Walking Back into the Light

From the darkness into the light (image courtesy of worldofmiri.com)

My personal story about dealing with depression

Shattered - our new home becomes a cage

How a new life broke me into pieces and how I started to repair

My story of change began in 2012 when our family moved from Europe to Australia. Everyone’s reaction back in Europe had been the same; they were jealous. Australia, for Germans, is this distant bubble of paradise with forever blue skies, beaches and a laid-back attitude.

We arrived with a few suitcases of clothes to our pre-rented furnished apartment. We spent the first months setting up our new life; getting a car, buying a house, organizing the shopping and other services, getting used to school and care for our kids (one, four, and six years old).

I hated it.

I struggled. Three kids had to be guided through the emotional upheavals of change; new school, new country, no friends. I had to learn the Australian way of life; drive long distances, cope with the climate, and discover that Sydney houses did not match the German building standards. I felt completely isolated. I could not even call anyone from back home because of the time difference.

My situation could best be described as that of a bird locked in a cage yearning to fly

The cage represented the house I felt tied to. I felt stuck, never to be free again. I was in complete overwhelm. Everything I knew had been cut away. Every structure and routine I had set up was suddenly obsolete. I felt as if I was floating through life without anything to hold onto any more. I had lost a part of myself. I did not feel complete. This feeling of being involuntarily bound to this land and confined to our house, far away from anything I knew, made it hard for me to breathe.

I had no idea how to cope, so I did what I had always done when I did not feel quite right; I put more on my plate. This included socializing and inviting people over, volunteering at school as a parent representative, managing our son’s soccer team, joining boot camp and yoga lessons, participating in a produce cooperative. You name it; I found a way to keep myself busy.

The feeling of being encaged persisted.

My mind came up with the only one conclusion possible.

I had to do even more.

I enrolled in a professional training course to become an English language teacher. I set up a tight schedule with babysitters and neighbors helping out while I embarked on my course. After graduating, I accepted a job in the city for two afternoons per week. My husband had started traveling interstate for work which meant I was on my own the rest of the week.

Still, nothing changed. The feeling of not being complete was still there. It was not a nice feeling. I did not want to feel this way. I bulldozed over the slightest mark of unease by keeping myself busy. Surely the feeling would go away if I just got order into my life. In hindsight, it was like trying to juggle one hundred balls without having a clue of how to even keep two balls in the air.

My body did not like what was happening

Eventually, my body cracked.

My skin was breaking out and I felt exhausted. I had tummy pains. I felt tired and depleted. I was always thirsty, but water could not satisfy me. It felt like a major hang-over but without the drinking part. My left wrist was in chronic pain from inflammation. I was like a deer being hunted; I was in constant alarm. My body could not calm down any more.

I tried everything to fix myself.

I saw my local doctor, sought out a naturopath, increased my yoga and runs, went to bed early, and worked on my diet. I even ditched the alcohol.

Still, my body was not happy.

Eventually, I had to quit my job. Not only that, I quit everything. No more volunteering at school, socializing, or boot camps.

I had no energy left. Zero.

I hardly managed to get up in the morning. I felt like a zombie.

There it was. Burn out. Depression. It was dark and very lonely.

I kept functioning, just. I treated my body the best I could. I convinced myself everything would soon be back to normal. I had been there before; this was not the first depression of my life. My body would surely recover, now that I was treating it well. Then I could take up my old life again.

Months passed.

By then, I should have felt great, filled with energy and life force.

Just… I didn’t.

What was going on? I compared myself to when I was in my early twenties. I had been more energetic without treating my body as well. What was wrong? Was it my age? I was not even forty yet. That could not be the case. There had to be something else. I had a nagging feeling about it.

I dove deep into dietary questions, supplements, blood tests, and infusions. You name it.

Nothing helped.

I kept looking.

My husband was still commuting every week and I decided to attribute my crisis to him not being there. None of us was enjoying it. It was time for a change. I thought we should go back to Germany. After all, we had meant to come to Australia for four years and that time was nearly up. I did not know what I was expecting from moving again, but any straw was good. My husband spoke to his boss. There were no openings in Europe. Instead, he was offered to come back to Sydney.

I was not happy. This whole Australia thing was not working in my favor and I wanted to escape. Changing the outer environment would surely settle everything. I felt I had to move again to keep myself busy and distracted. My husband moving to a job in Sydney meant I would still be stuck in my current situation with nowhere to run.

We discussed the idea during the school holidays. We put in long hours turning in circles without any new information added.

Finally, I committed to staying in Australia for another year to see if things would get better with him at home again.

This meant I couldn’t run.

I couldn’t go anywhere.

I was still stuck with myself.

It was not pleasant.

Being still; a blessing?

Then, something miraculous happened and only in hindsight can I see how important this event was.

For our 10th wedding anniversary, my husband and I went to Uluru without the kids. I remember sitting on the plane marveling at the red earth, the barren landscape and the bold colors. It was shear beauty.

In the evening, we visited Uluru to experience the sunset. We stood there mesmerized watching the color festival unfolding before us. It was pure magic and took our breath away. We bathed in Uluru’s beauty, history, and energy.

Something mystical happened at Uluru which I still don’t fully understand. I regained strength and energy, and I returned feeling better than I had in the past four years.

Back home, my health crisis returned. I had enjoyed a few good days, but then I was like a sponge once more with someone wringing out the last drops of life energy I still possessed.

For once, we did not have any visitors scheduled from overseas and I had cancelled my volunteering commitments. All the kids were by now full-time at school, so I found myself with time — on my good days. On one of those, I went to the local library browsing the sections. I did not know what I was looking for, but felt drawn to a particular area and picked up a stack of books that seemed fascinating. They all dealt with topics around psychic abilities, after-deaths experiences, mystical stories, encounters with spirits and angels, mediums, and auras. I was intrigued. I did not believe in any of this but the content was captivating.

For the next few weeks, I slept and read.

After a while I noticed a pattern. Every single one of the books I’d picked up pointed to the same remedy for not feeling well: meditation.

I did not believe in anything supernatural, the concept of synchronicity, the universe, God, meditation, past lives, spirituality, or anything along those line. I secretly laughed at the naivety of people that saw meditation as a tool to save them or improve their lives. My logic kept telling me this couldn’t work.

Then again, I had not been well in a long time. I was experiencing a real health crisis. The doctor had not succeeded in finding anything. Nothing had fixed me.

I looked at the repetitive messages again.

“You need to meditate.”

“Please meditate.”

“Meditation helps you focus.”

“The best thing I ever started? Meditation.”

“Call upon your angels while meditating.”

This meditation issue kept popping up.

Finally, I gave in. I was not feeling well and at the end of my means. I had reached a point where I was willing to try something completely different. I was willing to try anything that might help.

I had reached that stage.

I cast aside my prejudices and sat down. Quite a few of the books spoke about how to meditate. I vaguely followed the instructions.

“Sit down, close your eyes and breathe.”

Immediately, my mind went bonkers. It was all over the place, shooting in thoughts from every possible angle.

“Is the dishwasher finished?

Our daughter needs new sandals.

I shouldn’t have yelled at the kids the other day.

I am not doing this right.

Can we please be finished now?”

Most of the books had warned me this would happen. I did not have anything to lose so I kept going. It was not straight forward. Sometimes, I reached a state where I saw colorful shapes dancing in front of my inner eyes. Most of the times, though, I simply fell asleep and had weird dreams, only to wake up completely exhausted after up to one and a half hours. Afterwards, I found it difficult to get up again and get myself moving. This was supposed to be energizing? Why was I still so tired? I almost napped every day. Secretly, I was scolding myself for not doing enough but I really did not have the power to get anything done. Well, not any of the things I considered “proper” doing, as in filing my papers or shopping online for Christmas gifts, or cleaning the windows, or learning a new language!

I kept going. The books raving about meditation kept coming, too. I guess, I was too exhausted to actually question what I was doing. I spent two to three months reading and “trying to” meditate.

I was not sure what meditation should feel like. I focused on my breath, catching myself every few seconds because I had succumbed to another topic that my mind considered of utter importance. This voice in my mind overwhelmed me. Never before had I noticed how penetrating it was. It kept bringing up random issues related to my past; any situation where I felt ashamed of myself or where I had messed up. It kept re-telling the same stories over and over. “Had you not reacted this way, everything would have turned out better!” or “What were you even thinking — when you said that?”, or “Do not think of yourself as so important! It’s only YOU. Really.”

I was amazed to notice this unpleasant voice inside of me, listening as it talked me down all the time. It made me uncomfortable and unhappy. Meditation was meant to quieten it, but it would not shut up. Would I ever get there? Was it possible to control that voice?

There were many questions opening up for me. And this was only the beginning.

Now I know, I was forced to slow down and be still to finally be with me to see who I really am. This was the beginning of a true and marvelous transformation.

Keep reading my blogs to find out where this story has taken me.