Not Your Average Gal

Copywriter. Content Creator. Constant Sassypants.

Mental Health

Do what you can, Caroline.

By

I ran 4.5 miles this past weekend.

Real talk: I walked about the last 1.5 of it.

And I was pissed.

I’ve honestly been battling a nasty respiratory virus for the last 3 weeks. Including an infected tonsil. (Did I mention I had my tonsils taken out as a kid? Don’t ask…) The week before that, I had a nice stomach bug. So, basically, I’ve been sick for a solid month.

Urgent Care Selfie! (Infected tonsil not shown.)
Urgent Care Selfie! (Infected tonsil not shown.)

 

After 2 doctor visits – I’m on the mend. I only want to hack up my left lung for the first 5 minutes of the day as opposed to every hour. But, I started coughing a lot during mile 3 and knew I needed to pull back and give myself a break.

Side note: Why don’t I have rock hard abs after weeks of coughing? It’s a cruel, cruel world.

My half-marathon training has taken a real hit with this plague I’ve been blessed with. And I’m scared shitless. In reality, I’ve still run more than I did this time last year during training. And with my 9.5 mile run this upcoming Saturday, I’m actually right on target for the long run trainings from last year, when I completed my first half, but was technically behind on my training.

So, what am I bummed about?

I wanted to do better. I wanted more long-runs logged prior to my half-marathon this year. I wanted to feel confident going into the race when my head was full of doubts last year. I wanted this year to be different.

Reality: it probably won’t. I have 1 month left until the half-marathon.

<sigh>

But, you know what I told myself on mile 3 when I started coughing and wheezing and wanting to punch the next person I saw gliding by on their morning run?

“Do what you can, Caroline. Do what you can.”

I could only walk. But that’s what I did. I did what I could. (Plus, I had to get back home somehow. Minor detail.)

So often we look at something as we’re either all in and succeed or it’s a total failure.

NOT TRUE.

That’s how most diets work in the New Year too, right? You’re either 100% perfect and the first time you take a nibble of that ooey-gooey brownie? “Well, I’ve done it. I’ve totally messed up and ruined it. Now pass me those fries!”

After a long Friday night (don’t ask…) I decided to sleep in Saturday and get up early Sunday morning instead to run. But when I looked at the forecast on Saturday, it was solid rain all day on Sunday. So I laced up my shoes, put on my bullet-proof vest of a sports bra and walked out the door for my long run at 10 a.m.

It was only 72 degrees, which I’ll take any day of the week. But being sick, taking a week off from running, usually running earlier in the day when it’s less sunny, not being prepared mentally to run and hitting a wall only at mile 1.5, I knew I had to make a decision. With sweat dripping down my blotchy red face and doubt creeping into my head, I had to decide to turn back now or keep going.

So I sucked it up, blasted some Lady Gaga (don’t judge) and ran as far as I could until I knew I’d be doing more harm than good.

But, you know what, I did it. I completed it. Not in a great time. Not feeling that runners high that I’ve been missing for so long. I did it. I have to remind myself of that.

There’s a great health movement by one of my favorite bloggers, Roni’s Weigh:

#wycwyc

What you can. When you can.

Just simmer on that puppy for bit. No, really. Let it roll off your tongue with clarity and inspiration. What if you treated all obstacles in your life like that? You do what you can, when you can.

“Well I don’t have time for a full half hour of cardio, so I’ll skip it today.”

No way, turd.

Do what you can. If that’s 10 minutes of walking around your office, do it. Ate too many left over holiday cookies yesterday? Cool. Join the club. Have a healthy breakfast and lunch today.

The key is to move on. Keep doing what you can, when you can.

No pressure for perfection. Do you know how liberating that is?

As I looked at my Garmin and hit mile 3, I knew I wouldn’t be breaking any personal records. I was really starting to get pissed when I reminded myself of #wycwyc. And believe it or not, I calmed the eff down, backed away from the cliff, turned up my tunes and actually enjoyed a nice 1.5 mile walk. It was a gorgeous day and I can’t remember the last time I just…walked.

I wouldn’t have had that mindset even a year ago.

“Do what you can, Caroline. Do what you can.”

My lungs thanked me later.

Now get out there. Forgive yourself for not being perfect. And do what you can, when you can. 

Running towards sanity

By

This post may seem a bit disjointed, but bear with me. I promise there’s a point.

I had some nasty stomach bug last week that left me in the fetal position for most of Tuesday and Wednesday. By Thursday, I just wanted to go run.

My grandpa passed away this weekend. When Sunday came, I was really happy I had a long run scheduled in my training.

Running has always been intertwined in my life somehow basically since college. It’s my go-to workout, but has turned into so much more than just exercise.

Running is my sanity check.

Over the last two years, I’ve certainly picked up my mileage by training for half-marathons and I’ve noticed that on some runs I couldn’t tell you what songs were on my playlist. I was too lost in thought. Don’t get me wrong, there still are runs when I’m hitting NEXT trying to find the right song to get me motivated.

Turn Down For What works every time.

turndown

While I was bowing down to the porcelain god last week, my writing took a backseat. So when the hubster asked “Are you sure you’re okay to run” by Thursday, I was itching. I needed to get out!

When I got the news about my grandpa, I digested it as much as you can in situations when it’s not totally unexpected. After our long run the next day, while cooling down, I started crying. I had opened up to the hubster while we were walking about how I was feeling about things and the tears just came, not uncontrollably, not in a rush down my face. They just brimmed to the top, watering my eyes as if to say, “Thank GOD you went for that run so we could get out.”

(We also clocked our best mile-pace to date.)

I hate the bad runs, I often question why I’m even running during those times.

I exude confidence during the good runs and find myself asking when the next one is so I can kill it again.

Regardless of the type of run, my mind seems to require the solitude and solace that running gives me. I’m very thankful I have it.

IMG_7010

A Balancing Weekend

By

The hubster is all about learning how to save lives and take care of patients. Sometimes, that makes our alone time few and far between. For instance, I probably won’t be with him on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Saving lives and taking care of patients won’t stop for the holidays, you know?

Did I mention he’s in his 3rd year of medical school? Yeah. He’s not a doctor yet and we’re figuring out this fine balance of studying so hard that he doesn’t sleep for over 2 days and, you know, saying more than hello and goodbye to each other.

We’re actually pretty darn good at the balance.

We take the time when we need it. Sometimes that time has to wait until exams are over and sometimes it needs to happen. right. freaking. now. because. I. want. to. talk. to. you. I’ve often said that there isn’t room for both of us to be stressed out because med school is pretty mother-effing stressful enough. That’s accurate sometimes, other times it just feels like that.

When people are hard on him for not having time for them, I sort of want to say, “Take a number!”

He’s doing really well in his rotations this year and putting all the studying to good use on actual real-life situations. It’s nice to hear his stories about how his input was valued (or not valued) with patients because he sees that what he’s worked so hard for, for the last eleventy billion years, is panning out.

I’m sure I can go into it more about how being a med school widow wife is one of the toughest things I’ve ever willingly done…and I actually love my alone time more than most people! Perhaps I will write about it more. My husband is loving and flexible and that makes it a whole-heck-of-a-lot easier during this time period.  But needless to say, it requires work to schedule time and not come across as a nag (can you PLEASE ask me on a date!) and also be cognizant of school needs.

So, with that said, we left for the weekend and headed to the in-laws glorious place on Marco Island.

It started off very much like most of our trips…with some unexpected, fun entertainment! Like, we drove an hour and a half to the other side of the state and both asked who brought the key to get in. Yup. Neither of us. So another trip almost back to Ft. Lauderdale (big thanks for the Father-in-Law and building manager who rounded up another key for us) and we finally got in. We settled in and started enjoying the smell of the Gulf, gazing at the stars and also watching a pool-house have a minor explosion. No, I’m not making that up. Again, we travel to entertain everyone else.

But after those minor hiccups, we enjoyed a weekend full of:

“I love you.” 

IMG_3788

“I’m really having a good time.”

IMG_3614

“I may actually like the beach, but don’t quote me on it.”

IMG_3733

“I can’t get over this sunset. I’m so glad we’re here together.”

IMG_3770

“Pass the wine.”

IMG_6328

 

It was much needed, maybe more so than we realized.

FullSizeRender (1)

 

How do you balance and reconnect? PG answers will do just fine, you naughty people. .thankyouverymuch.

That the Powerful Play Goes on and you may Contribute a Verse.

By

robin willliams

I gasped. Audibly gasped.

We were watching CNN before making dinner when it was announced Robin Williams died, by taking his own life.

I have a range of emotions; the one speaking the loudest is heartbreak. Heartbreak for his family, heartbreak for his craft, but most of all, heartbreak for his suffering.

My friend, Joyce, nails it. She’s fantastic.

It seems incredibly cliché and very simplistic, but the saying is accurate: everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. Even if they seem to have it all. Thinking happiness comes with success is a symptom of our society as a whole.

I realize I’ve written about depression before and it seems egocentric to link it here at this moment. Suffice to say, it’s an ugly disease that can slowly seep into every fiber of your being. It can take hold at unexpected times, tightly.  Suffocating your personality, numbing your reactions. Even if you have checked all the boxes off to living the standard, lovely life, often there’s an empty unchecked box that leads to comfort in your mind and heart.

I’m sad today. Sad for the loss of life and sad that the stigma still exists for depression. So much so that people callously scoff that someone with seemingly so much wealth could take his own life. The key word in that sentence is “seemingly” and what your idea of wealth is.

What you deem as painful, what you deem as manageable circumstances, could be completely different for another person. I know there’s a bigger connotation there, but the sooner we realize that simple fact, the easier it will be to openly talk about depression.

If you’re dealing with depression and need help, please reach out. I, along with many others, would be more than willing to help. Honestly. Knowing you aren’t alone, is incredibly validating. If talking to a third party seems more comforting, please use this number: National Suicide Prevention Helpline - 1-800-273-8255

I was entirely too young to watch Dead Poets Society, but I’m thankful I did. As a child, I often thought my creativity was weird, but I knew even at that age it was a defining part of who I was. Now as an adult and writer, albeit an amateur one, those sentiments still hold true. I’ll forever love this scene because of that.

Thank you for your verse, Mr. Williams.

“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And, the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, ‘O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless — of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these O me, O life? Answer. That you are here – that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.’ That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.
What will your verse be?”

The ‘D’ Word

By

It happened this past Fall. I was in the middle of a regular appointment with a clinical professional (read: my monthly appointment with a therapist) and she had the nerve to blatantly ask me if I thought I was depressed.

Well…  I don’t know…  Why are you asking me?  Aren’t you the professional?  Shouldn’t you know?

I blew it off. There’s no way. I’ve been in darker places. I’m a tough cookie. I’ve been through tougher times.

Truth was, it had been a pretty tough year. Well years. Or something…

Then, in the middle of the winter during said regular meeting at the bar, I mean my therapist’s office, she had the nerve to ask me again if I thought I was depressed!

I mean, come on! Are we playing this game again? I’m here so you can tell me that.

So I went home and stewed over this silly, silly question.  Why would she ask me again? Why?  Why?  Why?  So, I did what any normal person would do.

I went to WebMD.

There in internet black and white words…it told me.  There were the signs.  The indicators.  The red flags.  The several boxes I checked that indicated I was…depressed?  Maaaaaaan.  How did I get here?  What the heck happened?  I KNOW the signs.  Why would I deny it to myself?  I’ve taken Psychology 101, people!  I have been told by other medical professionals what the possible indicators could be. I had struggled with the same things in high school and college.  I immediately and very much to my style started taking notes. I wrote down everything I wanted to fix.  Everything.  I was convinced there was something wrong with me.  I took these notes and print outs to my next appointment.  I showed up like a crazy lady (pun intended) with printouts, highlighted items, paragraphs and scribbled notes.  I told her, the clinical professional, that there was something wrong that I kept “falling back” into these sad places.  I couldn’t seem to get the words out quick enough or explain to her clearly enough that this “thing” that was wrong with me could be fixed and I wanted to start now.  Now.  Now.  Now.

And you know what? She had the nerve to say something blatant again.

She told me there was nothing wrong with me.

I mean, what?  Then why the heck would you ask me if I was depressed?  Why would put that little bit of information in my little noggin’ so I could think about it?  Why would you let me think about it all the way until the next appointment so I could analyze my behavior or reactions and see if I exhibit any of the indicators….oooooohhhh.  Oh.  I see what you did there.  Smart, Ms. Clinical Professional.  Very smart.  You think you know me or something?  You got me.

I was both equally relieved and enraged that there was nothing wrong with me.  It would have been way easier if there was a fix.  I mean, just tell me this little drill I should do before bedtime and I’ll magically feel better about myself, okay?

But unfortunately mental health isn’t that easy.  The truth was, I sought out help because I felt incredibly lost.  Looking back, perhaps it was a perfect storm of sorts:  Take away 1 job and add in 1 career change, plus a few jobs that have had frustratingly nothing to do with said career change.  Be sure to hold tight during this process as you’ll remain in a holding pattern while your amazing Main Squeeze waits to hear back from medical schools for at least 2 years.  Blend in some taunting by interviews that never panned out.  Mix in the death of your grandmother.  Calculate the amount you’ve spent on attending everyone’s wonderful life celebrations (scratch that, don’t do that).  Kneed in the constant reminder that you’re choosing a different path from most (read: all) of your social surroundings and then weep for your sad, empty uterus.  Now top it off with some Suzy Sunshine sprinkles so people can’t see you’re confused because no one likes a Debbie Downer.  Throw it in the oven for 3 years.  Leave on a cooling rack and then enjoy the taste of losing your mojo.

I was struggling.

Even after we found out that My Main Squeeze was accepted to medical school, I put myself on trial for not doing more by now.  It was tough for me to understand that I could be a happy person and at the same time be utterly lost and sad about where I was.  I took a break from writing (here) too – something I loved.  A few keen girlfriends in my life had already spotted the change in me.  My Main Squeeze surely had.  Bless his patient, kind soul.  So I decided to go to therapy and I’m working to get that stride back in my step.  And you know, what? I’m happy to say I’m well on my way, if not already there!  I have a confidence that I haven’t had in years that I am enough and my path is mine alone.  I was given some tools to help with the self-doubt and negative talk that left me unable to make a decision or wish I didn’t have to. For some people those tools are medication provided by their medical professional.  For others its alcohol.  For me, it was a combination of talking about it, reading about it and working through it. Sometimes going for a run or a nice long walk too…  Each person has a different path of coping.  Mine, sadly, did not require medication or alcohol.  Damn the man.

I confided in a few special girlfriends about seeing a therapist and revealed what she pinpointed about me.  To this day I still find some of their reactions interesting.  A few never spoke of it again with me. I was typically a constant cheerleader, and perhaps this new revelation about me put them in a different, awkward position.  But most surprised me, both near and far friends.  They shared very similar stories. Very similar fears.  I heard about almost identical paths in therapy.  We laughed about the stigmas associated with counselors, anti-depressants and how tough Italians don’t do therapy.

What? You didn’t see the last episode of the Real Housewives of New Jersey?

 

There’s something to be said about the mantra: a key to a great relationship with your significant other is having great girlfriends.  Thanks to those of you.  You were my comfort in a time of confusion.

I realize that there’s an inherent risk to sharing that I’ve been to therapy.  There’s an immediate judgment by some.  I think I’ve learned enough from my journey though that their judgment won’t define my path.  I wanted to share these struggles because it would have been comforting to know I wasn’t alone in questioning them.  Sometimes all it takes is knowing that you’re not alone.

I know exactly what you’re thinking now. This is precisely what happens when Oprah’s show has been off the air for a year.

Now what about you?  Would love for you to share any thoughts or comments in that hand-dandy reply section below!