I’m beginning to think that the depression I’ve battled my whole adult life wasn’t really depression. Or at least not just depression. I think a large portion of it had more to do with trying and failing to keep up with societal norms instead of following my intuition.
It all started with the family I was born into. The family who loved me, took care of me, raised me, made sure I always had what I needed, and even made room for some fun adventures. The family that tolerated me, forgave me, taught me, moulded me, etc. Unfortunately, none of that was enough to create lasting bonds between our family members. Not healthy bonds anyway. I think it’s safe to say there was some co-dependency and trauma bonding at times. It didn’t help that we are all neurodivergent to one extent or another, but none of us knew until about seven years ago.
I’m the oldest of three, and my youngest sibling will be 47 this summer. That’s how long we’ve all been trying, with all our might, to make these relationships work. Not to say it’s all been awful. There have been a lot of good times. It’s just that every conversation has the potential to blow up in your face. Every word needs to be measured carefully to evaluate all the possible ways it could be interpreted. There has been a lot of walking on eggshells and even some crossing of minefields. We all have emotional shrapnel embedded in us that we carry around wherever we go, and the damage is cumulative.
Among the many things I’ve discovered about myself over the years is that I yell when I panic. That can occur when I’m in sensory overload and/or burned out, when I don’t feel I’m being heard, when I’ve held things in too long, when someone is about to do something dangerous like walk into oncoming traffic, etc. I’ve done A LOT of yelling in my lifetime. To the point that I just don’t have the energy to yell anymore, or even to be yelled at. If someone is just venting or speaking passionately, I can hold space for them, but if you want to have a conversation with me, I listen better when it’s done in a calm fashion.
I’m extremely protective of my peace now, even when it hurts other people’s feelings. I don’t like causing others harm, but I’ve sacrificed myself to protect others for far too long. Mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually, I can’t anymore. I need to protect the energy I have left before it’s all gone.
In the process of protecting my peace, I have also discovered that when I live my life based on what’s right for me, on doing what lights me up, I experience a whole lot less depression.
Since quitting my job last December, my body has forced me to stop and reflect. I’m just recently emerging from the longest, deepest bout of depression I’ve ever experienced, followed by a lingering chest cold. Good times. The Universe put me in a serious time-out that left me with nothing but time to reflect. Time to decide what I truly want my life to look like going forward and what’s sustainable. To give some serious thought about what I’m still willing to tolerate, what I’m still wanting to fight for, what I’m still capable of doing, and what I need to leave behind.
After many sleepless nights and inner turmoil, I feel good about the decisions I’ve made for my life and the path I’ve chosen. I now have much to look forward to and real hope that I’ll get there. I’ve become the version of myself that gets to live an abundant existence in all aspects of my life. For various reasons, I haven’t taken my depression meds in over a month, and yet, despite my life currently being in significant instability, I’ve never felt more at peace.
Will this peace last without my meds? I don’t know. Only time will tell. I may need to start taking them again, down the road, once the levels present in my system drop more, and that’s okay. I’m not opposed to accepting help when I need it. I’m just enjoying this moment of being on a natural high for as long as it lasts.
But something tells me this peace has the potential to be around for quite some time. This might be my new default, and I’m all for that. I feel like this is what it’s supposed to be, and all that other crap in my past is in sorts self-inflicted because we let others dictate who we’re supposed to be, how we’re supposed to act, what choices we’re supposed to make, what we can or can’t do, etc. Heaven forbid we be allowed to live the fullest expression of our own authenticity. How dare anyone act like the unique individuals they are instead of conforming to and obeying those who want power in order to feel in control?
Control is an illusion. Maybe depression is like the check engine light when we’re letting ourselves get sucked into that delusion. I don’t know. What I do know is that the less I go through life like a zombie, the less depressed I feel, and the more I can live a life less confined.
