Blog Anxiety 2 – “Dad Bloggers”

Posted on December 3, 2013 by Lorne Jaffe

Today is the first birthday of Dad Bloggers, a terrific Facebook group currently 523 strong that I joined right before writing my blog “Tumbling From the Moon and Getting Back Up” about my sadness in feeling so puny in the blog world and my need for “Raising Sienna” to TAKE OFF NOW!! And while my blog hasn’t shot into outer space, I have gained some new readership (I think, I don’t know my numbers) and some new friends. Dad Bloggers is a terrific community and I congratulate Oren Miller, founder of the page and author of “A Blogger and a Father,” but it’s also overwhelming for someone like myself. I’ve posted three more blogs since joining the group (my mind’s screaming, “NOT ENOUGH!”). At times I feel like I can’t keep up with the site, that I’m drowning, that I’m in competition with 523 (and growing bloggers), some of whom have been doing this for years, many of whom I feel are so much talented than me. In addition, dads post links to current dad-related media like advertising or articles which tend to make feel like I’m late to the party (especially having a masters in media studies), that I should have blogged about these things before anyone even noticed them. That’s irrational, of course, but it’s another example of living inside this head of mine. So rather than continue to lament these feelings I wanted to talk about what I’ve done to work through my blog anxiety:

Joining the group was a huge step in itself. It’s something that I’d never have done in the past. I would have stared at the page for awhile, clicked on some other site and chastised myself for being a coward. So I have to acknowledge that I grew just by joining

Seeing all of these dads and their respective blogs made me realize I’m not ready to go to the Dads 2.0 Summit at the end of January. If I’m overwhelmed by this page, there’s no way I’ll be able to handle a conference dedicated to dad bloggers, media and sponsorship. And you know what? That’s not such a bad thing. It doesn’t mean I won’t be ready in 2014. It just means I’m not ready now.

While really stressing about how often many of the group members post, I wrote to an author friend of mine, Caren Lissner, whose excellent first novel, Carrie Pilby, is soon to be a movie. Caren’s been a big supporter of my mine and she told me exactly what I needed to hear: “I think a lot of bloggers have that problem – once they start, they feel bad if they don’t post regularly. A week is not very long to wait. I think a week is good! You can even do a post saying that there may be a week or two between posts at times. A blog shouldn’t be a nightmare; it’s YOUR blog, not a job.” This current blog would not have been written without Caren’s advice about blogging about how I get freaked out because I feel I’m not blogging enough. Thank you, Caren!

I had the guts to write, via FB, to a couple of Dad Bloggers’ major contributors to ask for advice. This is something I never would have done before. I asked John Kinnear, author of “Ask Your Dad,” if he was intimidated when he first joined and he responded thusly (sorry, I’m still not great working with WordPress so not sure how to indent): “Nope, but mainly because I didn’t know how many heavy hitters there are in this group. Once I found out who the big guns were, I was already friends with them and didn’t really feel the need to impress. Neither should you man. We all have blogs of various sizes and honestly, traffic shouldn’t be your first goal. Write what you love, what makes your feel, what makes you laugh, and what makes you a better dad. Make sure you share it so people can find you. Respond to comments. Comment on other blogs. Make friends. Your audience will find you over time.” Those words made feel much better because I was obsessing over traffic. I further asked him how often he posts and he said he tries to post once a week. That gels completely with what Caren had told me and made me feel a lot better. Thanks again, John!

I even had the courage to write to Oren Miller himself, founder of the Dad Bloggers group, and he told me: “There are a lot of people there, but I think most of them, including the more successful ones, know that there’s a lot of great writing from smaller blogs, and it’s often the smaller blogs that really speak the truth (it’s easy to lose your way once you start dealing with promotions and reviews).” Again, that helped settle me down. Thanks again, Oren!

Taking all of this advice into consideration, I’ve been “liking” and commenting on as many blogs that touch me as I can, and have been making some friends. Whenever I feel overwhelmed by the amount of content pouring in, I click away and count to ten. It doesn’t always work, but I do it as much as possible.

Caren, John and Oren also reiterated something my therapist has been trying to drill into my head for years: not everything I write has to be timely. If I still want to write about “Breaking Bad,” for instance, I can. So I thank all three and my therapist for that advice.

I still obsess over about what to blog; I have an idea for one, for instance, with which I’ve been really struggling. It’s kept me up late the last few evenings. Tonight I’ll take a melatonin in hopes it’ll quiet my brain. And I’ll say this now, something else I probably never would have said before: I’ll get to it eventually.

Joining Dad Bloggers has been tough, but rewarding, and I wish Oren and his group a very happy birthday, continued success and many, many new members. It’s definitely made a difference in my life just by the fact that I’ve been able to write this here blog. I like knowing that there are people I can turn to should my brain start getting the best of me, maybe even some who suffer anxiety and depression like myself. As I said about the characters in Silver Linings Playbook, sometimes the best help you can get comes from people who truly understand you. It’s clear I’ve found a few.

“Hunger Games” Eve Brings Me Back To Sienna’s Birth

Posted on November 21, 2013 by Lorne Jaffe

Left – Sienna’s birthday (3/20/13); Right – Sienna and me today, 11/21/13. I’m wearing the same shirt I wore the day of Sienna’s birth

Today, on the eve of the release of The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, I’m brought back to Sienna’s birth. Why? Sienna was born on the eve of the first Hunger Games film’s release, March 20, 2012. So since the second film is due to be released tonight, exactly 20 months and 1 day after Sienna was born, I’m drawn back into thinking about the day that changed my life and the night afterwards when Elaine allowed me to go to the movies to get out of the hospital for a bit.

Here’s what I remember: fear. Lots and lots of fear. And exhaustion. Because Elaine was a high-risk patient (she has a heart condition), Sienna was a scheduled c-section. I recall Elaine being wheeled into the delivery room at NYU Hospital as I sat outside dressed in scrubs, positively terrified. I sat there for 40-something minutes as Elaine was prepped. At one point someone left the room and I got a glimpse of Elaine being hooked to up to a zillion tubes and monitors, her belly seemingly about to burst. Her OB, Dr. Frederick Gonzalez, a great, funny man who looked like Santa Claus sans the white beard, was, at the time, the very definition of professionalism. Through the door I heard him giving orders, but still with a hint of humor, always making sure to keep Elaine calm. I took a self-pic:

Then I was in the room, comforting Elaine while shaking in my scrubs. I asked Dr. Gonzalez if he was ready to go all “Freddy Krueger” on my wife. He laughed and made finger blade noises. I remember Elaine screaming, begging for more drugs. I remember Sienna crying while she was still inside Elaine (I didn’t see it…I only have Dr. Gonzalez’s words to base this on). I remember them knocking Elaine out because the pain was too much. And then it was over. They took my daughter away to clean her up. They stitched Elaine up. I have no idea when I first held Sienna. Was it in the delivery room? In the recovery room? I was a father. Suddenly it was all too real. I was a father, something I never thought I’d be.

I remember my parents being there, but I don’t know when they arrived. Suddenly they were grandparents, something they never thought they’d be. They were beyond excited. My memory is fuzzy. I remember Elaine’s room. The recliner. I don’t know when they brought Sienna in. I don’t remember when Elaine awoke, when she first held her daughter. We had the room to ourselves save for the nurses that were coming in and out, giving advice, trying to get Sienna to suckle. This little, tiny thing. My child. I was so tired. I remember going to the cafeteria. I think I ate hummus. Every few hours Sienna cried, wanting milk. I remember struggling with swaddling. I never mastered it. Strangely, though, I had no problem with changing her. I still don’t.

The next day is a blur. Visitors, balloons, crying, pictures. Bits of sleep here and there. But that night Elaine said it was fine to head to the movies to watch The Hunger Games. She only wished she could go too. I stood in line. It was near midnight. The air was cool. I wore a wristband listing me as Sienna Giselle Jaffe’s father. I spoke to people in line. Told them my wife had given birth the day before and urged me to take a break, to go to the movies. Congratulations left and right. How did I stay awake during the film? I kept touching the wristband, thinking of my new little family. That tiny creature awaiting me a few blocks away. I was more afraid than Katniss Everdeen could ever be. Still I enjoyed the movie. Then it was back to the hospital. Back to my new daughter. Back to this beautiful thing that took me more than 6 months to love:

I’ve been a stay-at-home dad for 20 months and 1 day. I’m in love with my daughter. I love to hear her laugh, see her smile, discover new things, say new words. I’ve witnessed the first time she connected the word “moon” with the actual celestial object. I taught her that cows say, “Moo!” That sheep say, “Baa!” I’m teaching her that zombies say, “Brains!” (She needs to be ready for the Zombiepocalypse, right?). I still don’t take her out enough because I’m anxious. I’m still terrible with food because I’m afraid of cooking. But she’s alive. She’s happy. She sleeps through the night (mostly). I have to set an alarm because she lies in her crib and talks to herself when morning comes. I’ve joined the NYC Dads Group and met some great people. I’ve started blogging about my life with Sienna and my battles with depression and anxiety. I’ve learned so much and come so far.

Now I just need my parents to watch their granddaughter so Elaine and I can catch a showing of The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, the sequel to a film that will forever be associated with Sienna. I’m sure they’ll be happy to babysit. Seriously, how can you resist this:

Sienna on her 20-month bday

Any Given Sunday Guilt Can Be Your Enemy

Posted on November 19, 2013 by Lorne Jaffe

First I want to thank everyone for all of the comments from my last blog. I’ve been completely overwhelmed by your kindness, so much so that I’ve been unable to fully address your support. I’ve also been paralyzed, my brain taunting: “How am I gonna top what I last wrote??” I’ve been battling that and simultaneously trying to absorb all the wonderful advice and encouragement. I promise to get back to each of you. For now, I have to write about yesterday even though it doesn’t involve Sienna.

For a few years now, my two oldest, closest friends (one friend, whom I met in 2nd grade, lives in Maryland, the other, whom I met in 6th grade, lives in Florida) and I have annually reunited to go to a Giants game; for perspective purposes, we’re all turning 40 next year. The fourth spot in our reunion quartet has changed over the years for one reason or another. This year I decided to invite another old friend who coincidentally also lives in Maryland. We met in 3rd grade, I think, but we fell out of touch for some years post-college. Thanks in part to Facebook it’s like those lost years never happened.

To give you a little background, this friend of mine had an extremely rough childhood. I witnessed harsh verbal and emotional abuse from his parents that eventually led to psychological damage manifesting itself physically as stress-related seizures in JHS and the sudden development of an allergy array that boggled the mind. His allergies have since abated, but the seizures have followed him into adulthood, through two bad marriages, high pressure jobs, etc. Thankfully he’s happier now than he’s ever been. I was very protective of my friend when we were kids (I still am), always telling my parents about what he went through, but they felt I exaggerated because knowing his parents, they couldn’t believe some of the things I described most of which they couldn’t have done anything about, but a couple of which directly involved me. I held this grudge against my parents until it was finally resolved in family therapy a few years ago, but it helped establish in me a deep-rooted need to be understood and believed that remains to this day. It’s partly the reason why I write this blog – to be understood.

Anyway, we chose the game in July, but as the day neared, my friend discovered he couldn’t get away Saturday and needed to be at work early Monday morning so he decided to drive up Sunday morning and then drive back right after the game (I thought this was audacious, even nuts, but I deferred because he so wanted to go).

When my friend from Florida arrived on Friday, we happened to meet up with another one of our good friends from elementary school. I mentioned our annual tradition and how our fourth for this year was facing a crazy schedule. I asked if should my friend have to cancel, would he be interested in going to which I got a hearty yes. I thought it was logical to secure a backup just in case, but I never imagined what would unfurl.

Four and a half hours before the game I got a text from my friend saying that he’d had a seizure while driving and totaled his car. He was unhurt, somewhere in New Jersey, and still wanted to go to the game. His closest friends, (two very sweet women whom I’ve met on several occasions) were driving from Maryland and he wanted them to take him to the stadium. Shaken and stunned, I called him and said he was acting crazy, that his health was a hell of a lot more important than a football game, and that he needed to go to a hospital and head home. He was adamant about it, though. He wanted to see us. He’d make the game. He hung up because he needed to talk with an officer.

The women were already on their way. I spoke to one of them and begged her to talk my friend into going home. She said he’d had a rough work week but had been looking forward to the game for a long time, building it up. Because she loves him, as do I, she was naturally scared about his health. We were both on the verge of tears. I had a feeling guilt was involved. He didn’t want to let us down. He didn’t want to see the ticket go to waste. I told her I could get a replacement, that he shouldn’t worry about the ticket. She agreed guilt could very well be raising its insidious head. She’d call him.

As I waited, my facial tic started going (it only appears now when I’m severely anxious). I’d been hit by my own guilt wave: I somehow caused this by enlisting a potential replacement. My friend would hate me if I refused his going to the game. Do I tell my other friend and have him come to the stadium with us just in case? If so, would HE hate me if he wound up stuck in a bar instead of at the game?

Guilt and clinical depression go hand-in-hand. Over the last few years I’ve allowed absurd guilt to slash my rational mind to ribbons. My therapist always tells me guilt is a dangerous emotion when it comes to living with depression. It prevents recovery. It prevents living.

Elaine and my other friends were trying to calm me down, telling me I was being irrational. I tried to listen, but my brain wouldn’t compute. This was somehow my fault via some ridiculous cosmic event.

My friend called back. He’d decided he was too shaken to go and was just going to go home. The truth was he did feel guilty about the ticket and about not seeing us. Through tears I told him I loved him. I said we’d make a plan to visit him, maybe even watch an old Giants game. His health superseded everything. My other friends agreed. We all took turns talking to him, making sure he was ok, telling him not going to the game was the smart move. When he hung up, my emotions collapsed and I started crying in front of Elaine, my friends, and worst of all, Sienna. Elaine took me into another room to hug and soothe me, constantly telling me it wasn’t my fault.

Eventually I settled down and the four of us headed out. We had a good time, but I couldn’t shake the guilt. Several times my friends had to tell me I was being ludicrous. I kept pictured my friend in Maryland curled up, beating himself up because he’d disappointed us and himself. At one point I had to take a walk. It took until the second half to untether myself, to mostly (still not completely) stop the guilt from eating away at this reunion of my closest friends. Although I couldn’t really get into the game, I did manage to joke around and talk and remember how lucky I was to have these people in my life. I also got a text that my friend had made it home safe and sound.

Guilt almost made my friend make a terrible decision that put his health in jeopardy. Meanwhile, my own crazy guilt nearly sucked any enjoyment from seeing my closest friends. Thankfully we both were able to eventually overpower our own irrationality. I fully plan to teach Sienna about the dangers of guilt when she’s older. Further, I will do my best to never use guilt as a weapon (even in a joking manner). I’ve seen more than enough of it in my lifetime. I’ll also make sure she knows I trust and believe her lest she somehow (and I’m sure she will at some point) blow it, but of course, she’ll be able to earn it back. If she tells me about something going on with one of her friends, I’ll believe her and explain whatever options might be available, that I personally don’t have the right to take charge, but she should be there for her friend and encourage her/him to reach out to the proper authority figures be it guidance counselors, social workers, teachers, even police; only if there’s legitimate proof can I act myself.

Now I have two things to look forward to: a soon-to-planned reunion in Maryland and next year’s annual Giants game.

At the Giants/Packers game on 11/17/13 posing with former Giant great, Stephen Baker “The Touchdown Maker”

Tumbling From the Moon and Getting Back Up

Posted on November 14, 2013 by Lorne Jaffe

It took less than one day. Less than one day for my depression/anxiety to once again rear its ugly head. Less than one day after I’d blogged about the wonderful jolt I’d felt when Sienna pointed and yelled out, “MOON!!!” I’d spoken with my therapist about the experience and the blog, how it was probably the first time I’d really felt life through my daughter’s eyes, and about how I, for once, actually thought I’d written something well. I’d talked about how I thought it was time for me to really do something with this blog, gain a bigger audience. I mentioned the Dad 2.0 Summit, a large gathering of dad bloggers and dads and sponsors. I thought maybe I should go. She agreed.

That night I couldn’t sleep. I left the bedroom and began researching going to New Orleans for the summit. Between the ticket, flight, hotel, etc., it was going to cost a fortune. Should I still do it? I watched a video taken from last year’s gathering and saw hundreds of confident people, a few of which I know, and I began to panic. The burst of wonder I’d written about morphed into icy fear. My mind swirled. I wasn’t good enough for this. These bloggers are so much better, so much more competent. They’re invited to interview celebrities, review films and test out new products. My blog’s puny by comparison. I barely get any comments. I had to do something. My hands shook as I posted my blog in a Dad Bloggers group on Facebook, terrified I wouldn’t be accepted.

I had to change tactics. Think of something else. I know. Coupons. We need to save money. I used to be a coupon fiend, so good that one of my former coworkers told me I should make a business out of it. That’s when I stopped cold. Once the possibility of making it a business came into play, I could no longer do it. Now I had to get back into it. I researched coupon sites while and was overwhelmed. Then I started thinking about the holidays and finding gifts for people. My chest hurt. My brain hurt. Nasty thoughts bombarded me. I suck as a blogger. I’m weak. Can’t do the coupon thing anymore. I’m a failure. At around a quarter to two in the morning, I posted on Facebook about the Dads Summit and feeling panicky. Then I got the hell away from the computer, went back to the bedroom, and tossed and turned for hours before falling into a fitful sleep.

Elaine was off the next day. The plumber was due to come fix our shower. I woke up feeling horrible. Nervous. Scared. Two hours later it was a full-on panic attack complete with chest pains, dizziness, stuttering, crying. Elaine ordered me to the bedroom, but I fought her; I couldn’t leave her alone to take care of Sienna while the plumber was there. I looked at the responses to my FB post from the previous night. Positive responses that I twisted into negative thoughts. I’d lost all control of my mind. I was falling apart in front of Sienna. I finally submitted to my Elaine’s order and went to the bedroom. I apologized, but she refused it saying we’re a team, that it was my turn to lose it (she’d lost it a few days before because of job-related things). I chastised myself for failing her, for being a failure in general. Eventually I fell asleep. I slept for almost six hours.

I still could barely function after awakening. I sat on the couch like a stone wanting only to curl up under a blanket. Elaine took care of everything, feeding Sienna, playing with her, cleaning up her messes. She comforted me, told me she loved me, that we’re in this together, that in no way had I failed her. The words didn’t stick. I’m not sure how long it was before bedtime when I took a melatonin and slept peacefully.

I awoke the next morning feeling better. Elaine was working so I was once more alone with Sienna, though the plumber had to return to fix a few things. I realized I wasn’t ready to go to the Dads Summit. Not this year. I reread the comments on my FB post and one really stood out:

“1- You haven’t been blogging for long. Continue finding your voice for now and set a date to take off. 2- Set goals. Last year I sat down and came up with a business plan for my blog. The plan was for my eyes only, but I had a plan in place. The plan took new shapes along the way, but I felt good that I had a plan. 3 – Being a dad blogger is great, but taking a break now and then is fine. 4- You’ve got good stuff, but sometimes it takes a while for others to catch on to it.”

This both encouraged and scared me. I’m terrible at planning. I can barely make a grocery list, but the person was right in that I hadn’t been blogging long. I’ll probably need to talk to my friend who posted the comment about planning and I’ll most likely need Elaine’s help, but it’s something that needs to be done. Baby steps. My therapist always says I need to take baby steps because I usually jump straight to the end and judge myself harshly that I’m not there yet and so many others are.

So my first step is to write this blog and get all of this out there to show people how quickly depression/anxiety can attack. Having depression and/or anxiety disorders is not fun. It’s not a joke. They’re insidious diseases that you have to battle at all times. It’s like walking a tightrope without a net. There’s lots of wobbling and if you fall off there’s nothing to catch you. Those of us with depression/anxiety need to surround ourselves with people who love and understand us at all times (even if we can’t figure out why they do). I’m lucky that I have Elaine and my parents; a few friends to turn to; my sister; my therapist. As difficult as it is, I need to stop comparing myself to others and I need to take baby steps even if I need guidance in doing so.

Baby steps all the way to the moon.