Pinpoints of light in the dark

       I've battled/ experienced/ suffered/ overcome...whatever we call it, had depression.  For years. As a friend said, "Depression becomes a dance partner that never wants to stop."  It's exhausting. 

     I take drugs. Antidepressants, to be specific.  It took me a long time to accept that I need drugs. And the decision, forced by doctors wiser than I was, probably saved my life.  

Depression for me was a long, slow slide starting with mild childhood winter moods. Then a postpartum  depression which didn't quite go away before some seasonal blues added to the chemical rut in my brain.  A rut that with each season or trauma, or the next postpartum episode added to the years in a location with overcast winters- each small depression added to that rut, that grove that got deeper and deeper in my brain.  The normal brain chemicals weren't able to fill in that gap and eventually my brain ceased working well enough to keep my emotional equalibrium.  I wasn't admitted to the psych unit because I lied on my initial evaluation. I said I didn't have a suicide plan. I did. 

     I'm so grateful for the intervention and the following years of medication adjustments and counseling. Vitamins and supplements aided in improving my sleep and helped my physical health.  When my husband died, the lessons from depression  gave me tools to grieve in a healthy way. I learned to sit quietly and be content with my God.  Writing opened my heart to my thoughts and emotions and gave me a new community.  

So I thought I had most of the lessons behind me. Until this fall. This month. Suddenly all my self-knowledge and intellectual understanding failed me. Again.  The details of the last few weeks still embarrass me.  I've added a new drug, I cancelled Thanksgiving at my house- who knew that was possible. And I'm going south for some sunshine and fun with my sister and her daughters.  And I wouldn't have done any of that if she hadn't stepped in and insisted I stop the crazies and do what I needed to do. For me. 

     That's tough. For many of us. We are caretakers, pillars of the church,  civic volunteers, mothers and daughters.  We don't bail on major holidays, not cook the turkey. Fortunately no one is flying in or I suspect I would be cooking. But my family has been supportive- perhaps, not totally understanding but I don't understand this ambush from my brain either.  

So the irony of my recent blogs with lofty words of seeing beauty and finding jpy in the small things  has not been lost on me.  Right now I see through a fog of numb and fatigue.  But I stand by my own advice and will continue to look, even when that looking is through duller eyes. 

      And here are a few of my small, beautiful things this week.

The window to my world


Followed by favorite things on the window sill.

 Or on the counter, catching the sun's rays.

I love these winter pillows- I just love textiles in general. Beauty you can touch.  Months ago I wandered into a fiber show- I don't knit or crochet but these soft balls inspire my creativity just by being in my space.

Then a glimpse into a bath.  This warm room gave me a needed jolt of homey beauty this week. "I love that space," I told myself.  Good self talk.

So my blessings on your week of preparation for our national holy day of gratitude. Feel free to buy a cooked turkey at your local grocery.  Run away, if only for a walk in sunshine before the pie.  Be kind to yourself.  Turns out the world doesn't end if you do. 

And watch for the surprises of small beauty.