Author: Aimee Eddy

Times are tough. There is a lot going on in our country and in the world. First Covid spread across the world, then shortages plagued our businesses, then people fighting over politics raided the capital, then Russia declared war on Ukraine, and inflation and rising gas prices struck many countries including ours. All of these have taken a toll on people, creating worrying, anxiety, fear, and sadness. Worries plague us all and hit those with mental illness even harder.

I’m a worrier. My husband is always reassuring me that things will be okay. My friend Cheryl says we do a kind of song and dance. I text her my worries, she reassures me with texts, and we do this several times until I calm down. Everything I worry about always turns out for the good and Lou and Cheryl say, “See, we told you everything would be alright.”

When Lou and I were first married, the worries were so bad I would lose sleep, have anxiety attacks, and fall apart. With therapy and my support system, the worrying had gotten better and less debilitating. This year those debilitating worries are threatening to overtake me again. We’ve been having a tough time financially. Things at Lou’s job have changed, and this has taken a toll on our finances. On top of that we’re still paying on some bills from when I had back surgery, our furnace is squealing, and other bills are adding up.

My worries have become like a nagging voice in my mind telling me negative things, obsessing on the same things, making things out to be worse than they are, and embellishing the problems. Once the voice of my worries gets started, it refuses to stop. My muscles tighten, my chest aches, my anxiety heightens, and I lose sleep even with sleeping medication. The voices shout at me, ramping up my fears, and I feel like curling up in a ball. It’s so agonizing to fight the voices. My whole body feels the power of a small worry that turns into a huge one.

In 2020 I started a business by chance. While laid up from back surgery I coped by woodburning Christmas ornaments, and when I said I would give one to a friend, she offered to buy it. Before I knew it, I was selling ornaments, plaques, canvas wrist purses, and much more. I started a group on Facebook to sell my work and my business: “Aimee’s Woodburnings” was started. I love to woodburn and it has been my coping technique through some of my surgeries and is now helping me cope with the worrying.

During Christmas I sold forty-two ornaments. Then during January my sales slowed. In February they began to pick up. This month I have had several orders plus an order for twenty-five crosses. I can’t draw anything but stick figures, so I use patterns to create my designs. There is nothing more exciting to me than the challenge to come up with a design my customers would love. Sometimes I cut patterns and use several of them to create a design. This gets my mind thinking about other things then my worries.

For the crosses I use stencils to put the words “He’s Risen” across the middle of the cross and stencils to decorate the top and bottom half of the crosses. Woodburning relieves my stress and keeps my mind occupied. I get excited when a customer requests something special. My mind starts thinking of what patterns I can use to fill the request. It feels like I have reached a euphoria. I flip through my patterns, I pick the patterns I need, I make copies on my printer, I cut them and position them, and I tape them and carbon paper to the wood. Finally, I trace them to the wood and then I burn them. All of this takes concentration which keeps the worries away.

The money from my small business was originally meant to go towards getting my memoir published, but during these hard times it has helped with groceries and necessities. My small business has been helping me fight my obsessive worrying from getting too overwhelming, and it has helped us out financially. I just love how an idea or a pattern can transform into a beautiful piece of work. It brings me joy to sell my work to people who can give them as gifts or use them to decorate their homes. With each woodburning I feel my worries drift away. I get so engulfed in my work I forget what was bothering me in the first place.

What crafts or activities in your life makes you happy? What things do you like to do that keep your mind occupied? If you’re struggling with overwhelming worries and anxiety, turn to the things that help you cope and keep your mind busy. Find something you enjoy and when worries voice starts nagging you, do that craft or activity that distracts the mind and lifts your spirits. If this doesn’t help with your worrying and your having problems with anxiety and panic attacks, talk to a therapist or psychiatrist.

My small business is therapy to me, and I love doing it. Each order I get helps burn away my worries. Aimee’s Woodburnings helps me stand radiantly in the light of recovery.

If you want to know more about my business leave me a comment.

BY Julie Eddy

I will not be led

Astray or abused

By the vipers of

This world

Their tongues will strike

I will fight

With all my might

Until all the pain

Is gone

I shall shine

From within as the

Truth has won

This poem is written by my mother Julie Eddy. God has touched her soul with poetry. She is a wonderful woman who raised four children. She has eight grandchildren, two great grandchildren, and a third grandchild on the way. She loves antiques and has been married to my dad for fifty-one years. She is a kind woman who gives her heart and soul to her family and friends. I am honored to share her poem with you on my blog.

I’ve written about cognitive distortions in several past blog posts. When struggling with depression, it’s important to know what cognitive distortions are and which ones you struggle with. Many people struggle with a distortion called personalization. It’s when you put the blame on yourself for negative events that are out of your control. This type of thinking leads to a lot of guilt and anguish.

I’ve struggled with personalization throughout my life. In school I struggled with making friendships and when I did make friends, they either turned their backs on me or moved away. When a friend moved away, I blamed myself. My friends moved because I was a loser who deserved to be alone. My friends never wrote me even though I gave them my address because I was a worthless friend to them. Everything was my fault. This caused me a lot of guilt and internal pain. I felt that I wasn’t worthy of friendships. I caused them to leave me. What I didn’t take into consideration was that maybe their parents got better jobs and maybe they didn’t write because they lost my address.

In seventh grade my uncle was in an accident. When I found out about the accident, I wished he’d be injured so kids at school would pay attention to me. When we got the news, he died I automatically blamed myself. I was convinced for the longest time that I was an evil person who wished her own uncle dead. I struggled with this for several years. In eighth grade I struggled with it so much that I thought I was having a mental break down. The guilt and anguish of taking the blame ripped me apart inside. My uncle was run over by a man who had been drinking, yet I blamed myself. It took a school therapist to help me see I was not to blame.

For the longest time when plans with a friend or family member got canceled, I would have a break down. I’d go on a self-destructive path of blaming myself and punishing myself. They canceled because I’m boring to hang around with. Who would like to do something with such an awful person like me? It’s all my fault they canceled. I would curl up in a ball and cry and berate myself. I would try to figure out what I did wrong to make the person not want to be around me. I didn’t even consider that maybe an emergency came up or the person wasn’t feeling well. To me the only possible reason for the plans ending was because I did something wrong.

Blaming myself for things that were out of my control put a lot on my shoulders. I internalized the guilt, the self-hate, and pain. The feelings tore me up inside. Years of blaming myself for the negative events in my life took a toll on me. It led to a lot of crying, to self-injuring, and self-berating, and it was all unnecessary. I tortured myself for no reason.

It’s hard to argue distortive thinking. When the mind is sick, it feels like you have lost all control of your ability to think and reason. Your mind takes on a life of its own. You feel like you’re trapped within its evil wrath, but you’re not. You can fight your thoughts. It’s not easy. First step is to Google cognitive distortions or get the book, Feeling Good The New Mood Therapy by David D. Burns, M.D. and identify the cognitive distortions you struggle with. Once you have identified them, talk to a therapist about how you can learn ways to change this type of thinking.

In therapy I talked about how I used personalization. We talked about situations where I blamed myself for something bad that happened. My therapist helped me learn to reason with myself. I’d write down the situation in my journal and then I would write out the reasons why the event could have gone wrong. Like when my uncle died, I wrote down: a drunk driver ran him over, a wish can’t kill a person, I had no control over how my uncle died and could not have caused his death. Therefore, I was not to blame for his death. It was an awful accident that was out of my control.

My friend canceled our plans to meet for dinner. In my journal I wrote down: she could have been called to work, she may have had a family emergency, her car may not have started, or she may not be feeling well. Writing down the reasons my friend could have canceled helped me avoid guilt and pain.

This sounds easy, but it’s not. Just writing these down doesn’t just make those feeling burning inside you disappear. You also must fight your urge to blame yourself. You have to remind yourself repeatedly that you are not the blame for things that are out of your control. Battling the sick mind is very hard, but you can do it. A therapist will also have other ways you can change cognitive distortions. Your mind doesn’t have to control you: take control of it.

I still find myself struggling at times with cognitive distortions and when I do, I journal, and I talk to my support system. I stand in the light of recovery because I’m willing to fight and take control of my mind.

EMOTIONAL SUPPORT DOGS

We have all heard of service dogs who help disabled individuals with such tasks as being the eyes for a blind person, helping a person in a wheelchair reach things, helping someone with walking, and so on. There are also emotional support dogs who help people with mental illness. These dogs must be prescribed by a mental health professional like a psychiatrist, psychologist, or a therapist. These dogs develop a special connection with people who struggle with mental illness. They give them something to focus on, they give compassion, they help ease anxiety, they give companionship, and much more.

All dogs give endless love; they give you a reason to get out of bed and they seem to know when you are sad, hurting, or sick. Dogs are very good at sensing what their human owners are feeling and what they need. Any dog of any age can be an emotional support dog. They are not technically emotional support dogs unless prescribed, but if your dog gives you the emotional support you need, then she or he is to you your emotional support dog.

Someone I know was recently prescribed an emotional support dog. This made me think of the dogs I’ve had in my life. They weren’t prescribed to me, but they gave me the emotional support I needed to deal with my depression, anxiety, and Borderline Disorder. Each dog supported me in different stages of my illnesses. They gave me the love, comfort, support, and strength to face mental illness.

My first dog came to me during one of the darkest times in my life. I was living with my abusive ex-boyfriend. He had a dog that he protected fiercely but didn’t take good care of. The dog was a pest and often flea-ridden. I couldn’t stand the dog. When my boyfriend brought home another dog named Daisy, who had been sprayed by a skunk, I was mad. She was a dachshund whom the neighbors found wandering the neighborhood. She was determined to be my dog. She nudged my hand with her nose until I pet her, she followed me around the house, and slept beside me.

My need for Daisy’s comfort grew the more abusive my boyfriend became, and the sicker I got. When I lay in bed with no willpower, she nudged me with her nose until I got up. She gave me endless love and snuggled in my arms when I cried. She was determined to show my boyfriend she hated him by pooping under his desk, ripping things of his apart, and even nipping at him. When I was hospitalized, she wouldn’t eat and that gave me a reason to get better so I could come home to her.

After Daisy passed on it took me a while before I was ready for another fur baby. When I was ready, my parents told me if I picked out a dog, they would help me with the costs for adoption. I found a picture of a rat terrier named Brandi online. My mom took me to see her, and I just knew she had to be mine. Brandi was a younger dog than Daisy and required more exercise and play time. She kept me active. She gave me a reason to go for walks, to play fetch, and to keep moving each day. She gave me extra attention when I dipped down into depression episodes. I was past the worst of my illness when I got Brandi, but I was stuck in an endless loop of depression. Brandi gave me a reason to keep fighting.

Brandi didn’t like men, but when I started dating my husband Lou, she warmed right up to him. When we got married, I had a hard time being alone when Lou was at work, and I worked later or had days off. I had difficulties adjusting to the new life I was living. Brandi gave me companionship. She made the lonely days more bearable and gave me a reason to get out of the house by giving her walks. She gave me something to focus on.

After Brandi passed my heart broke, but Lou knew how much I needed the strength, love, and support from a dog. He saw a dog on the news and recorded the section about the dog. When I came home from work, he showed me a clip about a Jack Russell named Elli. I just had this feeling she had to be mine. I had my sister-n-law take me to the animal shelter a half hour before it opened so I could make sure I was the first to adopt her. Jack Russells are known to be a high energy dog, but Elli was so mild and loving. She was much smaller than my other dogs and loved to cuddle.

I was working towards recovery when Elli came into my life, but I was struggling with obsessive worries about finances and other things. I began having anxiety attacks that made me sick. Elli’s endless love and snuggles gave me comfort. She knew when I was having a rough time and she snuggled right up to me. The feel of her soft fur beneath my hand and her warm body in my lap helped ease some of my anxiety. She gave me strength to find help for my anxiety attacks. As I went through tests to rule out other medical conditions and started on medication to help with my anxiety, I had my Elli to snuggle up with. She gave me strength, comfort, and support.

Six months after Elli died, we found Esther at an animal shelter. Once again, I saw her and knew she was the one I wanted. Not too long after I got her, I had a tendon repaired in my ankle. Each day I lay on the couch and she lay beside me. When my husband tried to get her to go outside or eat, she refused to leave me. My husband had to carry her out or feed her on the couch beside me. Since she’s been in our lives, she’s stuck at my side through breast cancer, back surgery, and carpal tunnel surgery. For each surgery she has brought me comfort with the emotional roller coasters the surgeries put me through. She snuggled up to me when I cried over the loss of my breasts. She always knows when I’m hurt, sad, sick, or just need extra attention.

If your therapist prescribes an emotional support dog, then find the right dog for you. Even if you’re not prescribed one, then find a dog of your own. Dogs are great emotional support. If you’re not a dog person, investigate another pet.

My dogs were never prescribed to me, but they were and are my emotional support dogs. Each one played an important role in helping me reach recovery. I stand in the light of recovery with Esther at my side and the memories of my Daisy, Brandi, and Elli in my heart.

When you are stuck at the bottom of the hole of depression, it’s hard to see anything as good. Good things may happen in your life, but you’re too blinded by negativity to see them. Your thoughts concentrate on what went badly and you totally miss the thing or things that were positive. This is “disqualifying the positive.” An example is you’re giving a speech and you stumble over a few words, but everyone claps and cheers at the end. You think I screwed up the whole speech. My speech sucked. I couldn’t even say a couple of words. You failed to see that despite your mistake, everyone loved your speech.

When my depression was at its worst, I disqualified the positive a lot. In high school I struggled with depression and bullying. I became determined to prove to everyone I was intelligent, but my mind was at war with itself. I worked hard to get passing grades. Passing meant everything to me. I studied for hours for a test and if I only got a “C,” I berated myself. I’m a failure. They are right; I’m stupid. I’ll never go anywhere with that grade. I failed to see it was a passing grade and all the other grades I got in that class were “A’s” and “B’s”. I couldn’t see past one lower grade.

In college I was passing all my classes with high grades, but when it came to calculus, I couldn’t pass no matter how hard I tried. Even when I got a tutor, it still did not make sense to me. I tried everything to get a good grade, but all I could do was get an “F”. My learning disability made math very hard for me and it made calculus like a foreign language to me. I needed to pass calculus to graduate. I had to go to a specialist to prove I had a learning disability to waive the class so I could graduate. I thought, I failed. I’m so dumb. I couldn’t pass one class on my own. I’m so stupid they had to waive a class so I could graduate. I’m a retard like they said I was in school. What I failed to see was I passed all my other courses with high grades, and I at least tried to pass calculus. I also got to graduate.

When I graduated, I just had a humanities degree, so I stayed at the grocery store where I worked. I started in the bakery, then I moved up to the front of the store as a bagger and later got trained as a cashier. I had planned to go on to a four-year college and become a reporter, but my learning disability and mental illness made going on further in college impossible. I stayed on as a cashier. I still worked on my writing, and I joined a writing group to help me improve. I attended writing workshops and conferences. I even had a few short stories published, but I couldn’t see the positive. I kept thinking, I failed. I’m just a worthless cashier. I’m a nobody. What I failed to see was I got a degree despite my disability and my illness, I was still perusing my writing, and I was working a job when in high school and elementary they said I’d be on welfare. I couldn’t see that I was still following my dream to be a published author and my life had an exciting new path.

Even now I sometimes find myself disqualifying the positive. In my writing group we go around and each of us gives our critique of an author’s writing. Others pick out small mistakes and details that need to be fixed or improved. I have a hard time finding such things in another author’s works. My learning disability makes editing hard for me. When the leader of the group goes from person to person I’m thinking, please skip me. I’m no good. I’m not smart enough to give a good critique. I have no idea what to say. I have nothing to say that will help the author. When I start thinking this, I must fight that thinking. I start to think about what I can say about the story like how much I enjoyed the plot and characters. I have to remind myself that even telling the author about a section I liked and a section I may have misunderstood is positive and good feedback. I can still give a valuable critique even if I can’t pick out the small stuff.

If you find you are disqualifying the positive, sit down and list the positive. Say you made a mistake at work and you automatically think you are a failure. Sit down and list the good things you have done at work. If you got a low grade in your class, list the grades you have gotten before that one low grade. Within all negative things there is a positive. Celebrate the accomplishments you made instead of focusing on the mistakes. So what if you mispronounced a word while giving a speech. Celebrate that everyone clapped and cheered at the end of the speech. They probably didn’t even notice your error.

Sometimes I fall into the rut of disqualifying the positive and when I do I list the positives in my journal. I talk with my support system that reminds me of the positive and I continue to fight the thoughts that threaten to push me back into that hole. Because each day I fight my illness and find ways to see the positive, I stand in the light of recovery.

When I left high school, I thought I had my life all planned out. I would go to a two-year college and then onto a four-year college. After college I would become a reporter for a big newspaper or a television news show. I had big dreams and expectations, but life had another plan for me.

My dreams were quickly shattered. I didn’t realize how hard college would be with my learning disability or how unprepared I was for college’s curriculum. Most of all I didn’t expect mental illness to get in my way. I dragged myself from class to class, throwing up in the bathrooms from anxiety attacks, fighting to keep my eyes open from lack of sleep, and so depressed that I wanted to die. I studied endless hours while injuring myself and planning my death.

It wasn’t until I got stuck at college and put up in a shelter during a snowstorm that I realized I needed to take a break from college. Everyone in the shelter was so nice, but I couldn’t stop crying. I was an hour from home, and I felt more depressed and alone than ever. My parents drove up to get me and I told them I couldn’t keep going to college like that. When the semester ended, I took time off and started working.

First, I started at a fast-food restaurant a half hour from home. Because of my learning disability they only let me do the fries and clean tables. I was scheduled three or two days a week for very few hours. I couldn’t afford the gas so with the help of a program that helps people with disabilities, I found a new job at a grocery store. I started in the bakery.

The bakery manager was loud; he yelled a lot and it scared me. I had to learn the prices of the baked goods in the case, and I couldn’t remember them, and I didn’t speak unless I had to. Keep in mind I was bullied in high school and the manager’s yelling took me back to those days when I was abused. I was forcing myself out of bed to go to work and a few times messed up my schedule. A couple days I thought I was off when I wasn’t and some days I came in too late. I thought I would get fired, but they kept me. Personnel told me I was making too many mistakes in the bakery, so they moved me to the front of the store as a bagger.

I thought being a bagger would be perfect for me. I could silently put groceries in bags and go on unseen and heard, but it didn’t work that way. The guys training me were jokesters and kept joking around with me until I forged a smile. They told me I had to ask customers if they needed carry outs and tell them to have a nice day. I had to speak. I couldn’t hide in my internal misery. My first customer while bagging on my own complained about me to a manager. I was in tears. I went home that night and injured alone in my room.

In the meantime, I was seeing a therapist who told me I was injuring to hurt the people I loved. When I kept coming home from therapy in tears, my mother got mad and told the therapist I would no longer be seeing her. She went on a search to find me a new therapist. I had just started at the grocery store and had no insurance and wasn’t making a lot of money. Finding a therapist I could afford was a challenge.

My mom went to a hospital in another state to ask for help and they referred her to a therapist. The therapist had a sliding fee. They let me pay what I could afford. A psychiatrist in the same office found a program where I could get my antidepressants free.

I worked, I went home, and I went to therapy. I was so depressed and hopeless I couldn’t see beyond my inner hell, but I dragged myself to my job each day. My illness couldn’t take away my determination. I put my all into my job and therapy. My number one goal was to get better so I could return to college and get my degree. To do that I had to tell my therapist my deepest secrets and do the work she gave me to do. She educated me about my illness with VHS tapes on depression. She taught me ways to combat my bad thinking and had me read and do the techniques in Feeling Good: The New Mood Therapy by David D. Burns, M.D.

The cashiers at work began talking to me until I started talking to them. They started making plans with me after work. A group of us would go bowling until 2:00 A.M. and then I would go to work at 8:00 A.M. For the first time in my life, I had a lot of friends, I was having fun, and the customers loved me. The customer who told on me to the manager started becoming a regular customer. The more fun I had, the more my depression began to lift. Then for the first time in my life a guy asked me out and before I knew it, I had a boyfriend.

My therapist had me wear a rubber band around my wrist. If I thought bad thoughts or felt like injuring, I was to snap myself. The rubber band helped distract my mind and it helped me stop injuring. Within six months my therapist said I no longer needed her, and she was taking me off my antidepressants. What I didn’t know at the time was a therapist never takes you off your antidepressants. My therapist warned me that within in a few years my illness would come back, and I would need to seek help.

For those few years I enjoyed life; I went back to college, I worked my job on the weekends, I became a cashier, and I graduated from college. When I went to invite my therapist to my graduation her office was empty, and no one had ever heard of her. I didn’t go on to a four-year college or become a journalist. Instead, I became a beloved cashier, a good friend, an author, and a well-loved wife. I did go through mental illness again, but I worked my way to the light of recovery and have been in recovery for several years.

I continue to fight my mental illness, I’m working hard to get my memoir ready for publication and I write my own weekly blog. I had plans for my life, but God and life had other plans for me. I stand proudly in the light of my accomplishments and in the life that I didn’t plan, but the life I love.

Friendships come in many forms. Some are temporary, some are work friends, some are good friends, and some friendships are special. Special friendships don’t come easily. You are two different people and sometimes you have differences of opinions and sometimes you hurt each other, even though you don’t mean to. When you have mental illness, friendships become harder to maintain. With mental illness sometimes boundaries get over stepped, small misunderstandings become huge tragedies, fear of abandonment strikes, and so on.

I have many very good friends in my life. I have two I’m real close to. Cheryl is like a sister to me. She’s seen me at my worst and at my best. She’s always there for me. She was even at my side when I couldn’t support her. We call each other sis.

My other friend, I’ll call Sandy, is very dear to me also. We both write memoirs. She has several books published and knows a lot about the publishing industry. She gives me advice, she inspires me, and she is a mentor to me, but she also is much more. She has been reading my blog and has also become a part of my support team. She too is like family to me. We have developed a special bond and each night we message each other and talk about writing, our lives, and so on.

Sandy got a new job. She’s working in the same chain of grocery store as I am, but in a different location. I work in Harborcreek, a suburb of Erie Pennsylvania, and she works in a small community forty-five minutes from Erie. Sandy is vision impaired. She can see, but it’s like tunnel vision. Working as a cashier has been a challenge and a culture shock. Working with the public is hard and she has dealt with mean customers. She has been doing well but has been confiding in me about her workdays.

I admire Sandy for taking on the challenge of being a cashier with her vision loss. One night while on messenger she was telling me about her day. I typed something about my day, but she missed it. I made a comment about it. I thought I was being as nice as possible. Her reply was, “I’m taking a break from people.” I apologized several times with no answer.

Then the next day I heard nothing from her. We went from messaging each other practically every day to nothing. My mind went wild. Negative thoughts, self-punishment, cognitive distortions, and fear I was being abandoned took over.

Sandy is one of my best friends and mentor and I was such an idiot. I hurt her. I ruined our friendship. She’ll never talk to me again. I tried to say it nicely, but I screwed up big time.

I texted my fears to Cheryl, and she replied, “You didn’t mess up. She just needs space. Let her be and maybe in a couple days message her without expecting a reply.”

Another day went by. Anguish and fear filled me. I agonized over the message I sent her. I read it several times trying to figure out how I could have worded it differently. I began to punish myself.

You’re such a jerk. Look what you have done you idiot, you ruined a really good friendship. You don’t deserve friends. You just hurt people. She’ll never forgive you and it’s all your fault. You always hurt people. You’re a mess. You don’t deserve friends.

I messaged her if she needed anything I was there and no reply.

I texted Cheryl, “I said the wrong thing to Sandy. I was trying to be nice. I guess I shouldn’t have said anything. Everyone abandons me. She left me. Our friendship is over.”

Cheryl used my blog posts to help me. She typed, “No she didn’t. Stop. You are magnifying and using distorted thinking. Just give her space and she’ll come around.”

The next day I still heard nothing from Sandy. Lou insisted I call her and talk it out. I did, but no answer. I went back to the self-defeating thinking.

It’s no use. Our friendship is over. What will I do without her? She helps me so much with my memoir and now she’s gone. How could I mess up such a special friendship? How could I hurt her? I am worthless.

I told Lou how I felt, and he decide to message her. He told her that I missed her and I needed her. He asked her to please contact me. She didn’t answer and Lou went to bed. Later that night he came down to tell me she messaged him that she would call me the next day. I got out of work early the next night and messaged her I was home. I waited in agony for her to call and she did.

I told her I didn’t mean to hurt her. She said that is in the past and asked if Lou and I would like to go out to dinner with her brother and her next week. We talked for a bit and when we hung up, I felt all the pain I put myself through float away. Cheryl told me she knew it would work out. I agreed she was right, and I should have listened to her. She understood once the thoughts get started, I have a hard time stopping them.

When you can’t control your thoughts, it’s good to have a support team who can help you. Cheryl and Lou helped me reason with my thinking. They helped me calm down even for a moment. It helps to have people to support you and to tell you when your thinking is distorted. Without Lou’s and Cheryl’s help I may have been totally engulfed in my distorted thinking and could have slipped back down that hole.

Even in recovery mental illness plays its games. It took control of me for a bit, but with help I rose above it. My support team helped me stay in the light of recovery.

Losing weight is one of the hardest journeys a person can go on. It’s easy for doctors to tell you to lose weight. They’re not the ones who have to cut down portions, change eating habits, find the motivation to exercise, and start a diet and keep to it. Many struggle with weight loss. They find it hard to keep to an exercise regiment, to keep to a diet, and to give up foods they love. Some lose a lot of weight then get off track and gain it back. A weight loss journey can be trying on a person emotionally, since it’s an emotional battle as well as a physical battle.

In 2020 I was so proud of myself. My doctor told me I needed to lose weight to have surgery to fix a broken bone in my back. My friend Denise and I began to walk. We even did a 14-mile walk. It nearly killed me, but I did it. I changed my diet. I began to make protein shakes to help with hunger, I started cutting down my portions, and I ate more fruits and vegetables. I lost over thirty pounds.

I was so proud of my accomplishment. I was able to have my surgery. I was pretty laid up after surgery and had some complications that made recovery take longer. In the meantime, I gained some of my weight back, but I was positive once my back healed, I would lose it again. After a year of healing, I was finally able to work out again with Denise. With screws in my back there were some limitations to my exercise routine, but Denise was good at finding ways around them.

Then in September 2021 I was diagnosed with osteoporosis caused by hormone therapy I was taking from breast cancer. My oncologist told me the osteoporosis was worst in my lumbar area and was the cause of the bone breaking in my back. I could no longer lift more than 10 lbs. I couldn’t do the rigorous exercises I had done with Denise. The oncologist told me to do weight-bearing exercises, walk, and to be careful not to fall.

I continued to walk to work, but I lost my drive to lose weight. Instead, I allowed my mind to take over. I magnified my situation. I began to fear breaking a bone. I even began daydreaming of situations where I would fall and break my back. I no longer felt strong. Instead, I felt like a porcelain doll who could break if I wasn’t taken care of properly. I went from working full size register to working express. My self-esteem plummeted and I fell off my weight loss journey.

What if I trip down the stairs in my home in the morning and break my back? Would I lie in pain for hours until my husband got out of work and found me? What if while walking to work I trip and land on my back, breaking it? Would someone stop to help me? Would I be able to reach into my pocket to get my phone and call 911? What if I slip at work and break my back and must be taken out in an ambulance? What if I must have a second surgery, but this time I have to learn to walk again? I became convinced that I was going to end up breaking my back again and it was just a matter of where and when.

I was using the fortune teller error type of cognitive distortions. I was convinced that things were going to turn out bad and I believed it was going to be true. I believed I would fall and end up having another back surgery. I felt helpless. I also magnified the seriousness of my illness. Osteoporosis is serious but not as bad as I made it out to be in my mind. I saw it as a end to my weight loss journey. How could I work out if I could break something?

As I struggled with my emotions, I fell off my diet and have gained almost all my weight back. I keep saying tomorrow I’ll go back to my diet, but tomorrow comes and I find myself snacking on foods I shouldn’t. I stopped exercising except walking to work when the weather is nice.

This Christmas my husband got a bonus from work. We agreed to purchase an exercise bike. I have been working on cleaning out a space in our living room so we can put it together. My friend Cheryl has one and we agreed to do virtual workouts on the bike. I can’t do the exercises I did before, but I can still work out. I need to lose this weight to protect my back. I’m working on rekindling that determination that helped me lose weight for surgery. I’m also fighting those cognitive distortions and my fears by journaling out my feelings and talking to my support team. When I start daydreaming of possible ways I could get hurt, I tell myself to stop and then I try to focus on something positive.

If you fell off your weight loss journey, don’t give up. Dig deep down inside you and find your strength to get back on that journey. If you’re struggling with your thoughts and emotions then use coping techniques to get through them and get back in the “I will lose weight” frame of mind. You can lose weight and keep it off. I know you can do it.

I’m determined to use my exercise bike each day once we put it together. I’m going to work harder at my diet, and I will combat my fears and negative thoughts. I will lose weight in 2022. My determination will help me stand in the light of 2022 as a skinnier and healthier woman.

    2021 ended, and we ushered in 2022. Do you look back at 2021 and think of all the bad things that happened? Do you reflect on the good things, or do you look ahead? Many make resolutions they never keep in the new year. Many plans on starting diets, declare they will exercise more, decide they will tighten their budgets, and so on. Some of the resolutions get off to a good start and then the person loses interest. We can make resolutions we never follow through with or we can look at a new year as a new beginning.

     The past years have been rough for me with surgeries, illnesses, and loss of loved ones. It’s easy to worry that a new year will bring more problems and heartaches. It would be easy for me to fear 2022. I’m already having problems with my carpal tunnel in my left wrist. It hurts, and I must take several breaks to get the feeling back in my fingers. I had surgery on my right hand in 2021 and I’m worried about how long I can go without having surgery on my other hand. That would be my tenth surgery. I don’t want another surgery. I could dwell on this or think about the new year in a more positive light.

     What new things can I do? What changes can I make to my life? How can I take a leap into a new beginning? 2022 doesn’t have to be another bad year. I could have another surgery, but by doing the surgery, I would be without pain. I could instead of worrying about surgery  focus on finishing edits of my memoir. In the new year my new beginning could be me holding my first book and autographing it. There is always a better way to look at the negative side to life and life’s challenges.

I don’t want to think of the New Year as another bad year. I want to think of it as a year with new beginnings. This is my year to shine in my writing and speaking. It’s my year to try new things and make new memories. I’ve been through so much and the health problems seem to keep popping up. I could worry that more problems will come, but I choose to look at the brighter side. I can’t live my life worrying if another health problem or tragedy is going to happen.

2021 wasn’t totally bad year. I finished writing my memoir, my book went through its first round of edits, I rekindled some old friendships, and my right hand no longer hurts when I write. I accomplished that despite having another surgery, finding out I have osteoporosis and working on the front line as a cashier as we continue to face covid. I have a whole year to make many strides in my life. I will grow, learn from my mistakes, and take new steps.

This could be your chance to start your life over. 2022 can be the year you take control of your mental illness and find recovery, it can be the year you kick breast cancer in the butt, it can be the year you start a life with the man of your dreams, and much more. It’s a new year and your chance for a new beginning. Welcome 2022 with open arms, big dreams, and much more, and reach beyond the inner pain for a new start.

Don’t look back at the bad things that happened in 20121 and dwell on them. Instead, cherish the good things and reach for a better year. Start something new; do something new. 2022 is your year to shine.

I’m not going to look at 2022 as the year I may have another surgery. Instead, I’m going to look at it as a new start with lots of new steps and dreams. I’m going to see it as the year I will have my first book published and my dreams will come true. The light of 2022 is bright, and I am dancing in the light of a new beginning.