Girl School for Grownups

Like having a big sister, but better because I can't boss you around!

My depression story, part 3

on November 15, 2014

I don’t really know how to wrap up my thoughts about depression. Before I started writing, I had an idea of writing 3 posts and I’m pretty sure I had some thoughts about what each post would cover. Now? I feel uncertain and very unqualified.

(inhale, hold, exhale, hold, repeat)

(breath retention is a technique I learned in yoga classes and it’s very calming and centering. yes, i did just stop and intentionally breathe. maybe it will help.)

Perhaps dealing with depression is something like what i just experienced. I didn’t know what to write, and the temptation to just step away and not write anything was huge. But then I remembered something that sometimes helps, and even though it didn’t seem like it would work, I tried it. That really is how it feels when I have my own personal rain cloud following me — as though it will never get better and nothing I do can change it. But that’s a lie. Here are some truths:

Everything changes. The good and the bad.

Everything matters. Even small actions can yield big results.

(just took a break to read my old weblog. i was hoping to find a free verse poem called “recovery in 5 parts” or something like that. instead started reading what i’d written. felt a lot of self-compassion, which is a very good thing. if you want to read from my previous blog, you can check it out here.)

Found the poem. Thanks Google. Will there be a part 4 to these posts? Dunno. For now I leave you with a thought and a poem.

The thought: My yoga teacher, Megan, says this at the end of her classes “Remember, if you are breathing in and out, there is more right with you than there is wrong with you.” Together, let’s say it: amen.

The poem:

Life in Five Short Chapters


I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost. I am helpless. It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.


I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it. I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It takes a long time to get out.


I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it there, and still I fall in.
It’s a habit.
But my eyes are open and I know where I am.
It is my fault and I get out immediately.


I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.


I walk down a different street.

By Portia Nelson

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