Depression, the Good Scar

A recent conversation with someone who is struggling to understand a loved one with debilitating depression brought out some old memories for me. I haven’t experienced a depressive episode in 15 years, but it still feels fresh when I speak to someone who is going through something similar.

Like an old scar, healed but never completely forgotten.

I feel overwhelming sadness & empathy for the person in pain & it’s pretty much a guaranteed ugly cry if no one is around. But one thing I don’t feel anymore is paralyzing fear.

As early as I can remember, fear was a hovering shadow always waiting to pounce. I had nightmares no innocent child should have had, anxiety attacks over totally illogical things, irrational reactions to leaving my parents for the night. My parents began homeschooling me in 2nd grade because the school counselor said I “couldn’t cope like normal children.” I missed my 8th grade trip to Washington DC because I couldn’t spend the night away from my parents. When I was 16, my dad had to drive 2hrs to pick me up from Presidential Classroom because I had a full-blown panic attack. He had to pick me up again my first night as a freshman in college & I spent the next few weeks on suicide watch.

Now this would all make sense if I had experienced a traumatic childhood, but I didn’t. I had a wonderful upbringing, full of unconditional love, faith & security.

But that’s how it is with chronic depression, there isn’t always a reason or a trigger.

This makes it very difficult for us & our loved ones to understand, because if there’s no cause, how can there be a solution? It wasn’t until my early ’20s that I discovered the pattern that was causing my depression. Behind every moment of true despair or panic was an overwhelming sense of fear — fear that my parents might die, fear that I might have a panic attack in front of my friends, fear that I might not be as talented as I thought, fear that my boyfriend might see me as emotionally weak, fear that my heart might actually explode with the sadness throbbing inside me.

Something happened when I recognized this pattern. It wasn’t overnight & I can’t remember an exact eureka moment, but there is a firm line that divides my life — when I was ruled by fear vs. when I acknowledged the very simple truth that the things I fear most are beyond my control. And if they’re beyond my control, what’s the point of worrying about them? So I concentrate on what I DO have control over.

I choose to be happy every day that I wake up. I choose to bring joy to those around me. I choose to do what’s uncomfortable or scary, to get past my fears. I choose to be the kind of sister/spouse/daughter/aunt/boss…that people can be proud of.

There are moments when that old fear starts creeping back, often unexpectedly. I might be driving in my car listening to a song & have to pull over because I’m crying so hard I can’t see. Or I might be watching the Sunday Morning CBS show & fall apart when a beautiful story reminds me that life is preciously finite. But I always combat it with this mantra: if it’s out of my hands, let it go. There’s nothing new or profound about this logic. We see it often enough as bumper stickers saying “Let Go, Let God.” But truly accepting this wisdom has made all the difference in the world for me.

That scar may always be there, but it’s a good scar — it reminds me that I can CHOOSE joy & what the consequences are if I don’t.