PS. I like you is a free weekly(ish) newsletter for people who want to make different memories.
I often coach my clients around holding space for discomfort. Holding space for uncomfortable feelings and letting them move through you.
But what if they won’t move?
Right now I find myself in a low mood.
It’s a low mood I’m familiar with. The low mood that isn’t so much a feeling of sadness (though it’s there); but far more defined by: “What’s the point?” Why am I here; what do I do? What don’t I want to do? (Everything.)
It’s the mood that makes everything flat and dull and without reason.
I don’t always know what causes it; but in this case I think it’s Light.
Loss of light. Loss of time. Loss of I don’t know what yet.
Depression and low mood is often related to losing. Loss of people; loss of resources; loss of a life you had.
And so, I’ll be honest, I’m so used to this feeling of losing — and the sense of loss that comes with it — that I don’t question it so much any more.
I no longer think I’m defective. I no longer think I’m strange.
Maybe I have a ‘loss of light’ intolerance. Just like I have an alcohol intolerance; or a lactose intolerance.
Maybe my body just finds it hard to adjust. And by ‘hard,’ I mean, ‘it tells me things.’
Anyway, I wanted to leave you with something that has been helping me — in the hope that it might help someone reading this too.
If you’ve ever been through this low mood, you know what it feels like.
You also know you survived.
This is something I think we can take for granted.
We’re still here; we’re grateful. But we maybe haven’t quite processed how miraculous that is; or how much we did to make that happen.
Before I was low I did a short exercise: I imagined myself in the midst of my depression(s).
I remembered what it felt like to be lost and hopeless. I cried, touching that memory.
And I remembered what it felt like to survive this feeling. I very intentionally asked myself what I wanted to feel alongside those feelings of hopelessness.
My answer: I survived. I can survive. I can do this.
Alongside those memories of depression, I planted the thought. Of: I can handle this. I will get through this. I can do this.
So that if I ever came back to those memories, I would have that association — that I’m someone who knows how to handle it. Even if it’s shit (and it will be), I know how to get through this.
I let those memories — and the knowing I could survive this — wash through my body. I deliberately amplified the feeling of: I can do this; I will get through this. So that my body knew as much as my brain.
Today, I woke up knowing there was a mood that I couldn’t move through. (Certainly not at the pace I wanted to.)
I would have to give it time to shift.
And in that time, I wanted something that would remind me I wasn’t bad; and that there was more than this dullness waiting for me, stretching out for forever.
Now, I remember. I think back to how I can feel when I’m lost.
And I know. I will get through this.
You will get through this.
To know this is to bring fire into your heart. When before there was just an aching emptiness.
To know — and I mean know with your entire body — that you will handle this thing that you cannot see past of, is a resource I am very glad to have right now.
And if I could make one person aware that this sensation exists, and is possible, then I am glad for sharing this with you.
I’m not saying I could have done this when I first started having depression. I’m not saying I could have done this before I knew how to work with my emotions, and come to know them better. I’m not saying I could have done this before I learned how to anchor particular thoughts and feelings into memories — and thus create new memories and associations.
But I also didn’t know, up until a few days ago, whether going back into my memories and implanting the feeling of “I can do this,” would actually stick and help me when I need it most, now.
You never know. Is a mantra I like to remind myself often.
You never know. (So try.) But also, you may as well know the things that are going to help you when you need it. If you have the evidence you survived, you may as well fully, know that.
Practise knowing.
It sounds strange, but it may be one of the best companions you make.
Love,
Kathryn
PS.
I know people reading this will have loved ones who have not survived everything. And for that I am truly sorry. This isn’t meant to split us into ‘survivors’ and those who have not.
We cannot survive everything. We will not.
But also, we can survive. There is possibility. And if you know the feeling, I encourage you to make your own relationship with that. One that brings you solace and hope, strength — for when you need it again.
Which we will surely all do.
PS. I like you.
Ibibio Sound Machine. Go Listen.
//
you can also find me on instagram
and find out more about coaching together.