“My diagnosis is that you’re suffering from Major Depressive Disorder and ADD.”, said the unnervingly serene and inexplicably calming psychiatrist sitting across from me. Not exactly the best way to start a Monday morning. Monday fucking morning. Why did it never occur to me that booking an appointment with a psychiatrist on a Monday morning was a really, really stupid idea?

To be honest, I was grateful to finally have a diagnosis. I’ve always known that I was depressed but this was the first time a medical professional had so clearly been able to see and label my pain. And the ADD! To say I am relieved is an understatement. On the outside I’m polished and put together, but my secret shame is that as much as I want to be organized I haven’t the faintest idea of where to begin. Intellectually I know what to do but my mind and body don’t always work together. For example, I will often walk into the kitchen with the intention of cleaning and as I assess the mess I start to feel overwhelmed and as I wonder where to begin my body goes on auto-pilot and before I know it I’ve wasted two hours staring into space. It’s almost as if I blow some internal fuse and need to shut down. So you see, I’m open to getting some help and grateful to know that it’s not (all) my fault.

Why did I go to a psychiatrist in the first place you ask? Because one day I woke up and realized that my life is a self-driving car and that I was not only asleep at the wheel, but was wearing blindfolds and earplugs with my seat fully reclined. The worst part? The worst part was that my kids were in the car and my husband was in the passenger seat taking in the beautiful scenery that we passed. As I jerked awake and started to see and hear what was going on around me I began to assess everything and everyONE around me. The kids were a little scuffed but not damaged beyond repair. My finances, health, self esteem, living environment and marriage? Not so much.

I wish I could say that this awakening caused me to instantly make all the wonderful changes that needed to happen to right my little family’s ship, but that’s not what happened. Remember how I have depression and ADD? The diagnosis is new but the damage they cause is not. Instead of making sweeping changes, I was more miserable that I was when I was ignoring everything. I felt overwhelmed. Helpless. Hopeless. But now that I’d seen things I couldn’t unsee them. It’s been a slow and tenuous crawl fraught with obstacles and distractions. Progress has stalled on occasion but I’m becoming much better at allowing myself time to ‘feel however it is that I feel’, regroup and resume. Despite the financial hiccups, health crises, job changes and side hustles, I’ve kept going. I’ve done plenty of stupid things and been careless with the feelings of my friends, made an effort to be social, learned when to shut up and when to listen, the importance of paying my bills on time and of planning for my future, been fired, allowed myself to be disrespected, kept quiet when I should have spoken up, had some incredible wins in my career, gotten over the fact that I don’t have a college degree because my experience speaks for itself, and began to treat myself as if I matter. And let me tell you it’s been ugly and confusing. Picture Superman fighting Clark Kent in the junkyard in Superman III.

This blog post is getting long and I need to regroup and clean my kitchen (seriously). Stay tuned for part 2.

XO, Marcy