I have been depressed…well, I think that’s what you call it. I have felt unmotivated to write, uninterested in finding a job, failing to eat right, or care for my home. I have detached myself from my family and opted for time alone.
Then this morning I woke up at 4:30am, as I do sometimes, and I simply starred into the blackness of the room. Rather than overthink and brood (like I do so well), I just breathed in and out and allowed myself to shed myself of all the noise, the guilt, and the feelings of inadequacies that stirred within.
As I did this I tried something. I let the darkness speak back to me.
With gentle, loving firmness it said:
I see you running around in life, chattering away in your head, trying to make something of this little existence of yours.
“Ta da!” you say. “Look at me. I’m a writer!”
“Ta-da! Look at me I’m a good mom!”
“Look how lovable I am!”
But it feels empty doesn’t it? Because these labels, these actions are less about You as a human being and more about what you want people to think of you.
“I am a woman who writes good novels”
“I am a woman who organizes events”
“I am a woman who makes people happy”
or on the flip side what you tell yourself when you’re alone….
“I am needy”
“I am a disaster”
“I am mentally ill”
…and on and on and on…
These definitions are you if you choose, but really, if you ask me? I think you’re just using these labels as a disguise for the real wonderful YOU that you are.
Be depressed if that is what you want. This is your choice but recognize that darkness is only what you make it. Perhaps this “bad” feeling you have is simply the sadness of letting go—letting go of who you think you should be.
Depression is about fear, but I know you, you’re not really afraid, not deep inside. Inside you know the Truth of who you are. Depression is just another mask you wear.
Picture this—Imagine those marvelous little selves that you have created, each a beautiful work of art. Imagine all these versions of “you” hanging as paintings in a gallery, on the walls of a museum. You’ve got one titled “Mom”, one titled “Writer” one titled “Fun loving”, one titled “Clever” Look how nicely you’ve treated these images your whole life, with their nice golden frames, so perfectly placed for everyone to see.
But think of this, maybe they are not You. They are likenesses, merely facsimiles of you. The truth of it is that your “you-ness” is constantly changing, a moving target. You will never be the image on the wall, not really anyway, and the more you try to preserve yourself as those exact paintings you will fail, because those pictures are static and you, my dear, are not.
So now, as you stand there in front of your masterpieces, imagine yourself, one by one pulling them off the walls, as aggressively as you’d like. Imagine even, if you’d like, splitting each of them over your knee, sending an echoing crack through the museum.
And when you are done, settle yourself on the floor around the broken frames, the torn canvases, the paintings you called “you”.
And as you sit there, looking at the mess, let yourself feel sad. Feel that loss, that realization that maybe you’re not really who you said you are. Maybe you never even were. And as you look at the debris let these words come to you:
“Without those paintings I am nothing,”
Pause for that for a second and say it again: “I am nothing.”
It feels scary, maybe?
BUT What if…just what if… in that nothingness you are in fact everything…an absolute duality of all and nothing. What if as you shed these “supposed to be’s” you become simply YOU.
Look around at how beautiful and broken you are: a glorious, glowing fragment of all that there is.
Yes, you are mom, you are writer, you are friend, you are fun and clever but you are those things not because someone told you that’s what you are, you are those things because it reflects your essence, your Truth. In the end people don’t care about the “ta-da” they care about You.
Don’t be afraid to be nothing…because out of the rumble of emptiness comes beautiful, glorious You.
You are not depressed my dear, just walking the path of continually letting go.