We’ve reached that time of the summer where my kids are at each other’s throats, everyone is growing tired of the family togetherness, and the oppressive heat of Texas is wearing our patience thin.
And my emotional wellbeing begins to slip.
I call this time the “summertime sadness.”
It’s more than just the title of a Lana del Rey song, though. For those of us who wrestle with Major Depressive Disorder, seasons of sadness are a real thing. Summertime is one of those seasons for me.
Knowing this about myself, I took what precautions I could. Even though my latest book released at the beginning of the summer, I made sure I scheduled some renewal time between my in-person events, for rest and reflection and time spent with the people I love. I scheduled more therapy sessions. I doubled up on my journaling practice.
And yet, depression still found me.
It’s a persistent illness that frequently reminds me I can take all the necessary precautions, structure everything just so, prepare myself for its eventual visitation and even still it will surprise me.
This time it snuck up on me while I laughed and played some improv games with my kids. One minute we were playing “Alphabet,” the next a pain gripped my chest and (metaphorically) shook me.
This won’t last forever, it said. Time is running out. Have you done enough?
That little standoff with time was all it took to send me spiraling into a whirlpool of questions.
Why do you work so hard? What’s it all for? What have you really done, besides waste time you could have spent watching your kids grow up? Who cares about your stories, really? What about your kids?
I’m well acquainted with these questions. They plague me at the most inconvenient of times. It’s one of the results of living as an ambitious woman in a still-patriarchal society, growing up and coming of age in a religion that calls me a helper, not a leader.
So in some ways, I expect the questions, usually around the time I feel depression creeping in. It’s unclear why it happens…maybe I’m too exhausted to put my guard up and combat the messages I’ve internalized. It’s exhausting being a woman.
What I didn’t expect was for the questions to turn into definitive statements that bludgeoned me every single time I opened up my notebook to write.
You’re wasting your time. No one cares what you have to say. You’re sacrificing your kids for stories no one reads, books that don’t matter. You’re selfish. Get a life. Do yourself a favor and quit. You only have one life, and it’s flying by.
On and on and on it went.
I could scarcely write a thing.
Maybe I need a break, I thought. I took a week off. I read and watched movies with my kids and baked two treats with two kids instead of one.
The summertime sadness was worse than ever. The voices came back louder and crueler. They called me names. They repeated all those definitive statements I’d already heard. They added more.
Mordechai Anielewicz, a Polish activist, once said, “The most difficult struggle of all is the one within ourselves.” I’ve found that to be true in my own life.
Our struggles show themselves in depression and anxiety and OCD and a negative and critical inner voice and in so many other ways. They’re heavy. They can weigh us down. It’s hard to crawl, let alone walk, when we’re carrying so much on our shoulders—not just our own mental health struggles but also the burdens of our children, our partners, our friends, our family, the world. How does anyone escape the summertime sadness?
For some of us it’s different. It’s not a sadness, per se. The struggle within ourselves looks like lack of focus or lost hope or saying yes to too many things or forgetting to treat our enemies with love and respect or losing belief in ourselves or failing at work/life balance. Maybe we all struggle with all those things. At any time in our lives we’re faced with any number of internal struggles. And usually, just when we sort of figure one out another comes knocking.
We face so much internal resistance. It’s a wonder we manage to do anything worthwhile.
Sometimes we just have to embrace the struggle. Know it will pass. Have faith that we will come out on the other side not only still standing but standing a teeny little bit stronger.
I’ve begun listening to the arguments in my house, and instead of immediately sighing and thinking, I really can’t take this anymore, I think, They’re learning to express themselves, and I get to teach them how to resolve conflict respectfully. The family togetherness may feel stifling at times, but it’s a chance to connect in small ways, and we’re all learning what we need and what we can handle. I’ve begun accepting the triple-digit heat, instead of wishing it away.
And as for the critical voice, well, she’s not quite as loud when I argue with her.
No one needs your stories, she says.
I do, I say.
And I try to remember that someone else put that negative, critical voice inside me—and it’s the constant work of therapy that will extract it.
The most difficult struggle we have is within ourselves: the internal battle to be who we are. To do what we were made to do. Or maybe simply to survive the summertime sadness.
We’re living a story; what kind of story do we want it to be? I know my answer to the question.
Have a victorious month of slaying your internal struggles.
Things that can help when we’re internally struggling:
1. Assess
Journaling can be a great way to assess our internal voices and track down their origins and search for some perspective. But if you’re not a journaler, try some other form of assessment—taking out a blank sheet of paper and listing all the negative voices you hear and tracing them down a timeline or connecting them to the people (or situations) you remember hurting you in real life.
Sometimes we pick up negative voices not because someone actually said them to us but because a situation or person made us feel a certain way—accidentally or purposefully. It’s worthwhile to find those places and write a different story.
2. Talk to someone
Having someone to talk to who can challenge you on those negative voices can be supremely helpful. It could be a partner, a trusted friend, a group of friends, a therapist. Everybody struggles with negative voices and imposter syndrome—and chances are, if you share about your struggles, someone else will have been there and can listen with an empathetic ear or walk you through it, if that’s what you need. Don’t underestimate the value of relationships to get you back on track.
3. Take some time off
We overlook this piece often—because we don’t want negative voices to win. And it feels like taking time off is letting them win.
But it’s not. I’ve found in my own life that my negative voices get loudest when I’m tired and I’ve been working maybe a little too hard and I haven’t had enough connection or restoration time. When I’m most in need of a break. It makes sense, doesn’t it? We can’t fight the “internal bad guys” when we’re tired or distracted or trying to hold a plate that’s way too full.
Set some things down. Put your feet up. Read a book. Watch a show or documentary. Call your sister. Take a walk and get out in nature. Listen to music. Dance. You’re not running away from the voices, you’re dismissing them—and having fun while you’re at it.
