Christmas Traditions Old and New

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

Me at Grandma's 

Sometimes sixty people crammed into a too small house tucked into the woods of Northeast Ohio. Among the laughter, food smells, and cigarette smoke wafting from the windows that were cracked opened because of the stifling heat, cries of “model-it” could be heard as the family inside chanted in unison.

Within the walls of that modest home huddled a family sharing in traditions that evolved over the years. Not everyone could be there, but everyone who was close by made the journey into the woods, even if the snow and wind and cold made the trek a perilous one. The meal and the love at the end of the slow, slippery drive made it worth every skid and slide of the car.

Snow in Chardon, OH at Christmas

Like most families, ours had unique traditions that were a predictable part of every Christmas gathering. After stuffing ourselves on the amazing spread of food, we would gather for the marathon of gift opening. Unlike most families, we did not tear into the packages all at once. No, we made sure the gift opening was an event. Starting with the youngest, each gift was opened one at a time and shown to every person in the house before the next gift was torn into.

Of course, this meant that when there was a good turn-out, it took hours before the oldest opened her gifts. Each person knew that if they received any clothing item that he would be ordered to “model-it” by the crowd. The chants would not cease until the person followed tradition and rubbed the clothing item as he held it against the appropriate body part.

Others might offer unwanted assistance with the modeling. Cat calls would ring out as women rubbed soft sweaters over their chests and men held pants up and did their rubbing. 

Okay, reading this makes it sound perverted and sick, but it was all in good fun. The added bonus was that new family members, like shy girlfriends, got a real taste of the family they might marry into. Inevitably, someone made sure these newbies had silky nighties to model. Most acquiesced and “modeled it,” red faced and nearly in tears, in front of this group of barbarians.

The gift opening always concluded with a rousing chorus or two of "Silent Night." Then, the group broke-up into card players and TV watchers/paper readers. Dessert and seconds on dinner kept everyone eating

As with most things, those Christmas traditions fizzled with time. Cousins married. Aunts divorced. Babies were born. Many moved. Even though being present wasn’t always possible, knowing that many still gathered around Grandma’s table brought comfort to those who could not be there.

My children only experienced this great gathering once or twice before everything changed and the traditions that were steadfast for decades dissolved. They were overwhelmed by the enormity of the gathering. The loud raucous laughter. The massive numbers of unfamiliar people to kiss and hug. The sounds of the TV competing with the sounds of many voices telling many stories all at once. It was sensory overload for my little girls.

By comparison, our Christmas is subdued. Now we rely on phone calls and Facebook to reach out to one another and share the day that we once experienced together in real time. We reminisce while trying to feel grateful rather than regretful. We mourn our losses quietly.

My little family has made its own traditions that we anticipate each year. The season starts with decorating the tree and Christmas cookies. My sister and I use these special times to torture our mother and each other. For mom, we like to make sure when decorating the sugar cookies that we find increasingly offensive ways to make her perfect shapes look crude. Yellow snow on the snowmen. Gunshot holes on the reindeer. Using scraps of dough and a bit of artistic creativity brings a little bit of sex education to the cookie tray.

We also relish in making fun of mom as we decorate the tree. Mom was lucky enough to inherit antique, hand-blown, glass ornaments. She mistakenly told us one day many years ago, “These are worth a lot of money.” So of course my sister and I will not let that go. As we gingerly place each ornament on the tree (being sure to cluster them all in one area so my OCD mom will shriek in frustration) we recite our script in as exaggerated a way as

Mom's Tree

possible: Me: “Do you see thisornament?  Sister: "Yes I do." In unison: "Do you know that this ornament is worth a looooot of money?” Of course we double over in laughter each time as my mother tells us to “Shut-Up!” My girls love this tradition and join in when we decorate mom’s tree together. We even do it over Skype or Face Time when necessary.

My sister and I each have a childhood ornament that we place on mom’s tree. Hers is a soft Santa dressed in red felt with a fluffy white beard on his plastic red cheeked face. Mine is a felt Topo Gigio mouse who dons striped tights and an elf hat atop his decapitated head. Each year we find increasingly disturbing ways to reposition or defile the ornaments. I won’t go into too much detail as you already know we are sick minded folks. Some years I scheme and plan my Santa torture for weeks prior to the big day. Other years, I just come up with something off-the-cuff. This year I made my liberal sisters Santa hold a pro-Trump sign. She was horrified. Mission accomplished.

Topo Gigio

Looks like the Santa

Most of our traditions are quiet and more socially acceptable like reading Twas the Night Before Christmas, watching the Grinch, and eating seafood on Christmas eve, you know regular stuff. It’s good to know that we will always mix-it up and have fun too. When you’re at our house you never know if that gift you are about to open will be the shiny gold shirt that

is passed around each year and be expected to “model-it” for all see.

Happy New Year!

For more of my families stories and recipes checkout my memoir.

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Don’t Put Your Finger in That: A Public Safety Service

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

As I get older I get more accident prone. At least it seems that way. Maybe it’s just that, with age, my body experiences pain in ever increasing ways.

Just the other day, I tripped walking up the steps. It took a few beats before the pain from the shock waves that coursed through my back subsided enough for me to continue my journey upward.

World's best invention

Sitting on the floor or reaching that one itchy spot on the center of my back that always seems to need a scratch are painful endeavors. Reaching for something in the backseat of my car, not happening. All these mundane tasks I once completed without a second thought. Now, I weigh the pros and cons before attempting them. I ask myself, “Is the inevitable pain worth the results?”

I learned to think before I acted over time thanks to constant warnings from loved ones. One of the most common warnings had to do with what to keep my finger out of as in, “Don’t put your finger in that!”

This particular lesson became even more relevant recently as I lay crying and trembling in pain while the emergency room staff tried to figure out how they were going to 1) give me an IV for morphine and 2) remove the immersion blender impaled in my left pointer finger. Because I assume I am not the only adult knucklehead in the world, my task here is to remind you, my dear reader, of things you should keep your finger out of.

As a toddler, I was told to keep my finger out of electrical sockets: Solid advice that I passed on to my kids. At this tender age I was also warned of the danger of whirring fans and anything hot like burning logs, stove tops, and curling irons.( As I type this, I have about three burns on my hand from the stove top and a burn on my ear from the flat iron. I guess this lesson I will never learn.)

As a preschooler, I was told to keep my finger out of my nose. Let’s face it, this is not always possible, but good manners are important.

As I grew tall enough and my reach allowed, I was told to keep my fingers inside of the car window. The idea was that the wind shear from passing traffic could remove my digits. Though I question the physics on this particular warning, I do tell my kids the same thing as they try to ride the air waves with their hands.

As I became increasingly more aware of my appearance, I was told to keep my finger out of my mouth as I dislodged unwanted food from my teeth. Mom would yell, “That’s what toothpicks are for!” Let’s face it, the fingernail is a handy food removing apparatus.

As a teenager I babysat. This is when I learned to keep my fingers out of the mouths of toddlers. As a speech-language pathologist, I am expected to examine toddler mouths. I cringe each time I recall the pain that a two year-old's bite can cause. This advice would extend to the keeping fingers out of the jaws of a hungry dog. (Just in case you thought Fido would be able to decipher your finger from a Milk Bone.)

My mom encouraged me to help more in the kitchen (okay she really ordered me, but let’s not dwell on that). Part of her instructions while I cleaned the kitchen each night after dinner was to “keep your finger out of the garbage disposal!” I wish she would have expanded that to include all speeding blades like blenders.

Speaking of blades, keep your fingers out of sink tubs filled with soapy dish water that obscures the sharp knives you stupidly tossed in and immediately forgot about. (Another emergency room visit ending with 23 stitches)

Other places to keep fingers out of include a closing door and the path of a swinging hammer.

My last bit of advice became obvious once I married. The wedding ring is a symbol of love and everlasting commitment. It is also a reminder of how much weight you gain after you say your “I dos.” It is important to recognize and embrace your new body type and remove that unforgiving band of gold before it’s too late. Keep your finger out of too small rings! I promise the jeweler won’t judge you when you show up and ask for a slight alteration.

Stay safe and keep all ten of your digits healthy and whole. Just think, if I had succeeded in removing my left pointer finger I would have one less tooth cleaning tool.

10 Things to Keep Your Finger Out Of

1.  Motorized Blades

2.  Toddler Mouths

3.  The Mouths of Hungry Dogs

4.  Anything Hot

5.  Your Nose

6.  Your Mouth

7.  Too Small rings

8.  The Path of Sharp Knives

9.  The Path of swinging Hammers

10. Closing Doors

Merciless Massage: My Journey to Cure Insomnia

by: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

When insomnia took over and ruined my life, my mission was singular: Find a way to sleep. I was willing to try anything and everything, and I did. My complete misery caused by not sleeping made any fears or concerns I had vanish.

Like I wrote about in a previous blog: Asking More Questions Might Save Your Life: A Horse Tale, I have a problem with saying “yes” before knowing for what I am signing up.This became an issue as I agreed to many nontraditional treatments. My openness and willingness to try it all led to some interesting experiences along the way. Of course, my encounter with the Peeping Tom, middle-aged, Slovak acupuncturists with the Parkinsonian-like tremor did not last long. However, his was not the only short lived treatment program I underwent.

What is a tremor  

I was referred to a natropath to address my health needs including my insomnia. This woman worked in a small shop tucked away in a mostly abandoned strip mall in a mostly abandoned steel town. She was vibrant and chatty without delving into small talk. She was

click here for more info

all business. She rattled off rapid fire questions and thrust vials of herbs and potions at me. She evaluated me by testing my strength and resistance changes as I held different elements. Before I could blink twice, I had a bag full of overpriced herbs and teas and goos I was supposed to ingest to cure all that ailed me.  

After draining my bank account, I realized she was not through with me. The next thing I knew, she shoved me into what must have once been the broom closet. The floor was covered with mattresses and pillows. The room was heavily perfumed with incense. Some weird musical chant was playing in the background. She ordered me to lie down just as she disappeared.

I started to dose as I waited for her to return. It was a comfy bed and I was bored. She reappeared as suddenly as she had left while mumbling something about a “massage treatment to help clear my pathways.” Massage you say? I love massage! Sign me up.

She dropped to all fours and straddled me. I was a bit scared. My only other massage experiences involved a bed and a sheet and not being sat upon. She proceeded to perform

the “massage” which was nothing less than a mugging. She roughed me up good. I was stunned as this woman attacked me as if she hated me, thrashing me about and shaking me uncontrollably. All the while, I was somewhere between laughter and tears. Nonetheless, I laid there and took it. At the end of this assault she said, “I bet that is a bit different than any massage you’ve had before.” Um, yeah! I think she might have led with that rather than saving it for the end.

When this course of action did not solve my insomnia, I spoke to my uncle. He was a newly graduated massage therapist. He told me about a type of massage called Cranial-Sacral massage. He supposed that it might be just what I need to help me find my way back to sleep.  Through my husband’s coworkers we found a massage therapist who performed this specialized therapy. I called him up and made the appointment.

Of course, at no point did I ask what a Cranial-Sacral massage entailed. I went in blind, which is odd considering my earlier experience with Shiatsu massage. I arrived at my appointment not knowing what to expect. I was a bit surprised when I was not required to disrobe. Still, I did not ask questions and I lie on the table fully clothed.  Michael, the masseuse, told me that sometimes people get “emotional” during this type of massage and if I need to cry to just let it go. He told me if I needed to talk afterwards he was a good listener. At this point I became intrigued and mildly concerned. Just what was this guy going to do to me?

As I lie in the supine position, he slid his hands under my back and pressed one finger into my spine and just stood there, unmoving. I waited for him to start rubbing or kneading or do something massage-like, but he just stood silent and still pressing his finger into my spine.

After a good long while, and just before I was going to get up and leave, I felt my fingers twitch. This must have been what he was waiting for because he immediately slid his finger to a higher point on my spine, and again, applied gentle pressure. This time the wait was shorter. Now my  arms twitched. The twitch was followed by a spasm kind of like a flap. These flaps became uncontrollable. They came in quick succession in both my left and right arms. It was an odd feeling to not have any control over the movements of my arms, but I just went with it. This was getting interesting for sure.

As I lay on my back flapping like a flightless bird, Michael moved his hands once again a little further up my spine. This time the spasms came quicker. My arms continued to flap and my back began to arch. Michael, obviously excited by his abilities, moved on to the next points more swiftly. By this time he was at my neck and the base of my skull. Suddenly and without warning, my simple back arching turned into full sit-ups. Without bending my legs and arms still flapping and fingers still twitching, I sat up and bent completely forward touching my nose to my knees. After I completed one full sit-up, I flopped back down and immediately convulsed into another sit-up. It continued one after another in quick succession. The only thought in my mind was, “I am going to be sore tomorrow!” 

I don’t know how, but Michael was silent through all of this. He moved his fingers to my skull and my spasms continued only with an added element, I began to sob. I was racked with uncontrollable sobbing. I cried like I hadn’t cried in years. So here I was in a stranger’s house, his girlfriend in the next room listening to television through head phones, and me sobbing, flapping, and convulsing into forward bends. What the hell was happening to me?

Eventually Michael removed his hands and my body quieted. As I lay there a little dazed and very confused, Michael shyly said, “Well that was interesting. Were you doing that on purpose?” WHAT!! On purpose!? Who would do that on purpose? He told me he had never seen anything like that before. I looked at him and his eyes were wide as he looked back at me slightly frightened. 

Then he said “What was all the crying about?” Really?  He’s the one that told me I would cry. I said, “I don’t know.” And that was the end of our talk.  Apparently, he is a “good listener” only when he has not just been traumatized by his client’s spasms.

Tips for Being a Better Listener

He left the room to give me time to “get myself together.”  Since I was already dressed, I wasn’t sure what to do with my alone time so I just got up and walked out. His girlfriend was entranced by her movie, but I suspected she heard all the commotion and was just pretending to be oblivious, waiting for me to leave so she could find out what the hell just happened. I paid him his forty dollars plus a tip and asked to schedule our next appointment. “You really want to do that again?” was his response.  

For some strange reason, I really did want to do it again. It was cathartic. Yes it was weird. Yes it was hilarious. But it was also interesting and I felt like this might be a real solution. Clearly something was within me that needed to get out. That something might be impeding my ability to sleep. I wanted to get rid of whatever it was.

I went home and immediately called my uncle. “What the hell did you have me do” I shouted into the phone. I told him the story of my experience. I am pretty sure he wet his pants he laughed so hard. He laughed and laughed and then told me he had heard stories of people doing actual flips on the table while having this type of massage. I really needed to ask more questions before I agreed to do this stuff.

I did go back a week later. Michael and I both had an unspoken expectation. We were nervous and anxious to see what would happen this time. We began just as we had the last time. The spams came quicker, but were drastically smaller. I twitched a little here and there but no big bends happened. No big sobs came. I have to admit, I was disappointed. I wanted to expel my bad stuff. I want to rid my body of all the tension and open up those neural pathways to let my sleep return. Michael, after we were done asked, “Did you hold back?” He was disappointed too.  “No” I said.  “Oh” he said. Then he gave me a regular therapeutic massage because he felt like he had let me down and strangely so did I.

Valuable Resources:  

http://www.restfulinsomnia.com/

http://spiritualityhealth.com/articles/craniosacral-therapy-better-sleep

5 FUNctional Ways to Combat Pre-Apraxia in Toddlers and Preschoolers

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston, MS/CCC-SLP

This blog was commissioned by Medbridge and originally appeared on there website:

https://www.medbridgeeducation.com/ 

Please visit there website to find more information on ways you can continue your education on this topic and many others. Medbridge provides training videos for and by OT's, PT's and SLP's. Let them know I sent you there.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Working with busy toddlers and preschoolers is an exercise in patience that requires energy and creativity. This reality becomes most evident when our young clients present with severe speech sound disorders like suspected Childhood Apraxia of Speech sometimes referred to as Pre-Apraxia. It can be challenging to make speech sound disorder intervention feel like play.

Some Common Signs of CAS/Pre-Apraxia

Though we often do not diagnose these kids until they get to be school aged, we may recognize the symptoms as early as one or two years old.

1.    Receptive ability exceeds expressive ability.

2.      Characterized as a” quiet baby” with limited babbling/sound play.

3.      Limited number of consonant sounds and/or vowel errors and distortions

4.      Communicates with gestures or other nonverbal actions.

5.      Connected speech is more unintelligible.

6.      Voicing errors.

7.      Groping.

8.    Prosodic disturbances. 

In many cases, as children mature and develop, their neurological systems become more complete and the signs and symptoms of Pre-Apraxia disappear. However, because we do not know which kids will just develop out of this stage and which ones need targeted intervention to overcome the symptoms, we should incorporate techniques into our play and routines based therapy to help these kids develop the speech skills they need to become competent communicators.

Using what we know about how sounds are produced and how we can help clients develop better speech, I have found much success using the following strategies to help kids speak proficiently at an early age.

                             The 5 FUNctional Strategies

1.    Work on breath support. Teaching a child how to control the air flow we use for all speech is a great way to move them into more volitional speech. By incorporating harmonicas, whistles, recorders, etc.… into therapy we are appealing to what kids like to do (be loud) while teaching them to control their airflow. We move from random blowing to specific patterns. Eventually, kazoos can be introduced to pair breath support with intentional phonation.

2.    Work on producing distinguishable vowels. We can play with toys and books that promote the use of animal and vehicle sounds. We can draw simple scribbles as we vocalize a variety of vowel sounds pairing movement with sound play. We can model exclamatory sounds as we play outdoors swinging and sliding.

3.    Work on singing. Singing songs can help children learn to connect words while building intonation and prosody skills. Any songs will do. I like to build songs into daily routines like handwashing or putting on shoes. Be creative. Make them up.

4.    Work on talking loud vs. soft. Playing games that encourage kids to be loud and then quiet will help build the control of their loudness level to support over all control of the suprasegmentals of speech.

5.    Work on increasing proficiency with gestures and simple sign language to create a functional communication system until a child can speak spontaneously.

Over the years I have found great success in building a foundation of pre-speech skills with young children who present with Pre-Apraxia signs and symptoms. All of the above strategies can be easily presented in play or routines based activities that young children enjoy. They have fun while building their expressive speech abilities. When parents see how much their kids enjoy the activities, they might be more likely to do them even after you leave. We all know that practice makes perfect. It is a win win!

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http://www.apraxia-kids.org/library/characteristics-of-childhood-apraxia-of-speech/

The Squirrel Highway: A Homage to Our Furry Friends

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

My daughter and I spent a rare moment quietly looking out of the windows into the world, neighborhood, and yard. The peaceful moment was disturbed as we commented in tandem about the squirrel who was traversing the electrical wires that run from big wooden poles branching off and connecting to all of the houses creating a highway of wires. This brought to mind a story I wrote years ago. 

Squirrels have been part of my life for as long as I can remember. I have coexisted with them without taking notice of them most days. However, this time of year they are hard to miss as they feverishly work to prepare for winter collecting nuts and building nests.

I remember being a very young girl and spending time with my Grandma Redhead. She had a giant acorn tree in her backyard that must have been 100 years old. Each Fall Grandma

put my sister and me to work gathering all the acorns that had fallen to the ground so she could dry them in her oven. Once the snow came, she put them out for the squirrels to eat. I always thought this was a bit cruel as squirrels instinctively gather and store their own food. They must have been so confused as they watched two little girls confiscate their booty. Grandma believed that they were not competent at finding the nuts they stored.

Years later, my family moved into that same house and inherited the ancient tree and Grandma's dependent family of squirrels. Instead of stealing the nuts, we kept old bread in a basket on the bay window that overlooked the backyard and that majestic Oak tree. The squirrels would wait on the fences and wires for us to toss out the bread daily. Sometimes, we would tease them by dangling the bread in front of them as they chirped and wagged their tails in anticipation of the moldy snack. We would drag the bread across the perimeter of the window as they followed it like a a trained dog before tossing it out into the garden for them to quarrel over.

Of course these intelligent creatures waged revenge for our constant teasing. If we forgot to close the window those squirrels learned they did not have to wait. They gnawed the window screen creating a hole. Then they would run into the house snag some bread and leave the the same way.

Though many find squirrels annoying, especially if they pillage bird feeders, I find them endearing. My husband finds them tasty. To each his own. I hope you enjoy my little story/poem.

Squirrel Highway
By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

Between the houses, amongst the trees, and along the poles run the wires of the squirrel highway.  

Tandem black ropes threaded through the sky connecting the world up high. Crisscrossing through the town bringing light to the homes and businesses below while busy squirrels travel above completing their daily tasks.

Skittering across these pathways.  Safe from the dangers below: speeding cars and hungry dogs.

Chasing, chattering, chirping, chipper squirrels scurry back and forth, up and down balancing on the narrow strands with the skill of trapeze artists.

Stopping, tail up.  Sitting on hind legs with front paws raised.  Sniffing, looking, and listening to all the smells, sights, and sounds that fill the air. Skittishly leaping lightly away; tail flouncing, nose twitching.

Teasing dogs confined below on chains; behind fences.  Running back and forth, dancing, shaking tails with their mocking cheeps and squeaks.   Barking, dancing, jumping, drooling, chomping dogs leaping up toward the highway above; dinner and revenge on their minds.

Carrying nuts stuffed in cheeks looking for secret places to hide them, store them, save them for a cold winter’s snack.  Launching them at the manic dogs below.  Dropping them.  Losing them. Forgetting where they hid them until the spring when the nut trees grow.

Scurrying down the poles.  Hunting for goods from nearby places:  leaves, sticks, straw, and scraps of trash.  Leaping into trees.  Delivering supplies.  Building a nest, a home, a place to rest.

Meeting friends, playing chase, chit-chatting about the day’s events.  Sometimes challenging, arguing, protecting.

Peaking in the windows of houses and buildings.  Watching, spying, begging, mocking.

Resting in the sun on transformers, snoozing, dreaming, waiting.

Meeting birds: crows, sparrows, doves.  Singing songs.  Chasing them into flight, dreaming about wings.

Exploring new neighborhoods, leaping to roofs, scuttling across fences.  Turning left and right crossing roads from above.  Exploring the maze of wires.  Retracing their scent back home.

In many towns, villages and cities you’ll find the local squirrels scampering, skittering, and sailing over the paths of the squirrel highway, chirping and chattering their story, leaving their only shadows behind.

Click here for the 5 Best Squirrel Recipes

Subtracting Sheep and Counting Blessings: Coping with Insomnia

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

Don’t count sheep, subtract them by sevens from a herd of 6,753. Keep going until you reach zero

My sleep deprivation of the previous ten years brought me to a precarious precipice where my sanity dangled and began to crumble into insanity. In order to stop the slow slide from evolving into an avalanche, I sought professional help. 

As I sat shivering in the threadbare, powder blue, cotton gown atop the padded table sheathed in crinkly, white paper, my bloodshot and bleary eyes stared blankly at the doctor’s chapped lips as his mouth formed words. His handsome face looked bored as he recited the rules of “good sleep hygiene.” Though I suppose I expected this lecture, it took all of my might not to hurl myself at this “sleep expert” and pummel him with the blunt, weak blows my exhausted body could only manage.

As I alluded, my rage was the result of my fragile psyche. After years of proactively trying to solve my worsening insomnia, this "expert" was my last resort. In my mind, or what was left of it, he was the one person who could save me.

I had provided him with a homemade detailed graph charting everything from my eating habits to my day to day health to my alcohol intake to a rating scale on the quality of my sleep in hopes that he would actually try to help me. When I first met him, I was optimistic because he was young. I mistakenly thought he would have knowledge of current research and an open-mind. I hoped he would take a real interest in my sleep patterns and how they were impacting the quality of my life. He appeared impressed with my charts and graphs and scales. He even pretended to look at them before he tossed them aside as he quizzed me on my bedtime routine.

Insomnia ruined my life. No mattered who I turned to, none gave me the answers or solutions I sought. None truly understood the devastating effects that ten plus years of sleep deprivation wreaked on my mind, body, and spirit. None understood that I was broken.

 10 Ways Insomnia Ruined My Life

1. I had no energy to play with, talk with, or spend time with my children.
2. My emotional state made it impossible to nurture my relationships with my husband, children, friends, and family.
3. I was unable to enjoy activities in the evenings as my bedtime was 6:00pm.
4. I had to cut my work load to part time which significantly reduced my salary.
5. Even when awake, I was not truly present.
6. My overall health suffered.
7. I spent countless hours and dollars on health care and unsuccessful remedies.
8. I was depressed and miserable.
9. I had anxiety and panic attacks.
10. Like a toddler, I had to nap at 1:00 everyday.

Despite my hopelessness, exhaustion, and despair, I remained proactive. I read articles. I sought advice and counsel. I researched the internet. I had an open mind and tried it all.

Approaches to Combat My Insomnia

• Pills including over-the-counter sleep aids, prescription sleep meds, anti-depressants, etc..
• Oils and aroma therapy
• Herbs and teas
• Acupuncture
• Massage including cranial-sacral therapy and shiatsu
• Psychotherapy
• Sleep Studies
• Sleep Hygiene
• Feng Shui
• Yoga
• Deep breathing/Meditating
• Counting Sheep
• No naps
• Exercise
• Diet restrictions like no caffeine or alcohol
• Crying until I thought I would drown in tears

Alas, nothing worked. The pills made me catatonic and sick. The acupuncture and massage made for some fun stories, but not sleep. The psychologist shrugged and said, “I don’t know why you can’t sleep.” The herbs and teas and oils did nothing except drain my wallet and make me gag. The lack of caffeine and alcohol made me more miserable, duh. The exercise helped me get through the day, but did not make sleep come. The crying made me appear red, puffy, and disfigured. The sleep studies revealed, and I kid you not, that I have a “moderate sleep disorder.” The Feng Shui made my husband crazy because he wanted a TV in the bedroom. With each failure I tried a new tack until there were no more to try. Or so I thought.

                            

                                                                         

                             Click Here for Link to Restful Insomnia

Thankfully, I remembered that I had a familial connection to a woman who created a program to help insomnia sufferers. In fact, she had written a book. I contacted Sondra Kornblatt and she agreed to send me her book, Restful Insomnia. From the very beginning of her book I realized I had discovered a person who understood not just what I was going through, but that the insomnia itself was a serious disorder that needed to be addressed.

At that time, doctors never treated me or my insomnia has a health crisis. I truly think they believed that I was just whining and I should get over it. Isn’t everyone tired? Doesn’t everyone have the occasional bout of “insomnia?” They swept me and my suffering under the rug and never put much effort into helping me. This caused me even more despair.

Now, Sondra, with her wise and kind words, validated me. That alone was life changing. Knowing that another human being understood that my disorder was real and was a problem caused me to cry with relief. No more puffy, red, shower, cry eyes for me.

As I read her amazing book, I discovered a whole new way to approach my insomnia- acceptance. Once I learned to accept my insomnia instead of fight it, I began to heal. More importantly, I learned to rest. I accepted that resting should be my goal which enabled me to adopt many of the strategies Sondra described. These strategies helped to ease me into rest and ultimately, gloriously, into sleep.

As I rested and even slept, my life changed. My anxiety and thoughts of suicide disappeared. My feelings of isolation and despair disintegrated. My insomnia did not magically vanish, but once I learned to rest, my days improved. Overall, my life improved.

Insomnia remains part of my life. Fortunately, I am in a place where I sleep more than I do not. When I have those nights where sleep eludes me, I rely on the techniques that Sondra taught, and I calmly rest. Often times, I drift off to sleep dreaming of mythical handsome doctor who lends me his hand and pulls me away from the edge of the cliff saving me before I slip away into the abyss of chronic sleep deprivation.

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My favorite resting technique: Gratitude. This technique works best when I feel myself awake and spiraling into panic mode. When I am tossing and turning and letting my mind worry about all the ways a sleepless night will ruin my day, I breathe deep and then force my brain to think of anything and everything for which I am grateful. Inevitably, as I form the list, unknowingly, I drift off. The next thing I know, I wake rested and happy.

What techniques help you fall asleep? Please share in the comments section.