First, read this.
Or don’t, and you won’t have much context for the rest of this post.
I wrote once about depression and how it creeps up on me and how I try my best to “handle it.”
I’ve been “handling it” for over a month now, so the piece from the New York Times seemed rather serendipitous. Because one of the lies depression likes to tell me is that I am the only person who endures this. And even though my friend Kirsty is equally brave in sharing her battles, the Depression Monster tries to make me feel like I’m in this entirely alone.
I’m better today than I was two weeks ago, and relying on cognitive therapy has really helped. Those little tiny tasks that I can rely on to give me a sense of routine, normalcy. Do the dishes every night. Make my bed every morning. I started journaling again–something that’s fallen to the wayside with all the blogging. I forced myself to do yoga again. I make sure I see my trainer once a week, even if I don’t go to the gym any other days.
The smallest thing I’ve done? Put my shoes in my closet every day instead of letting them accumulate on the mats by the front door. Something about a clear pathway out, and the feeling of accomplishment from picking up after myself has made it possible for me to do the bigger things.
You know, like getting out of bed in the morning and teaching all day.
As I read that article tonight, this jumped out at me more than anything else:
“There are those who will shame us for being stuck in our pain and those who will empower us to claw our way out.”
And I teared up at that line, because I realized I am so, so, so lucky to have no one in my life right now shaming me for being stuck. Or at least they aren’t shaming me to my face. For the most part, I know I have people empowering me to claw my way out.
Which is exactly my plan.
