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Don't Stop

"It matters not how slow you go, as long as you don't stop"

That was in a bath bomb that was brought to me by a dear friend today. I was excited to get to visit with Michele tonight and she brought goodies! A pack of journals and a bath bomb. I'm typically not one that uses that sort of thing but my muscles are sore today and with all the anxiety of the weekend, I figured it couldn't hurt to take a bath with this lavender scented bath bomb. As it fizzed away and turned my bath water a lovely shade of purple, a little message appeared. It was like a fortune from a fortune cookie. I read the message and chuckled. It is funny to me how are able to make a fortune from a fortune cookie work to our current situation. They all apply. This message applies to a runner, or someone's career, or even someone learning a new task. To me, it had meaning for this grieving season I'm currently in and trying to escape.

Grief is all consuming. So is depression. They seem to be best of friends. They feed off each other and when one isn't as bad, the other steps up their game. There is rarely a balance between the two. Sometimes I am desperate to escape from it all. The pain and sadness is just so damn overwhelming. It is like a never ending toothache.

I've suffered depression for most of my adult life. In the beginning I went to therapy and took various medications. It worked for awhile and then my insurance ran out. Therapy and medications were not in the budget for a single mother of three kids. So I took up hobbies. One year I grew a garden and canned until my house was full of pickles and jams. My next season of depression was when I threw myself into cake decorating and cake pops. We all got a little fatter from that bout of depression. After that came the season of depression when I took up painting. My house was covered in painted canvas. That one was a messy season. The season after that was when I learned to sew. Mainly quilts because anything else would be too hard. I loved the instant gratification of a quilt and the crisp straight lines. Soon after that I met my husband and the depression seasons weren't as bad. I was busy. When Catherine would go through her own seasons of sadness, I would tell her to find a hobby and whatever you do, don't stop. Baking was her therapy.

It has been quite some time since I have had a season of depression. I learned to sew clothes for the hell of it after the quilting season of depression and have found it a necessity instead of a way to escape. It dawned on me today that I was filling this current season of depression with a new hobby. Redecorating my house. I made this realization as we were turning an old door into an upholstered headboard for our room. As I was sweating and stapling batting and fabric to the old door, I realized that I am definitely in this new season with a new activity. I got rid of our couches and have spent time reupholstering two chairs. I'm hell bent on redoing our kitchen table because building one is a bit too much. I've talked the boys into repainting their rooms and bathroom. This season of depression and new activity sneaked up on me. Don't get me wrong, I have enjoyed it. But I realized today that I was unhappy and so I needed to change all my surroundings. I can't change the situation but I can make my surroundings not so damn depressing while I'm dealing with this grief and depression.

When we finished the headboard and installed it in our room, we worked to clean up our mess. And then we stopped. The hustle of activity was done. The anxiety hit hard and fast again. Not sure why. Maybe I had stopped long enough to realize that in all the activity of creating a headboard, I had stopped grieving for a moment. Maybe it was the guilt of escaping from the grief. She was my daughter. I should be grieving for one hundred years. Maybe it was because when I stopped, I had nothing to do but think. And the two best friends came skipping back into my life. Grief and depression are like the mean girls of high school.

I'm not sure how long this season will last. Or what my house will look like in the end. But it doesn't matter how slow I go, as long as I don't stop. That is when it all falls apart.

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