healing

blog: diary of a depression

– TW: Depression

1. (Sunset)
As I sit here on my front porch, looking at the sunset-pink sky, I count my wins from the day. I count them methodically, robotically, not expecting much. I count them to keep from feeling like a failure. I count them to keep the shadows at bay. I count them one by one, taking deep breaths in as I name my triumphs –

… I am surprised at how many I find.

2. (Chores)
I’m feeling a little better this week. I’ve vacuumed the floor. I’ve cleaned out my fridge. There was expired food in there from months back, highly perishable stuff – it’s a wonder I haven’t died of salmonella or botulism. I didn’t know yoghurt could turn that colour.

It was not pretty.
But it’s done.

3. (Social Media)
I feel better now that I’ve isolated myself, cut out a lot of the superficial interactions so prevalent on social media. Doom scrolling, karma farming, etc. People who only know how to contribute by tearing something down. People who are only listening for their turn to speak. The online world is full of thirsty bitches, yet the constant flood of content paradoxically leaves us parched.

4. (Meme Culture)
Unfortunately a boycott of social media also cuts me off from potential new connections. It cuts me off from friends. I don’t mean to offend anyone, or imply that their feelings towards me and our friendships are shallow, or that our interactions are superficial.

But when a meme post gets 32 likes, and a cry for help none, you have to wonder…

5. (Friendship)
I think about those people who, if you were to ask if I thought we were friends, I’d say – yes, sure, of course, I’ve known them forever…

When I realise I haven’t physically seen a lot of those people for a couple of years, in some cases maybe even close to a decade, it raises questions around whether or not I’m just sentimental, clingy and delusional. Am I holding on to something that isn’t even there anymore?

6. (Stigma)
The stigma of mental health is still all too real. We’re supposed to use euphemisms, say things like, “I’m not feeling very well”, “I’m struggling a little lately”, “I’ve been having some intrusive thoughts”. We’re supposed to keep a brave face at work, around family, in public. We wear our masks like armour, until they become our actual faces.

7. (Executive Dysfunction)
We’re not supposed to admit how hard it is just get out of bed some mornings. That it’s been four days since we last showered, or that despite having a fridge full of food, our daily intake has been a donut and some cheese crackers because that’s all we had the strength to muster.

8. (Grace and Woe)
I was born on a Tuesday, but I was born a day early. Because Tuesday’s child is full of grace, but Wednesday’s child is full of woe, and my earliest memories are forged from chaos and destruction.

9. (Weekends Are The Hardest)
It’s only the start of the week, and I don’t know what this one will hold for me. I don’t really make plans anymore, I’m too hard on myself when things don’t happen the way I hoped they would… I don’t reach out to anyone, I’ve tried but everyone is always so busy with their own things and then I just end up feeling like a bother or an obligation. I don’t mind being alone… I’ve always been alone.

I might take myself on a date.

10. (Hold On)
Hope is a powerhouse word; so much strength resides on those four letters. I hope I can get a handle on work this week. I hope my household stays healthy. I hope people will be kind to me. I hope I will be kind to myself. I hope I can hold on to hope, and put some wins on the board.

Hold on… please hold on to Hope.

blog: stop telling me that it’s easy

People often say things when giving advice – “It’s easy”, “If I can do it, you can do it”, “You just need to try harder”, “You’ll get it next time”, “If you wanted it badly enough, you would find a way”. I get that they mean well. But sometimes people just CAN’T do things, or at least, can’t do them as easily. Everyone’s ability levels are different. We know that. Why does our attempt at support not reflect that?

If you tell someone that the thing they’re struggling with is ‘easy’, if you say there’s no reason why they shouldn’t be able to do it, then by that logic if they continue to struggle, you are saying THEY are the problem. There’s a good chance they’ll internalise that and feel like a failure, especially if it comes from someone whose advice they trust.

A better form of verbal encouragement would look like, “I’ve done something similar in the past, can I share some tips I learned along the way?” Or, “I’m sorry you’re struggling, what part are you finding most difficult and how can I help with that?” It’s okay to acknowledge someone’s shortcomings, if they themselves are acknowledging it and seeking help. It’s way more honest and authentic and builds more trust than some empty platitude.

Another radical idea would be to offer practical support instead of advice, but we’ve wandered so very far from the concept of ‘it takes a village’ and now it’s every man for himself. Nobody wants to ‘feed a man a fish’ because we’ve been taught that letting people work things out for themselves is more beneficial in the long run. But the reality is that some people won’t have a long run, if they can’t overcome some of the hurdles at the start of the race.

Words are important. The language we use matters. It can be be hard to train ourselves out of using phrases and auto responses we’ve used and heard others use our whole lives. But to truly empower someone you have to meet them where they’re at, and let them know that you’ve got their back win or lose. That’s what really counts.

Change is hard. Growth as a person can be uncomfortable. But finding better ways to support each other is worth it.

blog: create your own interpretation

Three things are true:

1. Everyone has a story
2. Your story is important
3. YOU ARE NOT YOUR STORY

We tell ourselves stories all the time. We give meanings to things, it’s kinda what humans do. We hear what people say, we see what they do or don’t do, and we add our own meaning on top. It’s natural to apply personal experience to things, to want to deepen our understanding of them. But too often we stop there, we take our assumptions as gospel.

Assumptions make asses out of umptions, which is bad enough. But when we internalise ‘meanings’ as truths, when we allow these perceptions to become part of our “story”, we cross into dangerous terrain.

Interpreting stuff that happens in a way that is negative and harmful to our self-identity and self-esteem can damage and alter our view of who we are so effectively and insidiously it can take years to come to the surface. And yet these damaging hidden ‘truths’ we embrace about who we are have a very real affect on our actions and choices along the way.

“I’m worthless.”
“I’m ugly.”
“I’m fat.”
“I’m trouble.”
“I’m no good at anything.”
“I tore my family apart.”
“People will always let me down.”
“I have to look out for myself.”
“I can’t trust anyone.”
“I can’t be trusted.”
“I’m a bad person.”
“I’ll only hurt others and let them down.”
“I deserve to be hurt.”
“Nobody gets me.”
“I have no one.”

Seriously, who wants to go through life with a story like that?

Things happen. How you interpret them is going to become part of your story, that’s inevitable. But you are in charge of what you make it mean. Don’t stop at assumption. Don’t short-change yourself. Look at your identity, the stories you tell yourself about who you are, where do they come from?

Our identity is often comprised of a series of coping mechanisms and defences we created to deal with the challenges in life and our limited understanding of them. You don’t need to lock yourself into an identity that was created to address life situations you may no longer inhabit.

Take any of the above statements and picture a friend saying them – how would you react? Would you tell them they were being ridiculous? Would you rush to reassure them that those things are simply not true? Would you help them find ways of turning their thinking around?

Good. Now go look in a mirror, and do the same thing.

“I’m worth everything.”
“I’m beautiful.”
“I’m happy in my skin.”
“I’m someone worth knowing.”
“I’m good at anything I put my mind to.”
“I value and respect my family relationships.”
“People want to be there for me.”
“I can learn to let people in.”
“I have faith in people.”
“I am trustworthy and reliable.”
“I am a good person.”
“I am committed to having positive relationships with others.”
“I deserve to reach my potential.”
“I have many unique qualities to offer people.”
“I have a strong and supportive network.”

Life’s too short to build your identity based on negativity and pain. Embrace change, embrace love, embrace a more authentic and connected life

blog: serendipity is a scam

Every ‘beginning’ is a re-branded ending.  But if that sounds depressing, the counterpart is also true – every ending is a re-branded beginning.  The more you realise this, the more you see that there is no finiteness to the universe, everything is fluid.  Everything old is new again.

People often think things like, “If I hadn’t spoken to the stranger on the bus that day, this particular chain of events would never have happened, and I wouldn’t be getting married/ getting a promotion/ writing this book right now. It was meant to be!”  Or they apply the same worry to the future, that if we’re not in the right place at the right time, we’ll miss an appointment with destiny. But Serendipity is merely a nice idea.

Story time!  Over a decade ago I was coming home from cooking class via the train, and I had a bag full of fresh baked apple pies.  The train being crowded, I was standing in the foyer with a bunch of other people, and an alternative-looking guy about my age decided to sit down on the floor. Fearing for the safety of my freshly baked goods, I cried, “Don’t sit on my pies!” He apologised, then said, “You’ve got an accent!” and by the time we had arrived at our destination we were firm friends. 

If life were a Hollywood movie, I’d be telling you the story of how I met my husband.  But that man has been happily married to another woman for six years now and both of them are very dear friends.  True, you could say that a chance encounter led to a friendship that has spanned over a decade now, but it could also have been true that it led to the worst heartbreak of my life, or even nowhere at all. 

I guess the point I’m trying to make is that we make our own fate.  I do believe some things are meant to come into our lives in some way, but I don’t believe our destinies are set in stone (unless you’re Ta’veren, but that is a whole other blog). The universe gives us the raw ingredients, if you will, but there are many different combinations we can make from those circumstances and happenings. 

The concept of time as linear is false.  You cannot stray from the path if there is no path to stray from. When you see this, you’ll either feel lost and frightened by s lack of definitive purpose, or you’ll feel liberated and stop beating yourself up about missed opportunities and failed five year plans.

Seeing life events as devoid of the “meaning” we tend to ascribe to them doesn’t have to be depressing and nihilistic.  It can be an exciting blank canvas, an empty stage on which to play and create anything we want. 

blog: on tangos

When I promise forever, I mean it.  when I commit, I commit.  And because I am committed, I will address any threat to the health of the relationship as soon as possible.  I will try to find solutions to any problems that arise.  I am willing to refine, change and adapt myself (within the parameters of my ethics and standards of course) as the situation dictates. And I will maintain an unshakeable faith that things will be ok and that we can do this. 

Hopefully there are many, many people who feel the same passion and conviction towards their own relationships.  But for a relationship to be workable and stable enough to overcome obstacles thrown at it, it requires the same buy-in, the same level of commitment and faith from the other person in the equation. 

And if they choose not to provide that, if they lose faith and walk away, that’s a choice they make hopefully with their best interests in mind. It doesn’t mean that they don’t value you or the relationship and all the history you share; it just means they didn’t value it enough to justify remaining in the relationship.  It just means that they have chosen to value other things more highly.

It’s instinct to blame and be angry, or to analyse “what went wrong”, when we go into things with expectation and optimism and come out the other side disappointed and diminished.  You feel a loss more keenly when it happens against your will.  And all too often we rush to fill the void with something new or different because the gaping hole of the broken relationship reminds us that we have bared and shared our soul only to have been rejected.  Or we try to hang on, dragging ourselves and our former partners into a drawn out and tortuous limbo. 

Nothing will ever come from trying to breathe life into a corpse. Take a few moments to assess what happened, but don’t obsess. Give yourself honest feedback on what worked and what didn’t (and actually apply that to your future relationships, or you will repeat the same patterns). Take time to reimagine your context and your possibilities.  Be kind to yourself, but don’t over-indulge.  Acknowledge that it hurts, but assure yourself that the hurt will not last forever.  And if anyone tells you there are plenty of fish in the sea, smile and thank them for the environmental report, but re-learn how to “do you” before you go out and cast any nets. 

I’m working through this myself right now, and I don’t have any answers.  But I do know that it will be ok.  :)

poem: an ocean in my back yard

Today there is an ocean in my back yard.
I sit on the wooden dock of my back porch
And listen to the sound of the waves crashing through the leaves with a deafening whisper.
George the cat sits calmly at my side,
Ear flicked back whenever
A stray leaf escapes and swirls kamikaze towards us on its suicide run towards entropy.
The wind whips my hair around my face
But stirs not a ginger hair on George’s furry back.
If I close my eyes I can almost feel the sand crunchy between my toes,
Instead of these stray weeds growing up wild through the gaps in my steps.
Even the birds caw plaintively over their ruffled feathers,
mimicking their sea-sworn cousins.
The only thing gratefully missing is the salt air stinging my face.
If you hold a conch shell to your ear you will hear the same sounds;
The sound of Mother nature on a journey,
The sound of unbound joy.

poem: objects in the rear view mirror

– TW: domestic violence

Every step I take leads me further away from you
Without a word you call to me
I look back, surprised to see that once so tall,
You are now so small within my view

Someone must have greased your palm
Because I’m stumbling
Tumbling, tripping, struggling
Slowly slipping from your grasp
Unable to hold me
Unable to control me
You have no choice but to let me pass

There was a time when I hated you
There was a time when I hated myself
There was a time when every man wore your face
And echoes of your presence could be felt in every place
And I hated everyone around me
Even though they were only trying to help

So much anger inside me, so much rage
I threw my own pity party, and –
Though I sent out invitations by the dozens –
No one came.

I took a look around the place where I was at
And found nothing… nothing
But a few dusty party hats
And a half eaten ice cream cake
Melting… melting
I stood with my feet planted firmly on the path
There was no right or left; no up or down
Just Forward and Back…
And I knew I could not stay
So I picked up my feet,
And placed one in front of the other

Now I’m headed for a better day
Because every step I take
Leads me further away from you
And although you were once so tall,
You are now so very small
Disappearing from my view

poem: confession manifesto

– TW: SA, addiction

Here is my confession – when I was seven
A little boy touched me in a place I didn’t like
No grownups did anything to stop it
And it was all my fault.

Here is my confession – when I was twelve,
I was angry and I didn’t understand why
My parents didn’t believe in counselling so they hit me
With a Bible instead and told me to shape up or they’d ship me out
And it was all my fault.

Here is my confession – when I was seventeen
My father said, “It’s my way or the highway.”
I put on my big girl shoes and lit out
To face the wide world on my own.

I partied and played out tired stereotypes of misspent youth –
I fell into a bottle and stayed there,
So damn drunk I couldn’t hold down a job
Or tell the man who gave me a ride home late one night
That No definitely does mean No.
I burned up opportunities and friendships
Like the cigarettes I lit to mark the sorrow on my skin
And it was all my fault.

In my 20’s I turned to confession,
Threw myself on the mercy of Jesus
And trusted his followers to be cut from the same cloth
But they chewed me up and spat me out
Like wolves in sheeps’ clothes
And it was all my fault.

Confession becomes my obsession,
I scribble poems and half-thoughts on notebook paper that I screw up and throw out
“Not Good Enough” becomes the motto emblazoned across my chest
As I watch other poets spittin it, hittin it as hard as I wanna do,
As I could do, if it weren’t for this damn block –
And the block is all my fault…

I’m stuck in this confession,
Without a priest to absolve me
Or a psychotherapist to resolve me
I’m a puzzle beyond solving
Fault lines crack and plates start to rub each other the wrong way
My skin gets compromised by a million different splinters all pushing to get in
And the –whoosh- of my soul, trying to get out…

But…
It is not my fault.
In fact, it was never my fault.
And for those of you who see a bit of yourself in my story,
It’s not your fault either.
It was never. your. fault.

We were the ones society was supposed to nurture
We were the ones who were supposed to grow up to greatness
The ones who carried the promise of the future in our tender hearts
Like the unopened petals of a sunset-yellow rose
We were the ones who were supposed to hope, to think to dream,
But we got crushed by the machine,
We opened our eyes too wide, when the light was still too bright to hide us.
And the lies they told pierced the unformed armour of our souls
But it was not our fault…

We were just too fucking fragile.

So I want to lift up this poem as an anthem
For anyone who was ever told they were not good enough
Not fast enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough
That they were simply not enough…

I want to burn away the lies and get to the real you
I want to replace the coals of shame with the fires of truth
I wanna lift up this poem as an anthem,
Because everyone knows coals
Are just diamonds
Waiting to happen.

blog: you are not alone

There will be times in your life when things get a bit slippery, it’s hard to hang on and you feel like you’re falling. It’s natural to panic and reach out to other people around you for help, but you often get mixed reactions depending on who you turn to.

There will always be the people who tell you not to be silly, of course you’re not falling. They firmly believe things like, you reap what you sow, or that a little hard work and perseverance can solve almost any problem you might have. These types of people often think there’s no such thing as depression and mental illness, preferring to label it as ‘laziness’ or ‘melodrama’ instead.

Then there are those who refuse to acknowledge your cries for help, simply because they don’t want to see you fall. They care about you, and can’t handle the thought that you might not be okay. Or maybe they want you to sweep it under the rug, because they depend on you, and need you to be stable and to be there for them.

There will also be those who just want to tell you all about the time they fell. They are quick to talk about their experiences; the “story toppers” are especially hard to deal with – if you have depression, they have the mother of all PSTD, if you have trouble making ends meet, they’ll tell you how they nearly lost everything that one time. These people can be useful, recommending medication or treatment methods, organisations who can help you, or things that worked for them. However, they tend to busy themselves with the symptoms, and ignore the cause.

All you really need sometimes is acknowledgement. What you need is someone to reach out and grab hold of you and halt your downward progress. You need someone to look in your eyes and say, “I know.” And then it will be okay. Because you know that someone out there knows what you’re going through, and they’re committed to not letting you fall.

That’s who *I* want to be – and who I want to encourage other people to be. Sure there will always be elements of all the above people in how we treat people who are struggling and disadvantaged. There will be temptation to deny what other people are going through, or to relate to their experiences in context of our own, and that’s fine. As long as at the end of the day, we’re throwing the life line as well, and letting people know – we’re on their side, and they are not alone.