Right now, times here seem a bit harder than they usually are and since some of us are struggling with difficult times, like the loss of a loved one, an illness, or just the overwhelming political situation, I wanted to take the time to write a few things that make life easier for me.

1. Family–because, well you know, they can lift your spirits, make you laugh, and let you know you are not alone.
2. Friends–for the same reason as number one.
3. The good health days. After I became pregnant with my first child, I developed severe anxiety and with the third child, I suffered depression for two years. Because of this, I’m more susceptible to experience them now, which I do. It hits me at unexpected moments and can last for days. Fortunately, for me I don’t have to take meds. Eventually, my body evens itself out and I’m back to my go-lucky, happy self that some people tell me is annoying.
4. The bad health days. Because without them, I wouldn’t be able to fully appreciate the good days. One of my favorite sayings–don’t know who to attribute it to–is “Only the darkness makes you crave the sunlight.” It also makes you appreciate it.
5. Working out. This is a love/hate relationship. I love the endorphins of the exercise high or the feel good vibes of knowing I’m doing something positive for my body, but boy do I hate getting there.
6. The beautiful moments of the world–I’m lucky enough to live close to a reservoir where you’ll constantly find me exercising. It’s the small moments of peace that rejuvenate me. I love how the sunlight sparkles like a thousand diamonds on the water. The dark doe eyes peering at me from the brush. The feel of the cool morning air tickling my skin.
7. Writing. It is the air of my soul. Without it, I’d wither.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever posted about my grandpa on here, but about 5 years ago, he moved here. I visited with him almost every Friday. When he was up to it, we’d go to lunch. Recently, he passed away, and I’ll be heading out for his funeral this week. Over 15 years ago, when my grandma died, I helped him pick out his coffin along with my grandmother’s. We also, picked out their burial plots up on a beautiful hill that isn’t too far away from the ocean. For obvious reasons, I can’t say I’m glad to be going back, but I am glad that I’ll be able to pay my respects to my grandmother’s site as well and see some family I haven’t seen in awhile.

Anyway, because of this, I won’t be posting next week.

I covet my writing time. I don’t answer the phone unless it’s the school or my husband and I try to ignore all social media. However, today, I let go an hour of my time to speak to a friend about depression. This disease runs rampant on my matriarchal side–mother, grandfather, uncles, aunt, cousins, and siblings. I thought I understood it. After all, I had so many family members that I knew the ins and outs of it.

Not so much.

I didn’t understand it until I became depressed with one of my pregnancies and continued to experience it until the child was over a year old. Here are a couple myths that I’d like to bust.

1. The person experiencing depression knows how bad it is for them. Unfortunately, while in the midst of it, we think we’re handling it–dealing with it. Because of this, we do not understand when we need help. Looking back, I wish my doctor had dug further into what I was experiencing. He trusted me because I’d told him I’d seen it every day of my life for 19 years. It’s different to see it than it is to experience it. I was in over my head and should’ve been on medication.
2. We can pull ourselves out of it. No matter how hard I tried, I could not force myself to be happy. Oh sure, I faked it for thirty minutes, an hour, even up to 3 hours, but inside I was miserable and anxious. There were so many basic functions that made me freak out–grocery shopping, going out with my friends, or even leaving the house for a walk.
3.  The person understands that they need help. I didn’t. I needed someone close to me to say that it was a problem. My husband was that one for me. Although, he didn’t realize the severity of it, he understood that I needed support. He provided it in so many ways, but there is one I wished he would’ve insisted upon. I wish he would’ve helped me get medical help. While his support eased some of the triggers, it didn’t help fix the main problem.