Newsflash: depression makes enjoyment a lofty goal. Did you know it’s easier to love your life when you make time to do what you love?
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“I’m learning to walk again
I believe I’ve waited long enough
Where do I begin?
I’m learning to talk again
Can’t you see I’ve waited long enough?
Where do I begin?” ~ Foo Fighters, Walk
Lyrics that describe my surfacing from the darkness of mental illness.
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A few years ago, I was invited to serve on the Advisory Committee for Recreation for Mental Health , a research project by Dalhousie University, the Canadian Mental Association, and Recreation Nova Scotia. I wondered why, recreation wasn’t really my thing. Though I stayed healthy, I wasn’t a jock for sure! I thought recreation wasn’t part in my journey.
I went to my first meeting still wondering why I was invited. I tend to be quiet at a first meeting. I like to sit back and learn about the others in the room, then understand how I can contribute.
I do become vocal, very vocal when it comes to speaking about mental health awareness once I have assessed the situation.
So, I asked why me? and it became clear my understanding of the term “recreation” was an antiquated one.
Recreation means just about anything you would do to enjoy, such as art, music, hiking, even flying a kite, anything!
I looked at my journey; it was full of recreation. Doing anything for enjoyment was a goal throughout. It was simply hard to find an activity, not due to a lack of such , but due to my mental illness.
Enjoyment and depression don’t go well together!
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I spent a few months in bed after my mental breakdown. Leaving the house was quite the challenge. I did go to weekly therapy for a couple of years, and even embarked on the occasional trip to the grocery store. Not much else though.
The idea of going for a walk—why would I? I didn’t want to leave the safety and comfort of my bedroom. Deserting such a good place for a mere walk, not going to happen. It wasn’t even a thought. I am having trouble finding the words to explain the challenge of walking because it is such a simple thing to do. One goes for a walk. Not me.
Imagine yourself, not really leaving your house for two years. Your bedroom being your most constant space. Being in bed 22 hours a day, at least. Consumed by such mental turmoil that you think you are nothing. Think of your worst day in terms of a “bad day” and multiply it by 100, or 200. The turmoil is deeper, longer lasting and rips away all self-confidence and self-worth. Your mind is numb. I had no interest in going for a walk. I thought and felt I was worthless and nothing was going to change that.
In time, I realized my life had to expand beyond my bedroom. A walk started to sound somewhat appealing.
My mother was my caregiver. We didn’t know how to address my illness. We didn’t understand depression. We learned from my therapist. She would suggest certain things to do and we would try them.
We tried our own ideas, too. Walking was my mother’s idea. Though I trusted her, I couldn’t readily embrace what she wanted me to try. But trust won out. We drove to a park, a 5-minute drive, but it still felt like a long road trip for me. It was my first walk I’d taken in many months.
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We chose a park that provided choices, so we could walk on the boardwalk, through fields, or along the shoreline. I was very timid to venture too much. We walked the boardwalk for half an hour.
Baby steps.
Walking was unexpectedly such a positive activity on a few levels.
After a few times at the park, I started to relax. I could feel the warmth of the sun. It felt so good. I could feel the breeze along the ocean shoreline. I could take in the smells and sights. A new world was unfolding. And it was a far cry from my bedroom. I was beginning to enjoy something! I had a feeling! That was new!
It was healthy for my mother, too. She got out of the house. She was able to be physically active with her son.
Our conversations changed. We talked about the weather ( everyone does!), but we were walking in the weather!
We talked about the sights of the park, from the animals roaming about to the people we met. I even said “Hello” to someone!
It also led us to discuss how going for a walk helped me to re-gain confidence. We discussed daily at length what we could do for me to feel better. Walking was a successful attempt. It allowed us to confirm we were on the path to recovery. It was a brick in the wall of recovery. Perhaps a dozen bricks!
Given this success, I wanted more!
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I love music. I have no talent; I don’t sing, can’t dance, don’t play any instrument. I barely have rhythm (some would say I have none). But I love concerts and club shows.
When I was younger, the legend of Canadian blues, Dutchie Mason’s music moved me. He was known as the Prime Minister of the Blues. I would see him as often as possible during my university days.
I learned he would occasionally perform at a local blues pub. I went one Friday night. This was a giant step into the world. Dutchie and me—together again after 25 years! I arrived around 10 PM, bought my soda and stood in the back. I was in public but let’s not get too wild, I still needed to be in the background.
Dutchie wasn’t well. He had to sit while he performed, his body ravaged by arthritis. But I was there. I felt connected with him, that we had “history.” Neither of us were in great shape. I needed to feel part of the world, part of the music that night. Blues music was appropriate. It brings me down, then lifts me up.
Just like the path of my depression. Memories of past good times. Starting to have memories of new good times.
Recreation—a surprising and vital part of my recovery!
“Walk on, walk on
What you got they can’t steal it
No they can’t even feel it
Walk on, walk on…
Stay safe tonight” ~ U2, Walk OnDon’t like ads? Become a supporter and enjoy The Good Men Project ad free
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Photo credit: Getty Images