Shirking Responsibility

Content Warning – depression
*** I am not writing this looking for sympathy or advice. I am sharing what is real for me right now. Even though I like to think I have my sh!t together, I get down sometimes, too. I am working with a professional counselor. If you are feeling depressed or anxious, I encourage you to find support as well. ***

Depression sucks. It sucks the motivation out of you, and will, and desire…

I’m writing this on Monday evening. This morning, I woke up, and took my medication as usual, and put on my meditation music, which is 40 minutes long. And then I let it play another one. And another. That’s right, two hours of essentially hitting a really long snooze button.

Except I wasn’t sleeping. I was wrestling with my mind. I felt like a boulder had settled on my chest and stomach, and I did not want to get up. Scratch that. I couldn’t get up.

My mind argued that I had work. I had responsibilities.

I wanted to throw up. Or cry. Or slip back into unconsciousness.

I am extremely blessed to have sick time through my job. And a manager that respects mental health as worthy of using said sick time. So after an hour of mental wrestling, I messaged him, and went back to bed.

I slept (fitfully) for another three hours. When I finally got up, I felt like I was moving through jello. I cancelled my class that I was supposed to teach. I took a nap.

I also took the advice of my counselor – to just be with the emotion, rather than get into my head and analyze it or put words to it. Several times throughout the day my mind started to try to figure out why I was depressed. And I told it to f**k off. I told my body I appreciate and love it, and settled into being present, giving myself permission to shirk all responsibility.

That in itself was REALLY difficult for me. I have always been the responsible one, the one who gets things done. I often push through whatever I am feeling, putting a happy face on and carrying on.

Well, today (or yesterday, as you are reading this), I couldn’t. The mask was broken and didn’t fit, and I didn’t want to put it on anyway. I listened to my heart, which asked me to hold it, and be.

I don’t know what tomorrow will be like. Perhaps responsibility will win, and I will shoulder my duties like Atlas once more. Or perhaps, my body and my heart will feel valued and heard, and they can let mind do some of the driving again.

I do know that honoring my feelings has helped me feel at least a little better.

Blessings,
Mary