It's Just a Tough Season...
What constitutes a season? When does it become a year, or a decade, or just life?
The other day I got a text from someone apologizing for a late reply and for the heavy-ish context of her message. This felt a bit ironic to me, as a) nearly all of my messages lately have been heavy, and b) my response time has also become more delayed and less unpredictable than ever before.
This, to me, is real life. The point of texts and emails and voice memos. You read and listen when you can. You respond (if and when you want/are ready) on your own time. You’re not trying to pinpoint exactly when someone is available, and/or has the time and energy not just to chat with you, but to talk in depth about what’s on your mind (or theirs) in the moment that it’s resting there or even just passing through.
Anyway, I saw her apologize, and I responded with:
Listen, I get it. It’s just a tough season.
Followed by “wow, I just realized how many times I’ve said some version of that to other people recently in order to make them feel less uncomfortable about my discomfort.”
I’d like to say this has only been going on for a short while, since I fell, or since I deeply and darkly tried to grab ahold of my slipping mental health, or since my ectopic pregnancy, or even since meningitis, but I’d be telling myself a lie. It’s been like this since the twins died. There’s no way for me to ignore the correlation. I mean, the years prior were hard, infertility was hard, having a preemie in the NICU was hard, struggling again to get pregnant was hard, being emotionally and physically destroyed by our fertility clinic was hard - but it wasn’t until my body betrayed me in this big gigantic way, creating a hole that will never ever close - that I really started turning inward. And while my body was the culprit, the suspect and the offender, the abuser, the failure, being alone felt like the only time I could sit in that space, safely, and manage it in a way that felt right in the moment - whether that was crocodile tears, yelling into a pillow, falling silent, getting lost into IG Reels, or watching the same set of Chicago PD episodes.
Finding safety, or even finding comfort - it became a thing I had to do on my own.
Shoutout to every person who’s depression and trauma was so severe that it caused them to self isolate and unintentionally ignore every aspect of their social life. You aren’t a bad person for recovering and trying to rebuild yourself, it takes years.
I saw this quote on Instagram last night, and it’s the first thing sort of stopped me in my tracks. It explained exactly where I’ve been mentally for the last 3+ years, and why it feels embarrassing and shameful.
I used to consider myself an active extrovert, filling up my cup by supporting, loving on and showing up for friends - but somewhere along the way my ability to do that has disappeared.
For example, I’ll go to send a ‘Hey! How are you?’ text, and then pause, realizing that ultimately the same question will be posed back toward me, and that the only answer I have is one consistent with a ‘Debbie Downer’ persona.
Sometimes I’ll rally a few hours or a few days after hearing from a friend with something like an ‘Oh, I’m okay.’ or an ‘I’m adjusting,’ or even an ‘Oh, you know. It’s been a tough season.’ and those things are all not only typical conversation enders, but it creates an awkward distance in a time where my original intention was to blur the space between myself and someone else, for both of us to feel less alone.
All I want is to for people to feel less alone.
All I want is to feel less alone.
But what do I do? I shy away from reaching out. I don’t send the first text. I don’t try to connect - because I don’t think anyone could possibly want to hear about the most recent, absurdly unfathomable experience I’ve had since we last talked. I don’t want to push people away. I don’t want them to feel like I’ve sucked all of the air out of the room. I don’t want to cause disappointment. I don’t want to lower the mood. I don’t want to be emotionally unavailable to the people that I love.
And I apologize. I apologize for not being upbeat. For the introvert I’ve turned into. I apologize because I care, AND because I can’t just up and change it in this moment.
I’m taking small steps. Steps I likely wouldn’t have felt brave enough to take in the past. I’m doing my god damn best. But it’s still fucking hard. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop apologizing for taking up space, especially when that space is down and out instead up of energetic and cheerful.
And then I’m left to wonder. What does a season mean? Because traditionally, I think of winter or summer, spring or fall. And a year - well, thats simply 365 days. Each of these things are numerically quantifiable, however, my feelings… we’ll, they’re not. Today I can say that I’ve been mentally caught in a place I haven’t wanted to be in since August, 2021. But there were definitely previous chapters where it ebbed and flowed. There were good years and great times from 2018-2021, but before that there were a couple of really hard ones. And I think I can follow that pattern backward as long as I can remember.
So, when I say it’s been a tough season, just know that I’m trying to make it easier for you. Less uncomfortable for you. Maybe just… let it go. Know that I dont want to stay here, in this place, and also I’ve tried every magic box and combination for escape without yet finding success. Ketamine is helping. Therapy is always a good tool. Medication is critical. And yet… I still live here. In a body that betrays me. In a brain that I can’t always control.
I’m not so good at giving grace to myself like I give it to others, and I know that has to relate to other people too. So, if you’re chronically hard on yourself, if you fee like life has been unfair or painful or unjust - please know you’re not alone. And you’re always welcome to come sit in the quiet or in the dark with me.