Let us speak candidly, reader. I’m not, nor have I been, okay. And that’s okay!
My life has been going well, fantastically well, honestly, and things are generally good, the waters calm. Work and home have been pretty solid all-around. On the surface, some would describe it as “hunky-dory,” or “swell.” That said, none of that matters if I can’t prioritize the good.
Mental health is something I feel like I’ve been extremely progressive about over the years and I think 80s kids and younger are more cognizant of the impact that depression, anxiety, and general mental health concerns can have on our lives. We’re in an era where there’s virtually no stigma associated with seeking counseling, therapy, or medication to address distress, and that’s something we should be proud of for achieving. That said, these concerns are different for everyone and there is no blanket solution to overcome or work against anxiety and sadness. There’s no amount of therapy that can cure debt, poverty, chronic illness, etc. Zoloft or Wellbutrin can’t remedy the death of someone close or get you out of a wheelchair.
Those extremes are things that are sometimes used as a way to create perspective — “it could always be worse, so chin up” — but that doesn’t mean the average person living the average life is obligated to dismiss their sadness, or rebrand depression for weakness. The optimism and bright future we grew up with in the 90s has been crushed by a 24 hour news cycle, doomscrolling, and various digital addictions that scrape away at any ability to see the bright side. Politics is more divisive than ever; tribalism, conspiracy, and anti-intellectualism are the flavors of the last decade.
TL;DR: We’re more than allowed to accept that every day puts our mind at risk for trauma.
“Suck it up,” “be a man,” “grow a backbone,” “get over it.” These expressions are often go-to bits of advice from older generations who feel like nothing compares to their hardships and that anyone younger than 50 is delusional and soft. That doesn’t make them bad people, but it is frustrating to air our feelings to any generations of Americans that grew up in a culture that mandated keeping your mouth shut and burying those feelings. Anger and contempt on either side of this gradient is extraordinarily unhelpful, I’ve found, but your mileage may vary. Agreeing to disagree is always an option.
Personally, I have been dealing with anxiety and issues of temper for a long time now. Medication and, to a lesser degree, therapy has helped me recognize these feelings, but there is no quick fix to feeling the rush of stress and/or anger in the moment. Often these ‘rushes’ feel like a momentum that I struggle mightily to stop, even with treatment. When I was younger this resulted in a lot of behavior that I’m ashamed of, hurting others or damaging things. Now that I’m older the result is usually either a stupid outburst or, at best, a good hour or two of feeling like the earth is washing out from under my feet.
I’ve had to accept that there likely isn’t, at least right now, a path that leads me out of taking some forms of medication and working with myself and others on taking accountability/attempting to manage my anxiety. It’s not going to solve itself, and ‘choosing to be happy’ isn’t just going to magically soak my being someday with wishful thinking. Accepting that this is an aspect of my identity and personality isn’t something I like, but it’s become necessary.
One thing I’ve noticed as I’ve gotten a bit older is that my views on nostalgia are becoming more impactful. Thinking of past times, particularly the world of my childhood and early teenage years, hits me harder now. I’m much more aware of how precious those times were, and how far away those days have become. The vibrance, the people, the flavors, the culture of my youth – it’s all gone, and never coming back. Ever.
To answer those feelings, I have to remind myself to focus on the present. The adage, “stop and smell the roses” I find very helpful. Taste my coffee, really taste it. Run my fingers through my wife’s hair, enjoy the comfort of a puppy on my lap, smell the blooming flowers and woodsy air of a spring day. Embrace the faint scent of a campfire somewhere in the area, savor the satisfying clicks and clacks of typing on a mechanical keyboard (like I am now).
But the anxiety is adaptive, and found new ways to get to me in recent months. I’ve become increasingly disorganized and forgetful. I missed several work meetings and doctor’s appointments. I had regularly forgotten that trips or social events were upcoming, getting caught off guard and distressed over feeling blindsided when it had long been scheduled. It’s crushed my self-esteem and degraded my confidence both personally and professionally.
With the help of my amazing wife and some coworkers, I’ve embraced doing the small things to overcome these bad habits. The race is long, and I’ve got long a way to go, but I feel like momentum is positive, and the pieces are in place to achieve what are honestly not major changes to my personal habits.
My wife’s such a wonderful listener and no-bullshitter, two qualities I treasure in her (among many). I can’t emphasize how important she is to me, and how critical her partnership has been in my ups and downs over the years and going forward. We’re doing our best for each other, and sometimes that takes some hard truths and gentle reminders.
I’m doing OK, and I’m going to be OK. I’ll do my best to keep all my people lifted up, and if you’re reading this, I hope you are seeing the glass half full today, and are aware that someone out there cares if you’re alright. Thank you for reading, and let’s make the rest of our day a good one, yeah?
1985 Edition 