Let me also take a moment to note that the irony of identifying as "Amy, the Happy Hiker" is not lost on me.
I thought I’d share some self-portraits to help people recognize what it looks like when I’m depressed (please note, I forgot to draw my glasses, so the drawings may not be accurate):
Yeah, so sometimes I can appear just fine. Outwardly, I can be smiling or joking or hiking or contemplative, but the thing is, internally there’s a numbness, an irrational fear that life will always be a struggle. My motivation wanes and my soul aches and it takes everything within my power to get out of bed.
I’ve been battling depression on and off for 15 years. I have a very clear memory of my first bout because I was consumed with inconsolable despair and I remember the desperation and hopelessness. Now, when I recall that time it’s like I’m watching it happen to someone else. I can’t imagine ever feeling so lost again (even now when I’m not exactly little miss sunshine).
I attribute this to my friends (I have the most awesome friends), family (I have an incredibly supportive family) and faith (I am loved beyond measure). Not to mention, over the past several years I have also developed an arsenal of tools for when I feel the darkness settling in: art, therapy, a sun lamp, medication, meditation, watching episodes of “Parks and Rec,” and of course hiking.
The most frustrating part is knowing that I can’t just make everything instantly better. I promise you, if I could eliminate depression I would. It hurts when people tell me to “snap out of it” or “cheer up” as if it’s a switch I can flip or a choice I’m making. I know it’s confusing, because I can feel absolutely fine for days, weeks, even months, and then suddenly I’m not.
When you think about me having depression, don’t think of it as a choice I’ve made to be sad, instead think of the choice I’ve made to fight to get better instead of giving up.
I’ve been battling depression on and off for 15 years. I have a very clear memory of my first bout because I was consumed with inconsolable despair and I remember the desperation and hopelessness. Now, when I recall that time it’s like I’m watching it happen to someone else. I can’t imagine ever feeling so lost again (even now when I’m not exactly little miss sunshine).
I attribute this to my friends (I have the most awesome friends), family (I have an incredibly supportive family) and faith (I am loved beyond measure). Not to mention, over the past several years I have also developed an arsenal of tools for when I feel the darkness settling in: art, therapy, a sun lamp, medication, meditation, watching episodes of “Parks and Rec,” and of course hiking.
The most frustrating part is knowing that I can’t just make everything instantly better. I promise you, if I could eliminate depression I would. It hurts when people tell me to “snap out of it” or “cheer up” as if it’s a switch I can flip or a choice I’m making. I know it’s confusing, because I can feel absolutely fine for days, weeks, even months, and then suddenly I’m not.
When you think about me having depression, don’t think of it as a choice I’ve made to be sad, instead think of the choice I’ve made to fight to get better instead of giving up.
I began hiking in the spring of 2015 for a myriad of reasons. One was because winter was fading, but my seasonal affective disorder was not (side note: SAD has to be one of the cruelest acronyms for a mental illness).
I wanted to find a way to get fresh air, explore the state, see beautiful things, get inspired and feel better about myself.
Hiking is an incredible resource for all of these things.
I started by visiting state parks, forests and trails. I’ve been to quite a few (83 out of 108 in Wisconsin).
For a while I combined my exploration with my joy for writing and created articles for my (now former) employer regarding the best scenic places to visit in each county. Unfortunately, after I left, my former boss told me “they’d rather go in a different direction” than allow me to freelance for their website (…it's possible they were not happy about my resignation…).
Hiking is an incredible resource for all of these things.
I started by visiting state parks, forests and trails. I’ve been to quite a few (83 out of 108 in Wisconsin).
For a while I combined my exploration with my joy for writing and created articles for my (now former) employer regarding the best scenic places to visit in each county. Unfortunately, after I left, my former boss told me “they’d rather go in a different direction” than allow me to freelance for their website (…it's possible they were not happy about my resignation…).
Granted, I’d heard about it before, but this was when the interest first sparked a light in me. A trail that wound through some of the most scenic, beautiful places in the state? Tell me more!
Even though the idea of hiking over 1,000 miles sounded daunting, that spark happened. It was a tiny flame of motivation.
After a long dreary winter of sadness, any spark is a good spark. While it may have looked like a mere flicker of interest, it felt like a freakin’ blow torch.
I researched the trail more and a plan began to form. I could do this. Like, for real. And now I am.
It’s been 17 months and I’m still hiking during every available opportunity.
I make notes of places to revisit when I’m done and have a list of ideas for when friends ask.
Hiking the trail is challenging and rewarding and frustrating and exhausting, and most importantly it gets me out of bed whether I want to or not.
This adventure has turned out to be one of the best things for me (just ignore my whines about hills and wind and rain and bugs).
Of course, my depression continues to ebb and flow. How annoying, right? But it’s manageable. I’m not disparaging or hopeless.
I’m hanging in there and I continue to make the choice to fight it (albeit one step at a time) instead of giving up.
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P.S. I wonder if anyone at work will wonder what happened to all the yellow post-it notes...
