Important Messages For 2 Important Moms

Posted on May 11, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

“Do you want to go wake Mommy?” I asked Sienna with a grin.

The little girl opened her eyes wide and beamed.

“Please!”

It was last weekend and I’d either let Elaine sleep in or she’d taken a nap. Regardless it was time to wake her from dreamland so a little girl could climb a bed like the North Mountain in Frozen and jump into her mother’s arms. I walked down the hall to the bedroom. Sienna ran already calling, “Mommmmy!!! Mommmmmyy!!” Little does she know Elaine can sleep through almost anything, even the stomping down the hall and calls of her daughter.

I turned the knob and Sienna squeezed through the doorway well before I opened the door to allow myself in. She hit the bed at a run.

“MOMMMMMMMYYYYY!!!!”

Elaine awoke dazed and sat up, but when she saw her daughter scaling the bed, she smiled with utter warmth and joy. And that’s when the shrieks and squeals began because, well, Mommy was home and awake and nothing ever tops Mommy being home and awake. Nothing.

Once Sienna reached the top of the bed she jumped fell into Elaine as if her mother were a pile a pillows, not a human being who might suffer broken ribs, poked eyes or, as happened in this case, have the wind slightly knocked out her leading to an “OOMPH!” One day Sienna will know she needs to be more gentle, but not yet. Right now she’s all id, a ball of energy that wants her mommy and nothing was going to stop her.

Elaine and Sienna proceeded to play a game called “Tent” in which Mommy holds her leg straight up under the covers and Sienna does a fake scream and fall and then gets wrapped up in the blanket. She could play this game for hours or days or years. It’s a great test for endurance. Perhaps they should make it a challenge on Survivor. I mostly watched and took everything in because those squeals of pure elation got me thinking about something and once “Tent” was over, Sienna had scrambled off the bed and run down the hall and Elaine had gotten up, I took Elaine gently by the shoulders and said it.

“Did you hear those shrieks and squeals when she saw you?” Did you see how happy she was to see you? That’s because of how much she loves you. It’s NOT because you’re working during the week and she doesn’t see you as much as me. It’s because you’re her Mommy and she loves her mommy. Every day it’s, ‘Mommy?’ and I have to say you’re at work. The girl worships you. She adores you. You’re her Mommy and even if you were home all day, she’d still shriek and squeal when she sees you. You’re that special to her.”

Elaine’s eyes watered and she thanked me because yes, she does think she’s failing as a mom (she’s not…not by a long shot) and yes she does feel guilty that she’s not home enough and that Sienna maybe, just maybe, loves me more than her (so far from the truth!). Elaine is a wonderful mom, an amazing mom who can invent a silly game like “Tent” and play it over and over even if it’s starting to hurt her hip. She thinks about Sienna constantly. She thinks that Sienna’s existence and beauty and sweet nature proves that a higher power exists. And only an incredible mother would do and think such things. Elaine is just that and Sienna and I are both extraordinarily lucky to have her in our lives.

Sienna & Grandma on Sienna’s 2nd birthday

My mom doesn’t like to be photographed. It must be in the genes because I don’t like to be photographed either and unfortunately it means I couldn’t find a nice picture of the two of us on my computer when I decided to write this blog an hour ago in honor of Mother’s Day. So I guess you’ll have to deal with a great pic of Grandma Lynne and Sienna and why not? She’s a terrific grandmother – kind, generous, tolerant, stern when she needs to be. She’s such a wonderful grandmother that Sienna asks to see her almost daily. Lucky for her, Grandma works across the street. Unlucky for her, Daddy has issues he needs to deal with about going outside, but he’s working on them.

Daddy’s got a lot of issues that stem from many things in his past, but none of that’s important right now because I want to talk about how far my mom’s come in learning how to deal with a child suffering depression and anxiety, how much she’s been there for me, how she never stops believing in me or fighting for me even when I sort of take things out on her (we do tend to hurt the people we love, unfortunately), and how without her, I doubt I’d be as kind or generous or tolerant or stern when I need to be as I am. She’s taught me so much these past 2+ years when it comes to raising Sienna and she’s been there so many times when I’ve broken down and needed help. She gets a text or a phone call about me having an anxiety attack and she runs, not just for my daughter’s sake, but for mine…because she loves me and she’ll do anything for me. She’ll stay there all day playing with Sienna in the living room while I recover in bed if need be.

I know she feels guilty about not protecting me enough when I was younger or maybe pushing me a little too hard. I know that I’m still not able to completely let go of those things – yet – that sometimes they infiltrate my system and try to break and punish me, tell me lies about myself. My mom tells me the truth. She tells me she loves me. She tells me I’m talented and have enormous worth. And even if I can’t accept it at the time, I’m trying to let those words and feelings in.

Mom, you have nothing to feel guilty about. You were a 1st time parent dealing with a child who had and still has a chemical imbalance in his head that was exacerbated by certain things. We know a lot more about depression now today than you ever did when you raising me.

And here’s the real truth. I treasure you. You’ve unconditionally accepted Elaine and love her with all of your heart. You adore Sienna. You cherish me. And I thank you for that. I thank you for everything. I don’t say it near enough. I love you and I treasure you. Because you’re my mommy.

Happy Mother’s Day to my phenomenal wife and devoted mom, both truly special people.

The Real Lesson of Dad 2.0

Posted on April 8, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

Dad 2.0 co-founder, Doug French, speaks at the 2014 conference

On March 31, 2014, I tried to write a recap of my experiences at the Dad 2.0 Summit. I’d already written about at the conference, about how reading my blog about having depression in front of 250 people challenged my defenses, but I had stories to tell, pictures to post, impressions of New Orleans to express. My second Dad 2.0 recap had been on my mind since arriving home back in February, and at the end of March I decided I’d procrastinated long enough.

All I wanted to do was post pictures, tell a funny anecdote or two, and write about my overall wonderment during the weekend. It didn’t need to be a linear narrative. It didn’t need to have a moral or underlying theme. But as I wrote I realized I was falling into the trap of feeling like I had to write everything from start to finish and as the minutes and then hours ticked by I became more and more anxious – heart racing, chest filling with granite, tremors infiltrating my fingers, mind simply out of control with hateful thoughts about myself. So I posted on the Dad Bloggers Facebook page:

“Am trying to blog. Am failing to blog. Too much pressure to blog. Trying to do a second recap of Dad 2.0 but can’t figure out how. I don’t think I can be as poetic as so many of you. I have lots of pics and some stories and impressions, but everything feels jumbled and forced. Writing feels jumbled and forced lately. I hate this! I hate feeling like I’m in competition with all of you wonderful writers! I hate that I do this to myself! I hate that this is where I go! I HATE IT!”

Fury. Self-hatred. Envy.

That’s what circled through my addled brain. Immediately people responded telling me to to breathe (I couldn’t). Telling me to hug Sienna (I couldn’t). Telling me that this is normal, that all writers go through this. My narcissistic depressed mind refuted everything and instead doubled, tripled, quadrupled the attack. I shook as I posted this:

“I can’t take this. I’m no damn good. You guys are so prolific and so smart and so poetic and so genius and introspective and observant and it seems (SEEMS) that it comes so easy to you and I’m probably being irrational and I’m getting caught in that web I weave and I need help because I can’t breathe because I’ve sat here trying to write this stupid blog for 2 hours and it’s awful”

Fury. Self-hatred. Envy. Guilt.

More responses. Dads bloggers telling me they knew how I felt in regards to not being able to write. Dad bloggers telling me my reading at Dad 2.0 was amazing, inspirational, wonderful, brave. Dad bloggers telling to get away, get out, take advantage of the nice weather to help break out of this funk. Dad bloggers telling me that writing is subjective and nothing is perfect, that even someone famous like Jane Austen had a hater in Mark Twain. Someone asked if anyone was home with me which signaled worry about myself and Sienna. MY…BRAIN…WOULD…NOT…STOP! I posted again:

“no, it’s just me. I’m still recovering my an ear infection and Sienna’s still sick. I’m just so upset. I’ve thinking about this blog for 2 months. I got my pictures set up and I was all like, I’m just gonna throw out random observations and pics and thoughts and instead I’m getting bogged down in describing the conference from beginning to end. I tried to look at other people’s recaps and that got me on to the comparison game again. I recapped my experience speaking, but there was a bunch more I wanted to say. Maybe I should just forget it. I have like 5 ideas, but I’m getting so stressed because I keep comparing myself to all of the group members going viral and a bunch of people who write brilliant stuff almost every day and I can’t stop and I just hate myself so damn much! I can’t stop hating myself! Why do I hate myself so much?”

FURY. SELF-HATRED. ENVY. GUILT. FURY. SELF-HATRED. ENVY. GUILT. FURY. SELF-HATRED. ENVY. GUILT. FURY. SELF-HATRED. ENVY. GUILT.

Facial-tic going like crazy. Whole body shaking. Hyperventilating.

More and more responses from fellow dad bloggers but I could no longer read or absorb them. Aaron Gouveia of The Daddy Files IM’d me, asked for my phone number. I gave it and posted:

“shutting comp off…I can’t deal w/ this. I’m sorry I’m failing all of you”

My phone rang.

I can’t remember much of what was said. All I know is that Aaron, this person I met at Dad 2.0, this person with whom I felt I strong kinship, started talking me down, listened to my stuttering, my hysterics, and gave me positive reinforcement by telling me I was going to be okay and so many people care about me. I’m not going to lie. I thought of suicide during the phone call as Sienna sat in her pen, concerned, as protected from her crumbling father as I could make her.

How long did the call last? I don’t remember, but as I listened to Aaron talk about me possibly taking a break from blogging and that if I did it would be fine, that no one would judge me, I began to calm. My hysterics became sobs. My sobs became deep breaths. Despite his kids climbing all over him, trying to get his attention, he would not hang up until he knew I was alright and safe. I promised I wouldn’t do anything rash. I asked him to tell the others that I was okay, that I thanked them for their support, but I needed to take a step back from Facebook as I was drowning once again in social media and self-induced pressures. We hung up. I put Sienna down for a nap. I fell asleep on the couch and refused to open the computer until the following day.

I was still in a bad state when Elaine got home. She took care of Sienna and comforted me. I felt like I’d run a million miles, my body broken, my brain like mush. I went to sleep early making sure to take a melatonin.

I looked at the computer the next day and saw 6 IMs from dad bloggers. I saw a bunch of responses to my final post most of which expressed how I was failing no one, all of them showing worry and reminding me I had this virtual community of dads on which to lean. It took me days to respond to the IMs, but I posted this:

“Thanks everyone. I’m still not doing great, but I’m braving FB because Aaron told me you guys have been really supportive. I can’t bear to look at what I posted. I also can’t thank Aaron enough for calling me. Just embarrassed I was so hysterical on the phone. I plan to read all of and take a lot of your advice. I’m not sure when I’ll blog again. It might be tomorrow or next week or next month. I’m still so down right now and I’m so sorry I haven’t checked so I could share your stuff and comment on it and support all of YOU. Just know how much I appreciate it.”

More responses about how there was no need for me to feel embarrassed, but it took time for me to get it.

As I remained in my depressed state for days, I thought about my failed blog attempt. I began to really read what people wrote to me. I wrote back to those who IM’d me. And I realized the real lesson of Dad 2.0, although it took me a long time to blog about it because I’ve been so scared to write that my anxiety level’s been almost radioactive. It’s a lesson with which I concluded my first Dad 2.0 blog:

I found my tribe.

Dad 2.0 and the Dad Bloggers Facebook site are all about at-home and stay-at-home dads working together, being there for each other when we have difficulties, sharing advice and experiences, reminding each other that we’re not alone, inspiring each other. Some dads suffer depression and anxiety just like me and I’ve written to them about it when they’ve hit hard times. I said I’d be there for them to talk to because I understood. In turn, when I posted what I did, those same dads wrote to ME using similar words, reminding me that I’m not the only one who suffers panic attacks and depressive episodes, telling me they’re there for me should I need them. Further, bloggers I compare myself to (even though I shouldn’t) posted that they too suffer insecurities and often hate what they write. Again, I’m not alone.

That’s the real lesson of Dad 2.o. Even though people have different lives and are scattered across the country, it’s a community of which everyone reminded me I’m an important part despite my irrational fears that they’ll forget me.

I’m nowhere near mentally healthy…yet. My stability remains shaky for the moment, but hopefully it won’t always be. Regardless this realization about Dad 2.0 and the Dad Bloggers Facebook page is significant. What’s even more pertinent is that I got it out of my system. I blogged, I hit “publish” and I shared. I thank every person who IM’d me, posted, worried about my safety, told me I’m not alone. I can’t express how much it means to me. I especially thank Aaron Gouveia for going out of his way (he’ll refute this) to talk me down.

Now I’m off to see my therapist.

Birthday Party Pressure

Posted on March 19, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

“So what should we do for Sienna’s 2nd birthday?”

“I don’t know,” Elaine yawned. We sat on each side of the couch in the darkened living room. Elaine had just put Sienna to bed and was on the verge of going night-night herself.

“Don’t we have to do something?” I implored. “A party? Ask my parents if we could borrow their house and invite only people with kids so Sienna can play?”

“Maybe,” Elaine responded, her voice noncommittal. “But I’d rather we just invite a few friends if we do that. Doesn’t matter if they have kids. It’s not like we have to do anything major.”

“But we have to do something, right?”

That’s what I felt in my heart, body, brain, guts. It’s our daughter’s 2nd birthday so we need to throw her a party of some sorts. That’s what society dictates. A child’s birthday equals a party with or without clowns, bouncy tents, magicians and the like. Elaine and I had this conversation for months. We never made a decision. Sienna’s 2nd birthday is tomorrow and I feel wrong that we’re not doing anything big for it. No pirate-themed party like my friend had when his son turned 2. No kids running around a decorated backyard or house. I know a 2nd birthday party is mainly for the parents just as a 1st birthday celebration is. I know Sienna wouldn’t remember if I dressed up like Olaf from Frozen (as if I could get an Olaf costume these days when Frozen merchandise is going for thousands on Ebay). But still I feel like I’m failing her somehow. Once again I’m caring more about what a society that could care less about me thinks than I am about anything else.

Sure we’re going to see our relatives on Sunday. Sienna will see her great-grandmother, great-aunt and uncle and 2nd cousins. It will be a combined marking of Sienna’s 2nd birthday and my parents’ anniversary, but outside of a cake (hopefully my cousin’s awesome checkerboard confection) marking the occasion and maybe a card or 2, it will be just like any other gathering. Maybe there will be a balloon? Maybe a toy for her to unwrap? I’m not sure. Regardless it won’t be the remarkable event I feel pressured to create even if Elaine, Sienna and even I, the rational I, could care less about.

We’re also bringing cupcakes to her class on Sunday and I gather they’ll sing “Happy Birthday,” but that still doesn’t feel like enough.

Why are young children’s birthday parties so big in American society?

When we threw a fête for her 1st birthday (ok, maybe it wasn’t a “fête” since it was really informal), Sienna sat there confused and indifferent as evidenced by the image below:

She didn’t have a clue what was going on around her, though she interacted fine with total strangers, especially the other kids. I honestly don’t think she smiled until after everyone left and she had room to play with a balloon and climb on Elaine. Even for her 1st birthday we didn’t go all out, though we did get a delicious cake, symbolically the same one Elaine had at her bridal shower. We invited a bunch of people over to my parents’ house. We brought in pizza and Italian food. Sienna wore a nice dress. We decorated a bit. Sienna got a bunch of gifts. It was a nice time, clearly more for Elaine, myself and my parents than for Sienna. And now our daughter’s turning 2 and we’re not doing a blessed thing and I feel like I’m making a societal faux pas.

I asked other parents what they did for 2nd birthdays and the majority said they did very little. A simple family gathering. A trip to the zoo. A cake.

I guess that’s the direction we’re going. I’ll try to get some nice pictures tomorrow and the family gathering on Sunday, but there will be no party for Sienna not to recall. I’m sure the feeling that I’m failing my daughter will go away sometime next week, but I’m annoyed I’m letting inconsequential and wholly false societal “rules” dictate my life once again. I’m furious I’m playing the same comparison game I’ve played essentially my whole natural life.

And that leads nowhere except to further self-loathing so I need to take a deep breath and as my therapist instructs, repeat to myself, “This is where I go. This is what I do.”

Perhaps if I keep doing that the sharp arrow of anxiety piercing my body will dissipate and I’ll be able to ignore my the irrational part of my brain and enjoy Sienna’s 2nd birthday for what it is – my daughter simply turning 2.

Bye Bye Crib, Hello Panic

Posted on March 15, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

Another morning of awakening to hear Sienna chattering away in her bedroom, singing The Smurfs theme song (“So murf yur elf a griiiiiiiin!”). Sienna doesn’t cry for food when she wakes up. She can lie in her crib covering herself with stuffed monkeys and bears and Count von Count and whatever other character she chose to comfort her the night before, jabbering away while I hit the snooze button. I’m lucky that way, I guess. She can be demanding at times, but her imagination and enjoyment of singing allows me a little extra sleep each morning. So it was this morning. Sienna singing, speaking a mix of English and Toddler, me snoozing away. Everything was the same until I opened Sienna’s door to a sight that stopped me in my tracks leaving me so stunned I might as well have had cartoon birds circling my head. There was only one thing to do. Grab the camera.

How long was she hanging on like this before I entered the room? Five minutes? Ten? An hour? Elaine mentioned a couple of days before that Sienna had gotten out of her crib, but it was just the one time and I kind of put it away. But now everything changed. Seeing Spider-Girl clinging to the outside of her crib hit me with a dose of RED ALERT!

I pulled Sienna down, changed, fed and played with her and did all the fun Daddy-daughter stuff we do on a daily basis, but at the same time I worriedly texted Elaine who wrote it was time for the crib to morph into a bed which she took care of once we got home. But it wasn’t just the crib that had to change as we had to remove anything Sienna could climb. Bye bye changing table. As Sienna jumped on her new bed, we quickly stuffed diapers, Desitin, washcloths, etc., into the closet.By the time we’d finished rearranging her room it was almost 9:30. We didn’t yet have a railing, so we threw a large body pillow on the floor in case Sienna rolled off during the night.

“No more crib,” we explained as Sienna jumped on her new bed.

“Crib!” she responded gleefully.

“No Sienna,” Elaine said. “You’re not a baby anymore. You’re a big girl. Now you have a bed like Mommy and Daddy.” I’m not sure how Elaine felt about those words, but to be honest, they didn’t bother me. I enjoy Sienna not being a baby. I love this interactive phase – the singing and playing, the “Toddlerish” speak. This is the phase I don’t want to end.

“Bed!” yelled Sienna.

“That’s right!” I said. “Bed!”

Then Elaine put Sienna down for the night and we went headed to our bedroom. I started reading a biography of Jim Henson, but around 11:30 I heard Sienna whimpering and then crying and then screaming. I put down the book and found her walking in circles in the dark, her blanket in one hand, tears leaking from her eyes. Instantly I felt the sickening dread I felt when our cat Zeeb went blind overnight because cancer had spread to his brain – the poor thing yowled in shock and fear when he he tried to jump up on our bed only to leap in the opposite direction. Once more I found a creature lost in the darkness, confused, trying to navigate this massive disruption in her world. Anxiety coursed through my body, but I picked up my daughter, sat in a rocking chair and explained what it meant to have a bed. I rocked and hummed and eventually Sienna fell asleep in my arms and I placed her back in her bed. No further problems.

The next morning I walked in to find the room a mess: stuffed animals and laundry strewn everywhere. I sighed knowing this would be a new part of our routine, but it was ok. Not a big deal. I took Sienna to the local Y for playtime which she loved. Because of my slight agoraphobia and my fear of being judged for being a stay-at-home dad, I don’t take my daughter out enough meaning she doesn’t get enough socialization. But this day I overcame my anxiety and let her play with a bunch of kids, throwing balls around, climbing an indoor castle complete with a slide, letting her mouth gape open and her arms flail excitedly as a machine sprayed her with bubbles. We then did some food shopping, came home and had lunch meaning it was nap time. And this is when things went awry.

Sienna wouldn’t nap. I had no trouble with her talking to herself, but every time a loud BANG blasted over the baby monitor I rushed in to see if she was safe. At one point I discovered she’d climbed onto the dresser and panic crashed through my chest.

SHE’S NEVER GOING TO NAP AGAIN! HOW AM I GOING TO HAVE TIME TO DO ANYTHING FOR MYSELF NOW? HOW WILL I BLOG? WHEN WILL I BLOG? I’LL NEVER BLOG AGAIN! THERE’S NO TIME! THERE’S NO TIME TO READ! THERE’S NO TIME TO CATCH UP ON FACEBOOK! THERE’S NO TIME TO READ EVERYONE ELSE’S BLOGS AND COMMENT! ALL THE PEOPLE I MET IN NEW ORLEANS…ALL MY FELLOW DAD BLOGGERS WILL ABANDON ME BECAUSE I DON’T HAVE TIME TO READ THEIR STUFF IF SIENNA DOESN’T NAP! I’M ALREADY WAY BEHIND! I WANT TO WATCH TRUE DETECTIVE AND HOUSE OF CARDS AND KEEP UP WITH WHAT’S GOING ON CULTURE-WISE, BUT NOW I’LL NEVER HAVE TIME AGAIN! NEVER AGAIN! THERE’S…NO…MORE….TIME!!!

My head swirled. My heart pounded. My chest might as well have been a block of cement.

I called my mom, stuttering that I was on the verge of a panic attack. She came over right away and took care of Sienna while I lay down. Once the physical manifestations begin, it’s so hard to get out of an anxiety attack. Once the rational part of your brain is reduced to a whisper, you’re lost. There’s only one way out for me. Sleep. It’s the only way to clear my head. My mom gave Sienna dinner. Then my dad arrived and took over until Elaine came home from work. I slept because I couldn’t face my daughter. I couldn’t let her see me like this.

Elaine put Sienna to bed and we talked. She told me how I go crazy each time Sienna transitions, but then I find a balance and routine. I stubbornly argued that this time there would be no balance because of time…ever since the Dad 2.0 conference I’ve felt perpetually behind and now the loss of those precious few hours when Sienna napped? I’d never catch up. Never.

“Just because Sienna didn’t nap today doesn’t mean she’ll never nap again,” Elaine assured me, but I refused to listen. It was over. I would forever be behind. I’d never blog again. I’d just found this community in which I felt somewhat accepted and now, just like I’d experienced so often before, they’d abandon me.

So I created a desperate thread begging my fellow dad bloggers for advice, espousing my fears of desertion, asking how they do it. How do they juggle their time so that they can blog and read other blogs and do things for themselves all while taking care of their child(ren)? Because I have no idea how to do it. I’m as lost when it comes to time management as I am when it comes to calculus, and what kills me even more is that I need to solve this NOW because I’m a perfectionist. I received a lot of helpful responses and below are some examples.

Aaron Gouveia of The Daddy Files: The trick (and I don’t know how to get you to this point personally) is to realize you’ll always be running at a deficit and be OK with it. You and your contributions are always welcome here and the support isn’t going anywhere. Even if you need a week or two away from us. Prioritize on a continuous basis, do what you have to do, and try not to feel guilty about what you’re not doing. Easier said than done, I know. But you’re a conscientious guy and as long as you keep making sure the important things are being taken care of, you’ll be OK.

James Austin of Luke, I Am Your Father: I hear so many guys here apologize for ‘not contributing enough’ or ‘being gone a week.’ Every time. EVERY time, my reaction is ‘I didn’t even realize you were gone.’ I suspect most of the guys would agree. You don’t have to be here all the time to maintain a noticeable presence. Don’t try to give more than you can. We will all be here the next time you want to check in.

Lee Bodenmiller of Souvenirs of Fatherhood: What I have learned is that achieving perfect balance is a myth. I might even call it a destructive lie. There is no such thing as a single perfect state of time management. Responsibilities shift. Expectations change from different people in your life. New demands pop up while old ones become satisfied or unimportant. The key is to constantly be shifting the fulcrum in your life to what is most pressing and urgent.

Neal Call of Raised By My Daughter: I’m poised to step back a bit, because [blogging is] a seriously deep pit that sucks and sucks at you, and I have a hard time wrapping my mind around all of it. Facebook, particularly, sucks time away. And, even though I’ve had my little successes over the last year or so, it’s pretty clear to me that blogging will probably not be a direct income source. Perhaps it will be a platform for other projects . . . a lot of the guys who are prolific here have older kids or have their younger kids in daycare/pre-school. With a needy kid at home almost all day (which I totally get), I’ve just had to get comfortable with the idea that a lot of my projects are going to have to wait until my daughter is in school.

Scott Behson of Fathers, Work, and Family: Rule#1 for me is you can’t take care of others if you don’t take care of yourself- just like the airplane thing- put your oxygen mask on first before helping with others’. At this point (I say this as a PhD is psychology, but without really knowing your situation), I think you need to prioritize yourself and work on coping with your anxiety- your therapist and family are best positioned to help. Don’t worry about us. We’ll be here whenever you need us.

Eric B of Dad On The Run: I also enjoy reading and watching TV and never have enough time to do all I want, and sometimes not enough time to get what I need done. Prioritization is key. You have to decide how much time you can devote to these areas of your life and stick with it. I don’t know any better way of saying it. Don’t worry about the group abandoning you or wondering why you haven’t read something or commented on something, that’s just self-imposed pressure…I chime in when I can and where I want to. I read what I see and what interests me and comment, provide blogging feedback where and when I have the time. We all understand that there is not enough time. When I post something and it gets little or no response then I figure guys have other more important things to do and I get that. Work on that understanding, it’s a river. We dip our feet in when we can, we wave at passing boats when we’re in it and we handle life when we’re not. I’ve found life in general to become more and more overwhelming as I’ve aged so I’m trying to be careful to be sure my social media presence is helping me deal with that instead of exacerbating the problem.

I’m so thankful. So thankful. Because I feel less alone. Because they get it. They get me. They get that I feel like I’m drowning in social media, that I’m so scared of not being able to top my Dad 2.0 reading; that I feel this ridiculous obligation to each and every person who stood up and clapped and complimented me in the Marriott hallway; that I’m terrified the dad blogger community will cast me off just because I don’t have time to comment on or share one of their blog or write something witty or emotional myself.

Unlike the people in my past, these dad bloggers understand me. Even if they don’t suffer depression and anxiety, we have shared experiences in child rearing. We’re all trying to figure out how to manage time for ourselves while our children grow and change on a daily basis. Routine is an illusion when it comes to raising children and if you get sucked into one, you’re going to be shocked when it changes in a split second. If I don’t remember that in my bones I’ll continue to suffer panic attacks each time Sienna transitions. I can’t let that happen. I have to grow and stop letting my anxiety get the best of me. I have to step back from Facebook and stop feeling guilty if I don’t comment on something. I have to stop feeling discomposed if I don’t get a hundred comments and “likes” on a blog post. And I have to stop comparing myself to those who are so prolific in the blogging community because the reality is many of them have jobs in addition to fatherhood that allow them to interact with social media throughout the day; others are former or current journalists and have an easier time writing and know the tricks of the trade; and some have older or younger kids that require less attention. None of them will hate me if I I miss a blog here or there or don’t hit a “like” button.

If I felt I’d found my tribe at Dad 2.0, after this most recent panic attack and my plea to the dad blogger community, I know I have.

As for time management, I’ll figure something out. Maybe my mom will take Sienna for a few hours a couple of times a week. Maybe Elaine will give me some time away on weekends. Maybe I’ll cut back on sleep. Maybe I’ll have to miss a program here or there. As Elaine says, I’m not Superman. Hell, I doubt even Superman could handle all the things I want to do as well as raise a little girl about to turn 2 who now sleeps in a bed instead of a crib, but I know he wouldn’t feel guilty and anxious about it. It’s time I don’t either.

Preventing A Depression Spiral By Taking My Daughter To The Movies

Posted on March 6, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

I hate and fear my birthday. Yes it’s just a day like any other, but it’s one that so clearly marks the passage of time, one that depression sufferers such as myself tend to use to focus more than ever on the “failures” of the past and of time “running out” than on the now. Normally I feel sad on my birthday, distraught that I don’t have the money, the elite job title, the house, and I obsess over my life’s crossroads. What if I accepted the cool girl’s party invitation in junior high school instead of chickening out? What if I’d taken that film publicity job I’d been offered following my junior year internship instead of imagining my parents’ wrath at not completing college (I learned years later that the secretary during my time there became a vice president)? A few blogs ago I wrote about how I especially dreaded my birthday this year because it would be my 40th and how since Elaine would be at work late into the night, I felt intensely apprehensive that I’d spiral into such narcissistic despair that I wouldn’t be able to be there for Sienna, but I never wrote about the day itself and how I met that challenge.

On the morning of my 40th birthday I decided to take my 22-month-old daughter, Sienna, to the movies. I wasn’t sure if 22 months was too young for a child to go to movie theater, but I didn’t care because I knew if I didn’t get out of the apartment, I’d dwell until misery swallowed me. There was, of course, only one movie for us to see (cue Miss Idina Menzel):

Elaine’s not a big Disney fan, so I saw Frozen alone when it first opened, but since that day Sienna and I have probably watched the ”Let It Go” clip on YouTube about a quadrillion times, so I thought seeing it on the big screen would blow her mind; plus it was the sing-a-long version so I knew if my daughter yelled at the screen or ran around I’d at least be surrounded by similarly frazzled parents with their rambunctious children. In hindsight this was also a massive undertaking since I’m anxious any time I take Sienna outside, always imagining people talking about and judging me for being a stay-at-home dad, but on my birthday, a clear, crisp February morning, I bundled her up, strapped her into her car seat and told her it was adventure time.

As we entered the multiplex Sienna looked around and took in everything, particularly the luminosity of the theater lobby, big white bulbs overhead, red blinking lights announcing theater times. “Lights!” she repeated on a loop. “Lights!”

“LEGO Movie?” a fiftyish man with a bushy red mustache asked when we reached the counter.

“Nope. Frozen,” I said. “Taking my daughter to her first movie.”

“Good choice.” He smiled and gestured towards Sienna who wore her most serious expression. “And in that case we have something special in store for this little cutie. Just head over to the concession stand and let me know she’s a first-timer.”

I did so and after many congratulations, we received a free children’s popcorn. We walked down the hallway and passed a huge cardboard advertisement for Muppets Most Wanted and Sienna quickly ran up and touched Animal’s face. She LOVES Animal, especially his solo during the Muppets’ rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody.” I had to sneak in a quick shot.

The theater was packed and by “packed” I mean crammed with empty seats. Seems 10:25 AM on a Monday is a perfect time to take your kids to the movies, especially if a film’s been out seemingly forever. I chose an aisle seat behind a wheelchair area giving us plenty of legroom in case Sienna needed to run around. I had no idea what to expect from her. Would the movie’s volume scare her? Would she sit for more than 10 minutes? As I said: adventure time.

I placed her in a seat and made sure I could access everything: popcorn, water, Cheerios, diaper bag, Elmo doll (wish she’d lose that thing! Not an Elmo fan!). Then I had to snap a pic because she looked so darn small and cute and befuddled!

The lights dimmed and we sat through ads and previews (“GREEN!” Sienna yelled happily whenever a preview card appeared) and then it was magic time.

First a clever, Oscar-nominated Mickey Mouse short in which Mickey, Minnie and the gang break through the screen and into a CGI, 3D world. “MICKEY MOUSE! MICKEY MOUSE!” Sienna announced, pointing at the screen. I told her it was indeed Mickey and ran my fingers through her hair. Then it was time for the main feature.

I don’t know how she did it, but Sienna sat through nearly the entire movie as if she were a film critic (or maybe she’s just like her mom who gets distracted and sucked in by any type of moving image, including commercials—she could be talking to you while walking into a room, but upon noticing the flickering TV, she’s an instant zombie and you actually have to snap your fingers to get her attention. Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating…you don’t always have to snap your fingers). Getting back to Sienna, she stood up once and nearly fell through the space between the seat back and cushion, but then she resettled on my lap. She got a little antsy near the end of the film and ran around for maybe 15 minutes, but most of the time she looked like this:

We sang along to “Want To Build A Snowman?” and she pointed out all sorts of things like “SNOW!” and “HORSE!” and “WOLF!” to which she gave an accompanying, ”A-wooooooo! Wooooo-woooo–wooo!”

And when those opening, almost hypnotic notes of “Let It Go” began she jumped up and squealed, singing along as best as she could and mimicking Queen Elsa’s movements, arms thrust in the air in triumph. I sat there not thinking about my birthday, turning 40 or the past or future, but concentrating only on my daughter, on our special time together.

When the film ended we stayed through the second rendition of “Let It Go” and headed back into the lobby. I thanked everyone for being so kind and then decided I needed to get Sienna a plush Olaf to mark the occasion of her first movie. We drove to 4 stores, but no one had anything Frozen-related leaving me highly disappointed, but Sienna none the wiser. I think I wanted that Olaf doll more for me than for her. I think I wanted it to salute my taking action against my anxiety and depression on a day where they’re often incapacitating. At least I have the pictures and memories.

While seeing the movie with my daughter was incredible, I’d like to say that I was able to completely avoid my usual birthday doldrums, but I can’t. By the time my mother took Sienna and I out to dinner, I felt deflated and downcast. When Elaine came home after I’d put Sienna down for the night, my chest was tight and I felt sad and alone and near tears. She asked me if I’d seen all the hundred+ birthday wishes from people on Facebook, but I hadn’t checked because I knew I’d concentrate more on who DIDN’T wish me a happy birthday than on who DID; just another evil aspect of depression.

But then I recounted the morning: the empty theater; Sienna checking out the ad for the new Muppet flick; our daughter getting that first taste of movie popcorn and, like a pro, grabbing fistfuls without taking her eyes of the screen; Sienna standing on my lap, our arms raised, our voices nearly drowning out Queen Elsa’s. I broke into a grin thinking of how proud I was of Sienna and how happy I am to be a dad and how although I couldn’t completely shut out my demons, I stunted them by taking my daughter to her first movie, and how for a good portion of my 40th birthday I was able to just let it go.