Today I came across a post that I felt all of you would really enjoy. I have copied the text here and the link to her page where the original content is posted. Visit the site.
“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.”
Sylvia Plath The Bell Jar
Every year about this time, I dive into a little stupor of depression and anxiety. The funny thing is, I know it’s coming. For the first several years in this job I looked externally for the causes of this spiral down the rabbit hole. Unhappy relationships, unfulfilling work, dissatisfaction with where I was living- those things were to blame. The list of problems was always long and I found myself running. Change. Transition. It is fucking hard.
In the last few years (with the help of a lot of therapy) I have been able to recognize that with the profession that I have chosen, there is a period of transition in the beginning of the season and at the end. The beginning seems to be easier, but that could be because I am writing this at the end and the beginning just couldn’t have been as hard as this.
Spending 5-6 months trying to manage 4am wake up calls, first flight out, hotel rooms, rental cars, shuttles, different cities, workout schedule, aches, pains, ice bags, heat pads, dinners, lunches, whiskey, yoga, receipts, credit cards, checks, weather…the list is long. And on top of all that, and most important, did I actually do my job to the best of my ability?
With all of those things, I still find myself thriving on the hectic-ness of the season. While it is hard on the mind, body and spirit (not to mention the toll is takes on the personal relationships in my life); I enjoy the pace of schedule and I absolutely love what I get to do.
But then, it ends. And I know it’s coming. But all at once, it’s over. No more flights, no more insane schedule. And I find myself laying in my bed with all this time on my hands and I can’t even manage to do the laundry. My life seems to have lost it’s purpose. I have zero idea what to do with myself. Time is infinite and looming and it feels oppressive.
During the season I dream of sleeping in and spending two hours in the yoga studio and getting outside and paddle boarding and going for bike rides and visiting my family and friends. Writing and self-discovery. Taking classes and diving into the life of casual and blissful exploration.
But I can’t get up. And if I can get up, I certainly cannot make the damn bed.
It’s like I am mourning a death of a loved one. Like a piece of my soul is missing. (I know that is a little dramatic). I get over it; I emerge from the forest. The fog lifts and I can breathe. But for those couple of weeks after the season ends I find myself in a very dark place. Questioning the meaning of life, the purpose of our existence. What’s the point?
I try to prepare myself. Allow myself the time to mourn and to not place expectations of great accomplishments right away. To allow the space to grieve and process. That any kind of change is hard and that the expectation of transitioning gracefully in a matter of days or weeks or even months is a unfair expectation to place on myself. The guilt of “should’s and could’s” needs to be released. That is it’s okay to not know what to do. There is an embrace of the shadow that we have come to think of as a negative. But what if we turn to this shadow self and embrace the opportunity to go deeper? To take the journey down the rabbit hole as a chance to explore the depths of the soul.
And in the end, I remind myself that nothing is permanent. The lows, the highs. The darkness and the light. Everything shifts. Like the wave of the breath – the beginning, the middle and the end. Always. Finding grace within the lows and humility within the highs. It will always change.