Why I Decided to Self-Publish

The story has been with me for over twenty years. The intention I had for it at the start was to share the complexities of depression. Except I had not known that’s what it was at the time.

Ever since I was a child of about 12 years old, I suffered with uncontrollable feelings of deep sadness, self-loathing and dejection. I didn’t understand these feelings and therefore could not understand how to relieve myself of them. Always the writer, I started to write a story about a young woman who “had issues” just like me. I didn’t know what kind of issues she would have; all I knew was that she would be in some kind of emotional turmoil that was rooted so deep that she would have to climb her way out of it by undergoing a profound transformation.

I discovered that Mia, my main character had depression after understanding that I myself was suffering with depression. In an effort to remain authentic, I used my experience as the source for what my character needed to go through. In trying to relieve my own emotional pain, I sought therapy, and for my novel, I took notes on how I felt in therapy and about the process. Knowing that I needed more than just my own experience for my story, I conducted a lot of online research about what depression is, its many symptoms, what kinds of treatments are out there, and how the treatments work.

Needless to say, I incorporated much of what I learned and experienced about depression into all aspects of Mia’s actions and thoughts within the novel. But, being someone who suffers with depression myself, there were many years where I lacked the energy and motivation to even pick up the novel to continue the work. Then I switched careers in 2008 and put my novel on the shelf, where it collected dust for years. In the midst of all those years, I toggled back and forth between thoughts of self-publishing the book and getting it traditionally published.

Never forgetting about my work, I finally picked the book up again about 6 years ago in a moment of inspiration. I fell in love with it. With renewed enthusiasm, I proceeded to fully revise it and had it professionally edited. Then I revised it again and started sending query letters out to potential literary agents who would then sell it to publishers. Absolutely no takers. I was crushed! I at least expected some rejections. But nothing! Crickets! So I took a few online courses and listened to a number of different podcasts about the craft of writing and the business of self-publishing, all while revising it again and again. With each revision, I felt the story grow even more powerful. I found another editor to work on my 10^th or 15^th revision (by that point, I had lost count!). I revised the manuscript yet again and then made the final decision to self-publish. And here we are.

This story has been with me approximately 23 years. I refused to let it go because I felt the message was significant. But to think about waiting another year or two to get an agent, and then another year or two to get a publisher, and then still another year or two for it to actually be available in stores was simply too many years for me. It had already been long enough! The story needs to get out there. And by no means am I rushing the process. I feel like I did right by this story with all of my revisions as a result of everything that I learned and experienced. It is time for me to allow Mia, my main character, tell her story. I think it’s a story that people will relate to, find entertaining, and feel uplifted by. I am quite proud to call this work my own.

When I started this novel, people weren’t talking about depression. Mental health became a worldwide discussion due to the pandemic. But it’s still something that many people don’t fully understand, or perhaps simply misunderstand. My novel is by no means going to educate everyone about the complexities of depression. It is, after all, about only one woman’s healing journey. But what it can do is provide the platform to continue the conversation about it. And I think that’s what is most important. I want to be among the people who help to normalize discussions about mental health in order to remove the stigma that a lack of understanding has created. I spent so many hours constructing this novel into something that people will find value in and I am so very proud of having created the story in the first place. We live in a time where we can make our own decisions about what gets printed; we no longer have to rely on the gatekeepers. I decided to self-publish because I wanted to maintain creative control and because it’s within my power to do so. I’ve decided to self-publish because I think it’s a story that needs to be shared now. I’ve decided to self-publish because someone out there in the world needs this story like I did over 20 years ago.

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A Depressive’s Rant

The depression monster has got its claws inside of me once again. All summer, I’ve just been off. I haven’t really had the inspiration to write a blog post about anything at all. I missed an opportunity to post a blog about my mother on her birthday on July 2nd. I haven’t taken any pictures that I want to post on social media. I haven’t taken any videos of my puppy Roxie and damn near abandoned her IG page altogether. I don’t feel like I’m using all of my time wisely to make revisions to my novel after hiring another editor to make notes on it. I’ve stopped reading the book The Artist’s Way which is supposed to actually help me out of this block that I’m currently in. I feel guilty each morning my husband Dan walks Roxie (to give me time to write) because we had long ago agreed I’d do morning walks with her.  And I have failed to mention all of this to my sister and to Dan, and even to my therapist! What is going on with me?

Taking inventory of all the things that I normally did on a regular basis that helped me overcome depression, I can tell you right now that I’ve been cheating just a little bit. There are days that I am so excited to work on my novel revisions that I skip my meditations and affirmations and go straight to the revisions. No bueno. I know my meditations have helped to ground me before. When I first started meditating years ago, it took a few weeks, maybe even months to start feeling like they were helping me. And I understood that it was the consistency of doing them every day that would eventually help me. And they did. Somewhere along the way, I’ve had to relearn that.  

I also haven’t been writing every day and you all know how highly I speak of writing. Writing, I feel, connects me to my soul and lights a fire inside of me like nothing else in the world has ever done. Even if I write a few words about what I’m thinking and I never look at them again, I should be writing something new every day.  I just haven’t been doing that out of a severe lack of motivation. That’s when perseverance comes into play: the drive to do it anyway even if the motivation is not there. I know the bigger picture is to help myself feel better and stay at that place of feeling better. Every moment should be my now moment where I do what I need to now in order to feel good and stay good. I know this. 

Those are all the things that have plagued me as a result of my feeling off. Now here’s my positive perspective. 

I should give myself praise for the things that I have continued to do to support my mental health.  What I am proud of is the fact that I have continued exercising on a daily basis since about two weeks before the summer started. I don’t exercise as much as I used to before I got married. I used to work out about 45 minutes to an hour on the daily but now I only do about a half hour. But guess what? A half hour is still better than nothing. And this is a big deal for me because a few months ago, I questioned why I continued to work out even though I’m gaining weight and my body doesn’t look the same way it used to. I had to remind myself—through meditation—that I’m not working out for my body. I’m working out for my mind. Because once I get my mind right, I will feel good about myself no matter what I look like. 

I am also speaking to a new therapist every week. My previous therapist no longer takes my insurance so I went without for about six months. No bueno. I feel that in those six months, I ever so slowly mentally unraveled without realizing it.  I had started a search for a woman of color to be my new therapist, but none of them ever called me back. True to form, I gave up the search when no one materialized. When my current therapist was presented to me, I felt that she was better than no one.  She is not a woman of color but at least now I’m talking out some of my issues again in a way that is making me dive deep into them. I’m analyzing my thoughts, feelings and actions in an effort to break out of my funk and move into a healthier frame of mind.  I’m doing the hard work again. And that’s what’s so important. I’m doing the hard work. 

Lastly, I’m eating better than ever before. I’m on a plant-based diet, which means I’m taking in more vegetables and fruit and I’m not eating any meat or fish, I’m watching my sugar and salt intake, I’ve stopped drinking alcohol since early June and I’m focused on taking vitamins that are helping to combat my symptoms of Endometriosis. 

So while I feel that creatively I have been off and I have been feeling depressed all summer, there are some things that I have kept consistent in an effort to continue working on my whole self. Because in the end, working on ourselves is the best thing we can do for ourselves. 

My rant ends here. 

The Lies that Serve Us

“I’m so stupid.” “I’m never gonna get this.” “I’m just not good enough.” 

We lie to ourselves every time we say something negative about ourselves. We don’t realize that these repeated lies are actually affirmations. We repeat them to ourselves until we start to believe these horrible lies.

As children, we were somehow conditioned to believe that if we speak positively about ourselves, we are stuck up or vain. When I ask my 7th graders to say something nice about themselves, they are afraid of coming off as conceited, so they become embarrassed and hold back. Yet they are so quick to put themselves down at any given moment of the day. “I can’t do it,” they say. “I’ve never been good at math.” I try to explain to them that if they keep believing they’re no good at math, they will automatically block themselves from learning anything new in math because they believe they cannot learn it. They’ve already put it into their heads and now anything they do and say will confirm what they believe to be true.

Why is it so easy for us to believe the negative lies we tell ourselves? Speaker, hypnotherapist and author Marisa Peer says, “If you’re going to lie to yourself, you might as well tell yourself a lie that serves you.”

The dictionary defines the word affirmation as a statement or proposition that is declared to be true. Nowhere does it say that statements need to be positive for them to be affirmations.  

Positive affirmations are not magical statements that will suddenly change the way you think. They are statements that help you take action towards accomplishing a goal or towards simply becoming a better you, giving you, in turn, the confidence to continue in that direction. They will only work if you take action that is consistent with the affirmation. 

Tell yourself you will fail the test and that will make you act and behave accordingly: you won’t study because you believe you will fail whether you study or not.  During the test you won’t make an honest effort because you’ve already put it into your head that you will not pass the test. Once you receive that failing grade, a part of you is satisfied because you predicted the bad grade and now you feel justified in saying, “See. I told you I wouldn’t pass.”

Why not try telling yourself a “lie” that will serve you? Tell yourself that you will pass that test.  You may then find yourself paying more attention in class, asking more questions, studying a bit harder and making a true effort during the exam. You might even find that you retain the information in a more efficient way—all because you started telling yourself a different “lie”.  Then, when you pass the test, it activates your belief system in a different way: your positive “lies” are true, too. Once we begin to understand how the things we tell ourselves work themselves into existence, we can start telling ourselves all kinds of “lies” that will serve us! Affirm the “lie”. Expect the “lie”. Declare it to be true. 

The moment I decided to become a teacher, a close friend of mine started calling me “teacher” each time he spoke to me. It felt strange at first but believe it or not, I started to see myself as one. I quit my job as a publisher’s assistant and became a substitute teacher all the while calling myself a teacher.  I then took classes towards my master’s degree in education, all the while calling myself a teacher. As a substitute, the work was not consistent so I couldn’t afford the classes anymore. I quit substituting and took a full-time job as an after school teacher in the Bronx. Then I had the opportunity to apply for the NYC Teaching Fellowship grant, holding onto the “lie” that I would be among the chosen few. And I was. The NYC Teaching Fellowship not only paid for my Master’s degree in Education but also helped to place me in a school to finally become that teacher. I took those small steps toward my goal—all the while telling myself the “lie” that I was already a teacher. I am now in my 15th year of teaching. 

If you think about it, affirmations are just wishes that we make for ourselves. These wishes can only come true if we start taking steps toward them. If we take that wish and proclaim it as if it is already true, we will be telling ourselves a “lie” that will actually serve us. 

Let’s rethink what affirmations really are. Keep telling yourself that positive “lie” until you believe it. Keep saying it into existence. I dare you to try it. 

Does this resonate with you? Please leave a comment about how you have changed the way you speak to and about yourself in a way that serves you. I’d love to hear from you!

To Forgive and Forget

I recently listened to a very intriguing discussion regarding whether we need to forgive and forget past wrongs done to us in order to be in an emotionally healthy place. Mostly everyone involved in the discussion agreed that they can forgive, but it’s incredibly difficult to forget. An important point made several times by different individuals during this discussion was that when we forgive, it is really meant to help us heal or move on. It is not necessarily meant to absolve the person who did us wrong.

Throughout the entire discussion, my mind kept going back to my very first boyfriend, who cheated on me for the entire two years we were together. He was 19 years old and I was 17—very naïve, very gullible, and very much in love. (Although, looking back at it now, I think what I felt for this guy was something more like infatuation, not love.) I thought he was beautiful: a thin brown skin young man with long, full, captivating dreadlocks that accentuated the oval shape of his face. He walked proudly and with so much confidence that it clouded my logic, common sense, and judgement. And although I knew he wasn’t treating me right the entire time we were together, I felt that in the small and few moments he was sweet to me made up for all the times he wasn’t. Generally, he was selfish, manipulative and self-centered. At the time, I didn’t realize it because I couldn’t believe that someone as beautiful as him would ever fall for a simple and inexperienced girl like me.

I recall the times I’d spend days just waiting for him to call me and when he finally did, he’d make me feel silly for being upset about it. There were times he’d call me just so that I could give him a ride somewhere (I had a car; he didn’t) and then I wouldn’t hear from him again for some time. Two Valentine’s Days in a row he had disappeared while I waited for him to (hopefully) surprise me by showing up at my house. Both times, knowing he was not home, I delivered his gifts to him at his house. I never received a gift from him, no explanation nor an apology. I was so miserable in that relationship that I knew I had to leave him for my own sake. But there was something about him that desperately held me to him and the thought of breaking up with him was just something I could not bear. It was strange. I didn’t want to break up with him but I knew I had to.

I remember the day I told him that perhaps we should break up. He quietly and calmly said, “Ok. But once I walk out the door, you know you’ll never see me again. Are you sure that’s what you want?” My heart pounded, and upon thinking about the finality of my relationship with him, I told him no. I didn’t realize then that I had just given him permission to continue his bad behavior towards me.

Then there was the time he introduced me to a girl who was always at his house. “She’s my sister” he said, after I had questioned who she was and why she was always at his house. “Who’d you think she was?” he asked. “My girlfriend?” I wasn’t yet aware that he had actually told me the truth that day. That girl was, in fact, his girlfriend. The reason why she was always at his house was because he met her through his mom who hired her as an assistant when his mom worked at home! (I would later learn this the day after we broke up for the last time.)

The day I broke up with him the first time was an empowering day for me because I had finally stood up for myself. My sister and I were going Christmas shopping one day and I invited him to come along. I bought him a nice winter coat and handed it to him right then and there. I later came to find out that he took the receipt from the coat I bought him and used it to return—to the store—an old coat he had that he no longer wanted! And it worked!!! He was given a full refund for a coat that the store never even sold! My anger over this deception came from a place that wished that he would have at least used that money to buy me something. Instead he bought himself another coat!
I was heated! “I have never asked you for a thing and you go and do something like this?!” I screamed into the phone. Then, I said it: “I don’t ever want to see you again!” At first I was fine! I felt liberated and confident and proud that I finally did this thing for myself. Then he started to call me again and asked me to take him back. Maybe he’s changed, I thought to myself. He wouldn’t keep begging me if he really didn’t truly love me. It took about a week’s worth of pleading before I took him back with high hopes. My only demand was for him to spend more time with me and to treat me like I was really his girlfriend and not a buddy who drove him places. He spent the next two weeks being an exemplary boyfriend. However, I soon started to feel taken advantage of once again. So once again, I broke up with him for the second and final time. I didn’t do it out of anger- it was a decision that I prayed about. Again, I didn’t want to lose him but I came to the realization that he was toxic. I knew he was no good for me.

It was the very next day that I found out that the girl who was always at his house was, in fact, his girlfriend. My whole world shattered around me. I couldn’t eat, sleep or focus on anything else but the deception that caused the inside of my chest to hurt. I didn’t think I would ever recover from the pain that his lies had caused. The next few weeks, I went over and over in my head- and in detail with my friends- all that had occurred between us, making the connections and putting together what did not make sense to me before. I suddenly understood why he consistently disappeared for days at a time- he was busy!

In an effort to hurt him, I somehow found out his girlfriend’s address and sent her pictures of him and me during our two-year relationship. As a result, I had a long conversation on the phone with her detailing the events of my courtship with this man. I then called his job (he worked at a Best Buy or a Radio Shack or something) and told his manager that I knew for a fact that he was stealing radios from them and selling them to people he knew. (True story!) Through a friend of his, I learned that he was confronted by his boss but I don’t know what else happened. I also know that he knew who called his employer.

I never saw him again. I never heard from him again. Many years later, I related this story to a coworker friend of mine and she was horrified. I said to her: “If I ran into him again, I think I’d be really genuinely happy to see him.” She thought I was crazy to forgive this man. But it happened so many years ago. If I still harbored any ill feelings about him or what he did, then that would be a testament to my own issues, outside of whatever he did to me. It happened close to thirty years ago—ancient history! Yes, the experience did cause some unhealthy decisions regarding men and relationships. Yes, for a long time I did allow it to define me as a woman and define who I’d be in a relationship. But if I continue to blame him for my perpetual depression and lack of confidence, then that would be truly sad.

Here’s my positive perspective: It was an experience that taught me that given the right circumstances, anyone can be deceiving. Perhaps I have subconsciously carried this experience with me through every relationship I’ve had. But I can actually be proud to say that I no longer feel the pain that I felt when I found out about every deceitful thing he did. I was very naïve and I unintentionally allowed him to get away with being cold, hurtful, and manipulative. If I happened to run in to him today, I would genuinely want to know how he is and what he’s been up to. After all, he was someone with whom I shared many intimate moments. I laughed and cried with him and in the tender moments we shared, whether he was faking it or not, it was still something I shared with another human being. It was an experience. I will not allow myself to focus on the hurt but rather what I learned about myself.

It took some time but I was able to forgive him because I was given the gift of time and retrospect. And I realized very early on that forgiving him was all about me and had nothing to do with him. It was a part of my healing journey. That is why I am able to tell the story now with no anger or shame in my heart. By forgiving him, I have made peace within my heart. By not forgetting, I am able to appreciate the person that I am, remembering and understanding the lessons I learned through an experience that was once so painful. To forgive and not forget was my answer.

My Own Creation

It’s not like I was ever over the fact that I can’t have children. It’s just that I had painfully accepted it as my reality. However, whenever I learn that a colleague or acquaintance is pregnant, it quietly pains me, although I’m also able to feel and express genuine happiness and excitement for them. Another cute little being entering the world and bringing joy to its parents is a beautiful gift.  It is a privilege not afforded to more women than we know- women who perhaps suffer it in silence. 

It’s not always on my mind- this sorrow I feel for never being given the chance to bring my own child into the world. But it often pains my heart. And sometimes, I reflect on the way my life is now and how selfish I am with my time and how tired I am after work and the struggle I feel negotiating my time with my art and my husband Dan, and my miniature schnauzer Roxie and I think, maybe God knew what he was doing by not granting me the gift of having my own children. How would I have managed all of it? Is this actually a blessing wrapped inside of what feels like some sort of punishment? While I don’t know how I would have managed it all, I do know that it would have been possible because women have been doing it for centuries. 

I’m never quite sure what my reaction will be when finding out that a family member is pregnant. I learned one cousin was having twins back in December and my heart sank because I had always determined that God would grant me my own twins one day. I quietly sat with the news for days, excited about the twins that would soon grace our already large family, but sad for me, knowing that I would never share my own news like that. Three months later, I received a call from another cousin who stated she was expecting a baby. I was again genuinely happy for her and expressed my joy for such a blessing. After hanging up, however, I unexpectedly broke into a loud outburst of inconsolable dejection. I wailed like a child who was just told she can no longer have that pony that was always promised to her. I just don’t know when those feelings of grief will overpower me. I’ve talked about it in therapy. I’ve discussed my feelings about it with my husband, my twin sister, and my cousins. And while it always feels good to release all those emotions, the fact remains that they are emotions that I will always carry with me. 

Here’s my positive perspective. Those overpowering feelings are a part of what makes me who I am today. They do not need to be stifled. They simply need to be funneled into something constructive and I will do that the best way I know how: by writing. I will continue to channel my heartbreak through my various creative writing projects. And perhaps next time a colleague or a family member shares their pregnancy news, I won’t have to feel quietly saddened. I could privately and happily acknowledge the process of bringing my own creations into the world. 

Does this resonate with you? Has there ever been a time where you were saddened about not being able to do something you feel you were meant to do? I’d love to hear from you!

I Speak Only for Myself

I was the only black girl in my predominantly white high school religion class. The teacher, a white nun, was talking about racial prejudice for some reason; I don’t recall the lesson. In her ignorance, she turned to me and asked if I had ever experienced such prejudice. Feeling the pressure to provide a good story for my white counterparts, I shared my experience of when an older white woman had decided to deliberately cross the street one day as I walked towards her. Immediately after telling that story and for many years afterward, a sense of discomfort lived inside my chest because I failed to stand up for myself that day in the classroom. The teacher had no right to ask me such a question, generalizing my experience as if I was the token black girl who could help them understand the subtleties of racial prejudice. Years later as I reflected on that experience, I promised myself that I would never again allow anyone to put me in that position. 

But it did happen again. And again, I foolishly allowed it. 

It happened only a few months ago. I had started accepting invitations to appear on a number of different podcasts. There was one podcast in particular that focused on exercise and its benefits. I was there to talk about how exercise has helped to lessen my symptoms of depression. The interviewer and I had a great conversation going until he asked me that question. He asked me if African Americans face depression differently than other people. In retrospect, I wish I had simply told him that I did not have an answer for that question. My knowledge of depression was limited to my experience with it and the small amount of research I had conducted for my novel. I had given no one the impression that I was an expert who could speak about how people of color experience depression differently. After listening to that podcast episode when it finally aired, I was downright angry. Angry with him for asking me, but even angrier at myself for trying to answer it.

I use the word “trying” very deliberately here.  In an effort to answer the question-an answer I really did not know- I stumbled a response about people of color having the weight of their own world on their shoulders including the burden of dealing with daily prejudice. It was an empty response pulled out of nothing but my own opinion and completely devoid of any type of research.

Here’s my positive perspective: I have learned a very valuable lesson here. As someone who is unapologetically vocal about my experience with depression, I have to learn how to tell others that I cannot speak for anyone but myself. During both situations, the pressure to “give the people what they want” overpowered me because I had not yet thought about or had the words to say that I will not allow my experience to be the example for all of the people of my race. I had not yet put the words together: I can only speak for myself based on my own experience.

And now I know what to do when a similar question is thrown my way in any forthcoming situation. There is no reason for me to feel pressured to answer such a question because the answer is simple and straightforward: I don’t speak for anyone but myself.

Does this resonate with you? Has there ever been a time where you were ignorantly expected to represent a group that you belong to?

Reasons to Stay Alive: a book review

I don’t recall exactly how I came across the book Reasons to Stay Alive by Matt Haig but it was sometime last year, and I was completely unprepared for how it would inspire me. As I listened to the audiobook, I was astounded at how the words resonated so deeply within me. He spoke of depression and anxiety as a combination that many people experience when dealing with depression. Before listening to this book, I had never considered that I suffered with anxiety at all. Sure, I understood and accepted the fact that I do get anxious at times, but I never thought of those two fiends coming together to wreak havoc on my mental state.

In one section of the book, Haig shares his encounter with the terror of going to the corner store by himself in order to get some milk and other staples for his kitchen. Listening to the distress his anxiety caused him had my mind finding examples of when I used to suffer with the anxiety of just going outside. Suddenly, without any effort of my own, I finally developed the language to properly explain this thing that I did not know was a form of anxiety. And the words literally came pouring out of me, resulting in my May 2022 post “An Unwelcomed Companion” about my mild agoraphobia.

Mixed with personal anecdotes and facts and statistics about depression, anxiety and suicide, Matt Haig composed a deeply honest memoir/inspirational book that stayed with me long after I first listened to it. In fact, I could not get the book out of my head and so I listened to it again.

The second time I listened to Reasons to Stay Alive, Haig’s description of his social anxiety helped me find the words to describe my own. With a kind of humor that was also very painful to listen to, he recounted his agonizing discomfort at a literary party from which he ran off in a desperate attempt to relieve his panic. That anecdote helped me dig deep inside of myself, reminding me of times I attended social functions against my will and other times when inebriating myself just to feel comfortable out in public became a problem for me. I was able to release the shame through the words I used to describe the loneliness I felt in my discomfort whenever I went to a party or gathering. That’s when I published the post “Maddening Thoughts of Social Anxiety” in July 2022. Maddening thoughts— that was what they felt like. Before I knew that I suffered with social anxiety, I thought I was literally going crazy. It wasn’t “normal” to feel so awkward at social functions. I kept that shame to myself and drank my way through parties after which I hated myself for the risky actions I took while inebriated.

Compared to so many other audiobooks I have listened to, Reasons to Stay Alive comes in at just 4 hours and 13 minutes. It consists of a compelling list of reasons to stay alive, from “you will one day experience joy that matches this pain” to “the uncompromising love of a good dog”. He provides his personal thoughts about depression and anxiety, and of course, accounts of his own experiences with them. He reads his word with dramatic flair, helping the reader to understand the burden of depression, not just on the depressive but also on the people who care for the depressive. He describes his afflictions using various metaphors and examples that allow the reader to commiserate with him while understanding why depression is such a misunderstood illness.

If you have ever suffered with bouts of depression and anxiety, I highly recommend you pick up the book Reasons to Stay Alive by Matt Haig. He put into words so many feelings, thoughts, and experiences that I had not yet had the language for. The book inspires me still. This is the third time I listened to it. My sole purpose this third time was to write about it because again, I just can’t get the book out of my head. I needed to share how it had encouraged me and how it helped me see depression in an entirely new perspective.

Does this resonate with you? Please leave a comment about what books you’ve read that inspired you despite your depression and anxiety. I’d love to hear from you!

Cover for the audiobook.

Cover for the print book.

Click here to check out the book on Amazon!

Finding the Light

Every so often, I go dark. That is to say I enter a long stretch of time where it is very hard for me to sit down and write anything. That includes writing new posts for my blog or working on my new novel; it includes disappearing from social media altogether. This happens to be one of those long stretches of time—where the depression monster comes out to play. If you have been following my blog or my Instagram account, you would know that I do a number of things that help to keep that depression monster at bay. These activities include writing, exercise, positive self-talk, meditating and saying affirmations. The only thing on this list that I continue to do on regular basis is exercise—and even that has become a chore.

I have not followed my regular routine in quite some time because I “tell” myself that I don’t have the time. In reality, I know that if I only make the time now, I can later enjoy depression-free days where ideas flow through me and I am no longer stifled by the symptoms that are an inevitability with depression. I haven’t kept up with my routine, which has brought about my recent depression, and it is this depression that is keeping me from continuing my routine! It’s an endless cycle!

This is very important for me to think about as I continue preaching about the things that I do that allows me to be medication free. I know that for me, staying consistent in completing the activities mentioned above helps me maintain a positive energy that I am always so grateful to experience. However, my recent inconsistency and neglect of my regular routine has left me feeling the weight of their consequences. I’ve begun to view myself as a failed writer because I have not yet landed an agent even though I’ve been querying only a few months. I’ve allowed negative thoughts to take over the narrative in my mind. All the while, I am very aware of what’s happening to me and why.

It reminds me of what my fellow depressives out there might be experiencing as well. There is a certain complacency that exists within the depressive who wishes to do more than sulk about the state of their life. There is a wish, a desire to escape from the melancholy that grabs ahold of us but sometimes we feel that nothing we do will help us out of that stronghold. Many times, it is even quite a challenge expressing in words the feelings that keep us trapped in our misery. That is what I am feeling now—what I have been feeling during the past month. Today, I forced myself to sit down and just write, and it took quite some time, but the words now seem to flow fairly well. But understand that it took me all month to get here! Every time I sat down to write before today, I was extremely disappointed with the emptiness in my head as I continued to look at a blank page and mourn the ideas that once flowed so freely. So, I will take the opportunity to look at this sudden inspiration as a sign that my depression is perhaps lifting. And I will start working on my routine once again and see where it leads me.

Writing has helped to alleviate the symptoms of depression that have threatened me during the past few weeks. If you are also suffering with depression, I hope you find your own light—the thing that you do (your routines, perhaps) that will help you out of the darkness, away from the depression monster and toward a happier, more fulfilled you.

Caring for Self during the Holidays

The holidays are upon us. The colorful lights that carefully decorate random houses in all types of different neighborhoods are a daily reminder that we are all collectively looking forward to a very special occasion. In the midst of the chaos of our lives, many of us expect the stress that comes with this time of year. But at what cost? There is the added pressure of buying the right gifts for our friends and loved ones before the big celebration on Christmas Eve and/or Christmas Day. There is the menu that needs to be agreed upon and the last-minute details that can spike one’s level of anxiety. This is the time where it is so easy for us to forget about the care we ourselves not only deserve but need. Before we know it, we are left completely depleted, with no energy to care for ourselves.

How do we take care of ourselves when there is so much we need to do for others during the holiday season? It is easier said than done but sometimes we have to be selfish. I myself often look forward to waking up when it is still dark in order to just breathe. Sometimes I take that time to catch up on emails or to check out funny and heartwarming reels on Instagram. Other times I meditate and recite positive affirmations. Most of the time, I find the time to write, and it fills my soul so much that by the time the rest of my family is up, I am ready to give of my time and of myself. That’s what I did this morning, and I am ready to continue tomorrow morning into next week, right through New Year’s Day.

But again, I know all too well that it is easier said than done. The important thing is to acknowledge it. Acknowledge the fact that sometimes you need alone time, especially during this holiday season where tending to those added obligations means you neglect your own needs. This holiday season, try to find that alone time to just breathe and be by yourself, perhaps congratulating yourself for a successful family gathering or sneaking away to indulge in a guilty pleasure.

And just remember that self-care is really caring for those around you. You can only help others when you yourself are fully charged. How do you charge yourself up? What will you do this holiday season to simply breathe? I know what I will be doing: I am going to immerse myself in the holiday movies that make me happy, continue the meditation ritual I recently abandoned, and sit down in front of my laptop and do the one thing that fills my soul: write.

How will you show yourself some love?

A Missed Opportunity

I ended my Zoom Podcast interview feeling once again triumphant. This was my 10th podcast feature where I discussed my daily battle with depression and how I accidentally found a way to combat depression through exercise, meditation, self-affirmations, talk therapy and writing. I laughed during the interview and expressed myself through animated movements. Agnes the podcaster even remarked how she wished it was a video podcast so that others may also see. I felt so good about the interview—it was a way for me to allow others to learn how depression no longer has a hold on me. 

Literally, right after we ended the Zoom call, I checked my email where I saw something unsettling that killed my joy. It was the latest blog post from a blogger I subscribed to. What was so unsettling about it was the title of her blog: “A message from Willow’s family”. Oh no. I opened the email. Willow*, an author of four books and a blog all based on her experience and research on depression, had succumbed to her depression. Willow had written several blogs a month, she liked all of my blog posts, and often commented on them. I always thought she was generous to do that, so I tried to keep up with her posts and sometimes commented on them as well. 

When I read her family’s post that mentioned that she finally lost her battle with depression, I was profoundly dismayed. It hit me hard. My heart pounded as I scrolled to see other readers’ reactions. I didn’t want to believe it. 

 I suddenly felt ashamed. I felt like I had been trivializing my experience with depression by talking about what I do to overcome my daily battle with it—all without the use of medication. I have always understood that mine is a mild form of depression and that these tactics might have worked because of that. Yes, there are other depressives who need much more to overcome this debilitating disease, and I’ve always known that as well. But I somehow felt as if through my podcast interviews I was trying to convince those who suffer with depression to “just do what I do, and you’ll feel fine!” Especially with the interview I had just finished—I laughed my way through that interview, giving the podcaster and her listeners the impression that we can all just laugh at depression while using my tactics and we’ll all be fine. 

But that is not the case for all depressives. My heart goes out to Willow. I wished that I had interacted more with her on a personal level and not just superficially by commenting on random ideas from her posts for the sake of solidarity. And I’m not saying that connecting with her personally would have saved her life. It’s just that I now recognize a missed opportunity to connect with another soul–to this particular soul–and that opportunity will never be given to me again.

The news of Willow’s death I guess opened my eyes. She was one of my regular readers and therefore knew what I do on a daily basis to overcome depression. It was a reminder that my strategies are not for everyone and that just because I exclaim their effectiveness does not mean that fellow depressives will find them useful or even practical.

 Most importantly, I realize that my mission is not to save anyone. I started off with one simple yet scary objective: to share my truth. In doing so, my wish was to help anyone out there receptive to my message. I will continue to share my story as long as I have readers who will follow it. And to all my fellow depressives out there: may you find the peace that you are looking for in a way that does not compromise your relationships, your health, or your life. Someone out there cares for you deeply and I pray so hard that you find that that alone is worth your continued existence in this world.

*Willow is not her real name. I’ve changed her name here for her privacy.