Tag: depression

Focus On What You Can Do

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Being a new mom is suddenly, urgently grounding.

It’s hard to leave the house because, well, there’s a baby right there. He needs me. Unless I get a babysitter, daycare, or my husband is home, I’m here, and it’s me and the baby.

This makes so many things infinitely harder. Leaving the house? That’s pretty difficult to do with a brand new baby. Exercising? Hard to do solo, especially when the kid is too young to hold his head up, so we can’t do a jog together yet. Nevermind the fact that leaving the house to go exercising is far less appealing than, say, eating a pint of ice cream. For breakfast.

(This is a real craving I’ve had, and I just dissected this craving with The Cravings Whisperer Alex Jamieson on her podcast, and she says it’s totally okay as a new mom for me to eat a pint of ice cream daily. I’m going with it.)

But back to the present: there is a real baby in the house, and he’s made it far more challenging to get things done.

There is a temptation to focus on all of the things I can’t do right now.

But instead, I’m trying to figure out everything I can do instead.

When I can’t leave the house to go visit people? I can call them instead. I can text them, send cards, or host hangouts for my favorite people on the interwebs.

When I can’t call someone? I text them instead. I drop them an audio text (a voice memo sent via text, like a voicemail. But better.)

When I can’t run, I can walk instead.

If I can’t get outside to a class to exercise (boy, do I wish!), I can do a Seven Minute Workout in my house instead. My neighbor, who also has a new baby boy, says he does the 7-minute workout twice in the mornings, and that’s all he does for exercise.

I try to do the 7-minute workout twice each week. So there we go.

When you don’t have time for the 7-minute workout, you can practice deep breathing.

Meditate, even just for a moment.

Stretch while you’re waiting in line for something.

If you can’t walk, enjoy the time that you can sit.

When you can’t take a vacation, you can absolutely find a patch of grass to lie down in for ten minutes. A micro-vacation.

Lie down in the sunshine, close your eyes, and feel the late warmth of the summer sunshine. Let the grass tickle your elbows, let a dog lick your feet furiously. Kick off your sandals.

Focus on what you can do.

P.S. I’m opening up applications for my Fall 2016 Mastermind. There is space for 8 to 12 people. I’m looking for the right mix of ambitious, intelligent, quirky, creative people to bring together for accelerated success. We’ll start in September. Sign up for program details here. Applications close Sunday, August 14th.

Loving Yourself

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

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A friend of mine is having a bit of a rough time right now and I sent her a note to check in.

How’s it going, how are you feeling?

One of the ways we exist for each other is to confirm and mirror experience. When we notice a friend or a colleague struggling, we can say empathetically, “this looks hard.”

Sometimes kindness comes in the noticing.

Sometimes just acknowledging where you are can be enough to let yourself say, “Wait, yes, this is exhausting.”

But what happens when you’re weary, sad, or pushing through something insanely difficult and you need to take care of yourself throughout the process?

What if it feels like you can’t lean on everyone else and you need to muster up energy to support yourself?

My friend wrote back:

What small self-care steps would you recommend for feeling: frazzled, overwhelmed, frustrated with family, anxious about getting work done, sad, tired, homesick, confused and turned around?

Sometimes a few self-care motions can make all the difference in the midst of the yuck.

And as hard as it can be to do, as impossible as it can seem, we need to love ourselves.

Love yourself tenderly in the hard moments, like you would a child.

Now is not always the time to beat yourself up, or scold yourself to work harder or just “suck it up.” Sometimes you are already doing all of that — and we need, instead, to extend ourselves compassion.

We have a responsibility to love ourselves, no matter how much we might long to outsource this responsibility. In fact, if we look a bit deeper, we might find and sense that we are made up of love in our atoms and or cells — although in times of pain that can seem faraway, inaccessible.

So what we do is we care for ourselves, tenderly.

For me, as an INFJ, I need plenty of alone time, time away from stimulation, and time to decompress. Time and space to hear my own thoughts.

Travel is noisy and busy and full of other people’s energies. I am a fairly energetically open and receiving person (INFJ will do that to you) and that makes me exhausted being around other people.

My coping and compensation mechanisms are to find really quiet, really still things. I often have to activate them; it’s not enough to just “go be quiet in a room.”

I have to create environments that calm the buzz and the chatter. Dark, white-noise bars do it. Water and saunas and warm baths do it for me. Swimming helps.

These are a few things that help:

  • Alone time. Even if it’s in a bar, around other people. I take myself out to nice meals by myself and read a book. It’s something that feels really ME. For some reason Sushi and Sake at a small corner table do it for me (although not while I’m pregnant right now!).
  • Get someone to touch you. Hugs are needed, and our consumer culture can facilitate this through…
  • Getting your nails done. Particularly a pedicure. It’s a relief to have someone touch your feet. Soak them in warm water. You might want to cry. There’s a thing about Jesus washing people’s feet and I love that story (regardless of religion) because it’s so humbling and kind. Be kind to yourself.
  • Get a $20-$30 Thai massage. There are usually lots of places where you can pop in and get a massage. Get it. It helps with your body and rhythm and restoration.
  • Yoga class or 5 minutes of yoga. Pay attention to how much you may think you don’t want to go and understand that this might be a form of resistance to letting go, giving in.
  • Take a “dark nap.” I like doing “dark naps” in the middle of the day — shutter the curtains, hide in a closet, put earplugs in and an eye mask and do a sensory deprivation. It’s good for the soul, lets you close down to the sounds and noise around you.
  • Wrap yourself into a ball and give yourself a hug. 
  • Massage your temples, scratch your head.
  • Journal it out.
  • Listen to soothing music. 

And for sadness:

  • Sometimes reading really sad things or watching movies that will make me cry (Shawshank Redemption!) actually helps. It’s like you have to move through and with the sadness, not hold it at bay.
  • Crying is therapeutic. It helps clean out our immune systems and re-set our cells (it’s not just a passing idea that it’s useful, it really does do good things for our bodies).

What do you do to take care of yourself?

What practices help you restore, rejuvenate, and work through darker days, sadness, or frustration?

Record It While It’s Happening: Rachel Cusk on Emotions, Mamahood, and Becoming a Parent

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Even though dragging myself out of bed and dealing with morning sickness does not make it fun to keep up with my writing habit, I also know that these feelings are fleeting. They won’t last forever, and I want to capture them while they’re here, so I can remember what it’s like.

I have no idea how many kids we’ll end up having. Alex and I have ideas for what we think we want, but then there’s what happens in reality. Knowing that the future is always uncertain makes me recognize that despite our best plans — there’s a possibility this may be the only time I’m ever pregnant. For whatever reason, I may only have this one time. I use this realization to remember to cherish right now, however many extra hormones it includes.

It seems like time is moving so slowly, like I’m muddling through a vague fog of fatigue and barfing, and yet everything is moving so quickly. I’ll be a hormonal messy pregnant mama-to-be for about four more months, and then… I’ll be a mama. And I will have crossed the threshold from independent lady to parent and the rest of my life will be different. Time moves forward.

As Rachel Cusk writes in A Life’s Work, a documentation of the gravity of pregnancy and becoming a mother, these thoughts and feelings around pregnancy only last for a brief moment, and then they disappear.

“My desire to express myself on the subject of motherhood was from the beginning strong, [but]… a few months after the birth of my daughter Albertine, it vanished entirely,” she explained, and while she had the urge to write this book, she lost it after she gave birth for the first time. And so, “I wrote this book during the pregnancy and early months of my second daughter, Jessye, before it could get away again.”

She writes in a manner I find refreshing and real. I tend to prefer books that are honest about depression, loneliness, philosophy, and struggle — a book that says pregnancy and motherhood are miracles and the best thing on the planet would be chucked out the window as fast as I could waddle over to the window to throw it.

In her cataloging of the process, she talks about the dark side of pregnancy and how having children affects your identity, your ability to work, and your relationships with people around you. As a novelist, she confesses that this type of open disclosure is often too much for her: “I have merely written down what I thought of the experience of having a child in a way that I hope other people can identify with. As a novelist, I admit that I find this candid type of writing slightly alarming.”

The book is not a tribute to the glory days of motherhood, but a frank assessment of what might be to come.

“I am certain my own reaction, three years ago, to the book I have now written would have been to wonder why the author had bothered to have children in the first place if she thought it was so awful,” she confides, and I find myself feeling a wash of relief to hear that someone else has catalogued and documented the array of complexity around how it feels to enter into parenthood.

For parenting and motherhood is not always easy. And the burden is largely on women, despite how much our society is changing, we will still hold the biological accountability for bearing and bringing to life new human beings.

“Women must and do live with the prospect of childbirth: some dread it, some long for it, and some manage it so successfully as to give other people the impression that they never even think about it. My own strategy was to deny it, and so I arrived at the fact of motherhood shocked and unprepared, ignorant of what the consequences of this arrival would be, and with the unfounded but distinct impression that my journey there had been at once so random and so determined by forces greater than myself that I could hardly be said to have had any choice in the matter at all.”

Across the experience, as my life shifts, I am reminded from Cusk to write, write, write.

Don’t stop writing. Document what I’m feeling and thinking, and explore inside of the feelings that shift and grow across my time becoming a parent. Watch as this landscape of emotions shifts and moves month over month, minute over minute. Capture the range of expressions and they come and go. Explore what it means to be this person, in this moment, right now.

To write about what is happening is to validate your own thoughts and emotions. I attempt not to layer judgment on top of it all, but rather, to examine what arises. What fears do I have about what’s to come? What societal rules and norms do I feel guilty about breaking? What decisions am I making and how are we embracing (and deciding) who we want to become next? What is it like to be this person, in this time, in this body, right now?

When the blues hit, what do you do? Notes on darkness, sadness, and melancholy.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

What do you do when you get sad?

Sometimes dwelling in darkness can be a helpful, healthy adventure. Other times, too much time in the dark can prompt stagnation and wallowing. How do you know how far to go? When is it too much? When is darkness healthy and when is digging into rumination too much spiraling inwards?

In high school and in college, I dealt with waves of sadness and depression. I learned what it meant to be too tired. Some days, after six hours of swim practice and a full course load of college academics, I would sob myself to sleep. Missing my family, adjusting to life, and the relationship angst that came from dating as a hormonal teenager all added up to a lot of sadness. For me personally, the biggest challenge is when I work too hard and forget to take time to stay emotionally balanced.

Over time, I turned to writing as an outlet — and I learned about emotional resilience. For me, having a bucket of tools to turn to whenever I’m feeling wonky can help alleviate the pressure.

Darkness and the dynamics of holidays

At this time of year, there’s a lot of built-up stress. People can be tired, run-down, and overworked. In addition, the pressure of the year’s end — hitting financial targets, making performance reviews, or not getting your resolutions completed from last year — can make this a dicey emotional time.

Add to that travel, seeing family members, and navigating the politics of in-laws, and you have a recipe for a tricky situation. Throw in a bunch of sugar from too many cinnamon rolls and maybe eating half a gingerbread house (yup, I’ve done that), and I’m sobbing like a 5-year old after too much birthday party.

In short, winter’s darkness coupled with end-of-year stress can be a recipe for bumming yourself out.

What do you do when the blues hit?

Over the past decade, I’m so grateful to have built a repertoire of skills and tools I can use at my disposal when my mood gets the better of me. But the thing about being in the wallows is, sometimes all the advice in your head goes to naught — and you need to ask, yet again, for some good advice.

Emotional resilience isn’t a one-trick pony. Instead, it’s the ability to use multiple tools to help alleviate the stress. For me, I know that if I go for a walk every day, take time to journal, and talk with at least a few good friends every week, I’ll generally feel pretty good.

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I reached out to several friends of mine and asked for advice: what do you do when they blues hit? Here’s what I got back.

I got a surprising number of responses — so I thought I would compile and share them, here, for any of you that stumbles through a melancholy day or two, like me.

“I give myself a set period to wallow in it. Favorite comfort food, retreat from people, think and reflect. Then wake up the next morning and be productive and positive.” — Melinda

“Write a list of specific things I am grateful for in my life.” — Keith

“Close my eyes and go to my happy place! Or actually GO to my happy place. I have several stashed around the area, so I can drive there in a couple hours if need be.” — Heather

“Step outdoors. Listen for birds. Look up. Take a deep breath or two.” — Amy

“80’s hiphop and dancing in front of a mirror, obviously.” — Karen

“Get my body in water somehow (pool, rain, shower, bath). Swing on a swingset. Basically insert myself into an environment different than the day to day — feet continuously off the ground and body in motion is the fastest way I know how to do that.” — Valerie

“Get out and talk to people, and listen to them.” — Bridget

“Do something silly or nice for someone else.” — Lauren

“Run! (The exercise, not fleeing). And run outside!” — Ian

“Going through the self-compassion formula: common humanity, self-kindness, mindfulness.” — Ian

“Listen to music that will make you cry (to let it all out) then something happy to lift you out of that mood. Or skip the first bit, go straight for light-hearted, fun, dynamic, and inspiring tunes.” —Amy

“Exercise and ensure I’m eating well.” — Lee

… Good food, healthy habits, friends to talk to, a good cry, a shower, a way to let off steam… This sounds familiar.

Each of these doesn’t seem like much in and of itself. Sure, I can eat an apple. Maybe a good cry in the shower will help, too. Take myself for a walk? Okay, I’ll do it.

Whatever it is, all the small things — all the small ways you can practice kindness towards yourself — can add up and take the edge off. It’s not one thing that makes a drastic difference, but all these small things that can slowly change my emotional direction.

I’ll add a couple more of my favorites:

Paint, draw, or sing —

Do something creative and expressive, with no pressure on results or outcome. Go sing in a church, sign up for an art class, or pull out some markers and scribble messily and angrily until you laugh your face off.

Hug someone who needs it. —

Compassion and hugs. Give someone a big hug and let the oxytocin out!

Book a massage or a spa date for yourself.

Sometimes your physical body just needs to be touched.

Write in your journal with a snuggly blanket and a good cup of tea.

Whenever I write in my journal, my brain starts to relax. If I take the time to write and reflect in the evenings, I calm down, my energy slows, and I sleep better.

Write letters to friends and people you’re thankful for.

Make a gratitude list.

When you take the time to remind yourself of what you’re grateful for, your brain shifts.

Do “Candle Time”

This is a new habit my husband and I recently started. In addition to turning off our screens late at night (and he’s much better at this than I am; I am still a part-time phone addict) — we’ll turn off all the electric lights in our room and light a bunch of candles for the last hour before bed. We sit in the near darkness and calm down, reflecting, and letting our thoughts unwind.

Go for a long walk.

Walking soothes my brain. Doesn’t matter if it’s cold, dark, or rainy — something about the rhythm of footsteps syncs my brain into a new pattern.

Set your sleep cycle on a more regular pattern.

Cool down your caffeine or alcohol intake — replace it with fizzy water drinks and a splash of lemon, ginger, mint, or honey. Ease up on your adrenals.

Sometimes I’m well past worn out, and my sadness is from being tired. In the evenings I’ll make a spicy cup of tea instead of wine, and in a few days, I start to feel better. (Try this: add a slice of jalapeno, some lemon, and honey to a peppermint tea. I love it!)

Drink green juices and many glasses of water. Hydrate thyself! Hydration can sometimes ease my headaches and sadness in less than an hour.

Still stuck? Still feeling icky?

Talk it out. Find a friend, a therapist, or a coach who will listen to you as you work it out. Words and language and exercise are all ways of moving through our ideas and our stories — our stories change as we give them shape, and talk therapy is a real tool.

When I was too broke for therapy in my graduate school years, I bartered trades and signed up for new coach deals whenever people were looking for new clients. (You can often find new coaches who are starting their business and looking for clients to test tools on, and you can sign up for four sessions to chat at awesome discount prices.)

And if you’re not broke and still need to talk, head over to a new place, take a deep breath, and sign up.

(PS: If it’s a deeper issue and you think you might want to work with a psychologist or therapist, trust yourself. You might be in a spot in your life that could use some professional expertise and TLC. You deserve it, and it’s worth it.) 

What about you? What are your strategies for darker days?

What do you love to do to treat yourself? What are the hidden benefits of sadness, and how do you take care of yourself?

An invitation into the darkness: the value of rumination and notes on finding your own inner guru.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

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The darkness of winter: time to turn inwards.

The northern hemisphere is swaddled in darkness, as it is each winter. Today is the longest night of the year; the shortest day. The sun will rise late and quickly dash off, leaving us behind to contemplate the cold, wind, and dreariness of night. Despite the prominence of electric lights and bright screens, and cheery holiday tinsel lining the streets, it’s still dark by early afternoon.

It makes me tired, it makes it harder to work. I struggle to keep going in the afternoon, wanting instead to curl up and hibernate. For many of us, we forget that this is the darkest day of the year. We’ll notice it only through our increased desire for caffeine, a twinge of melancholy, or a lack of motivation. As Clark Strand writes in Bring On the Dark, “few of us will turn off the lights long enough to notice” the winter solstice happening right around us.

“There’s no getting away from the light. There are fluorescent lights and halogen lights, stadium lights, streetlights, stoplights, headlights and billboard lights. There are night lights to stand sentinel in hallways, and the lit screens of cellphones to feed our addiction to information, even in the middle of the night. No wonder we have trouble sleeping. The lights are always on.” — Why We Need The Winter Solstice 

These dark days are a gift: it’s an opportunity to turn inwards, to reflect, and to ponder.

Darkness invites contemplation, reflection, and inner reflection. Dwelling in it can also, for me, bring up deeper sadness and sorrows. It comes in waves, for me, the periods of stillness and rest, of quiet and solitude. Sometimes my mind dips into periods of darkness; I know that I’m deep in restoration and rebuilding. Patterns emerge; ideas begin to form. My other senses sharpen as I rely less on my eyesight.

We’re called to go into the darkness. To find our own inner guru.

When you dim one sense, you brighten the other senses, adding clarity, range, and acuity to your abilities. The ability to feel a range of emotions increases your emotional depth. The upside of darkness, however, is that it is a beautiful time for rumination and reflection.

In yoga, inviting the darkness in is an invitation to find your own inner wisdom, your own inner guru. In studying with Sara Neufeld recently, I learned more about how darkness is an invitation to find your own inner wisdom.

The word “Guru” comes from two words, gu (darkness) and ru (light). From a seat of heaviness or darkness, we go through experiences that bring us to light. One who has experienced both darkness and light has accumulated wisdom. In the yogic tradition, we all are our own gurus — capable of finding our own inner wisdom when we go inwards and close our eyes to contemplate our being.

“The night was the natural corrective to that most persistent of all illusions: that human progress is the reason for the world.” — Clark Strand

Sometimes, finding lightness requires going through the dark. We go not around, but through. The earth spins into darkness every year, so should our souls.