This morning I had an e-mail in my inbox. “10 Self-Help Books You Must Read,” from Oprah’s Book Club 2.0. And I thought to myself, Oprah, you’re like a couple months too late. I laughed a little, and then I sat down to write this.
A week and a half ago, my life exploded. And the first couple days I had it under control. But last Saturday, I couldn’t control it any more and I did the scariest thing I’ve ever done. I asked my friends for help. I talked about how the help I was being offered didn’t even feel possible to me right now because of how exploded my life had gotten.
I don’t know how to write about this. My goal with this blog is to write about things in a constructive way. In a way that helps other people understand, or see things in a new light, or find a space that’s open and comfortable for them. How do I talk about my own problems then? That feels really selfish.
But mental health is a feminist issue too.
Right now I’m ok. I’m lucky to have some really good friends, which is why I put work and effort into having relationships with people. (That’s a subject for another day. How all relationships, not just the most intimate ones, require work and that you value them.) They’ve helped me in myriad ways, large and small, including just listening to me and holding me because I’m in the dark.
A few of them have even been able to say, “Get a handhold, right now, so you don’t feel like you’re falling. And then let’s keep working together to get you out of the hole.” Hope is really powerful, even though it can be really scary. I’ve slowly gotten back to being able to participate in life over the last couple of days.
Things are still dark, but every day gets a little easier.