She Knows Best
Sunday started in the shape of perfection. I awoke sans alarm at 5:45 and without the blanket of slumber lingering behind my eyes. I am not a morning person, and sometimes I can’t rid myself of that sleepy feeling. Not yesterday. I rose to sunlight softly streaming in through sheer orange curtains, the shade intentionally left up the night before for this exact effect, Huey Lewis staring at me intently from the floor, willing me awake. Feed me. Feeling no need to talk myself into starting my day, I almost immediately got out of bed. Oh, and I remembered I had filled my kettle with water AND cleaned out my French Press last night. Making coffee would be a cinch. These simple pleasures are so clutch.
But the best part. My third eye was undetectable. No pressure. Zero throbbing.
Two years ago, I made the decision to go back on an antidepressant. I’d wrestled with the idea for years, but always landed on “no, I can fight this off without meds” until a (nother) psychosomatic deterioration told me an SSRI might be the key. Along with taking a daily pill, I experimented with a few other tactics and became a born-again pothead while adding a more consistent yoga practice to my fitness regimen. Within a few months, this magical trifecta did bring my mental health back to a more manageable baseline.
Success!
No, not quite. One can never fully recover from anxiety and depression or any mental health issue really. We can, however, abate the worst of our symptoms and maintain a functioning and happy head space using a bevy of strategies. Thankfully, THANKFULLY, since I added Lexapro to my long list of techniques, my depression or anxiety does not rage chronically as it once did, plaguing me for weeks and even months (eff you, anxiety). Still, they can hit me hard for days at a time.
My symptoms started last Tuesday, but hit their full potential upon waking on Saturday. I struggled with an unshakable malaise, heart heavy, third eye emotionally tender. This intangible nagging between my eyes is the easiest “tell” that my head space is off, be it with irritability, anger, or sadness. Saturday it was the latter, a culmination of hormones, the countdown to my limited days left in Colorado, lots of transitional stress, and a husband who has been working abroad for the last three weeks. Oh, and a very dear friend lost her beloved kittie the night before. Gah! It’s been a lot! (Side note. In 2018, I was in the middle of a mental health crisis, and Mesh was afraid to leave me for a three day work trip. He had to postpone it; I couldn’t be left alone for that long. Seven years later, how I’ve grown to love my own company and revel in my alone time, but three weeks without Mesh has proven to be too long.)
Anyway, Saturday…
Most of us may be familiar with, unfortunately, how such intense feelings can stymie plans. They sure stunted mine. I lingered in bed until close to noon, guilty about all the things I should be doing instead. Protesting. Writing. Working out. I sure have the tendency toward perseveration, and Saturday had the potential to be lost in this loop of sorrow and regret, but I fought it off and channeled that wise forty-three year old woman I sometimes pose as. While it took me several hours, eventually I was able to switch my narrative to ask myself NOT what I should be doing, but what were my brain and body asking me to do. What did they both need?
I decided Saturday would be a success if I could brush my teeth and change my clothes, take Huey Lewis for a short but necessary walk, and finish the book I’d been reading all week. Closing Junie (4 Stars) in my favorite yet fleeting (GAH) reading spot on the front porch later that evening, I felt like I had done something with my day rather than wallow. And this was a first for me. Seriously. What a huge lesson in how I need to treat myself-this person I love- on those rough days. There will be more of these for sure! So more new learning for me. When I’m not feeling my best, I need to be as gentle and nurturing to myself as I would to a loved one. I think this all goes along with my nascent realization that I finally love myself.
Less than twenty-four hours later, Sunday morning’s perfection was rounded out with a late morning backyard yoga session to celebrate a dear friend’s birthday. It had been far too long since I’ve been on my mat in a proper class (maybe that has been contributing to my duress) and it was a welcome return. I randomly drew from our instructor’s Oracle deck before starting and pulled the “Self Love” card. Keeping that at the front of my mat, I got lost in the deep breaths in and, especially, out (let that shit GO) the flow of poses, and the deep stretch from holding specific ones, all the while letting the instructor’s theme wash through me. “Listen to and honor your body,” she repeated again and again. “She knows what’s best for us.”
I love a good sign from the universe!
But why am I writing all of this, taking bits and pieces from my journal for use in my blog, exposing me at my most vulnerable. I am no expert, but I am a person with little qualms in sharing my human-ess. (Insert shameless plug for you to read Second Set Chances.) So, if you struggle in any of the ways I do, maybe one, or some, perhaps none, of my own strategies will help you. So, I encourage you to experiment to see what works. But I think no one will disagree with the benefits that come from being a little kinder to the most important person in our lives-ourself.
