This week has been oppressively hot in New York, so much so that I’ve been extra afraid to take Sienna outside and have thus missed out on a few NY Dads Group meetups in which I would I have liked to participate. More than one person has told me NOT to take Sienna out at all. Elaine took her for a short walk earlier in the week and came back drenched with our poor daughter sweaty, parched, and crying. And yet I see all these people taking their kids for strolls and/or to play while Sienna and I have been holed up in our apartment for five days, the AC running nonstop.

Part of the problem is that Sienna refuses to drink water (even when she went on that walk with Elaine); we also tried Pedialyte and cold tea but those were similarly rebuffed. If she’s not going to replenish her fluids, what can I do? Still I feel guilty over this and wonder if the strategy of keeping her out of this incessant heat has been smart or selfish.

To go to the Dads Group meetups, we would have had to walk to the Long Island Railroad station, taken an air-conditioned train into Manhattan, and then subways to our destinations. If aboveground is reaching near 100 degrees, I can’t imagine what the subway platforms were like, especially when you add in the heat from the people en masse. It’s certainly not something I wanted to deal with, but I would have done it if people hadn’t told me not to take her outside (therefore making me extra nervous about it) and if she actually drank water like a normal kid…or is refusing water normal? I have no frame of reference. Most of the meetups were outside, so that would have been draining. And then there would have been the return trips. Not fun.

The one time I took her outside was Wednesday evening when I met up with some college friends who, while on a roadtrip of amusement parks for their kids, stopped by Queens for dinner. It was around 6:30 pm when we left the apartment, so I think it had dipped below 90, though I’m not sure. Since Sienna was exposed to the elements for maybe a half-hour total broken up by air-conditioned car rides and restaurant meals, I figured it’d be ok, but even then I was nervous, and to be honest, the block and a half walk to the car left me soaked. Still, I hadn’t seen my friends and their kids in so long and Sienna and I had been cooped up for days during which her favorite times seemed to come when I let her run up and down the hallway, that there was no question I’d be taking her out. In the end, we both had a good time, and since it was late enough, Elaine was able to meet us at the restaurant on her way home from work.

Regardless, I feel like I’ve robbed Sienna a bit, like I plucked away a week of summer by forcing her to stay inside. Guilt is a very dangerous component of anxiety. Actually, let me change that – guilt is anxiety’s cohort in that they work together in a blissful symbiotic relationship. They feed each other and in turn feed upon the mind of the anxious. My daughter will be turn 16 months tomorrow, so it’s not like she’ll remember this week of heat-related captivity. Why am I torturing myself? Elaine said keeping her inside was the right decision. So did others. How many people have to say the same before I believe it myself? And that is the crux of the problem, of most of my problems – I need to stop relying on others’ opinions and beliefs about me in order to define myself and form my own viewpoints. How crazy is it that this filters all the way down into something as simple as keeping my daughter indoors during a massive heatwave?

It’s 10:30 am. How many tantrums has your toddler thrown? By my count, my near 16-mo-old Sienna’s has thrown 3, 1 major, 2 minor. The first was when I took her out of crib this morning and tried to change her diaper. How dare I?? She went crazy…screaming, tears, kicking, and worst of all, squiggling around on the changing table preventing me from lying her on her back so I could clean her. I’m just happy she’d only peed because otherwise things could have been really messy. Somehow I finally calmed her down enough that she stayed relatively still and sucked her thumb, tears still falling, and I was able to do what every parent has to do every morning. Why did she go nutso? No idea. But it wasn’t a good start to my day and it got my anger up which in turn made me feel guilty which then led to a bit of anxiety. As soon as Sienna was cleaned up, I had to step back and breathe. Luckily, the anxiety didn’t manifest itself physically.

The other 2 tantrums were much smaller – refusing to drink water (the girl doesn’t drink enough water) and getting PO’d because I’d given her Kix over Cheerios. These certainly didn’t help the anxiety created by the first tantrum, and I started worrying about what’s going to happen when Sienna REALLY starts going nuclear. Will I have the inner strength to prevent myself from becoming a quivering mess? Will I have gotten enough of a hold on my anxiety that feeling angry with my daughter won’t bring on guilt? I can’t imagine guilt ever not being present. I just have to remember that it’s natural for parents to get angry with their kids for screaming their heads off out of frustration for being unable to communicate their needs, or for not getting what they want, or for no reason whatsoever.

Elaine was furious with Sienna the other day when, a couple of days after getting LASIK, Sienna accidentally poked her in the eye. Everything wound up fine – Elaine’s vision was perfect – but the anger and associated guilt lasted for quite awhile. I had to remind her of a story my mom likes to tell about tantrums. Apparently when I was 2 or 3, I threw a tantrum at the base of a department store escalator. My mom wasn’t just apoplectic and embarrassed, she claimed she wanted to ring my neck. This story helped calm Elaine a bit. It’s normal to be angry when your toddler throws a tantrum, right? And it’s normal to feel guilty afterwards, I think. What’s not normal is to become anxious to the point where you lose control of all rationality and have a panic attack. That’s what I need to work on. Thankfully I haven’t yet reached that bridge, but who knows when it will happen. So, I’m going to need to recall my mom’s story when I’m irate with Sienna in order to assuage the guilt that comes with it, and I should add Elaine’s post-LASIK adventure as well. Instead of the usual, “Breathe,” my mantra in these situations should be, “Think escalator. Think LASIK.”

For me, tantrums bring on anger, guilt, and anxiety. The key will be in controlling my brain. Perhaps Sienna’s real-life irrational hissy fits will prove to be excellent practice for when my monkey mind goes bananas due to equally preposterous things located only in my brain.

Today I learned that a friend’s daughter started puberty when she was SIX years old! The early onset of puberty, especially in girls, isn’t old news as can be seen in articles like this, and ties back to the type of chemicals and hormones the food industry adds to what we eat, but this was the first time I’d met someone who had seen this happen firsthand. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be a parent of a 6-year-old girl who’s looking down at herself and trying to figure out what’s going on in her body and why it’s not happening to her peers. Children are cruel enough. The early onset of puberty can only make awkwardness and bullying worse. Childhood is supposed to last for quite some time. Six years old?!?! That’s positively crazy and terrifying. I wish Elaine and I had the money to consistently buy organic, but we don’t. Like most of America, we’re subjected to what we can afford in the grocery store, but maybe it’s time we buy specific organic things: berries, chicken, apples, grapes? Even then, we can’t really control what she eats in restaurants. We don’t really know what WE’RE eating!  All I know is that I want Sienna to have a nice, long childhood, and I’d like to avoid having to buy her maxi-pads until she’s truly a tween. Six years old?? Maybe it’s a good thing my daughter refuses to eat her dinner.

Ok. Where was I? Here’s what I last wrote: “My mind was already in a bad place. A week of debating. The decision. The trek. The weather. The song. Not being able to find anyone. Discovering 2 of the people I knew weren’t coming. Things were set up.”

Sienna had just peed all over her stroller. I couldn’t find paper towels in the bathroom. My monkey mind was on a blitzkreig. And I had severe chest pain. My friend, Kanye, was telling me not to worry about it. It’s just pee. Come on into the “Water Lab” and get wet (no irony there). So I listened. I brought Sienna into the park and the water was FREEZING! My mind continued jabbering. “You weren’t prepared! There’s pee all over the stroller! You neglected to bring a change of clothes for yourself! There’s pee all over the stroller! You wore sneakers and socks, you idiot! There’s pee all over the stroller! You just can’t do anything right! You have to get the blog perfect! It has to be short! There’s pee all over the stroller!“

I fought back as best as I could. I told Kanye I should have worn a bathing suit and he laughed and agreed. Sienna seemed overwhelmed by the crowd and the cold water. She clung to me. I tired to get her to play with Kanye’s daughter, South, but Sienna wasn’t having any of it. Kanye gave her a pail, but she wasn’t interested. I tried taking a pic with my iPhone to stop the chatter in my head and the pressure in my chest, but it was just making me more anxious because I couldn’t get a good shot and my phone was getting wet. Internally I was yelling at myself for being so stupid in exposing my phone to all this water, but I had to – I had to get THE SHOT, which I did manage to get.

It’s a nice pic. Sienna looks happy, but I think it has more to do with my phone than where she was. Once I brought out my phone, she started grabbing for it, so I think the pic’s deceiving, though you can see the enormous crowd.

Kanye picked up Sienna and remarked on how light she was. He was smiling when he said it and meant absolutely no harm, but he unwittingly increased my anxiety because now I started thinking about how much I was failing when it came to getting Sienna to eat. I told Kanye that she wasn’t eating and he said that that’s what toddlers do. That’s what everyone says and I try to listen to it, but when she fights me at breakfast, lunch, and dinner…when I keep trying new foods and she refuses them, I feel (there’s that word again) like I’m doing something wrong.

After about 25 minutes, Kanye said he was heading out and this is where panic truly set in. I know so because my facial tic started going and I began to stutter a bit, both leftovers from my recent nervous breakdown that only show up when my anxiety level is through the roof. Kanye must have really known something was up (and he admitted this later on when he told me that he saw my facial expression change when I came back from the bathroom). He asked if I’d like to join him at his apartment. We’d feed the kids and relax a bit. I knew I couldn’t drive home in this state and I immediately agreed, though once again, the bad part of my brain attacked me for not being able to take care of my own daughter.

We changed and dried the kids, got our cars from the garage, and headed to Kanye’s apartment. It was a fairly quick drive during which I kept trying to breathe…just breathe…telling myself to calm down while clutching my chest. We got to the building and I said to Kanye that I can’t understand how he’s so calm about everything and asked how he does it. “Years and years of therapy,” he replied, jovially. This stunned me. Positively stunned me. Turns out Kanye suffers from depression too. His mother tried to commit suicide when he was young. He still takes antidepressants. He said his life turned around when South entered it. He loves his job as a stay-at-home dad and takes everything in stride, no matter how messy it is. He told me I have to stop comparing myself to people and that while he’s hard on himself, he’s never seen anyone harder on themselves than me. Once again I discovered that the book is much deeper than the cover. Comparing myself to others is one of my biggest problems. I tell myself not to, but it’s almost automatic. I told Kanye that not only do I compare myself to him, but I feel dwarfed by another friend of ours and member of the Dads Group (let’s call him Shaq – why the hell not?), because not only is a great father, but he’s passionate about his job which is in a creative field, he’s doing creative things on his own that could wind up being extremely successful, and he’s an exercise nut. Kanye told me that comparing myself to Shaq is ridiculous, that no one has his energy and drive. He’s one in a million (and in my head I’m thinking I’M SUPPOSED TO BE THAT ONE IN A MILLION AND I CAN’T EVEN GET THIS BLOG TO THE POINT OF WORLDWIDE SUCCESS – talk about irrationality. I just started the blog, right?).

We fed our daughters and talked. Kanye then sprayed the stroller with Nature’s Miracle, so now I know what to use should Sienna ever pee all over the place again. Once we were done, Kanye asked if I was ok and I said I was. He gave me a strong hug – very, very strong – and told me to call him should I need anything. I cannot thank Kanye enough for what he did for me. He’s a wonderful person and friend. I wish we lived closer to each other. He’ll be having his second kid sometime within the next few weeks and I know he’s nervous, yet excited. He’s already a great dad. Now he’s going to be a great dad times two.

The panic was gone. My chest still hurt, but my anxiety had decreased. I wanted to cry out of shame, but I wouldn’t. I wanted to go home and sleep and that’s what I did. We drove home and I put Sienna in her crib despite the fact that she’d slept during the car ride. I had to get some sleep because I was running on fumes. One of the after-effects of an anxiety or panic attack is extreme fatigue. I used to sleep for a day or two after an attack. Now I’m down to a few hours. My therapist says that’s progress, and she’s probably right.

Dinner didn’t go so well. Sienna fought me resulting in a flare of anxiety. I did my best. I fed and entertained her while I counted the minutes until Elaine came home. Once she did, Elaine took over. I felt I had to write something because I’d promised myself I’d blog every other day. Elaine told me not to, but I HAD to get something up, so I put up a picture of Sienna with a little blurb about what was going on. Everyone says it’s my blog and I can post whatever I want be it an anecdote, an analysis, a pic, and link, whatever. I felt guilty for only posting a pic. Elaine put Sienna down and then held me for a long time, telling me I’m a good dad and a good person while listening to me talk about the day’s events. I took a melatonin and went to sleep.

I woke up the following morning feeling antsy and hollow. I had a phone session with my therapist in the morning during which I relayed all that had happened and like always, she told me I have to step back from myself and breathe and like always, I told her that things happen so friggin’ fast that I can’t (“Yet,” she said. “You can’t YET.”). Once that chest pain happens, I spin out of control even if I try to breathe. The session left me more anxious and it lasted throughout the day. My monkey mind was relentless. Sienna pointed to the door, babbled, and made the “more” sign. She did the same with the stroller. She wanted to go out, but I couldn’t do it. I felt awash in guilt, again counting the hours, minutes, seconds until Elaine got home. People wrote to me on FB, e-mail, etc., but I didn’t feel strong enough to answer them. I didn’t feel like I DESERVED their compliments and reassurances. I don’t remember much more of yesterday. I recall I tried blogging, but I couldn’t do it. Once Elaine got home, she again took over and I again felt guilty. She told me we’re in a partnership. I help her, she helps me. I protested. She shushed me. I love my wife. I adore her. I’m the luckiest guy on the planet.

Today I felt a bit stronger and was able to get part one of this blog out of my system even though Sienna had refused most of breakfast and I was a bit agitated. Once I’d posted the blog, I took Sienna out for a walk. We went to see my insurance guy because my car insurance needs to be renewed soon and I’m going to switch. He’s such a nice person. He too told me not to worry about toddlers being toddlers (he has 2 young kids). He’s given me such advice before. He played with Sienna while he did his work, and I was a little better. We then went bought some food and headed home. Sienna actually ate her lunch and I put her down for a nap. Then I immediately sat down at the computer to get part 2 of this blog out of my system.

I want it out for a couple of reasons: 1) I can read it, see how my mind works, and try to improve my fighting ability and 2) I can show fellow anxiety and monkey mind sufferers that they are not alone.

You are not alone…and neither am I. We are not Sisyphus. We roll our boulders uphill, reach a ledge, rest, maybe backslide a bit, but then start rolling again. We may not realize it, but that’s what we do. As hard as it is for us to believe the boulder’s not going to come crashing down once we reach the top. We can have bad episodes, but out of those bad episodes, great friendships can arise. We learn people love us, even if we can’t quite understand it. Understanding it doesn’t matter. We need to just accept it and move forward, use it to kill or at least quiet the damn monkey. And that’s what I’m doing by writing this blog.

And I can hear my therapist telling me not to forget to write that I’m proud of myself, so I will.

I’M PROUD OF MYSELF

Let me start by saying that I tried so hard to be artistic by adding text to the above pic to represent thoughts attacking me, but after an hour, I gave up…unable to get it to work. That didn’t help matters. Just made me more anxious adding to my worries about the length and content of this blog entry. So no creative picture. Trying to shrug it off, but it won’t let me.

I’ve said before that anxiety is insidious and unrelenting and I hope this post shows you just how treacherous it is; no matter how hard I fight, it’s always there…blow after blow after blow. And it’s not just mental. Anxiety knows how to use your own body against you. I recently read Monkey Mind: A Memoir of Anxiety by Daniel Smith in which he describes his anxiety as an icicle that digs around inside his chest. My anxiety also goes after my chest (not so ironic since my gynecomastia was a source of a ton of anxiety), only it feels like extreme pressure…either like my chest is going to explode or I have a bunch of anvils lying on it. And once my anxiety becomes physical, my brain – my conscious, rational, fighting brain – feels powerless. I yell at myself. I scream to STOP! I tell myself to BREATHE. But once the chest goes, I’m like a weak, dehydrated Sisyphus desperately trying to push that boulder uphill knowing full well it’s going to roll right back down.

Some will argue that I’m not like Sisyphus at all in that the boulder isn’t doomed to roll off the hill…that instead I’m pushing a boulder that reaches certain plateaus along the way to the ultimate hilltop, and when the boulder rolls backwards, it’s just slight. I agree with you, but I have trouble seeing it and more so, FEELING it. That’s a big problem of mine. I don’t FEEL like I’m accomplishing little things. My therapist tells me to stop worrying about feelings and to instead concentrate on rational thought. I try to. I really do. But I’m fighting against both illogical thoughts AND feelings, and when the feelings take over, I’m in serious trouble.

This brings me to what happened a couple of days ago (I was about to apologize for the length of this blog, but then erased it – I heard my therapist yelling, “STOP APOLOGIZING!”). For more than a week I debated taking Sienna to a NY Dads Group meetup at Pier 6 of the Brooklyn Park which boasted “distinct play areas for sand, water, swings, etc.” and had a beautiful view of lower Manhattan. I had already decided that I couldn’t yet handle large meetups, and this one had only 9 dads going including 3 that I knew and liked. It was a trek, though, since I live in Queens on the border of Long Island, but the night before, I decided to go. Then I looked at the weather and saw it was going to rain. Figures. I finally decide to go and it’s going to rain. “Well, I thought, let’s see what it looks like in the morning.”

I awoke and checked the weather report which said that scattered thunderstorms would begin early in the afternoon. That gave us time to enjoy the park, so I fed Sienna, packed her up, made sure I had everything, and hit the road. About halfway there I realized I forgot my camera and I chastised myself. I was pissed. Seriously pissed. I’d made a mental note not to forget the camera and I did anyway. At least I still had my iPhone. The radio was on and (this is something I didn’t remember until later that night as Elaine held me tight trying to soothe me) Bruce Springsteen’s “Glory Days” began to play. I sang along – it’s one of my all-time favs. But then, all of a sudden, I almost burst into tears. I started thinking that I’m 39 and I never experienced glory days…that what I had to look back on was one big mess of depression and failure and being bullied and hiding a deformity. High school sucked. College sucked. Those were supposed to be my glory days. Elaine later pointed out that my 30s were and are my glory days. I fell in love. I got married. I had Sienna. I built familial relationships. I essentially came out of hiding. She’s right, of course, but I wasn’t thinking that way in the car. I did reach back and touched Sienna’s leg to reassure myself and I pushed those bad thoughts away. My anxiety was quivering, but not yet physical. Again, I’d forgotten all about the Springsteen song before remembering it later that night.

I couldn’t find anyone when I got to the park. I checked my phone and learned that 2 of the dads I knew couldn’t make the meetup. My anxiousness ratcheted up a bit. Finally, my friend, let’s call him Kanye (because he’s about as far away from Kanye as you can get), called out to me and I let out a huge sigh of relief. He was in the “Water Lab” with his daughter and seemingly a zillion other parents and kids packed into this tiny space complete with water spitting out of the ground and from overhead sprinklers. It looked really cool. It was, in fact, VERY cold. I changed Sienna into her swim diaper (I’d never put her in a swim diaper before and was very worried about what to do with it. Do I wash it? Do I throw it away?). Immediately, Sienna peed and it went right through the diaper and covered the stroller. I stood there near catatonic like Cameron in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, but only for a second because then my brain flooded with irrational thoughts as Sienna’s pee deluged the stroller. “What do I do? I don’t know how to clean this! Everyone’s watching me! I’m a fraud! They know I’m not fit to be a dad! How am I going to blog about this? The blog has to be perfect! It can’t be too long! I can’t write! I suck! I’m a failure as a dad! I’m a failure as a writer!” I broke out of my catatonia and took Sienna and the stroller to the bathroom to find soap and paper towels. No paper towels. This is when the pain began. I felt like my chest was simultaneously being crushed and would explode .

Now remember, my mind was already in a bad place. A week of debating. The decision. The trek. The weather. The song. Not being able to find anyone. Discovering 2 of the people I knew weren’t coming. Things were set up.

To be continued because I feel drained right now. Must write this…I’M PROUD OF MYSELF FOR WRITING THIS MUCH SO FAR EVEN IF I CAN’T COMPLETE IT!