My Biggest Blessings

In case I haven't said enough how incredibly great this man I married is, I'm gonna say it some more. And here's proof that I'm not just biased.
Two and a half hours before I was supposed to be done with work, Tucker texted to tell me that Annie just woke up from her nap and that he was coming to pick me up so we could all go get ice cream.
Cue the tears of relief and gratitude for such an amazing husband who is so willing to serve and love and rescue and lift and carry. He does so much for our family and pretends like it's no big deal. But it is a big deal. And he's great.
He told me that his only stipulation to go get ice cream was that I had to blog about it. So I told him we had to take pictures too, of course.

Please laugh at Annie with me in this next series of shots.

She dove right in!

...so violently, that ice cream got shoved up her nose...

And then, when I got down to the cone, she stole it from me and went to town.

But at least she still offered to share!

And when she noticed that Tucker got down to his cone, she stole his, too!

She's our child, alright!
But the surprises didn't end there! Once we were back in the car, Tucker told me we were going to spend the evening watching Harry Potter. Just because we can.
So we borrowed the movies, popped some popcorn, bought a couple boxes of Mochi ice cream, and settled in for the night.
Before bed tonight, he asked me again if there's anything he can do for me.
I might not have it all together, but with this teeny girl, and with a best friend who's always got my back and will be there loving me and supporting me no matter what, I've definitely got it all.

Today's a 2

Today's a bad day. And that's ok. You don't have to read if it makes you uncomfortable.
I don't post about it to get sympathy or pity or attention.
I post about it because I believe in being real and because of the personal messages of thanks I get from people who thought they were the only one struggling.



It started out being a really good day.
Our schedule has been working great, and we've really noticed improvements.
I woke up and got out of bed. We had couple prayer before Tucker kissed me and headed out the door. I did yoga. I ate breakfast. I studied the scriptures while Annie slept in. It was glorious.
And then at 8:30, a wave of exhaustion hit me out of nowhere, and I zonked out on the couch for an hour. At 9:30, I woke up to Annie crying in her crib so I stumbled through the kitchen to go get her. I could barely walk and took her back to my room where I collapsed onto the bed again for another hour while she switched between nursing, playing, and watching Curious George. At 10:30, she woke me up because she was starving and bored, and I was neglecting her. And being the awesome mom that I am (heavy sarcasm), I got annoyed with her and was irritable. I stuck her in her highchair and searched for something fast and easy to give her. The last banana had been eaten, so I decided to whip up some baby food pancakes real fast. And that failed over and over again into a lumpy, partially burned, mostly gooey mess. All-the-while, she just got more impatient and upset. I gave up after the 3rd attempt and just poured some fruit mix baby food into a reusable pouch and handed it to her. She went through 3 jars of it, poor girl.
And then Tucker texted me that he was on his way home earlier than planned. He swooped in and rescued me, sending me to work and taking over toddler duty, which included a poopy diaper and a giant puddle of milk spreading from the open sippy cup under the high-chair. I really don't deserve him.
The day got a little better. I like work because it's secluded and I have tasks to focus on. But seclusion can also be bad because then the anxiety kicked in, and I started feeling really guilty for leaving Tucker such a mess and being so depressed and forcing him to step up more than he should have to. And then it snowballed. The argument from last night that was totally forgotten this morning began to replay in my head and weigh me down. I checked my bank account and started stressing about money. Images from fitful and stressful dreams the night before floated up in my memory. The worst part of it is the guilt.
I want so badly to pull out of it. To stand up and say, "This is over," and suddenly be Karli again. I want to be fun. I want to be spontaneous. I want to be happy. I want to be strong. I want to be fierce. I want to be stable. I want to not be a burden. I want to be me.

Life Lesson #78917892428: Don't Try to Ween Yourself Off Your Depression and Anxiety Meds Without Talking to Your Doctor

I didn't mean to.

I just kept forgetting to go pick up my refill.

And then I thought, "What if....?"

What if I'm better?

What if I'm not a crazy lady anymore?

What if I can be me again without any "help"?

So I decided to experiment.

I just didn't go get the refill.

Monday was not so bad. By midday, I started to have some weird vertigo episodes and head rushes and increased heart rate. All normal withdrawal effects so I wasn't worried.

I knew Tuesday would be harder when I woke up with my head spinning. I got to work just fine, but staring at a computer screen only made things worse. I broke into my migraine emergency Diet Coke storage hoping a surge of caffeine would help, but I didn't notice much of a difference. Throughout the day, the symptoms just got worse.

Besides the withdrawal crap, I could feel myself starting to sink.

It's a weird experience feeling the depression and anxiety creeping in. It's a bit like standing on a beach, and as the waves wash under  you, your feet sink lower and lower in the sand. If you stay there long enough, you're stuck up to your calves. Or it's a little like being a bug in a glass jar watching the walls getting taller and taller above you. The more you search for an escape, the more frantic you get. And trying to sit and remain calm isn't doing you any good either because the glass just keeps getting taller. So you might as well freak out. Right?

Tuesday got worse and worse. By mid-afternoon, I called in my prescription and asked Tucker to go pick it up before the pharmacy closed. By 5:00, I was so done with the day, and I still had one class left. I sat in the back, trying to hold things together. Juries were the next morning, and my music wasn't memorized. Not only that, but what text had been in my head started slipping out. Sheets of music and words started jumbling together. If I paused for a second, I could feel the tightening in my throat start. So I just didn't stop. I paced in the back, muttering French lyrics over and over until it was my turn to sing in front of the class. I tried. The lyrics weren't in my brain anymore. But I still had until the next morning.

Tucker picked me up from class at 7:00. The last day of the semester. Over. It started to rain, and I got pretty damp in the 20 feet to the car. I climbed in and exhaled, slumping down into my seat. He surprised me by driving to pick up pizza for an end-of-semester celebration and shared some really incredible news with me. I tried so hard to be happy for him, but I was exhausted. While he went inside to get the pizza, I climbed in the back to feed Annie. Suddenly, I just felt everything all at once. I tried to cry, but my sobs were mostly dry. I just wanted to curl up with a blanket and sleep forever. Back at home, we ate pizza and watched TV, and Tucker tried to cheer me up. I tried to make a joke, but it came out mean and biting. Then I started to cry for real.

That's when Tucker stood up, took the baby, and said, "Alright! That's it! Where did I put your meds?!"

After a couple minutes, he brought me a pill with some water.

We took it easy the rest of the evening.

I put Annie to bed and eventually went to bed myself.

The next day, Tucker and I had a talk about how important it is for me to take my meds. I need them to function. I need them to be happy and calm. I need them to be able to handle everyday life.

Ok then.

I realized that despite knowing there's no shame in being dependent on medication, I didn't actually believe it. It annoys me that I can't be my normal self without that little pill. Why can't I just tell myself to chill out and be able to move on? Why does my brain build trivial, little issues into huge, insurmountable fortresses with armed guards and long-range archers waiting to shoot me down? Why does Annie's crying stress me out more than other moms and babies? Why is a mildly cluttered house fine one day and turning me into an impatient, panicky monster the next?

I don't know.

But I'm working on being ok with it.

And by ok, I mean happy.

I'm already ok with it.

But I need to be happy with it.

This is who I am now. Maybe just until I'm done breastfeeding. Or maybe forever.

Doesn't matter either way.

Time to accept it and stop waiting for the someday when I'm not dependent on meds anymore.

Because for all I know, that day might never come.

But who cares?

Because I can be happy right here. Right now.

Seven Months of Memories, Milestones, and Motherhood: Part 1

I remember the first time I walked home from work and it felt different. The gravel crunched under my feet, the leaves were changing from emerald to russet, the air - unusually warm for autumn - was clear and fresh, and for the first time, I was actually excited to get home to my baby.

It was mid-October. Annie was nearly 3 1/2 months old. And I'd just started a medicine to treat post-partum depression and anxiety.

Like any other pregnant lady, I did a lot of reading during those nine months. I knew about post-partum depression, that it was a real thing, and even knew several women who'd gone through it. Like most other potential issues, the "what if...?" crept into my thoughts on more than one occasion, but I tried not to dwell on it. No use worrying about things before you even know if it will apply to you.

So baby came and things were happy. We were tired and learning, but happy. Life was predictable, full of snuggles and naps and diapers and spit-up and poop and laundry and greasy hair. My body slowly healed, and within a few weeks, I was able to pull out my pre-pregnancy jeans if I actually felt like getting ready. Family visited. We attended a funeral and two weddings. And we just kept trucking along.

But the thought kept creeping in, "Why don't I like this? Shouldn't I like this?" I always looked forward to becoming a mother. All growing up, I heard, "Oh, you'll be such a wonderful mother someday!" And I believed it. Like I mentioned before, I was basically as prepared as possible, what with all the siblings and cousins I grew up with. I could do motherhood no problem, but being was a whole different issue. One that I was totally unprepared for.

I trusted those around me who said the first few weeks are the hardest, and that things would slowly become easier and more enjoyable. "It's just the baby-blues," they said, "Everyone goes through it." "Yes, it's hard, but isn't it just the most rewarding feeling?!" As the weeks went by, I began to resent the good-natured encouragement and looks of sympathy. The worst was "Oh honey, just give the baby to someone for a couple hours so you can take a nap. Sleep works wonders! You'll feel better!" First of all, I slept all snuggled up with Annie. I was probably sleeping 14+ hours a day most days and still felt exhausted. Sleep was NOT the issue. And second, I had no one to just give the baby to. Tucker worked. Friends moved. Family lived out-of-state. And I wanted to be the one taking care of her anyway - gotta love all those conflicting new-mom emotions.

Facebook didn't help any either. There were a few moms who'd given birth around the same time I did. I'd followed them through their pregnancies, feeling the same sense of excitement, looking forward to the journey ahead. I hated their happy, bubbly posts about how motherhood was the most beautiful thing in the world and came so naturally to them. I hated their cutesy crafts and perfect nurseries and handmade baby bows. I hated their perfectly captured month updates. And I hated myself for being so juvenile and not just being happy for them.

I was falling apart.

September arrived, family left, and school started. And the anxiety attacks became more frequent. Two or three times a week, I'd find myself huddled on the floor, fists knotted in my hair, hyperventilating. I resorted to holding Annie 15+ hours a day because I couldn't handle hearing her cry. Logically, I knew she'd be fine, but my nerves couldn't take it, and my brain was flooded with nonsense. But sometimes, even holding her wouldn't help, and I'd just get so frustrated. I'd be mad at myself because I couldn't help, I'd be mad at Annie because she needed me to help, and then I'd be even more mad at myself for getting upset with this beautiful, perfect, teeny blessing. It was a vicious cycle that often woke Tucker up a couple hours before he had to be at work. He'd take her from me with a worried look, not saying anything, and I'd flee the room wanting to punch holes through all the walls and pull my hair out.

In moments of clarity, I was just barely clinging to sanity. I'd see old pictures of myself and want to be that girl again so desperately. I wasn't me. Even more, I felt guilty because I wasn't who Tucker loved and married either. But he was there. For better or for worse. He gave me blessings when I asked for them. He stayed up until the baby was asleep so I could have a few minutes with him. I could see in his eyes that he missed me and that he was trying so hard to not let me see how hard it was on him, too. He had to be the strong one, which just made me feel more guilty.

The conflicting new-mom emotions of wanting to give this precious baby all of me while at the same time wishing there was an escape button, the resentment, the frustration, the exhaustion, the guilt...
It all just ate away at me.

The thought of seeking medical attention entered my mind occasionally, but I kept telling myself it would get better. The first couple months were fine so it couldn't be post-partum related, right?

Early October, I finally just decided to try it. I wanted answers so I made an appointment at the doctors office. They had me fill out some paperwork and answer some questions to assess my mental state. We sat in silence while the doctor tallied up the score. I liked her. She wasn't one of those sickly sweet doctors who look at you with pity. She was real. She'd been where I was. And she assured me things would get better. Because I was dealing with anxiety as well as depression, she filled a prescription that would take care of both and gave me the number for the counseling center.

I was surprised at how quickly it worked. I experienced a couple side-effects, but taking notice of the warm sunshine and feeling that gushy, bubbly feeling when my baby smiled at me more than made up for them.

Still facing school and work and motherhood, the battle wasn't totally over, but at least the playing field was a little more level now.

The rest of the semester was H.A.R.D. But we got through it! I had a hard time with letting gradesslide a little so I could focus on my more important priorities, but I was blessed with understanding teachers and made it to the finish line, even if I was finishing a research paper on Christmas Eve.

This semester has been unbelievably better. I feel like I finally have a grasp on my sanity and the face in the mirror is more familiar, more me. I'm finally feeling like I'm mountain climbing instead of just dangling off the edge of a cliff with no gear. Still hard, but not impossible. I'd even go so far as to say enjoyable and occasionally rewarding.

I'm thankful for modern medicine and that we're advanced enough that we can even treat hormonal imbalances and regulate emotions. At first, I was worried about becoming dependent on it, but I'm at the point now where I'm not worried about getting off of it. If I have to stay on medicine to be a normal human, then there's no shame in that. If it helps me be a better wife and mother and helps me be me, then I'm all for it. I'm also thankful for incredibly patient and supportive teachers, family, and friends. And more than words can say, I'm thankful for Tucker. He's definitely the one I want by my side through the rough patches for the rest of my life.

And I guess I'm thankful for this adorable stinker, too. ;)

Just for Me

I made a list. Why? Because life is boring. Not bad boring, just kind of stagnant. Full of good things but not really going anywhere. No excitement. Not even a lot of stress. Which also means not a lot of growth. Problem. So I made a list. Because I have someone to be and lessons to learn and things to improve.


A couple days ago, I read this:


 10 And now, because of their ^asteadfastness when they do believe in that thing which they do believe, for because of their firmness when they are once enlightened, behold, the Lord shall bless them and prolong their days, notwithstanding their iniquity—


...and the words "steadfastness" and "firmness" particularly stood out. I've been "enlightened" per say, but how am I firm and steadfast? This, along with a letter from my best friend reminding me to enjoy living in the present and not in the future forced me to stop and think about things. Thus the list was born to help me be a better human being in general and find fulfillment in life.


1. meaningful prayer


2. scripture study


3. service


4. take time to think, not daydream


5. study and stay on track with my homework


6. go to bed before midnight


It's been going well, but after a few days, I realized that one of the major things missing in my life are hobbies. Things I do for no other reason than that they satisfy me and feed my soul. I used to spend a lot of time doing stuff like this, almost to the point where I wasn't giving time to the other important things in my life like studying. But for the last little while, I've over-corrected and haven't spent any time doing things I truly love, and my soul has been feeling rather empty because of it.


It hit me the other night as I sat down to play the piano. I don't know why I did it. I used to sit down and play for literally hours at a time, not having to think about anything pressing, just being fed by the music in front of me. So I sat down two nights ago and played. It was like an automatic musical high. I felt lifted, I felt happy, I felt peace, I felt accomplished. And then I did it again last night. And it'll probably happen again tonight. Or maybe I'll pull out my guitar or ukulele that's been under my bed for about 3 weeks since I moved. Or maybe I'll pull down my sketch book from the top of my closet and the charcoal pencils from my drawer. Any thing to keep me grounded in remembering who I am and enjoying living life in the moment.