Standing ground

 On the way to practice, Coach called my daughter.

"Are you headed to practice?"

"Yes."

"Is your mom driving you?"

"Yes."

"Will she be around in practice?"

Me on the speakerphone: "I can be. What do you need?" 

Coach was in traffic and would be late. She would have my daughter and the team captain start dynamic warm-ups and a full-field game. I would hang around until Coach arrived, just in case.

I'm the travel team manager. This a role that I secretly love. Not that I need more things in the day, but to have a job with discrete roles the I can do like a boss is a point of great joy for me. My other roles are complex with difficult success metrics and involve a lot of thought. Being team manager is something I can do relatively easily and really well. That feeling of accomplishment and easy service is hard to beat. I am team manager and team photographer and coach supporter and logistics queen.  I can provide information for the weekend's games and COVID protocols of our opposing teams like nobody's business. I can provide a game day roster with our guest players' information without breaking a sweat. I can book a hotel room block at the right distance from our tournament. I have my team binder that I put together lovingly with sheet protectors, player cards, extra rosters, medical releases--and it rocks.

I can't say that I'm so smooth with the girls and prefer a back seat role on the team. Don't get me wrong. I cheer like a former competitive cheerleader - individually and for the whole team - but I'm not fist bumping each girl as they come off the field and not one of those parent managers that everyone chats up. I do my thing and let them do theirs.

So this day, I let the team captain start the team with dynamic stretches and hung back under the tree next to the field, surrounded by the foul-smelling cicadas.

I noticed that the club team who had the field before us were wrapping up and a group of men were standing by the side of the field with pop-up goals, looking as if they intended to take over the field. The field that we had for practice.

I started walking towards them as a family came on to the field with their soccer balls. I told the family that our team was about to practice on the field and they stepped off to find another place. The men, though, they hovered nearby and started to take steps onto the field. This was an imminent takeover.

This was the only soccer field in the park, although there was a grassy area beside it. This field, though, was flat and clearly marked off for soccer. I saw the girls start filing on to the field at the north end and the captain was starting to mark the goal boundaries for the north end. The men near me, a gaggle of 10 or so men in their 30s-50s, took some more steps onto the field.

I stepped in their direction. "We have the field from 6:30 - 8:00." I said this with confidence and authority. We had been practicing at this field for months at this same date and time and I knew our club had a permit. They kept advancing. "Show us the permit or we'll just split the field."

They were bold and undeterred. The Other Coach from the prior practice (our same club), came to support me. "You guys will need to practice somewhere else. Our club has the field until 8." The men, one by one, walked up to challenge The Other Coach and me. 

"Show us your permit or we take the field."

What was this? This was ridiculous! These grown men looked incensed. Did they not see the 16 yo girls on the field practicing?

The Other Coach kept fending them off and the men were irate. I got in the fray. 

"We have a permit. We've been practicing for months here at this time and day. See our schedule." I showed them our TeamSnap schedule which didn't seem to sway any minds.

"I pay $20,000 in taxes to this county!" yelled one man who seemed moments away from a stroke, forehead veins bulging, "I own this field!"

Okay, dude.

The girls had spread across the field taking their positions, looking nervous and not starting play as we were taking space on the side of the field still. I stood facing the men, my back to the girls, positioned as to prevent them from advancing further.

I said calmly, "Can we all be adults, gentlemen, and be a good example to these girls? Let's be adults here."

"Yes!" shouted one of these men, approaching me. "I told them let's not be like this. Let's be gentlemen. Just let us come on the field and show us your permit."

The Other Coach was on the phone with the club administrator who was going to send a copy of the permit.

The men took turns shouting in my face, like ridiculous babies. I stood my ground. I was not at all afraid of them. I was defending our team and our girls and our space. Eventually Old Coach convinced them to start playing on the adjacent grassy area since the permit was coming, and he'd show them. Old Coach waited with me. 

Our actual Coach then showed up and was like - what is happening here? She was trying to figure things out and as she was walking to the field, she saw one of the men yelling at me and wildly gesturing. We gave her the short story.

Old Coach got the email and showed it to a couple of the men, who eyed it suspiciously and finally accepted begrudgingly that we were allowed to be there. Note, they did not have a permit!

Seeing everything was tucked away and secure with practice going full steam, I thanked Old Coach and both us walked off the field. He would go home and I would start my run.

Later at home, I got a text from Coach.

"Thank you for being Security today...I was thinking on my way home that I never asked you if you were okay after that guy was yelling at you. I apologize for that. I hope you're okay and I'm going to get you a SECURITY shirt!"

I wrote back: "I'm so glad I could be there. That's so nice of you to think about that. I am totally fine and found it ridiculous that these grown men were acting like babies. I hope the girls saw the importance of standing your ground in the face of rude bullies. I also had nice workout afterwards. :)"

And that, folks, was practice.

Guest Post: Has Pandemic Living Caused You Stress or True Distress?

When I turned forty, I tumbled slowly into a deep hole. While caring for a six-month-old infant, two older children, and starting a new job in a new city, I was expectedly busy, some days nearly frantic.  I had always been full of energy and drive, able to handle anything that either my NICU practice or my children hurled at me. We transferred to a new city and new jobs four months after my third child was born. Then I turned forty and everything changed.

Despite taking night call in the hospital twice a week, and pumping at work, I continued to enjoy nursing my last baby. She had been easy from the start, and I planned to cling onto nursing (and oxytocin) for as long as possible. At first, I noticed my sleep pattern changing, but assigned it to my workload, the stress of moving, and fatigue. I could not go to sleep, and when I did fall asleep, I awoke at 4:00 or 5:00am each day, ruminating over all my worries (call schedules, a new school, new teachers for the kids, a brand-new nanny). Despite running in overdrive, I rarely felt hungry, began to eat less, and lost some weight.

 

When I became grouchy and short tempered with the kids, I attributed it to stress and my workload. There was always so much to do, both at home and at work. However, sometimes I erupted in anger at my children for no good reason. They were adjusting to big changes in their little lives, too. I observed myself continually furious at my husband and resented his enjoyment of his new job (when I was not). Yet, because I continued to work full-time and take night call in the hospital, the fatigue I felt was extraordinary. Some days it felt like the typical “post-call” funk, and other times it felt much worse. I literally forced myself to drive into work for my night shifts.

 

Then one morning while in the NICU attending to sick babies, I noticed that I was unable to make the most straightforward of clinical decisions. Should we treat the patent ductus arteriosus with indomethacin or move straight to surgical ligation? My thinking had slowed until my brain felt foggy. This was noticeably different, since my pattern of practice had always been decisive, even borderline impulsive. I began to have terrible throbbing headaches, and my poor husband complained about my lack of interest in sex. I was so busy with work and the stresses of my new life, not to mention goings on with the children, that I had not noticed my lack of interest in intimacy.

 

For two months, my anger, irritability, and general unhappiness progressed until one day at lunch while whining about my situation to a colleague, also a critical care physician, she opined that I was depressed, and recommended I see a psychiatrist friend of hers. Fortunately, this physician worked me into his schedule quickly, put me on an effective medication, and over the next six months, I gradually recovered. Thank goodness I never felt hopeless or suicidal, as some women do.

 

As a neonatologist I knew plenty about postpartum depression but never considered that diagnosis for myself. It is amazing to me now that I was unable to identify what was happening. My symptoms of depression were both classic and comprehensive: fatigue, poor sleep, foggy thinking, inability to focus or concentrate, headaches, lack of interest in food, weight loss, irritability, inappropriate anger, and lack of interest in sex. I quite simply assumed that I was transitioning poorly to my new job and ruled out postpartum depression since my baby was already six months old when my mood changed.

 

During this period, my feelings of guilt and self-doubt were inexorable. I felt like the worst mother and wife ever. It is only because I saw a good psychiatrist, and because medication and psychotherapy worked for me, that I recovered. These last fourteen months - this stressful pandemic living - have been difficult for many working mothers. Our jobs and our home lives have changed dramatically.

 

If my story resonates with you, and you recognize any of these feelings or symptoms, please talk to someone – a counselor, a therapist, a social worker, a pastor. Feeling this way is not normal despite how much we may convince ourselves otherwise. These symptoms indicate a severely depressed mood, which may occur anytime within the first year after giving birth. Or you may have a major depression unrelated to childbirth.

 

You are not a bad mother if you develop depression. Mental illness is a genuine biological illness, like diabetes, or asthma. Moreover, depression is treatable. With medication and psychotherapy, you can feel better. I am living proof of that.

 

Susan Landers, MD

https://susanlandersmd.com

Her new book, “So Many Babies” can be found here. 

Lack of Headspace: Mind Mapping

 Recently, a blogger/influencer I follow on Instagram introduced me to the concept of a mind map. Basically like a giant plan of what is going on in my life, what is taking up my headspace, what I am thinking about, worrying about, need to accomplish, hope to accomplish. 

Basic Idea linked here

I have just been so mentally exhausted lately. My mind has so many "things" going:" passion projects, work projects, home projects, relationship projects, mom projects. In addition to the mental load of end of school year/ camp/ summer/ moving/ COVID testing/ travel etc that takes place on a daily basis. I was told in the beginning of medical school that training is like a treadmill. You just have to keep going. Well, now it's going just a little too fast for comfort. 

The mind map helps me see it all laid out. It helps me prioritize, create and construct a to do list, allows me to cross things off that are complete, or are deemed unnecessary once written out in a bubble on a piece of paper. It helps transition the sensation of "busy" to "productive." It is definitely something I plan on using going forward, and wish I would have known about it sooner. 

Tonight, instead of crossing off a bubble, I chose to write. Reaching out is a passion, sending good vibes to this community of supportive people is my way to refocus and set the tone. What do you do to decrease or organize your mental load?