Topic: Depression

Sometimes, following your gut instinct is NOT the way to go.

Now I realize that might sound heretical for a therapist to say...so much of the work we do is have people work to discover what is going on inside of them, and to trust that and act on it.

Mostly, that is of benefit.

But sometimes, all we can hear is a part of ourselves that is scared or angry and that actually isn’t our deepest “gut” talking, but rather an anxious part that hijacks us and masquerades as a “gut feeling”. We get fooled by that, and if not self-aware can get sucked into doing something that is exactly the opposite of what is good for us.

I was reminded of this the other day as I found myself going through my pictures from summer. And I came across the following photos, taken at the edge of downtown Vancouver:

A friend of mine kayaks…she went to a week of white water kayaking school for vacation…not my idea of fun, but it was hers.

She talked about the various skills she was taught. The skill she had most trouble with was uprighting herself when the kayak turned over. Capsizing a kayak is not a big deal once you know this skill…and white water rafting requires this skills because of how the water currents can toss a person upside down. Time after time, as the instructor tipped her over, she would struggle to flip the kayak upright and fail…she would need to use the prearranged signal that of knocking on the side of the kayak. The instructor would help to release the waterproof skirt, and pull her to the surface so she could breathe again. Then she would get back in the kayak and try again.

She took several days to finally “get it”. The challenge was, she said, to not listen to what her body wanted to do, but to do what her instructor told her to do. Success wasn't achieved until she stopped listening to what her body told her to do, and she did what her body didn't want to do.

See, when you’re underwater upsidedown in a kayak, your brain has one agenda…OXYGEN. Your brain wants your lungs to be able to take a fresh load of air. That’s a really strong drive, that breathing thing, eh? Desperately strong.

So, in one’s priority to get oxygen, the body seeks to have a person’s nose above the water…so as a person is suspended in the kayak under the water, it is a natural drive to twist the body to strain to have your face emerge from the water to breathe.

Only it doesn’t work that way. The more you try to get your face on top of the water, the farther you get from being able to get your face up above the water.

To actually be able to get your face out of the water, to satisfy the insatiable desire to breathe, one must do something completely counterintuitive: you need to temporarily not work towards having your face out of the water.  It will be the last part of the body to emerge out of the water. The trick is to keep your center of gravity low…which means rolling out of the water one vertebrae at a time. Think of it as first bringing out your lower trunk, then middle trunk, then rib cage, then neck, and very lastly, your head. THEN you can breathe.

It took her four days to conquer what her body WANTED to do, to do what her body actually NEEDED to do to survive. When she did what she NEEDED to do, she got to do what her body longed for—breath. It was mind over matter until her body felt the feeling of what it was to do it right and be able to breathe successfully at the end. Once she “got it”, she could do it over and over again.  Her body knew the feeling, and knew how it could get the air it needed.

 I think sometimes our lives are like that:

• A person who finds it excruciatingly hard to get out of bed in the morning, actually does

 And realizes hours later that it would have been worse to stay in bed

• A person who is anxious and concerned and preoccupied knows that exercise is a natural destressor. She fights it—nothing in her wants to bother exercising, but gives in when a friend is at the end of the driveway on the way to the gym and won't drive away without her.

 And she feels great after

• A husband who knows his wife is ticked at him because she thinks he’s not involved enough. He’s so done with disappointing her that he finds excuses to hide out at the computer or the hockey rink (which keeps him from her scowl, but as far as she's concerned further proves her point)…but with the support of his therapist, he turns towards her to hear her pain

And over time they become more connected, and she gets less frustrated.

• A wife who nags her husband to get more involved with the kids, clean up after himself, to remember his mother’s birthday etc. etc. and most of all just really really wants to be noticed by him. The counsellor works with her to understand her pain and, over time, she becomes less demanding as she discovers the underlying source of her pain. She is able to back off

 And he becomes more engaged as he feels less like he has to run away.

Hearing about kayaking was a way for me to learn how clearly that sometimes a person has to not do what feels right but rather, to do what is effective--which may be very different.

Of course, a person needs to use their judgment carefully when doing something other than what their gut says. It takes some thoughtful contemplation to look at what your body is saying to you...making careful choices about if it is coming from a fearful part that is hijacking you, or from the very best core of who you are providing you with some solid truth.  Often the gut can be focused on immediate safety, rather than ultimate effectiveness--check it out

Think about it sometime. Sometime when you're scared and wanting to pull away, pull in, or pull out.

Depression is a condition that many who have "not been there" is difficult to understand.

Henri Nouwen, writes in one of my favorite books, The Inner Voice of Love, a description of his own depression.  It captures feelings and concepts that parallel the descriptions people have described to me.  It hit shortly after he began a time of rest at a L'arche community. Listen in:

Just when all those around me were assuring me they loved, me, cared for me, appreciated me, yes, even admired me, I experienced myself as useless, unloved, and despicable person.  Just when people were putting their arms around me, I saw the endless depth of my human misery and felt that there was nothing worth living for.  Just when I had found a home, I felt absolutely homeless.  Just when I was being praised for my spiritual insights, I felt devoid of faith.  Just when people were thanking me for bringing them closer to God, I felt that God had abandoned me.  It was as if the house I had finally found had no floors.  The anguish completely paralyzed me.  I could no longer sleep. I cried uncontrollably for hours.  I could not be reaching by consoling words or arguments. I no longer had any interest in other people's problems.  I lost all appetite for food and could not appreciate the beauty of music, art, or even nature.  All had become darkness.  Within me there was one long scream coming from a place I didn't know existed...

(page xiv)

The forlorn plaintiveness of the above paragraph strikes me at its very core.  This feeling is something that can't be argued against, rationalized, understood in a logical sense.  It brings an all-consuming-overwhelming-can't-catch-my-breath-I-think-I want-to die kind of pain. 

When one is in the middle of it, it seems almost impossible to believe that it won't always be that way. Nouwen comments that, "the two guides who were given to me did not leave me alone and kept gently moving me from one day to the next, holding on to me as parents hold a wounded child....Thanks to my attentive and caring guides, I was able to take very small steps toward life." (page xvii)

Nouwen's experience resonates with research that states that meaningful relationships are a powerful antidote to recovery from depression.  Powerful connections with others to have conversations to plumb the depths of the pain...to find the place that you didn't know exists (but does) and to know it, has it lose its power.  Over time, colors re-emerge, sounds become brighter, and beauty re-enters.

Depression is painful, incredibly so--too often misunderstood and therefore, minimized by others--which further increases the isolation and alienation of depression. Reaching out to others who are meaningfuly supportive isn't a quick fix, but it is an important first step in the long journey of recover.

Albert Camus, a philosopher, came up with this line. I am quite certain he was never in Winnipeg--and on the surface, the above line is proof of that! ;)

Seriously, I love that line. I came across it as I was going through my file of quotes that I put on the bulletin board in our counselling office. We change the quote every week or so. We don't just put this one up in winter...many of our clients are experiencing a winter of sorts in their lives regardless what time of year they come to see us.

I love the hope in that line...that when things are dark and dreary and cold and stark, it is often possible to see the spark of life inside that even adversity doesn't extinguish. In fact, the tough times help illuminate it--rather like how a candle's light is much more prominent in the darkness.

I love the truth in that line. I have the privilege of walking with clients through the winters of their lives...and the honor of witnessing the discovery of the "invincible summer" deep within. The beauty and warmth that emerges as a person looks beyond the crap and the pain and realizes what they are truly made of, what the core of their being expresses.

It snowed yesterday...may you find summer today.