I’m sitting here in my new coffee shop, drinking my new favorite hot beverage, in my new neighborhood, right across from my new apartment, as I write this–each of those things invigorating me in a way I would have never considered just a few months ago.
Transition is funny that way. It happens and then a whole new world of discoveries opens up. Even while we kick and scream at the discomfort, we are tempted to try new things, take in new experiences, to revel in the possibilities.
Mid August I had a depressive episode that jolted me. It had been years since I’d recognized dark thoughts like these as my own. I was drowning and hadn’t even noticed I was deep–deep in something.
The thoughts didn’t last. I shook them off, but the premonition lingered somewhere just beneath the surface.
Weeks later, I had an enlightening talk with a dear friend who shared a story of her pal out west who’d been struggling in her relationship, now coming out on the other side.
Listening to her story, I was brought back to those depressive thoughts I’d experienced, that dark place, those brief, but scary moments where I didn’t care what happened. I admitted aloud for the first time that perhaps I wasn’t as happy as I let on.
And these things I should know, right? I’m deeply introspective. I’m not afraid to confront the ugly details. I’m a happiness expert for Christ’s sake!
And yet, shit had piled at my feet. I’d allowed it. Little by little. Welcomed it even. It’s healthy. Everybody’s got their shit.
Admittedly, much of it was my own shit!
Either way, compounded over time, you suddenly realize you’re buried in shit.
I woke up the next morning, after sleeping on that intense conversation, different. I still can’t explain it.
For the first time in nearly eight years, I allowed myself to look beyond the strict constructs of the future I’d planned in my mind. There was fresh air to breathe. A life ring to grab onto. What to do with this?
The first wave of emotions: Shame: We’ve only been married for a year. Guilt: There are so many relationships here at stake. Relief: What if? Grief: She’s my best friend. More shame: I’ve failed. More guilt: I don’t want to hurt anyone.
And yet I could not deny this very real, visceral feeling I had in my body.
For days I couldn’t eat, sleep, concentrate. I cycled through every wave of emotion imaginable, not saying a word, just processing.
I went for long walks at sunrise, and contemplated vulnerabilities ad nauseam.
All that ghost shit at my feet was coming into clear view. And just like anything, once you see it, you can’t NOT.
Evidence was all around me, and yet on paper none of it made sense. We are Team Transformation, a power couple they call us, we’re both coaches … if we can’t make it work … shit.
Still. I was in disbelief. I said nothing.
A deep knowing coursed through my body. It had been years since I felt so sure of something. I could not deny in my head, what my body already knew to be true.
Several days later, it was obvious. I needed space. I needed time to let this all sink in. I needed to breathe.
[ … to be continued.]