the March thaw
my seasonal depression is melting
Seasonal affective disorder hits me every winter. Some winters are harder than others but, so far in my 46 winters, none has left me unscathed. It settles in quietly, the SAD, masking itself as a “cozy” feeling, invoking mental images of a sleepy cat napping on a warm spot on the floor in front of a wood stove. My cozy spot of choice is “the depression chair”— an oversized, overstuffed chaise that sits at the end of my bed, facing my bedroom TV, which runs pretty much every streaming service available. Hours and hours—whole afternoons and into the evenings— can be lost in this spot, invoking mental images of a sleepy cat now superglued to the warm spot on the floor in front of a wood stove.
This winter I decided to try something radically different. Rather than try (and eventually, assuredly fail) at attempting to shame and demean myself into positive, productive, abounding energy this year, I freed myself from trying. I told myself I was completely allowed to be low energy for the winter. And I didn’t even make myself look for a reason why I “deserved” to rest my body and spirit and brain for the winter—the kind of winter rest that all living things inherently get.
Depression, for me, is my body telling me it has been overwhelmed for a time, and that it needs to reserve energy—powering down to only the critical systems until the body can recover. And so I do that now. This past winter, I allowed my body and spirit and brain to reserve energy as they needed. I vegged when I needed to. I created things that brought me joy when I felt inspired to. I drank a lot of water. I ate a lot of dark chocolate. I napped when my body asked to nap. I canceled the plans I needed to cancel. And I felt (close to) no remorse for any of it.
photo taken post-thaw… plus new teal lip stain because I was feeling it, dammit
I took care of myself while I was recuperating. That’s how I look at my depression now—depression is my body and mind recuperating from burnout and overwhelm.
I adjusted my meds. I just hung in there. And as March came along with warmer weather and longer sunshine, I felt my depression thawing. I knew at the onset of my winter depression that it would not last forever, that the spring thaw would come. And it has. The crocuses in my spirit are pushing up through the frozen ground, bringing quiet color and beauty to where the sleepy ground had been resting.
The thaw is here. The thaw is here. Pass it on.