what depression looks like
Mental Health

How Sharing My Depression Story Helped Me Help Others

what depression looks like

In 2012, I published a book called Crochet Saved My Life, in which I shared the stories of two dozen women who had used yarncrafting to heal and improve the symptoms of a diverse array of mental and physical ailments. The first story I shared was my own. It is a story of living through 15+ years of chronic depression without knowing or naming it. It is a story of nearing the depths of suicidality. Additionally, it is about pulling myself out of that depth. I did that with help from therapy, medication, yoga, a strong support network and, yes, crochet.

Sharing my story was relatively easy by the time that I published the book. However, it had taken years and years and years to get to the point of saying, “I have depression. Here is my story.” I am so glad that I learned how to do this. Doing it allows me to own my authentic self. Additionally, it has also empowered me to help others in sharing their stories. This, in turn, helps decrease the stigma associated with depression and other mental health issues.

Denying Depression

I was in my late twenties when my world came crashing down around me. That’s when I finally accepted the label of “depression” for my experience… Depression for me was a near-lifelong thing that I had fought and fought. I was not willing to accept a stigmatizing label for what I was going through. I was certain that whatever I was experiencing was a basic character flaw that I could overcome with enough determination. There were cycles with periods of wellness. These were usually fueled by the positive energy of a new job, relationship or hobby. The energy of those new things couldn’t sustain me forever. Eventually, I would plummet back into the feeling that nothing in life would ever feel good ever again.

Now I know about depression from both a personal and professional perspective. Therefore, I can easily see in retrospect that it was depression. But I didn’t know that at the time. I was oddly empathetic to others struggling with mental health issues. Yet I was certain that what I was going through was some lacking in character that required me to just buck up and move forward and take better care of myself. Not that I actually knew what taking care of myself meant. Nevertheless, I made valiant efforts at trying all of the things I thought might help.

I even did try therapy in younger years. However, I was in such deep denial of my condition that the word “depression” never came up. It was never in my mind nor on my therapist’s lips. I was angry. I felt frustrated. Certainly, I wanted to change my life. However, things couldn’t change until I knew what was going on deep inside of me. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a name for it. I needed to learn that name and accept it before I could move forward. The name came, as I said, in my late twenties. It was after everything I had tried completely failed me. I found myself stuck in bed most days, barely moving through life.

danger sign for confined space

Accepting Depression

I dragged myself back into therapy, lucking into a much better therapist this time, who also helped me find a decent psychiatrist. I was diagnosed with double depression – a case of immediate acute depression sitting atop a chronic, decades-old dysthymia. By this point, I was just way too tired to deny anything. I accepted the label, I showed up for the therapy, I tried medication (which I’d always seen as a mistake in our over-medicated society) … and I began to get better. One day I found myself walking down a street and noticed that I was singing. I was shocked. Suddenly, I wasn’t unhappy. I might even be happy. Something had shifted. It was slow but then sudden. It was subtle but impactful.

Sharing My Depression Story

So I started to share my story. I had started a crochet blog, Crochet Concupiscence (which I sold in 2017), and I mentioned a few times there how crochet had helped me through difficult times. Others responded that crochet had helped them as well, and I began to get curious about how it was helping others. I shared more of my story to encourage others to share their stories with me, first informally and then through interviews. That ultimately led me to write Crochet Saved My Life.

After years of denying the label of depression, it was easier for me to say it by this time. Accepting the label had given me some relief because there was a body of knowledge and ideas out there for healing from this condition. However, I still had a lot of internalized stigma and shame that seeped through.

The truth is that I would never have written just my story and put it out there. But as each woman shared her story with me, I was humbled and emboldened to make sure that I put this information out there for others to see. I was struck by how many different ailments we each go through and how crochet – or craft therapy – could help in such a variety of ways. I felt that it was important for me to share the stories of these other women who had entrusted me with them, and in doing so, I felt safer and more comfortable sharing my story.

As the pages went to print, I still had a few lingering hesitations. It was fine to put my story out there for strangers to read, but friends and family members would also be reading this. I didn’t hesitate to share the story, but I certainly felt defensive, afraid of what they would say upon realizing some of my deepest weaknesses. If it weren’t for the sharing of stories from others, I wouldn’t have been brave enough to share my own story. My story felt so small in comparison with the entire body of work that it was easier to put it out there.

Sharing Stories Reduces Stigma

And I am endlessly glad that I did. After the book was published, so many other people reached out to me to share their own stories of depression and suicide and self-harm and other forms of mental illness and how physical ailments had their mental counterparts. It wasn’t always easy being the recipient of these stories, opening up my email and reading heart-wrenching stories, but it was always amazing. I learned so much about the resilience of individuals, about the strength we each have to overcome whatever is difficult in our daily lives.

I went on to do extensive research into the health benefits of crafting, and then to launch an art project (Mandalas for Marinke) in memory of a suicide victim from the crochet community. Although all of this work includes fact-based research, the main thread running through everything is the sharing of individual stories, particularly those around coping with depression.

I am able to share my story freely these days, regularly letting people know that I live with recurring depression. What I have found is that my openness about this gives others around me permission to share their experiences, too. As more people share their stories through me, I am even more capable of sharing my story with others, which in turn allows even more people to open up. Sharing my story is a catalyst for others to be able to share their stories. This, the story by story opening up of our truths, is how we end the stigma of mental illness.

Ultimately, this has become my biggest goal as a writer: to help others explore, articulate and share their stories.

 

This article was originally published on Fempotential in August 2016.

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