Have you ever heard the phrase, “You never know what someone
else is going through. Be kind. Always.” That is truly now my mantra. You have
no idea what is going on with anyone else. And, I am probably a poster child
for that. For as prolific as I’ve been in the past documenting my kids’
milestones, funny stories, and even challenges in parenting, turns out I am
actually intensely private when it comes to the deep stuff. The stuff that
makes you vulnerable. The stuff that makes you real. That I kept hidden deep
inside and didn’t share with anyone.
So, here goes: I am divorced. That is literally the first
time I’ve typed that out. But, it’s my truth. I know a lot of people were
shocked when I told them that it was happening. People tried to convince me to
do something different. To try something to fix my marriage. They admitted that
they wished we would get back together. To them it was a shock, and they
couldn’t wrap their minds around it. But for me, it was the last step in a
years-long process of introspection, work, depression, despair, sadness, and
ultimately acceptance. I was enormously hurt by this reaction. I was hurt that
people would think that we hadn’t thought this through, that we hadn’t tried,
that we hadn’t considered the consequences. But, then, was I partly to blame? I
kept all that inside, all the while smiling to people at school events, church
and anywhere else. Putting on a happy face for the girls and the rest of the
world, meanwhile, inside I was planning my own suicide.
It’s hard to even write that, but it is also my truth. I
fell down into a hole of depression so deep that I literally couldn’t imagine
having to make it through a day. I couldn’t comprehend the “it gets better”
statement that is being peddled around as a suicide prevention phrase because I
couldn’t fathom surviving through even a few more hours in that much pain. One
day, I was so low, I made a plan. I had pills. The only thing that stopped me
was the realization that the girls would be the ones to find me when they came
home from school. And, I couldn’t burden them with that, even when I was
planning to leave them behind.
It took months before I opened up even the smallest bit to
my parents, who immediately got me into counseling. Because one problem is,
when you need the most help, it is the hardest to get. I knew I was in a bad
way, but I didn’t feel like I deserved any help, and then, even if I wanted it,
I couldn’t go through the process of researching and finding a mental health
professional because I could barely function through normal activities. The
thought of the enormous effort it would take to find and schedule help was too
overwhelming. So, I continued to suffer silently until I had a breakdown and
was essentially taken by hand for help.
Counseling was not an easy process. I struggled with my
identity, who I was at my core if I didn’t do everything in life perfectly. How
could I even be worth anything if I failed? The problems I’m guessing lots of
people experience when their identities are wrapped up in being a “good girl.”
I spent most of every early session crying until my eyes swelled shut.
Meanwhile, I smiled for the girls and smiled when I went to school events,
church and anywhere in public.
During this whole process, I lost weight. A lot of weight. I
simply could not eat. I couldn’t put food in my mouth. I was never hungry and
the thought of eating usually made me sick to my stomach. If I ate anything, I
often threw it right back up. It wasn’t intentional. It was physiological.
People started commenting on it. Telling me I either looked great or that I
needed to eat a hamburger. And, I replied that I was running more or that it
wasn’t really anything. "I'm fine," I would say. I didn’t dare tell anyone why I was now at the lowest
weight of my entire adulthood and had to buy new pants because mine were
falling to the floor.
I stopped doing things. I stopped reading. I stopped
watching tv. I stopped going to events with people. I couldn’t focus on
anything, and I didn’t have the emotional energy required to interact with
others. I withdrew from everyone when I actually needed close friends the most.
I didn’t want to bother anyone. I didn’t trust that people would still love me
when they found out I had problems. I didn’t want to hear advice from a million
voices.
After several months of counseling, it was suggested that I
go to my doctor to get on antidepressants. I had wondered about this for a
while, but again, felt like asking about it would mean I was trying to say my
problems were important enough for medical help, and I felt like that seemed
like I was trying to make myself more important than I was. So again, I waited until someone took me by the hand for help.
I was put on meds. They helped control the incessant crying.
They helped me focus on tasks. They helped me find energy again. (Though, the
emotionally devastating car accident, physically devastating bike accident, and
unexpected cancer scare over the past year were challenges I had not
anticipated having to navigate during this process.) Slowly, with medication
and intense counseling, I began to come out of my fog of depression. It was not
easy, and it was not quick. It took more introspective thought than I had ever
done in my entire life. Ultimately, Cory and I decided that a divorce was the
best option for either of us to find happiness again.
I did have a few people who pushed through my behavior and
asked and asked and showed up until I finally opened up. I am forever grateful
to those people. Because what I needed, which I couldn’t see at the time, was
someone to listen. Not to compare problems. Not to judge my actions. Not to
tell me how this impacted them. Not to try to put themselves in my shoes and
tell me what they would do. I just needed someone to listen and tell me they
loved me because I was me, not because of anything I do or don’t do. Just
because I am me.
I know that now, of course, with the power of retrospect.
But I was in no shape to articulate it or ask for it at the time. That is the
trouble with depression. At least mine. I couldn’t ask for what I needed, even
though I’m sure if I had, many people would’ve genuinely wanted to help.
I bring all this up because it is my truth. And, I have to
own it. But, also, because someone commented on my weight the other day. I’m
sure it was meant to be an innocuous statement. But, it didn’t feel innocuous.
Because through everything that happened, my weight was an outward sign of my
inner turmoil. And, yes, I’ve gained a lot of the weight I lost back. But, I
still struggle. In fact, I’ve been struggling a lot lately. I've been dreading
the holidays. I haven’t been able to stop crying. I have been having trouble
focusing. I started having panic attacks. I saw myself going down the same path
as before, so, I went to my doctor to get back on medication. Because at least
this time I knew where to find the tools to work to stop that progression.
I have learned so much about myself during all this. I still get overwhelmed and sad. I hate not having my girls all the time. But, I no
longer contemplate suicide. And, I trust a lot more people. It's safe to say,
So, the next time you’re tempted to comment on or judge
someone’s weight, behavior, quietness, lack of interaction or interest, or the
fact that they are getting a divorce, stop. Think. Consider. There could be a
lot more going on behind the scenes than you could have ever imagined.
I tell my girls every day as they leave for school: "Have fun. Learn a lot. Be kind." I think that works for all of us, too.
P.S. This is my truth and mine alone. And, I'm clearly not completely comfortable sharing to the wide world, because I have no intention of sharing this link around. But, at least it's out there now.
