'Fine' Is Relative

I had an experience in the grocery store that reminds me a lot of what it was like managing my chronic illness before medication. I was walking through the store with a heavy heart, and I stopped to look around. No one was making eye contact. Everyone was eyeing their lists or moving forward in the straightforward manner of the rushed. I wondered: Can anyone look at me and see exactly how not fine I am? How can I feel this way and yet manage to pass under everyone’s radar?

It reminded me of when I had this strange disconnect while dealing with the worst symptoms of Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder, or PMDD. Sometimes, I would look in the mirror and not recognize my own face. I felt so disconnected to everyone and everything, and I couldn’t do much about it because I couldn’t even summon the energy to try. I was in pain, and I was experiencing fatigue at such a level that it felt impossible to cope.

So, when I started asking myself if anyone could even see me, I knew it was time for a mental health check-in. A poem I had just written went so dark that this wasn’t exactly my first clue that something was wrong. It was just a telling one.

The Impact of Chronic Stress

I have been under an immense amount of stress for far too long. As a result, my immune system has weakened, leaving me susceptible to shingles (resulting in a painful holiday season) and every virus that seems to come anywhere near me. Here’s the circular problem that is chronic stress: I am stressed about my finances, which lowers my immune system, which makes me sick, which causes me to miss work, and makes my financial situation even more precarious. I know that I need to stop the cycle — but how?

I mean it. How? This isn’t all in my head. It’s not something in need of reframing. Things are not going well, and I am the only one responsible for turning this situation around. Which leads to the next circular problem:

My mental health is starting to hit an all-time low. I seem fine, but I am ridiculously far from fine. So, I start to burn out, which makes it challenging to find the energy and optimism to keep trying to solve the problem, which makes the problem infinitely worse. I know that I need to stop this cycle, too. I am dizzy from it! But, again, how?

The other day, I thought I had the answer. I came up with this wonderful, creative plan with tons of potential. I would teach a variety of classes and workshops in my town. It would help close the financial gap, and I’d be utilizing my skill set in service to the community. I couldn’t guarantee that anyone would sign up, but it felt like a positive movement in the right direction.

Luckily, I have a diverse skill set. I can lead yoga classes, teach writing classes, and give small businesses a simple and affordable crash course in social media. I can also host a seed swapping event with guest speakers. For a second, I could feel a flicker of optimism…

Until I sent the idea to the place where I wanted to teach and received a tepid response.

Didn’t they understand I was drowning and trying desperately to save myself?

Of course not. People often think only of themselves. Just as I’m focused on solving my problems, other people are looking at their own.

It wasn’t a “no.” It was the equivalent of an unhurried “maybe,” and in situations like mine, that feels a hell of a lot like a “no” when you’re trying to figure out how to pay the bills, put food on the table, and not sink into the obvious mental health iceberg lying just ahead of the ship you’re steering. I needed a win. Even a tepid yes and mediocre signups would have been better than the near-rejection I was feeling after the answer equivalent of “we’ll see.”

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To Everyone Who Can’t Afford to Breakdown

The quiet in my head, the disconnect in my body, the dark thoughts … these are truly bad signs. I can’t afford an inpatient stay thanks to the terrible healthcare system in my country, being under-insured, and the fact that I’m a single mom and pet mom to boot. I feel like I am singlehandedly carrying the world on my shoulders because I am — my world, my children’s. I run it all, and it’s not going to hit pause so I can have a meltdown and run screaming into the woods.

One day last week, I was working from home and found myself lying down. I was on the couch working one moment and then lying there immobile the next. I just ran out of energy. I didn’t want to move or do or think. I just wanted to lie there and hold myself through the tempest that is my life. Eventually, I fell asleep and kept on sleeping until my children got off the bus from school. Even then, I didn’t get up. I greeted them from my prone position, muttered something about snacks and chores, and went back to sleep.

They are old enough to cope with the occasional afternoon of me shutting down entirely. But what happens if the occasional afternoon becomes every day? For a little while there, I was experiencing anxious overwhelm all day and then a numb overwhelm all evening. No one is getting the best in me right now, not even me. But everyone is getting all I’ve got left. My kids deserve better. And frankly? So do I. But this is what we have to deal with, and I don’t have time to lie down and never get back up again.

I try to tell someone how bad it is, but this is me we’re talking about. I’m always fine, even when I’m not. I was “fine” when my heart was shattered by the only person who ever felt like a soul mate. I was “fine” when my parents stopped speaking to me for weeks and then months at a time. I was “fine” when a freelance job abruptly stopped with no warning, no severance, and not a single fuck given that I was applying for government benefits out of necessity the moment the call was over. Benefits, I might add, that I don’t qualify for despite my low, low income. Once again, I’m on my own.

But I say that I’m not fine, and everyone feels confident that I will be. They are convinced I will get through this, and I don’t know that I will. They don’t know my thoughts. But I know them. And I have never been less fine.

They think I will summon some resourcefulness and bounce back. I did that. I came up with this inspired plan, and no one cared, and I can’t just teach these things anywhere, at any time. All that energy, the late night of planning, crashed and burned in the “maybe” of people who don’t understand how urgent this feels to me right now. They don’t know how badly I need a little hope. Sometimes, I think that they don’t even care. People save their caring for when it’s far too late. It’s more convenient then. No action is required but regret.

I’d like to offer some advice for all the other people who can’t afford to break down, but I’m barely holding on myself. I can say that they are not alone. I am in this, too. But that’s cold comfort indeed.

Right now, I hold onto whatever helps. At the moment? That’s my garden. The seeds I’ve ordered. The plans I’m making. The books I’m reading about how to make my garden bigger and better. Growing my own food and herbs helps address my food insecurity, and when I sell farm boxes, it addresses some of my financial insecurity, too. I just have to make it to planting season when I’m not sure how I’m making it to next week.

So, I hold onto other things. My elderly foster dog in her spring dress. My cats. Petting my bunnies when I feed them or walking out to talk to my chickens while collecting their eggs. I hold onto every single friendly point of contact during the day. The visitor who stops in at the museum where I work part-time. The friend I run into in the store who gives me a hug and holds on just a little longer and helps me hold myself together a little longer, too.

This morning, I held onto a hot cup of coffee and the way the morning light came through a prism into my living room. I held onto a soft blanket and a favorite fragrance. I checked on the status of my seeds and reminded myself that winter can’t last forever. It never does.

Winter Will End (And No Feeling is Final)

I wait for this to pass, this overwhelming sense of dread and despair. I look for the things that make me feel a sense of joy and relief. Books. Art. Music. Nature. Kindness. I collect them as I go through each day. I hope it’s enough because it’s all I’ve got right now.

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I tell myself that I am needed, but it does not help much. That need only adds to the mounting pressure to turn everything around before we hit that point of no return. I am trying, but I need to know that my trying isn’t futile. I need to know that it’s helping, even a little.

I remind myself how quickly things can change. Yesterday, despite the winter season, I saw daffodils in bloom. I know that I can blink, and the world will be a little different than it once was. That’s what I tell myself when my grip on all the things I’m holding onto starts to slip. I tell myself that in a blink or two, I won’t need to hold on anymore. Because maybe something or someone will reach out and hold onto me right back. Or maybe I’ll look down and find myself suddenly on steady footing after falling such a long way down.

To those on the outside looking in, I am fine, and I am always fine. I am cheerful and outgoing. I have never met a problem I couldn’t overcome.

And I know that it looks that way. Because when was the last time I ever let anyone see me break? When was the last time I even let myself break? I can laugh my way through a crisis. I learned that it was best not to ever let anyone see my pain. But now, I stand in a grocery store and wonder why anyone can’t see it when I am a crumbling mess of a person, screaming inside. I tell them I am not fine, and all they hear is that I will be. I will be.

Thank you for your support of my small business.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.