I got a new pair of glasses. Suddenly, the world is super clear. I keep looking around marveling at all I can see, the distinctness of colors and edges. Suddenly, there is focus. I didn’t realize until now how blurred my seeing used to be.
It’s kind of like depression.
Many women with whom I work struggle with depression. They often realize it after they emerge. When in a depression, the blurry fog tainting things feels like reality. Beliefs just under the surface color your experience. Beliefs like:
This is the way it is. It won’t ever change.
Why try? It won’t make a difference.
I should be better. If I just tried harder, I wouldn’t feel this way.
Other people are functioning – and thriving – so if I’m not, it must be my fault.
There are all kinds of environmental stressors that can trigger depression: work stress, losing a job, moving, divorce or marital difficulties, seasonal changes (lack of light during the winter months), having baby. Here are two surprising ones: recovery from an eating disorder and planning for a wedding. Yep. Even “positive” changes in one’s life can trigger a mood shift and/or a full-blown mood disorder.
Change is scary. Even the “good” changes! And if you have a temperament that tends toward “turtle-ness” (risk-averse, anxious, cautious, slow to warm up) then depression can emerge to “help.” Depression can help slow you down when parts of you are afraid of moving quickly. Depression can help you feel “grounded” when you feel “out of control.” Depression can mute anger or make it feel less scary. Depression can provide a source of constancy or familiarity, when it felt as if everything else is changing.
But what are the “glasses” for depression?
Just in case you think I am advocating for depression, I’m not. I am aware that depression signals something (or many things) need attention, need tending. Let’s look at some of the tools, if you are struggling with depression, that may help.
Meditation is a simple (but not always easy) tool that can assist in bringing compassion and grounding to parts of you that are afraid, angry, or overwhelmed. It can help slow down the anxious thoughts. It can help “turtles” navigate change with more ease. It can provide a tiny bit of distance away from depressive thoughts of things always being like this or things that are uncomfortable or not ok being my fault. The compassionately objective voice that can emerge in meditation might say something like:
“Huh. Have things always been like this? I can see a bigger picture…”
I can feel your struggle right now and there is nothing wrong with you.
I can see a part of you that is hurt. It might help you to tend to, and speak up for, that part.
Instead of a cutting off or lifting away from the experience of depression, meditation can assist in being with it from a larger space. It can help you not get swallowed up by it. It can be the “new pair of glasses” that brings clarity to the blurry-ness. It can help you see a bigger picture, and personalize less. It can gently place you back in the experience of being human rather than the suffering of humanity being “my fault.”
I am not a Psychiatrist. I do not prescribe antidepressants. I do know that many of the women I see are hard-working, conscientious, sensitive beings that believe they “should” be able to “just get over” depression or anxiety without medication. Shame and stigma color their vision. They believe that they should just be able to function and thrive by “eating the right food” (that is a whole other blog, but let’s just say for the record, that you are not “bad,” “dirty,” “clean,” or “good” for eating or not eating any particular food), “doing the right spiritual practice,” and working super extra hard. They compare-and-despair what they are feeling on the inside, to sleek, put-together look of other people’s outsides. They think there is something inherently wrong with them. They think they “shouldn’t” need glasses. They “should” be able to just see!
I’m here to tell you that no matter how hard I worked at being good enough, or eating the “right” food, my eyesight did not get better without glasses.
Just in case you think I am pushing antidepressant medication, I am not. Medication, like meditation, is a tool in the recovery tool box. Some people choose to use this tool and some do not. I work with women who make many different choices in this area. I am erring on the side of offering medication as a tool to – hopefully – offer a stigma free zone for people who struggle with depression to make a choice. There is no right answer for everyone. There is the right answer for you, at the right time for you. If you are considering medication, you will need to explore that question with your doctor.
Important caveat: If you are considering medication for depression, and you also have an eating disorder or are a new mom, it is wise to see a psychiatrist who specializes in those areas. There are particular needs for women recovering from eating disorders (ex awareness around how medication can affect appetite and weight, risk of seizures with certain medications if you have a history of purging) and perinatal mood disorders (ex awareness around safety of different medications during pregnancy, postpartum, and breast-feeding) that your doctor needs to have in mind.
I offer you the possibility of clarity. As it says in A Course In Miracles, a miracle is a shift in perception. If you are struggling with depression, may you find, and put on, your new pair of glasses. May you see that hope is possible. May you put one foot in front of the other (or tuck them into seated meditation position) and keep looking for a compassionate space inside yourself. May you find exactly the right therapist and tribe of friends that treat you with compassion when you forget. May you feel that change is possible and you are enough. It is. You are.
I’ve been struggling with hope recently. I have two sick loved ones, democracy in America is crumbling before our eyes, healthcare coverage is in a shambles, many of my clients have been in crisis. I have been feeling the weight of this. I’m not going to go into details because, as a wise colleague of mine advises: don’t disclose a story until you can be the messenger of hope. Then it is medicine. Before that, it is spewing more unhealed shit into the world. (For the record: it is wise and helpful to disclose the story that is still in-process in your therapy! That is the place to spew it so you can get to the medicine!) One place I find refuge when cynicism, grief, and despair are fighting to take down hope, is to go to those who are carrying the torch. For me, one of those people is Marianne Williamson. In a Beautiful Writers podcast interview, here is what she had to say about hope:
“Hope is born of participation in hopeful solutions. So when your hope is intimately connected to your own sense of responsibility to provide hope for others, then it’s something beyond optimism. It’s knowledge.
If I want something down on the ground and I let it fall from my hands, gravity will take it there. I don’t just hope that gravity will work; I know that gravity will work.
If you’re an airline pilot and you can’t see the horizon because there is a strong cloud cover, you still know the horizon is there, you just know that today you can’t see it. So the pilot doesn’t just hope that the horizon is there, s/he just knows that s/he can’t see it right now so in that moment, you fly on instruments.”
What does it mean to fly on instruments in recovery?
It means acting as if the horizon is there. It means following your food plan. It means showing up for your support system: meetings or group, therapy, nutrition, doctor. If you are further along in recovery, it means providing service to the newcomer, your friends, or your clients. Tell them you’ve been there. Be a listening ear. Provide hope for them. Be the message that it is possible. Remind them of the horizon they can’t see.
And in Mommyhood?
Similarly, flying on instruments in motherhood means acting as if, even when you have lost sight of the horizon. Show up for the daily tasks: make breakfast for you and kid(s), pack the lunches, take a shower, get some sunshine and outdoors time, practice gratitude for what you can see in the present. Last night my little one expressed gratitude for the air.
“Thank you for the air, sunshine, mama and papa, and my hamster.”
It is good to be grateful for the air we breathe. It is god to listen to the little ones. They are the carriers of hope. It is good to practice gratitude for loved ones, air, sunshine. This is the fuel that will help us keep going when we can’t see the horizon.
Back to Marianne. She says:
“We are living in an extraordinary time…”
[I know – my pessimistic critic isn’t fully on board with this silver lining either, but let’s just act-as-if the horizon is there]
“…Blessed are those who have faith that cannot see. So hope in things unseen means knowledge of things unseen.”
May you find this knowledge in your daily actions today. May you breathe the air of hope, eat the food of hope, be the message of hope. Hope doesn’t mean pink icing on the garbage. Hope means traveling through the cloud cover, sure and steady, one tiny millimeter at a time.
PS As I was finishing this post, the American healthcare bill that would have taken coverage away from my sick loved one and many of my clients was withdrawn due to lack of support.
Carry on flying, people. Carry on. Revolutions are built on Hope.
I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure
the darkness for it shows me the stars.
We are in a dark time of the year. There is a reason why there has always been a light-in-the-darkness time, and not just for those needing light in recovering from depression. Historically, in an agricultural society, December was a time when the harvest was done and therefore it was a time to rest, turn inward and reflect. With the days being darker, and Winter Solstice being the shortest day of the year, bringing and celebrating light is a natural response to, well, not going mad in the darkness. We need light. Not only does the vitamin D literally stave off depression, but symbolically we need to know there is light in the dark.
One theory of the origins of December 25 as the date chosen for the birth of Jesus is that it was originally the pagan festival in Rome celebrating “the birth of the unconquered sun,” celebrating the sun-god and the solstice. Hanukkah is also known as “the Festival of Lights,” Kwanzaa ritual include lighting special candle holders called kinaras, and in the December Hindu festival Pancha Ganapati, a shrine with Ganesha (the Hindu elephant god who clears away obstacles) is lit. Shabe Yaldā or Shabe Chelle, held on the Winter solstice, isan Iranian festival celebrating the victory of light and goodness over darkness and evil, and Chahar Shanbeh Sure, the Iranian “festival of Fire” celebrates light over darkness on the last Tuesday night of the year.
“People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within.”
-Elizabeth Kubler Ross
For recovering people, this can be particularly challenging to remember the light: the light of hope, the light of “this too, shall pass,” the light of love. It can be difficult to remember you have an inner light to which you can listen.
There is a lot to be concerned with in the world right now. So much suffering. Holding the light of hope can be hard. So many religions and cultures have this light in the darkness in their symbolism for this very reason. It is a human need; an archetypal commonality we share. Remember that you are only responsible for your light, your candle in the darkness. Light your candle. Revisit, hold onto, re-light this light. In the words of Anne Frank,
“Look at how a single candle can both defy and define the darkness.”
Light your candle. The world needs it. The world needs you.