This is a scheduled blog post. I’m supposed to be out this weekend, exploring the Purcell mountains and the Okanagan with my family, so if a bear hasn’t eaten me or something yet, I should have turned 30 by now.
30 is a crazy number for me. I dealt with a lot of depression in my teens, and believe it or not, there was a time when I thought I would never hit 30. I imagined that reaching 30 would feel like a long climb uphill of forcing myself through my anxieties and the dismal deadness that used to be my life. I used to be so afraid of everything that every little thing out of the ordinary would drive me batshit crazy with worry. I over-analyzed every social interaction to the point that I had difficulties getting a job, especially ones that involved dealing with the public. There were times when I had to interact with someone socially and I literally felt frozen. I couldn’t even use public bathrooms for the longest time.
I wish there was something particularly inspirational with what I’ve done to get here, but to be honest, many days it just felt like I just needed to live another day just to see what was around the corner. I forced myself through the shittiest days and sometimes felt the worst for it. I don’t believe that you can shower depression with positive feelings and then just hope for the best. I’ve known a lot of people who also suffered from depression, and believe me, “Keep your chin up, you have nothing to be depressed about,” is the last thing they want to hear.
But I’m still here. I can tell you one thing: once you get used to fighting, the battles become easier.
About a month ago, I wrote a personal journal entry, which said: I am tired of fighting myself.
Part of this comes from the realization that, in an effort to escape the blackness of depression that threatened to swallow me up in my teens, I instead made myself do things to desensitize myself to them. I let people’s criticisms get to me. I forced myself to volunteer or work, even when I didn’t particularly need the money, and do every single thing I deemed difficult. I forced myself to exercise.
I mean, a lot of it was good for me–these things forced me out of my comfort zone and I learned, at least, to strike conversation and deal with negativity and even find the courage to start working on my dreams. It is clear that all that effort paid off. I’ve also learned not to give in to my fears if something needed to get done. But it doesn’t change the fact that forcing myself causes me stress. It doesn’t change that for me, a lot of unhappiness could stem from something as simple as having to deal with a planned phone call.
So if fighting myself was the theme of my 20s, I’m making an effort to make kindness to myself the theme of my 30s. I’ve learned my weaknesses and strengths in my 20s. I’ve learned to delay satisfaction, to trudge, to force myself through unpleasant things for a bigger reward. There is nothing wrong with those things, but if I am to progress from mere drudgery and learn to thrive, then I have to learn how to grow myself beyond survival. Harsh conditions may make you stronger, initially, but it could also wear you out.
I hope, that for the rest of my 30s, I will learn the art of picking my battles. Of allowing myself to win, on occasion, so that I can live to fight another day. Of forgiving myself for who I am and my little faults and not feeling guilty about being happy. Our lives are so short…it is worth it, I think, to figure out as much of it as we can, for as long as we are able.
We must learn to bend, or we break.
-The Sarantine Mosaic
Come on, say it to yourself: “Happy birthday, K! I’m going to go get addicted to The Agartes Epilogues now for your birthday present!” And then I can tell you, “Why, thank you.” I mean, let’s be honest, it’s not like we’re getting any younger…
