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<channel>
	<title>WIRL Project &#187; depression</title>
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	<link>http://www.wirlproject.com</link>
	<description>What It&#039;s Really Like.</description>
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		<title>Seeing Mental Health from Both Sides</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/seeing-mental-health-from-both-sides/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/seeing-mental-health-from-both-sides/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 10 Jun 2015 22:00:31 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Martha Karkoski]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Health/Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[WIRL Challenge]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Work/Money]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[depression]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Feelings]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Help]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[medical]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Medication]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Monkey]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Psych]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Psychiatrist]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Psychologist]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[RN]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Therapist]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Therapy]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[WIRL Medical Professionals]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=6816</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Working in an acute psychiatric hospital for 14 years as a Registered Nurse, I could not believe what the human mind and body can endure. I heard horrible stories about parents selling their children for drugs and alcohol. Abuses of the mind and body from allegedly love ones. I remember a man that was in his 30&#8217;s who was fully functioning and then he snapped and became a &#8220;monkey&#8221;. He would not wear clothing and he defecated on the floor. He walked so his hands drug on the floor. He would not talk but screech. We had to approach him very carefully. His medication were placed in foods. The man ended up in a long term facility so he could be evaluated. I also saw a case of an eight year old child trying to kill her mother and step-father because the child was to be given to her biological father whom she never met after he got out of prison! I remember a man that was in his 30&#8217;s who was fully functioning and then he snapped and became a &#8220;monkey&#8221;. He would not wear clothing and he defecated on the floor. &#8230; We had to approach him very carefully. I always found psych so interesting because you can see an injury and treat it, but the mind is a challenge. Psychiatric has a stigma. People do not like to admit they need help psychologically. I was one of these people. I worked IN psych, I didn&#8217;t NEED it. I was the therapist, there was nothing wrong with me! But, I fell into a depression after loosing two people that were close to me. I really didn&#8217;t know what was wrong. I had so many somatic complaints that I did not realize that I was depressed. I came to an understanding, I learned that in being a nurse, or anyone, we stuff our feelings in a &#8220;box&#8221;. That box eventually gets full and all those feeling and thoughts you thought were dealt with come out with a vengeance. They become overwhelming. It is hard to share how you feel with people who are close to you. That is when a therapist, psychologist or psychiatrist comes in. They listen and you just talk about what is bothering you. It is scary because you learn alot about yourself. You learn to resolve your issues in the past and how to cope and handle you present problems. Don&#8217;t be afraid of taking medications to help you cope. It took me three different medications to find one that helped me. I am now doing great. I came to an understanding, I learned that in being a nurse, or anyone, we stuff our feelings in a &#8220;box&#8221;. That box eventually gets full and all those feeling and thoughts you thought were dealt with come out with a vengeance. They become overwhelming. It is hard to share how you feel with people who are close to you. &#160; From all of my experiences, I have learned (and am still learning) that you can&#8217;t change anyone but yourself. Don&#8217;t sweat the small stuff is so true. Life has away of working things out if you only give it a chance. &#160; &#160; &#160;]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wirlproject.com/seeing-mental-health-from-both-sides/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Rest Now or Pay Later: Importance of a Sabbath Day</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/rest-now-or-pay-later-importance-of-a-sabbath-day/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/rest-now-or-pay-later-importance-of-a-sabbath-day/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 22 May 2015 09:00:56 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Alisha Askew]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Health/Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Business]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Career]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[depression]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Entrepreneur]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mompreneur]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Motherhood]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Relaxation]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Stress]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Success]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=6321</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Why has living in the hustle and bustle of life become the new norm; where every waking second of our day is preoccupied with “something that absolutely has to get done, no matter what”? The only time that we truly think about taking a break is when we have over exerted ourselves and are burnt out. Can you honestly enjoy your break when you are, at that point, too tired to rest? Can you honestly enjoy your break when you are, at that point, too tired to rest? Last week started off very exciting and then ended with overwhelm. I launched my new Shine Bright Bold &#38; Beautiful mini 5 Day eCourse which empowers mothers to overcome self-doubt and overflow in self-empowerment! I made a big business no-no of completing each video and content on the same day that the eCourse was sent out to subscribers, so I always felt behind and time restricted. By end of day Friday, there was a complete difference in my temperament, my focus, and my motivation. All I can say is that I don’t think that I have experienced a happier entrepreneur moment than when I submit that last and final mini eCourse video to my subscribers! However, the sad thing was… I was so anxious to start another project on Saturday, despite any overwhelm and fatigue that I was feeling from that week. As soon as I picked up my computer to start another task, the words “Just Rest” came to me. That is when I started thinking about the Sabbath and how I told myself over a month ago that I was going to start resting on Saturdays. I slowly put my computer on the table and a sense of peace flowed throughout my entire body. No guilt. No remorse. Just an inner peace and stillness that my body, especially my mind was yearning! That is when I started thinking about the Sabbath and how I told myself over a month ago that I was going to start resting on Saturdays. I slowly put my computer on the table and a sense of peace flowed throughout my entire body. No guilt. No remorse. The thought of taking a day of Sabbath, or a rest day, is naturally frowned upon as we have been conditioned to work, work, work! In the beginning, I was even uncomfortable with myself for saying, “Today is my day of rest!” As the day went on, I felt like I achieved a major accomplishment of cherishing the moment, celebrating my Sunday-Friday work efforts, and being at peace with myself to take a load off, be easy, and “just rest”. So what exactly did I do on this day of rest? I did everything that may have been unintentionally neglected throughout the chaotic week. I prayed, meditated, and read in the morning, noon, and evening. I truly enjoyed quality time with my son and family. I released the negative energy from the week. I opened my mind and my heart so that I could more easily receive the guidance that I yearn on my purpose driven journey. I took a beautiful, rejuvenating, and well needed nap. And I just enjoyed the day for what it was. The benefits of rest and relaxation are endless, and many are priceless to the one and only precious life that we are given. During the week I may find some “Me Time” to balance all of the pressures from the day, but I am claiming Saturday as my day of Sabbath; my day of rest! I would love to hear how you find time to “Just Rest” and what are some of your favorite things to do during this so called “frowned upon” down time that is well needed and highly deserved?]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Why Does My Weight Get to Dictate?</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/why-does-my-weight-get-to-dictate/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/why-does-my-weight-get-to-dictate/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 08 May 2015 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kate Robinson]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Entertainment]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Health/Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Be Heard]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Body image]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[depression]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Diet]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[highasakate]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Scale]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Size]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[weight]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[weight gain]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Workout]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=5894</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Happy Thursday, everyone! Not for me, though. I think today sucks balls. And I thought yesterday sucked balls, too. Who knows what kind of balls will be sucked tomorrow…. “Damn! Why’s Kate in such a shitty mood? What did Adam do!!!!” Actually, it’s not Adam at all – it’s 100% me. I’m in a really fucking shitty mood because……. I. Feel. Fat. Before I continue, I’d like to say something. I am not a medical professional. In fact, I passed all of my physical science classes by the skin of my teeth. So if you’re reading this and hoping that I’ll provide some EUREKA moment of clarity that will solve your weight problems – don’t bother. I’m as clueless and lazy as you are. Another thing I’d like to point out, is that I’m thin. How thin? None of your goddamn business, that’s how – but not too thin…. that’s for sure. But the reason I’m telling you this, is because I know some of you know what I look like and will be rolling your eyes with a word bubble hovering over your head that reads, “#skinnybitch #skinnypeopleproblems”. But it’s important you know this, because I sincerely feel that there is this radical misconception that only fat people can feel fat, and that if you’re thinand feel fat, then you’re really just fishing for compliments. I stand by this statement 100% because ANY time I’ve tried to even broach the subject of how I am feeling about my weight, guess what? Some of my friends roll their eyes, mad-dog me and then tell me to, “Shut the fuck up.” But I can’t help it! Sometimes that’s how I feel! For example, over the past two weeks, I have gained 5 lbs. Now this may not seem like a lot to some of you, but 5 lbs. on a fat person and 5 lbs. on a skinny person look wayyyyyyyyy different. And no – I will not be politically correct and call fat people “overweight” Fuck that – you’re fat. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Does it make you less of a person? Of course not! Does it mean you’re not beautiful just the way you are? Fuck no – as long as you’re happy, DO YOU. I’m just calling a spade a spade. If you are carrying a lot of extra weight around your major organs, what’s that weight made of? Dollar bills? Laundry baskets? Lawn chairs? No – it’s made of fat. But that’s not the point of this post. I could give two shits how much a person weighs; if you’re a good person, that’s all I care about. Well…. that’s not entirely true. Obviously, if you’re carrying excessive fat around your major organs, preventing them from working properly, and you also happen to be someone I care about, then it will matter to me. But I’m not your mom, so I will never try to make you feel bad about it. But if you are reading this, and we’re friends, and you happen to be overweight, know that I want you to get into better shape for your health – NOT for your closet. Okay, now that that’s out of the way, allow me to get back to my main point. I feel fat. I know that logically speaking, I’m not, but it doesn’t matter. It’s how I feel. It boggles my mind how much power I give my scale. Seriously. Every morning, after I pee (morning pees are the BEST!!!!!) I weigh myself, and then, like an idiot, I allow the number on the scale to dictate how my day will go. How fucked up is that?!?! How did a fucking square, made in Taiwan, with numbers on it, gain so much power? Someone please tell me? I just don’t get it. It’s like there are two little synapses inside my brain, having a little conversation. Good Synapse: “It’s okay, Kate. No matter what the scale says, you are perfect just as you are.” Bad Synapse: “Fuck that shit. If you so much as gained 1/2 a pound, you are a loser and are completely unloveable. Step away from the bread, you fat whore.” Good Synapse: “Shut up. Don’t listen to it, Kate. Just drink a lot of water.” Bad Synapse: “Yeah… listen to Good Synapse, you bloated goat. And remember, water does not mean chocolate milk…….. Fatty. Hey! I just realized something…. Kate and ‘weight’ rhyme! HAAHAAHAHHAHA – that means you ARE fat. Fat, bloated &#38; gross. Stay indoors. Don’t subject the world to your FUPA.” Me: “Hey, Bad Synapse. Did you realize your initials are BS?” BS: “Hey, Kate Weight, did you realize you’re fucking fat? I’m shutting down your endorphins so you suffer!!!!! Suffer, you fat bitch. Suffer!!!!!!!!!!!! I know – I sound crazy. But, truth be told – if I were to write this post when I’m feeling skinny, I’d probably end up ‘there-‘there’ing myself and writing down all sorts of euphoric wisdom. But guess what? That’s not how life works. Sometimes you love yourself, and sometimes you wish you could be anyone else BUT you. And it sucks. It really, really sucks. BUT, it’s important that men and women of all sizes understand that even the skinniest people aren’t happy with the way they look sometimes. In fact, I think it’s fucking rude to tease skinny people about their size – EVER. If it’s not okay to tell a fat person, “Dude! Put the burger down!”, why is it acceptable to tell a skinny person, “Dude! Eat a burger!” Guess what? It’s not. Okay, I’m getting off-topic. Back to my venting. I was chatting with a friend of mine recently, and she was really bummed out because she had gained some weight and was having a difficult time getting rid of it. I can totally relate. It is so fucking frustrating to try your best and still feel like you’ve failed. Every morning you wake up and promise yourself you’ll do better, and then as you turn out the lights at night you feel like a failure. You tell yourself, “There’s always tomorrow.” Well guess what? That is one fucked up way of thinking. And I can say that because that’s exactly what I say and how I feel. YOU ARE NOT ALONE!!!! Why are so many of us afraid to admit when we’re feeling bad about ourselves? I have yet to meet one single person who loves themselves so much that they never have a bad day and they never feel depressed. You wanna know why? Because they don’t fucking exist. They don’t!!!! And……. if you’ve met someone like that, run as quickly as you can in the other direction, cuz that person is in such denial about the realities of life and is so detached from their own feelings that they will most likely end up on an episode of “I Thought I Knew Them.” No, that’s not a real show, but it sure as hell could be! Think of all the killers, rapists, child molesters, con artists, etc. who portrayed themselves as “having it all”. Think of all the Dateline interviews where the victims or acquaintances look at the camera and say, “He/she was such a nice person. Never in a million years did I think….” “I thought I knew them.” And for the people who say they never weigh themselves? I’m telling you right now that I envy you. I am jealous and bitter, but most of all, confused. I can’t imagine going a single day without weighing myself. But perhaps that’s the problem. Perhaps I need to calm the fuck down and reassure myself that the scale means NOTHING. The scale doesn’t pay my bills. The scale doesn’t get my nails or hair did. The scale doesn’t cuddle with me and tell me I’m pretty. The scale doesn’t rub my feet on the weekends and help out with the kids. The scale doesn’t feed the dogs or water the garden. In fact, the scale doesn’t do SHIT.Literally. It literally does nothing. At least a dog licks your face and lays in your lap (regardless of its size). Does the scale lay at your feet and follow you around the house, sensing your sadness and wanting to make it go away? Fuck no, it doesn’t. It takes up 12 square inches of my bathroom and 100% of my brain. How is that even possible?!!?!?!? FUCK. YOU. SCALE! I know…. I’m cursing a lot. I can’t help it and I don’t want to, either. I write the way I speak. In fact, not to plagiarize myself, but I’m pretty sure it says that it my bio, as well. And anyone who knows me knows that, while my vernacular may be broad, I’m just too lazy to use intelligent words. So my go-to is always “fuck“. I’m mad? Fuck you. Didn’t like my food? Fuck that dish. Find out someone is badmouthing me? Haha. I don’t give a fuck. You don’t like me? Your fucking loss. You fuck with someone I love? I’ll fuck you up. You talk badly about one of my friends? I’ll tell you to go fuck yourself.  My son got 100%? That’s fucking awesome! My daughter drew a flower? Fuck yeah! My husband is coming home early? Whoa – that’s fucking rare…. but also fucking amazing!!!!!! Okay, now that I’m rambling, allow me to finish this by stating simply that, we all come in different shapes and sizes, and regardless if you’re a size 4 or 14, we all have feelings. And while the size 14 might find it obnoxious that a size 4 person would not be happy with the way they look, it doesn’t make our feelings any less valid. So when a thin person tells you they’re feeling ugly, fat, lonely, whatever, please don’t roll your eyes. Sometimes all a person needs is someone to hear them. Believe me – there is a stark contrast between listening to someone and hearing them. Hearing someone goes much deeper. By hearing them, you allow yourself to put yourself in their shoes, even if only briefly, and you can often see things from their perspective. It’s amazing what kind of friend you can be when you HEAR what other people have to say instead of just listen. …… More on that topic later. P.S. You know how ‘they’ say writing shit down helps? Well FUCK ‘THEY’. Who the fuck are ‘they‘ anyway? Talking scales – that’s who.]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wirlproject.com/why-does-my-weight-get-to-dictate/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>W.I.R.L. To Come From An Abusive Childhood&#8230; Growing as an Adult</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/w-i-r-l-to-come-from-an-abusive-childhood-growing-as-an-adult/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/w-i-r-l-to-come-from-an-abusive-childhood-growing-as-an-adult/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 05 May 2015 09:00:37 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Nicole Coulter]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[abuse]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Adult]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Children]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[depression]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Lies]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mental Abuse]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[parents]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Physical Abuse]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[WIRL]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=5748</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Hi all! I&#8217;m Nicole. I&#8217;ve contemplated for days and weeks just how I would write my story. I&#8217;ve felt guilty and convinced myself how wrong it could be telling the world about the ugly life I lived. It wasn&#8217;t until today, that I realized my story may help someone, including myself, as I begin my long journey of letting go. I hope you can too. I wasn&#8217;t even sure how I would begin, so I&#8217;ll start with a simple hello and I hope you appreciate how hard this is for me and try to understand what it&#8217;s really like &#8230; I grew up in a small loving town, but nobody knew just how ugly my life really was. Everyone from Corry, Pennsylvania is nice and caring&#8230; everyone but my family. A family that is filled with greed..gossip..drama and anger. Note how I mention my family, not me, and by family I mean my parents. I come from a family that consists of my two brothers and a step sister, my father and a step mother who I now refuse to associate with the word Mother. I don&#8217;t know much about my real mother as nobody has ever taken the time to tell me anything positive about her. I have heard stories of her being a drug addict and many other things that may or may not be true. One thing I am certain of is that she abandoned me and my siblings. I also learned in my later teens she has a major problem with Heroine. The stories I heard never amounted to much as my parents lied and betrayed a lot, and of course they were addicted to drama and telling untruthful stories to those who would listen. I don&#8217;t have many happy memories but a few. To be honest I would say I have a single, solitary happy memory, but not two. The memories I hold within my heart are ugly and sad. When I was young I remember my dad bringing this women home, he told my brothers and I he was getting married. The moment I met her I knew, even then, something was terribly wrong and at a very young age I learned what that &#8220;something&#8221; was. I remember instantly how scared I was of her. She looked scary to me. There was a time I convinced myself that she was the spawn of Satan. I have no idea what the devil looked like, but I was convinced it was her. My father worked a lot and we were left home with her. She forced us to call her mom. I was young and I wanted that. I recall being scared to death of her voice, even when she would yell dinner time!  I knew if I didn&#8217;t come fast enough I wouldn&#8217;t be allowed to eat and if I came too fast, I was running in the house and that was forbidden. Her voice was never soft or gentle and there wasn&#8217;t a time I remember not trembling inside when she would speak. She enjoyed yelling a lot. Words that a child should never hear. And yelling turned in to pulling&#8230;pulling turned in to smacking&#8230; kicking and so on. I was a very emotional child and cried when someone looked at me, I was in fear constantly. If we didn&#8217;t put our shoes away in our room, if we were too loud, didn&#8217;t brush our teeth&#8230;our step mother would show us. Often times that was throwing a shoe at us, or making us eat soap. The list goes on. My life was comparable to what I imagine hell is like. Over the years I started forgetting a lot of my life, I had to hide it, even now I have to skip to certain parts&#8230; AS A TEEN: The majority of my memories begin here. In 5th grade I recall starting my period and her making me wear my bloody underwear to school instead of using pads or tampons, because she was angry I didn&#8217;t tell her. It was the nurse at the school who gave me a box of pads. I went straight home and hid them under my bed hoping she wouldn&#8217;t find them. She would also force me to wear really big clothes because she said I was too fat for anything else. I managed somehow to still make some friends. I guess it was my personality definitely not my style, as my step mother would make sure I had none. She would cut my hair in a mullet&#8230; give me steps on the side, it was terribly embarrassing and I would constantly try to hide it. I would have to put my hair up on the bus into a pony tail hoping someone wouldn&#8217;t notice and start laughing at me. One day I forgot to take it down and she cut my hair off, the way she would my brothers. She put a bowl on my head and that&#8217;s all I had. For my brothers and I everyday was hell for us. I tried my hardest to avoid causing problems, but it seemed to follow me. I was tortured and beaten for silly things. I lost a shirt to an outfit she liked and it was picture day, so obviously I went to school with a red swollen face. Nobody ever asked or noticed. I often wonder why? This wasn&#8217;t the only day I went to school with something out of sorts and still nobody ever asked. I was raised to believe I was nothing, she stole that from me. The things I heard no child should ever hear, and I heard it daily. There was never anyone to help ease my fears. I felt like I was too young to reach for God. I talked a lot to myself and still prayed, but never really knew who I was speaking to. For some reason my family always wanted people to believe we were rich. It was her mostly, she needed to feel important. She always would always drive the flashiest cars, but nobody know the payments were never made. There was never any food in our house, at least not for us. I recall hiding raw spaghetti noodles in my closet and I would eat them when the hunger became too much. While we were starving I would later to find the stash of chips and cookies, etc. in her closet. We never dared to get caught in the cupboards or refrigerator. One time I did and the result was me standing in the corner until I was too weak to hold myself up, all the while being beating with a belt. It wasn&#8217;t until she bought a pet store that I believed this was all over. She had to let the people of Corry know she had money. Again this was not the case. I was happy and anxious because I knew she wouldn&#8217;t be home much. I was wrong. It was still just as bad, the only difference was now people believed she was some wonderful great woman. We felt we didn&#8217;t stand a chance for someone to help now. I can remember many times helping at the store, I had a fish tank hose whipped to my head and back for not knowing how to start it. The beatings never ended but it&#8217;s the words I remember and feel most. Even now. My family was even rewarded with foster children. Now she had her pick of the kids to choose from to harass. We were all eventually treated like slaves, constantly cleaning and cooking. As the number of children added up, it was easier to feel safe. We would talk about the physical abuse and confide in each other about the messy house that would result in no food. They knew they were there for money, and nobody ever came. I waited and waited and nobody came to save me. A few times people would come for inspections and end up telling my parents what the kids were saying about them. It got so bad that two of the children tried to commit suicide just so they could escape. Still nothing still was ever done. I could go on and continue to explain the abuse, the name calling, the yelling screaming. The fake personas they displayed in public, the fake life I was forced to play out. I was beaten &#8230;mentally and physically my whole life and forced to put on a smile. Those who know me that are reading this are probably in disbelief. But I realize now my skin feels warm to the touch, my eyes filled with tears. I need to get to why I really came here to tell my story: I moved out of my family&#8217;s house when I was 17. I actually finally worked up enough courage to run away. During this time I was working at Dairy Queen. One night I came home to dishes and filth all over the kitchen. I mentioned to my father that I had just worked a long shift and thought it was unfair that I was being made to wash dishes for 11 people when I wasn&#8217;t home to make any mess. I had my ear drum busted that night&#8230; he said I disrespected him. I think that was the final straw. I waited for them to leave and I packed my room up in trash bags, taking only the things I really needed, and I just left. I called my boyfriend (now husband) and told him I was leaving. He knew exactly what I had been going through and witnessed far too much of the aftermath of my home life. His dad told him to have me come to his house. Over the next few days my father in law gained temp. custody of me. I continued going to school and didn&#8217;t hear from my parents for 2 years until I graduated. My husband is the only man I have ever grown to trust in my life. My life now as a mom and a wife: I&#8217;m thirty now and have been with my husband for 16 wonderful years. I believe God rewarded my troubled life by providing me with Shane. I accept that I still have issues, I struggle constantly with lots of things. With love, self esteem and trust. I often get so defensive during a simple joke, or conversation that it causes stress in my marriage and every day life. I struggle with friendships and I struggle with being a mom. I don&#8217;t know how to not fear my children knowing how much I love them. I feel in constant pressure to be their friend. I often get sad if I feel my husband is too hard on them. I struggle daily with self image and self worth. My husband tells me daily how beautiful I am, how much he loves me&#8230; after 16 years, I still do not believe him. I cause fights and fits that I shouldn&#8217;t. I have anger and OCD issues. I don&#8217;t like to be alone. EVER! I even have a hard time trusting God to be in total control of me. The abuse is constantly in my mind and I protect myself every single day, more then I really need to. I always feel like someone is out to get me. Always. I now see the bad in everything instead of looking for the good. Finally the change I must make to live a happy humble blessed life. I understand it is a long process that counseling and medication alone won&#8217;t help me. Only I can truly help myself. 2015 requires me to work at letting go. Today I have zero contact with my Parents. I blame my father too as he failed God&#8217;s mission, he didn&#8217;t protect his children. Some things I am committed to doing in order to improve my life include: &#8211; Remind myself daily I am beautifully beautiful. I am me. I&#8217;m funny. Smart and can convince a worm it&#8217;s handsome! &#8211; Today matters. Yesterday is gone. &#8211; Divorce all the negative in my life. This includes everyone that brings me down. &#8211; Remember God loves me and that&#8217;s enough. &#8211; My family today was a gift and I&#8217;m here as a purpose and it&#8217;s my calling. &#8211; Never say things you don&#8217;t mean. Because words hurt very very much. &#8211; Be all I can be every single day. Be kind to everyone AND always make people smile. &#8211; And finally LET GO OF MY PAST, BECAUSE MY FUTURE IS NOW MY CHOICE. Nobody ever knew or saw what was happening to me. Pay close attention to each and every single person in your life. Someone may be crying out for you to notice. I love you&#8217;s should be sincere and used as often as possible. Hug your children daily and remind them they are special. Pay attention to them and never over use affection because it&#8217;s what fuels our children to adulthood. I have two beautiful children and an amazing caring hardworking husband that will always put me before his own needs. I have a wonderful life. Letting go of my history is God&#8217;s will. He would never have given me my husband and children if he didn&#8217;t think I could help them and thrive.]]></description>
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		<title>PPD Forces Changes</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/ppd-forces-changes/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/ppd-forces-changes/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 22 Apr 2015 09:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Becky Babo]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Antidepressants]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Baby]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Body]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Daughter]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[depression]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Emotional]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Faith]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mom]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Motherhood]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[new mom]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[postpartum]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Postpartum Depression]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[PPD]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Pregnancy]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=5401</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[&#160; My beautiful baby girl just turned one in March, and motherhood has forced it&#8217;s fair share of changes on me, the least of which being my pants size. The elephant in the room is Postpartum Depression. I was diagnosed with Postpartum Depression (PPD) four weeks after I had my bundle of joy. I wanted to be happy, but I couldn&#8217;t stop crying. The bottom line is that postpartum depression has changed me. I&#8217;ve always been an emotional person, but generally I&#8217;ve been able to see the good in situations, not just the bad. Now, I feel like I&#8217;m not the person I was before I became a mom. I&#8217;m not the perky, bubbly person who was so sure of herself anymore. I&#8217;ve become someone else that I don&#8217;t quite recognize. I&#8217;m trying to beat this &#8211; trying to overcome what I&#8217;m feeling and what my body has decided to do. My doctor has me on antidepressants, my third different brand, and the fact of the matter is, I&#8217;m scared. What if I always feel like this? What if they don&#8217;t help? What if being on them is going to make me a bad mom? Research tells me that PPD is a chemical imbalance, and that it&#8217;s a lot more common then most women know. Why? What makes it so hard for women to talk about? Maybe it&#8217;s the constant feeling that you&#8217;re just not good enough. Or the sadness that comes around when you really should be happy. This is not an easy road for me to walk. This is not what I expected. And yet, I know that this is not my fault. I don&#8217;t understand why &#8211; but this is happening to me for a reason, and God is truly in control. If He put this in my path, then I have to walk around it. I have to overcome this obstacle. And if it brings me closer to Him, and turns me into a more sympathetic and better mother, then it&#8217;s worth it. Until then, I will keep trying. For her.]]></description>
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