On Hitting Reset (Or, Showing Up For Me...)

I've been having a Hard Time.

It's been going on for a couple of weeks. And the thing about depression is, it can take all kinds of forms. My particular brand is very sneaky. It starts telling little lies and graying out the edges of the world until it gets all the way in. By the time I realize what's going on, the insomnia and numbness and general sense that nobody really likes me and probably never has are in control.

Do I think this difficult and personal election cycle is a contributing factor? You bet I do. But there's more to it than that one thing. There always is. And, if I'm being entirely honest, I've been ignoring the activation of some of my self-destructive impulses for a while. I took on a lot of Big Life Changes very quickly this year, some of which I'm in the thick of right now. There was bound to be some backlash.

So I've been having a moment. A longer one than usual. Why write it down? Why now? A-#1) My m.o. when things get hard and I am operating at less than 100% is to keep it a secret. That's neither good nor helpful. No more of that. B-#2) Last year, Wil Wheaton very generously shared that he needed to take a year off to hit the reset button on a life that had, in many ways, spiraled away from him. He shared the system of improvement he had created for himself, and checked in throughout the year with progress updates. I've been thinking about that a lot lately.

"Reset" is a dramatic word. And the thing is, I'm happy with a lot of the things in my life, chief among them the people. But on a basic level, I haven't been able to connect with myself and with all of those good things the way I want to. I've been feeling so inept and timid and tired, and I know that erosion of my confidence has made me moody and distant. If I don't address it head on, it will get worse. I don't want that for myself.

I need to start taking care of myself again in a Big Picture way, instead of limping along with a pocket full of off-brand band-aids.

So I'm borrowing from the Wheaton list, with some changes/adjustments that are more specific to me.  I'm going to take a year, starting from today, to work on all of these things - even when they're going well - to really cement them as no-brainer habits and set myself up for long term improvement.

So here's my list of seven things that need to change:

- Drink less.

- Get better sleep.

- Spend more time with family and friends.

- Exercise more.

- Eat better food.

- Write more.

- Spend less time online.

These are my focal points for the year - a list meant to help and guide, not punish. Because that's the thing about the anxious/depressive brain: as much as lists can set us up for success, they can also be used to point out all the ways in which we've failed. Why these seven things specifically? Again, I stole a lot of them, but they're all things that play into my general well-being almost each day, and they're in need of some repair. Let's take a look:

Drink less.

It almost feels like cheating to put this on, since I've already been practicing this one for a while. But it's important for me to keep actively focusing on it, and to remember why. I genuinely enjoy drinking and making drinks. I've studied all kinds of spirits, whisky (more specifically, bourbon) emerging as a favorite, and I love being that friend at the party who you want to turn to for a top shelf cocktail.

While I've never really been a binge-drinker, and only ever imbibe every couple of weeks if that, I've been meeting a lot of new people over the past year and was starting to feel like I was drinking to ease my social anxiety without even realizing it. My glasses were starting to empty very quickly, and I was refilling them without a second thought. I put in a lot of work to feel more at ease with new folks, and that muscle needs to be exercised, both for me and my friends.

Get better sleep.

I've been having so much trouble getting solid, productive sleep. More and more, I've been relying on audiobooks to trick my brain out of spiraling so I can fall asleep, and then staying out becomes a whole other thing.

On top of that, I haven't exactly been setting myself up for success with a good "winding down" period before bedtime and allowing for enough time to get at least 7 hours, if not more, before I have early mornings for work.

I'm not one of those, "Sleep for 5 min. and I'm ready to go," folks. Never have been. I'm fraying at the edges a little here.

Spend more time with family and friends.

This has been a hard one lately because of a packed schedule with school and a new job - I've been on opposite ends of availability with a lot of people, it seems like. But, if I'm being honest, I could try harder. I've never liked, "scheduling," time to see people - in my mind, it makes what should be enjoyable feel like a job, another task to check off. In reality, it's a part of adulthood. I know this, and it's time to stop resisting it.

The people in my life are important to me, and important to my happiness and health. I want to stop missing people who are right here with me.

Exercise more.

I love being active. But injury and time management has knocked me off the path of regular exercise. I'm most disappointed in myself for letting this one slide after getting into such a great routine, and I've let that disappointment become paralyzing. Time to break out of that cycle and get back into fighting shape - it feels good, it clears my head, and it's definitely a fulcrum for a lot of the things on this list.

Eat better food.

I've been up and down about carving out space to cook for myself - when I do, I'm balanced and happy and nutritionally healthy. When I don't, I end up frantically grabbing-and-going or not eating at all. It doesn't take a genius to see how this is a problem, and that part of being run down and restless is tied into this just as much as it is my erratic exercising. Time to re-focus on the nutritional building blocks that I learned so well and make honoring them a main priority again.

Write more.

It's almost funny to put this here right now, as I made the hard decision to skip NaNoWriMo for the first time since 2010, I think. Given what I've got going on with work and school and a different writing project, it just would've been pure stress with no enjoyment.

But I have fallen out of the habit of writing every day. Creating is important to me - again, it clears my brain, but storytelling is also what has made my heart feel the fullest since I was wee. It's me, and I'm it, and not doing it is not an option.

Spend less time online.

The internet is a beautiful unifier and place to share and connect. It is also a black hole of awfulness and apathy and a fire for procrastination and rage and sadness. I've been living on the destructive side of it - it's been pulling me down, and that means it's time for me to pull back.

This was a hard one to try and get my head around, as I don't mean to imply that it's socially responsible to stop having or raising an awareness of the world and what is happening in it. But it's also important for my own well-being to maintain a healthy distance from the things that hurt me, and right now, the news cycle - and the comments that come with it - are hurting me.

As of today, I'm not deactivating any of my social media accounts. But I am going to be closely monitoring how much I use them, as well as re-evaluating how I want to use them. Whether or not they get to stay will depend on how that goes throughout the year.

So there it is. Just under a week away from my 30th birthday, I figured this was the best gift I could give myself. I'm sharing it because I wanted to, and because talking about struggling with self-care and trying to do better shouldn't be as difficult as it still often is for me. I can't show up for the world in general or the people in my life if I don't show up for me first, and that's a hard thing to remember sometimes.

I'll give you an update in a few months, pals.


**Note: Brain stuff and life stuff are complicated, and this is my experience. I'm not at all a believer in the, "Smiling and hiking will solve all your problems, just try harder and you'll feel better," way of thinking - while I'm sure it's well-intentioned, it discourages and shames people from seeking the treatment they as individuals need. Talk to medical professionals about what you need in your life. I do. And if they're not helping or if they make you feel uncomfortable, find new ones. 

On Driving, Part 3 (Or, Smash...)

Well. Took a bit of a break, didn't I?

It's my own fault that it's taken so long for me to get this out and up. You see, I cheated - instead of keeping the story going in spite of hitting a few rough spots, I tried to hold out for a happier end point. And I got one, but then I lost it. Serves me right.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

On Driving, Part 2 (Or, Step One All Over Again...)

Welcome back.

When last I left you, the exploratory period had ended. All non-practical steps forward had been taken: a driving school had been found, an inquiry was sent, an instructor contacted me, and (far more quickly than I intended) an appointment was made. I already had a permit that had been sitting quite uselessly in my desk for the better part of six months. There was nothing left to do in the matter but drive.

And drive I did.

I promised that I would be candid about this process - the good, the bad, the whatever - and I intend to keep that promise, whether the end result is me gaining a license or lighting the aforementioned permit on fire and dancing on its ashes while loudly and ritualistically forswearing automobiles forever. I'm starting to get the sense that I may be more inclined toward the former, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

On Driving, Part 1 (Or, The Journey Begins...)

I feel like we're really getting to know each other, guys.

When I fired this bad boy up a couple years ago, I had no real directive. My earliest posts are certainly indicative of that, full of deliciously self-aware meandering toward sort-of-maybe-conclusions. And let's be real - there's still no theme here. Posts about making vegan banana bread or whatever will follow ruminations on religion, and that's kind of how I like it. But I feel like I've settled in now - getting personal feels more comfortable than it did before.

In the spirit of that comfort, I'm going to tell you a thing.

I can't drive.

I know, it's not really a secret. I've mentioned it before - in my last post, as a matter of fact. However, I've never really gotten into why I don't know how to drive, and as I **spoiler alert** start the process of learning, I feel like it's important to get a grip on what exactly has been holding me back.

Let me give you a hint: starts with "a," ends with, "nxiety."


Here's the thing: life as a chronically anxious person isn't all panic attacks, all the time. That's the limit, the extreme (at least for me). Mostly, it's a daily practice of facing situations and deciding not to be afraid of them. It's a learned skill that I've come to really value, and even pride myself on - the ability to actively decide that I can do things that terrify me. As awesome as it is to do things you know you love and are good at, there's nothing quite like the feeling of empowerment and accomplishment that comes from doing (and perhaps discovering that you love) a regular, not at all threatening activity that once made you feel as though you were marching toward your doom. I've lived a better life since acquiring this ability.

But I can't drive.

It never felt like something I was actively avoiding. I grew up in San Francisco - public transportation takes time, but it can get you everywhere and you don't have to worry about gas or parking. Done. My parents offered to give me a car if I stayed in state for college, but I wanted to go to Seattle, so forget that. Then it was back to San Francisco, where my first rule still applied. Never mind that, as an adult, I was starting to feel confined by the borders of my city and the limited reach of buses and trains and ferries to points beyond.

There was always an excuse, a reason to put off or delay, until finally - under pressure from my parents - I got my learner's permit. My aunt took me out to an empty parking lot to practice for the first time, and on the way, I got to work with the self-talk: I told myself that I would let go of being nervous and listen to everything I was told. And that worked for a little while - until we tried moving from the parking lot onto the real people street. Instant, pervasive, muscle-obliterating panic.

After that, I suddenly didn't have time to practice. I let my permit expire. I got crazy defensive whenever the issue came up. All hardcore, giant-sized steps back.

Maybe a year ago, I was visiting my sister in L.A. We were having lunch, and she gently inquired about my driving progress. All my old standby excuses came pouring out, but instead of fighting with me about them, she said, "Okay. And do you think it might be something you maybe have some anxiety about?"

To my own surprise, I almost immediately said, "Yes."

She's a tricky one, my sister. It's starting to occur to me that I give her far too little credit when it comes to understanding me.

If you read my last post, you'll know that this came up when I was in the middle of getting my head around a lot of stuff, but I put a pin in it (I know, I'm sorry) so that it wouldn't get lost in the shuffle. When I finally started seeing a therapist, it was one of the things I brought up as really wanting to work on, and we started off great. I took my permit test again. I started exposure therapy - sitting in the driver's seat of a car, putting my hands on the wheel. But that's as far as I could get. The thought of actually driving ramped me up from zero to losing it in seconds.

That's where I am now. What started as a fear has taken on the additional burden of shame and frustration. I don't love being twenty-seven and still bumming rides from people without being able to return the favor. I don't love planning my life around bus and train and ferry schedules. Perhaps worst of all is the thought that I've found a fear that I can't conquer, that will control me and restrict my life while everyone around me passes me by.

A chance conversation with a friend on Saturday lit a fire underneath me. Some well-chosen words and shared experience busted through my self-doubt, and a little seed of excitement was planted. Because you know what? That's not me. I'm nervous and I'm phobic and I somehow always manage to very publicly spit out my breath mint while trying to have professional conversations, but I don't back down from challenges. So I took that feeling and researched driving instructors on Sunday. I found a school with specialists for adults with driving anxiety and panic disorders, and I contacted them on Monday.

An appointment has been made. The journey has begun. And I'm going to share it here, step-by-possibly-painful-step. You'll never know the specifics of my appointments or tests or anything else in advance, because I don't need the added pressure, but I'll for sure be coming by to fill you in after the fact.

And posting vegan banana bread recipes in between.

Buckle up.

On Getting Help (Or, Stuff That Can Happen in a Year...)

I don't talk about my feelings.

It's not the model I was raised with. That's not a slam on my parents, whom I love very much and who I know love me, just an observation. I was with my dad and one of my sisters recently, and he commented that my niece and nephew make him feel like he's on his death bed because of how much they say, "I love you." My sister turned to me and said, "Now we know why we're so uncomfortable expressing that." It's true: we're an emotionally reserved family.

I had my first panic attack just after my fifteenth birthday - 'cause, I mean, what do you get the girl who has everything? It was mid-November. I was a sophomore in high school and it was the night of one of the performances of our fall show. In a freak accident, a friend of mine had been injured during one of her scenes. Most of us had been down in the greenroom when it happened and didn't find out about it until we were about to go onstage for the finale. Adrenaline pushed me through the curtain call, but when I got back downstairs, the room felt like it was crushing me. I was hot, my heart was racing, everything sounded like I was underwater but I felt like I was on fire, and I couldn't breathe.

And I don't talk about this in detail. Really. Ever. I'll say, "I had a panic attack," and move on. Typing all of those words just now made me ridiculously uncomfortable. So forgive the lack of eloquence that may occur as we progress, because I don't know that I'll be able to go back and make adjustments.

The anxiety storm that led to this first explosion had been building since September, something that I touched upon here. My brain's inability to process that didn't absolve it of the need to do so, and I think that this incident - this chance occurrence of injury being done to someone in my life (obviously - and thankfully - with much less lethal stakes) pulled every thought and feeling and worry that had been spinning silently in my head for months together into a single ball of awfulness that I couldn't contain anymore.

It's not my friend's fault that it happened. I don't think I ever actually told her that. We're not really in touch anymore, and I'm sure she knows it, but it absolutely wasn't her fault. If it hadn't happened then, it would've happened another time for some other reason.

Fifteen. That was my introduction to my issues with anxiety and depression, but I didn't feel I was allowed to take ownership of those words. It wasn't because of the stigma that's so often and so unfairly attached to them. Naively, I thought that because I hadn't reached an extreme - because I wasn't suicidal or afraid to leave my house - I didn't have the right to say I was depressed or anxious. Which was dumb. But we're all dumb sometimes, and I didn't know how to ask for help yet.

I'm going to make a long story slightly shorter: it was a long, long time before I figured out how to ask for help.

On Healing

I am going to tell you a thing.

I use, "you," in the broad sense of the word. It's funny, because if I was being 100% honest, I would say that I truly never think that anybody - friend or stranger - reads anything I say here, which is all at once very liberating and borderline embarrassing, because it feels like I just sign in to have a really elaborate conversation with myself every so often. Then I realize that, in a way, that's kind of the essence of my profession, and it doesn't feel quite as bad.

I'm stalling.

Did you (I...me...whatever) notice?