Is It Possible to Heal Depression?
People tell me all the time how brave I was to sell my house and leave my job. I never know how to respond, because, for me, when I reflect on how I felt making those decisions - I did not feel brave at all. I felt incredibly scared, stuck, and desperate for a change.
Through the first year of the COVID-19 pandemic, I got to be with my depression extensively. I’d met depression before, in spurts that were brief & mild enough to just hold on & wait for it to pass. I’d sidestepped prior bouts by staying busy, performing, & people-pleasing. But 2020 brought me to my depression in a way that was entirely unavoidable. Achieving and over-scheduling is my drug of choice, & the global pandemic that shut down schools and businesses made it very hard for me to find a dealer.
For the first time, I could find no escape & I was forced to sit with my depression. I burrowed in it for a while, convincing myself that if things didn’t “go back to normal” I’d never be happy again. “The new normal” became a devastating catchphrase that brought me to my knees. I simply could not accept that things had changed so drastically, so rapidly.
In July 2020, as COVID-19 cases soared, I lost my last ounce of hope that we’d return to in-person school in the fall. I became consumed by anxiety at the prospect of going back-to-school online. Every day was spent trying to keep my head above water - going for walks, meditating, reading all the “self help” books, listening to all the “self help” podcasts. No matter what I did, I still felt like I was drowning. The only time I felt okay was when I was outside exploring. But I wanted to be more than okay. I craved freedom, joy, &, above all, peace. By the end of August, I was concerned that my depression & anxiety would prevent me from being able to do my job.
As summer came to a close, I returned to teaching second and third grade full-time in a district that chose an entirely online teaching model for the health & safety of students and staff. I remember the first day of school vividly. I tried so hard to be optimistic, getting dressed in a favorite silky checkered Banana Republic dress, curling my hair, & doing my make-up like I normally would on the first day of school. “Look good, feel good,” I told myself.
My first day plans were set next to my computer in Room 18, but when I got to school that day I froze - a whole body resistance to what was about to come next. I sat in the parking lot for a few minutes, tears slowly drifting down my cheeks at the sight of empty lunch tables, empty classrooms, & empty hallways once filled with excited kids & first-day jitters. I glanced up over the steering wheel, trying to pull myself together, & my eyes met with our custodian, Louis. In his eyes, I saw the same sadness & longing I was feeling. He gave me a knowing half-smile & continued with his morning work. That small act of kindness, that brief connection, gave me the strength to step out of the car, walk into my classroom, and start the day.
Fall 2020 was the darkest period of my life. I missed my students tremendously, but it wasn’t just my work life that was affected by the pandemic. My family was struggling in ways that I could have never imagined & I felt powerless to help them when I was barely hanging on myself. I needed so much support, but struggled to know who to ask or what to ask for. In my mind, I was completely alone. I told Jered that if I didn’t start to feel better by Christmas, I would have to quit my job.
I couldn’t afford my mortgage without a steady salary, so I started looking at alternatives. I came across a YouTube channel literally called “Exploring Alternatives” that was “documenting the many ways that people are experimenting with alternative homes and lifestyles in their own creative, and inspiring ways.” I truly could not have found a better place to land. Two van dwellers, Eamon & Bec, were featured touring their van and I was hooked. I went to their channel and started tirelessly watching videos of their travels and adventures.
Everyday through September 2020, I got out of bed minutes before opening my Zoom meeting room to teach. & at 8:30 am on the dot I dragged my feet to the daybed in my spare bedroom, opened my Zoom meeting room and started letting students in. I spent four hours holding it together, sitting on a computer, trying to embody peace, and teach second & third graders through a screen. Finally, when I finished all my lessons with students, I’d answer e-mails, prep for the next day, and attend meetings. & just as soon as I could, I ditched my clunky black Dell work computer - & returned to my living room to watch Eamon & Bec’s van life adventures. They were so positive, full of joy, & even though they were living through the same pandemic, they seemed so free.
I knew what I had to do. I had no idea how to do it, but my gut told me saying it out loud might be a good first step. So one mid-October night, Jered & I were lying in bed, lights out, & under the cover of darkness I finally felt safe enough to say it out loud. I blurted, “I’m selling the house in June.” Jered was understandably shocked, asking where we were going to live & what we were going to do. So I told him, “I’m using the money to buy a van for us to live in.” He had just left his whole life in the Bay Area to be with me two hours north in Davis & was not at all prepared for another huge transition. He resisted for a while, but by January he was able to see how this redirection could benefit both of us & started researching with me.
Through Winter 2020, my classroom was my community & my students were a constant source of love and joy in my life. Without them, my life felt meaningless. So even though I absolutely hated distance learning, I kept showing up for my students. I kept opening my Zoom meeting room every morning for Morning Meeting, checking in with my students daily, and teaching lessons because I wanted to get through this moment in history together. & I did my best to do that. Which helped me realize that if I could fend off my depression enough to show up & keep a little bit of me there for my kids, to connect and smile and laugh with them - even through a screen - maybe I could fend off my depression until I was all me.
There were so many times during pandemic teaching that I felt like a violinist on the Titanic, continuing to play my instrument while the ship slowly sank. My whole body wanted to run, quit, escape the situation, but I knew my constant presence gave my students some sense of normalcy, stability, & peace. Continuing to teach, despite wanting so badly to retreat and disappear, helped me see that I had some say, some power over how much depression got of me. I did not want to be miserable anymore. & I was willing to do whatever I needed to find joy again.
I liked my life (enough) before the pandemic, but seeing the pandemic as an opportunity to create an even more beautiful existence took a huge mental shift. I had to let go of hope that things could be different and find radical acceptance. Through the words of spiritual teacher & author, Tara Brach, I came to accept that there are circumstances out of my control. & through the wise words of Pema Chodron, I learned that when things fall apart, there is an opening for restructuring.
If I wanted to find joy again, I had to focus my energy only on areas of my life I had the power to change. I began to see that although it seemed my life was in shambles, my favorite bits sprawled out in disarray on the floor, I had a choice in how I rebuilt it. I could choose which pieces I wanted to dust off and find a new niche for and which pieces to leave behind. & that gave me faith that everything was as it should be. Depression said, “I have no choice! I have to keep teaching even though it’s making me miserable. I’m stuck, powerless, & have no control,” when in reality I had to keep teaching if I wanted to keep my house.
Another nomadic couple, “Bound for Nowhere” were featured on Exploring Alternatives. Instead of a van, they had a 4-wheel-drive truck with a camper where the truck bed would normally be. Through much debate, Jered and I decided this option would actually suit our needs better than a van. We’d have more access to off-road locations, more solitude, and maximum freedom. In May 2021, we put a down payment on a Four Wheel Camper. We waited eight months for our new home to finish being built while I closed out my last year of teaching and sold my house.
Although that school year was the most difficult time in my life, looking back, I also see how much I grew. So much suffering came to the surface and, through therapy, I was able to reflect, heal, and revise old coping mechanisms & ways of thinking that no longer served me.
Jered & I have been living nomadically for a year now and we are both the happiest and healthiest we’ve ever been, both as individuals & partners. Depression still finds me on the road, but now I know how to show up for it better. I don’t resist it by keeping myself busy anymore. I slow down, I get quiet, and I listen so that I can figure out what it needs. I use it as a guide to tell me what I’m longing for. Sometimes, I can give myself what I’m needing, sometimes I can ask for help, & sometimes I just have to have faith that it will pass. I still feel like I’m searching for a community, and that’s where most of my sadness is rooted now. But somehow, when it’s just Jered & I out on a forest road with only the moon & the trees to keep us company, I feel less lonely than I ever did my entire life in the suburbs.
Now, I know that selling everything and moving into a camper is not the solution to heal everyone’s depression. But I wonder, if our depression is a calling to a more beautiful, true life. It starts as a gentle nudge saying, “not this,” that, when ignored, turns into a deep longing & emptiness. Before the pandemic, I desired a truer, more beautiful life. I knew. I knew I wanted to live in the mountains. I knew I needed deeper connections with a community. But I ignored my wanting, until the longing became so pervasive in every facet of my life that I could no longer ignore it. & then I made a lot of extremely challenging decisions from a very dark place because I became desperate enough to climb out. & it all started with a quiet protest, “Not this.”
Love you,
Marissa