9 Easy Steps to Start Journaling and HAVE IT MAKE A DIFFERENCE

"I'm so bad about journaling" I hear it as often as I hear, "Sorry, I'm really bad with names." 

My immediate response is, "you cannot be 'bad about journaling'. Journaling is not something you are good or bad about, it is an act of self-care that can become an irreplaceable part of your mental health, and healing, journey. 

For me, journaling has become my way to not only sort out my thoughts, but have it guide me along my healing journey. It is my way to define my emotions and witness them outside of the whirlwind in my head. The times when I am writing are moments (many moments, many times a day) that I claim for myself and my mental health, because I know I will feel even a little bit more grounded, a little more level, a bit more calm when I put down my pen. 

I go to my journal when I am feeling the positive, "good" feelings. I record my experiences, and as my pen colors the page, my emotions are solidified in words, letters, reality, definition. 

I go to my journal when I am feeling the emotions that are threatening to bring me to my knees and never get off of the floor again. I pick up my pen and watch my internal life take on an external shape- one that is more manageable outside of my head. 

I find myself defining and validating my emotions through my writing. My emotions, my internal life is real, I give it shape when I write it down. I go to my journal as a support system, a place to sketch, a place to sort it all out. It is a self perpetuating cycle, the more I write, the more I find that I need it to keep my head straight, to keep myself grounded. 

I don't remember what life was like before journaling. Every thought I have, swirling in my mind, causing anxiety and overwhelm. Often, after journaling, I find that whatever I was worked-up about, upset about, is not as daunting and oppressive as I was making it out to be. It gives me a chance to see the emotions as big as they are, feel them, articulate them, and write down the story that is causing the emotion. Once the story is written down, on paper, I am able to see a bigger picture and allow myself to move on from the story that I was telling myself about this emotion. Instead of ruminating, I can move on, because I wrote the story. It's done.

If you that want to journal, or think you might benefit from journaling (which I think is everyone), I've put together some tips to help get you started. 

1) REMEMBER THAT NO ONE IS GOING TO READ YOUR JOURNAL- possibly not even you.

I never re-read my journals. I have stacks of them, but I have never re-read them. I'm sure there is some benefit to re-reading and witnessing my growth over the years BUT the point I'm making right now is that when journaling, it is important to remind yourself that no one is going to read it. It doesn't have to be logical, it doesn't have to make sense, it can be out of order, and not proofread. NO ONE IS GOING TO READ IT, it is not about re-reading, or creating a work of literature, it is about writing to sort through thoughts in the moment.

2) HAVE JOURNALS EVERYWHERE

I have journals in my bedroom, my living room, my kitchen, my car, my backpack. This may seem like overkill, but many people think they are "bad about journaling" because they don't dedicate a certain amount of time to it each day. Journaling doesn't have to be about a rigid schedule of writing for 15 minutes every night before bed or every morning before work. That kind of schedule doesn't work for everyone. It doesn't allow for emotions & thoughts as they surface. The rigidity of a schedule doesn't allow for a free flow process, so when we sit down to write- boom, we have writers block. Some of my journals have scrap paper stuffed in them from times when I couldn't reach a journal. I call these, "scrap paper thoughts".

Remember that journaling doesn't have to be an ordeal. Having pens and paper (journals, notebooks) everywhere, easily accessible, lends itself to the freedom of processing in the moment. Allowing ourselves to write down our emotions in the moment is what it is all about; whether it's a random happy thought or a story that we keep telling ourselves that is keeping us stuck in the emotion, we get it out on paper to either reference later, or move on.   

3) WRITE AN OBSERVATION

If you're having trouble getting started, write an observation- that sign is yellow, my feet are cold, I am hungry, I love the smell of this candle.

To me, it's similar to when someone asks us casually, "How are you?" Our response is usually a casually delivered, "good". And that's as far as the conversation goes. But if someone asked, "What's going on with you today?" And you responded with "I love the smell of this candle," it might lend itself to further conversation- maybe the candle smells like your grandma's house when you were a kid. Maybe then you have a story to tell about going to Grandma's. Maybe something happened today that reminded you of those stories or those smells.  And the writing, the journaling, can continue from there. 

If your journal were to ask you, "How are you?" And you respond honestly, this is where we begin to glean the benefits of journaling. 

My journals are a chaotic splatter-paint of observations, including, "There's a raven on that telephone pole." "I hear the wind in the trees." And once I've engaged, and dropped all judgement of my words, the writing takes on a life of it's own.

4) "RIGHT NOW..."

Start a sentence with, "Right now, I'm feeling _____. " The importance of it being right now, acknowledges that the feelings are not permanent and allows your brain to accept that you will not feel this way forever. This is extremely important when we are digging into deep, scary, big emotions. We can allow ourselves to go deep, to go dark, knowing that this is how I feel right now, and I will not feel this way forever. By writing, "Right now..." it gives us room to explore the emotion through our writing, our words, with the reassurance that they emotion will not last forever.

5) EMBRACE CHAOS

Write out of order, jump from topic to topic, do not worry about proof reading or it making any sense. Remember Step #1: no one is reading this, possibly not even you, so embrace chaos. The point is not to make sense or be presentable, but the process of writing itself. And the healing that inevitably follows. 

If the chaos and the lack of structure is difficult for you, try separating thoughts with a page break- drawing a line between each 'section'. Leave yourself enough space to go back and add to this section if you desire. Sometimes my thoughts and 'sections' are pages long, sometimes they are one or two sentences. Frequently I have writing in the tabs, arrows, sideways lettering. It looks like a thought pattern, like the inside of my brain. Embrace the chaos. 

6) GET CURIOUS

Frequently in my journaling, I write an emotion and then dig deep into why I feel this way. It could be linked to my history, the current situation, my attachment type, or simply my personality. But whenever I am feeling a strong emotion, I get curious and document my deep dive and my curiosity. Sometimes I even write out, "Why do I feel ______ right now?" Dig deep in your journaling, practice asking yourself questions. This takes time and repetition, but it is worth it. After awhile, it translates from journaling and from the paper into everyday life. Because we've trained ourselves on paper to be curious about our emotions, they no longer rule us in high stakes situations. Instead of reacting, we get curious.

7) SKETCH

If you can't think the word or can't articulate the feeling, try sketching- even stick figures, emojis, question marks, swirlies, maybe a tree. Again it's about the process of the emotion leaving your brain through your pen and onto the paper. Sometimes, just getting started with a little nonsense ink on the page can break up a writers block. 

A few years ago, I was so upset with someone, so mad, that all I could do was draw a thick, hard line down the middle of the page. I had pressed so hard that it ripped through a few pages. It helped me see my anger and frustration, and gave me a few pages that I could dedicate to exploring my anger. 

8) WRITE OUT SOUNDS

Imagine that you have no words to communicate with and all you can write is, "AUGHHHHHHHH!!"

Do it. Write out the sounds, the curses, the guttural groans. Here are some examples: 

"FUUUCCCKKK" 

"GAH!" 

"GRRRR!!" 

Start with that and see if it leads to words, and if not, that's fine too.

9) LET GO  

Journaling is about the process, not the product. Journaling is about getting in touch with your inner life, your thoughts, your experiences, defining them, and then letting them inform your healing journey. Let go of judgment. Let go of the notion, "I shouldn't feel this way." Your feelings are facts, document them. Use words to articulate your inner experience, it is your experience, no one else's. Allow journaling to open the communication line to your emotional self. Remember, your feelings are valid and real. Exploring them is a crucial piece of a healing journey.

If you are new to journaling, I hope this helps. Feel free to take whatever helps and disregard what doesn't seem like it applies to you. Start by having paper and pens (whether it's an official journal or not) and just begin writing. Let me know how it goes in the comments below and keep healing.

Welcome Back! and "No, I won't stop talking about eating disorders."

If you're reading this with regularity, you're probably noticing that there is a huge, multiple year gap in my blog posts. A few years ago, I took a break to solidify my recovery and "practice what I preach". I didn't think I was reaching the audience and I didn't feel as if I had a strong enough message.

All of that has changed. I am solid in my recovery. I have worked hard for it. I am solid in my message. I know my struggles, my triggers, and my successes. And I can articulate them in a way that my audience needs to hear.

I finally published my book, "To Date, like Normal" (available here). This is a book about recovery. About the gruesome journey of eating disorder recovery. My impetus to share my journey is to shed light on the very dark aspects of recovery. 

While in my initial years of recovery, I found the happy-go-lucky, optimistic, ever-positive point of view to be extremely toxic and lacking in reality. I didn't trust anyone who was optimistic when talking about eating disorder recovery. I didn't trust them because I didn't feel as though anyone knew how gruesome and painful this recovery was. "How could anyone who has been through this possibly have such an optimistic outlook?" And, while my viewpoint has changed and I am optimistic, my message is still very grounded in the reality that recovering from an eating disorder is a horrific, gruesome battle. It is physically and mentally painful. And we need to talk about it.

There is a time and a place for the words of encouragement and the endless, "you can do it!" "Recovery is possible!" "I'm so much better without my eating disorder!" "Look at my life now!" All quotations under photos of people smiling and looking perfectly happy. This is extremely important, because there is hope and we need encouragement.

But I like to talk to people about how brutal the battle is. I like to acknowledge the struggle, the hopelessness. Not to be triggering, but to be real. Many times through my recovery journey I felt isolated because I was not perfectly optimistic. Many times I had no hope and got furious with those who were "recovered" telling me to "have hope" and "don't give up".  I skimmed over those messages and stashed them for later. They were there, there was hope. It was hope for other people's recovery, not my own.

And I do have hope. I think everyone else should to. I live an incredible life now, post eating disorder. But I also want to give space to those who are struggling and feeling disgusting and acknowledge the reality of the mental health battle. That recovery is not refreshing spring rain and rainbows. It is a violent tempest that you don't feel you will escape from. We talk about the eating disorder itself and we talk about what life is like on the other side, but I want to be opening up conversations about the recovery process itself. Public conversations.

When I mention in conversation that I've written a book about my eating disorder, most people's response is that they either struggle themselves or know someone close to them who is struggling. And then, we talk about eating disorders. We talk about it openly. I talk about my struggle openly, without shame. Because every time I talk about it, without guilt, without shame, it gives others permission to do the same. It takes away someone else's shame about their own mental health struggles and empowers them to continue on their own path to recovery.

Over the past 10 years, I have spoken on television, at symposiums alongside best selling authors, in small group therapy sessions, at treatment facilities, at universities, and at NEDA Walks. I have spoken to parents, partners, and families. I've talked to support systems, medical students, and those who are struggling to stay in recovery.

I will not stop talking about eating disorders. I will not stop talking about mental health and the importance of talking about it. The more we talk, the more we reduce the shame and the stigma surrounding these internal wars we fight in silence. In my lifetime, I hope we talk about these things enough so that the next generation removes the stigma. And the generation after that can eliminate eating disorders all together. 

Recovery through Artwork

I recently came across a box of momentos from treatment that I thought was lost forever. I have memories of certain pieces of artwork I had done, collages, watercolors, etc. that I recalled as being extremely helpful to my recovery. But I haven't been able to find them.

I remember presenting them to my treatment team in sessions and hearing feedback. Important feedback that helped me use these pieces of art to move to my next step in recovery. 

My creative mind, my artistic mind was extremely helpful in my recovery because it allowed me to explore my inner world without limitations or rules. I could write poetry about my eating disorder, I could see caricatures within my family system, I could visualize certain aspects of my own emotional life. I could get them onto paper, in color, for others to help me witness, and unpack, the chaos in my mind. 

I haven't been able to find certain pieces that I was sure I created. Pieces that were extremely helpful to me. I figured they has gotten lost along the way. 

This morning, I went to sort through a box I thought was old dishes to see what could go to Goodwill and found an art gallery from the time I was in treatment. I remember creating each piece, every single detail, how each piece helped me articulate struggles when words wouldn't work. Each piece uncovered the next step in my treatment process. 

I remember the prompts for each Creative Representation...

June 2009: Do a Creative Representation of your eating disorder

One of my therapists pointed out that she'd never seen anyone use a toilet in their representations before. But at this point in my treatment, I really missed throwing up. Purging was a huge piece of my eating disorder and I dearly missed the ability, the freedom, the perceived control that I used to get from purging. I missed watching my emotions, my guilt, my shame be flushed away in a single action. Watching everything swirl away, my dear escape. 

In this representation, the quotes swirling away were my stream of consciousness, the thoughts I always perceived I was flushing away... the reasons I purged:

"Am I perfect now?"

"Failure"

"Fat"

"Ugly"

"Shame"

"Weakness"

"Am I perfect now?"

All swirling away and masked by the letters that spelled out "ESCAPE". My time with my head in the toilet was my escape. This representation helped me discover why purging was so attractive to me. It forced me to look at the behavior and articulate why it was there. It was my escape. It was a distraction. These emotions and questions, "am I perfect now?" that haunted me every second of everyday could be flushed, could be gone for the 30 seconds I spent with my head in the toilet. 

This awareness of the function of purging in my eating disorder gave me a new power, another step in the direction of recovery. I could begin to process the emotions, instead of needing to flush them away.

Self Care is a Lifestyle

This weekend accidentally became an exercise in radical self-care and it all began Friday morning.

Actually, it began with the start of September and the smell of fall. I seem to always get nostalgic, I always get a bit sad. I'm usually exhausted from a summer full of activities. And the autumn hits me hard. I know this. It hits every single year. I know myself well enough that I know how deeply the changing of the seasons affects me. I'm accustomed to the onset of depression as the seasons turn. There are so many reasons for this, but to articulate just one would do a disservice to the entire experience itself. I get depressed in the Fall. For that matter, I get depressed in the Spring too. It's a shift in seasons that I brace myself for, and this past week was no different.

However, I digress...

My weekend of self care officially began Friday morning, when the AQI in my rural mountain town, affected by wildfire smoke exceeded 250 ppm. This means the air is "Very Unhealthy" and beginning to be "Hazardous". I work outside as a landscaper during the summer and proclaimed a few months ago that my personal threshold for working outside in wildfire smoke would be 250ppm. 

I gathered my courage Friday morning as I rallied myself to call my foreman, and our business owner, to inform them I would not be coming in with the AQI so high and the air bordering on hazardous. The conversation was riddled with anger and guilt-trips from my higher ups. And among the guilt trips, my voice, loud and clear standing up for myself and maintaining my boundaries.

The truth is, I probably could have gone to work that day. I could have bundled my face up into an N95 or respirator and went about business as usual. But recently, I've made a vow to myself to re-parent, or parent, myself. Instead of just doing what is expected of me, I have begun asking myself, "What would you do if it was your child?" And I wouldn't have let my child go to work outside that day. No way. 

I could've made an exception, just this once. But then I could continue to make exceptions for the rest of the summer, the rest of a hazardous wildfire season. I made a promise to myself, my coworkers, and my supervisors that I would not be coming in to work if the AQI is above 250. And I stuck to it.

I felt lost on Friday. I was supposed to be at work, but I was choosing to take care of myself instead. I felt GUILTY. I felt guilty for taking care of myself and for letting my crew down. I felt guilty for allowing the hazardous air to bother me. I felt vulnerable and ashamed for not ignoring my needs.

But alongside the guilt, I continued to re-parent myself. I spend the day inside, cleaning, reading, relaxing. Occasionally I would look outside and the thick grey haze would remind me why I was indoors that day. The guilt began to dissipate. I stopped having to look outside to remind myself that it was hazardous to be out there. This thread of self-care began to weave itself through my entire being. 

Throughout the weekend, I have engaged in many more acts of self care that I have been procrastinating on or outright neglecting all summer. This neglect has left me burnt-out, exhausted, mentally fatigued, and creatively stalled.

I began asking myself many questions about self-care. Why do I feel guilty? Why am I making excuses for why I'm listening to my needs and taking care of them? Where is the line between self-care and self-indulgence?

There isn't a line. There isn't a line, because they are not the same thing. I feel like I live my life in a society where any pause, any stall, any minute that isn't filled with busy-ness is unacceptable. We live in a world where self care conjures an image of someone with a glass of champagne in a bubble bath, usually accepting that this is a very rare occasion. And that this is self care. 

The truth, I'm learning, is that self care is a lifestyle. A daily mindfulness, a commitment to listen to our needs and do our best to take care of them. Self care looks different for everyone. For me, I know what makes me feel good everyday and I do it. This means a delicious cup of coffee in the morning, a few minutes to play word games on my phone before work, a couple minutes a day of journaling, talking with my friends or significant other about my day and my emotional state, speaking up for myself in situations where I need to be my own advocate. Self-care is not a bubble bath, self-care is a lifestyle.

Back to the changing of the seasons... 

I've noticed my depression, lack of motivation, setting in in the past couple weeks and I can attribute it to the changing of the seasons. This weekend I committed to myself and my needs. I took time to do extensive journaling. I read an entire book. I painted my nails. I hung out with friends. I went to places and events I wanted to, and skipped a few because I didn't feel like going. I feel refreshed, recharged, aligned with myself, and inspired. 

Over the weekend, I felt self-indulgent at times, and instead of creating excuses for my perceived self-indulgence, I reminded myself that I do not require excuses. My lifestyle of self-care, of listening to my needs, of knowing what I need to feel good and maintain my sanity is not self indulgent. The habits that I've created for myself to feel joy and be present in my life are not self indulgent- they are a lifestyle.

Unless you have one, you will never understand

What an honor to present at UNR yesterday. We introduced our selves to the first year med students and left the entire time for questions. And the room lit up. Hands up everywhere.

I don't even remember what they asked. I just remember the sound of my powerful voice resonating off the walls of the auditorium, all 70 pairs of eyes glued to me, captivated, learning, soaking in every word.

Everything was important. Every word was a lesson, it mattered. We are saving lives, these people want to save lives and we were their key, their source of valuable, first hand experience.

The questions were all over the map. From "How did interacting with others with eating disorders effect you?" to "Did your family play any part in your eating disorder?" to "Were you coerced into treatment or did you go on your own? And how did it effect the outcome of your recovery?"

Wow. I was shocked at the variety and intelligence and, most of all, the curiosity of the questions. These students gave me hope. A hope that I had given up long ago. I gave up hope for the medical community having any sensitivity toward eating disorders. I gave it up long ago. After having to constantly fight with nurses about not being weighed, after fighting for increases in anti-depressants, and after having doctors walk on eggs shells around me about my eating habits (knowing I have an ed) just to hear them end up saying, "Well you look good," brought me to the conclusion that around the medical field, I need to have my armor on. Ready to fight. Fight for my recovery. There's no education. No sensitivity.

My experience at UNR yesterday proved me wrong. The students had been properly educated and were curious about being sensitive as to not trigger one with an eating disorder. Most importantly for me, and what was so moving, so beautiful, they genuinely cared about individuals with eds.

This is a double edged sword. Eating disorders have become so prevalent, that people are starting to realize that this is a huge problem; however, those of us involved with the field are doing enough outreach, that we have breached the medical profession. We're in and we're educating. Properly. It's no longer just about the textbook saying anorexics are afraid to eat, bulimics binge and purge. We are able to spread the word that it has nothing to do with food. It is about something deep, some deep emotional unresolved issue being resolved through behaviors with food.

The med students seemed to understand this unlike any doctor I've ever come in contact with. I was impressed with them and overwhelmed with their gratitude toward us. I am still processing how insightful and complete their questions were.

They came down after the presentation to shake our hands, ask us more questions, and thank us for being presenting so candidly.

One student asked me the toughest question of all. And I feel as though I could have given him a better answer, but, in a way, my answer was perfect.

He approached me and in the sweetest possible way, he inquired, "I just want someone to explain to me what it's like to have an eating disorder. Because the behaviors don't make any sense. And if I just understood why someone was behaving this way I wouldn't accidentally trigger a patient. I would be able to help more."

I wanted to cry. Because he was so pure in his intentions and almost desperate to help. He reminded me of my mother when she was trying to get me into treatment.

I shook my head and all I really could say was, "Eating disorders are illogical, I can't explain what it feels like. Unless you have one, you will never understand what it's like."

I've said this before, to parents. Your job is not to understand, or make sense of the behaviors, because you never will. Your job is to be unconditionally supportive and loving.

Thank you UNR for letting me share and help educate. I look forward to future outreach.

My First Time- Superbowl XXXVII

I hate the Superbowl. The Superbowl doesn't include friends and drinking and cheering and laughing at commercials for me. 

Every year it rolls around and I'm reminded of my first time. Our lives are full of "firsts". Most are beautiful, exciting, thrilling, and we look back on these memories fondly. If I could take myself back to Superbowl XXXVII, I'd hold my 14 year old self's hand, look her in the eye, and tell her that this journey she is about to embark on will wreak havoc on her body, tear her down for the next decade, and teach her more about herself than most people get to learn in a lifetime. 

I hate the Superbowl. I wish I could have been there to hold her hand as she dragged herself down the hall to her room. And I wish I could have been there to hold back her hair as she painfully, silently, forced herself to throw up into that little purple garbage can. I wish I could have been there to calmly tell her that she needn't spend the next ten years with her head in a toilet. 

I wish I could hold every 14 year old's hand, boys and girls, and tell them it's ok to be loud. Tell them they are not too big, society just cannot handle their big spirits and all of their energy. I wish I could express to the world to stop trying to smother yourselves and stop trying to fit. 

I hate the Superbowl, because every year I'm reminded of my addiction, and the first time I experimented with trying to fit.

And every year it gets further away. And every year I still can't believe this is something that I still struggle with. Thirteen years later. 

I've had many other firsts, and lasts, since then. But none as prominent as my first purge. My life seems to have been numbed by my eating disorder, since, for years, nothing else mattered. 

Every year the Superbowl comes around and I remember a time in my life when it seemed there was no other choice but to go to extremes, to harm, to hurt, to bend, to break. 

Looking through the rest of my life, oddly enough, the only other anniversary date that stands out to me is June 22, 2009. This is the last day I ever weighed myself. And a few months later, I smashed my scale. Something that meant the world to me, something that harmed me and broke me. I broke it right back. I took back my power from the scale. Every day that passes is a day that I hold the power, taking it back from the scale.

I can look back on this time in my life with regret, and wish I had done something differently. But, more productively, every Superbowl that passes is an anniversary that I can take my power back and know that I never have to live that way again.

I can hate the Superbowl, because of what it represents for me. But I can be proud of all I've learned, and how far I've come. And how far I plan to go.  

I Have No Idea What I Want

At this time a year ago the statement coming out of my mouth was, "I need the New Year, because I cannot handle 2013 anymore." 

Well, I'm pleased to announce I've had an even rougher, tougher, meaner year, and yet I'm not echoing the same sentiment as last year. 

Yes, it's been a wild ride, a tough one, but I've only gotten stronger and more capable. I've only become more myself. And instead of trying to ditch the experiences of 2014, I'd like to take a moment, embrace them, and express my gratitude for everything that has happened in the last year.

Around the beginning of the year, I began a job in the hospitality industry. Everyday was taxing as I questioned humanity and it's capability to be kind. As my co-workers told me that I needed to "grow a thicker skin," I sank deeper into the stress of the job. I never took the rude comments personally. My self-esteem never took a hit due to the comments of hate from these rude vacationers. I began questioning how these people treated other people, not just me; their families, their wives, their children. I started wondering if a generation of children was being raised to treat people as poorly as these vacationers were treating the hospitality industry. I thought about humanity on a greater scale than just the present interaction, and it hurt my heart. I had just about reached my limit when another job opportunity, a perfect one for me, arose.

I applied, interviewed, and ultimately got hired to manage the Pearl Izumi store. This happens to be perfect for me, as I've worked for the company, on and off, for about seven years. 

I feel like I worked really hard this summer. I trained to manage, hired and trained two new employees, increased the marketing of the store, brought in new product, went to events, and didn't notice that my depression meds had started to wear off. I noticed I was fatigued. I thought it was because I was working so hard.

I went on a couple bike rides this summer. Something I can always count on to bring me joy. A few were amazing. I woke up early to spend time with some girlfriends, riding up Cold Creek at 6:30 in the morning before work. These morning rides made me feel powerful. Until they didn't. Until I couldn't get out of bed anymore. Until every ounce of energy I had went into going into work, doing the bare minimum at my job to get by, and then going home and going to bed. 

Mornings were the worst. With the day looming ahead, I sit on my couch sipping my coffee, wondering how I was going to get through the day. I'd walk my dog and be in tears by the time I got home, wondering why this was no longer bringing me joy, wondering what was happening to me.

Early September I went to see a psychiatrist who prescribed me a med that he claimed would improve my mood. This drug made me anxious, made my hands and feet tingle, and ultimately made me feel as though I were going crazy. When I phoned him regarding the side effects, his response was that he'd like to get me on a higher dose. I stopped seeing him immediately and continued my hunt for a psychiatrist who cared and would help find me in this deep depression. 

By the end of September I could no longer go to work. I set up medical leave for myself, since I could no longer get out of bed, my anxiety so high I could no longer drive. I spent the majority of the days crying. For no reason but that I had no idea what was happening to me, and I couldn't see myself ever feeling better again. 

Eventually, my new psychiatrist recommended I go inpatient. I was admitted to West Hills Psychiatric Hospital on October 2. To say this hospitalization was the worst experience of my life would be an understatement. The nurses were neglectful, disrespectful, my doctor was passive aggressive, and I realized that this was not the healing, helpful environment I desperately needed to heal. 

When I asked to be discharged, as I was there voluntarily, I was put on a 72 hour legal hold. To this day, it cannot be explained to me why this happened. No one can give me a solid answer as to why they were legally able to take away all my rights and able to keep me in the hospital for 72 more hours, regardless of the fact that I was there voluntarily.

My mother charged in on October 7, partway through my legal hold and fought until they let me out. I'm not sure how often a legal hold gets lifted, but if anyone can make it happen, my mother can.

I went back to my parents house, with my new meds, and slept on a mattress in my parents living room for weeks, until I felt the new med beginning to kick in. I began exercising again. My friends came and visited with me, making me laugh, bringing me toys. I hadn't laughed in what felt like years. 

And one day, I felt strong enough to drive myself home. In this depression, and the process of coming out of it, I learned great things about myself. I was given the gift of time, time to process, time to learn, time to grow, time to get perspective, time to sit still, time with no obligations. 

I returned to my job, stronger than ever, with a new perspective, a new light in my eyes, new hope and enthusiasm for the future.

I've discovered more about myself in the last year than I've ever been given the opportunity to. The biggest lesson that came out of the depression is that I've lived my entire life living up to everyone else's expectations. When external validation is removed from the equation, I have no idea what I want, who I am, my needs, desires, where I'm headed. 

So, my goal in the last few months has been to act on what I want, not to put as much energy into what other people are thinking. Not put as much energy into what other people expect from me, act upon my own integrity, my own boundaries, my own expectations. And not act seeking external validation. 

I know what I am good at. I have no idea what I want. What an amazing place to be. All the doors are suddenly wide open. I believe I am capable of anything I truly put my mind to. And I'm at an amazing launching point for this upcoming year. 

This year was hard for me. But I am grateful it happened. I'm grateful for everyone in my life who supports me, loves me, for who I am. 

I welcome 2015 with wide open arms. I embrace and bid a fond farewell to 2014, for everything that it was.