This morning, I got hit by a rogue wave in Panama. Metaphorically speaking.
I’m in one of the most beautiful places on earth. Yesterday I snorkelled and watched a reef shark swim five feet below me, all beauty, grace and power. Around it, a kaleidoscope of colourful fish. It felt like I was swimming in a boundless aquarium.
Today, a wave of depression.
I was in the kitchen washing dishes, something I find therapeutic. I noticed a bit of a fruit fly infestation, or at least the Panama version. Then everything seemed to get a little darker, suddenly. Outside, the skies were blue. So, it turned out, was my outlook.
It came on the same day I’m posting about how important it is to look in on your friends, and sharing a tool to help you take a deeper look at what’s going on with them.
The irony is not lost on me.
It shows you how insidious depression and grief can be. Just when you say, “There’s no way it could hit me here. Today.” It does. And it doesn’t always make sense. I don’t try to make sense of it.
It’s when the judge in your head becomes louder than all the beautiful voices surrounding you.
Today the judge was questioning my purpose. Asking if I post for the validation. It had a lot to say. You’re a failure. People are getting tired of hearing from you.
Usually, I can counter it with my sage perspective on things. Today was more difficult. The words I’d normally use to talk back sounded like words I didn’t believe.
It’s not the first time and it certainly won’t be the last. Grief lasts forever. Depression comes in waves. Sometimes it lasts a few hours. Sometimes a few days. It’s been a number of years since it lasted weeks. That last time, it almost took my life.
That’s hard to say on days like today.
I can usually manage it. It’s a storm that shows up. Things get heavier. Small things feel harder to manage. The hard part is how random it can be. I’ve just had two really good, productive weeks. Maybe that’s depression’s way of saying, “Don’t get too comfortable.” The subtle knock on the door that says, “Ready or not, we’re coming in.”
How do I deal with it? Exercise, or at least a walk. Being grateful for the life I have and the gifts and opportunities I’ve been given. I’ve never felt closer to all three of my kids. Maybe not physically, but certainly spiritually. We feel aligned.
I’ve met some beautifully kind people down here. There’s a couple I’ve befriended who live next to my jungle cabin. Kind, wholesome people. They’re grateful for life, and for having met me. I’m grateful for their friendship too.
I know this will pass. I need to acknowledge it, because it’s also a reminder of love that has taken on a different form. It’s the heart and brain reminding me they can feel deprived even when the rest of me feels grateful and fulfilled.
Maybe this is Maddie’s way of reminding me to keep my head up, my heart full, and never take anything for granted.
I wrote this yesterday. This morning I woke up feeling lighter. The wave passed, like they usually do. I’m sharing it anyway, because the day it hits is the day it’s hardest to say out loud.
FAQ
Can you be grateful and depressed at the same time?
Yes. I was both this morning. Gratitude doesn’t switch depression off. Some days they sit in the same room, and I have to make space for both.
Why does depression show up when life is going well?
I don’t know, and I’ve stopped trying to figure it out. I’d just had two of my best weeks in a long time. For me, the randomness is the hardest part.
Does grief ever go away after losing a child?
Not for me. It’s been more than eleven years since Maddie died. Grief has changed shape, and some days it’s quieter. It hasn’t left.
What helps you when a wave of depression hits?
A walk, even a short one. Writing down what I’m grateful for. Talking to people who know me. This is what works for me. It isn’t medical advice, and your doctor can help you find what works for you.
When should someone get help?
If it’s lasting longer than usual, if it’s getting in the way of daily life, or if you have thoughts of not wanting to be here, talk to your doctor or call or text 988 (Canada and US). You don’t need to wait until it’s a crisis.
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7 Things I’d Tell a Parent in the First Years After Losing a Child
What I learned about grief having no schedule, and why some of it comes out as anger.
I Wish Maddie Could Read the Messages I Receive
The messages strangers send me, and what they say about who people reach out to first.
