I'm Not OK, You're Not OK, But That's OK With God Amazon Category:  Self-Help Publisher: Harper Ink ISBN-10:  0615199364 Pages: 152 Copyright: October, 2008 ISBN-13: 9780615199368 I'm Not OK, You're Not OK, But That's OK With God shamelessly puts the "fun" back in dys-fun-ction. Hussey's hybrid book is equal parts self-help, memoir, humor, how-to, inspiration, and motivation. I'm Not  OK, You're Not OK, But That's OK Wtih God is a refreshing take on dealing with the shame and blame that often coexists with seeking treatment for emotional problems such as anxiety and depression, and offers contributions from a psychiatrist and psychologist. Hussey's book is a testament to loving and laughing even while living with anxiety, depression, and other emotional problems. I'm Not OK educates and entertains readers simultaneiously. Excerpt Chapter Two From Band-Aid Soup to Nuts The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they're okay, then it's you. Rita Mae Brown So here I am on the second leg of life, having graduated from childhood quirks to more mature types of nervous or emotional problems. I notice roadblocks that result in detours on the path to a tranquil mind. However, holding up my thumbs and yelling “Detours!” no longer immunizes me from catching cooties. Besides, I’ve been a carrier since childhood. Good Golly, it’s Folly! My newfound faith encouraged me. But I was conflicted and convicted about my sugar addiction. Sweets were still ruling my mind even though Jay-sus—as I fondly refer to him—was inside my heart. I once asked a group of women to pray for my deliverance from the sugar demon, and eventually I was sugar-freed, through prayer, determination, and education. Proverbs 15:14 says, “The discerning heart seeks knowledge, but the mouth of a fool feeds on folly.” Webster’s Dictionary defines folly as: “Lack of good judgment, an instance of foolishness, an excessively costly and often unprofitable undertaking.” Regarding the “excessively costly” part—my sugar addiction was expensive. Over the years I spent thousands of dollars on dental fillings and crowns due to my sweet teeth. Such folly—to feed my face this way. Shortly after I married my husband, I bought a book called Sugar Blues by William Dufty (Warner Books). The book’s arguments against sugar were so compelling that I decided to give it up cold turkey. With a lot of support from my husband—“Get your butt back in bed!”—I quit my nighttime visits to the refrigerator. After I eliminated the sugar in my diet, I calmed down. But I still had a somewhat wired outlook on life. Band-Aid Soup When I attained a little peace of mind and made mental headway in one area of my life, another roadblock popped up. Immediately after claiming victory over my nocturnal eating habits, I started waking up several times at night again. This time I wasn’t eating—someone else was. For several years I was sleep deprived. I finally figured out the problem: babies. Babies were my catalyst for walking the path to perfectionist perdition. I sewed, nursed my kids until they were nine years old—it felt like—although it was probably closer to nineteen months, and made all meals, including homemade bread, from scratch. Now that I’m older and wiser, I rarely allow myself to become sleep deprived, or pregnant. Sleep deprivation coupled with domestic perfectionism took their toll. I became more irritable, developed bigger bugs in my brain, and baked Band-Aids in my soup. “Band-Aid Soup” was a recipe I concocted after one sleepless night. It takes no special skill to make Band-Aid Soup. However, it tastes best if the cook is exhausted when putting the ingredients together. Here’s my secret recipe: Wake up tired, then chop a bunch of vegetables and throw them in a pot. Chop a clove of garlic carelessly so that you cut your finger. Now put a Band-Aid on your finger. The Band-Aid eventually slips off your finger and falls in the soup. When you serve the soup, your husband will get the bowl containing the Band-Aid. He will be upset when he chews it. To avoid future confrontation, simply switch bowls with your husband so that you eat the Band-Aid. Unnatural Childbirth Moms who gave birth in the ’70s and ’80s made a big deal about natural childbirth. We natural mothers used to gloat: “I had natural childbirth—did you?” But what’s natural about a thirty-five-and-a-half-hour labor? I’ve heard women say they don’t remember the pain of childbirth because they’re so overjoyed at having a baby. I say their brains got pushed out with their placentas. My son James was almost an only child; that’s how overjoyed I was. Blissfully unaware of the perils of the impending delivery, and maternal maverick of the ‘70s that I was, I gave birth to James in a double bed in one of the country’s first home-like birthing centers. A nurse-midwife handled the long and arduous delivery, and the doctor circumcised the baby right in our room. It was horrible, and I decided if I ever had another baby, she would be a girl. I went home in twenty-four hours so I could bond with the baby. Little did I know that instead of bonding I’d feel like bouncing the baby on his little head. During the ride home from the hospital, I felt like throwing James out the car window. I didn’t want to throw James out the window. I just thought I might. I’ve since found out that other friends had thoughts of throwing their babies out the window, too. None of them wanted to, they just thought they might. They, like me, were exhausted and stressed, with some suffering from postpartum depression A). A) Postpartum depression has often been untreated because it is assumed that the mother simply has the post-baby blues, a problem that normally clears up on its own. However, if she has the cardinal symptoms of depression—sleep disorders, loss of interest in normal activities, guilt, decreased energy, trouble concentrating, being slowed down mentally or physically, and thoughts of suicide with symptoms lasting longer than two weeks—she needs professional treatment.

Steve Brown
Some books make you feel guilty, some make you ashamed, others try and fix you with a heavy dose of “you-can-do-it,” still others are so religious they seem to have been written by a saint in a monastery or convent who has never touched real life. Those kinds of books put an "anchor" on the soul of normal-abnormal people like you and me. Shelley Hussey has written a book that will set you free so you can dance before a God who loves “weird” people.

Ron Furgerson
This book hits the nuttiness nail squarely on the head! Having a brother who suffers from many of the "cootie-type" idiosyncrasies addressed in OK, I can affirm the value of humor mingled with patience and understanding in maintaining some degree of personal sanity while fulfilling the caregiver role. The author’s wit and keen insight helped me know that I am not alone in this struggle and that survival is a real possibility—a possibility I often doubted.

Jim Brody
The author has a funny, manic style and writes in “rit.” found myself laughing or crying along with her. She reminds us of the truth demonstrated by every crying baby or scared alcoholic or teenager who won't look under his bed after dark. There is little more powerful than a hug, a calm voice at 3 a.m., the strong hand of a loved one, or a conviction that someone or something watches over you and counts the feathers on your wings.