One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

I am barely reaching my knees. Most often I take pleasure—and, I admit, great pride—in putting my palms flat on the ground. Today, I am stiff and sore and forgetting to breathe, thoughts indulgently swimming through my mind. There’s no effort here to focus on my breaths. On some level, I’m quite content, because despite the cement hardening around my limbs, I have made it to yoga. 

Unexpectedly, depression has decided to pop in while my 6-year-old is away for part of the holidays. I guess anxiety—whom I thought might drop by for a coffee or two—had other plans, so she’s sent her cousin round instead. And so I spend two rough days in resistant confusion and nothingness.

I’ve been working hard, to not much avail. I turn to some reliable tools and get a little relief but can’t seem to gather any momentum. 

Day three finds me at this morning yoga class.

Afterwards, I am chatting with my friend and teacher, Tammy. (This is a tool in action—dialogue with a human—even though due to my state of mind it feels like skating with my guards still on.) 

She asks when my daughter is coming home and I tell her that I am struggling. 

She listens and begins to share about her own learning—to surrender to whatever comes up. I must interrupt her though to clarify. 

My holidays were nice and simple, I explain. I didn’t overspend, oversocialize, overextend myself. There are no New Year’s resolutions. No pressure here. 

We stare at each other. 

“Nina, I’m talking about when your daughter is away.”

Silence. And then I am laughing in sheer relief. 

Tammy has gently awoken me to my self-imposed pressure: When my kiddo is away, this mama is gonna get shit done. 

I have, in fact, set huge expectations for these eight childless days. I’m going to write tons, catch up on paperwork, yada, yada, yada—the spice drawer will be spotless. 

And so there just isn’t the time for this depression—a resistance as futile as trying to light a candle with a toothpick.

I leave Tammy’s class aware that we are three, not two. Yes, depression is here, but I now know that depression (aka anger/resistance/shame etc., etc.) about the depression is here too. And for me that secondary layer is like a bodyguard to the primary one. If I don’t make friends with the second, I’m never getting access to the first.

Depression about the depression*. Ah, and breath.

This realization is huge for me and I know I can take it from here.

With my momentum from this insight, I call my aunt who is so delightful to chat with. Then it’s a coffee shop where I peruse the magazines despite the laptop and to-do list in my bag. On my way home, I notice there’s Open Mic tonight at the Free Time’s Cafe. I smile, because I know I’m going. Taking the mic will come with a surge of healthy adrenaline, more endorphins in the bank.  

By the next evening, I am writing this to you. 

*My depression about my depression didn’t let me surrender in order to fully focus on getting healthy again. 

Though I was working my way through my tool box, I couldn’t gain traction. For example, after making it outside for a run around the block (humongous achievement), I immediately used those endorphins to open my laptop. "Must seize this chance to work." 

However, my brain's unwillingness to respond and the subsequent gloom quickly overwhelm and bring me back to square one. More hard work gets me to a coffee shop which required a good long walk. I feel better upon arrival. And so I take out my work. More gloom and frustration. One step forward, two steps back.