The power of our minds

This post has been stewing inside of me for quite some time, and I've finally decided to let it out.  It's very personal, but I've decided I'm ok with it, because I feel and believe that it is something that people need to know.

As a preface to this post, here is some quick information about me.  I have a bachelor’s degree in psychology.  Am I a professional?  NO.  My knowledge is limited and I encourage anyone reading this post to look for research articles to verify any comments I make or you question.  I believe that what I am posting is true, and honestly think I could find the articles to back myself up, so this isn't so much of an opinion as it is what I know and feel needs to be shared with others.

When I was a senior in high school I began experiencing a lot of pain in my abdomen.  This went on for several months, slowly got worse, and finally after visiting some doctors it was discovered that my gall bladder needed to be removed.  The surgery was scheduled, the bladder was removed, and I felt 100% better.  After I graduated high school I moved to college and began experiencing life on my own.  All though still close to my parents, about an hour away, I felt truly independent and was excited to start living on my own.

My first semester was harder than I thought it would be, though, and not just educationally.  Living on my own brought with it consequences I wasn't expecting, and the social life was much different.  I quickly found a young man though with whom I "fell in love" with, and as an eighteen year old I was sure that wedding bells would be chiming soon.  After we started dating he started feeling really sick, and he didn't know what was wrong.  He went to several doctors, until finally one of them told him that he was physically healthy as a horse, and that there was something spiritually/mentally/emotionally wrong with him and that his mind was making it known through physical symptoms.  WHAT?  Our minds can make us physically ill even when there is nothing physically wrong?  YES, they can.  After this diagnosis this young man confided in me about some things in his past that were very personal.  I felt honored to be trusted with such personal information, and wanted to share things with him.  That night I thought of what I could share with him.  As I thought, some things that happened when I was younger and other things throughout high school and other social interactions came to mind, and I decided to confide in my boyfriend as he had confided in me.  

It took me several weeks to do so, but I finally did, and it felt good to get it out.  The next day though, my boyfriend told me he needed to show me something so we went for a walk.  He walked me up to a building on campus that I didn't even know existed.  I asked him what on earth we were doing, and he told me that this was the counseling center on campus.  He told me that he had been coming here since his doctor’s appointment and that he thought I could benefit from it also with the things I had shared with him.  Because I "loved him" I agreed to sign up.  The building was closed by that time but I told him that I would sign up the following week and get the help he thought I needed.  That was on a Saturday.

The following Monday my world came crashing down when this young man came over and broke up with me.  I thought I would die I felt so heart broken.  I didn't want to ever get out of bed again that Tuesday morning, but I had to go perform with my choir at a devotional.  After the devotional, I walked outside of the building and saw the counseling center.  To this day I still don't remember walking up to it, but I did, and before I knew it, I was filling out the form asking to meet with a counselor.  

Within a week I was sitting in a comfy chair across from a man I had never met, and he asked me to basically spill my guts out to him.  Talk about awkward.  I did, though, because I knew deep down that I needed to, and it felt good.  I got the help I thought I needed over the next months till school ended, and then I moved up to a tourist spot to work at a ranch for the summer.

The summer started out good, but quickly turned really hard.  I was working with two girls, who had been two of my closest friends in high school, but suddenly I was not clicking with them and we were not getting along, and I didn't know why.  Slowly as the summer progressed I fell deeper and deeper into a despair I wasn't even aware of, and near the end of the summer I finally realized that even though I had met with a counselor for a little bit, I had only skimmed the surface of my problem.  I knew I wasn't done, so when school started back up, I went back to counseling.  

This time I had to meet with a different counselor, and it was hard, but through the school year I was able to break down some walls I didn't even know I had and progressed a little more.  Without knowing it, though, when I broke one wall down another part of me built a different wall that I wasn't aware of.  Once again the summer came, and with my much improved "understanding" of my issues, I went to work at the ranch once again.  

This year there were two different girls I worked with.  Things were going well, but inside of me there was a lot of turmoil still mulling around that I wasn't aware of.  About a month into the summer I started experiencing SEVERE pain in my abdomen, and I was quickly reminded of my gall bladder.  The pain was real, it was intense, and it was almost unbearable.  I started my visits to the doctors, and nothing could be found.  I just knew deep down that I was dying of cancer, or maybe some rare disease.  I was worried sick along with my parents, and we couldn't find any answers.  I ended up having a cat scan to check my appendix, and they were prepping me for surgery when the doctor came in to tell us that the appendix was fine.  I saw doctor after doctor, and no one was listening to me.  They all said I was fine, but I wasn't.  My pain was real, and it was slowly exhausting me.  Finally we found a doctor, bless his soul, and he agreed to do exploratory surgery to see what was going on inside of me.  I just knew it was going to be something awful. The surgery was performed, and as I came to the first thing I asked was, "what did they find?"  My wonderful mother who had been there the whole time took my hand and told me that they had found nothing.  My insides were beautifully perfect, not a single speck of something wrong.  That really scared me.  What could possibly be wrong when not even surgery revealed something?  I burst into tears at the thought, when my mom asked me how I felt.  I stopped and thought about it, and realized that I felt better. The pain was gone, so something had been fixed because I felt better.   (Now I know I was “better” because I had a break from life to have surgery.  I got tons of attention, and that was what “stopped” the pain)

After recovering from that surgery and finishing my summer at the ranch I decided to give 18 months of my life to my Savior Jesus Christ and I decided to serve an LDS mission.  I was called to serve in Uruguay, and I was very excited to go.  Once I got there, though, things did not go as planned.  I began having anxiety attacks and panic attacks, and the pain inside of me returned.  I called the mission doctor and gave him my medical history, then asked what on earth could be wrong with me.  He sighed, and told me that I wouldn't like the answer, but that the answer was that physically there was nothing wrong me, but mentally/emotionally/spiritually, there was something very wrong.  There was something(s) in my life that needed to be dealt with, and because I wasn't dealing with it, their need to be dealt with was being manifested through physical issues.  I didn't want to believe the doctor, but knew that what he had said was true.  As much as I hated counseling and thought I was done with it, I wasn't.  I was put in contact with the mission psychiatrist, and after much conversation the decision was made to start some medication.  I talked with that psychiatrist every week for months, and she slowly helped me realize what needed to be done to take care of myself.

Upon my return home after my mission I once again sought counseling, from yet another counselor, and was finally able to break down all of my walls and find the true source of my problem.  Things went great for a long time, and then just a few months ago things started getting bad for me, and so I found a counselor here in my hometown and visited with her for several weeks until I was back on my feet emotionally.  I hate counseling, but I know it helps me, and that it is a must to keep me "physically" and "mentally" able to be a mother, wife, daughter, sister, and friend to those around me.

So why the reason for this long story/post?  Because I want people, and especially parents, to know that physical issues can be caused by the mind.  I've heard so many stories about people who are "always sick" and no doctor can find a reason, and except for those really rare cases where it is something severe and almost undetectable, if you or your child is visiting the doctor and the doctor isn't finding anything wrong, then there is nothing physically wrong.  This is the mistake my mother and I made because we simply didn’t know that our minds can speak through physical discomfort/sickness.  We thought the doctors we were seeing were not doing a good job, were brushing me aside without really looking, because there was something wrong.  My pain was just like that of my gall bladder, and that time there had been something wrong, so there had to be now too, right?  WRONG.  If the doctors aren’t finding anything it’s not because they aren’t competent, it’s because the problem isn’t physical and a different kind of doctor is needed, a doctor of the mind/spirit/emotions. 

As a young mother I know that I cannot yet comprehend the pain of being told that there was something from my son’s past that was troubling him to the point of making himself sick.  I can’t imagine the guilt that would come with that, but coming from my experience of being that child, it’s not the parents fault.  If your child needs to meet with a counselor it says nothing about your parenting.  There is nothing to be ashamed of if you or your child needs to speak to a counselor, because as much as we may hate it, life happens.  We and our children experience things that some people should never experience, but it happens.  It’s horrible, but true.  So let’s take this problem by the horns, and get the help that we or those we love need.  Our minds are such powerful things, and they must be taken care of.  Counseling is not a pleasant experience, it’s sometimes downright painful emotionally, but the results are well worth it, if the client/patient/whatever you want to call the person receiving the counseling is willing to work with a counselor and do what they ask.  Pride must be set aside, and an open mind is a must, but with the help of trained professionals even those in the darkest of dark can find the light again, and not suffer from unneeded emotional pain.

I know this was a long post, and if you made it through, congratulations.  I should come up with a point system or something.  I hope that no offense has been taken by anyone by what I said.  I just want to reiterate what I said in the beginning though.  If you don’t agree/believe me, look up peer reviewed articles.  No that doesn’t mean type it into to your Google search engine and read whatever nonsense pops up, it means going to a library or a site on line like ebsco  or jstor and finding real articles done by real researchers that have real results.  You will find that the research supports what I have shared with you.  Let’s get ourselves out of the dark friends, and help ourselves and those we love find the light.

Be strong, for we can do hard things,

Lacey Miller

A streak of light

It's been a while since I posted last, so I thought I'd drop in and update you all on my "streak of light" I'm experiencing. My last post talked about how dark I was feeling and how I hate bad days, well this post is about how I love the good days, few and far between as the are.  I think part of me is not wanting to write this post for fear that mentioning that I've had several good days will end my streak of light, so I guess we will see.

I guess one good thing about depression is I sure do relish my good days.  It's been a long time since I've felt so much in just a few short days, I feel human again, something that hasn't happened in a while.  I'm enjoying my piano lessons, I feel love for my family, both immediate and extended, and i feel love from my Heavenly Father.  The past few days I haven't only known I am loved, but I've felt it, and that has been absolutely wonderful.

So I guess all I have to say is here's to us, all of us who battle the depression demon or are close to someone who does.  Here's to whoever you are, whether the day has been good or bad, know you are not alone.  We will do this, for God loves us.

Stay strong, for we can do hard things,

Lacey miller

Another Day in Darkness

Today has not been the best.  It's been down right hard to tell the truth, so hard that I don't even really want to write this blog post and just go to bed, but something deep down inside of me keeps telling me to write this anyways, so here it is, my post on how miserable I've felt today.

The day in itself wasn't that bad.  My son took a good nap, I had a visit from a church friend, I was able to take a cute little card and gift to a dear friend on her birthday, and I was able to watch one of my piano students play a song that a month ago she swore to me she would never be able to learn.  Not only did she play it, but when she needed help, instead of looking at me for help, she looked at the notes, counted the lines and spaces, and found the note herself.  Major success for me.  This is a girl who only two months ago didn't even know where middle c was even though she was playing songs with both hands together.  So kudos to me, I guess.  That did make me feel good inside.

But even amidst all of that, I haven't FELT anything else today.  I've felt like a machine.  Going through the motions of life, living in complete emotional darkness until whatever it is inside of me that causes this darkness decides to turn the light back on.  Have I ever mentioned how much I hate this?  Well I do, just for the record.

The worst part is when someone nonchalantly asks the habitual question, "how are you today?"  Oh how I could blow them away if I answered honestly.  I can just imagine it now.
Person-"How are you today, Lacey?"
Me-"Oh you know, just want to dig a whole in my back yard, crawl in it and never come out again.  How about you?"  (flash cheesy smile)

If I were to be honest, this is what I would have said today.  But I know that most people don't really want to know when they ask, "how are you?"  How you really are.  They just do it out of habit.  I do the same thing.  I catch myself all of the time asking, "how are you today?"  With no real care of how the person is doing.  It's a social habit that's for sure, one I don't like, but still participate in every day.  Yuck.

The worst though is when I can tell that someone really does care.  When a friend asks, "Hey, how are you really doing today?"  I know that if I wanted to I could tell them how awful I was feeling, and they would listen, but where would that get me?  I guess I don't really know the answer to the question because even when the inquisitor really wants to know I still respond, "oh I'm hanging in there,"  or "I'm ok, life's been better but it's been worse."  I'm rarely completely honest with anyone.  The one person who actually knows how I'm doing every day is my amazing husband, bless his wonderful soul.  Even in the depressed state that I am in I know that he loves me more than anything, even though I can't feel it right now due to monster of darkness raging inside of me.

So what is the purpose of this post?  Not sure.  I just felt like I shouldn't go to bed without letting you all know that today has sucked.  I'm sure there are others of you out there who also had crappy days, so here is my sincere hope that we sleep tonight, and that tomorrow is better.  And if it's not, that we will be able to fight through another day or darkness.

Stay strong, for we can do hard things,

Lacey Miller

Postpartum Depression, Missing the first Month

A few months ago I was able to go to my home in Idaho to visit my parents.  Living in Illinois this is a rare opportunity, and I was so very grateful for it.  It was also my son's first flight.  Things weren't the greatest on the flight, but we got there, and it was a much needed vacation.  There was one experience I had there that really broke my heart though.  One day while my dad was at work my mom, son, and I took him lunch.  While we were sitting there eating our lunch I saw a picture of a baby on one of my dad's book shelves.  I thought it was of my nephew, the newest addition to the family, but I was confused because the baby was wrapped up in a blanket that I knew Elijah had, and it had been made for him.  After much discussion it was decided that the picture was actually of my son.  Then the guilt hit.  I didn't even recognize my own child.  It has bothered me since it happened.  As I've thought about it though, I realized the reason why I didn't recognize my son as a newborn in that photograph, and that's because I basically missed the first month of his life.

I'll never forget the joy I felt as I held my son for the first time.  It had been a long labor ending in an emergency c-section, but he was here now, and that was all that mattered.  Those first two or three days were wonderful, but as time came to actually go home and start being a mom without a nursery to send my baby to whenever I wanted a nap, things starting getting ugly.  As my discharge from the hospital was getting closer, more and more nurses came pouring in with information, suggestions, papers to sign, and so on.  It was a lot for me, and I felt very overwhelmed.  I ended up breaking down near the end, feeling that I would not be able to do this and not wanting to leave the hospital.  The time came to leave though, so my husband and I packed up our son and our belongings and headed out the door.  Coming home was fun at first.  We live with my in-laws and they had balloons and everything to welcome us home.  Like most newborns my son basically slept the first few days, but after those few days he began waking up more, and crying more.  That's when the post postpartum depression and anxiety started really settling in.  Within days I was almost inconsolable.  Anxiety attacks were coming several times a day, and I had no desire to be around my newborn.  Being with him scared me, and caused me even more anxiety.  Thankfully I live with three other amazing adults, especially my mother in law, who was willing and able to step up to the plate and help me through this hard time.  After two or three weeks I finally sought medical help, and about two months after my son was born, I was finally able to be by myself with him and enjoy his presence, but I lost that first month.  During his first month of life I wasn't really there to snuggle, hold, and caress him.  Sometimes I was physically there, but emotionally I was never there.  I had fallen so far into a pit of depression and despair that I don't really remember any feelings from that first month, and that is painful for me.  That is why I didn't recognize my son's picture in my dad's office.  I was unable to emotionally connect with my son until month two or so, and that is hard for me.  Looking through his baby book is depressing.  Going through the motion of things I did record things, but only one word answers and nothing energetic.  I am fixing that now, and continue to look for the light.

The light that is being able to now enjoy being with my child.  The light that is being able to hear him cry and not crying myself.  The light that is having him through a tantrum, and being able deal with it.  The light that is being alone with him all day, and being able to do so and even enjoy it.

Sometimes the guilt will try to set back in that I missed the first month of his life, but when it does, I remember that it was just the first month, and there are many, many others to come.  Sure I still have days where it is a trial to be with him, but those days are now intermixed with days of joy and days of being a mom and loving it.  In the end, it's OK that I missed his first month.  When he came to this earth he knew who his mom was going to be, and he loves me, depression and all.  I feel that when he looks at me and snuggles on my shoulder.  He is OK with me missing his first month, because now I'll be with him for all the rest.

Be strong, for we can do hard things,

Lacey Miller

Fighting my guilt

I think one of the worst things about my depression is the insane amount of guilt it causes me to feel. Guilt for my actions, guilt for my thoughts, and guilt for my feelings.  It can sometimes be so taxing on me that I begin to cry, and find it difficult to stop. The guilt comes mostly from not being, thinking, or acting like myself. For example, I am married to a wonderful man who loves me fully, depression and all, and he knew when he asked me to marry him that I would have down days, but even though I know he knew that, when some days get really bad I forget what I know, and guilt sets in.  Guilt for not being and acting like the spunky, fun loving girl my husband dated and proposed to. Guilt for sometimes not having the desire to be a mother or a wife. Guilt for wanting to run away when things get hard, and actually contemplating it in my head, looking at airline tickets and all. I hate it, hate the part of me that shuts down so when some days get hard, I become another person.  Even though the reality is that I have a wonderful husband, a beautiful son, and a good life, when my depression monster comes out all of that knowledge goes out the door, and is replaced by lies. Lies that I'm not good enough,that I can't do it anymore, that it would be easier to just end everything instead of going on with all of this guilt, and the worst part is that sometimes it gets bad enough that I begin to believe them.  It's hard, trying, and sometimes almost impossible to endure, but when things get so rough that I don't think I can go on, I am blessed by my wonderful upbringing and by the faith my parents taught me and instilled within me.  There is a scripture in 1 Corinthians chapter 10 verse 13 that always keeps me fighting. It reads,

"There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that which ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it."

When I read this verse I often replace the word temptation with trial, (such as my depression). thankful to my wonderful parents and to my loving Heavenly Father, no matter how bad things get for me, I can not deny that I know God lives,  that I am his daughter, and that he loves me.  I also know the scriptures to be true, and that God cannot lie, and therefore know that what the above scripture says is true.  When things get rough and I don't think I can go on anymore, and I pray for the weakness to be removed, and it isn't, then it must be for a reason, and I must continue to fight.  Which I will do.   I will always fight, even I feel no desire to, because my knowledge and trust in God the eternal father and his son Jesus Christ can not and will not be shaken.  They love me, and will never leave me.

Be strong, for we can so hard things,

Lacey miller


My two main reasons to keep fighting

My Story

I started writing this blog post last Sunday September 30th, and I finally finished it today.  Instead of changing my first few sentences to mesh with finally posting it today, I am going to leave it in it's original form.  here it is.

 I've debated for a really long time about starting this blog.  For months the thought has been in the back of my mind, and I've kept asking myself, "should I really do it?"  After my experience today, though, (Sunday September 30th) I've decided, (and felt) that it is time to share a part of myself that I don't share with many.  This part of me is something that for a long time, and still some days, I terribly hate.  It's a part of me that slows me down, causes me to feel things that I hate feeling, and think things that I hate thinking.  This part of me is the part that often finds itself silently crying for relief, for a breath of fresh air when emotionally I feel 100 feet under water.  This part me is the part that battles almost daily with two of the ugliest monsters I have ever met in my life, and those monsters are depression and anxiety.

Today (last Sunday) while I was attending church I felt a great overwhelming prompting to share part of my experience with my Sunday School class.  I hesitated this prompting for a long time, but with time left to spare at the end of my teaching and at a lost for words, I knew it was time to share what I wanted to keep hidden.  So with a step of faith, I began to speak.  The story came out, I cried, others in the room cried, and at the end I almost felt ashamed and foolish for exposing such a tender and weak part of myself.  But as the class was dismissed, and people came up to me to give me hugs and to thank me for what I shared, I began realizing again something I already knew but hadn't fully acknowledged.  I'm not alone in this battle.  One man came up to me to thank me for being so open about my struggles, because there are so many who go through similar things, but are scared to admit it.  There are so many who experience the pain I feel from my depression/anxiety but who have never shared that pain with others.  So I guess my hope is that through this blog, people out there who are struggling like me will be able to find support, and maybe even some relief.  I don't know what I'll post on here, I don't exactly know where this blog is going to go, but I know it needs to be done, and so I will do it.  So here it is, my personal self, my story of living in darkness.

So for this beginning post, lets simply discuss what is depression.  Depression is an interesting thing, because the answer to what it is depends on who you ask.  Some will argue that it is a completely self inflicted illness, and that people are depressed because they make themselves that way.  Others will say it is a chemical imbalance in the brain, and yet others will say it is a result from childhood trauma.  Some will say that medication is the only way to help, others will say that counseling is the only thing, while yet others will say it is just a personal decision we make.  Want to the know the true answer though?  We. Don't. Know.  Studies have been done that support all of the above theories, (except the it's a personal decision one, nothing really supports that but personal thought that I can find) but even though there are studies to support all of them, none of them have been conclusive enough to prove for sure that we know and understand depression.  Want to know what we do know though?  It exists, and it is extremely terrifying.  I know this, because it is a part of me.

Depression is a monster.  It lurks in the back of your mind always, and the worst part is you know you have it, and you can't stop it.  Days, weeks, months, and even years just come that are hard, that you can barely get through, and have no desire to endure.  It creates within you (or at least it does in me) the inability to feel anything.  An example would be that I always KNOW my husband loves me, but there are many days when I don't FEEL it, because I have the inability to feel anything.  Things that should bring me joy don't, being with my son is a chore, even when he is in a good mood and being really goofy.  Sometimes I completely lose my appetite, other days I over indulge so much in everything I can get my hands on that I make myself sick.  I know I shouldn't do this but I do, and that is where the real battle is for me.  I don't want to eat, but I make myself anyways.  I don't want to get out of bed, but I do anyways.  In doing the small things of life I battle back my monster and show him that I will function in his presence, even if that functioning involves anxiety attacks and pure hatred for myself and my feelings towards life.  It's hard, and I hate it, but it is my reality, my life, and I have to do what I can with it.

I already think I know a bit better now where I'm going to take this blog, but for tonight I am going to sign off to avoid the over-extensive-long-blog post that no one finishes reading due to it's length.  But I will end by asking that if you often feel this way, or similar to this way at times in your life, please know that you are not alone.  There are many out there who suffer as we do, and together we can get through those rough days, weeks, months, and even years.  Feel free to pass this blog along to those whom you think may need it. 

Be strong, for we can do hard things.

Lacey Miller