Sadness

Hello, old friend.

Some days, my courage runs out.

Some days, when I’ve shown up as a functioning member of society multiple weeks in a row, I wake up and it all feels like a lot again.

Some days, I feel so fragile that my bed seems like the only safe space I’ve ever known.

Like I’m tapped out on bravery and need a day to just be sad.

But over the years, I’ve learned that it’s okay. It’s okay to recharge. It’s okay to replenish my strength. Even the moon isn’t always full. Even the most beautiful flowers don’t bloom all year round. Nothing’s gone forever, only transformed.

I’ve been protecting myself from the hurricane winds of sadness with a sandcastle moat. But the truth is, this time of year has always been difficult for me. I’ve never really known why, but the universe has provided plenty of reasons to validate this over the years. It’s always when the bad shit happens.

Anyway, she’s here. And that’s OK. Because she doesn’t scare me anymore.

I was diagnosed with clinical depression when I was 12. I’ve heard a lot of different people try to convince me of a lot of different things about this over the years. Everything from “you just need to do yoga” (I do), to “if you just did x, y, and z differently, you’d never get depressed.” None of it has been helpful. What I know to be true is that, among other issues, my brain chemistry can shift in an instant, making everything I once swore seemed good now irreconcilably bad. Tainted. Spoiled.

That used to make me want to quit. But today, I know it eventually passes, and much more quickly than it ever has before, even when it tries to convince me it’s here to stay. Because I have tools, support, and a values-driven life.

A week or so ago, my husband and I went on a walk before the heat of the day. We took the Johnson Creek Trail near our house over to Town Lake. Along the way, we saw this sign:

Embrace Bewilderment

I resonated with its foreboding tone. It seemed like an ominous warning of a depression tsunami building on the horizon; first, the water recedes, exposing the ocean floor, the fragments of life you don’t think much about, like personal hygiene and household chores, revealing them as the tedious, never-ending grains of sand they truly are. Eventually, you see the wall of doom. Before you know it, you're drowning.

I used to struggle to the surface in vain. Now I know I have just enough oxygen to let the tide batter my body, then spit me out on shore when it’s done with me. It’s easier this way.

The sign we passed reminded me of a photograph I bought in a little shop in McLeod Ganj, India, in 2018. I’d stopped taking my meds cold turkey that Spring, and by the time Summer hit, I was certifiable. The last time I’d been that depressed was in 2010. I went to Northern India then as well. Both times were amazing, beautiful, and life-changing, despite my mental state. But if I start talking about going back, be sure to ask me about the last time I refilled my prescription. Something about suicidal ideation makes me want to have a spiritual experience in the Himalayas. On second thought, let me go. I met God there. Twice.

The photograph I found changed my life. The gorgeous woman’s tears appeared sacred. Holy, even.

“Sadness has its own beauty,” it said. “You have just to learn the beauty of sadness, its silence, its depth.” It always stuck with me.

When the wave comes, I try my best to embrace its haunting grace, eerie stillness, and tremendous weight. This allows me to love others more fully through their own high tides.

If you’re struggling, I love you. If you’re having a fantastic week, I also love you.

Cheers☕️