On getting out of depression: Mindfulness and flow

As I claw my way up from depression, I'm trying to check off all the boxes. Eating well? Check. Drinking water? Check. Taking the right supplements, like magnesium and probiotics and Vitamin D? Check. Getting sunshine and using a SAD light when it's not available? Check. Plenty of sleep? Check. Meditating? I need to do it more, but I'm trying. Getting exercise? In my own way, yes.

One of the things that's helping me the most is yoga. I'm very fortunate that my tiny mountain town has an incredible yoga studio filled with incredible people, and every day that I can make a class feels like a gift from the universe. In between yoga, meditating, and the hour I spend driving to the barn and walking my lame horse around a pasture, I've had a lot of time to think, and what I'm realizing is that mindfulness is tantamount to my mental health.

What is mindfulness, you ask? Regarding the actual definition I have no fucking idea. For me personally, though, it means that I tie my mind back to my body, and not in an OMIGOD WHAT'S WRONG WHY DOES THAT HURT AM I HAVING A PANIC ATTACK OH NO sort of way. It means I'm aware of the connections between me and the world, tethered and stable. That I feel love, warmth, happiness instead of that deep, empty, hopeless, numb pit of depression. That when I eat, I'm not just cramming food in my mouth to silence the emptiness. When I live in my head too much, consumed by worries and jealousy and insecurity, I tend to completely disconnect from my physicality. I forget to feel things, physically and emotionally. Hugs mean nothing. Food is comfort. I just want to hide inside and not be bothered. Connecting with people is too much trouble. And that's the worst thing that can happen. We are animals, and animals weren't meant to trot around and around the cages of their minds like that lady in The Yellow Wallpaper. That's what makes me crazy, I think. When I cease to be a person and become a collection of neuroses.

I realized this the other day when I was walking Polly around the pasture. It was a beautiful day, blue sky and purple mountains and sunshine, and I had the same stupid thoughts running in endless circles. My horse is sick. I hate this. I don't want to do this. Everything is wrong. Why aren't things better? I'd be better if I could ride. But my horse is sick. I wasn't thinking about my legs moving, about the scent of the beautiful horse by my side, about my lungs breathing the fresh air. I wasn't thinking about how beautiful the world was, how lucky I was to be there, how great I felt. No, I was in my head, miserable, blind to reality. And no offense, but my head is a pretty terrible place to be. That's why I write so much—because carrying a story in my head stops the obsessive thoughts that otherwise plague me. But when I'm not first drafting, there's a lot of spare room, and if there's nothing exciting on the horizon, those bad thoughts creep back in.

Trail riding was what got me out of my head and connected me to my body. Now that Polly has laminitis, I can't do that, and I found yoga. Now I'm getting exercise, being challenged, getting out of the house, hopefully meeting people. I don't know where my mind goes when I'm on the mat, and I don't want to look too closely. That place is where trail riding used to take me. It's where I need to be.

I think that's one key of mental health we don't discuss enough—finding something that ties your brain to your body and kicks out the bad thoughts. Something that pushes you out of your mental box and into effortless experience. Into flow. They say “get exercise” or “go outdoors”, but it comes out sounding like bullshit, like just another line on a list that somebody sitting in an office came up with and tossed on the Xerox. They never mention how hard it is to find a hobby in your area that you can afford, time and money-wise, that makes you happy instead of making you miserable. But it's important, and you need to do it.

When I blog like this, I'm trying to put into words what I'm feeling, both for myself and for other people who might be fighting the same struggle. Three weeks ago, if I'd read this, I would've scoffed. THAT'S BULLSHIT. YOGA DOESN'T MAKE DEPRESSION GO AWAY.

Except... it really does help.

So I applied for my studio's yoga teacher training course. How cool would it be to lead retreats where we talked about writing and self-care for writers and I forced you into some downward goddamn dog?

I hope you can find something that helps you like yoga is helping me. Take an art class, go hiking, learn to knit, whatever. Everyone needs something that silences the bad thoughts and boosts the good thoughts. I had a legitimate conversation with a stranger after a yoga class, and it made me feel better all day. Sometimes, that tiny connection feels like a miracle, especially after a period of darkness.

Feeling like a person again? Check.