I suspect that fall has always been rather beautiful in Michigan. This is my third fall here, but this is the first time I have really appreciated the beauty associated with dying chlorophyll. Trees have burst into flaming shades of red, yellow and orange. My three year old and I sit at the window and watch the leaves gracefully cascade toward the earth while she squeals and I breathe it all in as though I were observing it intentionally for the first time.
Allow me to back up. I am a girl who adores summertime. I love blue skies, warm water, peaches, and sundresses. I love the sunshine and the way it makes me feel. I begin to fret at the beginning of September because I know, from experience, what lies ahead for me as summer comes to a close. The days get shorter, my brain becomes foggy, and I become as lethargic as an old house cat.
This year I decided to be proactive. Per my GP's referral, I visited a psychologist/ therapist about a month ago before the weather started to change. To my surprise she told me that year after year I have been doing all of the right things (i.e. using the light box, eating well, exercising, getting outside). I assumed that I was missing something. I felt confident that she would tell me that I just wasn't trying hard enough to be happy and energetic. The therapist recommended that I start taking a low dose of anti-depressants before my usual lethargy set in. Before I could stop them, the words flew out of my mouth, "Are you sure this doesn't make me a failure?"
I didn't mean to say it. I didn't really even know I felt that way. I have been suffering with seasonal depression for the last seven years because I believed that seeking help and not defeating it on my own made me a failure. To be fair I did visit a young doctor one dreary morning in Wales about five years ago after I'd had a scary moment of complete, foggy out-of-it-ness and lost track of my three year old in a crowd of school children in town. He basically instructed me to suck it up and try to take a sunny holiday soon. Apparently I internalized his advice, and I have indeed attempted to suck it up and deal with my seasonal depression on my own ever since then.
The psychologist assured me that I was not a failure. She quickly confessed that a daily dose of Prozac had helped her conquer her own anxiety disorder and live a more balanced life. So I left her office with a prescription for a pediatric dose of an anti-depressant, which I filled but did not start taking.
I waited until the official first day of Fall. On Saturday, September 22nd I did not want to get out of bed. Nothing was wrong in my life. I was surrounded by the usual happy children and dirty dishes. I stayed in bed until ten and felt tired all day. The next morning, I dragged myself to church but felt languid and droopy. That afternoon I took my first tablet, and I am writing about it now because it has helped and it is not shameful.
I wake up on my own in the morning now. My eyes open without a great deal of difficulty, and my thinking is much more clear. My children no longer need to tiptoe to my bedside at 7:30 and attempt to rouse their cantankerous, comatose mama bear from hibernation. I am conscious of the seasonal beauty all around me for the first time in a long time. The trees are the right height (ha) and their vibrantly colored leaves have suddenly snapped into focus. As I am out in my car or on foot, I gaze around in absolute awe. All of this is punctuated by my three year old's chirpy narration, "What a beautiful day it is, Mom! The leaves are so colorful."
And now I answer her back sincerely, "Yes, my dear, it IS a glorious day!"
Allow me to back up. I am a girl who adores summertime. I love blue skies, warm water, peaches, and sundresses. I love the sunshine and the way it makes me feel. I begin to fret at the beginning of September because I know, from experience, what lies ahead for me as summer comes to a close. The days get shorter, my brain becomes foggy, and I become as lethargic as an old house cat.
This year I decided to be proactive. Per my GP's referral, I visited a psychologist/ therapist about a month ago before the weather started to change. To my surprise she told me that year after year I have been doing all of the right things (i.e. using the light box, eating well, exercising, getting outside). I assumed that I was missing something. I felt confident that she would tell me that I just wasn't trying hard enough to be happy and energetic. The therapist recommended that I start taking a low dose of anti-depressants before my usual lethargy set in. Before I could stop them, the words flew out of my mouth, "Are you sure this doesn't make me a failure?"
I didn't mean to say it. I didn't really even know I felt that way. I have been suffering with seasonal depression for the last seven years because I believed that seeking help and not defeating it on my own made me a failure. To be fair I did visit a young doctor one dreary morning in Wales about five years ago after I'd had a scary moment of complete, foggy out-of-it-ness and lost track of my three year old in a crowd of school children in town. He basically instructed me to suck it up and try to take a sunny holiday soon. Apparently I internalized his advice, and I have indeed attempted to suck it up and deal with my seasonal depression on my own ever since then.
The psychologist assured me that I was not a failure. She quickly confessed that a daily dose of Prozac had helped her conquer her own anxiety disorder and live a more balanced life. So I left her office with a prescription for a pediatric dose of an anti-depressant, which I filled but did not start taking.
I waited until the official first day of Fall. On Saturday, September 22nd I did not want to get out of bed. Nothing was wrong in my life. I was surrounded by the usual happy children and dirty dishes. I stayed in bed until ten and felt tired all day. The next morning, I dragged myself to church but felt languid and droopy. That afternoon I took my first tablet, and I am writing about it now because it has helped and it is not shameful.
I wake up on my own in the morning now. My eyes open without a great deal of difficulty, and my thinking is much more clear. My children no longer need to tiptoe to my bedside at 7:30 and attempt to rouse their cantankerous, comatose mama bear from hibernation. I am conscious of the seasonal beauty all around me for the first time in a long time. The trees are the right height (ha) and their vibrantly colored leaves have suddenly snapped into focus. As I am out in my car or on foot, I gaze around in absolute awe. All of this is punctuated by my three year old's chirpy narration, "What a beautiful day it is, Mom! The leaves are so colorful."
And now I answer her back sincerely, "Yes, my dear, it IS a glorious day!"
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