Coming Out: Depression

Content Warning:

This blog post discusses topics of depression, suicidal ideation and self-harm. Please take care of yourself. The second half of this post is dedicated to care as treatment (though are not to be taken as psychiatric or medical advice. If you are struggling or feel you are an immediate danger to yourself or others, please call Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 800-273-8255).

Welcome

Blessings. Thank you for making your way here. For clicking through or stumbling around to this page. I’d like you to have a soft landing, so before you read on, I invite you to take a few breaths with me. Inhaling down into your belly, and exhaling with a sigh. Do it again.

And again.

This new website is a coming out party and an invitation to join me in the communal journey toward joy. It is an artifact of our time, to be discovered again and again by the wandering and weary, searching for sustenance in our complex world. It is an effort, a communal practice, a step toward embodying wholeness in a radical way. A way that views public vulnerability as an act of courage, a way that values tenderness of heart, spirit, and flesh. A revolutionary act that brings us closer to the beginning of our earthling circle, back into the cycles of life and into the supple tissue of our human substance. It is a prayer for material reality to reflect us back to ourselves as we are – re-membered whole, connected and free.

I start this journey toward Joy as Liberation with this blog post as an act of revelation – exposing myself as an internal revolutionary, acting in solidarity with the disparate and ever present parts of myself that have been disowned, abandoned, left behind. It has taken me a lifetime to find the courage – it has been tucked away from my searching eyes. In the midst of crisis, I surrendered to my madness and saw myself in context. I heard one simple word: “Speak.” Silence is the curse, the substance and nourishment of suffering. So, here, today, with you, I am embodying the revolutionary act of breaking the silence around suffering. It comes out on a shaking breath, on a cracking voice, on a whisper...and yet it speaks.

While I’ve run blogs before, life takes us away. And so I return, with re-memebered parts of me in tow. I wonder if you can hear this story as welcome song that beckons you to come and witness new flesh. A siren of rebirth. A lullaby for struggle. A celebration and a mourning. It seems strange, I’ll tell you it’s scary and sweaty. And it’s what I have to offer - my own story about living and loving with depression and the allyship I’ve called on to make space for the neurodivergence of it.

Please, take your time with me. Be gentle with yourself as I try to be gentle and honest with myself. Let’s be tender in our truth together.

I hope you find something here worth drinking in.

Depression: 150 Shades of Grey

Let me honest here at the start. For most of my life, I have silently struggled with high functioning depression. While, from the outside, I have held up a very formidable persona of success and ambition, my internal world has been, and at times still is, organized around intensely dark and sticky belief patterns that tell me I am not worth the salt of the Earth. Largely, I’ve struggled in silence, in part because I don’t “look depressed,” and therefore have been gaslit and dismissed when I have tried to ask for help. This has resulted in an overwhelm of guilt and shame about my mental health condition, leading to paralysis and toxic patterns of self-silencing and isolation. I’ve held in this anguish and self-hatred; I’ve gotten good at not letting on that I wade into psychic territory where I genuinely fear for my life. This cycle of depression spins me through patterns of self-harm, substance abuse, isolation, disordered eating, and suicidal ideation.

These are hard things to lay claim to. Take a breath with me here, would you…?

Inhale. Exhale.

This past winter, I was catapulted into a mental health crisis. This long standing and untreated depression collided with hormonal shifts from weening my kiddo and a dark, grey, and gloomy winter. I was experiencing postpartum, seasonal, and chronic depression all at once and it resulted in a major depressive episode lasting just shy of a month. The descent was rapid and alarming, and there were several times when I considered committing myself because I was afraid I would kill myself. I was terrified each morning and exhausted each night. And all the while, riddled with shame that I could be suffering so much, considering what a beautiful life I have. It was too much. Old patterns of self-violence emerged out of nowhere, internalized and intrusive thoughts sideswiped me constantly. I haven’t felt that afraid in years. After all this healing work, here I was again, back in the bottom of my own hell, unmoving and terrified.

Practice with me a moment, won’t you? I’m gonna take a look around. I’m going to look behind me, above me, below me. My eyes settle on the small garden of house plants on the desk as a winter storm rages on outside. The green leaves juxtaposed against the white world beyond the glass...I smile. I inhale and hum it out. Settle...settle. Come back when you’re ready. No rush.

I feel so tender right now...so here and aware of all the raw feelings that come from sharing something so stigmatized, so old and sore, so scary...I feel the heat of coming out as a chronically depressed person. The part of me that shows up embarrassed and hot with shame. She asks “What if...I mean this website is about embodiment...about healing and revolution... everyone that reads this is going to….” What? I want to hide from the anticipated judgement.

Can you wiggle your toes with me? Feel the inside of your mouth with your tongue? Re-member your body in space, in the here and now.

I share these things for a reason – one that is quite simple, but not easy. Survivance.1 To lay claim to the narratives of my life, unhaunt myself from the hallowed grounds of isolation and return suffering to the Earth to be decomposed by communal witness and tending. To not remain hostage to the wounds of my life and our ancestry, to liberate myself by celebrating my needs as a neurodivergent person.

I share this story because it is both mine and not mine. Because it is individual and collective. Because my body knows something about suffering and healing. Because I’ve been guided to this telling by Spirit. Because I must.

At the core, I want to live, because life, my life, is so damn beautiful. I share because I know this place called depression, and I know that though it feels isolating, I’m not alone. I share because I want you to live, because life, your life, is so damn beautiful.

I share for me, for you, for us.

I breathe deep into my belly and exhale with a sigh. I do it again and exhale with horse lips. I do it again and let out a groan. I shake my hands and stick out my tongue. You can do it too, if you like. We can let the weight of this story move beyond our fragile flesh...we are not meant to contain such charge.

Compounding Darknesses

Having relocated this far north, the long and dark winters are forcing me to bring to light this shadowed aspect of myself in order to not drown in the suffering. The dark season of winter is forcing me to undo the silence that stifles change by feeding the pain of a truth I walk with. This past winter, year three into a pandemic in a far northern town where the temperatures have rarely gotten above freezing since November and the sun makes an appearance maaaybe once a week, I have been beaten to my knees by this depression. Literally falling down and screaming in the woods for help, praying that something would give because the cycles of thoughts, sensations, beliefs, and patterns blowing through my mindbody were debilitating. Wailing for something to change because I couldn’t think (executive functioning offline for weeks ), I couldn’t feel anything but sad or hate-filled, I couldn’t relate, I couldn’t…I just couldn’t. I was toppled by a serious mental illness and I was completely cognitively and emotionally disabled.

High functioning depression, also named Persistent Depressive Disorder, is a chronic depressive condition, a neurological pattern, a systemic brain set-up, a way of mental functioning that results in a general depressive mood for two years or more. Major Depression is episodic in nature, showing up for acute moments in time, at least two weeks, with severe disturbances to overall functioning. While depression overall may go into remission for months, years, decades, if the conditions are right, it can re-emerge without warning, sometimes aggressively. Considered a mood disorder, it’s not a “curable” mental pattern, but one that must be diligently tended over the course of a lifetime. Especially if not well treated1, it can cycle through our lives in mysterious and compelling ways.

“The signs and symptoms of high-functioning depression are similar to those caused by major depression but are less severe. They may include changes in eating and sleeping habits, low self-esteem, fatigue, hopelessness, and difficulty concentrating. Symptoms persist on most days, causing a nearly constant low mood that lasts for two years or more. Most people function almost normally but struggle internally.” This chronic depression then leaves one susceptible to major depressive episodes (like the one I experienced this winter). Along with the high functioning depression symptoms, “one may also experience a loss of interest in activities normally enjoyed, extreme feelings of guilt, changes in emotional affect, and suicidal thoughts and behaviors. In rare cases, a depressive episode may even cause psychotic symptoms, such delusions and paranoia.” They dance together, marked by a general poor self-image over an extended period of time and acute episodes of extreme symptomology.

Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) is a cyclical depression that directly correlates with the dark, cold and gloom of the winter months. One 2012 study found that “In a given year, about 5 percent of the U.S. population experiences seasonal affective disorder, with symptoms present for about 40 percent of the year. Although the condition is seasonally limited, patients may have significant impairment from the associated depressive symptoms.”2 Largely linked to a lack of sunlight, and therefore vitamin D, seasonal depression reminds me that the world within reflects the world without, and vice versa – we are profoundly a product of our environment.

Postpartum depression is often considered a debilitating depression related to the shifts of personhood, hormones, and embodiment after giving birth. Typically, it is thought that postpartum depression will occur within the first year of childbirth. What’s now coming to light is that weaning, and the hormonal shifts that occur for milk production secession, may also cause bouts of depression. One 2016 study suggests that “an interaction of hormonal readjustments following weaning and feelings of sadness or guilt caused by the loss of the early symbiotic bond between mother and infant.” While this remains to be a largely under-researched reality, I feel in my marrow that the process of weaning, after 2+ years of nursing, greatly and directly impacted my ability to regulate my mood.

This year, these depressive internal realities related with one another in antagonistic ways, exacerbated and compounded one another resulting in an acute episode that threatened my life. It was and remains to be incredibly humbling.

Because of this, I have to make close friends with my depression once and for all. I have to learn what it does and doesn’t like. What keeps it calm and what flares it up. What it needs to stay out of the drivers seat and feel cared for. I have to get to know it’s texture, it’s smell, it’s shape and size. I have to accept it is a part of me, and welcome it home. By extending open arms to her, my depressed self, I have made space for all of me and learned a thing or two about what can be done to effectively tend to her needs. In the end, my depressed self is heavily influenced by my environment, relationships, practices, diet, location, and life stage.

Depression is not a one-sized-fits-all experience. It walks and talks and breathes in many ways. It assumes different positions within different places. It changes with the seasons. It’s reflected in the landscape.

This isn’t a post to pick apart the diagnosis, nor to I long to pathologize the notion of depression. While I fully accept my madness, it is no longer considered a blemish to be concealed. Depression simply is. It is a reality of my lived experience that demands I care for myself and my relations with certain acts of boundary and love in order to live fulfilling and meaningful life. Depression is not my enemy, or my problem, it simply is a reality.

The silence, the shame, the imposter syndrome, the fear, the guilt, the humiliation are all tools of a culture built on systemic oppression that denies us the right to be impacted by the world. Western civilization would lead us to believe that depression is the problem, but I know it’s a symptom of not my failure, but of living in a culture created and perpetuated by social trauma. And while it has real consequences for me and my family, it is not a defect within me. It is a part of everything, the everythingness of life. Together, the depression and I deserve love and care.

I look around for a moment and I settle my eyes on the nourishment of smoke rising and candle flame. I take a breath – turns out it’s the biggest one yet.

Making Kin: Allies for Depression

Making kin with my depression remains an on-going process (that must be obvious, no?). It means welcoming the depression and all its wisdom into my fullness, loving it for what it offers without letting it drive. It means seeing it for the source of tenderness it is, and as an opportunity for me to get vulnerable, get seen, and get connected into my relationships. It is a space for change - hard, painful, tender change.

It means tracking when my depression is most tender. What is happening in the world around me, the weather, the season, my relationships? It means tracking myself for signs of sinking, noticing when a sense of fear, angst, and hatred are seeping into my self talk. It means getting to know how this depression shows up so I’m not swept away with its presence, but present with it. Attuned and attentive.

Below are a five ways that I have tried to get right with my depression - some of the allies I’ve brought into my life to support me.

DISCLAIMER BLURB:

This is not to be conceived of as medical or psychiatric advice!! I ask you seek professional consultation before on-boarding any of these supplements or suggestions. For real.

I also acknowledge that we don’t all have equal access to some of the suggestions that I list here. I acknowledge that we have different bodies and different needs, and therefore I know that this list is not made for everybody and has underlying assumptions about access that invalidate it. I must accept that what has been supportive to me comes from a certain level of privilege and access that is not available to all. While I want to be able to offer such a comprehensive list, I cannot. I pray that what is offered here, if not an option, sparks your imagination to what might be.

Speak Up

This was my proverbial hump to get over. Name what’s happening for you. Find someone (a therapist, a close loving friend, a trusted peer) that can listen to you without judgement. You may have to pay this person, but taking that step and getting someone to talk to is critical. It might welcome you to tending your relations, invite your loved ones into your process to make room for you. Sigh. I know. We gotta talk about it. Let’s talk about it.

Get Outside

If you can, and I pray we all can...Go outside. Even if you need 5 layers. Even if it’s grey, snowing, -5 with windchill and unwelcoming. Go outside. Get your body moving and get moved by the world. Listen to the Earth around you. If you’re able, feel your feet hit the ground. Breathe the air. Going outside daily enables our nervous systems to entrain with place, helping us to reset and calibrate. It’s not always easy, or fun, but go. For 3 minutes or 3 hours, whatever you got, take it. Make it yours. Get outside.

Vitamin D

If you live in a four-seasons area, and you get a snowy, cold, dark winter like us, supplement Vitamin D. Vitamin D deficiency is a major contributor to seasonal depression, and is more likely to impact you if you have dark skin (melaninated babes!) If you take only one vitamin, make it vitamin D all year (not just during the dark months). It comes in capsules and liquid form. I take both during the winter.

Learn Your Cycles

Especially if you will, have or do menstruate, take note oof your monthly cycle patterns. It is key to learning what supports are going to care for you through low energy points. You may start to notice when shifts happen and can supplement accordingly. I’ve consulted with herbalists to support my hormonal balance throughout the month, and recommend you do the same. (Someday I may post about some of my favorite go-to herbs for mood stabilizers for menstruation.) Getting to know our internal rhythm gives us the information we need to take the best care of our inner landscape.

Move Your Body

Moving our bodies is an act of spiritual devotion. Committing to a daily practice of movement, whatever that movement looks like, is a way to engage in prayerful action. Depression causes stillness that can lead to energetic stagnation, and that stagnation can lead to depression. Even though it can take everything you’ve got, see if you can give it. It doesn’t have to be an hour, it can be a minute or two. See what happens if you grant yourself permission to wiggle your toes before you get out of bed, or stretch your jaw in the shower. What if you take your arms overhead after you get dressed? What can happen if you shake your hands before you sit at the computer, stretch your neck before you start the car. Small acts of movement. Small acts of devotion.

Bonus: Prayer

I grew up agnostic, y’all. I’ve been to Church service a total of five times in my life. I don’t mean prayer in the organized religion kind of way. I don’t even know what that means...I don’t mean dogmatic recitations. I’m a ceremonialist, a ritualist, a feminist spiritual scholar. I got different definitions...perhaps.

When I say pray, I mean offering my awareness out with gratitude. I mean checking in with myself in a way that allows me to feel small and also held. I Pray to the day, the birds, the soil. I Pray to Creator, Great Spirit, the Goddess. I Pray to my future Self, our ancestors. I invite you...Pray for yourself, your kin. Give thanks, seek guidance, and offer up some part of whatever is heavy on you. The daily practice of saying a prayer - a weaving of offering gratitude, seeking forgiveness, and offering praise to be alive on this incredible planet (despite the crazy mayhem of humanity right now) - has changed more than I could have imagined. Prayer. Praise. Gratitude. Grace. Offer your awareness outward once a day. It’s strong medicine.

Maybe let’s take one more breath together.

If you read along this far, thanks for sticking out with me. Thanks for your compassion (to suffer with) and your attention. It is not lost on me the gift you have just granted me. I pray you have found something worth remembering. I pray some part of you feels fed, met, tender and awake. I pray we all continue to live our lives on purpose. I need you here, on this beautiful planet in this fvcked up time. The revolution needs you.

- in love and madness -

tayla shanaye

Notes:

I borrow the term survivance from Indigenous scholar Gerald Vizenor. “Survivance is an active resistance and repudiation of dominance, obtrusive themes of tragedy, nihilism, and victimry. The practices of survivance create an active presence...Native stories are the sources of survivance.” This notion of survivance as a bicultural Black woman speaks to a breaking away from the narratives of struggle to make space for the truth of the matter – I am still here, and by being here, I long to tell a story that feeds my sense of belonging to and of the Earth. I acknowledge that my use is out of context as I am not of Native ancestry to Turtle Island, I am longing to promote healing through storytelling that shows active presence in the face of cultural trauma.