allowing the change

‘You must be ready to burn yourself in your own flame: how could you become new, if you had not first become ashes?’
NIETZCHE - THUS SPOKE ZARATHUSTRA

'I must be willing to give up what I am in order to become what I will be.'

ALBERT EINSTEIN

This recovery phase really does take time - more than I care to remember. The temptation is to think that, once I’ve crossed the void and can see the worst of depression receding in my rear-view mirror, that I can accelerate away and leave it for dead. Of course, this is another illusion of the mind. It hangs around, tailgating me for a while, and giving me the occasional flash of the headlights. It doesn’t want me to speed off to ‘Normal’, wherever ‘Normal’ is - it is not a place I should ever return to.

This phase is where I’ve been for a while now (where I was for a good while last time I was ill, if I care to remember accurately). It’s about achieving steadiness and consistency and - more than that - cultivating a certain state of mind which can help me over the months and years to come.

This state of mind is about awareness, about kindness and compassion to myself and about balance. It is also about independence, freedom and trust. I need to trust the deep-down feelings and instincts which I worked so hard to uncover and tune into, so that I can gradually leave all the props of therapy behind, go back to work and resume my existence in the ‘real’ world. The real world doesn’t allow me the luxury of time and space, of course, so it is even more important to feel ready for it; to have a sense that my priorities are clear and in order (as far as possible); and to feel like the tools of awareness are there for me to use when I need them - even if this isn’t quite as regularly as I would like.

It’s not the thought of returning to work which is now scary. It’s the prospect of returning to a fixed routine, where the best hours of my waking day are accounted for by someone else, and the lack of freedom this entails. Time has been my most precious commodity and, suddenly, I’m going to have a lot less of it - at least to do the things I enjoy and would like to do. It’s not the work itself which I resent (in general, I rather like it). It’s what it represents in my life and what it prevents me from doing. This is why it gradually becomes stifling, leaving me feeling trapped, and in physical and mental pain.

So, despite the constraints of reality when it returns, I cannot continue on my old path. I need to forge a new one. This is exciting and positive, and yet it is also quite frightening. It is about taking a leap into the unknown, while somehow keeping my feet on the ground. It is about building bridges towards a new life while keeping the old one going as far as I need to. And it is about making a plan, and following it through with a good deal of determination and discipline. As I sit here now, I’m not sure how I’m going to do it, but I know that I can do it, if I take the right approach.

What this is about is the part of the therapy process which has been missing in the past for me - change. All the best books on depression and therapy talk of this concept, but always in an abstract way, for very good reason. Change - like the illness itself - is as individual as the person in question. The ‘lessons’ from depression are as many and varied as those that have come through it, whether it be changing the way we think, live, love or work - or whether it is simply a coming-to-terms with our own truths.

These lessons, though, must be recognised and acted upon, otherwise the illness will stay lurking in the shadows, and will deliver a sharp whack around the head when they are ignored entirely.

'If you can cope with the nuclear winter of depression and come through it without committing suicide - the disease's most serious side effect - then, in my experience, depression can be a great friend. It says: the way you've been living is unbearable, it's not for you. And it teaches you slowly how to live in a way that suits you infinitely better. If you don't listen, of course, it comes back and knocks you out even harder the next time, until you get the point.'

SUNBATHING IN THE RAIN - GWYNETH LEWIS

The opportunity to change - along with better self-knowledge, clarity and a new perspective - is our gift from depression. While the other three gifts can gradually fade over time, the gift of ‘change’ - should we choose to accept it - is what keeps the other three alive and fresh. By taking what we have learned and experienced in order to embark on a different path, we are living the lessons and consequences of our illness. We are accepting it and respecting it, rather than shutting it out, suppressing and ignoring it, as we did with so many unwanted feelings in the past.

Are you brave enough to re-make your life?'

DANS PARIS - Film directed by Christophe Honoré, 2007

And change - real change - takes time. We must create the right conditions for it to emerge, thus allowing the change rather than 'making' it. This question of time is, to me, the key one: I have always tried to fit as much as I possibly could into the time available, and yet depression has taught me - on several occasions - that there is a new way of being, even when we are ‘busy’. I have always used the scattergun approach, whether it be with work, friendships or plans.

Now I need to cut things out of my life and simplify, simplify, simplify. I need to do less, not more. I need to prioritise and be occasionally ruthless. I need to say ‘no’ more, and feel satisfied in doing it, even if I can’t always enjoy it. Getting the most out of life isn’t about doing more and trying harder. It’s about being aware, staying focused and going with the flow. This is probably the greatest lesson I have learned from depression.