Sadness, Interrupted
Am I cured? No.
Will sadness reappear? Probably.
But I’ve had new thoughts. I’ve tried them on and they fit nicely. Cozily. Comfily. If they came once, they can come again.
My parents were broken people. Especially my mom. No, she didn’t know better. No, it wasn’t all well-intentioned. Sometimes it was all about her. That’s all she could muster. Close that door.
My children aren’t my happiness. I realize that sounds shocking, but hear me out. They are for sure the greatest joy of my life. They transformed me. I love them beyond measure. They are truly the best thing that happened in my life and I hope to always have them in my life. But I will respectfully and lovingly let them live their lives, make their own decisions, make their own way. I will learn to release them from my expectations. I will not shackle them to my hope.
I make my own happiness. I work on tough shit. I am imperfect. People will judge me. People will come and go. Through it all, I will make my own happiness. I will adapt and I will pivot and I will find the joy of the moments in front of me. I will pick my people. If there aren’t any, I will pick me. Most of all, I will stop judging me. I will give myself grace.
I am learning to peel the layers to what really makes me happy. Sometimes that will mean imperfection. Over time, there will be less buffering and frantic doing. I will ask more whys.
I am lovable. I love every little girl in me who dealt with crap she didn’t understand. Who was given more than she could or should have handled. She still did it with grace. I love every teenager, young woman, and young mom in me who put up imperfect boundaries, fought, struggled, kept her sadness inside, blamed herself, thought it was her. It wasn’t always. She was strong. She got back up. She took the punches in the best ways she knew how. I admire her, I applaud her, I love her. I embrace all parts of her. I release her from guilt and shame.
I honor the older me who is getting her life back on track. Who got her health back, who stepped away from a career that was eating her up, who is digging deep, who is learning how to ask for what she needs. She is growing. She is doing it for all of us and she is helping us heal.
I am ready to be subtractive in my expectations. I will let go, relinquish control, let others take the baton. What I don’t feel personally enriched by, if no one else does either, I will drop. It will be less frantic. It will be calmer.
I will learn how to show up authentically. Not based on what I think reactions will be. Not based on longing to be approved. It may come at a cost. We’ll see. I will feel better in my skin.
If others need to step away to advocate for themselves, I will respect them, support them, admire them. Boundaries are good. They don’t owe anyone anything. They may need to deal with tradeoffs, impacts, and repercussions. But it’s all their choice, their lives. And it will be my gift to them that no repercussion will be because of me.
On the days my teeth clench and I fold over myself in fear, I will know I’m being forged by fire and will come out a little closer to God at the other end.
When I’m sad about what I’ve lost, I’ll remind myself we erode memories when we try to replicate them. They are meant to be treasured, not cloned. That by staying stuck in past moments we rob the future of new ones we’ve never imagined. We rob the future of trust. We rob the past of its brilliance. And we rob today of gratitude.
I wonder if sadness is gratitude we’ve twisted into melancholy. Or expectations we’ve never let go of. I will help the inner me’s hold the gifts and graces of the past with lightness and thanks. Not in a stronghold, but as harbingers of a future of new possibilities. Or when all seems dark, as comfort until dawn.
Note: In no way do I want to make light of or suggest depression is a matter of changing perspective. Depression requires multi-pronged strategies and the care of professionals. If you are reading this and are suffering depression alone, please reach out to a mental health professional for help. It’s not you.