My Tears

This is a pretty jumbled group of memories from a long time ago. I've been thinking about past episodes of depression. For some reason I have been dwelling on crying. It’s something I want to do more of, does that seem odd? I think it's because being able to feel and express my emotions is something I have been working on. I see crying as some kind of marker in the road of progress. 

I think I’ve been reflecting on this because of the number of people who have reached out to me. We’ve all grown up in a society that conditioned us to think that showing emotion was a bad thing. And crying? That’s for weak people. The male role models of my youth were stoic, apparently unfeeling tough guys. So generations of men have developed what they project to the world based on the idea that they have no emotions. We are allowed to celebrate a great triumph or victory, but face up to actual emotions? Never. I don’t want my son to grow up like that. So now I’ve got to re-learn it, to teach him.

Anyway, here’s what I was remembering.

In one of the memories, I’m living in Wilton with two of my friends. So it must be 2006 (maybe). I have driven myself to university. Up through the back roads of Wilton, Northland and Kelburn in the mid-morning. I pull into a car park on Salamanca road right outside the tennis courts. I turn off the car and take off my seatbelt, but the radio is still going. I should be grabbing my bag or books, but I can’t move. So I sit there for a while.

I’ve sat there so long now that I’m now late for the start of my lecture. I’m cognisant of the fact that I’m draining the car battery so I turn it all the way off. But I still can’t move. I’ve probably been sitting there for twenty minutes now. I’m not super passionate about my studies at this point, but I usually at least go. Especially if I’ve actually driven all the way there. This is weird. I feel weird.

All of a sudden I start crying uncontrollably. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve cried as an adult. Most of which have been while drunk or when someone significant in my life has passed away, or both. But this time was different, it came out of nowhere and was to me, about nothing.

So I’m very upset, but also super confused. What the hell is going on and where did this come from? I then become aware that lots of people walk down that road. Someone could walk past any minute and see and very likely hear me. The chances that I know that person are also probably pretty high. So I quickly turn on my car and drive home, hoping like hell that no one is in the flat.

In the next memory, it’s my paternal grandfathers’ funeral. It’s been a long day. Out to the Wairarapa for a church service then back to my parents place, with aunts and uncles and close family friends. So I begin to drink and talk to people I haven’t seen in a while.

A few hours pass and I’m quite drunk as the crowd begins to thin out. At some point, I overhear my dad say something like ‘what do you worry about, when the thing you’ve been worrying about finally happens?’. And it hit me hard. I had been empathising with him about losing your father obviously. But I hadn’t thought about how stressed he might have been about it happening for an extended period of time.

The next thing I know I’ve locked myself in the laundry and am bawling my eyes out. Uncontrollably crying, loudly. I don’t know who is still there, the crowd has definitely thinned out by now. But whoever is still there can hear me wailing through the walls of the kitchen. At first I won’t let anyone in and I can’t say what the matter is. In fact in my memory of this I don’t think I ever explain to anyone what set me off. Eventually, I let my dad in and we hug and I get the rest of it out before putting myself to bed.

The thing that gets me about this memory is how completely I lost it. I was completely overcome. For a few minutes there I didn’t know if I could stop crying. I was so drunk and so out of control of my emotions that it scares me to this day. I think this plays into a lot of my anxiety with drinking. I’m always worrying about my ability to control myself and how my emotions might betray me if I do lose control. I'll write something specifically about drinking though.

I’ve been thinking about crying a lot as I mature and understand myself more. The fact that I don’t do it seems rooted in some antiquated ideal of myself. That I don’t need to, or that I don’t have feelings that would bring me to tears. But as I understand myself more, I’m not sure this predisposition is helping me. Acknowledging sadness and trauma is something I’m trying to do. I hope being able to experience those feelings fully, will help me deal with them more positively.

Thinking about crying as a means of allowing your body and mind to process feelings is not something I’d ever contemplated as a young man. As part of this exercise I stumbled across this article https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/319631. The long and short of which is that it highlights eight physiological benefits in crying. Stress relief, oxytocin and endorphin release were what I expected to find, and are in there. But it’s actually good for your eyesight too. Who knew?

I’m 37 now and have always thought of it as a weakness, or a display of feelings that I should keep private. So the work to unlearn that and allow myself to cry is hard. To be completely honest, I still haven’t managed to do it. But I am getting better at allowing myself to feel feelings. I’m definitely better at it now that I was a year ago and think I’m heading in the right direction.

I guess I have to keep working on it, much like I do with everything else.

My Little Things

One of the things that held me back from sharing my writing was that I was waiting until I was ‘fixed’. As if one day I’d find the magic secret to not getting depressed or anxious. When I did that I could share the big secret with everyone. Unfortunately, and sorry to disappoint, there isn’t one. The good thing about accepting that fact is that it allows you to focus on making the little things you do add up.

And the little things really do add up. I’ve heard lots of people talk about this in a wide variety of contexts and it’s pretty much always true. Doing the little things as an athlete give you the tiniest advantage in a game when you need it. Doing little things to improve things at work make things easier in the future. And it’s the same when it comes to mental health. Small, incremental and sometimes tiny changes can pile on to either bring you up or down.

I always found it was never one thing that would make me anxious or depressed. Sometimes there would be a specific event that pushed me over into a panic attack. But this would always come on the back of other things adding up beforehand. For a long time I didn’t consider that this would work the same way in the positive. It seems so obvious when I’ve accepted it in every other facet of my life. But I was always searching for one thing that would ‘fix’ me when it came to anxiety and depression.

So it came as a real surprise to me, when I lay in bed one night expressing my frustration to my wife. I didn’t feel like I had made any progress after working hard on my mental health for almost a year. My wife told me that she thought I had and that she could notice the difference. I couldn't see it. So, like I was a child she walked me through the things I’d been doing and the positive impacts she’d noticed in me.

She listed out a bunch of stuff, but I'll share what I think are the greatest hits.

The first is some pretty simple breathing exercises and running. I did heaps of reading about the vagus nerve. But the long and short of it is that taking 15-30 minutes where you focus on breathing in and out has been great for me. I’ve never been a runner, but running has been so good for me too. Focusing on controlling my breath and putting one foot after the other. I find it like meditating on the move.

I went on anti-depressants. I’d had medication for more acute anxiety and panic attacks before. But I had always resisted going on to drugs that you need to take every day. I got to the point though, where I had to admit to myself that I needed help. I was at the point where I felt like I was starting every day like I was already falling behind.

I started making furniture out of plywood. It’s not going to win any prizes for aesthetics. But the process of making it and spending time on it is therapeutic. I even sometimes get my daughters to help me measure things and we do parts of it together. I made them a dolls house. Which, like I said, it’s not going to end up in doll’s house weekly. But painting it with them and watching them play with it is so rewarding.

I also gave up drinking alcohol. (I’m going to devote a whole story to this). During lock down I was drinking daily and kind of just kept up the habit. It wasn’t helping my mood, like I said before I was starting the day off feeling low and drinking wasn’t helping. It was surprisingly easy to stop. We still have beers and wine in the fridge and I’m slowly giving away my whisky collection. I don’t feel an urge to drink any of it and I'm not sure if I'll go back to it again.

The most crucial thing I did though, was commit to rewiring my reactions. These are truly the little things. Moments of your day that can push you in the wrong direction if you let them. Catching myself when I was beating myself up with negative self talk. Taking a second to think about my reaction to something, rather than firing off by instinct. These things have been probably the hardest to do as well. They are things I’ve programmed myself to do. It’s hard to fight against things that come to you before you think. Like I said though, it all adds up and the effort is worth it.

Now I’m not saying this to preach that you should do all these things. What I’m trying to highlight is that none of these things in isolation is going to fix your depression or anxiety. But by doing small things that have a positive impact on your life, things start to turn in a better direction.

I can only say that these things have helped add up for me. Everyone needs to find their own way to add positivity to their own life. It's also important to give yourself the credit when you do it. If you're like me, you might need someone else to help point that out for you from time to time.

My Self-Talk

My self-talk has always been pretty harsh. As long as I can remember anyway. But up until quite recently, I’d never thought about whether that was normal. Or how other people might talk to themselves. I always assumed everyone else was like me. That they spend their days remonstrating with themselves. I’ve never been very good at playing social sport, I’m getting better now. But one of the first times I did it, I played football with a group of friends. They all used to laugh at how when I missed a shot or made a bad pass I’d yell at myself. "AIDAN!” I always thought that was because I’d played high level sport and was naturally competitive. But now, after some reflection I don’t think it is.

The first thing that got me thinking about this was a conversation with my wife. One of our children had fallen over while jumping on the couch and hurt themselves. I’d already told them not to do it and that they would hurt themselves if they continued. The inevitable happened and I went straight into teaching mode. Before expressing compassion for having been hurt. My wife and I discussed the merits of when the best time to learn from these sorts of things is. She convinced me to talk about the subject with my therapist. So at my next session that’s what I did.

It turns out my self-talk is a bit more negative than most. For instance when I took a deep dive into my own reactions when I hurt myself, I don’t feel sorry for myself. I’m angry. I tell myself I’m stupid for doing something that resulted in me getting hurt. So, no wonder I jump straight to telling the kids off for playing on the couch. It’s what I do to myself. I assumed that everybody was like that. But when I talked to my wife about it I found out that wasn’t the case. We’ve lived together for 15 years and I never knew. She feels sorry for herself when she gets hurt. It sounds odd to write it now, but that came as a real surprise to me. Like, how did I never know that.

That’s one example. I talk to myself negatively in other ways too. When I’m in a low mood I’ll find that I’ll call myself names. Loser, jerk that sort of thing. I even say it out loud. My wife will hear me sometimes and call me out on it. I’ve always had unrealistic and unachievable expectations of myself. When I inevitably come up short in some way, I go in on myself. I never do that to anyone else. But for some reason when it’s myself a lot of the time I can’t be kind and acknowledge my own efforts. I only see the shortcomings.

This led me to a pretty warped realisation. I know that it’s not a good headspace to have. But for some reason I find it helpful. My realisation was this: No one else will ever hate me as much as I do. That is to say, no other person spends as much time thinking about my faults and shortcomings as I do. I’ve never disappointed them as much as I’ve disappointed myself. I've invested a lot of time telling myself that I suck and am a bad person. If there is anyone in the world who truly hates me, it's me.

That’s one of the things I’m working on the most at the moment. Trying to rewire these reactions and this self-talk to be more positive. It’s hard for many reasons. Firstly, it’s a natural reaction that I’ve learned and developed over time. Trying to work against the way I’ve programmed myself for the last 30 odd years is hard. So to change it, I have to recognise it first. When it’s so natural that it comes to you like the ability to breathe you can’t always be quick enough. I’m finding it’s important when I catch myself after the fact to give myself a break. Recognising that it happened is a small victory in itself.

The other part of it is that what I’m trying to reprogramme towards is so uncomfortable to me. I like to think I’m a pretty kind person to other people, but turning that on myself makes me squirm. Like physically, I feel weird trying to be kind to myself. Even receiving a compliment, whether it’s from someone else or myself. I’m practicing with my wife saying ‘thank you’ when she compliments me. For the last almost 20 years every time she’s given me a compliment I’ve turned it into a joke or played it off. This is helping. She’s holding me to account for those reactions which in turn helps me hold myself to account when it’s self-talk.

I wrote this all down because while my self-talk is different to most of my loved ones, I’m guessing there are people out there who do the same. If you are, there’s no time like right now to start practicing being kind to yourself. The thing that has surprised me the most about this is the impact it’s had on my family. Because while you might think it’s just your internal dialogue, it’s not. The people around you pick up on it, so when I'm uncomfortable about being kind to myself, I try to remember this is not just for me. It’s for everyone else too.

My Panic Attacks

I don’t know if you’ve seen Ted Lasso. But the scene where he has a panic attack in the karaoke bar was like an out of body experience for me. It hit me so hard. He was me. I have felt exactly what he was feeling, and done exactly what he did. Anyway, here’s my description of how a very similar situation unfolded for me.

I’m sitting in a trendy cafe with my wife and baby. There’s a living wall opposite me. The busy sounds of an espresso machine in full flow and the clink of cutlery on plates around me. It’s the weekend and we don’t have any plans or anything we need to do. Just enjoy ourselves and spend some time as a family.

Then it starts. It hits me out of nowhere. My chest is getting tighter and tighter. I have an uncomfortable, prickly sensation all over my skin. My eyes are darting around the place taking it all in but unable to process anything. My fight or flight reflex starts kicking in. But there’s nothing to fight. So I have to run. I need to get outside or away from something, but I’m not sure what that something is.

I mumble something to my wife which is probably unintelligible and head for the door. She’s not sure what’s going on. Do I want the coffee I’ve ordered or not? But I get outside and I command myself to take a big deep breath. At first it isn’t helping. I’m properly freaking out now. I keep walking. The sense of being on the move and being outside seem to connect somewhere deep in my brain. Like some pre-programmed software. I don’t know why but I head for where there are trees. My breath starts to feel like it’s making a difference to my chest now. The prickly sensation is starting to fade and I stop by the trees and look up at the sky.

I would describe it as being like really bad claustrophobia. I'm trapped. Like everything around me is exerting some kind of unseen force on me. A force that when I’m not anxious or depressed I don’t feel. I hate enclosed spaces and being underground too. Maybe it's because it reminds me of this feeling so much.

That’s what a panic/anxiety attack feels like for me. It’s scary. I don’t know how many I’ve had, more than enough to not know anymore. The ‘smallest’ ones I’ve had I feel coming and deal with them before they escalate. The ‘biggest’ ones feel like I’m about to die at their worst, like I’ll never stop feeling trapped.

I love looking at the stars. I think this is why. Even on days when I’m feeling great I don’t think there’s a better way to unwind. I get outside and look up. I love even more to do it with my kids. Maybe subconsciously I’m trying to teach them a coping mechanism if they are wired like me. But selfishly, I love wrapping them up in a blanket, lying on a bean bag and looking at the stars. I don’t think I’m ever more relaxed or at peace than when I do that.

I don’t know how to stop these attacks from happening. I guess it’s linked to managing my anxiety and depression. So I don’t have an answer for myself or anyone else on what to do. I know what helps me to try to survive them. I could definitely do a better job of how I treat myself afterwards. I’ve gone straight to work after them more than once. I was exhausted and shaken. But instead of allowing myself time to recover I try to get myself out of fight or flight mode and then try to carry on. It’s definitely not a great way to process or deal with it.

If you have ever experienced something like this I recommend talking to someone about it. You could start with someone you trust if you're worried about a counsellor or therapist. I've done both and it's a great way to start getting to grips with things.

My Anxiety

This is something I wrote a couple of years ago, explaining what was happening to me at the time. But this sort of thing has been regular and periodic for me.

It’s been about three and a half years since I had a panic attack and unfortunately I’ve had a bit of a ‘relapse’. I thought I’d share what exactly it feels like for me. I’m sure it’s slightly different for everyone, but that there are a lot of things that will be universal.

The first thing that I notice, or that stops me in my tracks are physical symptoms. On this most recent occasion it was pretty crippling nausea. I had worked myself up so much that my guts couldn’t handle it anymore and decided enough was enough. For a day or so I thought it was a gastro bug, but when no one else got sick that started to seem less likely.

I get frustrated at myself, because this is all part of a cycle and every time it manages to blindside me. I know this is what happens to me, yet I let it happen again and again.

The tightness and discomfort made its way into my chest. I ended up alone in a bedroom at my parents house. Fluctuating from complete exhaustion to my fight/flight reflex firing off. Releasing adrenaline, making my chest pound, and my brain go at a million miles an hour.

So, why did it get to this point. As always, it’s never just one thing. My wife had been away for the week as we’d just had a new niece arrive in Melbourne. I was feeling the pressure of looking after the kids. I wasn’t alone, we were staying at my parents' house because we had Air BnB’d our house out. That causes me a bit of stress, getting the house tidy etc. But once again it’s another drop in the bucket.

The biggest stressor on this occasion has been work. I started a new job in November after Minded ended for me . I loved what I was doing at Minded and struggled to move on from that. In my new role I’ve been doing two jobs, which wasn’t what I had signed up for. One of those jobs requires someone with a different skill set than I have. It has been challenging and stressful to deal with. I’m also struggling moving from the fast and loose environment of start-up life, to the structure of working in large institutions.

Anyway, since the real serious anxiety came back, I’ve struggled with even the most simple tasks. They seem daunting and any minor roadblock seems likely to cause me to fall into a full panic attack. I don’t enjoy my job, but I know the job is something I can do. It’s just that at the moment, I’m struggling to see a time where I’ll feel confident again. I’ve been trying to spend as much time as I can with my family. But there is always this shadow following me around at the moment.

My conscious brain knows that this will pass. I’ve got to work through this and things will work themselves out. But the part of my brain that I have no control over, the subconscious keeps flooding me with chemicals and thoughts that don’t help me right now.

It’s been about a week since this all started and I’m still working through it. My brain is still scattered and my confidence is paper thin.

If you’re feeling like this now, I can’t encourage you enough to talk about it with someone. I would suggest a therapist or counsellor. But if you’re not comfortable with that, find someone you trust. Also, if you’ve ever felt like this before you should talk to someone about it. I think you’ll be surprised how good it feels for you and how ‘not alone’ you are.

My Exhaustion

This is something I wrote earlier this year (2021) about where I was at at that moment in time.

I’m feeling exhausted. I’ve been in a bout of depression for about a month now and I’m starting to get really run down. I’m struggling to get to sleep without my medication (I was taking anxiety medication at this point). When the kids wake me in the night I can’t roll over and drift off. So I’m low on sleep. But I don’t feel like it’s the physical exhaustion that's the worst part. I can handle that stuff and bounce back. The thing that’s exhausting me, is pretending to be OK.

At work it’s my job to lead a team. My usual style is to try and make everybody feel their best and empower them. I’m battling to do that at the moment. I’m finding myself hiding away from them sometimes when it gets too difficult. But when I do talk to them or meet with other people I’m having to put on an act and it’s so draining.

This is the longest period of depression or feeling low I’ve ever had. Maybe, when I was in my late teens or early 20’s I had something similar. But I wasn’t as cognisant of myself and my depression then. So it’s the accumulation of putting on a brave face and finding fake positive energy over a period of time that is making me feel so tired.

I don’t think I’m the lowest I’ve ever been, I’m not at that point. But the build up is taxing. I’ve had a couple of brighter periods. Sometimes a few hours or even half a day or so, but I always seem to slip back into anxiousness and depression. It’s not like I don’t have great moments either. My eldest daughter and I are reading the Harry Potter series together. We’ve started reading a page each and her reading is incredible. She’s not even 6 yet and she can read so well.

She’s a lot like me though, and that worries me when I’m feeling like this. I don’t want her to have to deal with this stuff. I hate the idea that I may have given her some gene that makes her prone to depression. Like all parents I want to shield her from harm, but what if I’m the reason she’s going to experience lows. It’s a hard one to reconcile. I want to be able to give her the tools to deal with it, but I still struggle with that myself.

I honestly don’t see an end in sight at the moment. I haven’t been able to get in to see my therapist (I’m going in a few days). She’s helped me before, mainly on the anxiety side of things. But this feels more fundamental. Like I’m going to need to talk about some tough stuff, not just discuss coping strategies. That scares me. The reason I started writing things down is because I struggle to articulate it to people. So the idea of trying to get it out in a way that tells my story and gives me a way forward is daunting. I’m hoping that having done this before, as well as being a bit older and (hopefully) wiser I can get there.

I’ve cut out alcohol (I’m now a little over five months sober) and cut back on caffeine. I reckon these things have helped.

*As a result of this period of depression I’ve gone onto medication. I don’t want to suggest anything for anyone’s situation here. If you have felt or feel like what I’ve described here, please talk to someone you trust about it and book in to see your GP. It’s the best place to start I’ve found.

My Glass Half Full

I had a pretty tough weekend. We had family come to stay on what happened to be a pretty low swing for me. My chest had been tight for a few days and I’d been pretty quick to anger too. Quite on edge now that I think about it. I probably wasn’t very enjoyable to be around. Which is something that tends to get me down too. The fact that my wife and kids have to deal with me until I’ve righted the ship, so to speak. It’s one of those things that I wonder if they notice or pick up on. But when I’m anxious and/or depressed it’s another thing to beat myself up over.

Anyway, everyone arrived on Friday morning and I hadn’t taken the day off but was working from home. I could hear the kids all raucous and excited to see each other. My Friday mornings are generally pretty much back to back meetings all the way to lunch. So I closed the door and tried not to think about the weekend ahead. But I knew this was going to be hard work for me in the state I was in.

My glass was half empty on everything. I usually love playing with and entertaining my daughters and nieces. But I was so low and tired that I couldn’t muster the energy. My sister in law said a few years ago, “you should be a children’s entertainer”. Friends and family say things like “you’re so good with kids”. I love to be that guy, the clown who jokes with them and does magic tricks for them. When I’m feeling like myself.

When I’m not, those comments feel like unfair pressure. Like I’m supposed to perform, and I resent it. I resent the fact that I can’t just be a dad who sits on the couch and watches TV while the kids play. I feel the expectation of the kids too. They want me to be that guy and when I am they smile and laugh and it’s a drug. But this weekend, I didn’t have it in me. Like I said before, it’s another thing I use to beat myself up over.

I’m not being fun, I’m being short with them. I’m trying not to engage as much as possible. I don’t have the energy to start and I hope that if I give signals that I’m not going to be the fun guy, they’ll leave me alone. But they don’t get it. So I start doing tasks to show them that I’m busy. I volunteer to man the pizza oven, so I can stand outside alone.

I’m drinking a beer while I stand by the pizza oven. I know the last thing I need to be doing is drinking, but the thing I don’t need even more right now is questions. I don’t want to alert my wife to the fact that I’m feeling this way. Her sister has just arrived and I don’t want to ruin the weekend. (I’m going to write a whole other story on feeling like a burden). So, to keep up appearances I drink a beer and pretend like I’m deeply interested in the inner workings of the pizza oven.

I make it through the evening. My wife notices I’m grumpy. So much for keeping up appearances. I wake the next morning with my chest a little bit tighter and my desire to be by myself even higher. We get up to a house full of children and thankfully they are more interested in playing with each other. I do my best over the rest of the weekend to get some time to myself. But it’s pretty hard and I don’t want to shirk parenting. I throw myself into any food preparation. I always love cooking, but I find a lot of comfort in it when I’m anxious and depressed especially. It’s the focus, and the fact that it’s a physical task. I’m doing something, I’m making something and I can quieten my brain and do what needs to be done to get the dinner ready.

Sunday morning comes and I can feel that I’ve got myself into quite a state. I drank again on Saturday night. I gave keeping up appearances more importance than my need to balance myself. When I’m in that state I always convince myself that I can handle things. I can’t let anyone else know what’s going on. As soon as I give myself a chance to breathe, I see how silly that is.

We run the kids at the school and play outside. Physical activity and fresh air are a relief, in what has felt like a pretty claustrophobic weekend of two families living on top of each other. But the kids are getting to that point where they have been together too long and patience is being tested. Trying to referee and council kids to be rational with each other is hard. It's even harder when I’m not in the best frame of mind. It feels hypocritical and fraught.

We farewell the extended family and get the kids to sleep relatively easily that night. Everyone is pretty exhausted from the weekend's fun. As we do the dishes I do a terrible job of trying to explain why I was grumpy all weekend. Because I struggle to articulate my feelings verbally. It’s why I started writing this down. So I could make sense of things myself before trying to explain to my wife or a therapist. Anyway, my terrible explanation comes out of me like I can’t be bothered entertaining kids. Especially ones that aren’t my own. I know I’ve done a terrible job explaining myself. I pile in on myself.

After all that trying to go through the weekend without being a burden and ruining it I end up breaking down crying on the couch. I try to tell her the things I've written here. I think it comes out as jumbled nonsense. She gets the gist though. I’m not being an asshole, I’m anxious and depressed. It feels like a relief to at least let it out a little bit though. I can start to try to take the steps I know I need to to get myself well again.

If you feel like this right now, please take the time to talk to someone you trust. I do recommend seeing a professional. If you're not comfortable with that, try someone you trust.