Also found at Letters from the Nest:
https://open.substack.com/pub/lettersfromthenest/p/that-sinking-feeling?r=48qui&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web
Dear Nestlings,
I hope you don’t mind a little stream-of-consciousness letter today. I don’t know if I have anything specific to share, so let’s see what floats to the surface.
It’s a bright fall Friday morning. These last few weeks in central Pennsylvania have been lovely, sunny, and warm. I know winter is coming, so I try to be outside as much as possible to take advantage of the sun before it hibernates.
I just completed the forty-minute round trip to drive one of you to the high school. You know who you are, but maybe in a few years, when you read this, you won’t know because every one of you has missed the bus sometimes and has endured lectures about planning better and showing your respect for my work by not requiring forty minutes of my life for your convenience.
Anyway, everybody is at school and work except for me. Some people are under the impression that when my family leaves for the day to their “real” work, I stay home and relax. Of course, this can’t be right because that would mean that you’d leave the house in the morning and come back in the afternoon to find things exactly the same, but a grateful observer would notice differences upon their arrival home. Laundry has been done. Weeds removed. Dishes washed, counters wiped. There is a bowl of fresh fruit on the counter and snacks in the fridge. Appointments have been made and kept. If you’re the lucky one who had a doctor appointment during the day, I might have taken you to get McDonald’s or Chick-fil-A before returning you to school. Those things would be obvious to you if you looked, but there are a lot of things that I do that you couldn’t possibly see. I offer help and understanding to people in my classes at school, think and pray about people at church, I visit people to help them with their at-home duties, and I send texts and make phone calls to loved ones. It is true that amidst those other-focused activities, I do manage some personal relaxation, as you might say--I exercise. Not because it’s relaxing, but because I want my body to be able to keep doing the work I do every day. I listen to audiobooks while I work. I read. I’m taking a few classes on topics I’m curious about. These classes give me an external push to complete difficult writing assignments and consider other perspectives or strategies that I wouldn’t consider on my own. Sometimes go in the backyard, like where I am now, and listen to the birds and watch the cat stalk through the overgrown ornamental grasses and try not to think about when I will trim those grasses or how the beautiful falling leaves will soon be rotting masses killing our lawn.
I hesitate to share this next thought that floated up, but I trust that you can take it without feeling sad or worried for me, because I do think I’m not the only person who feels what I’m about to describe.
Sometimes, especially after a busy few days, I wonder if any of it really even matters. I’m tired after too much work without respite, and I want to crawl under the covers and go back to bed for the whole day. I wonder if, when I get out of bed just before people come home from school or work, I could pretend that nothing is amiss and if anybody would even notice. I don’t think people would notice if the work didn’t get done for a day or two. I might even be able to get away with it for a week or more. So does it really matter? Why do I put myself through the daily grind? My work feels purposeless and hopeless.
I don’t feel like that every day. Sometimes, I’m proud of my clean kitchen or a good workout. I surprise myself with a funny story I write for class or the way I can make another person feel seen and heard. I know logically, and I guess, spiritually, that what I do does matter, but it’s hard to fight off the “meh’s.”
Can you tell I’m describing symptoms of depression? Don’t be scared. I can battle major depressive disorder and still be a good mother, wife, student, colleague, etc. In fact, I’m probably better at life in some ways because of the opposition. I used to think that feeling ambivalent about my work and purpose meant that I might be a bad person. If I felt overwhelmed with the mundane work life presented to me, maybe I didn’t deserve to live that life. I’d look around me and know I lived in a really nice house with food on the table, beautiful and happy children, few serious problems above losing the car keys, and I’d wonder, how can I feel unhappy with all this goodness? I didn’t feel like I could tell people that I felt lonely, sad, or scared because they would think it impossible that a woman with so many obvious blessings in her life should ever feel that way.
Depression isn’t immoral, and it doesn’t mean you’re ungrateful or lazy or so self-focused that you must be clueless about the challenges of others. Depression doesn’t mean that other people are hurting you, or that you’re intentionally hurting others (though one person experiencing depression does receive and deliver shockwaves of pain more easily than somebody who might not be depressed).
The whole idea that somebody just feels low and can’t get themselves out of it on their own is difficult to articulate and more difficult to heal. The more I think about the topic, the more hopeless I feel about it. (Hey, Depression, you’re really annoying me right now).
Again, don’t worry about me. And don’t think any of this is your fault. It’s just a life thing. Sometimes I feel this way, and sometimes I don’t. After years of experience, I can recognize when I’m starting to sink, and I know (at least I think I know) what I can do (and what I can’t do) to heal. Part of that healing is being honest. Hiding doesn’t help. Even from myself. As soon as I’m willing to admit that I might be sinking, I have the courage to swim. And if that means pushing myself through things that don’t give obvious, short-term boosts because I believe in their long-term benefits, so be it (I’m talking about you, Exercise. We have a love-hate relationship. Actually, maybe hate-tolerate.)
Anyway, I feel better already. I will power through, look for small ways to exert change, push myself to see positive perspectives, recognize goodness, and admit that maybe medicine will help (ugh, my psychiatrist left the practice I go to, so that might take a while to figure out).
Again, I’m not sharing this stuff because I want you to worry or feel bad for me. I’m sharing because one day, you might feel like this. You might think, “Am I the only one who feels this way? This is no way to live.” And you can know your mom felt that way, too, sometimes. And she was a happy, vibrant, funny lady who worked super hard almost every day of her life. If I’m still around and you feel this way, call me up. I’ll come watch the kids or make you a few meals. I’ll help you release some of the guilt you might be feeling. Maybe it’s not normal to feel this way, but it is how you feel, and if you want to feel better, you can. I will be patient with you when you’re not showing up as your best self because maybe you can’t find your best self right then. I’ll do what I can to help, but maybe I will also tell you that no one person can fix any of this for you. A lot of factors cause the dip, so you’ll have to do a lot of different things to rise above it. Okay, good talk, right?
Now I’m off to do all the stuff I do when you’re working and I’m home relaxing.
Love,
Mom
P.S. Blue jays are really pretty birds, but they are not pretty singers. Their complaints to each other, and apparently the entire neighborhood, have been an obnoxious screeching overtone to my quiet thoughts. Nature can be both beautiful and incredibly annoying sometimes.
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