“I feel… different. I feel like… me again.” My words hung in the air, but I couldn’t quite grasp what “different” or “me” truly meant. The only certainty I had was that something about my emotions had shifted for the better.
“Yes!” my friend replied, her eyes bright with understanding. “You seem more like yourself again. I was genuinely concerned for you.”
That statement stopped me cold. “Concerned”? Why would she be worried? I racked my brain, trying to recall specific moments or behaviors that might have raised alarm. Had I really changed so much that my friend felt the need to worry?
In the months leading up to this moment, I had navigated significant life changes. I had come out as bisexual and ended my marriage—these are significant events by anyone’s standards. Yet, I thought coming out would bring me relief, a sense of freedom, and authenticity. Living my truth was supposed to overshadow the stress of divorce and the heartache of missing my children. I had found a charming little home, and thankfully, I had not faced rejection from my family or friends. I even met someone special who appreciated me for who I truly was. Shouldn’t all of this have made me happy?
However, I had to confront the truth: I had been sleeping excessively, often wanting to take afternoon naps and struggling to wake up. But I wasn’t spending my days in bed crying; I was managing to accomplish tasks—albeit at a snail’s pace. My productivity had certainly dwindled, and I often complained about working tirelessly while achieving less than I used to with half the effort.
Anxiety had become my constant companion during this time, a tightness in my chest that lingered. Isn’t anxiety a common experience during a divorce? Even in amicable separations, which mine was, divorce can be incredibly challenging. I worried about my children, which any caring parent would do, and about my future. Would I be able to navigate this newfound independence? Was I truly strong enough?
That tightness in my chest was persistent, and at times it felt more like being smothered under a heavy, damp blanket. I would cry over trivial matters, my eating habits spiraled out of control—I often skipped my usual healthy meals for excessive carbohydrates. My short-term memory became a foggy mess. I would take my kids to the skate park, watching them enjoy their new skateboards, feeling a disconnection while they laughed and played. I understood that they were enjoying themselves; still, I felt as if I were waiting for some internal switch to activate so I could share in their joy as a mother should.
For a long time, I believed that my emotional struggles were simply a reaction to life stress and assumed they would pass once things settled down. I never considered that I might be dealing with genuine depression. I had faced depression before coming out, so the idea of experiencing it afterward felt impossible.
Yet, in that conversation with my friend, a realization struck me: I was indeed experiencing a depressive episode. I wasn’t suicidal or crying incessantly, nor was I refusing to get out of bed, but I was undeniably depressed. The contrast between how I felt that day—when my friend remarked on the spark returning to my eyes—and the previous months spent in a haze of apathy was stark.
The feeling of just being myself during that moment was unremarkable; I wasn’t ecstatic or euphoric—just me. Yet, the difference was so pronounced that I briefly questioned if I had slipped into a manic state. Living in that disconnected mindset for so long had become my norm, making the return to simple contentment feel almost exaggerated. However, the reality was that I had begun to feel better.
This transformation didn’t occur overnight. Several key factors aligned simultaneously—some intentional, some coincidental. My divorce was nearing completion, and an allergic reaction led me to eliminate gluten, prompting me to fill my diet with more fruits and vegetables. After voicing my struggles with exhaustion and mental fog at a doctor’s visit, she recommended regular exercise, a return to vitamins I had neglected, and establishing a proper sleep schedule. Blood tests were also ordered to rule out any physical issues.
By the time I returned for my follow-up appointment to discuss my lab results, the lifestyle adjustments I had made were already yielding significant improvements. That’s when I had the conversation with my friend about feeling like myself again. While my blood tests showed no abnormalities, I suspect something was off with my brain chemistry during those challenging months. Thankfully, the changes I was able to implement helped me regain my sense of well-being.
To anyone who finds themselves in a similar situation—waiting for that internal switch to flip—you don’t need to be bedridden or grappling with suicidal thoughts to seek help. I consulted my doctor believing I had a physical ailment; it wasn’t until I was on the other side of my struggles that I recognized the signs of depression. If changes in nutrition, exercise, and sleep hadn’t proven effective, medication would have been my next step, and that would have been entirely acceptable.
The key takeaway is that you don’t have to hit rock bottom before reaching out for assistance. Don’t wait for that switch to flip; talk to a friend, contact your doctor, or seek help. You deserve to feel like yourself again.
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In summary, recognizing and addressing depression can be challenging, especially when life changes occur. It’s essential to seek help even if your symptoms don’t seem severe. You’re not alone in your struggle, and support is available to help you reclaim your joy.
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