A friend posted something on Facebook that said, “Talking about our problems is our greatest addiction. Break the habit. Talk about your joys.” What a tragic mindset. A dangerous mentality. I appreciate the idea that complaining doesn’t do anyone favors. But I feel talking about the things that trouble us is one of the most important, powerful, and helpful things we can do for ourselves. That’s one of the reasons I keep a blog. Somehow I hope that talking about depression, about recovery, about the things that are difficult for me removes some of their power and creates a sort of community. Ever-hopeful knowing none of us are alone in this makes getting out of bed a little easier.
There’s another side to it, though. Sometimes I feel like all I’m thinking about is how hard life is. I try hard to pay attention to the loveliness in life and the beautiful moments I get to be a part of. Every day I try to give myself credit for the little things. When Mason has to physically pick me up and get me out of the door to go running in the morning, I still try to give myself credit for putting one foot in front of another for thirty minutes. I got up this morning when my alarm clock went off, even. I fed myself, showered, dressed. I’m still sober. And here I am writing. There are all sorts of good things I’m doing.
Where is the balance? A tightrope walk between knowing how buried you are and remembering how well you can dig.