Tag: coping strategies

Dyspraxia, SPD, and Change

Genevieve2 Comments

If you’ve ever spent time around small children, you might be familiar with the sneaky tactic that is framing decisions with acceptable options. Asking a toddler if they want three pieces of broccoli or four somehow bypasses the part where they say they want cake, instead. For as long as I can remember, my mother has given me options from which to choose, but not because she was trying to shepherd me towards a healthy decision. It’s more because if she didn’t do that, we’d likely still be waiting for me to decide what to eat on my fifth birthday. I’m twenty-two. Dyspraxia as a symptom of SPD is and has been a roadblock for me for a long time.

What is Dyspraxia?

Dyspraxia falls under the Sensory-Based Motor Disorder subtype of Sensory Processing Disorder. People with SPD often have a combination of affected sensory systems that lead to symptoms in one or more SPD subtypes. The STAR Institute for Sensory Processing Disorder sums it up this way:

“Individuals with Dyspraxia have trouble processing sensory information properly, resulting in problems planning and carrying out new motor actions. They may have difficulty in forming a goal or idea, planning a sequence of actions or performing new motor tasks.”

A Few Tips for Dealing with Dyspraxia

As an adult with symptoms of dyspraxia, I notice that decision-making, in particular, is often difficult. Even small decisions, like which brand of cornbread mix to buy can leave me scratching my head in the baking aisle for way too long. Bigger decisions, like where to go to college resulted in a stressful, last-minute choice after months of deliberation. Here are a few of the ways I tackle everyday and not-so-everyday decisions.

  1. Make a list of the options: (my OT calls this a “menu”)
  2. Decide what you can handle at that moment: (Am I only considering something because other people expect me to?)
  3. Ask for support
  4. Take a break and come back to it
  5. Put it in perspective: (Is it crucial that I make the “right” choice? E.g. the cornbread dilemma)
  6. Plan ahead!

When I started occupational therapy, one of the things we worked on was creating a weekly plan. Since spontaneity is not my strong suit, planning in activities ahead of time makes it more likely that I’ll follow through. Now that I have an established routine, I don’t make a plan every week, but it’s a good fall-back option for when I’m in a rut. It’s also great for when big changes are happening; a new job, moving, even the holidays are well-known for disrupting routines and causing stress. With symptoms of dyspraxia, life changes can be completely overwhelming, so tackling decisions ahead of time can make coping so much easier.

Last, But Not Least

drawing-of-girl-looking-at-surreal-landscape-with-bees-surrounding-herMy final tip (one that I’m still working on, myself) is to be as patient and nonjudgmental about dyspraxia as possible. I still get frustrated with myself for being slow to make decisions or reluctant to try new things, but it helps to remind myself of why those things are difficult for me. It also allows me to more easily support myself before and after unavoidable, sudden changes. After all, routines are great, but life can be pretty unpredictable. Knowing how to handle disruptions is always a good skill to have, even if it is a work in progress.

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The Potato Scale of Depression

Genevieve3 Comments

I’m prone to an almost crippling inability to verbalize my feelings. Some of that is because of Sensory Processing Disorder, and some is probably due to depression and other factors, like my need to feel capable and independent, which results in me pretending I have no feelings whatsoever and consequently getting no practice in identifying them, but the point is: metaphors. I love ’em.

For inexplicable reasons, I find it so much easier to say “everything is mashed potatoes” than to say “I’m lost in a miserable fog of  depression.” (Actually, come to think of it, that second one is also a metaphor, but you get the idea.) Hence: The Potato Scale of Depression.

It’s Not a Good Scale (but it kind of is)

Roughly ten months ago, I really did tell my friends “everything is mashed potatoes,” and thus, The Scale was born. Unlike other scales, there are no numbers, no frowny faces, and no defined increments between items. In other words, it’s a terrible scale. There’s no way to objectively determine how someone is feeling based on the potato scale of depression, but it worked for me during a time when talking about my feelings was both very difficult and very important. It became a kind of inside joke, and my friends would ask me “how are the taters?” and I’d respond with some arbitrary, starchy answer:

“Tots,” or “potato pancakes,” or “undercooked hash browns,” or “just the eyes.”

They’re all utterly meaningless answers, but they started a conversation. We’d debate the relative positive and negative qualities of each dish, and it served (pun intended) to connect us when all I wanted to do was withdraw.

Laughter = The Okayest Medicine

Eventually, I became more comfortable with talking about my emotions. A silly scale opened the door (metaphors are everywhere) to talking about how I really feel. Sometimes using humor to defuse stressful situations and topics gets a bad rap, but it’s incredibly common. Plus, research shows that the right kind of humor can have a protective effect against recurring depression. The adaptive forms of humor (self-enhancing and affiliative) are associated with emotion regulation and positive mental health. The maladaptive forms of humor are the aggressive and self-defeating types. I could probably dedicate an entire post to why I think suicide jokes aren’t funny or healthy, but this is a post about a nonsensical tuber scale. So- perhaps another time. Back to the adaptive humor:

In consequence, an individual can successfully distance himself/herself from a negative situation and appraise its meaning from a less distressing point of view.

When you mentally distance yourself from a negative situation, you’re creating what researchers call “metacognitive awareness,” where thoughts and behaviors are interpreted as “mental events, rather than as the self.” Mental illnesses can often be associated with feelings of guilt and inadequacy, which is why it’s important to take a step back and remember that your symptoms are not character flaws. This has become a regular mantra for me, and anytime I start thinking badly of myself for my symptoms, I turn it around with I’m not lazy, I’m just soggy hashbrowns right now. Y’know, the kind that maybe didn’t get cooked enough, so now they’re getting cold and seeping oil onto your toast. Depending on your humor preferences, this might border on maladaptive, but it reminds me to not get bogged down in a temporary feeling or judgment. And really, what potato dish isn’t still delicious, no matter how poorly cooked?

Depression Scales: PHQ9, Who?

The Potato Scale of Depression is obviously not a tool that will ever be used in any kind of professional setting, but that doesn’t mean that it can’t be beneficial. Maybe potatoes aren’t your thing, and some other metaphor would be more helpful. Whatever it is, I know that for me, finding a less clinical way to communicate how I feel has made it way easier to do so.

May you all have curly fries and solid taters for the foreseeable future.

2021 Update: My therapist and I now have a wide repertoire of replacement metaphors, including “clams” in place of “goals” and “feathers” in place of “small barriers between inaction and action.” The Potato Scale of Depression has fallen to the wayside, likely because I have gotten better at saying words about how I feel. Therapy works!

Some Thoughts on Running

GenevieveLeave a comment

CW: mentions of self-harm

Sometimes I run because it’s when I feel strongest. I run because I love the feeling of my muscles working beneath my skin, my breath matched to my stride. Breathe in for three steps, breathe out for three steps. I love the sense of accomplishment, knowing that my body can carry me further than I think it can. Sometimes I run because it gives me joy. The simple pleasure of the wind in my hair and the sun on my face, moving with a body I’m thankful for. My body is a canvas for my mental state; when I’m well, I run for the joy of it. When I’m unwell, I run because it’s just another way to hurt myself. I run because at mile three I’m still thinking about cutting, but by mile five my brain is numb. Breathe in for three steps. Breathe out for three steps. I run because maybe if I can push my body to obey me, my brain might follow suit. I run because to be exhausted is to be empty, and where could my depression have gone except to have been left behind on the path? Expelled by my lungs, my racing heart, my wrung-out muscles. I run because it makes me feel good, and because sometimes, it makes me feel nothing at all.

Love, 

Your Brain

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What I’ve Learned About Self-Harm

GenevieveLeave a comment

“I need a new bathing suit”, I told my mother before heading out the door. A list of criteria floated through my mind. It needed to have shorts, or maybe a skirt, which had to go down to my mid-thigh. Of course, it should be cute so as not to arouse suspicion or too many questions.

Buying a bathing suit with a skirt was just one of many ways I hid my self-harm from those around me. In my third year of college I became depressed, and the following summer I started self-harming. I did it in secret and hid the evidence. I knew that altering my clothing choices would spark concern, so I continued to wear shorts that barely covered the still-healing wounds. Looking at photos from this time is painful. I remember desperately trying to appear well; smiling while anxiously pulling my shorts down to cover my secret. It consumed me entirely until cutting was all I thought about. Fighting the urge to do it was like trying not to sneeze. I would think about it constantly for days or weeks until I could take no more, and give in just to make the thoughts stop.

At age 4, I was diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder, a neurological condition that affects the brain’s ability to make sense of a world filled with sensory stimuli. I screamed getting my hair washed, I refused to go outside until my mittens were tucked into my sleeves, and anytime I fell down, I held my breath until I passed out. As a child, the world was a scary place, and although I learned to cope with my differences, the pressure of college and my looming adult life plunged me into numbness and depression. I began to feel outside of myself when in busy areas, and when I closed my eyes, I felt a gentle rocking as if I were on a boat. Cutting was a way for me to ground myself when things felt out of control.

All of this has taken me months to discover, though, and it was terrifying to not understand my own actions. Reaching out to my loved ones helped immensely. After months of hiding my self-harm from my mother, I told her about it the night before I moved back to school. When I showed her, she looked at the rows of raised, red scars and softly said: “that’s what I thought was happening.” All of the effort I had put into protecting her from the truth, for nothing. She had known for weeks, and I probably caused her more worry by staying silent. The next day, I left to begin my final year of college, four states away. I began seeing a therapist who encouraged me to create art that expressed my emotions, and when I found myself in a hazy stupor, I would open my sketchbook instead of turning to self-harm. But removing self-harm from my list of coping mechanisms made me feel wildly out of control, and I spiraled into a state of suicidal ideation. By the time I reached one month without engaging in self-harm, my therapist was gently suggesting hospitalization. Thankfully, I switched medications, and although it wasn’t the right one for me, it helped enough to keep me safe.

What I’ve learned about self-harm and other damaging coping behaviors is that they give you the illusion of control. Over time, however, it grows into a slippery beast of its own. You may eventually wonder how this action that you perceived as giving you control has come to hold you so tightly, until it doesn’t feel like a choice at all. Months of therapy, various medications, and the unwavering support of my friends and family have slowly allowed me to come out of the darkness. Today, I have gone over 10 months without self-harm, and I’ve come to understand that saying “no” to that self-harm voice gives me true control that is much more effective than self-harm ever was.

Letter to Myself About Depression

GenevieveLeave a comment

Dear Future Brain,
It’s been some time since you’ve been where I am, and I wanted to remind you of some lessons I’ve recently learned about depression and self-care.

1. You matter.

I hope that by the time you’re reading this, you sincerely believe this one. I know that we often get lost in existential quicksand. Try to remember that the things you think are indicators of an inconsequential existence can be viewed just as easily as miraculous and precious. Yes, the lifespan of a human being is practically instantaneous in comparison to the existence of the universe. And yes, multi-cellular life may have arisen by accident. But consider this: the fact that you are here, a teeming community of human and bacterial cells piloted by a blob of electrified tissue, is pretty incredible.

2. Listen to your body.

It’s not always easy. In fact, I’m learning that it usually feels like I’m guessing. If this is something you’ve lost touch with, refresh your memory of #1. Natural selection may have screwed you over when it comes to the arrangement of your food pipe and your air pipe (thank you, epiglottis), but it did ok when it came to your nervous system. Yours in particular may be a little out of whack, but it still keeps you alive. Try not to discount your body; it probably knows what it’s doing.

3. You require deliberate (and likely extra) self-care.

Because listening to your body doesn’t come easily, it’s important for you to make an effort to hear it. If that means being a hermit for a few hours every afternoon, so be it. Hopefully you’ve got this one mastered and it feels more natural, but if you still have to work at it, that’s ok. It’s worth it.

4. Depression does not make you a burden.

‘Nuff said.

5. Needing medication is not shameful.

I know, you were mortified when you had to get a bigger pill organizer because you couldn’t fit all your pills for depression in your old one (to be fair, those vitamins are freaking huge). And every time you fill a new prescription, you worry that the pharmacist thinks you’re a nut, but I assure you, she doesn’t.

6. Movement is wonderful.

It’s easy for us to be sedentary for way too long, and since we’re a creature of habit, breaking out of that pattern is tough. Take my word for it though; moving makes you feel better.
P.S. exercise doesn’t have to be difficult.

7. Seek meaningful connection.

Being isolated is tempting, and it’s necessary at times, but it doesn’t serve you in large doses. Whether it’s maintaining your existing relationships or reaching out to someone new, social connection is a vital component of your happiness.

8. Keep growing.

Growth takes lots of forms, and it’s not always about taking a big risk. Stick your toe outside of your comfort zone every once in a while, and believe me when I say that you’re more than capable. If you don’t stretch yourself, your comfort zone will just keep shrinking.

9. Practice gratitude.

This is not to say that your pain is invalid because of the positive parts of your life. Instead, acknowledging the things that you’re thankful for can make the tough stuff a little easier.

10. Have hope.

Depending on where you’re at, this may seem like a meaningless platitude. If that’s the case, I don’t think I can convince you to believe it. Someone once told me that they’d hold the hope for me, so for now, I’ll hold the hope for you. You from the past is rooting for you. You’ve got this.

Love,
Your Brain

balance

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Sensory Processing Disorder: How to Feel “Just Right”

Genevieve4 Comments

When someone is affected by Sensory Processing Disorder, keeping their nervous system regulated can be more difficult than it is for other people. One of the goals of occupational therapy is to learn skills and strategies to stay regulated.

The Basics

This afternoon, I cried while rocking and squeezing a dryer ball between my hands as hard as I could. I was experiencing what my OT calls “split arousal”. If you imagine a parabolic curve, at the left side is low arousal and at the right is high arousal. Low arousal feels like if you ate an entire Thanksgiving turkey right after you failed an exam. Sadness, lethargy, hopelessness, distorted thinking, and slouched posture are all signs of low arousal. High arousal feels like drinking six cups of coffee at an amusement park right after riding the Tower of Doom. In between the two is where you feel like Goldilocks just before the bears burst in (after which I’m sure Goldilocks was in a state of very high arousal). Feeling “just right” is a wonderful state, and there are tons of strategies to get yourself away from either end of the spectrum, towards the middle. It should also be said that everyone’s arousal curve is different. What would put me into a sweaty panic might be just right for you because our nervous systems are different.
So, what’s split arousal? Split arousal happens when your body is in a state of low arousal while your mind is in a state of high arousal. If you’ve ever experienced dissociation, you know how that’s possible. Signs of split arousal include unusual quietness, low energy, racing thoughts, overwhelm, and emotional shutdown. I seem to be adept at achieving contradictory states, simultaneously. Go, me.

A Few Strategies to Cope with Sensory Processing Disorder

When you’re in a state of low arousal, it helps to do things that perk you up. Listen to peppy music, eat crunchy foods, go out in bright sunlight. As you might expect, doing the opposite can help bring you out of high arousal. Dim the lights, wear comfy clothes, drink something soothing. When you’re in split arousal, the things that usually help perk up your body will only make your brain more frantic, and the things that calm your mind will make your body shut down even more. This is why people with Sensory Processing Disorder sometimes turn to self-harm, which is very grounding. It’s something strong enough to break through the haze of low body arousal, but somehow repetitive enough to be soothing and make you feel in control. (The bumps on a dryer ball can give you the same sensation of intense pressure, but without the permanent damage.) Again, everyone is different, so what one person finds grounding may not work for another person, but generally, doing something active but not too active can bring your body and mind back to the same place.

Step By Step

So, how am I dealing with it? Squeezing the dryer ball was step one. That got me past the initial urge to self-harm. Then, I went for a brisk walk with my dog. Being outside in the fresh air, feeling my feet underneath me and the leash in my hand, these sensations helped focus my mind and calm me. Now, I’m writing. I can feel the keys underneath my fingers and I have to herd my thoughts into coherent sentences. Setting out the logic of it also makes me feel less irrational.

But, Why?

This didn’t just happen for no reason (although brains can be finicky, who are we kidding?) To put it briefly: I was having a bad day. To put it lengthily: I was forced to abandon my routine and go to an unfamiliar place to work. It was loud, busy, and my laptop was being a huge pain. I’m behind on a completely unattainable project goal, and to top it all off, I was hangry. Then, to assuage my guilt for leaving my puppy cooped up at home, I took her to the dog park when I got back, only to be drenched in a sudden downpour upon our arrival. Cue: me, crying under my weighted blanket and silently cursing everything that was making noise in the neighborhood. Sometimes bad days happen, and where the me of 6 months ago would have had no idea how to remedy it, the me of today pulled out her OT handouts and picked some strategies. Go, me!