When you are a little kid and get to decide what you want your lucky number to be. Number four (4). A bright and shiny number. Has a small glow of positivity and joy radiating from it. A solid and confident, yet soft “f” sound at the beginning and a rolling, yet satisfying “r” sound at the end. And well, it is my mother’s lucky number too, so it must be a good choice. Yes, this will be my lucky number. The pride I feel when sharing with the world that 4 is MY number. I’m not totally sure what it means to have a lucky number, but I do take satisfaction in knowing that it’s mine and binds me like an invisible string to my mom. There is a sense of safety and warmth just in the declaration.
Fast forward umpteenth years and I’m now turning 44. A world behind me and a world yet ahead of me. I’m somewhere in the middle I suppose. And I can’t help but feel a small, yet satisfying feeling knowing that I’m stepping into a portal cloaked in good luck and small surprises this year.
I breathe a sigh of relief. I can feel the exhale in my chest. I survived a challenging year, professionally, personally and mental health wise. I stepped onto a roller coaster last year that I never signed up for and rode it anyways. In fits and starts, I protested for someone to stop the ride. To let me off, so I could fall asleep on the bench, parked alongside the moving colors and sounds of the carnival, and sleep while the world whisked by. But that did not happen. The roller coaster never did stop. It kept moving, amidst old bands’ music, the crashing sounds of children’s voices and the smell of cotton candy.
The carnival did come to a close eventually. The rides did slow down and I have been able to step off and catch my breath. I still find my chest and belly saturated with pressure at times, but the pace has quieted and I’m less afraid to open my eyes while going downhill or taking those unexpected turns.
—
A birthday wish or two for myself in this new year. To embrace the joys already in front of me. To let go of the genetic wiring of my “if only” mindset that has followed me around for so many years. “If only” I follow the right nutrition labels will I fall back in love with my body. “If only” I sign my daughter up for the “right” activity will she be on track to live her life more authentically. “If only” I take a class in x, y, or z, will I feel more fulfilled spiritually or intellectually, etc., etc., etc.
In this 45th year on earth, may I take more steps backwards to open my eyes to the bigger picture that is my life, and gain perspective. To be able to take in the full lot of what I’ve been given, and explore how I can be of service to others. For without this perspective, I’m at risk of being whisked away on another roller coaster. And goodness knows, at 44, my body will protest!
“Open your eyes, look within. Are you satisfied with the life you’re living?”
~ Bob Marley
There is a book that will forever bring me back to the memory of feeding my newborn daughter… in the darkest hours of the morning, when you could hear a pin drop, but for the suckling of her lips, nourishing herself and then falling back asleep. During this time I lost myself in the novel Pachinko (Min Jin Lee, 2017), a historical fiction novel following a Korean family over several generations and their epic and at times harrowing 20th century experience in Japan. Almost 500 pages, I would read it in the wee hours of the morning and get lost in the characters’ lives. It was as if soaking up poetry was my nourishment and it gave me solace and the perspective that I wasn’t alone. I knew I was going to be okay and would get through that lonely and isolating period, wracked with postpartum anxiety and depression.
Fast forward almost 5 years later and I have found myself gravitating back to Pachinko as a form of solace and comfort. When I found myself recently navigating a new period of depression and anxiety, not dissimilar from the feelings I had during those postpartum months, my sister recommended I find an audiobook to get lost in when I needed an outlet. I’ve never been one for re-reading books or re-watching movies. Once I’m done, I’m done. But in this instance, I instantly thought of Pachinko. Could it provide that similar sense of refuge, a secret knowing that I was going to be okay? 17 hours and 48 minutes long, it seemed daunting at first, but I’ve moved through it and have but an hour remaining.
It’s fascinating to me that a book or a piece of music that provided such comfort during a challenging time can soothe the nervous system in similar ways years later as new challenges arise.
I’m still piecing together what contributed to this episode or chapter of depression. I have some ideas and think I will save them for a future blog piece. Instead, I want to reflect briefly on the theme of healing and hope that can come from unlikely places. Like the characters in Pachinko, I have found that connecting with other people’s stories has been the true remedy.
Over the last 8 weeks as a piece of my healing, I participated in a group therapy based intensive program. It was one of the scariest things I’ve ever done. Reporting to “group” (as we called it) most days of the week, I sit alongside those who, at first, are complete strangers. Facilitated by trained clinicians, the sessions provide each of us with the opportunity to “check in” about how we fared the night before, how we are feeling that day and what topics we would like to chew on during our “process session.” Everyone comes in with very different challenges and experiences. And yet, what we all have in common is that we are not coping as well as we would like with our mental health (presenting for most folks as anxiety and depression).
What is unique about the group I’ve joined is that everyone is coming from the professional world–doctors, lawyers, data analysts, investment bankers, sports coaches, nurses, teachers, higher ed professionals, the list goes on. Folks are all starting and “graduating” from the program at different times so the group rarely looks the same. And yet, you seem to travel with a few of the same core folks throughout your journey. Reflecting back now, what fascinates me the most from this whole experience is simply the human validation I didn’t realize I needed that I am not alone in experiencing the bumps and dips of one’s mental health landscape.
I come to realize that depression and anxiety (and other mental health conditions) that so many of us experience but often don’t feel safe enough to talk about widely, are endemic to our society and probably have been for centuries.
Whether it’s navigating a brutal divorce, managing a toxic workplace or not having processed childhood traumas, we are each stacked with challenges and don’t often talk about how they impact us– physically, emotionally, spiritually or mentally. We hold them in and rationalize them away. Our lifetime of baggage compounds and then one day, something just bursts… the blood vessel we call life. This process is not sustainable.
I would never share details of the stories I heard. I hold them close and preciously so. But I will say that whether it was a 23 year old navigating her first full time job after college or a brilliant 70 something retiree who is questioning his purpose and meaning in the world, I sit in a simple circle each day alongside some of the kindest and most caring souls. Their vulnerability is contagious and before I know it, I find myself connecting the dots and sharing deep wounds from my own life.
None of these wounds are completely new revelations, but shared in the context of a group, I’m able to relate to others in new ways and experience reciprocal healing.
By supporting others on their journeys, I find that I begin to heal pieces of my own as well.
About one week after I complete the program I find myself driving to meet some of the group members who, along the way, become dear friends. We decide to meet for coffee at a local diner. I walk in tepidly. It’s almost surreal seeing them sitting at a booth, with a plate of curly fries and cups of tea. We proceed to share how we are all doing, each of us on different and new roller coasters. We talk about the hard and the silly moments we had together, poking fun at each other and sounding a bit more sarcastic and light hearted than we did a couple weeks back. Are we transformed and in completely different places? No, not at all. We are still walking the roads of our lives with (to most outsiders) an invisible backpack of symptoms we are managing. But the difference, at least for me, is that I now have comrades with whom I can share more openly about my mental health, and without any taboo or judgement. I feel significantly less alone and that is worth the price of gold.
——-
It’s now been about four weeks since completing the program. I’ve since finished listening to Pachinko. And despite my being light-years away from the characters that lie within, I feel a renewed sense of grounding and comfort through bearing witness to their stories. I suppose this experience could be had through reading any good novel. However for me, Min Jin Lee’s vivid storytelling provides a deep knowing and visceral reminder that none of us are alone on our respective journeys. Moreover, the paths we cross with others and the relationships we build along the way are the beating heart that allows us to keep going.
Taking a Pause at 40 