Thoughts would gurgle out of my head like water boiling over on a hot stove. Words would seep from my fingertips onto the keyboard effortlessly. I would find myself deciphering my scribbly hieroglyphics on my trusty notepads because I couldn't write out a thought fast enough.
So what has changed? In life, we seek stability, attempting to find ground where our equilibrium doesn't feel threatened and the earth feels solid under our feet. Life is like climbing up a cliff out of the water of our mother's womb. When we start to feel safe, we crouch on our outcropping, waiting for that next wave or gust of wind to threaten our position, however precarious.
Perspective, too, plays a role. From my perch, I see others struggling where I once was, as well as places I never want to be.
I've been asking myself: where is my empathy, my knowledge, my energy best utilized? Having stumbled up the cliffs of postpartum depression, I know I can be a support to other women. And, in the same breath, I remind myself to simply enjoy my precious, sparkly, vibrant daughters and my loving, industrious, handsome hubby. What more could a woman want?
In short, I don't have much to complain about. How can I write about depression when I no longer feel depressed? The memories are fading, and while they will always be a part of my history, I'm ready to move on and take on new challenges. But at the same time, I don't want to rock the boat. I'm waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. The one that will inspire me to write again...
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In the meantime, I'm really hoping for some snow. :-)
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| Playing in the snow with Grandma Starr, December 2008 |
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