July

A song of moons

The lid seems to have lifted, and me along with it, from the boiling pot of depression that I’ve been stirring since January. I have taken note of the qualities that movement imparts and with even the smallest bit of breath and intention each morning, my days have been blissfully tolerable. The body dysmorphia and subsequent insecurity seem a little better, and I’ve actually enjoyed things. Huzzah! Riding my bike to work is the most simple and glorious way to start the day. I don’t even mind that I’m getting a little sweaty now that it’s really really summer, the chill of my office takes that away quickly. My irrational fear of action at work has also improved. I feel like I’ve made some progress on things I’ve been procrastinating and made it through the week without internalizing every comment as a personal insult to my intelligence.

I’m still pretty on edge, and the damn cat keeps waking me up at 5am everyday so he can chase his tail on the headboard of my bed, but things are improving. This relief came after compression, an unexpected wave of grief and sadness over the loss of my best friend and anxiety about what’s happening to him now. While visiting home last month (a wonderful positive love filled visit btw) a mutual friend asked me about the nebulous reality of what happened with my husband at the end of my marriage, and we talked in very frank terms and I was able to say things plainly without sobbing. My friend asked out of concern for me, and I’m still kind of astonished that people really think it’s good or helpful to ask a person how they navigated a difficult time in their life, but I applaud my friend’s audacity to ask because it really did help to say the things with clarity and hindsight. I felt calm and proud of my composure at the end, but this conversation left me with memories of two Julys ago, a terrible and tumultuous time when I was in a constant state of panic and alarm without any idea how to stop it. That all seems like a long time ago, but it wasn’t. So thinking about that time from where I am now, I can see into the scene and better understand what was happening. I was trying with all of my being to force accountability on a person who had no intention of accepting it. His long practiced survival mode of lie and deny was impenetrable. My pleading for accountability was so important to me, more than my own well being, because I felt that it could explain why this all happened and that answer would bring me peace. My obsession with the choices and actions of another unmanageable person made it impossible to attend to my own feelings. I was resisting my fears and suppressing my anger like the good martyr I had learned to be, practicing the survival tactic that saw me through my childhood and adolescence. How wonderful would the world really be if we could all just lay down our weapons? It’s not surprising to me now, looking back, that none of that worked and that things fell apart so rapidly and spectacularly as they did. I am grateful that I was able to get out of that situation, and all of this reflection is part of the healing.

So as I cried in savasana, mourning the loss of the kind eyed jokester that I loved so deeply, I admitted to myself that I needed some help.

I went to see a therapist in town. I made the appointment on a day off work so it was all I had to focus on. I drove there in a cold sweat. I spent an hour telling them about traumas big and small, and how lately my days were an arduous chore of anxiety and stress eating punctuated by the bliss of sleep, until my dreams started eating my brain raw each night and even that reprieve was lost. I admitted that I’ve been feeling low for months and how I thought I would snap out of it when spring came. Their reassurance that the weight on my chest is real and can feel immovable was all I needed to hear in that moment, and the door opened just a crack so the steam could escape.

So asking for help is -guess what- helpful!

Along with moving my body more often I am also saying things I want out loud and pushing back against the voice that sneers at the thought of having a beautiful home in the woods or a healthy loving partnership. The last full moon was a tough night for me, but I made myself get up and go outside to greet her. As I did, I noticed the sweet smell of the air and the bugs and frogs serenading me with their summer song, my heart filled with love for that moment, and that was enough. I can see the water receding from the shore and I know that everything will be different again and again and all I have to do is appreciate it. I’m starting to have moments of joy and happiness, romanticizing the life that I have today.