Sometimes, You Just Get Broken Bootstraps

"Sometimes if you pull yourself up by your bootstraps you know what you get?  Broken bootstraps."

~Ken Davis~

This ones a d-oozy so maybe grab a coffee and find a comfy seat or just bypass it altogether if reading about depression is not your thing - I won't be offended.

So I've talked previously about how my life has gotten a bit grey and I don't much like it because of where it may lead.  This is why I've started the colouration project in an effort to make myself actively choose light and life and stop taking everything so seriously as is my tendency being a melon/phleg.  So I thought I'd share a bit more about my journey up to this point so you can understand where it is I'm coming from, why I started this blog and what the colouration project is.

I was what I call a grey kid.  Not an overachiever or an underachiever.  I floated under the radar. 

When I graduated from high school I had a sense of impending doom. I wasn't ready to do this, I wasn't ready to be an adult yet. I had no idea what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.  Looking back now I realise I wasn't at all alone in those feelings.

Can I just say that being told you can be whatever you want to be when you grow up is a seriously unhelpful thing to hear.  Maybe not for every child but for me a confirmed introvert it was.

I have two older sisters.  At this point one had finished her nursing degree and the other was three quarters through her teaching degree (secondary).

I applied for my teaching degree (early childhood) .

It seemed like the thing to do.

I got accepted.

I still had no idea what I wanted to do.

Now please don't get the wrong idea my parents put very little pressure on me. I don't think they much cared what I did so long as I was happy. 

I wasn't very brave. I hated the unknown. I had an irrational fear of new things.

I dropped out of my Uni degree within 18 months after bursting into tears on a lecturer and lying about why I hadn't showed up to organise a prac placement.

It was that irrational fear thing again.

It felt easier to lie about why I was in tears.

It wasn't.

So I ran away.

From there I went through a handful of jobs and a total of 9 months unemployment (3 months the first time, 6 months the second).  Unemployment can be soul destroying.

The year I turned 21, after doing an assortment of things (hospitality, volunteer work, cleaning, looking after other peoples children, crowd control behaviour management teacher aiding) I finally landed myself a job in a law firm.

From the time I was 17 until I was about 25 I felt like I was on a slow downward slide to rock bottom.  I had been through failed jobs, failed relationships and what I considered a couple of failed attempts to move away from my home town and stand on my own two feet.

I didn't like myself.  In fact I hated myself.  I loathed myself.  I felt like a failure.  I felt like everything I touched disintegrated in my hands.

It was ridiculous really by the time I was 25 I had worked very successfully at 3 different law firms and I was good at my job. I had lived on my own, paid my own bills and bought a car.

You see what had happened is I had believed a series of lies about myself over a very long period of time.

I was worthless.

I was ugly.

I would never be good enough.

I was afraid of everything and therefore capable of nothing.

I was unlovable.

I was never told these things by anyone.

Have you ever looked, really looked at yourself in the mirror?  Not just to make sure you're not leaving the house with a rats nest on your head or something hanging out your nose but really looked?  Well I couldn't do it.  If I stopped and looked in the mirror for more than 30 seconds, I'd throw up on my feet.  I'm not kidding when I tell you I loathed myself.

Skip ahead 5 years.

I am relatively in control of my emotions (well as much as you can be when you're a girl!)

I love myself.

I value myself.

I am married to an amazing, supportive man.

I have a cute little home.

I have a good job.

I still fear lots of things but now I do them afraid.

So how did I get from there to here.

I stopped hiding from everyone.  I let people in on what was going on inside my head, as much as I could anyway.



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I held on to 2 Timothy 1:7 for dear life "For God did not give us a spirit of fear but love, power and a sound mind."

I made my families life pretty hellish at times.  This meant they knew what was going on in my life and they could pray for me or help me - even when I didn't want them too.    Whenever my life was going particularly badly I would call my mother and tell her to stop praying for me because she was making it worse.  She never stopped praying.  My mother once said to me that if I was sick or had a broken leg they would be helping me, caring for me and this was no different - she was right.

I made friends (I call them shabby green potholes, Anne Shirley calls them kindred spirits) who had been through similar things that I could talk to openly when I couldn't tell my family everything.  This sometimes meant that there were a handful of (very safe) people holding parts of my story with nobody holding the whole story.  It felt safer for me that way.  It meant no one person was carrying the burden of all my crazy. 

This included people that:

• Knew when to kick my backside and tell me to get out of bed and when to just leave me there. 
• Held my hand and told me - just make it to morning tea, then just make it to lunch time.
• Honestly told me they didn't know what to do with me - which hurt like hell but made me realise that the only one who could get me out of this state was me.
• Told me it just sucked.
• Sent me flowers to let me know they were thinking of me, bought me small useful gifts and wrote me beautiful letters that were truth that I still treasure to this day.
• Sat and watched hours and hours of mindless TV and movies to help me escape from my reality for a little while.
• Told me to stand up and stop wallowing, that I was so much stronger than I believed. (That one was my husband, Nathaniel before he was even my boyfriend.  I think that's why he is now my husband - I wouldn't suggest doing this one until you know a person really well or you may end up with a black eye).
• Did my dishes for me when my house was literally the most disgusting mess and a total reflection of the state of my mind (again thanks Nathaniel).
• Turned up on my doorstep and took me out for lunch not to talk to me or at me but just because.
• Turned up on my doorstep to have a whinge because their life was too much too (that's so good because it makes you feel more normal).

I also talked to my GP (after a friend rang the doctors and made me an appointment for me and told me I had to go because if I didn't she would drag me kicking and screaming if she had too - again I don't recommend it unless you are a good friend or a close family member).

I made sure I was filling myself with good things.  Reading books (Till We Have Faces, Hinds' Feet on High Places, Waking the Dead: The Glory of a Heart Fully Alive, Quaker Summer) listening to music (I listened to a lot of Casting Crowns) and writing, writing, writing out the contents of my head.  It helped me find my voice.  I also walked for miles and miles around our town usually with Nathaniel just talking, talking, talking, again trying to get out of my head.

I had to figure out where my value was.  Not in what other people thought of me.  Or for a long time what I thought of myself but what God thought of me.

I had to learn I couldn't always trust my emotions and at times I had to ignore them.  Sometimes those suckers don't need to be fed. Sometimes your emotions are not valid.

I had to learn not to sabotage myself by making the worst choice I could just to see what would happen.

I had to change the conversation in my head in a way that worked for me.



I had to learn that my happiness was dependent on me not the people around me.

It was a loong journey with a lot of false starts. One step forward two steps (or 20 steps) back is a pretty good motto really. Basically it got a whole lot worse before it got better.

I still have bad days every now and again but I have learnt what my triggers are (stress is a huge one for me) and now I know that I will come out the other side (it's so much easier when you know you will come out the other side).

I don't think there is a magical cure for depression.  I'm not against anti-depressants by any stretch of the imagination but I don't think they alone fit the bill.

In some people's experience the pill (contraceptive) is a bad thing and can actually cause the emotional spackiness (it's totally a word) but for me it was great it evened me out a little which helped me cope, which in turn helped me deal with my underlying issues.  For some people anti-depressants do the job that the pill did for me.

My personal experience with anti-depressants was that I suffered from side effects ie they made me feel sick.  All. The. Time.  I didn't understand how that could possible be helpful because feeling sick all the time - pretty much depressing, but this is not the case for everyone.

Mostly what I did was be really open and honest about my struggles.  Granted that doesn't mean I bale everyone up for a conversation about depression but seriously somehow in the last couple of years I've gone from being the person that seeks out others for help with their depression to the person that gets asked "So how did you deal with your depression?"  My answer is usually this something along these lines:

"I still live with depression, every dang day.  That does not make me depressed all the time.  It means that I cautiously monitor my feelings.  That I listen when my body is telling me that it's had enough (hopefully) before I get to breaking point.  That I have learnt my triggers and how to head off the really bad days, if at all possible.  That I have surrounded myself with safe people who I can talk to if things get too much."

I'm not suggesting that my path is the only path.  I think everybody takes their own path with this awful thing.  I think it is very important (when possible) to choose how you ride depression and not let it ride you (though at some stage it will ride you).

I have learnt that sometimes if you try to pull yourself up by your bootstraps, you just get broken bootstraps but if you have other people to hold you up while you pull on them, you might just be ok.



In the words of my very wise little sister...

It is not okay. It is not acceptable. And it is not supposed to be this way.

If you need help keep asking until you find it because you are worth it.


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Linking up with Jess today because it's Tuesday.