The Dark Side of Christmas

There’s nothing cozy about a blanket of depression, especially in the time of Covid.

Image from HERE.

I consider myself experienced at dealing with depression, but that doesn’t make me an expert. I’m just an ordinary person who has seen the darkness, felt it closing in on me, and witnessed others snowed under it, too.

But I’m here to tell you that I threw the blanket off, at least for now. By that I mean both figuratively, the heavy cover of sadness and bitterness, and literally, the soft meadow-blue flannel sheets I took refuge under for so many days.

Miraculously, I am in recovery, holding onto happiness one moment at a time.

Depression is an illness. It’s a grip on your heart and mind. It can manifest as inertia, both physical and emotional. Inability to move or feel. At times in my past, it has been too painful for me to muster up a smile, no matter how much my husband, Dan, coaxed me, no matter how pretty the sunset streaks or how good the clam chowder. My heart was hardened, locked. My will was broken. A grin, even a shaky one? That was not within my power.

The prettiest lipstick, the pinkest sweater, the finest chocolate bark — nothing I used to love could lift my spirits. Life was letting me down.