Take yourself to an imaginary place where things felt lighter and the weight of what was challenging just wasn’t, you know, weighty. Imagine how you might have felt, what you might have thought. And now imagine if someone posed you a question while you were in that mindset: “Should something awful were to happen, how would you recover?”. What would that look like? The lighter versions of us might be inclined to think a cup of tea and a well-earned sleep would be just the thing to reset and go headfirst back out into the world. All would be forgotten, tucked neatly into a box buried somewhere deep in our past.
For this author, either unfortunately, fortunately or somewhere in between, there was no cup of tea and a well-earned sleep (at least not right away). The mind is a beautiful and powerful thing and the way it works sometimes can feel anything but beautiful. And this is something that many people struggling with mental health and addiction illnesses know all too well.
After my breakdown in January 2023, I truly did not know if there would be a recovery in my future. When you are standing at the bottom of the well, looking up at the light that feels lightyears away, it’s daunting to feel that your life can be anything more than that. I remember feeling afraid and unsure and was almost afraid to believe that I could bounce back to my own personal form of normalcy. During my 12 days stay in the inpatient psychiatric unit at Joseph Brant Hospital, every day I seemed to improve. Each morning the top of the well seemed a little closer, life felt a little lighter. In those kinds of moments, a momentum can build, giving you that breath of “yes I can” we strive for. And then I left the hospital.
There was a great sense of community in the inpatient unit. I’m still not sure how it formed or what made it stick, but it was there. No need to explain or justify. All of us walking on a different path, and yet all paths were somehow moving together, bringing us to a place of healing we all needed. I won’t lie, as excited as I was to leave the ward and be with my family, it was one of the scariest things I have ever done. The routine I had that kick started my road to recovery was behind me. It was different now. My path and slowly curved away from what I had known, and there I was, not lost and yet not knowing where to go.
I learned a lot about myself during recovery. And the interesting thing I learned about recovery, is that it’s a path we must always walk. When my body settled into its new medications, and when a sense of safety started to return, it was like I was in that imaginary state. Everything was light and I was free. And I assumed that that sense of freedom would be the end. A metaphorical send off to my struggles, like two hands wiping themselves clean of the troublesome dust that had covered their skin. This was not the case.
I remember waking up one day and things were just…. different. I hadn’t done anything differently before going to bed the night before. I watched Netflix and did my evening skin care. I slept on the same side and closed my eyes within the same window I usually did. But in the morning, it wasn’t the same. And this is where recovery can be very challenging. I woke and noticed a shift and then complete and utter panic swooshed in. That cold sweat sweeping through every fibre of every part of my body. That quickly hastened breath that makes you feel like no matter how much you breath in there just isn’t enough air. Talk about a mind bender.
You know that you know what to do when an episode creeps in. You hear what you’ve been told, you know deep down you remember the steps you need to take. But there is something so daunting about putting those lessons into practise. For me I get caught up in the “I’m panicking, it’s happening again” and suddenly I find myself sinking back into the well. It’s normal and natural and a path to wellness will never be a straight line up. And that’s ok.
There will be peaks and there will be valleys. There will be good days and not-so-good days. And some days might just be bad. That doesn’t mean that you are bad (or rusty, or failing, or coming up short) you are just human. And while being human can feel icky, icky lend itself to calm and peace and order. It’s an ebb and flow and we are along for the ride. And while you might not be able to see them while you’re bobbing in the tide, we are there with you. We might think different things and feel those things differently, but we are there.
If there is one thing I have learned so far in recovery, it’s that it takes time. I was discharged from my stay in the hospital almost two years ago (or 1 year, 11 months, 2 days on the day this was written) am I still in recovery. I probably will be in 1 year, 11 months, 2 days from today. And that’s ok. So much of what happens in recovery is ok. It’s ok that it takes time. It’s ok to relapse. It’s ok to be fearful. It’s ok to be hopeful. It’s ok to hold onto (or fear) certain dates and certain places. It’s ok that your path isn’t straight or doesn’t point straight up.
We are all walking together. You might not see others or hear them. You might not feel their presence. But if you look behind you on your journey to wellness, you’ll see their footsteps in the sand. Stride for stride. Always walking. Never alone.
Yours,
The girl in green