New York Times Bestselling Author
When I was in my 20s, I went to a psychic with a casual friend who was a frequenter of all things mystic. My friend said: This is the best psychic I’ve ever been to! She knows EVERYTHING! You have to talk to her too.
I didn’t want to talk to her, because 1) I didn’t believe in it, and 2) I was broke and the psychic was like $75, which was a fortune to me then. But my friend finally talked me into it (margaritas had something to do with it, as I recall) and here is how it went.
I’ve had several people reach out to ask if I’m okay and why I haven’t been putting my Friday Mental Health Check-Ins up for several weeks. I tried and tried to figure out an answer that doesn’t sound awful, but as usual, I have to go with the truth: I’ve been feeling like a fraud.
Who am I to offer advice and help on mental health when I have so many days where just getting out of bed is so very, very hard? I should shut up and go back to the fetal position on the couch and let other, smarter, more qualified people talk about this stuff. Or, at least, that’s what my depression is telling me.
I’ve had so many hundreds of people talk to me about their depression and what they’re suffering, and how they’re afraid to go public with it, that I thought it was time to republish my “coming out” blog when I told the world that I suffer from depression. It was scary as hell to do, and humiliating — I had to admit that I’m not Superwoman — but I’m so much better off for having done it. The support and encouragement from everyone in the writing and reading communities has been amazing. I think, perhaps, that coming forward may have saved my life. Here it is:
Friday Mental Health Check In: (and please share this post with everyone; it’s so important!)
Today I want to talk about the issue of naysayers. Mental health deniers. The Tom Cruise “post-partum depression doesn’t exist” kind of thing. The neighbor who tells you that meds are bad and she was sad once but sniffing tulips while singing about sunshine cured her.
This can be a serious problem; it can crush us. But it’s worse–FAR, FAR WORSE — when the person doing the naysaying is OUR OWN DOCTOR.
Okay, in spite of a crippling fear of water, thanks to my Dad’s throwing me in a lake to ‘teach me how to swim’ when I was a kid (I did not learn; I did not float; I kept plummeting to the bottom…), I’m finally FINALLY going to learn to swim. Because it’s my year of COURAGE and I’m going to be brave as fuck.
Just called and set up the lessons for June 12-23 and I’m hyperventilating just from the phone call (with the “head of aquatics” who sounded 12), but here we go.
Friday Mental Health Check In: How is everyone this week?
I realized I have the “My baby is going to college” blues, but then College Ninja decided to live at home and commute to his college classes this year, so I won’t be totally an empty nester. Yay! I’m also avoiding the doctor, because I think I’m going to hear some bad news. Which is a Bad Thing to do, I know.
Damn. Okay, I’ll call her now, because I’m a crap role model on battling depression if I avoid doctors. See? You helped me and you didn’t even have to say anything!!
Conquering fear…
One of the worst things about depression is that it makes us afraid. Afraid of stepping outside our comfort zone, afraid of trying new things, afraid of stepping into the world and experiencing it fully–with adventures and anticipation and joy.
So today I’m going to begin to tackle one of my lifelong fears: I don’t know how to swim, because I’m afraid of the water. Wow. That is so embarrassing to admit, especially since we always live near the ocean. But my horrible father did the “throw her in the deep end–of a LAKE–and she’ll figure out how to swim” thing when I was really small, and I nearly drowned. He kept thinking I’d pop up.
