Taboo Subjects and Graphic Details Ahead

I'm going to talk about my period. I may use words like gynecologist, uterus, or ovaries. As a woman, these are all routine things I deal with that I'm not allowed to talk about. TMI the world tells me. I'm over it.  The more I see and experience of the world, the more I think it needs to know. My grandmother is fainting up in heaven. Or at least giving me her hard, disapproving stare with pursed lips.

In 2016, I was diagnosed with Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder or PMDD. It started when I was crossing the street to my car after work one day.  Not quite a hallucination, but also not just my imagination. I saw a car hit me in the cross walk and all the graphic details of my injuries. It hadn't actually happened. I crossed the street safely, stopped to shake my head and slow my pulse and then continued home wondering what on earth had just happened. About a week later, in the shower, I glanced at my razor and before I knew what was happening I saw it in my hand while I cut my wrists. I wasn't actually holding my razor or cutting my wrists. Concern began to form about my overactive imagination and why it had turned so violent.  The tipping point came a few days later. I woke up to a perfectly normal day with a persistant, never fading urge in my head to go get my razor and follow through. It was oppressive. Like an intruder in my brain trying to drown out the part of me screaming not to do it. I had a devil and an angel warring from each shoulder. I went to work and a few hours later, while washing my hands in the bathroom I had an even more graphic vision of my wrists, cut and pouring blood into the sink in front of me. I walked back to my office, willing myself to take deep breaths and call my therapist. I was sitting in her office within the hour. The next morning my primary care physician returned my call saying to stop whatever I was doing and drive to his office. I did. So began two, maybe three of the worst months of my life. No one could tell me exactly what was happening. My anxiety medication was switched twice. I started seeing a psychiatrist who never really listened to me and just kept raising my doses. I saw an optometrist who told me to get off all depression and anxiety medication. No one had real answers. I was never alone at my own request. I slept on my parent's couch. My dad drove me to work in the morning and picked me up at 5. I vividly remember Labor Day. Dad was running errands and I was in the car feeling the very worst I'd felt. I had called the psychiatrist on call that morning and he had told me I would be fine and to come in after the holiday. We ate Sonic for lunch and when I finished I asked Dad to take me to the ER an put me under a psych hold. I'll never forget the pain he reflected back at me. He asked the whole way if I was sure. He didn't think that was the solution but he didn't know what else to do either. I was so scared of what my head was telling me to do and so tired of fighting against it. Halfway to the hospital it was as if a switch flipped. I still felt terrible, but the intensity stopped. The oppressiveness began to subside. I could almost come up for air. I told Dad to go home and I've never seen him make a u-turn so fast. 

So what happened? When I got home I realized my period had just started. The lightbulb went off in my head. I opened up a period tracker I'd been using on my phone. For the past several months I was pretty sure that based on some recent mood swings I could identify within about 5 minutes or so exactly when I started ovulating. The tracker had confirmed this. I had always had heavy, painful periods with bad PMS I inherited from my mother and her mother so I saw this as curious rather than completely abnormal. As I scrolled through the data I had logged on my phone I saw another pattern.  The worst of my suicidal thoughts and visions were starting two weeks before my period and were less intense the two weeks after it started. After explaining all this to the nurse at my OBGYN, the doctor walked in, sat down, and said "Laura, you have PMDD. I'm going to put you on birth control and you can't say no this time." I had always resisted because I hated the pill when I was on it briefly in college to try and control my periods. My OBGYN explained that for reasons still unknown to the medical community, my reproductive system was overdosing me on estrogen, which effected my brain chemistry and caused all the symptoms I was experiencing. My period was actually trying to kill me. In addition to being generally out of control. I continued to ask why questions to which the response was "There's very little research and we don't know." I turned to the internet where I found fewer answers and a support group for other women, some of which had hysterectomies when nothing else worked and still live with symptoms.  I was one of the lucky ones.  After a few unsuccessful tries with pills, I ended up on the birth control shot which essentially counteracts the estrogen overdose with a huge dose of progesterone. It effectively shuts down my reproductive system. Not at all ideal. But I survive outside of a padded room. 

Statistics say that 1 in 20 women deal with PMDD in one way or another, however, most doctors think the numbers are actually higher.  There are many women who do not even feel comfortable discussing symptoms with their doctor and are undiagnosed.  They don't know what causes it, but it seems to be more prevalent in women with a family history of heavy periods and/or pre-existing mental illness such as anxiety or depression. I can check both of those boxes. The BBC says that while most women can manage symptoms 5-8% of cases in the UK have been fatal.  The broad range of symptoms and responses to treatment make it particularly hard to figure out and there is very little money to fund additional research. As a result, much of what is currently known about PMDD is merely anecdotal. 

Why am I oversharing? Because the shrouded TMI world of women's health seems to have created some misunderstandings.  Not all women are on birth control to prevent a pregnancy. I'm not sexually active. I am on birth control so that I can go to work, live on my own, and be a contributing member of society. Women's health is as complicated and nuanced as any other kind of health. Not all women asking for an abortion are unwed pregnant teenagers. Some of them are grieving unviable pregnancies that pose a risk to their own health. Some of them wanted that baby more than anything. Yes. I went there.

I am lucky that I was able to make decisions on how to treat my PMDD solely based on the advice of my doctor and my own research. Today, the Supreme Court told state governments that they were free to have a say in medical decisions made by women and their doctors across the country. Justice Clarence Thomas has even suggested revisiting the decisions that will effect a woman's ability to choose birth control. Justice Thomas is not a doctor. Our lawmakers are not doctors. The average voter is not a doctor. Activists have been manipulating the issues for years to pull one side further right and the other further left. We have gone to such extremes that the reasonable middle has disappeared.  We have been told that depending on what side we stand on, we are either a murderer or an uneducated fundamentalist. But you and I both know that people are more than one label.  Many, particularly in faith communities, are uncomfortable with gray areas.  Everything needs a right and a wrong and we need to stand on the right side. If only life were that easy. I believe in life at conception and the sanctity of that life. I also believe in a woman's right to make her own decisions based on her circumstances, the advice of her doctor and her own research. You may wonder how I think I can possibly stand on both sides? Because I believe in a God who is bigger than the limits we place on Him. I believe in a God who loves the mother as much as he loves the unborn baby. A God who's grace is infinite. And a God who stands in the hard, ambiguous, contradictory places that I don't understand. It is not my job to understand. It is my job to be compassionate. I prefer to think of it as a bridge in the middle.

I saw a comic today that said the following - (@dinosandcomics)

"Be kind. Everyone is fighting their own battles."

"Why would I be kind? I will be brutal and relentless and ride into battle by their side."

No one's story is what you think it is.  There is so much you do not see under the surface. Instead of judging our individual battles and the decisions we each make, what would the world look like if we put down our gavels and walked in each other's shoes? What if we recognized that this world is broken daily by each and everyone of us? What if we lifted up the person next to us in the fray rather than stepping on them? What if, instead of seeing faults and failings, we saw pain and need. It's not easy. It's not popular. It is heart rending, back breaking work. I believe it's the work we have been put on this earth to do. Please know, if we see each other out there, I am as confused and broken as you are. Save your kindness and ride with me into battle. Brutal and relentless for each other.

This Might Get Awkward

I have a mental illness. There you are family, friends, facebookers, or random internet surfer who stumbled upon my blog.  I feel like it’s important to for me to say, especially right now. I realized it’s not something I’ve ever said before outside of my own head, partly because I come from a good Southern family that doesn’t talk about these things and partly because people get weird when you tell them that. Now it’s out there.  Due to a combination of genetics and our fast–paced culture I struggle with anxiety, which can sometimes lead to bouts of depression.  When I say anxiety, I don’t mean I get stressed out sometimes.  When it began, in college, I could not catch my breath.  I couldn’t sit in class, couldn’t be still enough to fall asleep, and couldn’t concentrate on anything for more than five seconds.  I literally felt like I was suffocating all the time for about two weeks straight.  Clearly, I was dying.  My doctor disagreed and after so many tests, he put me on a little pill that let me breathe again. I learned to cope. I had a handle on life.

Then, almost three years ago, my world came to a very sudden halt.  There were lots of contributing factors, but the result was utter terror. All the time.  It escalated from not being able to drive, to not being able to even ride in a car, to not wanting to go outside.  I was living in a Lifetime movie. All I could do was lie, trembling, on my parent’s couch, trying to figure out what I was so afraid of. To this day, I can’t put a specific name to it. All I knew was that my brain had turned against me. The more I tried to fight it or just “get over it,” the worse it got. So my mother slowly and carefully drove me to the doctor.  Several of them. Multiple times a week. Week after week.  They gave it names. Anxiety, panic, sensory processing disorder, and PTSD.  I learned to stop fighting and started healing.

Slowly, but surely, I began to ride in cars without panicking. I wanted to go outside again. I drove to the 7-Eleven down the street. It was and is an excruciating and slow recovery that has called for some tough choices. I made changes. I left the city I loved for a slower pace.  I changed careers for job stability and regular hours. I learned to eat healthier and exercise. I avoided caffeine and sugar. Eventually, I began to function again. Here’s what I learned.

My experiences with anxiety and depression, though major to me, are relatively minor in the grand scheme of things. My therapist assures me that I am not as crazy as I feel. That’s the thing about mental illness. It blurs the line between truths and lies until it isn’t there anymore. After a while, when your brain keeps telling you you’re crazy and aren’t worth anything to anyone, you believe it.  Right around the time I was immobile on my parent’s couch, a childhood friend of mine took her own life.  I hadn’t seen or heard from her in 15 years, but it shook me to the core.  As movies of our childhood played in my head, I grieved for the little girl I knew and the family she had left behind. Then, suddenly, I realized that to a certain extent, I understood. Now, before you dial 911 and send them to my house, let me explain.  I have never reached a point when I wanted to take my own life, but I could understand how the lies in your head could drown everything else out until that’s all that’s left. It was a realization that scared the living daylights out of me. It still scares me.  I’ve heard those voices and I know how convincing they can be. I told my therapist. She assured me that I still wasn’t crazy.  It’s supposed to scare me. It keeps me from believing my own lies.

So how did I get here? How did I become someone who is still relearning how to drive on the interstate? Am I weak? Do I not have enough faith? No and no. Read it again if you have to. Absolutely not. I’m reading Dr. Archibald Hart, a senior professor of psychology at Fuller Theological Seminary.  He says, “ Perhaps the most alarming aspect of panic attacks is that they mostly strike the strong. Yes, you read that correctly. Panic anxiety strikes those who seem to be strongest among us…Anxiety is not a disorder that afflicts the weak, the fragile, and the delicate.  This is the disorder of presidents, CEOs, VPs, ladder-climbers, powerhouses, dynamos, live wires, and go-getters.”  That was an epiphany for me. One lie refuted.

As for my faith – I’ve got something to say about that.  When I felt at my very worst, I wish the church had been a safe, inviting place for me to turn. It wasn’t. I had been told too many times that I needed to have more faith and I’d be fine. Told that my mental illness was actually a spiritual problem and that if I “got right with God” I’d be okay. Thanks for perpetuating the lie I was already telling myself.  Thank you for making something that I couldn’t control, all my fault.  It wasn’t because I’d had a bad experience with church. I grew up in the church, I’m a missionary kid, and my dad has a Reverend in front of his name. I have no bitterness about any of these things. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I loved my upbringing and as an adult I do my best to make my walk with God my priority. That’s just it though. It’s my walk and no one else gets to judge it.  Were there times in the midst of my anxiety that I felt abandoned by God? Yes. Did it make me angry that he wouldn’t take the suffering away? Absolutely. Do I think this means I have no faith? No. I think it means I’m human. In my most difficult moments I never stopped reaching for his hand.  It’s been in those moments, curled in a ball, trembling, and crying for him to make it stop, that I have learned the most about him and grown closest to him. You don’t get to question my faith, make me feel like a failure, or tell me my problem isn’t mental, it’s spiritual.  God never promised that if we had enough faith in him, we’d always be happy, healthy, and safe.  In fact, he promises the opposite.  It was a long time before I could look back and see God in the dark places and the ways in which he had carried me through.  Then there was another epiphany.  Just because I didn’t see him at the time, didn’t make him any less present.  I know that now. I know that next time. He used that pain and made me grow. That’s how it’s supposed to be.

So why am I telling you this? I’m not really trying to change your mind or convince you of anything. I just wanted to offer a different perspective from what I’ve seen and read this week.  Mostly, I’m hoping that my story can be an encouragement to someone else.  If you struggle with a mental illness, you are not alone. Most people do at one time or another. Some do for their entire lives, but life is worth it. The struggle is worth it.  Even when your brain turns against you and tells you you’re alone, you’re not. I promise.

"I am with you always, to the end of the age." Matthew 28:20

Long Way Home

"I haven't heard that name in a long time." I clicked on the facebook link I had been sent and found myself in a group full of names I hadn't heard in a long time. That's right. Apparently it's time for my ten year high school reunion. How do I feel about this? Turns out I feel a lot about it. I get pretty sentimental at milestones. First of all, how are we old enough that it's time for a 10 year reunion of any kind? It cannot have been ten years since I crossed the dirt soccer field to Spanish, ate lunch on the guidance office couches, sang 76 Trombones on the Robb Hall stage, or walked out the back gate through Yonsei to Malissa's house. Then I realize, there's turf on the soccer field, a big shiny "new" performing arts building, and it would be a long walk to Australia to see Malissa.

After realizing I have nothing to wear to a high school reunion, I began to wonder how much real reunions are like their tv and movie versions. Are they all in badly decorated gyms with everyone wearing an awkward name tag? Do Romy and Michelle start dancing to Time After Time? This is my only frame of reference. My high school experience was different. I loved it. How many people do you know who can say that?

I suppose a small graduating class combined with being in another country contributed a lot to making my high school experience so different. Everyone knew everyone else. There was never a face in the halls that made you stop and think, "Who was that?" We were all from different countries, cultures, and backgrounds, but no one was a stranger. It took me a long time to acclimate to Korea. I had moved there from tropical Asia and had to adjust to the weather, food, language, culture, etc. Everything was so different from anything I'd ever experienced, but the Seoul Foreign School campus quickly became a safe place. By the time I reached my senior year, I was at school all day long, even after classes were over. I spent the afternoons in the art studio, in a rehearsal of some kind, or just sitting on the soccer field with friends. I remember that at some point Seoul became home for me, but it took me a long time to realize that SFS was enormously responsible for making it home. It wasn't just Seoul, but also the places, people, and experiences that I had through school.

I may not make it to my high school reunion. Only an SFS reunion would have the challenge of trying to find a city that the most people can get to. On my budget, I can't get far. I realized, though, that while it would be fun to see everyone, it's really not that important at the end of the day. The people who mattered, still matter. The experiences that changed me still happened. Seoul Foreign School is still home. One of them... :) I am still forever grateful for the people who made it that way.

I loved homecoming. The dance, returning graduates and friends, and of course the basketball game. SFS knows how to play basketball. At least we did ten years ago. Going to an SFS basketball game was one of my favorite things to do. I got an e-mail this week reminding me that this weekend is Centennial Homecoming. While I'm trying to wrap my head around a ten year reunion, my school is turning 100. Perspective. 100 years of Crusaders going to class, graduating, and moving on (or coming back as teachers:).

I still wonder though - When you walk into a room full of people who knew you as your awkward 16 year old self, do you become your awkward 16 year old self all over again?

"Oh the sound is fading in my ears
And I can’t believe I’ve lasted all these years
But I’ll still remember which way to go
I'm on the road, the road to home."
~ Amy MacDonald, The Road to Home

What Did You Do New Years Eve?

I watched a lot of movies. No really. A lot. I also ran some errands, ate food, caught up on e-mails, and replenished my stock of lotion and chapstick. My skin was not made for this climate. It was raised in a tropical country. It has a deep and abiding appreciation for humidity.

Redbox is amazing. They celebrated the new year by stocking their machines with all the movies I've been wanting to see, but haven't had time to see. I decided to catch up and get in shape for the festival.

Day 1 -

TinTin: I actually went to the movie theatre for this one. Don't tell my brother, but I was somewhat disappointed. I'm not a fan of the movies I can figure out in the first fifteen minutes. The animation was awesome, but I probably would have enjoyed it more if I was...younger. Still a big TinTin fan though.

Midnight in Paris: Biggest surprise of the weekend and my favorite movie of the year. I have never made it all the way through a Woody Allen film. Not my thing. I guess I'm a sucker for anything about Paris and art. Highly recommended. Loved it. Owen Wilson didn't even annoy me as much as he usually does. It was pretty awesome.

Green Lantern: I enjoy comic book movies...apparently even the bad ones. And Ryan Reynolds isn't bad to look at. End of story.

Day 2 -

Water for Elephants: I usually must watch anything Reese Witherspoon is in. I put this one off because of Robert Pattinson. Surprisingly he actually made it through about 45 minutes before he did something to annoy me. The movie was much better than I though and the costumes were amazing. Still love Reese.

Friends with Benefits: So being friends with Erika and a recent Saturday Night Live have taught me never to underestimate JT. I can now say with certainty that this was not one of his best moments. Maybe it was the topic or maybe it was Mila Kunis, but I pretty much hated this movie. Why does he always have to find a way to sing?

Day 3 -

Harry Potter in the Deathly Hallows Part 2: Okay, so I had already seen this one. They left a lot out but you can't fit an enormous book in a movie. I understand. Still well done.

Mission Impossible Ghost Protocol: Also went to the theatre this time and it was another surprise. Not as bad as I thought it would be. I would rather have seen the returning characters have a bigger role. Why bring back Ving Rhames for only five minutes? What else is he doing?

Day 4 - Only one movie today. :)

Crazy, Stupid, Love: Also a pleasant surprise. I don't usually like movies about divorce because they get depressing, but Steve Carrell is awesome. I'm also becoming a bigger and bigger fan of Emma Stone.

One weekend. Eight movies. Excessive even by my standards.

Now it's time to dive face first into work and not come back out until February. See you in a month.

It Feels Like Christmas

One delayed two hour flight to Chicago equals, one brisk jog through a very large airport, one missed connection to Richmond, one rebooked three hour flight to Washington, D.C., and one late night drive to Richmond with one not too thrilled elder brother. I finally arrived at my parent's house in the wee hours of Christmas Eve to be greeted by Toby who stumbled out to take my bag from me. Whatever...I made it and it was a glorious, albeit too short weekend.

Luke was glad I finally made it.


Richard's Eagles beat Dad's Cowboys. Toby unwrapped the snowboard. Julie's parents paid a visit. Mom directed the music on the new MWS instrumental album. I beat everyone at the new Ticket to Ride expansion set. Dad had all his chiggers in the nest. All in all, it was family as usual.


I loved that there was no snow and I could go outside without a jacket. It's getting cold in Park City, though you wouldn' t think so from the last two days. It was hovering around 50 degrees this afternoon and yesterday the rain washed away a lot of the snow. Not so many skiers on the slopes right now. At the Sundance offices, we are all gearing up for the festival. It's go time. I'm filling as many shifts as I can and trying to make sure there are no major holes. It's almost time for trainings and check ins. I think there may actually be a festival happening soon.

In the meantime, I have a long New Year's weekend to look forward to that must include work, but will hopefully not include going in to the office. I plan to catch up on my movie watching.

One of my favorite parts of Christmas:
"Toby... why are you microwaving the jello?" Toby's realization face. Dad running into the living room to tell everyone, "Toby's microwaving his jello."




Close ups of home:

Seven More Sleeps Till Christmas

I have spent the majority of my Sunday in bed in a final attempt to hold off the cold that has been coming on for a while. At least I made it through the crazy week getting all part time volunteers signed up for shifts.

Organized chaos.


There is still much to do...like entering those shifts into the database, but today I am mostly just looking forward to when I can walk into my momma's house and it will finally feel like Christmas. Three days will not be long enough, but I'll take it.

In the meantime I am catching A Muppet Christmas Carol when it's on tv and drinking as much Starbucks caramel apple spice as I can get. Sugar rush.

Speaking of sugar rushes, take a look at the jelly bean jar!


This is what Tooper thinks of shift schedules.

Just kidding! It was a paper to go bag that smelled like lunch. :)

Let it Snow

I had big plans for today. I was going to get up early, go to church, buy groceries, make a chicken pot pie, and maybe some muffins. Then I woke up to snow, and roads that weren't quite covered but messy enough to make me not want to go anywhere. It was a first for my tenure in Park City. Usually all roads are wiped clean of snow by magical little elves before I even get a chance to look outside. I do still intend to make a trip to the grocery store later. It's not far and one must eat. In the meantime I have listened to the District Church podcast and caught up on episodes of Revenge. Riveting Sunday, I know.

I've been without internet for a while so I'm trying to remember all that has happened since my last post. The phone jack was a casualty of my landlord's remodeling upstairs. Luckily the internet was fixed yesterday and the Direct TV that had been knocked out by severe winds was restored just in time for me to watch A Princess for Christmas on the Hallmark Channel. It's the simple joys. Don't judge.

Thanksgiving dinner happened and was quite tasty. Bailey brought a gorgeous 17lb turkey that is still in my fridge. I gave up eating it about a week ago.

Though I'm sure Tooper would love to have some more.



He always made sure to be on hand for any falling food.


It was a glorious four day weekend, but I can't say I wasn't glad to get back to my desk on Monday.

And my picture of Zachary Levi (and Adam Baldwin), provided by Sara, who makes my days so enjoyable. Those of you in my DC small group will know...I'm quite a fan.


I have no picture of the jelly beans this week, but they are slowly but surely making their way to the top of the jar. I had to eat two of them this week. It was sad.

In other news, the lineup for films in competition at the 2012 Sundance Film Festival was announced this week. Have a look.
http://www.sundance.org/press-center/release/2012-festival-program-announcement/

If you find yourself in Park City this January, make sure to stop by the Volunteer Hub at Headquarters and say hi.