September 2020

Since I was a young girl and continually found myself crushed beneath the feet of people with more power, there has always been a deeply rooted part of me that wanted to excavate love and inclusiveness in the world. With time, I recognized that I had a gift for making people feel like they matter, for inviting conversations from different points of view and valuing people for their individuality. When I began posting on Facebook my messages were about love, self worth, kindness and making our corner of the world a little bit better. I invited people to look inward and cast their net as wide as they could make a difference. I believe that to my core more than ever right now. But my messages do not look the same because we are not living in the same world. The cracks have been illuminated and the light it shines on our inequities demands our attention. Make no mistake, we are in a revolution my friends, one that requires every ounce of our conviction. Or our regret forever. 

There is a huge storm brewing in our country, one that will lead to our demise. Lines have been drawn, weapons both physical and emotional are being used, voices are louder, stronger and angrier than ever. Within a few short weeks into the pandemic, I had taken my stance for wearing masks and shared those reminders on Facebook. I believed then, as now, that it is the simplest, kindest thing we can offer to help get this virus under control. I couldn’t have been more shocked when it became a political talking point and all of a sudden you could look up and see who was who by whether they were wearing a mask or not. There was no discernible voice of reason in the hateful, judgemental responses I was getting and I made a lot of people angry who justified and refused to look at their own behavior. Of course, I don’t like that but it doesn’t deter me when I am standing in my truth. That is vital for each of us to identify.

Soon after that, civil unrest exploded with the death of George Floyd. It had been a long time coming, but with the world being more sensitive, stripped of all its comforts, financial security, music and art, it all bubbled to the surface. Our emotional safe places and diversions were laid bare and we had nothing to do but look at our feelings and they terrified us. The rage and fear was palpable, and we began to recognize a great divide. With that event and the uprising, there was a deep and permanent shift in me, and it was powerful and undenaible! By that time I was already blogging, and like everything I share, I was compelled to use my voice for this cause. It came from the deepest part of my soul, the part of me that I call my Knowing that tells me exactly what I should do and when I should do it. It is not always comfortable or something I would ask for, or even understand, but it always leads me to growth and to what someone else needs. I could not in good conscience, with my black and brown friends who I adore, surrounding me, remain quiet to the violent injustices that are going on. It wasn’t new for them, but a huge wake up call for me. I was heartbroken, aware in a new and meaningful way and could no longer carry the shame of my inherent ignorance and be unwilling to do something about it. I knew it would mean discomfort to many of my good and decent white friends who were not yet ready to look. 

All of a sudden I was certain that I was no longer being loving or kind to remain silent. How can I advocate kindness and love when so many people I know live in fear and are being destroyed?

My silence is compliance.

I don’t have the right to be comfortable in my little bubble while violence, centuries old brutality, and blatant racism burn through our cities. 

I was raised in a family that was neither political or even involved in current events, making any kind of free thinking an evolution for me and always a fight against the status quo, in every aspect of life. I don’t even remember watching the news growing up, so much of what I learned was a whitewashed version from school or any research I did on my own. For the majority of my life I was a conservative Christian and not because I believed in a certain party but because my values were more aligned there. This is the interesting thing…although the region I lived in wasn’t very diverse I always had an innate sense of fairness, but there were things I obviously didn’t know and always found myself searching for. Something existed that aligned with who I knew I was and it called to me. Over time I have found that my open-mindedness and tendency to act for the greater good allowed for a more diverse political view, and I found common ground with some good friends that helped me expand my thinking further. It felt like home to me to include everyone. 

I’ve always been able to respect other views and agree to disagree, until now. This is no longer about party or partisan, it is quite simply about the narcissistic power driven man himself, Donald Trump, devoid of moral fiber, who has been entrusted to nurture and guide our country, and does so with an eye single to destruction. He dehumanizes people, promoting rage and vengeance as he strives to eradicate entire classes of human beings. He is popular because he gives hate a voice and a flag to wave. This is not tolerable behavior, this is not human decency. This is soulless. The President of The United States just threatened a coup if the election doesn’t go his way and if that doesn’t scare you or make you realize who he is I can’t agree to disagree with you. He is decimating the democracy he vowed to protect, and I wouldn’t care WHO he is, red or blue, right or left. This is not about how we want our eggs in the morning, this is about human beings. I draw lines in the sand when it comes to morals, to racism, to the rights of anyone that is different than you or me. It is a deal-breaker. Everything in me has to speak up. 

I had an enlightening conversation with my daughter Chelsea the other day. She has taught me so much about political evolution, ahead of her time way back in junior high, always challenging the narrative and leaning into truth, love, equality and justice. She heard her own voice much sooner than I heard mine and I am humbled by her. We talked about white privilege and the inherent racism that many of us have and why it is so frightening for us to take a look at that sometimes. We agreed that it is our time to be uncomfortable, and that without that discomfort we might never challenge our own internal narrative. It doesn’t mean we’re bad unless we decide to close our eyes to it. 

My daughters have always been my Touchstone. They are brave, strong and independent, and we have this gloriously liberated relationship where we can say anything, seriously anything, to each other and call each other out on our shit. They have held my hand and heart through my evolution. When I told Chelsea that a dear friend had acknowledged her discomfort with my new political posts and said that I am dismantling character and devaluing people who think differently, I asked for her insight, just to check myself. She didn’t hesitate and said to me, “Mom, no. YOU are dismantling and devaluing the white, racial, patriarchal system that has been the cornerstone of an unfair government.”

And today, she sent me this, my sweet and beautiful girl…

“We all have a lot to unlearn and unpack. I’m glad we’re on this journey together.” 

If I had a shred of doubt about my purpose and my truth going forward it completely dissipated. Another reminder that my truth is never going to steer me wrong, the people who really need it will receive it, and a way will always be provided for me. 

This is a revolution. You have a place here. If you are compelled to create change right now, then quiet the outside chatter, the opinions of others, even your closest friends who need you to stay where you are, and listen. Go forward with your voice, encouraged and strong, however that looks for you, and trust that you are right where you belong doing exactly what is called of you.

I was having a difficult day yesterday and was aware of it so I thought I had a handle on it. My body was experiencing a lot of physical pain and I was emotionally vulnerable, so I was processing, identifying and talking myself through it. Then last night I snapped at my boyfriend when he tried to help me with something. Like, really snapped. It was careless and mean, and I am neither one of those things. At that point I was scrambling to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me! 

Earlier in the afternoon, I had randomly reached out to a friend and when I read her response this morning, I cried, because her reply mirrored exactly what I was experiencing, and suddenly it all came together. “Wavering many times daily between feeling fine or happy, to frustrated and sad.”  

Everything in me not only relates, but feels this deeply. To my core. I have a sadness that I cannot escape, not permanently anyway. Unfortunately, I have many friends who share these feelings. So this became the thing I wanted to talk about today.

It’s time to rethink depression. 

“No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don’t.”                  Stephen King

I was born an old soul and forged resilience through necessity, time and time again, from my childhood to now. In the process of survival, holding steadfast, letting go and doing whatever it took, I learned what I was made of. Somewhere between the innate joy, the fierce tenacity, the chronic illness, the love and zest for life, the empathic compassion, lies a profound depression, one that has taught me patience and courage. It was a natural byproduct of a stifled, abusive environment and constantly being told how to feel or rather, how NOT to feel. I had no map or blueprint for traveling through this ‘blue and lonely section of hell,’ but I didn’t let it take me and I won’t now. I could. I certainly would not say that I enjoy this gloomy shadow of mine. However, it has lent itself to the whole of me and added another dimension to my substance, my passion and my voice.  

As mutual friends began sharing their isolation and frustration with this topic, I noticed that as a society it’s not something we allow as part of an accepted narrative. For so many right now, regular depression is exacerbated by the upcoming seasonal change, the uncertainty and isolation of the pandemic, the anger from both the current political climate and violent civil unrest. It weighs heavy on the heart of those of us who feel things deeply. Then, of course, there are those tragic life things that keep coming at us no matter how much our depression takes from us…death, illness, money issues, etc. Yet, mental instability and mood disorders generally make people uncomfortable, unlike heart disease and diabetes that are readily accepted as the norm. Throughout history we have shown disdain and treated people with these conditions as disposable, even using it as a weapon of weakness or unworthiness against them. There is usually a sense of judgment about how people deal with and navigate their way through it. Our coping skills are silently, and sometimes not so silently, assessed by people who have never experienced it on any kind of real level and have no idea what it feels like, except for how it affects them. They want to give us simple answers, offer platitudes and tell us how to fix something that they have not done anything more than bear witness to. I do understand that it’s because they want to help, and I agree that there are many valuable ways, even aside from medication to nurture ourselves through this, but that’s for another post. There is no one-size-fits-all for depression, because depression looks different for each person, and careless responses can have the opposite effect. When we are not allowed to show all of ourselves to someone we trust, it may make us feel marginalized, to the point of withdrawal. That has a ripple effect which may cause us to confide in them less when we need their perspective, or their arm to hold while we find our way. That only adds to the weight, the loneliness and despair. 

If you love someone and you know that they are struggling, and doing the best they can, but you have no idea where they’re coming from, I imagine they would appreciate you taking their hand in yours, telling them that you’re there for them and asking what they need from you. Then be prepared for them to not be sure. None of this is personal. Honestly, sometimes it’s hard when I’m in the middle of a depressive swing that manifests as anger or frustration, for me to even recognize my own needs or behavior. Articulating myself during depression is very challenging, and my thoughts become overwhelmed by tears or confusion. It can be a burden for us, the depressed ones, to constantly teach other people how to deal with our mood disorders because our energy is so limited, but there is a very specific magic in being loved through it that builds a bridge to understanding for both sides. That is the common ground and gateway that can connect you to something you don’t personally experience. Also, there is endless availability for resources to help you if you know someone, but aren’t quite sure what to do next. 

Just as we would come together to learn about a physical illness the other one had, we can foster communication in our relationships, remove the stigma to engage in open conversations that invite uncomfortable feelings, creating safety and allowing honesty. 

If you’re at a point with your depression that you feel out of control, and you haven’t already, it’s time to seek professional help, knowing that it is just as vital for you as seeking a medical opinion for physical health issues. If your main frustration is that you feel like you are alone with this and you’re not sure where to put all these feelings, I want to offer you a place that is safe to say, I Am Not Okay. And I am whole. I am struggling. Yet I rise. I feel the shame. And I do not own it. I see the inner workings of all the pieces that create my existence, both cracked and pristine, and I embrace them. 

“She did not know if her gift came from the lord of light or of darkness, and now, finally finding that she didn’t care which, she was overcome with almost indescribable relief, as if a huge weight, long carried, had slipped from her shoulders.”  Stephen King

My evolution has brought me here. I know who I am, with fierce clarity and that every experience is woven into my soul. All things, including my passion and purpose flow from that sacred space. There is no good or bad to that, just things that I choose to grow through. I will continue to check myself for ways that will serve me to be a better person, especially when I have been mean or hurtful. And I will not apologize for the human condition that makes me exactly who I am.

I have been drowning for three weeks. Feeling dragged under a  current so powerful that I can’t catch my breath. Fighting my way to the surface just long enough to convince myself that I’m really okay…because if I know anything about me, it is that I am strong, I am a ‘get-er done’ kinda girl!! I can kick anything’s ass!! HA!! TAKE THAT!! But about halfway through week two, I found myself running out of things to take hold of, as this remained relentless. This pain, this bouncing between a constant autoimmune flare up, which causes a weakened immune system, still navigating recovery from hand surgery, feeling depressed and overwhelmed, then guilty for feeling overwhelmed when I know other people have it so much worse. And feeling like I know better than to let this get the best of me!! I have dealt with this for a really long time, since 2003, in fact, so I should have all the needed skills by now. But I haven’t had to do it to this degree, every single day without a break, and the energy it takes is incredible. 

I feel it as soon as my body starts to wake up in the morning, the weight of liquid lead moving through me, languid and hot, wrapping first around my neck and shoulders and then into my joints, muscles and through my limbs. The weight of it is enormous, making it a challenge to climb out of bed, to hold up my head. The nerve endings in my body feel like they have all turned inside out, even making my skin tender to the touch. The mundane necessities of living become chores I must do with intention, like walking, which feels like carrying quicksand over the tops of my feet, where neuropathy thrives and bones often feel fragile and as though they will shatter when they hit the floor. Going up and down the stairs requires holding not even as much as a cup of coffee, only the handrails on both sides, sometimes leaning over and using the actual steps to help get me to the top. The idea of wrapping my hand around the refrigerator door handle to pull it open, and the pain that will ensue in my swollen hands, is something I have to prepare myself for every time. Lowering myself to get in my car or, TMI, even onto the toilet, is often excruciating because of the sluggishness in my glutes and thighs. I’m not sure why it settles more deeply in certain areas and lies listlessly in the rest, but once it’s here, it never let’s me forget it’s my annoying constant companion, like a devil on my shoulder, but not as much fun. While all of this is happening it signals my body as a threat and everything implodes. Daily pain and side effects that I routinely live with get ramped up, and recovery from anything becomes more complex, like the common cold I am also currently fighting. Due to my connective tissue disorder, my insides collapsed in 2014, requiring reconstruction with mesh, and any remaining issues with that also have become agitated. Between the pain, the shrill headaches, the unexplained tremors, the fierce severity of it all, it’s been taking its toll. Throw into the mix a healthy case of pandemic loneliness, some upheaval with a few personal relationships, and I find myself feeling emotionally and physically vulnerable.

I don’t deal with life by way of denial, except for those times I really need it, and I just kept thinking, this will pass. It always does. Until it didn’t. I kept waking up feeling like shit, not just sometimes like it was before, but every day, exhausted, hurting and having to plan around it, not sure how I would progress. An amazing beach trip and a social distanced birthday celebration helped lift my spirits, but did little to relieve this mass denseness I’m carrying. Sleep has eluded me, and recently, new unexplained symptoms are rearing their ugly head, leaving me to feel helpless. Scared. Hopeless. I have had no energy for anything but this, yet, strangely, like burning embers inside of me, something was whispering to me that I needed to speak up and write about it. I needed to give life and acknowledgement to someone else’s pain. I was at a loss as to how I would organize my foggy thoughts and most afraid that if I gave it a voice, if I shared this, it would consume me. That I would be swallowed whole in this excruciating vortex of ugliness, weakness and inexplicable, constant heaviness. 

For those of us who deal with any kind of chronic illness there are times when we wonder if our last good day was the last good day we will ever have. And if this is the most we have to look forward to, we wonder how we will ever do it. We’re beyond depleted. I never say why me, but I have questioned if my resilience will outlast the uncertainty of what this disease will bring, like flaming batons constantly being thrown at my body, that I have to catch so I don’t ignite and burn to dust. The sensations moving through me are so visceral that oftentimes I feel my life expectancy is being stripped away from me a little at a time.

This isn’t unbearable. I bear it. It’s just the most difficult thing I do in my life and it takes up more space in my head and time in my life than any other thing. 

And I know, this sounds bad. Depressing. It is. But stay with me, I have a point here, because this has been a catalyst for me…

More than anything else, this illness, layered with its insidious effects, has taught me to listen. It has gifted me with the knowledge that my entire being is equipped to tell me everything I need to know. I am a firm believer in surrender, but in this one area that has been very difficult for me. I’ve been resistant to the limitations that have asked me to slow down, accept help and the idea of progressively getting worse, perhaps dying. I don’t want to be the sick girl. I want to be the strong, empowered, self-reliant, independent woman that I know I am. But in order to connect with that part of myself I must be willing to accept every aspect of what makes me who I am. I continue learning to relinquish control and reach inward, connecting to not only what is living in my body, but to my intuition, my emotional responses, and mostly to my pain, not as an invader, but as an ally I can draw closer and glean knowledge from. Ironically, my limitations feed my strength, and as those pieces of me work together, we create a sense of understanding, build and nurture a relationship of trust so I can navigate the very tricky business of knowing when to push myself and when to rest, when to do things that are difficult and when to step back and let someone assist me. Over the years this has been a tightrope of finding balance between powering through and knowing when enough is enough. I often feel like I have no choice but to stay there, walking from end to end and back, moving with grace, determination, and steadiness as I embrace this offering placed before me. If I stumble there is no net to catch me, other than my own belief in what I know I can do. I think perhaps in life that is all any of us have. We take leaps without a net, we fall many times to eventually learn that we are the reason we get back up again and again. To find ourselves soaring. Thriving. Being okay in a world that is not okay. Or in a body that is not okay. 

Like usual, with this flare up, I kept plowing through, but I told no one, not really, about what else was going on, how this has upended me, sent me into an identity crisis that is confusing me. Making me doubt the very essence of who I am, sucking the life from my motivation and usual ‘go get it’ attitude. It is ruthless, daunting, unforgiving and has been so completely foreign in its constancy that I really didn’t know what to do. It has made me withdraw, feel like I have little to offer, become afraid to reach out and even be a bit mean at times. I was empty. We’d go out and I’d feel uneasy or unsure of myself. I’d find it difficult to make conversation and I’d be very aware of my perceived inequities, like my recently amputated finger. It was as though the illness became me, this second skin and all my demons reveled in the darkness there. That’s not like me at all. Anyone who knows me knows that I am very confident and comfortable with who I am. I’ve done the work. With time and listening I recognized this emotion as shame and that is something I have been intimate friends with and continue to work on because I refuse to claim it as my own when it is not.

It also helped me recognize how much we need to talk about this.

From the feedback I have received over the years, I believe society needs awareness and conversations that encourage true understanding and a safe space to express our fears, experiences and especially victories, making this part of the norm and not something to be hidden in the shadows. As you can tell there are many layers to chronic illness, not just the disease itself.

We are far deeper and more complex than one thing that is happening to us. We are a beautiful combination of all the light and the dark, the limitations and the power, the circumstances that chip away at our identity, and those battles that reveal us as warriors! We are able to harness the energy from everything that is given us and wear it proudly, not just as survivors but as people who thrive in a world with color, life and magic! I Am The Sick Girl. I am also the social butterfly. The dancing queen and the woman who cannot bear weight on her feet. The woman who loves and lives with passion, and the woman who has shattered and rebuilt herself. The girl who gets giddy about simple things. The woman who believes deeply in love and romance. I am both girl and woman, sensitive and frightened, compassionate and struggling, joyful and depressed, broken and kind. I am light, magic and beauty, because that is how I choose to see the world. Mostly I am grateful. For every experience, every emotion, every fiber of life that is woven through my soul to make me who I am. 

This has taken me weeks to talk about, and finally, finally I am turning a corner, and the words just came. And with everything in me I am here to tell anyone out there who is struggling that I see you. I hear you. You are whole, even under the weight of your despondency. It is in the sharing that we see our collective humanity, as we shine a light on our humanness, suffering and our frailties. There are fewer things more empowering in this world than bringing our perceived brokenness to the forefront not to say I am bad, I am shamed or I am damaged, but to say, I Am Here, vulnerable, uncertain and scared, in the abyss of my own suffering, and I recognize you, out there, doing the same. My vow to you is this…

You are not and will never be alone in this world as long as I have a voice.