Listening to Myself
The world is so painful sometimes.
Being a person with depression and anxiety is so painful sometimes, too. Not families-separated-at-the-border painful, obviously, but more like draining painful. It’s a lot of work some days not to remain in a state of active freak out about things that aren’t logically worth that much worry, if worry at all. It’s a lot of work some days not to beat myself up about how hard it is to not beat myself up about everything I do poorly or don’t do, haven’t accomplished, haven’t made better.
I conveniently forget all the stuff I did do, all the ways I did help.
All of the above, the worry about a dentist appointment or a rejection or not feeling like I am doing right by my kid or spouse or whatever, these things seem silly because there’s so much huge and important right now that should take my attention or at least I should get work done and not apologize so much. This is to say I spend a lot of effort trying not to fall into a downward spiral.
And then, I negate the essentialness of all that effort, because it seems selfish and silly.
I think I’ve been like this for an awfully long time and just powered on trying to pretend to even myself that depression and anxiety were a waste of time, so they remained unnamed and I basically tried to ignore them. It was like walking right over or around the elephants in the room, which of course is awkward at best, impossible at worst. I didn’t acknowledge my elephants.
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Ten things changed my self-identity this past year:
One, my dad died. It’s not as if his depression died, too, but once I didn’t feel so overwhelmed by its presence, I could locate my own depression. This actually comes as a huge relief.
Two, because he did discuss his depression more in the last months of his life, I was able to bring up how the family constellation includes a lot of anxiety and depression that generally tended to be mentioned in hushed tones as individual people’s weaknesses and problems. It’s not like suddenly everyone is talking about our family differently, but I feel more comfortable to be open with that framework.
Three, openness is destigmatizing, even small steps in the direction of openness.
Four, I have become increasingly willing to see myself as a person who lives with (and struggles with) depression and anxiety. It is freeing to do this, even though this “fixes” nothing. I feel relieved more often than not when I realize I live with a hard thing and it’s just what it is. I don’t have to judge myself as bad for this being my makeup. I could aim compassion toward myself, as I have tried to do with others forever.
Five, I accept that I fall short with the compassion toward myself part each and every day, but I keep trying.
Six, therapy.
Seven, prioritizing self-care increasingly, and the setting of boundaries so that I can function more happily rather than less happily. I am trying to sleep more, not attempt to be everything to everyone, stand up for myself, acknowledge the things I am doing in this world with more respect for my doing them.
None of these changes are easy for me. But I am committed.
Eight, podcasts have made a huge difference, because I am now constantly listening to other people talk about self-care and managing depression and anxiety. I realize that I am not alone in any of my struggles. Lots of other people I find smart, wise, funny, sincere, even enviable are struggling. I am not judging them. I have the option not to judge myself. Essentially, think podcast as friend and as reminder that compassion is critical, always.
Here are a few podcasts that are helping me: Terrible, Thanks for Asking, Call Your Girlfriend, Forever 35.
Nine, meditation which I learned in college, and which I’ve used during stressful times, is back in my toolbox. I meditate myself to sleep. It’s totally not interesting, but it’s helpful.
Ten, putting more attention to mental health issues, as I search for ways to be an advocate, an ally, and a voice in this evolving discussion. I am committed to, as feels okay, sharing my experience, too. And I keep telling myself to trust my feet. I am here. I am moving forward, step by step.
