Radical Acceptance

I went through something two weeks ago that changed my life. It was the most beautiful and peaceful experience I have ever had. It was radical acceptance.

Radical acceptance means accepting everything about yourself, your current situation, your body, and your life without question, blame, or pushback. Far from condoning or embracing your current difficulties and situation, radical acceptance typically advocates accepting yourself and your circumstances to better move through and past them.

You simply… poof, accept everything. Radical acceptance feels like you are looking at yourself and your life from an outsider’s perspective, with no judgements and no attachments. You see everything for exactly what it is and feel entirely okay and at peace with it. You let go of the pain and move forward.

I used to hide all the raw and vulnerable parts of myself that I felt were undesirable or imperfect. I could not trust anyone because I was terrified of being judged, hurt, or abandoned. Being this way was not a conscious choice; my subconscious was protecting my ego. I was closed off, showed you only what I wanted you to see, and never felt secure in who I was. I did not know how to be myself, not even when alone. 

Since I experienced radical acceptance two weeks ago, I have become acutely receptive to emotional, authentic, and spiritual conversations. I want to connect with people in the most genuine way possible. I want to give and receive complete honesty, even if it is “ugly.” The more shameful your secrets, the more beautiful I find them; my secrets are no different. The stuff we hide is the stuff that makes us unique, fascinating, and extraordinary. 

These last two weeks, I have been open, vulnerable, and, most importantly, myself with everyone I have interacted with. I have this new, deep understanding that the people who are meant to be in my life will be, and those who aren’t won’t be. I cannot force anything, and I do not want to. 

Imagine you have a bead in your hand. You are so afraid to lose it that you squeeze your hand tightly around it—and it slips through your fingers. Or, you can keep your hand open, palm up, and have the bead on it—and it’s still there. Enjoy what you have when you have it but don’t become too attached to it.

Mental Health Awareness Month

May began with immense emotional pain and ended with so much healing; it is difficult to describe where I started and where I am now.

Life ebbs and flows: In periods of flow, life is easy and full of meaning and movement. But when life ebbs, we struggle against the current, fighting to grasp what is important to us.

For the past five years, I struggled against the current. The details do not matter, but it was too much. So to cope, I shoved the problems and pain down as far as possible. I feared if I tried to deal with any of the big issues, I would get stuck in my head and never be able to escape.

At the beginning of May, all the pain I had been burying for years said "fuck you" and smacked me in the face all at once. Finally, I had no choice but to work through everything I had been avoiding: the self-hatred, the bitterness, the embarrassment, the shame, the guilt, all of it.

I took three weeks off work and dealt with my shit. I had to. It was time. Through dealing with it, I have learned I need to be my priority, not some guy, job, or anything else. I have also learned it is great to stay busy so I do not get stuck in my head, but I need to spend time there every so often to sort through and deal with life before it snowballs.

I never thought I would be thankful for everything I have gone through these past five years, but here we are, and I am thankful for all of it. All the pain, suffering, sadness, and depression brought me to this new place of peace, contentment, openness, and acceptance. 

I will struggle against the current in the future, and I may not be able to get through it alone, but it is okay to ask for help. Above all else, I no longer want to be perfect; I want to be authentic. 

Never Tell Someone How to Feel

Someone I was once close with taught me an invaluable lesson. He was always there when I needed to get my emotions out. It did not matter what the emotion was—happiness, depression, rage, love, anxiety, uncertainty—he listened patiently, acknowledged my feelings, and gave me a safe space to discuss whatever I was going through. At the time, I did not appreciate how precious this trait of his was.

One day, he opened up to me. He confessed he felt anxious and horrible about something that just happened. I responded, "You don't need to feel that way." Then, without pause, he said, "When you feel a certain way, I don't tell you your feelings are wrong. Please give me the same courtesy." I was stunned into silence. I don't think I even apologized. I was so taken aback by how right he was. He put me in my place in such a kind way. As a person you trust, all I need to do is listen and be supportive.

If someone trusts you enough to be vulnerable and let you in on their feelings… don't make the same mistake I did. Instead, simply listen and be supportive.

Until we meet again, depression

Depression is a sneaky thing. It slowly builds and creeps in, invading my mind, body, and soul, and affects every area of my life. I don’t notice it at first; it is that subtle. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, I wake up one morning, and I am no longer me. The positive, glass-half-full me has disappeared. She is gone. The depression has completely sucked me under, and the weight on my chest makes it hard to breathe. It is excruciating. I would rather walk through fire than deal with this deep, all-consuming depression. It hurts. Everything feels awful. I retreat into myself, and no one can find their way in.

When I feel the only way to escape the pain is to kill myself, I tell my mom, who saves me. She is my soft place to land. Then, those who love me surround me. They form a protective circle around me, reminding me I am unconditionally loved. It can take weeks or months, but I wake up one morning, and the weight on my chest is gone. The love I feel from every corner of my life makes it impossible for depression to take up any more space. 

I weep with happiness and gratitude for how fortunate I am to have so much love and support. I see colours again. I laugh. I am present, noticing dandelions growing from the earth and the beautiful burnt orange jumper a woman in the checkout line at the grocery store is wearing. I look around me, and I am bewildered at how it was ever possible for me to be depressed in the first place.

I am back.

I won the Dad jackpot

My dad retired when I was in grade three. It was different, especially in the ‘90s, for the dad to be the stay-at-home parent. But I am so grateful my parents were in a position for him to be able to do that. His constant presence in my day-to-day life benefited me greatly. He would drive me to school each morning, pick me up for lunch, and return to school at the end of the day to take me home. He coached my soccer team for years, we played pool or air hockey in the basement most nights before bedtime, and as a family, we went to the mountains on the weekends year after year for close to 50% of the skiing season. He has always been a constant in every area of my life, and I admittedly (and ashamedly) take him for granted a lot.

Despite all the bonding we’ve done throughout our lives, our relationship remains largely surface-level. We aren’t particularly close on an emotional level. He keeps things close to his chest while I wear my heart on my sleeve. We are just different in that way, and that’s okay. We are so close in many other ways—I never question his love for me. He is kind, loving, funny, compassionate, and goes out of his way to help people simply because it is the right and human thing to do.

Over the last two weeks, I have needed to rely on those who love me. I have needed to feel their love for me because I have been unable to feel it for myself. We all go through it: Sometimes life sucks, it can be challenging, and every task, no matter how small, feels like climbing Mount Everest without a map. In these moments, when everything feels impossible, it’s hard not to compare your journey to those who seemingly float through life with ease.

Two days ago, I walked into the living room of my childhood home and sat in the recliner. My dad was sitting in the other one. He usually begins our conversations with a joke or an interesting news story. But this time, he started with, “How are you feeling today? How is your mood?” Tears immediately glazed over my eyes. Not because I was sad but because I felt so very seen. And loved. The concern in his tone was palpable. “I feel good,” I replied. That was the end of the conversation, but if I had wanted it to go on longer, he would have been more than willing to listen and coach me through my feelings.

This morning I called my dad for advice. After we both said hello, he immediately asked how I felt. It’s such a simple and common question that everyone asks each other whenever they see one another. It is not a special or unique question. But coming from my dad, it holds meaning. It carries weight. It isn’t a platitude or a nicety to get out of the way so we can move on to another topic. He truly wants to know how I am feeling. What a guy.

He means the world to me.

Me in another universe...

Monday morning, I walked out of my apartment building and sat on one of the benches out front. I was waiting for my mom to pick me up. I had called her thirty minutes earlier, telling her I self-harmed and was thinking about killing myself. As I was sitting on the bench, a lady I met who lives in the same apartment building walked by me and asked, "Not working from home today?" 

Over the last few months, she and I have shared some personal stories, so I feel comfortable with her. "No, I'm going to the hospital." Concerned, she walked over and asked why. I shrugged, and before I knew what I was saying, the words "I want to kill myself" escaped my mouth. She sat down, put her arm around me, and let me cry on her shoulder. "Honey, I felt the same way last week. Any time you need to talk, come knock on my door. I am always here for you. I promise."

She was late for work, so as she walked away, I stared down at my hands and wondered where the fuck I had gone wrong. I felt fine last week. What changed? My mom picked me up, and as she drove to the hospital, I said all the things out loud that I had been thinking for years: I'm stupid, I'm ugly, I'm fat, No one cares about me, No one will ever love me, I am a waste of space and everyone would be better off without me, I want to disappear. This went on for twenty minutes until I stood in front of the nurse in the ER, who was asking what I was there for.

"I'm suicidal." 

I spent the next six hours at the hospital getting meds, having blood drawn, speaking to doctors, having psychiatrist appointments set up, and crying to my mom. I knew I was where I needed to be, but I didn't understand why I was feeling so low in the first place. All I knew was that I felt miserable, and my stomach was a pit of aching depression. I felt worthless, unloveable, and so very defeated. It felt like I had fallen down an 80-foot hole, and there I was, covered in dirt and surrounded by darkness. 

Sometimes it feels like in this dimension, in this lifetime, I cannot grasp my mental health. There is another version of my life in some other universe where joy exists, where it is not just a temporary comfort. But it is not here. I have been blessed with so many wonderful things, yet I cannot appreciate them. Instead, I destroy them because of my mental illness.