There’s always been something about the summer time that gives me life. One of my favorite things is feeling the sun against my skin. Everything and everyone is so full of life in the summer, so it was no wonder I would start feeling down once the cold weather rolled around.
Like clockwork, I could count on the winter blues. It even became a long-running joke within my friend group that come winter time, it was a rare occasion to see or even hear from me. As time progressed, so did my winter blues.
Eventually, I had to have a conversation with my doctor, who noted that what I was experiencing was actually known as SAD, seasonal affective disorder. Isolating myself aside, I was also oversleeping, had no energy or interest in just about anything, and, more often than not, felt incredibly sad and hopeless. For me, the thick of it was after Christmas until about March.
That was until my untold trauma started catching up with me, and I started feeling the effects as early as August and it lasted until the weather officially changed for spring. Every year, it appeared to get worse. I wouldn’t talk or see my friends for months on end, and work aside; I would stay cooped up in the house with no desire whatsoever to be social.
I was deep in my feelings and couldn’t shake the feeling of being a burden to others. Plus, I was always in a bad mood, so I rationalized that I was doing everyone else a favor by isolating myself. I had convinced myself that people-ing just wasn’t my thing.
And still, it only got worse. The winter after the world shut down due to COVID-19, my mental health was a rollercoaster. I lived in a perpetual state of severe anxiety, fear, and anger. But instead of retreating as was my normal tendency once the fall rolled around, I opted for something different.
Since the year prior, I went back to church and began cultivating a relationship with God; it made sense to me to start reading the Bible. My thought process was simple: I wanted to read it to know what was inside. I was often in the midst of people who loved to argue the Bible but never read it, so I set out on a quest for knowledge.
By the time I finished in September 2020, I was mentally better than I should’ve been even though I was still experiencing a rollercoaster of emotions.
As it turns out, reading the Bible more than four days a week decreases engagement in risky behavior (Scientific Evidence for the Power of 4). Behaviors that were my go-to and typically pushed me into poor mental spirals. That winter, instead of engaging in my usually SAD behavior, I joined different communities within my church.
I began serving in church shortly after, first as an usher and then as a service producer. Service producing really pushed me out of my comfort zone, and as much as I wanted to quit, I felt pressed to continue. Being pushed outside of my comfort zone helped me grow and did wonders for the anxiety I was experiencing, even though experiencing that growth wasn’t the most fun in real-time.
As much as I don’t like people sometimes, I can’t deny the importance and the power of community. I now understand it was isolating that was keeping me from healing.
Even now, I continue to learn the importance of community. A while ago, I told my coworker a story about my son. He asked for help, and I didn’t offer the help he wanted, and later, it broke my heart. Though this was only a few weeks ago, because I was so upset at myself, I buried it. However today, she reminded me about it.
It wasn’t until tonight that I realized how important it was that she reminded me of that story, regardless of how hard it was to hear. Had I not been reminded, I would’ve inadvertently reacted the same way trying to get my son to do something I felt he should be doing (sitting in his high chair to eat his dinner).
But he was tired and just needed comfort; he wanted his mama not to be in his high chair. Refusing to eat, I almost began to feel defeated thinking if I took him out of his high chair, he wouldn’t eat. But that’s not what happened. He got his comfort and ate his dinner (and then some) while sitting on my lap.
Being a mom to a toddler is wild. Trying to parent while healing your trauma is even more wild. While I don’t feel the full effects I once did of SAD, this season has been trying. I often find myself overstimulated and/or dissociated, neither helpful when parenting a toddler.
So it’s back to my toolbox I go to use the tools that I know are effective at helping me get through. This time, I’ll be sure to include community.