Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Wisdom from How I Met Your Mother
This is my life right now.
(you might have to crank the volume way up because the video itself is pretty quiet)
Things People Say at the Conference Grounds
This little video is my contribution to this year's Lip Sync. I had a wedding reception to attend the night of the Lip Sync, so I couldn't actually be in it, but I figured this was a good way to participate. Each sentence you hear in this video is something that campers or staff members have said many times at the Conference Grounds. Even if you've never heard of the Grounds, hopefully you'll find this funny. Enjoy!
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Simple Fixes
It appears that my tiredness and fatigue and lethargy has a simple fix: Zoloft and Vitamin D.
That's right. My blood work showed that I have a Vitamin D deficiency. I know what you're thinking: how can Andrea, whose backyard is Lake Michigan, have a Vitamin D deficiency?! I was wondering the same thing. I pointed this out to the doctor who suspected the deficiency, and she said that it was probably more likely that my body has an inability to produce Vitamin D from sunlight. She prescribed two 2,000 IU Vitamin D pills for me to take every day. That is one THOUSAND percent of my daily need of Vitamin D. In my Google research, I didn't find any tie between Vitamin D and fatigue/energy. But I guess between those pills and the new antidepressants, something is working.
I'm finally feeling better. I've made it all the way to midnight the last three nights. That hasn't happened in MONTHS. I haven't had to talk myself into getting out of bed in the morning this week. I no longer find myself yawning as I hand over ice cream cones and hamburgers. Perhaps best of all, my strength is returning. I can lift the 3-gallon tubs of ice cream again, I can go upstairs without getting tired, and I'm back to being a scooping machine.
Part of me wishes that the answer had turned out to be something more glamorous, like a rare disease or condition that stumps the experts. But then I think, hello, those rare diseases and conditions hardly ever have such cheap and simple fixes as a nutrition supplement. Two hundred Vitamin D pills cost me, like, eight bucks or something and last me three months. Don't be a martyr, Andrea. Enjoy your simple fix.
So here's to hoping that this actually IS the simple fix and not just a weird side effect of two new prescriptions. I have a follow-up with the sleep clinic in about three weeks to discuss how the Vitamin D supplement is working. If my fatigue comes back, we move forward with a sleep study. My muscle twitching and leg jerking haven't gone away yet, so if that's still happening, then I think I get a referral to a neurologist.
Thank you so much for your prayers and encouragement. I really appreciate all of you. I'm thankful that we are finally getting somewhere and for all that God is teaching me through this ordeal.
On a separate, unrelated note, this is post #100. :)
That's right. My blood work showed that I have a Vitamin D deficiency. I know what you're thinking: how can Andrea, whose backyard is Lake Michigan, have a Vitamin D deficiency?! I was wondering the same thing. I pointed this out to the doctor who suspected the deficiency, and she said that it was probably more likely that my body has an inability to produce Vitamin D from sunlight. She prescribed two 2,000 IU Vitamin D pills for me to take every day. That is one THOUSAND percent of my daily need of Vitamin D. In my Google research, I didn't find any tie between Vitamin D and fatigue/energy. But I guess between those pills and the new antidepressants, something is working.
I'm finally feeling better. I've made it all the way to midnight the last three nights. That hasn't happened in MONTHS. I haven't had to talk myself into getting out of bed in the morning this week. I no longer find myself yawning as I hand over ice cream cones and hamburgers. Perhaps best of all, my strength is returning. I can lift the 3-gallon tubs of ice cream again, I can go upstairs without getting tired, and I'm back to being a scooping machine.
Part of me wishes that the answer had turned out to be something more glamorous, like a rare disease or condition that stumps the experts. But then I think, hello, those rare diseases and conditions hardly ever have such cheap and simple fixes as a nutrition supplement. Two hundred Vitamin D pills cost me, like, eight bucks or something and last me three months. Don't be a martyr, Andrea. Enjoy your simple fix.
So here's to hoping that this actually IS the simple fix and not just a weird side effect of two new prescriptions. I have a follow-up with the sleep clinic in about three weeks to discuss how the Vitamin D supplement is working. If my fatigue comes back, we move forward with a sleep study. My muscle twitching and leg jerking haven't gone away yet, so if that's still happening, then I think I get a referral to a neurologist.
Thank you so much for your prayers and encouragement. I really appreciate all of you. I'm thankful that we are finally getting somewhere and for all that God is teaching me through this ordeal.
On a separate, unrelated note, this is post #100. :)
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
A Door Closed
Well, Eerdmans Publishing said no. That wasn't such a great email to come home to this morning. It said
"We are grateful for your consideration, but I am afraid that in our very full program we do not see a niche for this proposal, and that we must therefore disappoint you. What does not suit our current needs may suit perfectly the needs of another publisher, and we wish you well in your efforts elsewhere."
Bah. Oh well. It's virtually unheard of for an author to get a deal from their very first publisher anyway. I'm planning to try with Faith Alive Resources next, which just happens to be the publishing arm of the Christian Reformed Church. Wish me luck.
"We are grateful for your consideration, but I am afraid that in our very full program we do not see a niche for this proposal, and that we must therefore disappoint you. What does not suit our current needs may suit perfectly the needs of another publisher, and we wish you well in your efforts elsewhere."
Bah. Oh well. It's virtually unheard of for an author to get a deal from their very first publisher anyway. I'm planning to try with Faith Alive Resources next, which just happens to be the publishing arm of the Christian Reformed Church. Wish me luck.
In the meantime, here is what I've been tooling around with as far as the cover art is concerned. That is, if I get a say in it. :)
That's all I've got for now.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Change of Pace
Now that we are well into summer, I've determined that my constant tiredness was not simply a result of school year stress. In fact, some days, it's worse than ever. Hmm. Dilemma. I wake up so very tired (and often sore) every morning, go to work, and never quite wake up. Yesterday, it was my turn to mop the kitchen and it took me twice as long as it did before because I had to stop and rest so often. I feel so pathetic in this malfunctioning body.
A few Sundays ago, something truly scary happened to me. I yawned my way through morning church, much like the way I yawn my way through devotions and Bible School on the weekdays, and when I got back to my cottage, I fell into bed and closed my eyes. Three hours later, I woke up and got out of bed, but only because I knew I needed to eat something for lunch. It was a good thing that my parents had left some lunch in the refrigerator or I probably would have sat at the table and just stared at the cupboard, waiting for something to jump out and land in front of me. My motivation to find something to eat was zero.
I crawled back into my bed after returning to the cottage. There was nothing I wanted to do. Nothing sounded good. I had no energy and no motivation to do anything but lay in bed with my eyes closed. I didn't even care that I wasn't sleeping. Usually, if I'm in my bed under the covers, I'm trying to fall asleep. This time, I didn't even care. I passed several hours this way that Sunday. My housemates thought I simply wasn't feeling well, mostly because I didn't correct them when they asked what was wrong. And truly, I wasn't feeling well. They assumed physically, and I didn't tell them otherwise. My mind was a dangerous place.
Now, wait a minute, Andrea...aren't you taking medication that is supposed to get rid of these types of feelings and symptoms of depression?
My meds, which I have depended on since September, weren't working anymore. Or rather, they were working to make me worse. I was experiencing negative emotions that I never even had before meds. I spent awhile on the phone with my friend Jessica that night talking about how I felt and wondering aloud why I felt this way when I wasn't supposed to. She kept telling me that it was probably the result of my medication, but I was so reluctant to believe her. I refused to believe that my medication had failed. In my mind, it meant that I had failed. To the rational mind, this makes no sense. I have no power over how my body reacts to certain chemicals. But my rational mind was on vacation at that point.
I finally saw my doctor yesterday and asked to switch anti-depressants. In hindsight, it seems like it should have been so much easier than it actually was. Why on earth would I want to continue taking pills that make me feel worse than I already feel? I came back over and over to the feeling of failure. In truth, failure has absolutely nothing to do with it. My meds did not fail. They worked for me for over nine months. My brain eventually built up a tolerance to them, and they stopped doing what they were supposed to do. The time had come to find a new medication to do the job my old meds did.
I did not fail. Failure would have been refusing to be courageous and make a change.
A few Sundays ago, something truly scary happened to me. I yawned my way through morning church, much like the way I yawn my way through devotions and Bible School on the weekdays, and when I got back to my cottage, I fell into bed and closed my eyes. Three hours later, I woke up and got out of bed, but only because I knew I needed to eat something for lunch. It was a good thing that my parents had left some lunch in the refrigerator or I probably would have sat at the table and just stared at the cupboard, waiting for something to jump out and land in front of me. My motivation to find something to eat was zero.
I crawled back into my bed after returning to the cottage. There was nothing I wanted to do. Nothing sounded good. I had no energy and no motivation to do anything but lay in bed with my eyes closed. I didn't even care that I wasn't sleeping. Usually, if I'm in my bed under the covers, I'm trying to fall asleep. This time, I didn't even care. I passed several hours this way that Sunday. My housemates thought I simply wasn't feeling well, mostly because I didn't correct them when they asked what was wrong. And truly, I wasn't feeling well. They assumed physically, and I didn't tell them otherwise. My mind was a dangerous place.
Now, wait a minute, Andrea...aren't you taking medication that is supposed to get rid of these types of feelings and symptoms of depression?
My meds, which I have depended on since September, weren't working anymore. Or rather, they were working to make me worse. I was experiencing negative emotions that I never even had before meds. I spent awhile on the phone with my friend Jessica that night talking about how I felt and wondering aloud why I felt this way when I wasn't supposed to. She kept telling me that it was probably the result of my medication, but I was so reluctant to believe her. I refused to believe that my medication had failed. In my mind, it meant that I had failed. To the rational mind, this makes no sense. I have no power over how my body reacts to certain chemicals. But my rational mind was on vacation at that point.
I finally saw my doctor yesterday and asked to switch anti-depressants. In hindsight, it seems like it should have been so much easier than it actually was. Why on earth would I want to continue taking pills that make me feel worse than I already feel? I came back over and over to the feeling of failure. In truth, failure has absolutely nothing to do with it. My meds did not fail. They worked for me for over nine months. My brain eventually built up a tolerance to them, and they stopped doing what they were supposed to do. The time had come to find a new medication to do the job my old meds did.
I did not fail. Failure would have been refusing to be courageous and make a change.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Rejoicing and Mourning
Romans 12:15
“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”
Simple, blunt, and to-the-point. This is one of my favorite verses because it contains core instructions for how to build a community. Paul tells us to participate in both the happy times and the sad times with those we care about. A caring community can multiply the happiness when there is reason to celebrate and it can divide the burden of sadness when there is reason to mourn. The church that I attend right now carries out Paul’s instructions so well and I think it’s a strong point of our church. After my step-grandfather Bob passed away, we received lots of cards and calls from members of the congregation who wanted to be a link in our support system. Our pastor even called to ask if he could come to our house and pray with us or talk with us, whatever we needed. It’s such a blessing to be a part of a community like this that knows how to rejoice and mourn with its members.
Personally, I am not so great at rejoicing and mourning with others. I always start out with every intention of doing so, but my emotions and self-centeredness often get in the way. Weddings are a prime example of my failure to rejoice with those who rejoice.
I love the concept of weddings. I love knowing that one person has found their person and that they are ready to commit themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. I love that moment when the bride appears around the corner and the groom gets his first glimpse of her in her beautiful dress. Whenever I go to a wedding, I watch all the attendants come down the aisle and coo over the dressed up little flower girls and ring-bearers. But as soon as the bride’s song starts playing, I turn around and look at the groom. His face breaks out into a big grin and he can’t take his eyes off of his bride. I love all of these things about weddings. In theory.
In actual practice, I dread going to weddings. Weddings remind the hopelessly single girl that she is not getting married any time soon. Weddings give other couples the opportunity to celebrate their own relationships and reminisce about the time they have spent together. Weddings decrease the available single friends that a single person can turn to for support when they feel completely steamrolled by their singleness.
When it comes to weddings, I fail at rejoicing with those who rejoice. I can put on a good face and smile and give genuine congratulations because a part of me is truly happy for the couple. But the rest of me is breaking because I want to be in the bride’s place, knowing that someone loves me and that my future is secure.
A part of me dies every time I see another friend get engaged on Facebook. I desperately wish it wasn't that way, but the pain is instant. It’s probably God’s way of telling me that I need to learn a very important lesson: how to rejoice with those who are rejoicing. A wedding day is a day set aside just to focus on two people and participate in their celebration. It is not a day to complain to other single guests, mourn the "loss" of another single friend, or think too deeply about life and become miserable. No, a wedding is a day for those two people up in front who are taking the first step on a lifelong journey hand-in-hand. This is where my self-centeredness tends to get out of control. I get so hung-up on how I feel, why I’m single, will I ever get married, etc. I, I, I. But it’s not supposed to be about me, which is something I need to improve on a lot.
Mourning with those who mourn is a different story entirely. I’m both very good and very bad at this. If the person that is mourning needs empathy, then I can succeed. But if that person needs sympathy, I fail. Here’s why.
Empathy is “I know how you feel;” while sympathy is “I feel how you feel.” In my experience, sympathy often goes hand-in-hand with tears. I never cry. Or rather, I feel like I can’t cry. Physically incapable. I have never been able to summon tears at funerals, weddings, sad movies, sad books, divorces, not even deaths. I dread going to funerals almost as much as I dread going to weddings, not because of what happens at funerals, but because I’m afraid of being judged for not having any tears to shed. I find it so difficult to feel what that hurting person is feeling in that moment because I can’t summon up tears.
Crying is essential for mental health. Crying can release physical and emotional tension that we didn’t even know we had. Have you ever wondered why you feel physically tired or weak after a long cry? Through crying, your body released a great deal of physical tension. If it was a cathartic cry, you feel exhausted, but in a good way. It’s as if you are releasing your emotional pain drop by drop until there is nothing left.
In Spanish, the word for ‘exhausted’ is agotado, which comes from the verb gotear, which means ‘to drip,’ and the noun gota, which means ‘drop.’ We take agotado to mean ‘exhausted’ in English, but when literally translated, it provides a single word for “being completely dripped out." Whatever the gota is, whether it is water, oil, strength, funds, or happiness, agotado is the end state of being completely dripped dry of that thing.
I have never felt that kind of exhausted before, in large part because I can’t cry. I would love to know that feeling because the most intimate moments between friends can be shared by having a good cry together. Being stuck in the emotional pain of that period before the good cry is both frustrating and wearing. I should know. I’ve been stuck in that place for the better part of the last four years.
The beauty that rises from the ashes of that pain is my unique ability to empathize. Empathy is “I know how you feel. I know how that feels. I’ve been there. I’ve been where you are. I know how that struggle goes. You’re not the only one that has ever felt that way. I’ve felt it too.” The empathizer probably isn’t feeling that emotional pain at the moment, but it’s almost better that way, because then he or she can be the strong safe place for the person who is feeling that pain.
At the beginning of my battle with depression, I wanted people who would show sympathy. I wanted them to feel the way I did and sit with me and hold me and comfort me. But as I grew older, I came to realize that this wasn’t helping. In those moments, I was weak, and if the person next to me was feeling my pain, then he or she was weak too. Two weak people can’t be the strong safe place for each other. Instead I needed someone who knew my pain intimately but had not been overcome by it. I had to see evidence that this pain was not all-consuming, not all-powerful, not ever-present.
To this day, the best words of comfort that I have ever received came from my friend Jessica, who routinely tells me, “I know how you feel. I don’t know what to say to you, but I know how you feel.” If you’re not used to empathy, this seems kind of harsh. You might think that she could have taken a little bit more time to think of something more reassuring to say. But what she comes up with may not be genuine. I’d rather have Jessica’s words because they are honest. I know she doesn’t know what to say because if she did, she’d be able to tell it to herself and she wouldn’t know exactly how I feel.
Mourning with those who mourn requires empathy, if you ask me. Those who mourn are looking for a safe place to hide while they let their guards down and make themselves vulnerable. If you are feeling all of their emotions with them, you are just as vulnerable and you can’t hold them up. As unfeeling as empathy seems at first, in the long run, it’s the most healing. One person can be strong for the other, instead of both people feeling weak and exhausted.
Rejoicing and mourning are a group effort. Rejoicing alone is lonely. Mourning alone is devastating. God calls us to rejoice and mourn as a family, each one paying attention to the needs of the others. Like me, you might find that hard to do sometimes. Let your community help you and cover your weaknesses. There might be others that could use you to cover their own weaknesses. To me, that’s what community is all about.
“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”
Simple, blunt, and to-the-point. This is one of my favorite verses because it contains core instructions for how to build a community. Paul tells us to participate in both the happy times and the sad times with those we care about. A caring community can multiply the happiness when there is reason to celebrate and it can divide the burden of sadness when there is reason to mourn. The church that I attend right now carries out Paul’s instructions so well and I think it’s a strong point of our church. After my step-grandfather Bob passed away, we received lots of cards and calls from members of the congregation who wanted to be a link in our support system. Our pastor even called to ask if he could come to our house and pray with us or talk with us, whatever we needed. It’s such a blessing to be a part of a community like this that knows how to rejoice and mourn with its members.
Personally, I am not so great at rejoicing and mourning with others. I always start out with every intention of doing so, but my emotions and self-centeredness often get in the way. Weddings are a prime example of my failure to rejoice with those who rejoice.
I love the concept of weddings. I love knowing that one person has found their person and that they are ready to commit themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. I love that moment when the bride appears around the corner and the groom gets his first glimpse of her in her beautiful dress. Whenever I go to a wedding, I watch all the attendants come down the aisle and coo over the dressed up little flower girls and ring-bearers. But as soon as the bride’s song starts playing, I turn around and look at the groom. His face breaks out into a big grin and he can’t take his eyes off of his bride. I love all of these things about weddings. In theory.
In actual practice, I dread going to weddings. Weddings remind the hopelessly single girl that she is not getting married any time soon. Weddings give other couples the opportunity to celebrate their own relationships and reminisce about the time they have spent together. Weddings decrease the available single friends that a single person can turn to for support when they feel completely steamrolled by their singleness.
When it comes to weddings, I fail at rejoicing with those who rejoice. I can put on a good face and smile and give genuine congratulations because a part of me is truly happy for the couple. But the rest of me is breaking because I want to be in the bride’s place, knowing that someone loves me and that my future is secure.
A part of me dies every time I see another friend get engaged on Facebook. I desperately wish it wasn't that way, but the pain is instant. It’s probably God’s way of telling me that I need to learn a very important lesson: how to rejoice with those who are rejoicing. A wedding day is a day set aside just to focus on two people and participate in their celebration. It is not a day to complain to other single guests, mourn the "loss" of another single friend, or think too deeply about life and become miserable. No, a wedding is a day for those two people up in front who are taking the first step on a lifelong journey hand-in-hand. This is where my self-centeredness tends to get out of control. I get so hung-up on how I feel, why I’m single, will I ever get married, etc. I, I, I. But it’s not supposed to be about me, which is something I need to improve on a lot.
Mourning with those who mourn is a different story entirely. I’m both very good and very bad at this. If the person that is mourning needs empathy, then I can succeed. But if that person needs sympathy, I fail. Here’s why.
Empathy is “I know how you feel;” while sympathy is “I feel how you feel.” In my experience, sympathy often goes hand-in-hand with tears. I never cry. Or rather, I feel like I can’t cry. Physically incapable. I have never been able to summon tears at funerals, weddings, sad movies, sad books, divorces, not even deaths. I dread going to funerals almost as much as I dread going to weddings, not because of what happens at funerals, but because I’m afraid of being judged for not having any tears to shed. I find it so difficult to feel what that hurting person is feeling in that moment because I can’t summon up tears.
Crying is essential for mental health. Crying can release physical and emotional tension that we didn’t even know we had. Have you ever wondered why you feel physically tired or weak after a long cry? Through crying, your body released a great deal of physical tension. If it was a cathartic cry, you feel exhausted, but in a good way. It’s as if you are releasing your emotional pain drop by drop until there is nothing left.
In Spanish, the word for ‘exhausted’ is agotado, which comes from the verb gotear, which means ‘to drip,’ and the noun gota, which means ‘drop.’ We take agotado to mean ‘exhausted’ in English, but when literally translated, it provides a single word for “being completely dripped out." Whatever the gota is, whether it is water, oil, strength, funds, or happiness, agotado is the end state of being completely dripped dry of that thing.
I have never felt that kind of exhausted before, in large part because I can’t cry. I would love to know that feeling because the most intimate moments between friends can be shared by having a good cry together. Being stuck in the emotional pain of that period before the good cry is both frustrating and wearing. I should know. I’ve been stuck in that place for the better part of the last four years.
The beauty that rises from the ashes of that pain is my unique ability to empathize. Empathy is “I know how you feel. I know how that feels. I’ve been there. I’ve been where you are. I know how that struggle goes. You’re not the only one that has ever felt that way. I’ve felt it too.” The empathizer probably isn’t feeling that emotional pain at the moment, but it’s almost better that way, because then he or she can be the strong safe place for the person who is feeling that pain.
At the beginning of my battle with depression, I wanted people who would show sympathy. I wanted them to feel the way I did and sit with me and hold me and comfort me. But as I grew older, I came to realize that this wasn’t helping. In those moments, I was weak, and if the person next to me was feeling my pain, then he or she was weak too. Two weak people can’t be the strong safe place for each other. Instead I needed someone who knew my pain intimately but had not been overcome by it. I had to see evidence that this pain was not all-consuming, not all-powerful, not ever-present.
To this day, the best words of comfort that I have ever received came from my friend Jessica, who routinely tells me, “I know how you feel. I don’t know what to say to you, but I know how you feel.” If you’re not used to empathy, this seems kind of harsh. You might think that she could have taken a little bit more time to think of something more reassuring to say. But what she comes up with may not be genuine. I’d rather have Jessica’s words because they are honest. I know she doesn’t know what to say because if she did, she’d be able to tell it to herself and she wouldn’t know exactly how I feel.
Mourning with those who mourn requires empathy, if you ask me. Those who mourn are looking for a safe place to hide while they let their guards down and make themselves vulnerable. If you are feeling all of their emotions with them, you are just as vulnerable and you can’t hold them up. As unfeeling as empathy seems at first, in the long run, it’s the most healing. One person can be strong for the other, instead of both people feeling weak and exhausted.
Rejoicing and mourning are a group effort. Rejoicing alone is lonely. Mourning alone is devastating. God calls us to rejoice and mourn as a family, each one paying attention to the needs of the others. Like me, you might find that hard to do sometimes. Let your community help you and cover your weaknesses. There might be others that could use you to cover their own weaknesses. To me, that’s what community is all about.
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