I’m going to go ahead and skip the “I can’t believe I haven’t blogged for this long” and the apologies and just tell you that one thing about myself is that when I’m happy and life is generally going well, I tend not to turn to this space to get my feelings out.

And since the last two years have been the happiest of my life, I guess it makes sense that I haven’t been around here much in that period of time.

What that doesn’t mean is that I’m suddenly unhappy again. Quite the contrary, in fact… I am just over here loving life as a work-from/stay-at-home mom. Our boys are growing and are the lights of my life, and with our third son on the way in August (!!!!!) I know life is going to get busier than ever. One thing I’ve never done is pressure myself to blog regularly or be apologetic if I don’t, and that will continue. But I do miss this space from time to time and refuse to give it up.

So that’s that: Life is good, I’m still alive and I still love the internet.

Writing my heart out

Oh, how I have missed this space.

Things have been so hectic since my Little E was born in May… of last year! He is nearing his 9-month mark and I am in complete disbelief. I am so thankful I’ve been home with him all this time; I can’t imagine how quickly time would be passing me by if I were still going to work every day.

But, in an attempt to quietly return to myself, I have made a resolution of sorts to write more. So here I am. I’m not sure what took me so long to realize that since I don’t always have the opportunity to sit at the computer and write, there’s nothing wrong with doing it from my phone. So, duh. Here I am.

I thought it would help my writing to share a quote or photo or some other piece of inspiration. I’m on Pinterest pretty regularly and I’m always finding things that tug at my heart there. Like this:


This took me back. Agatha Christie was the first author I really cared about. My brother recommended one of her books to me years ago, “And Then There Were None.” Reading this quote the other day, even though I’d read it a hundred times before, definitely took me down memory lane… to a time when reading required actual books, and also to those times when I’ve been racked with sorrow.

But life really is a grand thing.

Writing my heart out

I wish depression was something we talked about more often. Maybe then it wouldn’t be so grossly misunderstood.

In the hours and days following the tragic death of Robin Williams, I have seen and heard far too many times how “selfish” suicide is. The tone is that those who choose to take their own life are weak, are cowards.

I take that way of thinking very personally.

I hate to reciprocate judgement with judgement, but it’s difficult for me to believe that the people who say these things have ever experienced depression. It’s hard for me to believe they have any clue what the fuck they are talking about.

Depression is a beast. A lying, deceptive, convincing beast.

Depression has led me to believe, on more than one occasion, that I am not only a burden to my family and friends, but that I actually make life for them worse. By simply being, I lessen the quality of life for my husband, children, and everyone else around me.

I was diagnosed with a “mood problem” in February. A month later, doctors added an “anxiety problem” on top of that. I’ve battled this for years, pre-diagnosis. And, yes, I’ve survived this for years. But the thing about “mood problems” and “anxiety problems” is that they don’t just get better and they don’t just go away. My mood and anxiety issues have progressively worsened over the years – what started as grieving the deaths of my grandma and father turned into a full-blown battle with depression. A constant struggle to overcome something most people never saw.

Depression lied to me and made me believe that Big E would have a better life without a mother. It made me believe that he would be better off with no mother, than with me as his mother. It made me believe my husband would be happier as a widower than as a man married to me. And if it hadn’t been the gentle but forceful hand of my husband, that just might be the case today. Because to me, killing myself was not a selfish act. Yes, it would end my suffering… but even moreso, it would end my family’s suffering because they wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore.

Let me be very clear: I have wanted to die. On more than one occasion, I have wanted to kill myself. On more than one occasion, my husband has taken fistfuls of pills out of my hands. Because it felt like the only way to make anything better.

Depression is not rational. Depression does not make sense. Depression does not allow for rational thinking.

Medication helps; Zoloft helps… sometimes. And sometimes it’s enough. But sometimes it’s not. I feel good today. I felt good yesterday. But tomorrow? Tomorrow is always uncertain.


Writing my heart out

Water on Fire
Photo: Water on Fire

She’s always had problems making decisions, torn between the pros vs. cons list her logical side creates, and going with her gut and following her heart.

Self-doubt. Second guessing. What if? What could have been?

She finally decided those things didn’t matter anymore. The only expectations she needed to meet were her own. Finally. For once.

And with new resolve, she stepped out her front door ready to face the world, come hell or high water.

Nothing can stop her now. Determined and fierce, she will fight for the life she desires, the life she deserves.

And she’ll get it, too.

Writing my heart out