Toward the end of last year, I was on a rollercoaster—a mental, emotional, and physically taxing rollercoaster. While my highs and lows may have been a result of (or at least exacerbated by) my pregnancy hormones, they were still very real. My condition, plus other situational factors, just amplified the issues and wounds that had been festering for awhile.
October was particularly difficult, and I started writing about it in my “october… (pt. one)” post. I had fully intended to publish a “part two,” but at the time, I didn’t have the strength or mental capacity to continue on with it.
I was stressed. I was drained. I was depressed.
Please note: if someone tells you that they’re depressed, please don’t call it a “rough patch.” It’s more than likely a serious condition that runs deeper than a rough patch. Take it seriously, and ask if they need a listening ear or help in some capacity.
(Here’s an article on what to say to someone with depression.)
I get it, though. It can be hard to tell when someone is actually depressed; the signs can be virtually unrecognizable. But sometimes, people will open up about what they’re experiencing. And if someone does let you in and tell you they’re depressed, it’s really important to tread softly. But don’t ignore it and don’t minimize it.
When I reached my breaking point, I was in my car… crying. I had to make a decision: I was either going to continue letting myself spiral downward OR ask for help.
At that moment, I reached out to a therapist friend of mine for a referral on counselors. I wanted help getting out of my own head and processing all of the emotions I was feeling. My friend gave me a list of recommendations and I called the first one that jumped out at me. Just scheduling the appointment seemed to take the edge off, so I knew that I had made the right decision.
On the afternoon of my appointment, I was running a few minutes behind. (The edge was back.) And then I could not find the office. (Now, I was frustrated and angry.) I finally just had to call the therapist to get directions because every minute that I wasn’t there was a minute of help that I wasn’t getting.
After tracking it down and making my way up the stairs to the room, I walked in, apologized, and sat down on the couch.
Before I knew it, I was talking a mile a minute, sobbing between breaths.
Word vomit. For an hour.
When my time was up, I inhaled deeply and then on my exhale, I released the last of all that pent-up energy that had been building for weeks. It felt like I had been holding my breath for so long that I was bursting at the seams.
That appointment was exactly what I needed to move forward toward healing. When you’re in that position, where you’re keeping all of these feelings inside, it’s so important to find an outlet. Whether it’s in a journal, to a friend, or to a therapist, sometimes you just need to word vomit.
<3 Laura
