it is fairly rare, affecting 1-2 mothers in 1,000. Its rarity is a good thing, because 10% of cases result in suicide or infanticide. According to the Mayo Clinic, postpartum psychosis symptoms usually develop within a week after birth. They can include confusion and disorientation, obsessive thoughts about the baby, delusions and hallucinations, sleep disturbance, agitation, paranoia, and attempts at self-harm or attempts to harm the baby.

According to Arizona Behavioral Associates (a therapy practice), there are about a half dozen risk factors for postpartum psychosis. These include previous postpartum psychosis, bipolar history, prenatal stressors (such as lack of social support or a lack of a supportive partner), obsessive personality traits, and family history of mood disorders.

There is some evidence that about half of mothers with postpartum psychosis experienced symptoms during pregnancy. If you are worried, you should talk with your doctor or midwife even before the birth. A CDC task force recommended in 2020 that providers begin screening patients for signs of PPD during pregnancy. So don’t wait until delivery to voice your concerns. 

You are unlikely to overcome PPD by yourself. The most important thing you can do is ask for help. Don’t let your family and medical providers brush you off. Keep asking for help until you get it. Be your best advocate!

Cover art by Chad Wheeler, tattooist and resident artist @singleneedle

DOUBLESOLID’s ROCKSTAR, Carolina, shares her mental health journey through Postpartum Depression here.

Click HERE to go right to our submission page! 

For many, maintaining mental health is twice the struggle it needs to be. You may even struggle with mental illness, but then you struggle in your efforts to hide it. Our culture attaches stigma to mental illness, which is absurd when you think about it.

According to the CDC, one in five Americans will experience mental illness in any given year. More than 50% of us will be diagnosed with a mental illness in our lifetimes. How can something that is arguably one of the most common characteristics of modern life carry a stigma?

The stigma is not only phony, it’s stupid.

Why does it have any power over us? The answer is it doesn’t. Decide the stigma cannot hurt you, and you will be free of it. One way to make that decision is to share your story.

So sharing your story helps to free you of the stigma. But it benefits those you share it with as well. Don’t just take my word for it. A 2019 study looked at 77 people who had “received” recovery narratives.

They found the ways in which narratives were helpful outnumbered the ways in which they might be harmful. According to the researchers, “Helpful outcomes of receiving recovery narratives are connectedness, validation, hope, empowerment, appreciation, reference shift and stigma reduction.” Which means according to myself, we do better when we communicate.

We do more for ourselves and our community when we stand up and be honest about how we are feeling. When we do that we deliver power to other folks to do the same. That's how we see DOUBLESOLID APPAREL taking part in changing how people think about, talk about, and address mental health. 

Once a month, we offer a story like yours here on the DOUBLESOLID site. You can find the stories here or from our dropdown menu. Please know each one of these stories was written with the intent to help the author explore their feelings and for you to explore yours. We discuss many subjects, different coping skills, and what others do to cope (among other things). You don't have to share your story to read those of others. We are here for you either way.

Think you may want to be one of our Rockstars? Your story can be an inspiration to others and a vital step in the process of freeing yourself from the false threat of stigma. This article will suggest some of the topics you may want to cover in your story.

Your Illness
What is the nature of your illness? What is it like to live with? What was it like to try to keep it hidden from others? Has it changed the direction you thought your life was taking? You have probably done some research on your illness. What have you learned about who it tends to affect (age, gender, race, socioeconomic status, personality type)?

A Day in the Life
How does your illness affect your day-to-day life? On what kind of days is it better or worse? How does it affect your relationships with friends and family? How does it affect your job? What problems has it created for you in your profession, your relationships, and your family life?

Touch Bottom Yet?
Assuming you have your illness under control (you probably wouldn’t be writing this account unless you have), what made you decide to make the change? What did you hear, see, or feel that twisted your guts and made you decide you needed help? In other words, what was your crisis?

Living on the Other Side
How has your life been since you gained control? What do you feel you have accomplished? What are your goals? How fo you think your struggle has contributed to who you are now? What is your advice for others who are struggling with an illness like yours?

Help Is Coming
What resources and organizations have been useful to you in managing your illness? Where can people with conditions similar to yours find help? Web addresses? Phone numbers?

Share Your Story
My topics are just suggestions. Chances are, the story began to shape itself in your mind the moment you began reading this piece. Go with your gut.

Full disclosure: the study of recovery narratives found some harmful among the mostly beneficial effects. Some people, on receiving a narrative, might feel inadequate, disconnected, pessimistic, or burdened by it. This can happen when the narrative doesn’t describe recovery sufficiently. So when you share your story, you may want to make certain it describes how you have overcome your obstacles. Note that the study also found that the harmful effects do not generally occur when the narrative was prerecorded or in print, as opposed to being shared in person. If you have questions, reach out to us anytime. As always, with any concern regarding your health, speak to your trusted professionals. 

The arc of your unique story probably follows a pattern. You fall, you get back up, and you move on with a little more strength, a little more self-compassion, and a little more understanding of your struggles and who you are as a person. But within that pattern are the personal details that make your story an inspiration to others. When you share your story, you vanquish the power of stigma for yourself and you provide hope and vision to others. Not bad for a single writing assignment.

Interested in becoming a DOUBLESOLID ROCKSTAR? We'd love to hear from you! Click here for our submission page!