Beautiful broken brains
The other day I ran into my neighbor as we were both outside, and he beckoned me over to his yard, then hurried over to his fig tree. I knew what he was up to, and excitedly made my way over. Sure enough, moments later he passed me this handful of luscious figs.
This morning I wrote in my journal, What is the line between seasonal depression and a temporary dip? I get seasonal depression and have since I was a teen. These days I’m trying to parse apart the nuances of it, rather than writing it off as inevitable. For example, the last few days I’ve been experiencing grief that summer is over. It’s been harder to get out of bed, and I’ve felt sad.
Here are some realities I’ve teased out of the situation:
As my therapist points out, seasonal depression for me is often stopping or forgetting to do the things I love: going outside, hiking, yard work, being out in the world and talking to people. I have fallen back on those things.
Last week I took a big trip to the awesome wedding of a longtime close friend, and now I’m fucking tired. There’s always emotional and energetic hangover from a visit like that. (I think of it as a big “connecting” spell.)
I really do have grief about summer being over, and it’s worth feeling fully.
Recognizing the pieces that make up my emotional dip helps it feel less oppressive and more temporary. I’m okay with feeling the ebbs of human experience: pain, tiredness, grief. I’m pretty scared of depression - I’m just now learning how to manage it better, and I don’t know it well yet. So I’m trying to get to know it, and its contributors in me specifically.
Re: seasonal grief - I love summer, and I particularly love sitting in a tube in the Eno River on a very hot day. This summer, storms decimated the trails at the Eno, meaning the park was closed for months. It’s still in repair. I did not get to do what has become a frequent and landmark summer activity for me. That is hard.
Also, fall is beautiful, but I struggle with winter. I often spend autumn worrying about what’s to come, thus missing the beauty of the moment, and of the season’s ephemeral, always-changing quality.
I have two tools I’m using to leave space for experiencing grief while also trying to have less seasonal depression. Well, three. I like this smoothie from the Medical Medium for keeping the more chemical aspects of my depression in check (I use 1/2 the amounts listed of banana, cilantro, and blueberries so it’s a more manageable size for me).
My other two tools are:
Practicing being present. The anticipation of seasonal depression is just as bad as the depression itself, for me. If I can stay present with what’s happening in the moment (as in, today is September 10 and it’s 70 degrees and I feel okay), and take care of myself and what I need then, that’s a skill I can use in any moment: in summer, fall, winter, and spring (which admittedly is the easiest mental health season for me. So much to look forward to!). I want to choose to deal with what’s real, and stop focusing on what isn’t even real yet.
Feel my feelings. Revolutionary, I know ;) but, like pet deaths, I don’t think we as a culture talk enough about the grief of seasonal change. It’s like we’re all thinking, “Get it together, it’s just a SEASON.” (Or at least that’s what my parts are thinking.) But what’s happening in the natural world has a huge impact on our day to day; I think it makes sense that when one day-to-day way of being is over for almost a whole YEAR, we feel some grief about it. (If you’re a big autumn person, imagine autumn transitioning into winter, or spring into the high heat of summer).
I am inspired by the way my animal companions so openly express how the seasonal change is landing in their bodies and brains: without thinking about “how it will look” or “is it right for me to do be doing this,” my cat is seeking the warmth of my body in bed more. My rabbits are both molting their fur to grow in a warmer coat.
The other day I was talking with my partner about our beautiful, old rabbit. “Animals don’t fear death,” I said. “They accept it as part of life. Why can’t we do that?”
“Our brains are too big. They are broken,” said my partner. We laughed at our broken brains.
So, taking that factor into account, I ask: what if we allowed, without resistance, what’s happening to our bodies during the seasonal change (donning a warmer coat of fur AKA clothes, wanting to cuddle more, needing to move slower or faster or whatever happens for you) AND the emotions of changing from one way of being into a very different one that will dominate our lives for many months? Sometimes just change, even positive change, is enough to bring about grief. (Reliability is nice.) We are wildly adaptable creatures, but grief is part of adaptation.
While I am a life coach, I am also fundamentally a witch. All of my work, from life coaching to writer’s workshops to spellcraft, is influenced by the seasons, the earth, and my study of how deeply we are in relationship with these things (or not) and how that impacts us.
I help clients who want to slow down by introducing them to the rhythms and pace of the seasons. I help clients who long for spiritual aliveness by introducing them to their own energy, and how it’s always in conversation with that of the earth.
Will you answer three short questions for me? (If you are reading this as an email, please go to the blog post version.)
The adorable party favors at my friend’s wedding. That black bear is up to some sketchy shit.
If you’re looking for some ways to connect tangibly with the season today, check out my Patreon. Benefits for the upcoming Autumnal Equinox will go up in the next few days.
Village Witch’s Corner
My intention this week :
Take care of myself in the moment. This is really hard. Do it anyway. Don’t just watch Instagram reels of cats instead.
Question(s) I'm asking this week:
What will actually help me feel alive, motivated, happy?
What I’m reading:
I’m currently writing the end of the novel I’m working on, and endings are REALLY HARD, so I’m reading the endings of a few favorite novels to help me. The ones I’ve picked are: There There, by Tommy Orange; A Children’s Bible, by Lydia Millet; The Auctioneeer, by Joan Samson; and Salvage the Bones, by Jesmyn Ward. All novels I highly recommend, perfect for curling up in a cozy chair while an autumn breeze blows by.
Spell of the Week:
Stay present. Give things time. Let these work together to form trust.
