I’ve asked what it’s like to lead a life without depression. I don’t mean a life without bouts of depression. I mean, what’s it like not beating the Depression Monster residing within with a stale baguette each day just to function at the bare minimum when your status quo is to stay in bed and wallow over your uselessness as a human?
I spiraled this year. It started in April with my breakup from Jeremy and exponentially dropped. It was slow at first but when I plummeted, I embraced my default state of gut-wrenching emotional agony.
After a terrifying week of fantasizing about suicide (the only thing holding me back is my kids, I’d never do that to them), I realized even a state of default misery isn’t sustainable. I can’t do this anymore.
Life before COVID is like Thanos’ finger snap in Infinity War. There was life before and life after. There was no living in between. Suddenly, I woke up and 2020 was eons ago, despite feeling like yesterday.
I thought back to my life pre-Covid. I was miserable in my marriage but everything else in my life was generally solid. I also reflected on life before my breakup with Jeremy and assessed what caused my moments of happiness.
I’m not a Reinvent-the-Wheel kind of gal. I can’t imagine with this extreme misery level what random checklist items from Better Housekeeping will make me less miserable (yes, the goal is less miserable, not happy). I looked back at moments in my life when I wasn’t aching to jump off a cliff and figured out what elements to incorporate into my state of divorce life.
Nurturing Relationships
I used to be Little Miss Social. I had many different social groups and kept every moment busy.
Since the Pandemic Snap, my kids are older. In years prior, my weekends were packed with kid events where I socialized with my mom friends. Our kids weren’t super close but they didn’t need to be; when you’re five, it’s easy to walk up with a toy dinosaur and play with another kid holding a fire truck.
My kids aren’t friends with my friends’ kids anymore because they don’t go to the same school and they don’t do sports. They also don’t need supervision for playdates and opt for the drop-off-pick-up-in-a-few-hours route.
That option is a double whammy. Not only am I not socializing with parents like I did in the past, but it means I’m not spending time with my kids. I only have them 50% with my custody schedule and letting them visit their friends for playdates cuts down on that time.
I isolated myself after the divorce because it feels like I’m a constant Plus One at events. If I don’t have my kids and my friends do, then I look like a lonely single girl tagging along. I didn’t want to be fodder for married people’s interests about dating.
It’s hard to go from talking with friends about a committed marriage of almost two decades to a relationship that’s all of six weeks.
All of those reasons don’t matter. I need to be social. We’re social creatures. I work from home and I can’t stand other humans but I respect that it’s affecting my psyche.
For the first time since 2019, I took professional photos with my kids and sent out holiday cards. It forced me to reach out to acquaintances for address verification. Lots of friends reached out to say they’re happy they’re still on my mailing list and how big my kids have grown (not a shock to know that I don’t post anything on Facebook anymore).
If they’re local, I use their texts as an excuse to reconnect and make plans. Because I’m limited between work and having my kids, I’ve packed this month with lunch and dinner plans on days I’d otherwise spend crying alone.
It’s done wonders already and it’s only been two weeks. I printed a calendar and wrote out my plans for the visual reminder. I’m not alone like I often feel.
Back to Dating
I’ve also started dating again. I thought it would make me feel worse but it unexpectedly boosted my self-esteem and forced me out of my comfort zone.
I hadn’t exercised in months and didn’t care since I wasn’t getting naked with anyone. I cared just enough about my appearance to appease my coworkers over Zoom, which is a low bar since I’m in the tech industry. I’ve figured out how to make unshowered hair look good seconds before a video call and which PJs can pass for real clothes.
Dating forces me to shower. It forces me to try new places and not be on autopilot when talking to people (which is often the case with my friends). While I adore my girlfriends, they’re not piling on the compliments like a potential love interest.
When you go months without anyone saying anything nice to you other than general pleasantries, hearing “you’re hot!” is a superficial self-esteem booster I’ll willingly take.
Healthy Living
For months, my diet when my kids weren’t around consisted of cookies and bread. Combined with not exercising, I’m a mushy twenty-something bachelor.
I struggle with a healthy lifestyle. I didn’t grow up with exercise or vegetables (notwithstanding my mother’s only salad of iceberg, tomatoes, and Kraft Italian dressing). It’s not my default.
I’ve had bags of chips for dinner more often than a plate of vegetables this year.
I’m writing this at 1 am when I have to get up at 6:45 am to take my kids to school and start my workday.
Between my bad eating habits, lack of sleep, and zero physical fitness, it’s no wonder I feel like garbage.
I can only make small changes. Realistically, eating fresh produce is expensive and I risk letting them rot before tossing. For now, I’m vowing to eat at least one bowl of blueberries a day. It’s the Superman of fruit and I can buy them frozen. I mix them with fat-free yogurt, dump a ton of Splenda, and feel like I’m satisfying my unhealthy habits while pumping my body full of blueberry magic.
As for sleep, that’s a tough one. I need to prioritize getting to bed at a decent time. I tried 11 pm and failed. I think if I make 1 am a deadline, then I can develop it into a better habit with earlier hours.
Water. Note to self: drink one Hydroflask of water every damn day.
I’m not sure how to squeeze in exercise, especially with my free time scheduled for the next month. It’s also hard to start from scratch. When you’re already exercising, you don’t want to lose those gains. But I’m already a mushy meat puppet, skipping more days doesn’t make a difference.
I’ll revisit the topic of exercise later after I’ve nailed down eating, sleeping, and water.
My Relationship With Money
I complain a lot about money. Imagine slicing your income in half, knowing it’ll forever be half of what it was and could be. That’s what divorce is like.
While money can’t buy happiness, it buys freedom. That includes mental freedom from panicking about bills or guilt with the occasional splurge.
I went to the dentist today and they showed me the cost to get a nightguard for my mouth. I grind my teeth so much they’re cracking. It’s $225 (and that’s with insurance). I told them maybe at my next visit; with the holidays, funds are tight. My dentist took pity and told me he’ll send me the link to his favorite non-custom one on Amazon.
While at the counter scheduling, another patient arrived. Homegirl was probably in her late thirties and oozed money. Her shoes were Versace. Her purse was Gucci. Her nails were perfect. She had the just-running-errands look of some fancy baseball hat, a cropped sweatshirt over a thin tank top, and black leggings. Her sculpted ass in those leggings showed she didn’t have a job, other than looking like she didn’t have a job.
I decided I hated her when she kept chewing her gum like a horse.
Driving home, I started crying. There was a time when a $225 bite guard would have been a minor inconvenience. Now I’m struggling to afford the Amazon generic version while a gum-chewing Versace-laden chick can buy something like that without hesitation.
It dawned on me: I need to accept I’ll forever be poor. Not like, poor poor (not homeless poor) but the kind of poor where you’re biting your nails until your next paycheck. You aren’t taking your kids on vacation (why was I so frugal before divorce to think we couldn’t afford one trip to Hawaii?). You’re not buying the Morphe palette on sale at Ulta for ten bucks because have plenty of eyeshadow already. You’re hoarding a Nordstrom gift card in case there’s a fashion emergency.
I’m not middle class. I’m a notch below. I’m the Walmart edition of the middle class, not the Neiman Marcus edition.
I’m blessed that I have a paycheck, despite my ongoing panic that I’m one job loss away from my world crumbling. I’m blessed that while I don’t get myself anything to eat, I’m able to take my kids for the occasional kids’ menu Cheesecake Factory meal. I know I’m more fortunate than many others.
Tonight, I’m seeing a friend who paid off her mortgage. Her entire salary is fun money. She plans to quit working when her kids are in high school and live off her husband’s salary. I can’t wrap my head around that level of luxury. I will never, ever be in that boat.
I need to accept this is my norm. This isn’t an exception.
I never budgeted before divorce because I’m exceptionally cheap by default. I check my bank account multiple times a day; I know in real-time how much money is owed and what’s saved. With two incomes, I could gauge whether we were spending too much and when to reel it in the next month.
While it’s worked for me even after the divorce, it’s too stressful. This means I need to formally create a true budget in a visual format so that I can put firm limits on given areas. I spent more than I could afford on Christmas gifts and will need to return a few. It’ll be easier if I have a precise number for those purchases.
Thankfully, I like excuses to use notebooks and spreadsheets. While the topic sucks, at least I can use colorful markers and fun stickers (swiped from my daughter’s stash because I’m sure as hell not buying any) to make my bleak financial state more palatable.
…
This list might sound ridiculous. Be social with friends. Go on dates. Don’t be a douchebag with your health. Accept your financial lot in life.
It’s not hard. But it is for me. I have to try anyway.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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Photo credit: Toa Heftiba on Unsplash
