TELL ME YOUR STORY

My friend’s story popped into my in box as I folded laundry this morning.

A gray, rainy haze has taken over NYC in what is now the new norm for Winter. By 9am I had already contemplated going back to bed, if jumping off my balcony would provide me with the peace I seek in my thoughts, the pain of not being inspired, which podcast will distract me and not depress me or will another cup of tea provide me with the motivation I so desperately missed?

I chose to fold laundry and listen to my friend speak her story.

She spoke quickly at first, then I could feel her slow and the nervousness eased. Please go there I thought. Tell us your story.

Unknowingly to her and to me, she was to inspire me to write. Something I do, but lately only when obligated, via my Editor or a paid job. While seasonal depression provides the perfect backdrop, it also dims the part of my brain that finds enjoyment in anything.

Tell your story, I thought.

Earlier in the day I had listened to a Tedx podcast on giving and receiving care. A man spoke about how to care for those in depression — what to say and what not to say. “Don’t say just get over it” he said.

“The definition of depression is the fact that someone does not have the ability to get over it.”

I laughed having said this and being told this in many ways — such as move your body (which does help a little), to sit in gratitude (which I am in total gratitude for all that is).

For me — and maybe you — I can be in full gratitude for my life - and also want to jump into the Hudson River. I can appreciate all that I have and also wish to be sucked up by a black hole.

I have seasonal affect disorder or S.A.D. It basically takes the winds out of my sails for the months of September through April. I live my best life May through August — when the sun is at it’s brightest.

I was diagnosed about 20 years ago after a manic episode in the summer when the perfect storm of bright sun, a death of a loved one and an incredible stress in my business through me into a loop I could not control. I slept a few hours a night, was in extreme anxiety and lost 20 lbs in two weeks from not eating a thing. I was deemed to have had a nervous breakdown — it certainly felt that way. Numerous drugs from anti-depressants to anti-psychotics were given to me, but it wasn’t until I finally found the right psychiatrist for me, did I manage to heal.

I was fortunate to have the ability to pay thousands of dollars to find this person. An hour with a psychiatrist is $300-$600 an hour. Most do not take insurance and most of us cannot afford insurance, let alone insurance with out of network benefits. This right here is a major reason for our mental health crisis.

There are millions walking around on drugs they shouldn’t be on, prescribed by general practitioners who have no mental health background. Along with millions more unattended to. To look at our worldwide health crisis and say how did this happen is ignorance I think. We all know how this happened. The question is why is our governments not fixing it?

Depression is one of many hardships I have navigated in my life and will continue to do so. Show me someone who is wise and balanced and I will show you someone who has lived a lot of pain and trauma. You don’t deepen your practice through practice alone. Wisdom is the blessing that comes from experience.

Someone once said to me she didn’t trust my joy. My light. That it wasn’t until my Mother died that she could trust me. As fucked up as that is, I understand. Having lost a Mother, she knew a depth of pain I did not, until I experienced it. But what she failed to see was my joy and light came from appreciation. Appreciation that I did not die from breast cancer a few years earlier.

Like all the other traumas in my life — I have survived from dealing with the emotions and also found comfort and healing when others shared with me their traumas, their experiences of pain and their times of deep doubt in themselves.

Telling your story is a salve. A salve for those listening and a salve for yourself.

Thank you to my friend this morning and to all who share their pain, their doubt, their deep vulnerability, their story. And shame on anyone who makes fun of our silences a story.

This is how we heal, how we progress, how we evolve into a more loving community. It is how we understand our differences and also how we are very much the same.

As Ram Dass said “We are all just walking each other home”.

Let’s do it with love and compassion.

xo Christine