Sesame Street’s beloved Elmo posted on X, “Elmo is just checking in. How is everyone doing?” Elmo’s post got over 180 million views and tens of thousand responses. That trauma dump elicited authentic responses regarding mental health struggles and suffering. Mental health and wellness have become vital concerns. Rightly so.
Like Elmo, I’m just checking in. How is everybody doing? I have nothing to do with what goes on inside someone else. I have a say in what goes on inside me. So, when I’m suffering inside, I can ask for help. There is no shame in asking for help, ever. In fact, that might be the bravest thing you can ever do. It was one the bravest things that I ever did regarding my mental health.
About 10 years ago, I suffered from clinical depression. Of course I didn’t know it at the time. I got laid off from the job that I loved as satellite systems engineer. I was out of work for nearly a year. I knew that working in satellite systems engineering on Government Programs was constantly at the mercy of Federal Government budget cuts. For the previous 25 years, I had managed to avoid losing my job.
I found a new job in an entirely different field. That job seemed more like a cause to make the world a better place and end some suffering. However, I soon discovered that the corporate execution and strategy betrayed that noble cause. At least from where I stood.
I was disillusioned and sad. That experience resurrected my unresolved fears as a child of not being good enough, not being worthy of love. I fell hard into the abyss of my clinical depression. I suffered. Although I never contemplated suicide, every night I went to sleep praying that I would die before I awoke the next morning. My fear of living in suffering became greater than my fear of dying. Not a good place to reside.
I finally asked for help. I started working with my therapist Lance Miller to heal my childhood trauma and depression. I looked at my fear of Dad, my fear inside of never being good enough, ever. Looking at my fear was frightening as hell.
I had trained in Aikido with the late Mizukami Sensei for 25 years. Sensei was a father to me. He taught me Aikido and what it is to be a good man. In Aikido, Sensei said, “Wait it out. Enter the attack. Take a glancing blow if you have to. You’re not always going to get away scot-free. It’s one time.”
Whether that was the 250-pound man coming to punch my head off or life spiraling out of control, I face my fear. I take a glancing blow for what’s meaningful to me. My life was literally at stake here. So, I brought to bear all that Mizukami Sensei taught me. I entered my fear of Dad as an 8-year-old boy. I took my glancing blows.
I got that as bad as it was for me as a little boy, Dad had it far worse from his Dad. Dad only did to me what his Dad had done to him. He didn’t know any better. I forgave Dad for not knowing how to raise me, for not knowing how to be a father, and for being imperfectly human. I forgave myself for not being strong enough to stand up to Dad and protect Mom, because I was a little boy. I forgive myself for being imperfectly human, too. I learned to love myself for who I am and forgive myself for who I’m not.
No, I really have nothing to do with what goes on inside someone else. In Aikido, I work on myself, not on others. That’s all I can do. Just train. Still, I work on myself to have compassion for others, for what it’s like to be them, for what they suffer. We all work on ourselves, so that we can raise each other up. And the world is a better place for that.
Like the late Mizukami Sensei created the space for me to be me, I try to do the same for others. I generate the space for others, so that they are free to be themselves. Free to ask for help. I listen powerfully rather than speak from “I know”. Because honestly, I don’t know what’s going on inside.
When someone authentically says how they are really doing, I give nothing, but mad love, respect, and kindness. I’m no trained mental health clinician. I offer that I heal my childhood trauma and depression in therapy. That has made a difference for me. I’m doing okay. For the most part, I’m happy, too. Both take work on my part. I just train. Maybe therapy might be one path to end their suffering. Everyone has to find their own path, the one that works for them, not others.
So how is everyone doing? I’m just asking. I’m listening, too. You all have nothing, but my mad love and respect. Always.
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Photo by Jason Moyer on Unsplash
