Meet Rosie

Miss Kathy (my therapist) has an analogy that really hits home with me. We were talking about relationships:

Me: Last week, you said that a boy can't make me happy. But what about all those women who gush "my husband makes me SO happy?"

MK: It's like this: you have to make the ice cream and he can bring the toppings.

Now I try to focus on making my ice cream.

Cause here's the thing: I like to be taken care of and spoiled. I have these dreams of my Prince Charming who always says and does exactly what I want and need. The reality, however, is that no such human exists. There is only one person on this earth who is equipped to take care of me the way I need, and her name is Natalie Rose.

But the giver in me, doesn't love this idea. I was raised to give service, be self sacrificing  and put others before myself. But the fact is, the better I feel, the better I can help others. So I have to trick myself sometimes.

Inside of me is a little girl who is very lost, alone, scared and in need of attention. To make it real for me, I gave the little girl a name: Rosie. So whenever I feel that ache in my chest, I talk to her, find out what she needs, and reassure her that all will be well.

So far it's working wonders, not only for my pain, but it also helps limit my attention seeking behavior, because I'm giving myself the attention that I so desperately need.

I urge all of you to get in touch with that little one inside of you. They'll let you know what they need. All you have to do is ask.

Filling the Jar

Currently feeling anxious an panicky. So what am I gonna do? Blog it out!

Sometimes I feel trapped in my own brain. It'd be nice to step out of it. Just for a moment or two. 

Everything makes me nervous. 

Sometimes I feel like a zombie because I don't talk or acknowledge other people, I'm afraid I'll bite their head off. That's another horrid side effect: I'm extremely irritible these days.

On a more positive note: I filled my jar tonight! Let me explain:

Joey (my therapist from the mission) gave me this analogy one day. She showed me a jar with Popsicle sticks in it. The jar is me. The sticks are the things that make me, me! I have to fill up my jar. And be okay with what's in it, even though its not all peaches and cream. The important thing for me to remember is that no matter what anyone else says or does, it's my jar. My self esteem. I get to choose what goes in and what goes out. 

I really needed to figure myself out today and this really helped! A few things that are written on the sticks in my jar:

I'd do anything for my family.

I adore music.

I love finding ways to release anger.

Pants are overrated.

These and many other things make me, me! So even though I feel anxious and panicky right now, my cup runneth over and my jar is full.

Peter Pan Complex?

So today I was consuling with one of my most trusted advisors and she launched a world class thought grenade:

"You know what your problem is? You don't want to grow up."

What????? My first reaction, of course was to think defensively. But once I got past that, it really got me pondering.

My life seems to be at an impasse right now. There are choices to be made, things to be done, responsibility to be taken. This concept is both terrifying and enthralling to me. 

But the answer to this conundrum is the same as all the other ones I currently have: take it one day at a time, do the best that I can, and leave it in the Lord's hands and timing.

Get Curious

So sleep is a hard thing for me these days. I have a hard time forcing myself to go to sleep, an even worse time falling asleep, and don't even get me started on  the hellish event that we call waking up. So I'm going to post, then force myself to sleep.

There's a lot of things I want to post about, but none of it will make sense until I volunteer some more information. 

So the big question when I got sick was "Why?????" My therapist from the field had a theory, and it goes a little something like this:

We all have patterns in our brain that develop as we grow up. I have several unhealthy thought patterns (codependency, attention seeking, hating/being terrified of change, avoiding taking care of myself by dealing with others etc.) The stress of the mission and being a trainer so early, pushed all these patterns into one room, so to speak, causing me to panic.

I accepted this theory. Made sense to me.

Then I came home and started seeing a new therapist who I refer to as Miss Kathy. After getting a lot of informations out of me, she formulated this theory:

I had a flashback. The night before Easter 2012, I had a bad experience with my abusive exboyfriend. (Who shall hereafter be referred to as Finn the Human, or FTH.) The night before Easter 2013, I had my first panic attack. I don't understand it completely, but according to Miss Kathy, the damage that FTH did to me psychologically all through 2012 is what's  caused my panic disorder.

I honestly think that both women were correct, and understanding the "why" has really helped with the "how."

So I have a challenge for you, the next time you're tempted to get upset about something you don't understand, don't get angry or sad, get CURIOUS!

(This is my curious face.)

I'm Allowed to Whine, It's My Blog

Today I was planning on posting about the Evolution of the Miracle (According to Natalie).

But that's not happening. Why not?

The above picture describes my mood today. 

AINT NOBODY GOT TIME FOR DAT!

So instead, I'm going to give you an opportunity to silently judge me.

You're welcome!

Up to this point, I've just told the story...not much to judge there. But now you can. 

Cause I'm going to whine.

Had a horrible dream last night. 

My mission president was making me drive to a cemetery full of people who had committed suicide.

Only people who had taken their own life were allowed in this cemetery.

As I was driving us there, I got flashed by 3 traffic cameras and my mission president announced that I now had to pay for 3 tickets.

It was bad news.

So I woke up feeling horrid. 

Then I got moving, that helped.

Then my mentor/Do-terra goddess, Amanda, gave me my weekly aroma touch and I felt a smidge better.

But I have a feeling I'll be up and down today.

The worst part is that I have coping skills, things I could do to snap out of it. 

But I have NO DESIRE to use those skills.

It's an issue.

Oh it's also SJ's birthday. So I'm pining for her and for the mission.

Commence judging: now.

Everything Would Be Okay

So I finally fessed up. I got in contact with the mission nurse about my problems and she got the ball rolling. But nothing really happened for a week. Then Sweet Sister Caldwell, Sister Trainer Leader Extraordinaire, came to visit us. I couldn't exactly hide what was going on, so she observed and tattled to president. So Saturday afternoon I get a call from President Packard. The kind you never want to get.  He tells me that he knows my problems are worse than I let on, and he gave me an out. Let me know that honorable release was a wide open option. But in my mind, it SO WAS NOT. I assured him that with help, I'd be just fine. 

That day I met with a therapist for the first time and felt good about life. I could do this. No sweat. Then that night we got T-Texts. (The text messages that tell us whose getting transferred.) And I'm being transferred to Rhode Island. Away from my beloved SJ. The person who was forcing me to hold it together! But we trusted in the Lord and tried to move forward with a smile. My new comp Sister C was absolutely wonderful and the people of Westerly were a dream. But I was steadily getting worse. 

Just a week from that first phone call with President Packard, we were talking again, this time with me wondering if maybe, just maybe, he was right about me going home to get better. What created this sudden change?? Let me tell you.

Friday night, Sister C and were trying to go to sleep and I was having my usual bout of panic attacks. The poor girl fell asleep to me hyperventilating every night. She was listening carefully and goes "Sister Lewis, are you breathing??" So I started breathing again. Then a weird thought occurred to me:

What would happen if I stopped breathing?

What would that feel like?

So I tried it, and it hurt. So I breathed. 

But in that moment, I was terrified.

To my normal brain, the idea of suicide was utterly repulsive. But in my current state....it wasn't. 

And that scared me.

And so began the week of indecision: stay or go?

I wanted more than anything to stay and be a good missionary. But I was hurting. Getting out of bed was a marathon. Trying to focus on the needs of others was harder than it'd ever been. I was half a missionary. I prayed and prayed all week. I talked to my parents. I talked to numerous people on the mission, received priesthood blessings. Finally by Wednesday the answer came. It was time to go get healthy.

I made the choice, then went to a dinner appointment. Ate. Went to the bathroom and promptly threw up. What the ??? Was this a sign??? I was stressed. So that night, the zone leaders came to give me a blessing that filled me with such comfort. The next few days were rough. I had come to a point where I didn't trust myself anymore, my thoughts or my feelings. So I had to learn to trust those who were closest to the situation and cared about me. The list started to grow. 

President and Sister Packard

Sister C

SJ

Elder Weckesser (the zone leader)

Joey (My therapist in the field)

Sister Caldwell

All these people could see that I deserved to live better than the way I was. 

Coming home was terrifying. Once I stepped off the plane, I promptly began to have a panic attack that lasted until I got to end of the gate and saw my mom and sisters. That's when it hit me. 

I was home.

These people loved me.

Everything would be okay. 

Let's Start at the Very Beginning, a Very Good Place to Start

Image from Here

Once Upon a Time, I was serving in the Massachusetts Boston Mission, 

aka The Greatest Mission In The Church. 

I love everything about the mission. 

My first transfer was a dream, my trainer, Sister "Mama" Rivera was stupendous, taught me so much and helped me love mission life. Near the end of it, my appetite starts to wane and that's kind of odd, but I don't think too much of it.

Second transfer comes, I'm still lovin' life. I get the daunting task of training a new missionary! Her name is Sister Johnson and she becomes my best friend. It's hard, stressful, we cry a lot, but we make it work.

Then on Easter Eve, everything changes. My world is turned upside down. 

SJ and I were  at the New Haven Stake Center for the Young Women broadcast. I've finished eating dinner and am sitting at the table talking to SJ and one of the YW. All of a sudden, I don't feel like me. I'm lightheaded, confused, breathing funny...lost. SJ convinces me to go to the bathroom with her. I look in the mirror and don't recognize my face. I begin to hyperventilate. My face gets hot. Then pale. We go back to the gym and tell the sister that invited us to the event that we're leaving. She senses that things are not well and walks us out to the foyer. I lay on the couch and continue to feel like I never have before. They find a nurse, when I open my eyes, her face is by mine and I burst into tears. She helps me calm down and I receive a priesthood blessing. Then SJ drives us the half hour home. Since I was the Designated Driver for the companionship, it was SJ's first time driving in Connecticut and following a GPS. It was stressful but Heavenly Father got us home safely, BLESS HIM. 

Sister Johnson got me to bed, I continued to hyperventilate and she sang me to sleep. The next morning I awoke, DETERMINED to go to church. It was EASTER SUNDAY for crying out loud!!! We had an investigator coming! SJ was supposed to give a prayer! But I felt like I'd been run over by a truck, and an elephant. So I slept. For a long time.

From that day forward, the mission was very different for me: 

I'd have at least one panic attack every day; hyperventilating and couldn't get it together until SJ called me back to reality. 

Some days I couldn't get out of bed. 

Sometimes I'd burst into tears and convulse. 

Sister Johnson started forcing me to eat regularly. 

So then I started throwing up frequently, she wasn't happy about that either, so I learned to control it. But that was the only thing I could control.

Other scary things started to happen, one day I was obsessing about death. 

On another, I was so lost, I didn't know what to do, I started banging my head against the wall.

 I frequently had thoughts, wondering what would happen if I hurt myself? What would it feel like? 

SJ and I would be driving somewhere and I'd start to lose it, she'd force me to pull over and we'd switch drivers. But then sitting there with nothing to do would make my panic worse. 

For 3 1/2 weeks, SJ and I tried to deal. I slept a lot. She'd force me out of bed. Tell me what to do one step at a time. "Get dressed Sister Lewis. Can you do that for me?"

Finally one day I was praying and I said "Heavenly Father, I'm not asking you to take this away, just please give me a way to deal with it." Less than ten minutes later I had a breakdown which lead to a monumental conversation with SJ. The end result being that I was ready to tell President Packard I was struggling and to get help.

That seems like a good place to pause the story. There's plenty more, but it's past my bedtime. 

Thanks for hanging in there with me! Feel free to comment and discuss. My hope for this blog is that we can all be open, honest and be uplifted. 

Much love to you all.