Holiday Miracles

On this last day of November, I’d like to share something I’m thankful for. This might be long, but hang with me.

Many of you know I have a very strong mental health history. I suffer from bipolar depression, an eating disorder and severe anxiety. I like to advocate for Mental Health awareness as I feel there is such a stigma still associated with it all and it inhibits folks from seeking the help that they need for fear of rejection (or worse) from their friends and families. It is an illness and nothing more. We need to look past this idea that people choose eating disorders or anxiety or depression. True mental illness cannot be fixed simply with a little extra sleep and by “toughing it out”.  They require the help of a professional and can take years to overcome.

Wednesday evening I was sitting in a trauma room in the ER. I had gotten so sick with dehydration from my eating disorder that my blood pressure had risen to a dangerously high level. My electrolytes were terribly imbalanced. I had a kind and compassionate doctor (Dr. Tuel) sit next to me and tell me I was in danger of seizures and a stroke and that I was very sick. They began giving me medicines and rehydrating me as well as hooking me up to monitors and machines to keep a close eye on my heart.

I have a history of suicidal ideation and suicide attempts. As this is in my record, they asked me if that was my intent with this episode. I assured them it was not. The doctor looked at me and told me I was lucky to be alive, sitting up and talking. He actually told me he was unsure how that was even possible given my vitals. I can only thank God for keeping me alive.

I received many medications, several boluses of fluids and was under careful watch for several hours. Almost as quickly as it all came on, it all went away. My vitals returned to normal, my labs readjusted themselves back to normal and I was ok. I stuck around for observation, but Dr. Tuel was quick to tell me someone “up there” had His hand on me because he had never seen something go from so bad to so good in such a short period of time and he’d been an ER doc over 20 years.

I look at my life and I’m grateful that I am here. I am alive becuase God has a plan for me and has kept his hand on me over the years. There have been many times in my life that I shouldn’t have made it to the other side of a medical emergency, but miraculously I have. There’s no other explanation than the Big Guy upstairs looking down on me. I take this all to mean I have a greater purpose here on this earth and He’s not done with me yet.

So here I am, pressing onward. Thankful and grateful and not for a moment overlooking the miracles in my life.



This entry was posted on November 30, 2018.

The Invisibility of Invisibile Illnesses

I recently posted two pictures on Facebook. One was of me in the middle of a severe depressive episode. The other was when I was slightly manic- or you could say on a “good” day. Both of them included my children.

“Can you tell the difference?”, I typed. There didn’t appear to be any difference in either photo. That was the whole point. I wanted people to realize that those with mental illnesses- or any invisible illness- can be having the best or worst day and you’d never know the difference.

There’s a reason we say be kind to everyone you meet because you don’t know what battles they’re fighting. This is why when people hurt themselves or commit suicide, we often hear: “Well, I didn’t know they were even depressed. They didn’t appear that way.”

There’s a reason we say appearances are deceiving.

There’s a reason we call them “invisible illnesses.”

Many people who face depression are also filled with shame and guilt. They do not share their feelings with anyone. They do not want to appear ungrateful for the life they lead or judged for their apathy. They do not know how to justify a sadness they themselves cannot explain.

So, how can we help?

Be kind to the mom who seems off or keeps canceling.

Don’t judge the woman who may dress differently or isn’t as friendly as you think she should be. She may have used every bit of her strength just to show up to that event.

Offer help to the parent who seems overwhelmed.

Check in with friends, even when you feel like you can’t fit one more thing into your busy day.

And realize that you will rarely “see” that someone is depressed, hurting or fighting an invisible illness unless they themselves point it out.


This entry was posted on October 20, 2018.

The suicidal momma who’s sticking around for her kids

Here I am lying in bed, trying to will myself to get up. Part of me wishes I hadn’t woken up this morning – that I could fade away into nothingness because it seems a hell of a lot better than dealing with the demons I fight off daily in my head. Oh how I want to die. How I wish to stand on a mountain top and scream from its ledge as I leap into the darkness that would encompass me.

There’s a question in my mind: “Is this life really worth all the effort?”

And then there’s the moment when it all rushes back to me, when I remember why I keep fighting. I summon all my strength to push myself out of bed because the kids need to be fed and cared for.

My child’s impending birthday party means I have to stick around for a little while longer. My heart aches to leave these beautiful boys without a mom yet my heart longs to disappear forever. This is the tug of war of mental illness and suicidal thoughts.

I feel guilty for wondering what I ever did to deserve such a gift and simultaneously hate myself for ever wanting to disappear. The love I feel wells in equal proportion to my guilt and I can’t decide if my tears are ones of joy and thanksgiving or shame and self-hatred.

I fight through each day, each action a tremendous victory. It’s far from perfect, but it doesn’t matter because I’m there for another day. I show up for another day. I do what I have to do to survive. Sure, the kids will eat pop tarts in the car for dinner and I haven’t showered in four days and I’m living on a diet of drive thru cola and my kid’s left-overs, but none of that matters because I’m still here. I’m still fighting — despite everything.

I’m fighting against all odds because my children need me. I struggle and I persevere because there is nothing more powerful than my will to protect my kids. They don’t know it yet, but their mom is a warrior, a testament to the unyielding power of love.

Yes, people may judge me because I haven’t changed my clothes in three days or they hear me crying to myself in the bathroom stall or they disagree with the way I parent my kids, but none of that matters. It doesn’t matter because I showed up and I loved my kids and that’s enough.

Let that be enough.


This entry was posted on October 8, 2018.

How Times Change

A month ago I was in a horrible emotional and mental place. It was evident in my mood, my writing, my every day life. I was sleeping 16+ hours a day and barely functioning. I didn’t want to be alive.

My psychiatrist and I have been working for months to find a medication that would help me after my others sort of ran their course. I tend to need a new medication every 12 months or so. But, this time I hadn’t had one that worked to alleviate my depressive cycles of my bipolar in over a year.

Finally, we decided to go with a drug that is typically a “last resort” for when all else fails. Within 2 weeks of starting it we say a difference. It had lessened the intensity of the suiciadity and given me some energy. My mood has been better and I’m out of bed a majority of the day.

This is yet another cycle of bipolar that I have pushed through. Another time I’ve folloed the tattoos on my wrists that say “Alive” and “My Story Isn’t Over”. It’s another time that we have seen bipolar up close. I look back and am thankful I am alive and surrounded by people who kept me that way and kept me pushing onward even when all I wanted to do was give up. I’m cautiously optimistic that these new meds along with an increase of my ECT treatments will help me stabilize for a while.

As always, thanks for sticking by and hanging in there with me. Hold on, press on, the times will change.


This entry was posted on July 9, 2018.

The Pain That Never Ends

Before the tragedies of this week even happened, I wrote a note. It feels like something is in the air causing distinct pain and hopelessness in people right now. I managed to avoid the psychiatric hospital only because we are leaving today for vacation. I doubt seriously vacation will help me feel any better, so we’ll see how things are when I return.

In my note I wrote that I was ready to end my life. I’m frustrated, beyond depressed, feeling extremely self destructive and like the only thing that will make me feel any better is to just disappear.
I cannot keep up with this lifestyle. There is nothing that is helping my mental status and I can’t keep going based on the hope or idea that maybe one day something will help.

I am not mentally well; my mind feels hazy, engulfed in shadows with nothing left but absolute darkness. I feel like I am a failure, and that everyone I know would be better off without me.
I feel so done. There are no answers. There are no solutions. I don’t know what to do. I’m tired of fighting what seems like a never ending battle.

I live a life of never ending anxiety, pills and frustration. It’s just not fair. I just want the pain to end.

Suicide isn’t the answer… until you feel like it’s the only way out of a spiral of cycling bipolar disease (or other mental illness).  It doesn’t feel like you’re abandoning your loved ones; it feels like you’re freeing them from the burden that is you and your illness. You feel like you are doing the world a service by leaving it.

I don’t have the answer. Some people would say pray it away. I find that pointless to even try after years of relying on that method. Some people would say “Get help”. Well, I have a therapist and psychiatrist who are notably the best in Cincinnati. I rely on them and while they do help, they aren’t the answer either. I just want this nightmare in my head to go away. I want the pain of bipolar to disappear so I can live a life of joy and hope and love.


This entry was posted on June 8, 2018.

How Quickly Life Moves On

Two years ago, life for us nearly changed. You see, I have a disease. I have a mental illness. Multiple illnesses, actually. I suffer from bipolar depression, anxiety, PTSD and an eating disorder. On a warm June day, despite so many efforts, I nearly succumbed to my diseases. I was in therapy, receiving both conventional medication treatment as well as the unconventional electroconvulsive therapy- all as a drastic measure to try and relieve my symptoms. Unfortunately, the trial and error of medication for mental illness is one that can’t be avoided. My medicines and therapies were not the right combination. I couldn’t see clearly. I was desperate for a way out. I remember thinking to myself that there was no way that my family could possibly love someone as broken and messed up as me.  I felt like a burden. I felt like a failure as a person, wife, mother, daughter and friend. I felt so lost. I was feeling like all I did was care for everyone else, and yet still believed my love wasn’t enough for everyone.

I’ll never forget skipping my son’s baseball game and instead going for a drive. I remember on the drive when I texted my best friend and told her I was done and I couldn’t do life anymore. I remember crying in the car begging God to let people know that I was truly sorry and that I didn’t want them to hurt because of me.

I stepped on the gas pedal and after exceeding 100mph on the highway I jerked the wheel of my car to the right and went head first into a tree on the shoulder of the highway. I hit at such a speed that my engine flew out of my car and landed on the highway. I went through the airbag and my head through the windshield.

I don’t remember much. I remember firetrucks and good samaritans who happened to be in the medical field trying to find a way to get me out of the car due to anxieties around a small fire that had started. I remember waking up in the trauma unit of the ER with a doctor standing over me telling me he had no idea how I was even alive. I remember crying to him about how sorry I was and to tell my family the same.

I lived. I survived a car wreck that firefighters and police told me was one of the worst they had seen in their entire careers; i survived with little more than a concussion, bruised body and cuts on my face.

I survived. Death did not grab hold of me that warm, June day.

Here’s what I want to share about how I feel about that entire situation. It’s what I think most people who attempt suicide feel:

  • I wasn’t running from my problems. I was desperately searching for a way to conquer them
  • It wasn’t about dying. It was about escaping the horrendous pain
  • It was not a cry for attention
  • I know I am blessed to have survived but I still struggle with the demons
  • You never forget the unbearable pain a suicide attempt creates
  • It becomes additional trauma

I still pass that section of the highway all the time. The tree I hit was deformed but still stands strong. I often feel connected to that tree. I stand tall today, a little deformed from that accident, but still alive.

My depression didn’t end after that. I’m still in therapy and receive ECT. But, I am better. New medications and an increase in other therapies have allowed me to find a balance that I can sustain.

I still cry. I still feel guilty for what I put my family through. I was lucky enough that they rallied around me to love me and care for me instead of shoving me aside. I share my story when I can so that I can hopefully let others know that they are not alone and that there is hope both before and after attempts such as mine.


This entry was posted on April 22, 2018.

Technology and Mental Health

When I was growing up, things like social media and having personal cell phones while in middle school didn’t yet exist. I had nothing to hide behind and who I was, was just that: me.

But take a look at today’s social media. We have Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram and more that have the ability to portray a life that we want others to think we are living, but may not actually be the case.

You can choose the best pictures of whatever you are doing to share with the world while hiding behind the veil of a phone. I suffer with depression and severe anxiety, but no one on Facebook knows that based on my pictures and statuses that I post. I post inspiring quotes, fun pictures of trips to the zoo with my kids and vacation photos that make it appear that I live a life of near perfection. But, on the inside I’m slowly dying and no one knows.

Think of how this affects us. Everyone these days now lives two lives- the real one and the one they post on social media. This can foster worsening depression, anxiety, and things like eating disorders. Everyone just wants to look perfect for their friends. I didn’t have this worry when I was younger, so if I had to guess, social media and technology has something to do with the increase things like suicide attempts and declining mental health overall.

We spend so much time trying to keep up with what we are seeing on everyone else’s social media accounts that we forget to just be who we are. We forget that they, like us, are just posting the best of the best. It causes detachment with reality in some ways as everyone only sees the best.

So how do we change this? How do we stop comparing our lives to those around us on social media? I wish I had the answer to those questions. But what I do know is that as we raise our children in this cyber world that we live in, we need to remind them that things aren’t always what they seem and we need to spend more time in face- to -face relationships and conversations so we can remain grounded in what is actually real.


This entry was posted on December 18, 2017.

Mental Illness Every Day

A few days ago as I was digging through boxes in the garage looking for the yearly Christmas decorations, I stumbled upon a box of books. This box was filled with about 200 of my book that I wrote a few years back that I hadn’t sold at my speaking engagements. I picked one up and next thing I knew an hour had passed and I found myself sitting on the hard garage floor reading through it.

I was reminded of what led me to write that book. Being in therapy and revisiting events that caused my PTSD, depression and anxiety led me to putting some of my stories on paper in order to hopefully, in an ideal world, help someone else who was struggling. My goal in life at the time was to reduce stigma surrounding mental illness. Rereading that book reminded me of just how many details I left out. Details that changed my life in far greater ways that I was still so shy about sharing. And then a year and a half after that book was published, I drove my car at 100mph into a tree on the side of the highway in a suicide attempt. I did that not for attention or pity, but becuase of the events that I had left out of said book that were still not dealt with. Deeper, larger, more in depth pains that I was afraid to admit to anyone. I wrote a book, sure… but it wasn’t the book my soul needed to write. It was only a few of the details I was allowing people around me to know.

And here I am almost 15 months from that crash and I feel even worse. I’ve talked my way through so much. I’ve made great progress. As a matter of fact, my therapist of 7 years told me at my last appointment just how well I was doing. Truth is, I’ve avoided him for a few months under the disguise of insurance issues, when in reality I just can’t talk anymore.

Why? You might ask. Because I’m tired. Mentally exhausted. I have no more words to say. I’m finally on a medication that has regulated my mood. So that is, indeed, improvement. But, one thing that hasn’t left me is this deep desire to die. I’m suicidal.

Before you get too worried, let me explain. I view life through the darkened glasses of depression. I get anxious every time the phone rings thinking someone is sick. I constantly feel like I am nothing but a burden to my family and that they’d be better off without me, even though they tell me otherwise. I don’t have a plan in which to die and don’t need immediate hospitalization or care. This is just a daily battle I have to fight.

Every day with mental illness is a struggle. It affects my kids and my friends and all my family. I see the affects of my illnesses on my kids as they ask me if I’m ok or why I’m sad or how they can make me feel better. It breaks my heart and so many times I wonder if they’d truly be better off without me. I know the pain of losing a parent as a child and so I think sometimes that experience alone keeps me around for their sakes.

I’ve been living with depression that has been far worse than I’ve let on to my family in recent months. I’m hoping the excitement, hustle and bustle of the holidays will be enough to keep me up and moving and my mind distracted enough to keep the other thoughts at bay.





This entry was posted on November 22, 2017.

I Am Me

There’s a song lyric that speaks to my heart every time I hear it. It’s from former American Idol contestant, Danny Gokey. The words are:

“Yesterday is a closing door,

you don’t live there anymore.

Say goodbye to where you’ve been,

and tell your heart to beat again.”

How often do we live in the past? I know I am guilty of this. I seem to overlook the life that is in front of me, instead spending too much time focusing on regrets of the past. Don’t get me wrong, decisions we’ve made in the past make up all of our life, so it’s hard to not think on them. But, there isn’t anything we can do to change the past. I sometimes dwell on all the wrongs I have committed and tear myself down, when it would benefit me so much more to focus on the blank slate ahead of me and how I can better myself, my family and those around me. I’ve wasted a lot of time being focused on the past and feeling like I just want to give up. But, I have so much in front of me if I will just focus on where I’m going instead of where I’ve been.

My calling is to be who I was meant to be. I can own and accept and embrace the fact that I am bipolar, that I’ve dealt with suicidality and that I’ve struggled with eating disorders. I live a life that is sometimes crippled by anxiety and depression.

I’m not supposed to be anything but true to who I really am.

And I am me.

I am not ashamed of that.


This entry was posted on September 20, 2017.

What I really need when I tell you I’m struggling

I’m going to be frank for a moment. I have several mental illnesses, chronic mental illnesses, which I will likely struggle with for the rest of my life. I take medications daily and I have electroconvulsive therapy weekly. I go to therapy, have a strong support system and a strong faith.  But, bad days will happen regardless of how rigid or committed I am to recovery and health. Awful days will happen. Days where the suicidal thoughts are relentless — they happen. Those days, which sometimes turn into weeks, where I can’t get out of bed or shower or smile or remember to brush my teeth, they are expected. Bad days will happen and it’s often on these days that I receive more judgment than I do gentleness and understanding. On these days I need compassion, grace and understanding that I’m fighting something really hard. What I do not need is to be questioned about whether I took my medication, if I had too much to drink this past weekend or if I’ve been staying up too late. Unless you deeply and truly know what it’s like to wake up one day and have your own voice telling you to kill yourself, I don’t think you are allowed to pass judgment.

I know that you care, but on the days when I tell you I’m struggling, I don’t need you to point out where I probably went wrong because my biggest fear is that you’re going to assume I am not trying hard enough and walk away. When I reach out, I am afraid that the frustration of this “thing,” this inconvenience, also known as my mental illness, will eventually be too much for you. Unlike me, you can walk away from this, downplay the severity or outright ignore it, and I am terrified that you will. On the days that I tell you I’m struggling, there are 100 other days for which I said nothing. I live in constant fear of being a burden to my family and friends.

When you don’t live with a mental illness, I think it can be hard to comprehend how something like this can take a hold of your mind. I know because I remember not being like this. I realize now after being medicated that my moods were never stable, but I can remember what it’s like to not have suicidal thoughts, to not have to be vigilant about sleep or refilling my medications or monitoring sugar intake to avoid a mood swing. I completely empathize with the mindset that there is no way something can be so relentless, persistent and unavoidable. I know it is hard to understand and uncomfortable and awkward to sit with, but on the days when I reach out I don’t need judgment. I don’t need answers or solutions that neither of us have. I don’t need perfect words. On the days I reach out, I need to know I’m loved. I need to know that the voice, which sounds an awful lot like my own, telling me the world would be better off without me is wrong. I need to know I’m not alone. I need to know there is someone who will go for a walk with me, pick up dinner for me, pray with me or just sit with me.


I want to take the liberty to speak up for anyone reaching out on those bad days. On the days we tell you we’re struggling, we don’t need judgment or solutions, we just simply need you. I need to know you won’t walk away, that you aren’t going to abandon us.

I just need to know you’re there. 


This entry was posted on August 28, 2017.