Go Easy On Me...

There ain't no gold in this river

That I've been washin' my hands in forever

I know there is hope in these waters,

But I can't bring myself to swim when I'm drowning in this silence. ~Adele

 

There comes the time of year here, when the leaves are more absent than rustling in the trees.  When the cold sets in, and the green retreats underground to hibernate for the winter.  While Fall is the favorite of all seasons for me, the dark sets in so early and the chill through the 75 year old house can't help but make the walls creak, as well as my old bones. 

There are many happy things in the Fall.  My birthday.  Oldest's birthday; he's 21 this year. Thanksgiving.  The Holidays. The smell of cinnamon, pine, and spice throughout the stores and shops. Gratitude. Togetherness. Yet, every year it comes.

The weight that falls upon my chest, stifling the breath I desperately need to rejuvenate myself, anxiety that falls heavy in my soul.  I am no stranger to depression, having battled through severe postpartum with both boys, barely emerging on the other side. But the Seasonal depression, is something different.  Not crippling, but just enough to impact my everyday.  Not enough to require medication, but enough to take notice.

I take solace in the fact that Oldest will be returning home after Christmas for a semester.  His internship is downtown, with little travel outside of our town. It will be nice to have him home again, an unexpected upside to his new school schedule. He's dependable, even keeled, and the dog really misses him.  

Youngest has made some clear decisions about his path going forward, he's actively taking his medications, and becoming more of himself.  Despite his old life is trying to pull him back, he is determined to move forward.  He's finishing his 3 weeks of school and for now, has decided to not reenroll.  It's just not for him. He's looking for a full time job, and is making more of a point to be involved with the family. As Hubs and I watched the Adele interview the other night, she was asked what she wanted for her son as he grew older.  Her reply was for him to just be a good person, that she had no expectations for him, just to be happy and good. It resonated with me because since Youngest was born I believed that he would do great things, but perhaps I need to accept that he could do great things, and for now just be okay now with him just being a good person, a happy person. We can see small glimpses of that now, and that in itself is no small feat. 

Work has been not as bad as it could be.  We have had more sunny days than rainy, and the chill thus far has been manageable. In years past I have, with some help, organized and spearheaded the shopping and wrapping of gifts for several kids in the foster care system. It became such a burden and headache that last year I stopped it completely. While I did my own thing, gave when I could, where I could, it just wasn't the same. This year I decided to take only 2 kids, and myself and 3 coworkers are splitting the list and making sure they get a good haul from Santa. A small thing, but manageable, to bring joy to our day and theirs. 

I am finding joy in the small things.  Going to lunch with a friend. Napping. Breathing when I can. Really tending to my plants, growing life inside while I can. Saying no. Stepping back. Counting the thirty five days to the darkest point, until we regain 2 minutes of sunshine daily, 15 minutes a week. But still, the anxiety, the depression is there. While Youngest and I are familiar, Hubs just doesn't get it. It's hard to explain that I just can't snap out of it, that even through the smiles and casual conversation, the weight and sense of impending doom is still there, lurking. 

Thirty five days.

Until then, go easy on me.