Honouring those at Stage IIII - Depression

Today's Sunday Sentence

Whenever someone sorrows, I do not say, "forget it," or "it will pass," or "it could be worse" - all of which deny the integrity of the painful experience. But I say, to the contrary, "It is worse than you may allow yourself to think. Delve into the depth. Stay with the feeling. Think of it as a precious source of knowledge and guidance. Then and only then will you be ready to face it and be transformed in the process."

-Peter Koestenbaum, Philosopher

S.A.D.

Have you ever heard of S.A.D? It stands for Seasonal Affective Disorder, which is commonly known as winter blues.

I first heard the term about 15 years ago when my GP (General Practitioner), aka doctor, diagnosed me as a sufferer. I thought it was totally ridiculous and never took it seriously. Ever.

Yet with the onset of each winter I seem to have a recurring set of symptoms; chronic fatigue, heightened anxiety and a feeling that resembles an elephant sitting on my chest.

Occasionally there's some relief when the sun breaks through the clouds (or I get to do a Bollywood class), but generally the mood is grey and glum.

How long can I continue to turn a blind eye?

Would finally acknowledging this as an actual condition, and take measures to manage it, be better than burying my head in the sand - or more accurately, my pillow?

My husband suggested I take a flight north and get some sun. I am considering it.

Until tomorrow, if something persists - take notice.

Grace xx

My Light at the End of My Tunnel

Sounds like a classic book-come-movie title doesn't it? The looming sense of drama made only bearable by the glimmering hope of it all ending well.

Are we driven by the prospect of a happy ending? Is that what keeps us going, despite the crap that keeps flying at us? Is this an intrinsic human survival mechanism that keeps us from being extinct?

In 1997, I resembled Jamal in 'Slumdog Millionaire' after he took a dive in the sewer in order to get his Bollywood idol's autograph - I was covered in sh*t. Not literally, but metaphorically, I was up to my eyeballs in it.

I was studying wine marketing full time at university (fun but fraught with danger of 'overdoing it' in the tasting department). I held three jobs. I was learning to be an announcer and disc jockey (I love that word) at a local community radio station. I was hosting professional wine master classes twice a month. I partied every weekend operating on two hours sleep. I had recently separated from a five year relationship and in the shaky beginnings of a new one. And to top it all off, a very close and beloved family member was diagnosed with terminal, inoperable cancer.

I collapsed.

After several visits to my doctor complaining of extended PMS (pre menstrual syndrome for readers who haven't come into contact with it - lucky you) I was given the diagnosis: clinical depression.

What followed was months and months (and months) of a terrible battle, which took place at the bottom of my emotional cesspit. I refer to this period as my 'Dark Ages'. Even now those days merge into one murky memory that's best described as sludge. While I cannot be clear on what happened when or with whom, I do remember one thing - my light at the end of my tunnel.

My light was someone very close to me and my family who suffered a mental illness. I have vague memories of this jolly giant whom I looked up to with awe and pure love. I was always greeted with surprise lollies (candy), which my little hands would dig out of a deep pocket.

When I was five, something horrible happened; that beautiful light was extinguished. What's worse, is that their warming glow was taken from us by their own hand. Even at such a young age I could feel the tragic sense of loss. The impact and devastation was clear, it was palpable.

In my darkest hours (there were many of them), I would remember my wonderful jolly giant - my light at the end of my tunnel. If I couldn't go on for me, then I had to go on for someone other than me. I had to create a purpose greater than myself that made it worth the effort to keep going. I could not allow my loved one's flame to be extinguished in vain. And so, despite my compromised mental state, I deemed that my life was worth saving for theirs.

Whether we care to admit it or not, most of us like real-life happy endings. Perhaps it's a reminder to us all that no matter what challenges we face, we can rise above adversity. Searching for a light at the end of the tunnel is the hope we seek to make our trials and tribulations endurable and worthwhile. So if you are (or someone you know is) having a dark moment - ask yourself, who is the light at the end your tunnel?

Until tomorrow, may your light continue to shine.

Grace xx

My life as a boat

Today I was a tourist in my own backyard.

I spent the day with my gran in-law, who is visiting from Adelaide. We headed for the coast and our only plan was to let the day unfold before us.

The journey took us to the Bellarine Peninsula, south west of Melbourne. It's a place often bypassed by eager tourists (myself included) rushing towards the Great Ocean Road.

The day was perfect. Brilliant blue sky, water like glass and golden beaches that twinkled in the sun. It was heaven.

I brought my camera to snap a few memoirs, when I came across this boat (pictured above).

The image took my breath away. This small vessel bobbing on the water reminds me of us, our human experience... and a story I often tell myself.

We are birthed (or should I say berthed?), and our great voyage begins.

As we sail through life, we experience the full spectrum of what it is to be alive. The grey dull days and wild tumultuous storms soon make way for blissfully calm moments, where life is beautiful and time stands still.

When we find ourselves in the midst of a tempest, we have to remind ourselves that it is transient. Hold on. The clouds will part and the sun will shine. In the meantime, ride the waves and weather the storm.

This is something I came to repeat many times over when I encountered my own 'Groundhog Day'. I felt stuck in the treacherous Cape Horn, whose notoriously hazardous waters are dubbed to be a sailors' graveyard. My little boat metaphor became my mantra to keep Mr. Grim Reaper at bay.

And you know what? The skies did clear, and the waves did calm. As a result, I have become a better sailor and skilful navigator. I manage to dodge more storms today than when I was first at the helm and with each new day, I become wiser.

And another thing...

I learned that no matter how dinged up we get along the way, there's always a safe harbour we can pull into. Our holes can be plugged, the damage repaired and the weaknesses reinforced.

I've also come to the realisation that Project Grace 2010 is such a harbour. Maintenance and repair work is currently underway in preparation to celebrate 40 years sailing.

Until tomorrow... may you sail safely, avoid the storms and take time to explore your own backyard.

Grace xx

PS. I'm particularly touched by this post as I (and a number of people I love) have been directly impacted by depression. There are many worldwide initiatives to help people deal with this debilitating condition. Whilst my 'little boat on the seas' metaphor was (and is) a valuable self-coaching technique, it was not the only means that got me through. There are many safe harbours out there so please seek them, reach out and take time to heal.