Drowning in Guilt - Repost from 2008

I originally wrote this post two years ago as part of my Postpartum Mood Disorder Journey. Carrying around guilt....both real and false, can increase the intensity of a mood disorder and have adverse effects on one's emotional and spiritual life as well. 





With the recent drowning of the 2-yr-old son of former NFL star Randall Cunningham, this incident with my then two-year-old daughter crashed freshly against my heart.


Although the story below is real, I changed the names of the other "characters."

Drowning in Guilt - June 7, 2008

Guilt. It is invisible, yet weighs heavier than a stack of cinder blocks. And when placed on a soul, it can immobilize body and mind. Have you felt this weight? Do you carry it today? Those of you who are not new to my writings know that I once believed many lies. One of those lies was that carrying around the cumbersome baggage of guilt was a consequence for my mistakes. Ever hear the phrase, “you made your bed, now you have to lie in it?” Yeah, I bought that one too.


There is truth in the fact that we do face consequences for our mistakes and that we may even be reminded of those consequences often, if not daily. However, if we accept the freedom that is offered through Christ, there is no condemnation. We’re forgiven. Christ remade that bed. Choosing to live with guilt is the same as living a lie.


And to reiterate, I lived that lie for years. Much, much longer than I lived in the truth. I’ve harbored guilt about things I did, things I didn’t do, and things I could have and possibly should have done. I first collected those trash bags of guilt as a young lady. But the most repugnant, heaviest bags I picked up came after I became a mother. The guilt started with my miscarriage and continued with both of my children. I foolishly viewed myself as the only one responsible for their well-being. I feared that any mistake I made could mess them up for life. I didn’t only collect those trash bags, I decorated with them. I allowed them to define me.


And while I felt guilt about over many mistakes, there was one mistake, one fleeting moment that nearly destroyed our family as we knew it.


Pumpkindoodle was two-years-old and I invited my good friend Kim* and her three kids to swim with us. A very cautious Pumpkindoodle was satisfied sitting on the gradual steps that doubled as the pool entrance. I stayed close by her. Kim’s youngest child, Danielle*, sat with me and Pumpkindoodle, while Kim took her four-year-old boy to the deep end. Danielle, a precocious daredevil, took that opportunity to explore. She jumped up and darted around the side of the pool, ignoring our warnings. When she decided to reach for a leaf that was floating in eight-feet of water, I sprang into action. I told Pumpkindoodle to stay still and I started to swim toward Danielle. I knew that with a four-year-old attached to her, Kim would have trouble getting to her daughter in time. My girl, never before moved from the steps, even with my coaching, so I felt confident she would be safe.


I reached Danielle in time and as I did, I heard a sputtering sound. I turned around and saw my baby girl face down in the water. I’m not a strong swimmer and I although I was moving as fast as I could, I felt like I wouldn’t reach her in time. I screamed and another lady dove in and saved my Pumpkindoodle, who quickly expunged the water from her lungs.


Sobbing, I held my toddler tight and whispered, “I’m sorry,” over and over again. I felt as though I was the one struggling for breath as a million thoughts swirled through my mind. “You should have got out of the water, you’re faster on land.” “Why did you endanger your child’s life?” You should have put your daughter on a lawn chair and then ran to save Danielle.” “You are so stupid, so careless, you don’t deserve this child.”


Within minutes, Pumpkindoodle recovered undramatized, and we went back to the pool, just the two of us, the next day. I smiled, played with her and laughed as if nothing happened, but in my mind I saw two little girls… one in my arms wearing her pretty princess swimsuit and one, wearing a bright pink Dora suit, floating face down in the water, splashing helplessly. The image tattooed itself on my brain with the words “her mommy is a failure.” I couldn’t sleep at nights. The incident invaded my dreams.


The Professor tried to rescue me from my pit of self-loathing and guilt, “Stop thinking about the ‘what ifs’. You had a split-second decision to make and you went to the aid of the child you thought was in the greatest danger. If you hadn’t have reacted, maybe Danielle would have ended up in the water, maybe she would have died. You need to let this go.”


He was right, but I still couldn’t get past the pain, the regret. In fact, it took me nearly two years to get past the what ifs. What a waste of time! Two years. Christ forgave me instantly. In fact, my husband may be correct in that there was nothing to forgive. I’m not sure. But who am I to chain what Christ had freed? He died for each and every one of my sins. Not accepting His forgiveness for that error in judgment  is like telling precious Jesus, “I’m sorry, your blood was not enough.”

Please know, that His blood is more than enough. That there is nothing, I mean absolutely nothing that you have done or will do that will take more than the blood of Christ to cleanse. Forgiveness is yours. Toss out that guilty baggage. It stinks and it will just weigh you down and hold you from your purpose. Oh how that delights our enemy. And how it pierces the heart of our Savior.

Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. 
 Romans 8:1 (NIV)

The Message version is also too beautiful not to post.

With the arrival of Jesus, the Messiah, that fateful dilemma is resolved. Those who enter into Christ's being-here-for-us no longer have to live under a continuous, low-lying black cloud. A new power is in operation. The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, has magnificently cleared the air, freeing you from a fated lifetime of brutal tyranny at the hands of sin and death. Romans 8:1-2 – The Message

Contradiction

I once wore a veil of rejection. Sometimes, I am foolishly tempted to put it back on...even though I know how beautiful the view of life is without it.

You can read the entire story at (In) Courage... you may even see glimpses of yourself.

I'm OK...I'm Just Waiting...

"I have been deprived of peace;
       I have forgotten what prosperity is.
So I say, "My splendor is gone
       and all that I had hoped from the LORD."

I remember my affliction and my wandering,
       the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them,
       and my soul is downcast within me.

Yet this I call to mind
       and therefore I have hope:

Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed,
       for his compassions never fail.

They are new every morning;
       great is your faithfulness.

I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion;
       therefore I will wait for him."

The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him,
       to the one who seeks him;

It is good to wait quietly
       for the salvation of the LORD."

Lamentations 3: 17-26 NIV (Italics, mine)

Because of the Cross

The cross was intended to stop him. The religious leaders wanted the man who threatened their grip on power eliminated. They wanted a Messiah who would quell the mighty Roman army with a single swipe, ending the oppression that had been known for nearly a century. They wanted their world to change dramatically for the better without altering their way of life. What they did not want was some poor carpenter from Galilee crashing their turf. They claimed to be righteous and holy men who lived to serve God, but they lived only for themselves; and Jesus was about to ruin everything.

Obsessed with silencing the voice of the man they labeled as a lunatic and blasphemer, they appealed to their governing authorities...with persistence. And when the decree sentencing Jesus to death by crucifixion was announced, they sighed with relief and smiled smugly. They got what they wanted. Finally, after of trying to get rid of the captivating teacher who spoke in parables, they won. Or so they thought. When I researched the meaning of the word Pharisee, I was stunned at the irony I found. Pharisee is derived from the Hebrewפרושים perushim from פרוש parush, which means separated. Those claiming to be men of God, could not have been farther from Him. They separated themselves from truth. 

Jesus was captured, stripped of his clothing and his dignity. Spit from filthy mouths stained his holy face. Whips tore skin off his back and legs. Vicious, hateful words intended to break his heart were flung into the ears of God's son. Battered and bloodied beyond recognition, Jesus carried the heavy crossbeam until he broke underneath its weight.

When he arrived at the site of his execution, soldiers roughly restrained him and nailed his body to a cross. A cross that was most likely already stained by another's blood. To those carrying out the sentence, Jesus was just another criminal to use as an example. The cross was then erected. There Jesus hung until his lungs exhaled the last of their air. After Jesus uttered the words “it is finished,” those who had been waiting for that moment felt victorious. God's enemy, satan, probably cackled and howled with delight, because God's son who was sent to save the world was dead. The cross had changed everything. Evil triumphed, or at least it would seem that way until...

On the third day, Christ seized complete victory. His heart began beating again, his lungs took in air. He shook off the pounds of burial spices, unwrapped the linens from his once tattered body, moved the boulder that blocked entrance to his tomb, and walked out of that grave alive and whole. The cross could not silence the His voice.

My heart aches when I think about the suffering Christ endured on that brutal Friday. Yet my soul rejoices in the victory of Easter. I am a woman covered with flaws. Next to God, I would appear as grimy as an earth worm...because of the cross, I am forgiven.

Because of the cross, sin's curse has been crushed. Because of the cross, lies have been revealed and truth offered. Because of the cross, my puny existence has great purpose. Because of the cross, I can hold my children tight and assure them that no matter how ugly this world gets, there is hope. Because of the cross, I know that the most glorious moments I have been given in this lifetime will pale in comparison to what lays ahead for me in the next. Because of the cross, I can choose to have love, peace and joy present in my life every single day without exception. There is a second chance for each human being...all because of the cross.

"You were dead because of your sins and because your sinful nature was not yet cut away. Then God made you alive with Christ, for he forgave all our sins. He canceled the record of the charges against us and took it away by nailing it to the cross. In this way, he disarmed the spiritual rulers and authorities. He shamed them publicly by his victory over them on the cross." (Col. 2:13-15-NLT)

Ugly Cross Beautiful Savior

My grandparents once lived in the beautiful and historic Brandywine Valley. I enjoyed walking down Briton Bridge Road with my PapPap and marveling at the picturesque countryside complete with rolling green hills, sprawling estates, and inviting orchards. Even an old, dilapidated barn appeared lovely amidst the gorgeous landscape.

Once, after at least six months had passed since our last walk together, PapPap excitedly whispered, “Wait until you see what they did to that old barn.”

The revelation was jaw-dropping. The rundown, rustic, stone barn, had been converted into an elegant guest cottage. I still wish I could have had a peek at the splendor I'm sure existed on the other side its front door.

As Easter approaches, I reflect on the similarities between that once old, yet refurbished barn and the cross on which Christ died.

I consider how ugly and rough the old wood must have been, and how its image invoked feelings of terror, shame, and outrage. I tremble when I think that two bloodstained, repellent, accursed wooden beams, wore beauty on one dark Friday in Golgotha more than two thousand years ago. Yes, even though hatred swarmed rampant, teeth gnashed, voices growled, blood flowed, garments tattered, and anguished cries bellowed throughout Calvary, beauty was present. Beauty hung on that soiled cross in the form of the pure, sinless, lamb of God. The cross was hideous, but because of who it touched, it was lovely at the same time.

Even though the actual wooden cross on which Christ, and most likely other men died, is long gone, its meaning has been forever changed. What was once the harbinger of hate is now the symbol of love, hope, and peace. What once provoked shame, now promotes glory. And what was once a cruel agent of agony and death, is now the emblem of eternal life.

Oh, how beautiful Christ made the cross when He victoriously conquered death. How even more glorious is the transformation he can make in the lives of all trust and believe Him.

Managing Postpartum Mood Disorders - Not a One-Size-Fits-All Option

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I have a cute and comfortable nightshirt that my mom sent me. It is bright and pink and the tag on the back reads "one-size-fits-all." And, it is about two sizes too large for me. I still wear it...like I said, it's comfy, but despite the claims on its label...it is not for everyone.

When it comes to treating Postpartum Mood Disorders (and other types of mood disorders not related to pregnancy for that matter), there is not a simple one-cure-for-all option.  Every person is different in both appearance and personality and everyone walks a different journey. What worked for me may not work for you. Or all of what worked for me, may work for you...or perhaps just some of it will work for you. Please keep this in mind when you read the list below of methods that helped me cope and heal from Postpartum Depression, Postpartum OCD, and Postpartum Anxiety Disorders.

Also note that I am a PPMD survivor, but I am not a medical professional or a clinical counselor. Please only take the following as an opinion.

• Medication – At first I was resistant to the idea of taking medication. I nursed and was afraid it would hurt my baby; and the idea alone of medication made me feel like a weakling. But, the more I learned about the chemical causes and effects of PPMD, I realized that I needed the medication to help me during this period and I worked with. There are side effects to taking some medications. I worked with a psychiatrist to help me find the proper type and dosage for me. At one point, my dosage was actually too high. Once the medication was regulated, I began to feel better. Not cured. Just well enough to cope and take the next steps. The types of medication vary and I recommend that it is monitored by a psychiatrist. Last year with a doctor's supervision I weaned off my medication. All went well for quite some time, but I noticed that about a week before each of my menstrual cycles I felt as though I was having mini bouts of PPD. My anger and irritation was back at levels I only knew soon after my children were born. Under a doctor's counsel I opted to take an antidepressant just 15 days a month. It has helped tremendously.

• Christian Counseling – If you read my earlier segments about PPMD, you know that medication alone did little to help me. I went that route with my first bout. Christian counseling had a tremendous impact on my life. Led by Biblical principles, my counselor never doubted my PPMD. In fact my first Christian counselor is the one who diagnosed me as suffering from a form of OCD brought on from pregnancy. She understood how the hormones wreaked havoc on my system. She also knew how to find some of the core issues that troubled me and we dealt with those issues. For me, guilt, feelings of inadequacy, my false perception of my value to Christ, perfectionism, and fear reigned supreme.

• Diet/Lifestyle Changes – If you love your Starbucks like I do, I’m about to deal you a punch to the kisser. Or should I write pallet? Eliminating caffeine from my diet was crucial. Not all women have to do this, but as I kept my mood chart (see below), I noticed a direct correlation between agitation and caffeine. My demeanor changed for the better once I weaned myself from java and my beloved fountain Pepsi, which I didn't even consume all that often. Two years later, I do have 1-2 cups of coffee a day....but even now there are some days when that is too much.

Increasing my intake of Omega 3 fatty acids, and adding an additional vitamin supplement designed to help my body better absorb my antidepressant also added balance and relief. More sunshine and exercising helped me as well. Honestly, I’m not much for structured work outs. But the days I dance with my kids, go swimming, or take extra long walks are usually “good” days.

• Support Groups – Talking to other women who were also experiencing PPD was medicine for my weary heart. A support group provided me a safe place to open up about my issues without anyone looking at me as if I grew an extra head out of my armpit.

• Praying Scripture – There were so many days when I felt as though I just did not have enough of me to benefit anyone. I began the habit of praying scripture over my life and loved ones. A friend of mine sent me a few scripture cards from a Beth Moore Bible study. For example I prayed that the Lord would love my family through me (I Cor. 13). It not only deepened my relationship with God, but it helped sink in the point that I was not in control of my life. I was not responsible for the happiness of everyone else. I was to strive for excellence, but not perfection and lean on the understanding that God is more than enough for me and my family.

• Keeping a Mood Chart –I chose to see a psychiatrist to manage my medicinal treatment because I felt it important to trust a biochemistry expert with my chemical imbalance. I wanted to get better and was willing to listen to his advice. However, I was not resigned to being a guinea pig. I knew that there could be side effects with medication and also knew that finding the right medications can be more of an art than a science. When my psychiatrist hypothesized that I could be bi-polar and suggested a few medications to try, I put on the breaks. I was not in denial. If I was bi-polar, I wanted to know about it and treat it. However, I wasn’t ready to try medications for a maybe diagnosis. My doctor suggested that I start a mood chart. My mood chart indicated that my mood swings at that period of time were situational. Once I kept track of what was causing me the most stress, I was able to work through those issues in therapy sessions. My honest assessments also gave my doctor the confidence to say “you are not bipolar.”

• Listening to my Body -- My recovery pace quickened when I let go of misplaced feelings of guilt and shame and listened to what my body needed. In addition to suffering from PPMD, I have a condition known as Raynaud's Phenomenon. This condition made breast feeding my babies unbearably painful. I met with lactation specialists and even took prescription medicine, but the pain did not lessen. I decided to stop breastfeeding my son when he was six-months-old. And I struggled with that decision. I wanted to press onward and bare the pain so that he could consume the healthiest diet possible. But a mommy with PPMD and chronic pain is not a healthy mommy. And that is not the healthiest option for the baby. I know what I wrote is controversial, but it is a decision that I do not regret.

I also listened to other things my body was telling me. I rested when my children were resting, even if that meant leaving dirty dishes in my sink. During the worst of the OCD I could not do this, but as the medication kicked in I was able to force myself to rest. The benefits were staggering.

• Support Plan – PPMD can overwhelm a life. I needed to get to a place where I could accept help not only from the medical community, but from my own family and friends. My doctor required me to make a plan to ease back into my life. My plan included my husband helping out with some additional chores, cleaning only one room a day, and having sometime to my self to read, pray, and write.

• A Support System – I am so blessed to have had and still have wonderful people in my life who love me and helped me through this time. My family helped me tremendously when I went to stay with them, but since they live far from me, I also asked help from my friends. Asking for help was not and still is not easy for me, but help is something we all need from time to time. Whenever I asked for help, people came to my aid and often before I asked, they came to me. After my recovery, so many people actually thanked me for allowing the to assist my family during that time. Helping others is a blessing. 

Finding a local MOPs group or MOMS club is a wonderful way to gain a support system. I had just moved to a new city and state while suffering with PPMD....women from the local MOPS group who barely knew me pitched in to help me complete daily tasks such as preparing meals, grocery shopping, and light housework. After I recovered, I was able to bless other women in this way.

The combination of elements listed above were invaluable to me. Again, what worked for me, may not work for you. And fighting PPMD takes time. However, it is a battle that can be won. And one in which there is more than a solo solider.

Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from Him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken. My salvation and my honor depend on God. He is my mighty rock, my refuge. Trust in Him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge. Selah. Psalm 62:5-8 (NIV)