This is a guest post written by my younger sister, Tiffany, who has a diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type. Once a month, Tiffany documents a single day in her life. The purpose of these posts is to raise awareness of what it’s like to live with a mental illness. I’m also hoping the posts will help readers recognize that we all have hopes, dreams, challenges and mountains to climb regardless of our mental health status. If you’d like to read all the posts I’ve written about Tiffany’s journey and all the guest posts she’s shared on this blog, check out the mental health page. Without further ado, here’s Tiffany.

My life is not all glorious and sucks sometimes! The night before, I told my mom I was going to write about this day. Little did I know, chances to grow were in the making. Here goes a day.

Positive attitude.

Tired.

Coffee. Pills. Smoke.

Brush teeth.

Kids awake. Feed them.

Psychologist appointment in an hour.

Get kids ready. Drop kids off at mom and dad’s place.

Off to appointment.

My psychologist asked me what emotions I was experiencing. We are working on emotion. I feel lonely, sad and get kind of angry at times. My psychologist recommended a book on loneliness for me to read. I am also in the grieving process. The stages of grief can last for years. Reality is that my dad is probably going to die in the next couple years. He included us in helping plan his funeral. The process has caused growth, and I’d almost say it has been beautiful. I selected a blue urn with butterflies on it for his ashes. When he dies, I am going to sprinkle them at special places. I also selected a pendant for his ashes. I am having a hemp necklace made to go with it. My dad is still around, and we enjoy each moment we can. We cannot always control the situation or outcome. Only God can. One day at a time. I am also grieving the loss of a boyfriend I was with for a year and a half. We are both addicts, and are attempting to live one day at a time. We realize that we cannot plan the future. I wish him the best, whatever direction his life goes.

Leave psychologist.

Coffee.

Pick-up kids from mom and dad’s place.

I drove home and found a book on the table outside my door. The book is called Women Who Love Too Much. Yes, I have always loved too much. This book calls for change, which is in process for me. My mental health worker arrived at my house. I was looking through the book and thinking. My mental health worker asked, “What’s that book telling you?” I told her I need to think about it and read it through. The rest of the time, we talked about what else was happening in life.

Pills.

WIC shopping. I think WIC stands for Women, Infants and Children? Those are coupons for food that qualifying families get. The food really helps us. We also get help with food from my mom.

That same day I decided to give away my pregnancy clothing to my adorable neighbor who is having a baby. I am done having children. This decision was hard for me, but I realize I have enough work with two children.

My mom wanted to bring all of us out for dinner. I just wanted to feed the kids at home. We came to a consensus for my mom to bring my daughter, Raegan, out for dinner. They also went shopping. This day, just live.

When Raegan and my mom got home, we went outside and played.

Pills.

Night time.

Kids asleep.

Planned time for myself, but I fell asleep because I was so tired.

Tiffany

This is a guest post written by my younger sister, Tiffany, who has a diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type. I recently invited Tiffany to be a regular contributor on this blog. Once a month, she’ll document a single day in her life. The purpose of these posts is to raise awareness of what it’s like to live with a mental illness. I’m also hoping the posts will help readers recognize that we all have hopes, dreams, challenges and mountains to climb regardless of our mental health status. Without further ado, here’s Tiffany.

“Beautiful music is the art of the prophets that can calm the agitations of the soul; it is one of the most magnificent and delightful presents God has given us.” – Martin Luther

I feel that in order to connect to our true self, we must connect in mind, body and soul. This particular day, I wanted to connect on all levels, but I was not sure how to achieve that goal. The day seemed to play out on its own.

I was having intense cravings. What is this feeling I am experiencing? I have not felt this for a while. I needed something, but I was not sure what it was. I thought about the possibility of attending an AA/NA meeting. I should be talking about these feelings so I don’t have a major relapse. I needed to relieve the cravings, so I took a drive around town with the kids. We take drives often. We stopped a few places before returning home.

Relief was in sight. My friend Emily called. She was headed my way from a nearby town. She came over, and I explained to her the feelings I was experiencing. We discussed how great it would be to go out for a few hours, just the two of us. After all, as Emily says, social time is important.

How to make an outing happen?

I called two neighbor teenagers who had previously told me they enjoyed babysitting. They were available for the night, so they came over for babysitting duty. I gave them each a ten dollar bill and a five to split. I bought them some snacks and told them I’d be gone no longer than three hours.

Now, what are Emily and I going to do?

I looked online and noticed that my friend, Seth Doud, was performing in town. Seth feels that his soul is exposed when he is performing. I have always felt a great connection to Seth’s music. What a great opportunity to go hear him play!

Seth was standing by an outdoor fire pit when Emily and I arrived at the venue. “Yay, I thought. I get to talk to Seth.” I introduced him to Emily, and they talked about the extravagant outdoor furniture. Seth went inside to set up. Emily and I proceeded to stand by the fire. I was messing around on my phone when a guy approached us. We were both getting anxious, so we started a completely fake conversation. The guy proceeded to raise his voice and said, “I’m sorry for interrupting your secret talk. I’m just out here for a smoke.” Emily attempted to mend the awkwardness by talking to him. I laughed to myself about the moment because I’d never had something like that happen before.

We went inside to get a Red Bull and soda. Loud noises and people make me extremely anxious. Emily and some casual conversations seemed to ease my mind. Then Seth, my musician friend, walked by and smiled. His smile made me feel good, as it always does. When is the music going to start, I thought to myself?

I found a place at an empty table behind a wall. Perfect!!! I wanted to hear the music, but not watch. I felt as though the girl across the way was analyzing me. Seth started to play. His music spoke to me. My soul felt better at that moment.

Seth’s first set was done. He walked outside. I followed to say goodbye. He informed us that he had broken his G-string and needed to fix it. He invited us to hang with him for a few minutes. I asked him for directions home, and he invited us back in.

As he played his second set, many emotions filtered through my body. Silent tears started to flow out of my eyes. I adjusted appropriately. We left as Seth was playing Purple Rain. I often leave at that point. I named my daughter, Raegan Rain, after that song. What a great way to say goodbye.

Sometimes we need a little something to fill our mind, body and soul cravings. What a great outing. It helped me to find a comfort zone. Thanks, Seth!

Thanks for reading. I look forward to highlighting another day in June!

Tiffany

As many of you know, my younger sister has a diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type. I’ve featured Tiffany five times on this blog, and recently invited her to be a regular contributor. At this point, our plan is to have her write a guest post once a month, although there may be occasional months we skip. In her guest posts, Tiffany will document a single day in her life. For the most part, Tiffany has been stable for the past 4 1/2 years thanks to medications and hearty support from our parents, a psychiatrist, psychologist, and other professionals. My hope is that these posts will raise awareness of what it’s like to live with a mental illness. But I’m also hoping these posts will help readers recognize that we all have hopes, dreams, challenges and mountains to climb regardless of our mental health status. Without further ado, I’m pleased to introduce you to my sister, Tiffany. 

When you have mental health issues, every special occasion has one thing in common. WARNING!

I just had my 35th birthday. This year, I wanted to reclaim my identity, my unique fingerprint that makes me an individual. If there is a day any of us should be happy, it’s our birthday. This year, I did not want to be happy all day. I wanted to be purely me.

The prelude to my birthday became a combination of emergencies and celebrations.

The night before my birthday, my kids were getting sick. I rushed my one-year-old, Xander, to urgent care. The doctor diagnosed him with a lung disease called RSV. The doctor said it could be months before the problem cleared itself. My four-year-old daughter, Raegan, was complaining about her ear, but refused to go to the hospital. The morning of my birthday, blood and puss were coming out of her ear. We went into the ER and found out she had a broken eardrum. A significant sized hole was in her ear. They recommended that we come back in ten days for an ENT visit. We followed the recommendations and the hole has healed.

The day of my birthday, I was preoccupied with problem after problem, but felt calm overall.

I watched Facebook pretty closely. I wanted to see who stopped in to say hi. I started to overthink the birthday wishes that were coming in, as I do in a number of situations. Do I push “like” now or later? Do I comment? So in the morning, I started to comment on the birthday wishes. All of the sudden, my phone went dark. A couple hours later, I gave the phone to Raegan and she figured out the malfunction. Then I was able to read and appropriately respond to the Facebook messages again.

The day must go on and hopefully get better! After all, it’s my birthday.

Mid-afternoon, I went to a sports bar with my dad. One of my favorite activities has always been going on “dates” with my dad, so the day was definitely getting better. We communicated our views on life as we often do when we go out together. I started drinking Red Bulls and proceeded to do so the rest of the day, which led to an all-night Red Bull high.

Finally the main event, with my parents babysitting my sick kiddos. I went to a traveling art pub event. The events feature different artists who guide you through making a masterpiece. I arrived early and picked a great seat up front. I had extra room to paint since nobody sat next to me. I painted and painted, and felt as though I was painting out emotions from the day. My painting was used as an example for the class about halfway through. The finished product hangs in a prominent place in my apartment, the bathroom. What a way to end a hectic day. I felt good about getting care for my kids and accomplishing something great at the same time.

The day didn’t go as planned, but I adjusted to the various circumstances that were thrown my way. My birthday felt complete with the cards I received, one from my sister and one from Raegan. My sister’s card said “You’re original, unique, and loved for everything that makes you, you.” Raegan made her card with the mental health professionals that work with her at school and at home. It said “I love mom because she gives good hugs, takes me to dance and piano, and cooks good food.”

This is a glimpse of a day in my life. I’ll be highlighting other days in the future. Thanks for reading!

Tiffany

Today, I’m pleased to present a guest post written by my sister, Tiffany. This is the fourth time Tiffany has been featured on my blog. In July 2012, I shared Tiffany’s six-year journey through significant addiction and mental illness; it was the first post I published on this blog. In December 2013, I posted an update and shared why I felt called to continue writing Tiffany’s story from my perspective as sister. Later that month, following the birth of her second child, I published another post loaded with pictures of the special day. Today, I’ve invited Tiffany to share about her life from HER perspective, in her own words. My hope is that readers will gain a heightened awareness of and sensitivity to mothers and families facing unique life circumstances.

They’re angels. Nobody is hurting and everything is ok. I drop from a plane through the floor, drift at a rapid speed through the clouds. Knowing I’ve been told I’m not going to hit the ground, but not trusting that fact until my parachute comes out. And slowly, I fly back to that quiet place of no hurting or pain, just being.

I am a 34-year-old single mother to two beautiful children. My daughter is almost four years old, and my son is five months old. I have a mental health diagnosis of Schizoaffective Disorder, Unspecified Neurocognitive Disorder, ADHD and Panic Disorder. I dealt with some significant traumas between 2004 and 2010, but life seemed to fall into order when my daughter, Raegan, was born. A sense of genuine purpose was now in my life. Since having kids, I’ve realized I must be strong for them.

I rarely have moments when life seems perfectly clear and obvious. The struggles I have on a daily basis are in my mind. My mind is typically racing in a million ways, with a million thoughts. I’d say my biggest struggles are trust and fear. These are personal downfalls I hope to overcome because I can’t do everything myself. I do trust a few people, but I need to develop an even greater sense of trust. Fear seems to run my life; the constant voices in my mind tell me something horrible is going to happen. My psychologist says that my anxiety helps me be a more cautious person, which can be both positive and detrimental. That being said, I’ve never wanted to change the life God gave me. Never have! I’m able to control my mental illness through medication and proper support. I have learned to understand my mental illness, its triggers and cycles. I apply this knowledge to my daily schedule, taking one day at a time.

The best part of the day is waking up to my kids, eager for another day. The typical day consists of waking up, feeding the kids, making coffee, then taking my medications. We usually talk, sing, dance and play. We tend to find humor amongst our daily duties. We then attend appointments and school and hang out with family and friends. We have a routine, and we’re used to our life. We know no different than what we have.

I live for my kids – for them to be happy, for them to experience life in a way I was never able to because of my mental illness. To know that you’ve been told that everything is going to be fine, just trust that safety will rescue you in any situation. So many nights I wait on call, kind of like a nurse, listening for every breath. Me as their safety, as long as I can be.

The most difficult aspect of being a single mom with a mental illness is wondering if I should have or could have done something different. Though I am doing my best, was I selfish to bring two souls into this world? I feel they selected me to be their mom, but am I everything I could be? Anxiety fills my life, including the thought of losing the kids, them being out of my control, them getting hurt and not being accepted. My kids have been through a lot during their short time on earth, and I only see them growing stronger through each experience. They seem to know just what to say and do. I did not chose to be single or mentally ill. I am living with what God gave me, and I will continue to teach my children to do the same.

I often feel as though others are watching me a little closer and may have negative assumptions about how I am parenting or acting. The extra responsibility that comes with being the only provider, the only nurturer and the only disciplinarian results in additional stress. I never hesitate to ask for help, and I connect with others all the time. Having time to vent is not just a luxury, but a necessity. Prioritizing is key. I focus my energy on what’s important for my family. I always let my children know that I love them and face my mental illness with courage.

I am always working on becoming a stronger person. The support I receive and have chosen to utilize keeps me moving forward.

My dad and mom are consistently there for me. They help physically, mentally and with my finances. They are in the process of training me to be a good parent and to run a household. They are there when I need a few hours in my own world, or need help organizing, cleaning, cooking, or doing laundry. I started receiving disability years ago and mom helps with my finances; she gives me money when needed and pays my bills each month. There is an agency in charge of taking care of financial issues as needed. My mom and dad have also, by example, taught me how to be a nurturing parent. While my mom helps with my laundry and some cooking, she is mostly there for emotional support. My mom and dad both enjoy playing with my kids. My mom enjoys teaching the kids and my dad enjoys the play. Raegan’s favorite activity with grandpa is swinging in his man cave in the garage. My parents don’t like to take on the role of disciplinarian because they want to be grandparents. I never expected to be so dependent on my mom and dad, but I am. They are, in turn, training me. One day, I will have to take over all duties on my own. For now, we appreciate and love them for all they are and all they do. My mom and dad add additional love to our lives and help us in ways unimaginable.

Annie is a tarot card reader and likes to be called “intuitive.” She balances my energy. She seems to always reassure me that everything is going to work out. I see Annie when needed. She always tells me to give what I can. Recently, the lovers card appeared on the bottom of the deck; the bottom card may elude to an issue that is on the client’s mind. She also confirmed that my mom and dad and kids are going to be ok, a worry I often have. She has brought light into my often dark mind.

Michelle is my mental health worker. When she first started working with me in 2008, she thought of me as an introverted, self-absorbed hippie. Years later, I am somewhat of an extrovert, with a reason to live. Years later, I consider Michelle a good friend. She has been there for me once a week for years. She is there to listen to me vent and to give feedback, to attend appointments, to hang out and to help me prepare for life. The goal is to eventually stop utilizing the service she offers, but I am not prepared for that at this time. Maybe in the future?

Jen and Courtney work for Greater Minnesota Family Services. They provide extra support for struggling families and focus on social-emotional well being. We have home visits with them weekly. Raegan will be attending sessions with them once a week this summer.

Jessica works for Early Head Start. She worked with me through pregnancy and now with Xander. She comes to our house once a week. Raegan was in Early Head Start until she was three. She now attends Headstart preschool and will go there until kindergarten.

My kids are my strongest support system. They teach me to never give up on life!

In my world, I fear rejection. Maybe it all comes from not getting invited to a party when I thought I would be? Maybe it’s hearing no, when I thought it’d be a yes. Maybe it’s the fact that sometimes we win, and yes, sometimes we do not.

I hold on to what I can.

I follow my heart in whatever I do.

What I’ve learned from my experiences in life, I hope to pass down to my children. There is a place for everyone in life. You may not always be center stage, nor want to be. Try everything. Be scared! Be scared of consequences, but do not live your life scared.

So I move forward with optimism, knowing that I am someone and I am loved. Knowing that people need me and want to be around me. My mental illness and being single are part of me, but they do not define who I am as an individual.

We were at the laundromat doing laundry with mom. Mom said my laundry looked like a schizophrenic person, so much piled up. I need to work on that. Smile. There was a guy in the laundromat that appeared to be interested in our situation. We talked a bit and I ended up leaving the place. Raegan wanted to stay with mom and was running around and climbing on high chairs. My anxiety heightened, but I tried to stay calm. The obsessive thought of her falling backwards and cracking her head open persisted in my mind. I’ve been thinking about her drowning all day. Drowning is the leading cause of death for children in the United States. I’m not labeled as OCD but the thoughts are intense. Relief, each and every time that no accident occurs. Waiting for disaster. That guy, he continued to ask my mom about my interests as Raegan was screaming at me to leave the laundromat and I’d checked on her three plus times. Mom was inside our place helping put away the laundry. She helps us a lot, and I know that I’m learning from her. We learn, we figure everything out. Two kids scream in the back seat. “Xander stop,” says Raegan. He keeps looking at me. Tears flow out of my eyes. I think of the friendly guy in the laundromat who said “you look like you need some help.” Or the smile from the person beside my car today. The car ride is now over. Raegan gets out and says, “Mom, I love you.” It makes everything worth all the madness. The feeling again, dropping at a fast speed, knowing everything is going to be fine.

I have worked with Tiff for over four years. When we first began, she was single and a free spirit. She had little to no focus to her life. She was in several relationships but was not committed to any one of them. She moved to Mankato, and we lost contact. Approximately one year after she moved, I ran into her at a coffee shop. Her entire demeanor had changed. She told me she had a baby and wanted to work with me again. She had changed her life completely. She has her focus, which appears to be her family (her children and herself). She continues to have her glitches at times, but she asks for help when she needs. She has matured and grown into a loving, caring mother and person. Written and contributed by Michelle, Tiffany’s mental health worker 

*This post wraps up a month-long series titled Motherhood Unraveled where we’ve explored the joys and challenges of mothering. To check out the series, click here and read to the bottom where all the posts are listed and linked. If you’re new to the blog, welcome! I’m glad to have you here! Feel free to explore the rest of the site at your leisure.

On Saturday afternoon, I found my 8-year-old playing with my iPhone. I got a little irritated when I discovered she was fooling around with the alarms. She’d set one to ON, so I turned it OFF. I scrolled through the alarms and when I thought they were all turned off, I took the phone and put it back in my purse.

I woke up at 3:15 a.m. Sunday morning to the alarm going off on my phone.

I literally jumped out of bed. My heart was beating fast and hard. I couldn’t tell where the ring was coming from, so I stumbled in a racing sort of way around the room searching for the phone.

You see, in that moment waking from deep sleep, I didn’t remember my daughter had been fooling around with the alarms. I thought the phone was ringing, and I thought it was my sister calling to say she was in labor.

I finally found my phone and realized it wasn’t my sister calling, but one of those pesty alarms that got by me somehow.

And then I got to thinking, perhaps it was God that woke me this night.

In the middle of the night, woken by an alarm, the one thing that sat in my subconscious sleep-state was my sister. Her life has been the backdrop, the dramatic and always unfolding sub-plot to my life for the past 9 1/2 years. She’s pregnant with her second, due to deliver in five days. And I can’t help but think the story’s still being written.

In the pitch black room, in the dark of the night, in my barely awake state, my heart still racing, the reason I’d been woken was as clear as day.

It’s time to write, Amy. It’s time to write.

WRITE!

I’ve been thinking about those words I wrote about my sister’s journey in 2004-2010. 201 pages, single spaced. 94,271 words. 402,099 characters. And that’s not all. There’s more content in a separate document, more content I’ve published on this blog, a whole host of things that have gone undocumented since I last wrote in October 2010.

Looking back, it seems miraculous I was able to write all that. Surely a coping mechanism, surely the best way for me to process the traumatic events, surely therapeutic. Surely and only written by the grace of God.

I always knew those words were book worthy. But the “book” didn’t have an ending. And to be honest, the thought of reliving those events and getting them in any sort of manuscript form has been overwhelming on all fronts.

But God says….

It’s time to write. The story is still being written.

So I need to write. This week, whether I have time or not, whether it’s convenient or not, I need to open up the document and begin again, on page 202.

Because things have happened, because things are going to happen, because the end of the story has yet to be written.

The scary, the ugly, the completely unknown, the beautiful parts in-between are still unfolding. I’ve recently realized – what if this chapter is the turning point? Do I really want to miss His hand? Would I really want to let the details be forgotten, go untold? My answer has been a reluctant no – the writing of the story is a double living it out. It’s lived in real life, and then it’s lived again on the screen. Sometimes that’s painful and not so pretty. And let’s be real – it’s also a lot of work – and might ultimately serve no purpose except my own release.

But He woke me to say…

It’s time to write. The story is still being written.

Sometimes beautiful, definitely mysterious, and at times utterly confusing, this is just a tidbit of the chapter immediately prior to second baby’s arrival.

I sat at the table in TGI Friday’s, waiting. Tiffany and Stewart were about to arrive. We’d watched my niece, Raegan, for the past day so she’d have experienced sleeping away from her mom when the baby arrives. I looked out the window and there they were. I’d never met Stewart before. They just started dating and I knew very little about this man that came into the life of my 7 1/2-months-pregnant sister. But in an instant, my heart knew everything it needed to know when I looked out the window and caught a glimpse of him opening the door for her.

As the night progressed, my instincts told me – this man is good at his core. He has the potential to be an incredible Godly husband someday. And I felt a possible laying of God’s hands all over this set of circumstances. Because it was SO untimely, SO unlikely, SO seemingly impossible on all levels.

You see, Stewart has a significant history of his own.* His story, much like my sister’s. Stewart has overcome. He’s found healing, grace and forgiveness, yet still finds himself “failing forward” in battle with the enemy. But in my heart of hearts, I’m choosing to believe Stewart is fundamentally a good man who CAN overcome once and for all through the power and strength of Jesus, our Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. 

I’m choosing to let God lead. Because He’s writing the story. He’s writing every word.

Stewart brought a smile to my sister’s face that I don’t remember seeing since 1998.

And He smiled. Well done, good and faithful servant. 

Stewart got my sister laughing in a way I hadn’t heard for years. I didn’t even remember she could laugh like that until I heard it.

And He laughed. Well done, good and faithful servant.

There’s no making up smiles, and there’s no making up laughter either. It’s genuine, or it’s not. When you’ve come from the depths of hell on earth, you recognize real joy when you see it, real joy when you hear it. 

There’s no guarantee for any of us except the promise of heaven. It’s the living between now and then that’s packed-full of possibility.

Stewart’s come on the scene at the most unlikely of times. It doesn’t make sense. It’s hard to believe there could be anything good to come of this relationship. And truth be told, pain has already popped its ugly head.

But I’m believing that there’s something to this, there’s a reason and purpose for these developments. Because anyone who’s able to make my sister smile in a way I haven’t seen in years, and laugh in a way I didn’t even remember was possible – has done something very special in my book. They’ve given me a glimpse of hope.

Even if for one day. One day of hoping, one day of believing, one day of seeing the possible.

For ALL things are possible – in Him.

So I believe.

I believe God is working in my sister.

And I believe God’s working in Stewart as well.

As far as human hearts can tell, their lives lie in the unknown. But a God who’s bigger, greater, stronger – a God who sent his Son to save us from ourselves – is in control.

My planful, controlled, always analyzing spirit wants to know why. Why complicate an already complicated situation, God? Why bring them together when they clearly need to focus on themselves right now, God? Why not later, God, when they’re both healed and whole and wholly yours?

And He says in the quiet…

Don’t ask. You don’t need to know now. The story will unfold. It will take its course. I AM working. Lean not on your own understanding, but Mine. Keep your visions, your dreams, your hopes alive. Tuck them away for safe keeping. And trust in Me.

But in the meantime…

It’s time to write. The story is still being written.

Amy

*Stewart granted me permission to share his story in hopes that it will help even one, but for the protection of my sister and because I’d like to leave room for Stewart to share his testimony on this blog someday, I choose to keep the details private for now.

If you’d like to read more about my sister’s story, click here.