This evening I have been talking with an old friend. He will often send me photos of our group from high school and remark forlornly about how much he misses those days. I understand the sentiment. I miss those days too. It can be hard to accept how different and lonely life can be as an adult. I genuinely feel for this friend and often find myself wishing there was some way that I could help him to be happy again with the life he now lives.
Today has been especially difficult in this regard. My friend expressed to me that he doesn’t believe he will ever be happy, just less sad. My heart breaks for this kind soul that I have known for so many years. His dejected state reminds me painfully of who I used to be as a teenager, believing I would never find happiness. Even though I’m not where I would like to be in life, I have still been able to carve out my own unique sense of wellbeing and contentment.
There have been many times since noticing this change within myself, this awakening to my power over my own happiness, that I have desperately longed to somehow be able to share this new point of view with others that are still suffering. Yet somehow there never seem to be any words that I could deem fitting to do so. There are lots of things that helped me to heal, primarily yoga and meditation. But I hesitate to even offer these solutions. I can’t help but cringe internally as I imagine how I would have once felt receiving the same sort of advice.
I had been on the other side of this encounter many times in the past. When you are depressed and feeling hopeless, it is frustrating to keep hearing: “have you tried meditation?” “You can make your own happiness!” “Just focus on all the things you have to be grateful for.” In that state of mind, I always felt these suggestions were more like a slap in the face than practical options. It just made me feel more alone. It felt like no one was listening, like no one understood. One of the things my mom used to always tell me when I was younger and having one of my many existential crises comes to mind. Essentially she would tell me not to worry about all the big problems I saw in my life, my past and my future, but to focus on the small everyday joys like hearing the birds chirping outside my window, or having a hot cup of coffee on a cold Sunday morning while watching the snow blanket the world in a crisp, bright whiteness. I can still remembering being incensed by this. What did any of those things matter in comparison to my problems? A cup of coffee isn’t enough to make a happy life. Chirping birds don’t make me feel any less alone.
Yet now all of the things I once considered useless platitudes have become so poignant and meaningful to me. It is wild to juxtapose these two parallel perspectives inside me. I was so grateful to have the chance to tell my mom that I finally understand what she was trying to say. The problem is that I don’t know what it was that got it to click. I don’t have an answer for why I am able to see life so differently now. I keep racking my brain for that answer, but always come up empty. I’ve even tried to imagine what I could say to my sixteen-year-old self that would have helped her. Sadly, I feel like there isn’t anything I could have said.
When you decide that you are miserable and you will never be able to be happy, there isn’t much anyone else can do to change that. I wish there was. When feeling sad and lonely becomes part of your identity, part of your own idea of who you are, it is hard to get away from that. It’s similar to an addiction. If an addict doesn’t want to stop using, nothing anyone else does is going to help in the end. The most crucial step in recovery is deciding that you want to recover. And just like some addicts need to hit rock bottom to finally get to that point, that is also what it felt like it took for me to change. I finally had had enough. I couldn’t stand to feel so miserable any more. Then something inside of me finally let go and I realized it was up to me to decide how I was going to feel. I began to truly believe that it was my choice, and that I could choose to be happy if I really wanted to.
The problem I keep being faced with is how to help others make that shift in consciousness. I just cannot accept that there is no way to do so even though that honestly seems like the hard truth. But maybe telling people my story can help in some way. Although I can already imagine teenage Rachel rolling her eyes at anyone having told me this story. “Well they didn’t really know what it’s like to feel this way. They could never understand my situation.” But I am going to keep telling it anyway in the hopes that maybe it can help someone. There is no easy fix for feeling alone and depressed. It takes a lot of work. Everyday. I haven’t stopped that work and I know I never will. But the point is it’s worth it, it’s possible. The bad news is no one else can do it for you. The good news is you can do it all by yourself. You are capable. You are powerful. Even if one person can’t change the world. You can change your own world. I hope you do.