• September 12, 2016

Hashimoto’s: Lessons in the Middle of the (Brain) Fog

Hashimoto’s: Lessons in the Middle of the (Brain) Fog

Hashimoto’s: Lessons in the Middle of the (Brain) Fog 800 534 Stacey Robbins

Hey Girlfriends…

I sit, writing my first blog on my re-designed site. It feels nice and fresh — so pretty and clean.

Which is kind of ironic, because I’m personally not feeling any of those things.

Okay, I feel ‘clean’ thanks to my shower, but that’s pretty much it.

My TSH went absolutely kaplooey when perimenopause collided with stress and Hashimoto’s and my meds stopped working.

Last week, it was at a 16.

16.

As in…

I was in the hospital nine years ago when it was at a 7 because I was so symptomatic
so, you can imagine what I feel like now…

Anywho: Like I said, my best guess is that the culprit may be perimenopause, stress (and some more stress) mixed with Hashimoto’s —

but whatever it is, my number is:

Not-So-Sweet 16.

I’ve gained 30 pounds in a blink (just 6.5 pounds in the last 10 days.)
My skin is freaking out.
My brain feels like it’s under water.
And my vision has changed.

(Are we having fun yet…?)

I have:

Three books I’m working on
Two kids I’m homeschooling
and
One home I’m looking for (since we’ve been on-the-road for the last 6 months while we’ve been traveling and house-sitting around the globe.)

Even though my soul still wants to travel,
My body is saying, “Girlfriend, you need to rest and know where your Blendtec is so you can make a smoothie whenever you want one.”

So, this is my opportunity to practice what I preach.

What do I preach?

Well, my message with Hashimoto’s is all about how this weird diagnosis that makes you feel a little like an alien in your body, is actually a powerful opportunity to heal your life.

In my book, “You’re Not Crazy and You’re Not Alone” I travel through the different ways this led to so many awakenings for me — not only 20 years ago when I was misdiagnosed and then, eventually 100 pounds heavier and a year later, correctly diagnosed — but all that in-between stuff.

Where you get to say to yourself,

“Wait a minute: If my body is at war with itself with this autoimmune dis-ease, where am I at war with my life?”

And then, because Hashimoto’s has siphoned all your energy, You get to sit your ass down and really examine the question.

I’ve let it be the flashlight that I shine down the corridors of my life:

My work,
My rest.
My relationships.

My beliefs.
My thoughts.
And my spirituality.

In those couple of years of misdiagnosis, I was told everything from “It’s all in your head” to “You’re dying.”

(As my youngest says about the lady who went from swallowing a fly to swallowing a horse,

“Well, that escalated quickly.”)

That also gave me more opportunities…

Like when you have to forgive your doctors for dismissing you
And your spouse for not understanding you
And your family for being an ass to you…

But mostly, yourself — because, if you are anything like me, this diagnosis slowed me down enough to see that I wasn’t being very loving to me.

For a long time.
And in many ways.

I pushed myself too hard.
Worked too many hours in my work.
Was motivated to do well out of fear of failing rather than inspiration to live my dream.
Was in relationships where there was a lot of judgment, criticism, and performance bullshit.
And was in a religious spirituality that was based on a punishing God who was more like a cross between Santa Claus and a Police Officer who caught you speeding.

None of that was good.

None of that worked for me.

All of that served my weird story in my head that I was unworthy unless I earned my keep by doing a lot of stuff that made you happy
and me,

not

me.

So, I learned a lot when Hashimoto’s side-lined my life 20 years ago and was told I was dying – and if I did live, that I’d never, ever have kids.

(“Never” is now 14 and “Ever” is 12.

They’re both really cute but hormonal and giving me a massive run for my money, in addition to costing me an arm and a leg at Costco…)

So, here I am again: 20 years later — with 20 years experience under my belt of ways to see things in powerful ways, when things don’t feel so powerful.

You know, when your TSH is a 16 and you feel like poop-on-a-cracker.

So, here’s what I’m doing:

Being kind to me:

Not overbooking my schedule.
Delegating to the boys to figure out their meals
and their free time (within the healthy boundaries we’ve set on both)
and letting Rock run more of the show.

Letting go of the way that I think things SHOULD be:

My weight.
My energy.
My attention to details like cleaning or well, you know…

cleaning.

Saying more surrendered prayers and
Sending more surrendered messages to my brain like:

“God, you know we need a home. Help me find it quickly and easily.”
“God, you know the boys need some fun friends and homeschooling activities, please send clear messages my way while my brain is wonky.”
“God, you know that I have promises I’ve made for business, friends and family: Please help me to keep them or to know which ones to let go of and just be honest.”
“God, you know that I need to co-provide for this troop, please bring what I need my way and let their be an ease and abundance in my business while I put forth my limited energy.”

I particularly love Mooji’s thoughts on some ways to handle the thinking-part right here. I’ve been doing this too.

It helps.

And lastly, but not lastly:

Asking for help.

“Hey, can you help read the chapters to my new book and let me know what you think?”
“Hey, can you spend a few hours with my kids, teaching them something fabulous like woodwork, or knitting or gardening or something  — because it’s going to take a village right now until I can get my mom mojo back.”
“Hey, can you help me find a killer deal on an apartment so that I can spend most of my money on kids and future travel instead of crazy Southern California rent?”

That’s what I’m doing. It’s not pretty. It’s not perfect.

It’s just real life.
Real love.
Real family.
Real Stacey.
Real healing.

One of the biggest things I remembered about 20 years ago when the shit hit the fan was this: I had no energy to make things look good, and my almost 300 pound rear-end wouldn’t let me hide.

There is no muu-muu big enough to hide your life when you’re pretending that everything is okay.

Life, falling apart, can be one of the biggest gifts we get when our health takes a hit.

Because, at some point, we have to get honest and self-represent.

All of that brought me healing.

Even though much of it was uncomfortable,
I learned that it was less uncomfortable than being sick was.

Ergo: I learned a lot.

And apparently: I get this opportunity right now to apply what I learned in the past, and learn what I’m needing to learn, now.

I don’t know if you’re feeling wonky these days, too, but if I had one piece of advice — whether you’re scraping the bottom of the barrel or sitting on top of the world —

no matter where you are:

Be kind to you.

Sending you love,
Stacey

6 comments
  • Lindyloo (Linda) September 12, 2016 at 2:42 pm

    I love the way you write. Explaining things in a light-hearted yet nail-on-the-head way.
    I too was undiagnosed for ten years. Hashimotos messed me up, doctors handed me the wrong pills, and I too felt my body shutting down. I was dying, I was bleeding, I was now unemployed because of it.
    Your book is amazing, you’re amazing!
    Now rest, it’s time for Stacey to rise from the ashes of the fickle Hashimotos.

  • Aleisha September 13, 2016 at 7:43 am

    Thank you!!! Thank you for saying how many of us feel!!!

  • Teal Jillson September 13, 2016 at 10:01 am

    Blessings being sent your way… We all struggle with one thing or another…I’m blessed in that, like you, I’m learning from these struggles and still finding amazing beauty in life! Thank you for the inspiration….you’re new home is just around the corner! I can feel it!!
    Teal

  • Renata September 13, 2016 at 4:46 pm

    Thank you, little Earth Angel. Love Renata. xx
    ‘Never & Ever’ are gorgeous!

  • Linda Kingsbury September 18, 2016 at 3:29 pm

    You are an inspiration to all of us who are struggling with this awful disorder in our lives. Thank you so much for the wonderful words of encouragement, Stacey. I will be praying for your family to have a new home very soon … one that is affordable and comfortable for you all.
    Take Care, Linda K

  • Cheri September 18, 2016 at 3:53 pm

    Thank you for sharing. It’s amazing how life and old behaviors can sneak up on us. Your honesty and openness is a reminder to all of us that our bodies have a way of turning up the volume until we get the message to slow down, regroup and focus on our needs. I hope that life settles down for you soon and that you emerge from the fog. Thanks for being there for all of us.

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