The Carousel Never Stops Turning: Take 2

It’s been 1,332 days since my last post. Life was swell. And yet, here we are again.

I can’t deny there is some shame in once again admitting that I am depressed, that I have again begun a course of antidepressants.

I knew it was coming. Deep in my bones, I could feel it rearing its ugly head, but the journey was long and for that I am grateful. I am grateful for the days filled with sunshine and the amazing focus at work and the bounce in my step and the feeling of “I got this.”

So much has happened in the last three-ish years. Long before the pandemic that sent everyone home in fear and locked down countries the world over (mine included), there was a miscarriage. We were 14 weeks along and it caught us completely off guard. It was the most awful thing we’d gone through together.

With seven days off work to recover, I travelled from my bed to the couch and back. I was in a fog. My mind was everywhere but also nowhere. I couldn’t focus; not on dinner, not on my kids’ homework, not on an episode of The First 48. And before I knew it, it had been five days since I last took my antidepressants. I realised I was in withdrawals – shaking and heart racing – before it occurred to me “Hey, when’s the last time you took your meds?”

I went into a bit of a spiral after; I was irritable, I switched jobs twice, I isolated myself, I drank, I was reckless. I didn’t realise at the time it was all related to my depression. I thought, I’m grieving. Leave me alone.

We tried to get pregnant again right away but for seven long months my period came on time and with a vengeance, reminding me that I was not pregnant, still. I blamed my partner, I blamed God, I blamed myself. I thought God is punishing me.

And then just as I had given up, proclaiming Maybe God doesn’t want us to have children!, along came our son, Cristof.

He is the light of our lives. He breathed new purpose into my life, restoring my will to look after myself – mentally and physically. I ate well and took my vitamins, but continued to live an antidepressant-free life (with my doctor’s blessing). I walked daily, did yoga, meditated, diffused essential oils, got out in the sun and hung out with friends.

Shortly after Cristof was born, however, he became seriously ill and our family life was thrown off-kilter. We spent 14 days in the hospital with him and the next three months committing to medications, follow-up appointments and tests. Then I thought, this is the most awful thing we’ve gone through.

He is a healthy and thriving toddler now, but the stress of the whole ordeal (plus, you know, normal post-partum stress, sleep deprivation, unpaid maternity leave and single-income budgeting) cracked my perfect little world.

Two months later, the Cayman Islands (where I live) confirmed its first case of COVID-19 and our Government closed our borders and we went into lockdown. So now I’m adding to this crazy concoction of life my increasingly intensifying germ phobia, “letter days” for grocery shopping (with a “B” surname, we shopped Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays), a shoddy Wi-Fi connection that supported our family just fine before, 3pm national press conferences to announce the latest developments, working from home at a brand new job in a brand new company with a brand new team, homeschooling three teenagers, my nanny moving in so my partner and I can continue to work, and a house that’s way too small to accommodate all of us.

It was a lot.

Then I thought, nope, this is the most awful thing we’ve gone through.

In another few months, we saw the most active hurricane season together yet and my stress levels peaked and I thought, Christ, please. Haven’t we had enough? Thankfully, we had no direct hits, minimal damage and a community that always rallies together, but damn. That was the wrong kind of intense.

Slowly but surely I stopped taking care of me. Daily evening walks were a thing of the past, I began seeking comfort in food and began emotionally eating, my sleep patterns were off, my stress levels were at an all time high, I began socially drinking again, I started putting my work and family before myself, I hardly had time for yoga or exercise; it doesn’t all happen at once, but eventually you look around and wonder How did I get here?

So, here I am. On a journey to begin again. A reset. A chance to forgive myself for being a bit reckless, taking stock of where I am and what needs doing to get back on track, and then going for it wholly and completely. It’s putting the blinders back on and focusing on me, getting back to “the good place”.

If you’re also on this journey, I’d love to hear how you got started, what you felt was most important to focus on first and what you’re making a priority.

Peace + Love

Naz xo