Outrun your tigers

By DARCIE BORDEN
Featured Blogger

It was so much simpler in primitive times. Not easier, but simpler. Here's how it worked: saber tooth tiger chases man, man receives stress signals to the brain, man perceives the stress as a threat to his survival, man fights the tiger or makes a run for it (most likely runs). Once the man has either become the victor in a battle against the beast or has successfully outrun the danger, he feels endorphins rush in and is restored to a state of calm.

If only the fight or flight response could work so well nowadays. Try to outrun the BlackBerry. We can't challenge the boss to a duel, and even if we could, we have to sit in traffic to get there. Our cave now has a mortgage. It's no wonder that human beings have invented pharmaceuticals to give us the calm usually induced after fighting the foe.

But, there's another way. Outrun the tigers on the elliptical machine, or let them chase you down Main Street, and after you've left them far behind, stop at the local coffee house for some cappuccino to celebrate the victory. You see, exercise has been a proven solution to anxiety and depression. But, we already instinctively knew that. We just forgot when we went to the zoo and saw the tigers behind bars.

We were made for movement. And everything we need to survive has already been given to us long before Prozac. However, I'm not sure we were meant to take on the modern stressors we've inflicted on ourselves, and at the end of the day, most hard-working people don't have any energy or motivation left for exercise.

Each person has a reservoir for stress, and if that reservoir starts to overflow, the anxiety which ensues can be debilitating. Where there is anxiety, depression is sure to follow. The two seem to go hand-in-hand. One thing for sure is that our bodies will usually tell us when something is wrong. We just have to pay attention.

Our hard-wired fight or flight response is triggered on a daily basis and sends stress hormones into our bodies which are meant to be metabolized by physical exertion. So, what happens to the stress hormones if they are not effectively metabolized? In other words, what about the couch potatoes or desk-sitters who never exercise? Well, the disorders that arise from the build-up of stress hormones were not known to primitive man. They are things like high blood pressure, irritable bowel syndrome, and even autoimmune diseases such as lupus and rheumatoid arthritis.

Our minds are on constant alert, scanning internal and external situations for signs of danger and threats to survival. We've come a long way, but our instinctive brains have not forgotten the tigers and are always on the look-out for new dangers, like looming college tuition bills, awaiting results from a cancer test, or losing a client at work.

Aerobic exercise, the kind that breaks a sweat, triggers the release of mood-lifting hormones, which promote a sense of well-being and reduce stress. Studies have shown that exercise can be just as effective at preventing and treating depression as anti-depressants can.

Sometimes, however, the stress hormones have built up to such an extreme level that medication may be needed temporarily. When someone is at such a point of major depression and anxiety, the last thing they want to do is exercise. They are usually in bed or on the couch, mentally exhausted and apathetic, and it would take an extreme effort to walk around the block, much less break a sweat. All of their energy is sucked out of them through the merciless vacuum of worry over perceived threats and the constant stream of negative thoughts. It would be great if all it took was a walk around the block and, BAM, serotonin and norepinephrine are automatically restored to normal levels. But for many people, that feat can only be accomplished initially with medication. To make matters worse, many anti-depressants cause tiredness, which can sabotage motivation for exercise.

Scientists are urging us to see body and mind health as deeply connected. The extra weight we carry can change our hormones and facilitate anxiety or depression, being sedentary can lessen blood flow and energy supply to the brain, which can cause sluggishness and a feeling of blah. Two common examples of physical symptoms of stress are eye-twitching and teeth-grinding. This is your body telling you to deal with your stress before that reservoir spills over.

Remember the old infomercial for Slam Man? It was a punching bag like boxers use, but it was in the shape of a man. So, not only could you get vigorous exercise, but you could fight that imaginary foe at the same time, possibly your boss who made you stay extra hours to finish that big project. Whatever the exercise or activity you choose, find one that suits your interests and provides a fight or flight solution.

One of my first dates with my husband, Bill, was to see a band called Hyperactive, which played songs like "Stop" by Janes Addiction. I found myself in the middle of a mosh pit – something I had never done before. This was, for me, the Cadillac of stress reducers, albeit not something that could be built into daily life, and I don't recommend it for anyone under 18 years old. You're close enough to the band so that the music is so loud you forget who you are. You never stop moving, as you are carried by the momentum of the people around you. On top of that, in a mosh pit you sort of have a license to bang into people, although you wouldn't want to get too carried away with that.

Now that I'm 38, I have to rely on more grown-up stress reducers, such as playing tennis or jogging. But, guess what's playing on my iPod?

Raw and uncut - this wedding is not yet rated

By DARCIE BORDEN
Featured Blogger

This past weekend I had the pleasure of viewing my friend Kathy's wedding video. She got married last year, and had one of those really professional videos done, complete with pictures of her and her husband as children, background music, and even a nice ending to wrap it up in a neat and tidy package.

After watching her expertly choreographed and edited video, I told her I would find my wedding video and have her over for comedy hour. Mine, you see, was taken by my ex-brother-in-law, and as he got drunker, the video footage got weirder.

I had a suspicion that my wedding video (which really is a video tape and not DVD) was in the attic. So I climbed up there today, and I found it in a box with some of the videos the kids have outgrown, such as "Veggie Tales" and various Disney movies. Thank goodness we still have a VCR to play it on.

Here are some highlights, or lowlights, from my wedding video:

During the church service, where the priest (my Uncle Wayne) says, "For richer or for poorer," Bill, my husband, started laughing. We were poor. We couldn't afford an engagement ring or a honeymoon. All we had was our love. He laughed again when he had to repeat the words, "With all that I have." This was because he didn't have anything, except about $15,000 of debt. But, besides offering to share his debt with me, he vowed to share his life with me, and that has made me a richer woman than money ever could.

The rest of the service was fine, but the reception probably makes you cringe almost as much as watching an episode of "The Office." Not exactly a class affair, at least not from the perspective of the ex-brother-in-law, John.

At the reception, John seemed fixated on taking extended footage of the cake. As it turns out, the cake wasn't even ours. The bakery delivered the wrong one.

The telltale sign was the topper. I had ordered a crystal heart topper, because I didn't want the cheesy plastic bride and groom figurines. Well, the bride and groom figurines are at the top of some other bride's cake at my reception, and John captured them on camera more than any of the real people at the wedding.

I was so young (22) and naïve that I didn't even realize that I could tell the DJ what I wanted and what I didn't want. So, during the cutting of the cake, he played that horrible theme song from the old TV show "Married With Children," a show that I despised at the time. But I smiled through it.

I do remember, however, that my mother told me I could make out a little list of some of the music I would like played at the reception. But, I never heard a single song from my list. Instead, the DJ, who was also very young and probably very inexperienced, kept playing music requested by Bill's friends. So, it's no wonder our dance floor was empty when the DJ was playing Slayer. To make matters worse, the people who requested such music went outside to smoke anyway and left the rest of us to the tunes of Megadeath or some such thing. My poor grandparents!

That brings me to the crowd outside. John then became less interested in what was going on in the reception, and he was more amused by getting pranks on camera - such as one of Bill's friends pretending to pick his nose and eat it. Another of his friends, one of the many smokers, took a drag and blew smoke right into the camera lens. Nice. It's possible such atrocities are caught on camera at other weddings, but the professional videographer edits them out before creating the finished product.

There is no neat and tidy ending to our wedding video. It's just a bunch of people standing around saying goodbyes and goofing off, some of it disturbing, some sweet. Then you hear my sister-in-law yell at John, "Would you turn the damn camcorder off?!!"

But, ya know, I'm sort of glad he didn't turn it off. It was real. And marriage is not a neat and tidy package. It's messy. It's ups and downs. You will see some disturbing images during the course of a marriage, along with laughing, yelling, crying, and everything else that goes along with the union of two people who came from very different families and who have very different personalities. But at the bottom of it all is love and a fierce desire to make it work.

On Friday, May 2, Bill and I will celebrate our 16th wedding anniversary. My favorite passage about marriage has always been the Bible verse 1 Corinthians 13:4-7, because it emphasizes kindness, which is our number one rule for our marriage.

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."

Bill is patient and kind and keeps no record of wrongs. He is a gentle, unassuming, humble and easygoing man. He has the best work ethic of anyone I know and has carried everything on his shoulders without complaint for 16 years. He has seen me through high-risk pregnancy, breast cancer scares, multiple surgeries, financial distress, and depression. I have known him since I was 21 years old and he has watched me grow up.

Here's how you know you got married too young. At the end of our wedding video, which didn't use up the whole tape, is a "Ren and Stimpy" episode that Bill tacked on. My 15-year-old daughter, Faith, looked at me in bewilderment and slight horror and said, "Daddy put 'Ren and Stimpy' on your wedding video? Are you kidding me?"

That may have been something that would have bothered me in my 20's when I thought marriage and life had to be a perfect fairytale, but that childlike spirit is what has gotten Bill and I to where we are pretty much unscathed. He is still as goofy as he was in 1992, and thank God, because that will continue to get us through the challenges that lie ahead of us. He teaches me not to take life too seriously.

Happy Anniversary Bill. I love the heck out of you.

Name it, claim it, and ride it like you stole it!

By DARCIE BORDEN
Featured Blogger

The two things we can be absolutely sure of is that we come into the world alone and leave the world alone. But, in between those two events, we are not meant to be alone. Humans were meant to live in groups, working together, loving together, and seeking truth together.

Some of us realize we need human interaction like air and fully give ourselves over to it, knowing the risks are rejection, hurt, but also great love and getting closer to the truth about life and ourselves. Others hide behind distractions, not knowing how to fully give themselves over to that experience, allowing fear to keep them from hurt and inevitable disappointments.

The sum of one's life can be equal to the number and quality of relationships he/she has experienced. Anything else that one thinks can bring happiness is never as fulfilling if not shared with another human being.

To be fully engaged in life is to put yourself out there, your whole self, and see what comes of it. Of course there will be pain, but also great joy. There's nothing to lose but fear.

I once read that the Chinese believe that sadness is a guarantee, and happiness should come as a surprise. In America, we believe we are entitled to happiness, and we are surprised by sorrow.

But, aren't we merely entitled to the PURSUIT of happiness? Happiness won't just walk in through our front door and present itself. It's the result of our choices, our actions, and our mental outlook. And even then, it can be disrupted by sorrow, because happiness is not really a tangible thing we can possess.

Sometimes life is a struggle just to keep our heads above water. But, that struggle is why we are here; that is life. From the struggle we learn about others, the world, and ourselves. From the struggle, we lose our pride and ego, and we gain grace, empathy and compassion. Without struggle, we would not become complete human beings. Our growth would be stunted.

It is tempting to question and curse the bumps in the road. But, usually on the other side of the bump is clarity, strength, revelation, but most important is compassion for fellow human beings. If only there weren't so many bumps! And some of those bumps are more like hills. When you've traversed enough of those bumps, you somehow turn into a life warrior and can pass that wisdom and strength on to the rest of your clan.

I will take a risk at being cheesy and quote my fellow New Jerseyan, Jon Bon Jovi: "It's my life. It's now or never. I ain't gonna live forever. I just wanna live while I'm alive."

Whatever it is that you want out of life, name it, claim it, and ride it like you stole it. What's stopping you? Pride? Ego? Fear? Those things are merely distractions from the truth. Invite people into your life who help you get closer to your truth. Finding truth is one thing that's hard to do alone, and I'm not sure we were meant to do it alone.

My turn in the tube

By DARCIE BORDEN
Featured Blogger

They say tennis is the perfect metaphor for life. All I know is, I have had my share of 3-hour matches.

And after 3 hours, you're hating life.

But you also feel stronger, wiser and accomplished. If tennis is like life, then I may be in my twilight years. You see, I recently had my turn in the tube. The MRI, that is.

I finally went to a sports medicine doctor to figure out my ongoing pinched nerve problem, and he is afraid I may have arthritis and possibly a degenerative disc in my cervical spine. No wonder I've been in so much pain. Knee problems are more common in tennis, but anyone who knows my build knows that I have a sturdy lower foundation. My large leg muscles and lower center of gravity gave me an edge in the game.

Many people don't realize that the power in tennis comes from the lower body, not the arms. But, I think too many topspin serves have caused my recurrent problem. In fact, I think I have delivered my last topspin serve. Now I know why so many "older" club players look so stiff when they play and why their game looks so cautious and non-aggressive.

I guess I should feel grateful that I almost made it to 40 still playing hard singles. My college teammate Ryan went on to the pro circuit, but he only lasted about 5 years before he had to retire from the sport because of injuries.

So, let's assume tennis is like life and we all have our turn in the tube, the moment of truth when we have to face our weaknesses or fragility. I recently faced mine, and I pray that I can be fixed.

Or maybe I will just be forced to accept change and enter a new chapter of the game - the slower, gentler game of doubles. At least I'll have company on my side of the court.

Adults need parents, too

By DARCIE BORDEN
Featured Blogger

I want my mommy!

That’s how I feel sometimes. Not often, but in times of crisis, for sure. When you’re a grown-up and you fall, sometimes you need more than a Band-Aid. Lately I’ve been wondering, do we ever stop needing our parents?

I’ve been a mother for 15 years now, applying Band-Aids to my own kids’ scrapes and cuts and soothing their worries and fears. The ironic thing is that as we get older, we’re supposed to need our parents less, but our cuts are sometimes deeper and our worries get bigger.

My son Julian is in middle school, that time when he is no longer a little kid, but not yet a teenager. I feel like I’m in a middle stage too. I have all of the responsibilities of an adult and mother, but sometimes I want my parents to take care of me and tell me everything will be OK.

As long as you can still feel like a child, there’s a feeling of security. Thankfully, I haven’t lost a parent yet, but I’ve read that when you do, you realize your separateness all over again.

Our ultimate fear is that we really are alone. That realization of being separate from our parents happens at other ages too, like when a baby discovers his hands or feet for the first time and is surprised that he is actually separate from his mother’s body. Or like when a toddler or preschooler has separation anxiety when she is dropped off at daycare of preschool for the first time.

I think I went through adult separation anxiety this past year. You see, my parents moved from New Jersey to Texas two years ago following my older brother’s move out there. If that wasn’t enough to unhinge me, my last living grandparent, and the one I was always closest to, moved to Texas. Then, my younger brother moved to Miami.

This big change in our family forced me into that middle stage, perhaps a little younger than some people experience it. I felt my separateness from my parents, because even though my parents are still alive and well, they are at least 3,000 miles away and cannot be here to provide any sort of safety net or support. They aren’t here to attend my kids’ concerts or birthday parties. They aren’t here to help me if I’m sick. They aren’t here to babysit or pick me up if my car breaks down. I can’t just drop by to have a cup of tea with my dad or go for a manicure with my mom.

The miles between us have cut the apron strings. I am not leaving this middle stage without some kicking and screaming, I admit. I am screaming “I want my Mommy!” just like a toddler being dropped off at a babysitter, but my screaming is silent and deep down in my gut where it takes the form of anxiety.

Luckily, in a father’s eyes, his daughter is always his little girl. This is why every little girl needs a daddy, to make her feel like a daughter again. Like when my dad knew I was depressed and anxious, and he said, “I will stay on the phone with you for two hours every day if it’ll make you better.” Or when he said, “I will come and stay with you for as long as it takes.”

Of course I never made my dad do those things, but just knowing that I was still his little girl and that he would take care of me was all I needed. That kind of fatherly love, the kind that says, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” is the kind that makes you feel stronger. It’s the kind that gives you a gentle shove to get out there and play again.

I know my dad is on the sidelines cheering me on to the next stage. I will arrive at the beginning of the second half of my life a more mature, compassionate and wise person, with a wider view of the world, a view that only those of us who are willing to take off the training wheels have the privilege to see.

Are you too emotional?

By DARCIE BORDEN
Featured Blogger

Has anyone ever accused you of being too emotional?

Well, don't be insulted. That just means you're part of the human race, and maybe it also means you're more highly evolved or would have survived better in early human history.

You know those goose bumps you get when you experience extreme emotion? The origin of goose bumps goes back to before we developed language to verbalize our emotions. We were also covered with hair back then. The goose bumps made the hairs stand up, and that showed our clan mates that we were experiencing extreme emotion. It also happened when we were the prey, and the hairs standing up from fear could make us look bigger or scarier to our predator, thus possibly ending the chase.

Have you noticed that now that we no longer have all that hair standing up from the goosebumps, we feel the need to tell people when we have goosebumps? Like, "Wow, that gave me goosebumps."

Ironic how we have the language to express our emotions now, but we still realize instinctively that the goosebumps are part of that expression and should be recognized by our modern clan mates.

I thought of this recently when my friend Lisa was over my house, and we were discussing kids and current issues involving kids. Lisa was trying to express to me how much she cares about my kids, and she said, "I have goosebumps, that's how sincere I am." Almost as if we are still somehow connected to our ancestral expression of emotion, and words just don't feel like enough.

Emotion was highly important for humans to conceptualize important issues while living in hunter-gatherer clans. As we began living in larger groups, our forebrain expanded to include even more complex emotions.

Emotions were part of our survival in those groups, and it is still part of our survival today. All you have to do is observe the dynamic amongst 7th grade girls, the universal age when they begin to compete for position in their tribe and fight to fit in and belong. There's a reason they are obsessed with friendships in middle school and seem to forget about their family. They have already secured a place in their families. Now they instinctively feel that they need to secure a place in the larger community, even if it is only the community (or tribe) of the middle school. Don't forget, even as recent as biblical times, girls were getting married at 13 years old. And biblical times are very recent in the history of humanity, when you figure we've been on the planet for 4 million years.

All this makes me wonder why in Victorian times, people were taught to not show emotion. Was it suddenly unbecoming? Did it seem too clan-like? Why is it bad manners to show too much emotion? And how can we possibly be expected to lose 4 million years of survival instincts that are hard-wired into our brains?

I don't know about you, but the next time someone says I'm being too sensitive or overreacting, maybe it's they who should think about why I'm being too sensitive or why I'm overreacting. Maybe the issue needs to be looked at more closely. Maybe that is how we've survived living in groups all these years. Our emotions urge people to resolve issues and live together in harmony.

How do you cope?

By DARCIE BORDEN
Featured Blogger

I'm sure you've heard this one before: "I believe everything happens for a reason." You may fall into one of two camps – you either agree with that statement wholeheartedly, or it irritates the hell out of you when someone says that. But, if you fall into the second camp, before you judge too harshly, consider this: we all have our own ways of coping.

What's yours?

From the beginning of time, people have looked for reasons outside of themselves as to why things happen. Early humans thought nature had emotions. So, if there was thunder and lightning, they thought the spirits were angry. Shamen helped them "cope" through various means. You might say a Shaman was an early combination of priest/therapist/pharmacist.

Some people believe in astrology, some believe in religion, some believe in therapy and medication and some just drink or smoke their problems away - only to see their problems return when the mind-altering haze disappears.

Whatever the means, it is human nature to need to find a way to cope with whatever life throws at us. We, unlike most animals, are keenly self-aware. I wonder, though, if the best way to cope is to remind ourselves from time to time that we were derived from the universe, we are merely a speck in the broad scope of things and we will return to the universe when we meet our end. When you think of it that way, what really matters in this life?

Well, I know what matters to me – when I'm on my deathbed, I won't be thinking, "Gee, I wish I had spent more time at the office."

I have been thinking lately of how insignificant, yet miraculous, we are as I think about two new souls who will inhabit the earth this summer. My dear friend Kathy and my sister-in-law Cynthia are both in their second trimester of pregnancy. Their unborn babies can now recognize their fathers' voices, they can be startled by bright lights and loud noises, and they can make emotional facial expressions and will soon be able to even suck their thumbs.

But, before this trimester, they were like little time capsules of evolution. For example, the developing human embryo at one point has gill pouches almost identical to those of a fish embryo. We did, after all, come up out of the sea. As the embryo develops, those gill pouches turn into the skeleton of the larynx and the muscles of the face. The embryo also has a tail that disappears before birth. At six months, the fetus is covered in a downy coat of fur which also disappears before birth.

We have blood serum that is 99 percent identical to seawater, our canine teeth have unusually deep root systems and behaviors like wiggling ears and raising eyebrows were developed for different reasons millions of years ago. For instance, when we smile, we are using muscles that were originally designed for snarling.

There is something that constantly distracts us from the comforting knowledge of our ties to the universe. It's our ego. We feel self-important, and our own problems are monumental, because they're ours. They say as you get older you lose your fear of death. Maybe it's because we lose our ego along with it. A baby isn't concerned with anything except himself, and for good reason – survival. A child doesn't really start to see the bigger picture until their brain's frontal lobe starts to develop around age 11, and even then, the frontal lobe is not finished developing until age 20! No wonder even college kids seem really self-absorbed. Can we blame them?

But, as we age, we should realize that we are just part of the bigger picture, and our goal should be to serve others and try to make the world a better place for those new souls who are on their way. I believe that is the key to happiness.

I don't know if I believe things happen for a reason, but I do believe that life takes on a momentum, and you either resist it or you choose to take the ride, even though it can be scary. Resisting life is what causes anxiety, because ultimately, we are not in control.

From the 1920s Max Ehrmann poem "Desiderata":

"You are a child of the universe, no less than the tress and the stars;
you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore, be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy."

Snap out of it! Or can you?

By DARCIE BORDEN
Featured Blogger

I began 2008 with bronchitis and didn't hesitate to go the doctor for antibiotics. I took Zithromax for 5 days and Robitussin DM. I didn't question the doctor's diagnosis, and I took my medicine, no questions asked. After all, our physical health is vulnerable and sometimes needs medical treatment.

But, what about our brain? Can our brain be just as vulnerable to a temporary illness and need medical treatment? When we think of mental illness, it conjures up images of straitjackets and schizophrenia. But, can't the brain have it's own version of a cold?

And why do we seem to think of the brain as separate from the body? It is part of the body, after all. But, mental health is discussed differently from physical health. And there still seems to be a stigma attached to anti-depressants and psychotropic drugs, even though one out of every 10 women and one out of every 17 men is taking these drugs, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Furthermore, it is reported that 25 percent of us will experience a major depression at some point in our lives. Depression is in fact a disease.

I experienced my own "mental flu" recently, and now I'm taking Cymbalta, an anti-depressant. But, it took two gynecologists , three family physicians and nine months to convince me to take it. I had never taken drugs for mental health before, and I, like many people, thought I should just "snap out of it." When I finally hoisted up the white flag in surrender, I sort of felt like a failure. But, now in retrospect, now that I have educated myself on the imbalance of brain chemicals and how stress hormones can affect them, I realize how ridiculous it is to feel guilty about it. I don't feel like a failure for getting bronchitis.

This, however, was the first time I couldn't talk myself out of a funk, or pray myself out of it, or will myself out of it, or exercise myself out of it. Yes, eventually, maybe after a year or two, it would end on its own, but only after causing devastation in its wake to my health and possibly my relationships. This was bigger than me and I felt completely helpless. I've had the blues before, such as postpartum blues or small depressions when something upsetting happened or life inevitably changes. But, I always "got over it" in the past without the need for pharmaceutical intervention.

This was the first time I was having panic attacks and I actually understood for the first time the meaning of heartache. My heart actually hurt. In fact, I was sort of having a strange mixture of anxiety and depression. The anxiety was so bad that I couldn't eat and lost 20 pounds. This depression felt different, not like any I'd ever had before, and it felt connected to my hormones, which seemed to be causing my menstrual cycle to become erratic. My instincts told me there was a mind-body connection.

But, the first gynecologist I went to, a man, told me that our hormones don't cause us to go crazy. My first thought was, "Hey mister, I never said I was going crazy!" My second thought was, "Ok, he's fired."

So, for nine months I tried everything. I made lists of what I'm grateful for. They say that works. I wrote in a journal every day to get my feelings out. They say that works. It was so frustrating that my emotions just wouldn't match what I intellectually and rationally knew to be true, which is that I have two beautiful, healthy children, a wonderful husband, a wonderful life, and lots of things to look forward to.

But what was also true was that my life in one year was changing too fast all at once. There were too many things all stressing me out at the same time, and my reservoir for stress spilled over to the point that created a generalized anxiety disorder. It was the perfect storm.

I talked to friends, I tried a therapist, I got the whole slew of blood tests to rule out thyroid disease or any other physical malady that can be associated with depression or anxiety. Heck, I even tried praying the Rosary, and I'm not even Catholic. They say it works, and I was at the point where I would try anything. Anything except anti-depressants.

I was a fool. It should have been as easy as if you have a headache, you take Tylenol. This was just a different kind of headache. In fact, I thought my head was going haywire. I thought I was cracking up. Well, maybe I don't want to be quite so forthcoming. I wouldn't want anyone carting me off to the loony bin. But, what can we fess up to these days? Do other people feel the same way?

What finally convinced me to take Cymbalta was two things. First, during one of my crying spells, I saw a look in my husband's eyes that really bothered me. He looked scared. The only other time I'd seen that fearful look in his eyes was when I had a partially malignant breast tumor removed along with at least a quarter of my right breast.

The second thing was finding a really good doctor who listened. He then referred me to a female gynecologist who said that absolutely this could be related to my hormones changing, especially since I'm almost 40, and that if I'm under a lot of stress it could create all the symptoms I had described, especially since they seemed to happen most at hormonal times of the month.

But, what really made a difference to me was when my new doctor suggested that I take Cymbalta, and he looked into my eyes and said, "I can see you have some hesitation. What are you afraid of?" I've never had a doctor take the time to ask me that before. I told this doctor all my irrational and rational fears, and he didn't judge any of them. He simply said this: "If a doctor told me that I had to take one medication for the rest of my life but that I could pick which one, this is the one I'd choose." Sold!

When I asked this doctor "Why me? Why is this happening? It's never happened to me before." He explained that sometimes low serotonin can be just as hereditary as high cholesterol. Our brain chemistry is subject to the same kinds of hereditary influences as other parts of our body make-up. Someone else might not have the same reaction to my set of circumstances as me, because they don't have my body or my brain.

So, now it's three months later and my dark cloud is gone. I do, however, still feel the cloud trying to cast its shadow every once in a while, and that's how I know it's not time to go off the medication quite yet. The doctor prescribed it for six months. And let me say at this juncture that antidepressants DO NOT cure depression. And they don't make you skip down the street high on life either. But, they do help you manage better until the depression goes away. They help you to maintain a quality of life, enjoy relationships, and function at work and home until the depression goes away. They give you yourself back. Depressions can take anywhere from six months to 2 years to diminish and can vary from mild to severe.

My son Julian told me the other night that my brain is the size of my two fists put together. He showed me with his two little hands, and it made the brain seem less scary. In fact, the brain has no nerve endings, so you can't feel it being cut or burned. But something that seems so powerless somehow has the power to take over our lives. Before antidepressants were discovered, women were called "hysterical" or put in hospitals for severe depression. It was a misunderstood science. It's no wonder that people didn't want to admit to feeling depressed.

And that still carries over to today. No one comes right out and declares that they are on antidepressants, but when I started talking to my friends about the topic, one friend admitted, "Girl, I've been on 'em all." Another told me Lexapro (another antidepressant) saved her life. It seemed like the more I told people my story, the more I found out that almost everyone I knew had at some point in their lives been on an antidepressant or suffered through depression untreated. It's a shame that when we're going through it, we feel so alone and don't realize that it's just part of the human experience. After all, aren't we all just trying to struggle through life? No one has it perfect, and no one has all the answers. We're all in this boat together.

For me, everything always goes back to anthropology, because that is where I find answers. I read that the evolutionary reason we experience depression is to force us back to the cave when we are ill or under severe stress. I also read that when you are at the point of a crying spell, your stress hormones have reached the point of damaging your health. Stress is one of the biggest killers in this country. So, why would we need to go back to the cave? Well, we need to rest if we are ill, or we need to rest after being pursued by that big scary predator. In today's world, that predator could be a boss who demands too much of you.

My brother Jonathan once told me that in a time like this I need to "just stay home." It took me a while to realize what he meant. Give myself permission to just stay home. The world will go on without me for a day, or two. Go back to the cave. Get well.

With age, comes strain ... and wisdom

By DARCIE BORDEN
Featured Blogger

I've felt old lately.

Maybe it's because I've had chronic pain for over two months now. Maybe it's because of the mental strain I suffered this past year which has made me feel listless. All I know is that I don't feel the verve of a young person.

I'm 38. My husband crossed the threshold into his 40s last year, and my friends are all turning 40. I will soon too. But, don't get me wrong; that number doesn't bother me. It's how I feel that bothers me, and I don't feel young.

That is, until recently. I called my grandma to see how her Christmas was (she lives in Texas), and just because I need to hear her voice once in a while. I can't even imagine the day that I can't just call her to hear her voice anymore.

She's turning 86 this month. I asked her if she thinks she'll make it to 90. It may seem like a mean or awkward question, but my grandma and I talk like that. We are honest and open, and we debate for sport. The question didn't even faze her. She answered it the same way she'd answer a question about what she had for breakfast that morning.

She said she can't believe she'll be 86, because she doesn't feel 86. She said she doesn't really think about her age and fully intends to live to 100. She said she doesn't feel any different than she did years ago, and it's weird to be in an 86-year-old body. I told her that if I were her age, I'd probably sit around wondering if I'd make it to 90. I told her that even at 38 I already think about that kind of stuff. I told her I feel old already.

And that's when she said something that was music to my ears. She said, "Oh well you're just a little girl still."

Then she said another thing that surprised me. She said, "As you get older, you feel younger." She went on to explain that when you're raising kids, the mental stress can make you feel old and tired, and as you get older and don't have as much to worry about, you feel more energy.
Well, I must worry more than the next person, because I feel beat down. Or beat up. Or both. Raising a teenager will do that to you.

Grandma asked me to put the phone near the piano so she could hear Faith play her a song. Faith played "O Come All Ye Faithful" for her. Then Julian played "Phantom of the Opera" for her. He worried that he didn't play it well, and Grandma said that's OK; she just needs to hear the keys. It was her piano and it's 65 years old. I know how she feels, because the way she just needs to hear those keys is how I just need to hear her voice. It's calming to me, just like when I really was a little girl.

When the going gets tough, just be

By DARCIE BORDEN
Featured Blogger

Anthropologists have a belief that you have to immerse yourself in another world in order to discover your own. I heard that in a cute movie I watched called "The Nanny Diaries."

In a nutshell, the nanny, a recent college graduate who majored in Anthropology, finds out in a very sad way that money doesn't buy happiness. Immersed in the world of spa-going rich women with distant husbands who treat their children like accessories bought from a catalog, the nanny realizes who she really is.

As I watched this movie, I drew my own parallel. It left me with the same feeling I had after watching "The Devil Wears Prada." (an aside: Whenever I think of this movie, I can't help but think of a hilarious thing my younger brother told me recently. He manages many people in his job, and he told me that he jokingly says to new hires, "Have you seen 'The Devil Wears Prada? Well think of me as Meryl Streep." It makes me laugh every time.)

Anyway, when that movie ends, the main character also realizes that money and a big career can't buy happiness and that she must be true to herself.

In both films, the main character immerses herself in a world that doesn't quite fit her true self, and she learns who she really is through the experience. This happened to me last year. I immersed myself into the world of public relations, and although I was a rising star in the field earning results not often accomplished by a rookie, I began to feel less and less like myself. I started out on a high that lasted for months, as I found myself to be a natural when it comes to the writing and communications involved in this job.

But as I earned more accolades, I also acquired more responsibility and hours. Before I knew it, I was managing 4 accounts and feeling more and more detached from my home and my kids. Things felt out of control. The money was fun to have, but time with my kids was being lost, memories were being put on hold, relationships were taking a back seat.

No one in the family complained, but when I finally decided to leave that job, my son Julian said, "Oh thank goodness, because every time I wanted to play with you, you said you just had to get a few more minutes of work done, and then it would turn into an hour." I knew right then that I made the right decision.

What I found out about myself is what I always knew – that I am a mom first. I remember laying on my bed in my childhood home when I was a senior in high school, and I was thinking about what I would major in at college. I remember thinking very clearly that it didn't really matter what I majored in, because first and foremost I really wanted to get married and have a family.

But, in today's society, we're made to feel that that's not enough, so I majored in communications. Our mothers fought for us to have equal rights and to want more. But I really don't want more … well, maybe just a little more. I do like to write and use my skills part-time, and I'm glad I was given the chance to do that.

But, the thing that plagues me is that in 1950, what I am doing would have been considered enough, but somehow I always feel that it's not. Maybe it's because I measure myself against my girlfriends who are all very talented and successful in their fields of work. Maybe it's because I measure myself against my mother, who is the epitome of her generation, the career woman who at 62 years old is still climbing the corporate ladder and just received another promotion. Maybe I measure myself against the women who work with my husband who are seemingly doing it all with a big salary and kids, although he always reassures me that they are constantly juggling. And many women feel they have to earn the big salary to afford their lifestyle, because their lifestyle is much grander than families were accustomed to in 1950. We are more spoiled now and think we need more "stuff."

I ponder these things as I recently prepared for a job interview. Yup, you heard it right. Even after everything I just wrote, I will immerse myself in yet another job, but this time just maybe not quite so immersed. Last year I was blogging about the PR job I was interviewing for, and I wrote about how my kids were getting older and I'd have to find something fulfilling to squash the pain I'd feel when the kids leave the nest. The problem with that thinking was, it was too soon. I didn't need to rush. My kids seem to need me more now at 15 and 11 than they did when they were younger. (If you're asking how that could possibly be, well, that's a whole other blog for another time.) As I look back, the decision to throw myself into a new career last year was made out of fear. I wonder how many other decisions in my life have been made out of fear? Can you think of any in your own life?

I'm not ready to give up on the idea that there is a part-time career woman in me. After all, some day my kids really will be grown up, and I do have talents to share with the world. I just need to find balance. Do women ever really win the battle of finding balance?

Well, the publicist job I interviewed for is 15 hours per week and at the same pay I was making last year, and this time I don't plan on being talked into more hours, because I learned a harder lesson this time about who I really am.

My ever-supportive husband, Bill, has never once in 15 years told me what to do or passed judgment on my decisions, even when we were first starting out young and very financially-challenged and I wanted to stay home with our infant daughter rather than put her in daycare. He was truly given to me by God, who knows me better than I could ever know myself.

For the first time in my life, I have given myself permission to "just be." It's harder than you think – to physically and emotionally "just be." To not have to feel like you're always in control of everything is a sort of freedom. For as long as I can remember, I have lived with anxiety, the kind that drives you to achieve great things, but also the kind that can be self-destructive.

I first noticed this anxiety in myself when I was 9, although I didn't know it was called anxiety. I remember telling my grandmother that I couldn't stop thinking, that my brain was constantly racing thoughts and I couldn't turn it off and it felt uncomfortable. She soothed me with humor, buying me a Dr. Seuss book called "Oh The Thinks You Can Think."

Control, anxiety and fear got me into the National Honors Society, won me a full tennis scholarship, helped me to achieve great things in my life. And this past year I strove to still do everything at home while working almost full-time. Those things are all admirable, but it all seemed to come crashing down on me this year. The pressures I put on myself finally wore me down and stopped me in my tracks. So, as we enter into a new year, my primary resolution is to JUST BE.