Yoga Pick Me Up to "Waves" by Mr. Probz

When I first began making my dance videos last year, they were meant to help push me into joy. I think they helped me to remember how important it is for me to have some sort of outer expression of my internal joy and that I really want to share the joy I feel with the world.

I want to show others who suffer from depression that there is hope for us all; we have to be willing to step out of our comfort zones sometimes though when it comes to finding help that will work.

I’m still trying to find what therapeutic methods work best for me and how I might be able to help others find relief, too.

In that light, I thought I would try my hand at some yoga videos to share the joy I experience when I’m flowing through some asanas.

It truly is hard to feel depressed when your body is moving to some music that you love.

So, even if you’ve never tried yoga before, this is a great way to start. When you need a pick me up, if you can remember and convince yourself to move, even just for the length of a song, you may feel better.

Please forgive my beginner video skills, which cause my head to get chopped off. And Tiger Lilly makes a brief appearance.

Shaking Off the Depression!

Along with the theme of wanting to shake it, I danced to Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off today.

It’s a new year and I want to shake off my depression, frustration and general blahs. There’s a lot of emotional stuff going on for me right now. I have been feeling myself sinking into a kind of quiet, brooding depression punctuated by crazy anger bursts.

When I get really low, it’s hard to believe I’ll ever feel better, ever be NOT depressed.

I have to grasp at any brief moments of fresh air and when I feel them, saturate my entire self with the good vibes.

I was thinking I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions, whatever that means, but I think I need to jump on this band wagon.

Nothing complicated. Nothing elaborate.

I want to keep doing yoga and keep dancing as often as I can without those activities becoming weighed down with the burden of keeping me undepressed.

I want to every day pause in the morning, if only for five minutes, and fill myself with positive thoughts. Even if I’m in a depression, I want to be required to spend five measly minutes reflecting on the positive and feeling an attitude of gratitude.

There you go.

I think I just made a resolution I can (hopefully) keep.

To the Mom Struggling to Survive:

It’s ok to feel depressed.

It’s ok to say things to your kids you wish you could take back.

You can take them back. You can ask for forgiveness.

Sometimes all you can see are the shadows

You can explain to your children that sometimes even moms struggle.

It’s ok to be glad when you drop your kids off at school and to be frustrated when it’s already time to meet the bus.

It’s ok to want time to yourself, to want to have no responsibilities and to want your pre-mommy body back.

It’s understandable to feel like life for everyone would be better if you didn’t exist.

And it is ok to feel guilty afterwards for thinking that. Or to not feel guilty—to feel confused.

It’s ok if you don’t want to bake cookies or sew your own Halloween costumes. It’s ok to spend $20 on costumes at Walmart.

It’s ok if you sometimes feel like you can’t go on, that you made a mistake, that you weren’t made for this mothering thing.

And it’s ok to feel depressed about your life even if to others your life looks perfect, even then.

Maybe more so then.

You do not have to beat yourself up about feeling depressed; that will only make you feel worse.

Sometimes you will feel differently. I promise you. Even if it’s not today or tomorrow. One day, you will feel happy again.

You will smell their sweetness again. You will savor their hugs. You will feel their love’s penetrating power.

So hold on until then.

Do your best to maintain, to push on, to know that it gets better.

Because it does. It will.

You are never alone, even if it feels that way.

Even when it feels like no one understands you or what you are experiencing and you just don’t know what to do. Close your eyes, take a breath and know that somewhere, someplace, there is love.

And let that be enough.

*Inspired by Wendy Wisner's: "To the Mom of a Nursing Toddler"

Robin Williams, My Depression and Stand-Up

Robin Williams' suicide has me very upset. I've always admired him tremendously. His energy, enthusiasm and wonder that exuded from his personality was a balm to my own depression.

I decided to try something new a few months ago. I decided to take a stand-up comedy class. It’s been a real challenge for me because of my depression, but I’ve been studying Williams’ old routines and marveling at his gift.

Someone so successful and who brought so much joy to people chooses suicide. I just feel so overwhelmingly sad.

I am not surprised, but angry, not at him, but at depression.

How can there be such a horrible illness that makes us want to end our lives? That makes us feel so overwhelmed that we just can’t live anymore?

I find myself in a haze. I find myself obsessing over his death.

When we connect to a celebrity in a strong way through their performances and interviews, we really do begin to feel like we know them. I feel like my crazy, goofy uncle died.

But I didn’t know him. But I keep wanting to be able to go back in time and be his friend and be there when the darkness got too deep. And I know that is just silly because he had friends and family and they loved him and he loved them, but still, tragedy happens.

That might be the hardest part—knowing that sometimes suicide happens and it’s horrible, but you can’t go back. You can’t change it.

Maybe that’s the real issue that’s rising for me now. I can’t go back in time. I can’t change anything. I can’t change my own past.

I can’t go back and make my mother well. I can’t go back and make better choices when I was younger. And I can’t seem to make my depression go away for good.

We just can’t.

I am clinging to my wonderful outer world—loving husband, three great kids, work I like, creative challenges—but my inner world goes back and forth between wanting to allow me to be great and wanting to destroy me.

I keep trying. I will keep trying.

I did my first open mike a few weeks ago; it was terrifying. The laughs I got felt good. Being onstage again felt good.

I understand why I’ve always needed to perform in some way, to have people look at me—because that’s when I can be someone else, that’s when I can break free of depression’s strangle on me. It’s all about looking out instead of in.

Tonight is our final class. And maybe I’ll try the open mike again. I need the escape. The release from the inner demons.

I want to be free to laugh. I want to bring joy to the world.

Robin Williams, thank you. You brought joy to me. I’m sorry the pain was too much. You will be missed.

Blister in the Sun

I'm happy to say I just finished grading my last batch of research papers. I have one class of final exams left to read, then I need to figure out final grades and then I am done for the semester.

I'm ready to move forward. Part of that may be stopping my dance videos. I think I've gotten a lot out of doing them: I practiced letting the need to be perfect go; I learned to trust myself; I had fun.



Now I'm ready to figure out the next step on my path of writing, dancing, performing fun!

I Love It!

Sometimes you’ve just got to say, “I don’t care!”

Well, I do, anyway. Some people actually probably should care a little more, but not me. I usually care too much.

So, as I prepare to go proctor my final exam and hand back three plagiarized papers, I chose a song to just not care to as I dance.

And it felt good.

One Woman Show?

OK. I think I know what I want to work on now.

These past few months, or really this whole last year, has been about me trying to figure out where I want to go next, what kind of large writing project I want to work on.

I’d like to continue to push myself to write at least one essay-sized piece every week or two, but I think I need to really start fleshing out a performance piece. A one-woman show.

I’ve wanted to do this for so long.

Last year, I helped a friend of mine birth her one-woman show and now I’d like to really give myself that space, that mental and emotional allowance to make the story come alive.

I stumbled on Alison Arngrim yesterday when I was surfing the web; she wrote “Confessions of a Prairie Bitch: How I Survived Nellie Oleson and Learned to Love Being Hated” as a memoir and then turned it into a one-woman/comedy show.

I wonder if I could do something similar. Take some material from “Stripping Down” and rewrite it into a performance piece.

I saw a comment someone wrote on an interview with Arngrim along the lines of—Man, talk about milking all you can from a TV character you played a zillion years ago. Geez!

I sometimes question whether I’m milking my life as a stripper for material to write about, but it’s more like—that was my experience. An experience that affected me tremendously on so many levels. You don’t just write about something like that once or twice and be done.

At least not for me. I see nothing wrong with mining the same life experiences to see what new insights I can discover from them.

Don't Have a Heart Attack or Anything

Lots of stuff stirring in my mind. Maybe I question myself too much about my motives.

When I was talking to my husband about making silly Vine videos, I said that I want to make people laugh.

He said, innocently, “No, you want attention.”

I was all like—what? No! I mean, yes, I like it if people like my videos, just like I like it if people like my writing, but it’s not just for attention.

“If it was just for attention, I could just take out my tits!”

Yes, I said that. I know—hilarious.

The only attention I’d get for going topless now would be a police officer giving me a ticket for indecent exposure.

Bah, dum, dum…crash!

Anyway.

His comment got me a bit riled up. I mean, as a performer or writer, yes, of course, we want people to pay attention. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

But why do I judge myself then? Or why do I allow other people who don’t like, or get, what I do to bother me?

And what is my overall mission with art?

There I go again! Wanting to know my every motivation.

Can it just be enough to know that I want to perform and write?

Vine it, Baby!

Goodness, it’s quite overwhelming how many different ways there are to express ourselves through social media.

I’d heard of Vine before, but just checked it out yesterday.

Who knew that so much could be packed into 6 seconds of video?

For my tutorial, I picked what was in front of me—cats.

For my follow up, I picked the other thing that is often in front of me—kids.

I’m so proud of myself for trying something new. I often hesitate on doing something before I know whether I’m going to be good at it or not, but taping my morning dances and not being plugged in to what other people think is really helping me break out of my rut.

Once we start trying new stuff, it gets easier and easier.

Try it! What have you always secretly wanted to do, but maybe you were afraid people would laugh?

Do it anyway! The reward will be tremendous.

And, oh yeah, if you're on Vine, follow me and I'll follow you!

I Want to be Funny! Maybe...

I am feeling such an itch to perform, but I have zero extra time.

Perhaps I am going to have to get creative in my performance.

I know this is kind of ridiculous, but I’m feeling like I want to be funny. But I’m not one of those people who just says funny things that makes everybody laugh.

The antidote to my depression really seems to be in keeping happy (duh!). In keeping active. In distracting my depression with silliness and fun and funny.

I’m just going to fan this fire a little and see if any ideas come to me…

Let the Feelings Exist

How quickly the winds shift direction. I’m feeling not so good today. The kids were making me nuts all morning with their bickering amongst themselves. The arguments always lead to someone screaming and crying and then I feel like I just can’t take it anymore.

I’m feeling like I don’t know how to manage their problems very well. I just end up yelling at them for yelling.

So, of course, I’m feeling like nothing I do is worth anything and I should just roll over and give up.

I wanted to really lift my spirits through dancing today, but at the same time I felt like I needed to be fair to myself and just acknowledge what I was feeling and dance to express that feeling.

So, not the cheeriest of dances today, but I did at least allow myself to feel like what I was feeling mattered and that the negative feelings didn’t need to be swept out of sight. I let myself feel.

Grading Papers as Procrastination

I feel like I’ve been managing my depression well the last couple of weeks. There haven’t been any major depressive episodes. I’m trying to build on that streak.

I have felt my confidence in my creativity waning though. I go through ups and downs where I feel so gung-ho and like I can write up a storm to feelings of—I’ve got nothing important to say. It’s all been said already.

Thank goodness, I understand writing as a process, which buoys me up when I feel stuck or generally blah with my work.

And hey, I do have a big pile of papers waiting for me to grade them, so I can do that instead of writing!

Nice way to procrastinate, Sheila!

Will Dance (Or, You Know, Stand and Move My Arms a Little) For Fifty Cents

I may have created some little money monsters. The boys wanted to dance with me today…if I would pay them 50 cents.

So I agreed; I like their entrepreneurial spirit.

Then they just kind of stood there. And moved their arms a little bit.

Now I’m fine with that, if that’s how their spirit moves them, but to me it seemed a bit more like at 5 and 3 they’ve already figured out if someone has agreed to pay you for your work, you can do just the bare minimum and collect your wages.

I had a little talk with them afterwards. I now understand why bosses offer bonuses.

If they want to dance, they earn 25 cents for just showing up, but if they want the whole 50 cents enchilada, they’re going to have to put a little passion into their dance.

Let’s see who shows up on the dance floor tomorrow!

Let It Go

Life is constantly changing.

One day your basement is dry, and the next, not so much.

One day your bedroom ceiling is patched and halfway normal, and the next, not so much.

One day you are all caught up on grading and the next, your Canvas account is filled with Research Papers.

The sun is shining and I don’t want to grade papers. I want to sing and dance and laugh and play.

Legos Everywhere

I bribed my kids to dance with me today. Well, I guess it’s not bribery, it’s teaching how to earn money for an honest five-minutes of work.

Of course, they will just save their quarters until they have enough to buy another Lego set. Have you noticed all the bins behind me when I dance? All. Legos.

I’d really like to convince them to get rid of all their other toys because Legos seem to be the only toy that they care about (besides electronics, of course).

My husband loves Legos, too, but for some reason they hold no interest for me. The only aspect that I find interesting is the special characters series that they sell. They’re kind of like trading cards in that you don’t know which one you’re going to get when you buy the packet.

Only we’ve never seen them in the stores. They’re always sold out.

Interesting. I like rare things. Collectible. Special.

All the issues that lie within my own struggle with my depression—a need to feel special. A need to be seen.

Lighten Up

Rainy day, so I need to soak up some dancing sun. I just allowed myself to get a bit silly with my dancing today to lighten my mood.

Rough start to the day when everyone slept late and I discovered I didn’t wash the dishes last night, so no cereal bowls or Tupperware for school lunches. Our school has a strict garbage-free lunch rule, so no plastic bags or anything allowed.

We still managed to get to school on time and while I was feeling myself getting annoyed and growly, I totally was aware of it and tried to laugh at myself.

And now I need to put real clothes and go to work.

Genre Play

Some writers fall very clearly into one genre and do not veer much away from that one style of writing because what they do fits them so well.

I’ve been trying out some new writing genres and styles. I think narrative nonfiction is my safe place, my comfort, but I’ve never felt trapped by the genre.

I also love to write poetry, drama, graphic narratives and humor. I even finished writing a romance novel this year.

I’m practicing immersing myself in new forms and in new ways of expressing myself. Huh—much like I’ve done with my dancing videos.

What I do and why is constantly evolving. I want to keep expressing myself in different forms for fun and for learning where and how I best feel I can truly say/dance/perform what lies within me.

Practice Saying Yes!

New focus this week: Fun, joy, happiness, silliness, play.

It’s so easy to fall into our roles in life and then stay stuck there, sometimes for a long time.

The boys pose for their first Selfie

As a writer and as someone with depression, it is second nature to focus on the heavy stuff, the serious issues, but then I churn through those emotions and experiences and get stuck there.

So, this week I’m going to try to work on fun topics in writing and in my mind in general. I’m going to practice not caring what others think of me. I’m going to practice the presence of fun in my life.

I’m going to say yes to following what just might be my bliss.

Today, I say yes!

College Writing and Teaching

At the beginning of every semester, I explain to my English 101 students that at the end of the semester there will be a bunch of them whining and crying to me for more time. I say that the time is now. Be proactive. Seek help early. Don’t fall behind.

And they all laugh thinking it won’t be them.

So, yesterday I had to point out to my class that it was, indeed, them.

I listened to the same old moan and groan and begging for more time.

The life of an adjunct instructor can be very tedious. We get none of the benefits and all of the crap.

For a writing instructor, for a writer, for someone who loves to read and write, it can be difficult to watch so many students who just don’t care.

I suppose it is every teacher’s dream to have a room full of students excited to learn. I work hard to instill that feeling into students and I think I do a pretty good job at it, too. It’s just discouraging to see how many students really don’t care.

I suppose that would have been me if I had gone to college when I was eighteen. In retrospect, it was definitely the right thing for me to go to college only when I was ready, only when I cared.

Cork that Feeling

I had an essay accepted for publication yesterday and I savored the feeling of happiness. I savored the rush of feeling accepted.

Can I bottle that feeling and uncork it when I’m feeling low?

I tried to really experience the happiness in my whole body; I recorded the sensations of lightness, bounciness and accomplishment.

I think sometimes that is why I feel so driven, so in need of producing art or doing good in the world—I long for that rush of adrenaline, that shot of happy, that I seem to experience when I feel accomplished and worthy.

I guess it is that sensation of being seen, being recognized and appreciated for being me. That is where my happiness comes from.

Now I need to learn to be able to give myself that feeling. I want to be able to produce happiness through recognizing myself.