Signs

While taking a walk a few weeks after my grandmother's death back in 2003 my aunt noticed a beautiful, red cardinal perched on a tree. A few days later she saw another. And  another just a few days later.  

While cardinals are not unheard of in southern Minnesota, it's rare enough that seeing one feels pretty special and seeing several is quite momentous.  So when  my aunt continued to see what appeared to be that same cardinal again and again, she confided in my mom that she couldn't help but feel like that bird was my grandma watching over her.

I, in turn, thought this was crazy and became immediately concerned with how my aunt was dealing with her grief. Lutherans don't believe in reincarnation.  Besides, if grandma did come back, why in the world would she choose a cardinal, of all things?  

A few years later, however, I changed my tune.

Leaving Omaha for Charlottesville was quite difficult for me. My weight sky-rocketed as I numbed my dipping, swirling emotions with food.  By the time we reached our new home I was weighing in at nearly 200 pounds, a place I'd never imagined I'd be.

Walking Scout around the lake in our neighborhood one morning I started to cry.  I couldn't believe I'd let things get so out of control and was struggling to see how I'd pull it together.  As I contemplated the depths of my misery I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye.  I looked up to find a beautiful red cardinal staring straight at me.

I continued to walk Scout along this path for the next few weeks, often seeing my cardinal friend perched in the trees around me.  While I didn't believe in the possibility of my grandma's soul being locked inside this little bird, I also couldn't explain the strange sense of peacefulness I received every time I saw it. It was like the woman I had admired and adored my whole life was there, watching over me.

It wasn't long before I found out that seeing a cardinal in Virginia isn't quite the celebratory affair that it is in Minnesota (it's the State Bird, after all!) and that the bright red cardinals are actually the males and therefore, definitely not Grandma.  By then, however, I was receiving such a strong (and admittedly odd) sense of comfort from our encounters that I wasn't willing to let go of it.

Over time I began to pull out of my depression. My little walks around the lake turned into much longer walks (and eventually runs) that took me on trails and paths all around town. Somehow Grandma always seemed to find me. Sometimes she even brought Grandpa, which was really special to me because he passed away before I was born.  

At times I would hear Grandma telling me how proud she was of me. Other times her words of encouragement were designed to keep me going while struggling up a hill or through the end of a sprint.  And, on occasion, she was kind enough to remind me to stop feeling sorry for myself and get my ass moving (though I'm fairly sure the human Grandma never would've said 'ass').

It's been five years since we moved to Charlottesville and I'm happy to report that Grandma is still watching over me. To this day I always make a point of acknowledging her when I see her.  It's usually nothing more than a "Hey Gram!" or "What's up, Grampa?" but for some reason I feel like I have to do it.  Wouldn't want her to feel like I don't appreciate her support, ya know?

Comfort

I've always been an emotional eater.  Had a fight with a boyfriend? Drown my sorrows in ice cream. Bad day at work? Scarf down a box of Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls. Kids driving me crazy? Nothing a loaf of fresh bread and some gourmet cheese can't fix (especially if paired with wine!).  

When I was in my teens and early twenties I would literally eat myself sick with incredible amounts of food so that I wouldn't feel the pain of my emotions, but rather that in my stomach and throat from the eventual vomiting that would follow. I avoided gaining weight from these binges by sticking my fingers down my throat or ingesting laxatives. 

Thanks to therapy, anti-depressants, some wisdom that comes with age and the support of friends and family I was able to control my bulimia by the time I reached my mid-twenties. The emotional eating never fully subsided, however.  I still ran to food to comfort me, as many of us do (it's so common that there's even an eHow article on how to stop it!) .  Beating bulimia, unfortunately, brought on my initial weight gain.  Looking back I probably needed it then - 5'8 and 120 pounds is pretty small.  It wasn't until a few years later that my weight once again became a problem.  This time, however, I wasn't too small.  


Our first move to Seattle was exciting but also very difficult for me.  I was used to having tons of friends, a job and freedom to roam wherever and whenever. Now I found myself in a new city with a new baby and the only person I knew - the Spicy Chicken -  was out of town more than he was home.  So I did what I knew worked and filled those voids with food (and shopping, but that's a completely different post).  Most women who struggle with their weight post-pregnancy are dealing with weight the gained while pregnant.  I, on the other hand, gained most of my weight after Maggie was born.  The months after I had her were really tough.  I felt like all I ever did was nurse her and I was always tired.  I started watching soap operas.  Yes, it got that bad. 

A few years later, however, I had friends, a job and another new baby on the way. We'd found an anti-depressant that really worked for me (after quite a few that didn't).  The voids were filled and I was finding that exercise was a much more effective way to deal with stress and emotions than eating was. I did I triathlon.  I did a 10 K. I felt great. Then we moved in Omaha.  

Not surprisingly my weight shot up once again.  Eventually we settled in to Omaha, however, and I started to get back on track.  Then we got transferred to Charlottesville. 

Do you see a pattern starting here?

It's been almost five years since we moved to C'ville and we have no plans to leave (though we are moving across town).  I have an incredible group of friends, I'm doing some fun part-time work and fill the other hours a day trying to be the best mom I can be.  While the Spicy Chicken travels more now than ever we've developed a routine that works for us and I only bitch about it once or twice a month.  I miss my family in Minnesota and Texas but I don't feel that void like I used to as my parents visit on a regular basis and the friends I have here are truly like family to me.  I work out at Clay three days a week and fill the other days running and hiking with Scout.  No voids.  No room for emotional overeating, right? 


Of course that's not true.  But filling my life with other positive things - and working the past few years on having a healthy relationship with food - has definitely changed how often I turn to it for solace.  Instead of throwing down an entire day's worth of calories when something goes wrong (and inevitably it will) I turn to my running shoes - or my friends- or Wii Zumba (yes, I have actually started doing this, but don't expect any videos to be posted here!).  Some days I turn to my computer - like I am right now - to sort out my feeling as I write it out for all the world to see.  Amazing how therapeutic a blog post can be!

The Down Side of Up

There are times when being bipolar works to my advantage.  For instance, last Friday I ran about 10 errands, managed to clean the house, walk the dog, write 5 articles for SuzySaid, finish a draft for a magazine, draft 3 blog posts, bake cookies, make dinner and cart the kids around to their activities all before 5pm and was rearing to go that night.  It also worked great in college when I needed to stay up all night to study (yes dad, I did that occasionally) and definitely worked to my advantage when I had two kids under the age of two - neither who slept through the night - and a husband who traveled every week. 

One of the disadvantages, however, is that I have no choice about when these "ups" are going to hit.  Last night, for instance, was not great timing. I slept for maybe a total of 2 hours - none of which was uninterrupted. I sat up, wide awake until 3:30am.  Once I laid down  it wasn't working so switched from bed to couch to guest bed to guest couch without ever falling into a deep sleep.  Sometimes I even eat during these periods of wakefulness, something I've almost managed to mitigate in the past few months (last night I ate two granola bars, however). I have no idea how long this will last or when I will crash, but I know eventually I will.  In the mean time, however, I have to figure out ways to both use this unbelievable amount of energy, as well as contain it when necessary (like during my 4 hour Leadership Charlottesville session this afternoon, for instance).  

Of course there are ways to treat these manic episodes pharmacologically.  Through the years, because I'm not truly diagnosed as bi-polar, but rather cyclyothymic, we've determined it works best for me to be solely on an anti-depressant.  I'm thankful for this, as mood stabilizers, quite frankly, scare the hell out of me (lithium? no thank you).  I've been dealing with this for many years so I've learned to keep my episodes in check fairly well, but occasionally I find myself talking too much and too fast (even more than usual), buying a few more pairs of shoes than I should, or, of course, eating uncontrollably.  


And if I don't catch myself I can always count on the Spicy Chicken to say something "helpful" like "Are you feeling a little manic today?" which always pisses me off....because he's right.