Dear Mood, Where's Your Remote Control?

The nine months that I suffered from depression and anxiety were some of the most even-keel, honky-dory ones in my circumstantial life. In that outward world, the sky was clear and wildflowers were growing in my meadows. Kids were healthy. Extended family relationships great. All my volunteer commitments going gangbusters. Marriage: strong. Friends: abundant. Exercise: thriving. Relationship with God: tight.

I hate it when the stuff of my exterior life does not match the stuff of my interior life, and visa versa. When one is not communicating to the other very well, getting all the words wrong in a botched game of telephone, it’s confusing and disorienting.

If everything was so smooth, why was I miserable all the time? Uncomfortable in my own skin and a nervous wreck about everything and incapable of making even the smallest of decisions for myself? Why would I wake up and take a brief look at my phone’s calendar of events for the day and be filled with dread? Life felt overwhelming and theatrical and awful. I hated the weakness of my dwindling feelings of self-worth and wondered regularly whether this was the new and forever me.

Each counseling session I trudged through helped insofar as my therapist normalized my angst and depression. She penetrated through my dismay to offer you’re-not-alone messaging. But whenever we got to the portion of the appointment that evaluated my behaviors (was I putting good foods and water into my body, was I exercising, was I opening up to friends, were my husband and I communicating, was I washing my face and getting dressed every day, was I engaging in overall healthy, self-care habits?) and identified my stressors (was there a specific worry, had a crisis crossed my path, had I recently lost someone or something, were any projects I was working on demanding too much of me), the answers were: YES YES YES and NO NO NO. 

What I was doing was ALL RIGHT. What was happening in my world was ALL RIGHT. How come I felt ALL WRONG?

Wildly, the converse is true for me right now. I’m unstoppable on the inside, strong and unwavering and solid. Anxiety and depression seem like foreign languages that I once studied but know none of the words of any longer, distant and no longer familiar. Rather, I feel secure and held, like I could walk a tightrope stretched between skyscrapers and not break a sweat. I’m not worried about a darn thing.

And then ask me about my actual life. It’s a tad wonky. My son has just been diagnosed with a Tic Disorder and his are the vocal kind, not just any involuntary words and utterances but of the swearing variety, which might be the end of all of his elementary-aged friendships. My daughter entered a stage of rage, such that I run when I see whisps of steam coming from her ears, a sure sign that crayons will get snapped, scissors will get thrown, and I will get kicked. Addiction has a hold on a good friend’s life. My husband recently went through surgery to break up kidney stones, resulting in mind-bending pain and care-giving needs. And he is currently completely below water with work stress.

As for my current behaviors and attention to self-care, I’ll let you in on my secrets: I haven’t exercised in months, I’m eating brownies for breakfast, and my pee is the color of yield signs I’m so negligent about hydrating. My meditation practice is splotchy at best and the other week I didn’t bathe for four days. 

What I am doing is ALL WRONG. What is happening in my world is ALL WRONG. How come I feel ALL RIGHT?

I was on a walk with my beat-up husband yesterday, his stress and his kidneys rather affecting him, and he said to me, “Our lives are pretty upside down at the moment. How can you be so O.K.?” 

There was a pause, because I don’t have an explanation for why I was bad a year ago when life was sending me roses. I don’t have an explanation for why I’m good when life currently seems to be throwing rotten tomatoes. And I don’t understand why it seems as though my strength internally is being controlled by a remote I’m not holding.

I guess I’ve given up on trying to thread much of a connection between mood and circumstance. Internal wellness is a gift, no matter how it reaches you. Sometimes it’s in elusive and inexplicable ways. If you have that gift right now, be grateful, but don’t cling to it. Internal wellness doesn’t love being coveted. After all, it usually doesn’t last.

If you don’t have the gift of internal wellness right now, sometimes all there is to do is wait. Sometimes no amount of Pilates and journaling and massaging and therapy and stress-free days will mend your feelings of unwell, and desperately scurrying around with a hammer and nails to patch up your beat-up insides will only leave you feeling more confused that you’re still sinking. Internal distress doesn’t love being squelched. After all, it usually doesn’t last. 

So, I didn’t really answer my husband’s question. I just squeezed his hand. And we kept on walking.