show me how it gets better

Every night when I’m lying in bed, I talk to the universe. I used to ask it questions, but now I kind of just demand things. “Show me how it gets better.” It never responds. Audibly, that is.

I want you to know it gets better. I need you to believe it gets better. The overwhelming sense of gratefulness I see in the little moments is my own proof. This world is yours for the taking and if you shed every preconceived notion about how success is measured and what you need to be happy, the rest will follow.

My healing journey started with therapy in January of 2021 (thanks Stacy). It never would've begun if I didn't have a friend who knew I needed it more than I did. She sent me links to therapists in my area until I picked one and made the jump. After my first few sessions, I started medication in February for depression and anxiety, and the rest is history. Just about six months later, I’ve never felt as happy and hopeful as I do today.

When I heard the diagnosis of major depressive disorder along with general anxiety – I was pretty much expecting that second one – it threw me off. I got worse before I got better. Reliving certain things while I talked to Stacy, wondering if I was just faking it, and worrying that the outside world might see it as an excuse, all inspired a general descent deeper into depression. I spent most of the first couple of months feeling pretty miserable, but now I realize miserable was the first step I took out of numbness.

One day a few months ago I was standing at the sink doing dishes, and I guess I had what you’d call an epiphany. What if depression wasn’t an excuse? What if it was the answer?

I’ve spent a very long time hating myself and drowning myself in guilt based on self-enforced expectations. I hated myself for eating too much, for weighing too much, for sleeping too much. For being too lazy, for wanting to be alone, for not wanting to be alone, for saying too much, or not saying enough. So in that moment, looking out the window with a sponge in my hand, I realized maybe there was a reason behind all those years of thoughts and feelings. That moment led to the progress I’ve seen up until the very moment I’m writing these words. But why?

American society encourages mountains of self-shame in the areas of productivity, body image, and the like. Brené Brown has some particularly meaningful words on shame in her book Daring Greatly, if you’re looking for a good read or just a few words to live by.

One of my particular favorites reads as follows: “To set down those lists of what we’re supposed to be is brave. To love ourselves and support each other in the process of becoming real is perhaps the greatest single act of daring greatly.”

I felt (and feel) shame, heavily. I hid food, I lied about small things like working out or being productive when no one was looking. I despised what I saw in the mirror and what was inside my head. But to finally accept the fact that there was a clinical explanation for my struggles was the critical moment of affirmation for me.

I’m not lazy, I suffer from executive dysfunction. I’m not a worthless, undesirable person, I struggle with binge eating disorder. I’m not unlovable and doomed to a life alone, I have depression. I am real.

The last several months have shown to be the most transformative in my 24 years thus far. I completely changed paths with my career and have already found some success. I am more confident in my body than I ever have been. I’ve lost count of how long it’s been since I last binged. The weeks fly by and every once in a while, I take stock of my progress and it’s overwhelming.

If you’ve ever found yourself spending day after day bouncing back and forth from the couch to the bed, gazing unseeing out of the nearest window, feeling stuck and hopeless, or putting on a bright smile for the occasional social interaction, this one’s for you.

We're so drenched in societal expectations that even the idea of accepting mental illness as a barrier to unreachable perfection is abhorrent. Seeking help is terrifying, and made worse by the potential fallout of a diagnosis. My own family has looked at me and doubted my struggles, and yours might too. But if you can step out of that shame and live authentically, I promise you will not regret a single fucking second.

If you’re struggling, try to shift a little bit of the weight off of your shoulders. It doesn’t belong there. Your current life isn’t a deserved product of your inability to meet society’s expectations (or your own). Brené Brown taught me that internal shame hurts us and it hurts others: “We’re hard on each other because we’re using each other as a launching pad out of our own perceived shaming deficiency.” As I’ve grown as a person, so has my capacity for empathy and compassion. I’m stepping out of my shame and it’s made the difference for myself and anyone that I interact with on a daily basis. And it will continue to make a difference through every stage of growth for the rest of my life.

So tonight, when you get in bed, boss the universe around. Tell it to show you how it gets better. Everything that is meant to be yours will find you. If there's anything the last two years of life have taught me it's that we can do nothing less than craft a life for ourselves that makes us happy. It gets better. This is my reminder for you.

You are enough. You’re more than enough, just as you are, but it’s okay to want to feel better. If you’re not ready yet, that’s okay, I’ll be here when you are.