Intersectional

At the Women's March weekend and in several other settings involving activism, I have been hearing this word "intersectional." It seems to be a sort of buzz word of late. At first, I let it just slide past in my hearing, not really thinking about its meaning. But each time I hear it, I think a little harder about what it means, and more specifically what it means to me.

I realized after much thought that the word is so much a part of my way of being in the world, that it never occurred to me that it needed to be called something or defined. But now that I have begun thinking about it, I understand that not everybody thinks of the world this way, and while that's foreign to me, I get that other people go through life differently than I do.

So, I did what I always do--I turned to words, my friends. I think intersectionality is what John Donne meant in his poem:

No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were:
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; 
It tolls for thee. 


Now, I'm no John Donne, and my poetic attempts may not be so eloquent, but after the march, I wrote this poem to try to express the word, the point of the march, the way I view the world in this respect. 

It's called: 

Intersectional 


As in, our lives intersect so much so that whatever happens to anyone, happens to me;

As in, women's rights are human rights, are LGBT rights, are refugee rights, are immigrants' rights, are black rights, are rights;

As in, violence toward one begets more violence to all;

As in, geographical, political boundaries are myths that cannot divide us; 

As in, we either rise together or we fall together;

As in, we have all been strangers in a strange land, all in need of welcome;

As in, the water in North Dakota, and Flint, and flooding homes, and pushed by tsunamis is all the same water;

As in, we exist as only a tiny part of an enormous ecosytem, but we are soiling our own bed--even dogs know better; 

As in, art and music and literature are how we understand our connectedness; 

As in, educating your child is just as important to me as the education mine already received; 

As in, all religions teach us to love one another, a concept so fundamental that even those with no religion intuitively know this;

As in, social justice for one does not take away anything from another, but expands justice for all; 

As in, there is enough for all when greed gives way to generosity and power gives way to humility; 

As in, we are all dreamers, whether we are laid off coal workers, struggling farmers, loggers, DACA children, corporate giants, or writers; 

As in, we are all formed from the same stardust, and we will all return to it; 

As in, the whisper you start in your heart becomes the rousing roar of the earth; 

As in, if we bring forth what is within us it will save us, and if we do not bring forth what is within us, it will destroy us; 

As in, we exist in an infinite spiral around each other and we can reach out to hug, help, heal, and house the whole world; 

As in, tug on one thread and the whole piece/peace unravels.

The Story of My Depression

I was going to write some sappy piece about Mother's Day, but you know what? I want to write about depression. Now, hold on, don't get me wrong. I don't associate Mother's Day with depression. Motherhood does not equal depression. But I have been feeling this tug lately to share what depression has been like for me, mostly because I think a lot of people don't really understand it as a disease and don't really accept it as a disease. The only connection it has with being a mother, for me, is that I wish I had gotten help sooner, because I would have been a better mother in my children's early years. I think I did pretty well anyway, mostly because I gave every single ounce of myself to the job, and because I am a supremely strong human being who was able, miraculously, to do what I needed to do for my children despite my disease.

Let me start by saying that I have had depression for about as long as I can remember. It wasn't too severe until I became an adult. I guess everyone assumes teenagers are going to be full of angst anyway, so maybe it wasn't really apparent then. I don't know. Even so, I was able to function okay. I suffered severe migraines for many years, and sometimes I wonder if they weren't partly from hanging on so tightly and trying to be so strong.  Who knows? As a young adult, I knew I felt horrible, and I wanted to seek counseling, but it seemed like an expense we couldn't afford. So I just kept  hanging in there.

When my children were very young, I honestly believe breastfeeding kept me going. You may not realize this, but breastfeeding releases hormones, the same feel good hormones that are released during orgasm. Not to get too graphic here, but these hormones are relaxing and very helpful when you have depression. So it was probably a good thing I made the choice to breastfeed. Even so, the depression was there all the time. It manifested mostly as anger. And I was angry a lot. I threw things. I yelled and screamed. It was as if I knew I couldn't just collapse and fall into the dark abyss of my soul, so I got mad about it instead. At least I functioned, that was my thinking. A lot of people I love had to bear witness to this anger. My husband and children, my parents. I know I did things that hurt them all. I hope they all see that it was the disease and not me. Or that they at least forgive me.

I LOVED being a mom. Still love being a mom. But as we all know, it's incredibly difficult in the best of times. It's really hard when you suffer from a debilitating disease. I'm sure I messed up a lot with my children, but I also feel really fortunate that they are pretty okay. Not perfect, but better than I was at their ages. And I think my depression helped me understand things that helped me be a better mother. I think it helped me see what my children needed in a very deep way.

I am a really, really strong person. That also helped keep me going. I knew how strong I was, particularly after delivering the very large baby that is Peter. He was 10 lb., 10 oz at birth, and I felt incredibly empowered to have delivered him at home with no drugs. I think that kept me going for a while, too.

Eventually, though, I used up all my energy, all my stores of strength, all my resources by being so strong. And then I wasn't strong at all. I fell apart. I sensed myself drowning, madly trying to tread water but barely staying afloat.I got physically very sick, unable to really get well. I felt like I was at the bottom of the darkest hole, alone, unable to climb out. I couldn't, wouldn't, think about suicide, because I couldn't do that to my children. But I didn't know how much longer I could hang on.

That's when my husband saved me. He reached in, pulled me out of the hole, and sent me to counseling. My counselor helped me decide to try anti-depressants, and I turned to my doctor, who prescribed something. It seemed to help a little, but not too much. She upped the dosage, which made me really sick.

My counselor helped me find a psychiatrist who specializes in depression and anti-depressant meds. They helped me find the right meds and dose for me. It took a while, but I started to feel like a human being.

The only problem was that once I got the depression under control I discovered that I had pretty much depleted my physical body of all its strength in order to fight through each day. I had depleted my thyroid, my adrenals, my iron stores. I am still working on repairing those aspects of my health. But the depression is under control.

I cannot emphasize enough how important it was for me to find a medication that helped me without harming me, and I did.

Here's the thing. I don't think most people really understand depression. Especially since our culture seems to prescribe anti-depressants for all kinds of things. Some people don't need meds for a long while. Some just need them to "get over a hump." How I wish I was one of those people. I don't like taking drugs, which is probably why it took me so long to get to the point where I had no choice. In fact, with my psychiatrist's help, I have attempted to barely even lower my dose several times. It doesn't work. Even a tiny reduction sends me falling down the black hole again.

So I had to accept that this is my life. I have depression. I always will. It is not a personal failing. It is not because I'm weak that I have to take these meds. I KNOW I am stronger than most people. I made it through 20 years of depression without help. How I did that, I still have no real idea, but I know it was because I was strong.

I don't talk about my depression very often, because I feel a bit ostracized. I think our society views it as weak. It's also immensely personal. It's hard to bare that to other people. But I am doing so now because I want people to understand it better. To know how it feels to live in this skin.

I think what prompted this whole opening up was a friend's question about why I have to see the psychiatrist every four months. I told her that they want to make sure I'm still doing okay with this med at this dose. And that some people struggle for years to find the right med. And that some people have bad experiences with meds, like feeling they want to commit suicide. She's a nurse, and this was news to her. So if she didn't know, then probably most people don't know.

You see those ads on TV that say "depression hurts" and all those things. Yes it does. It does hurt physically. It also hurts deep down in your innermost being. I am not a sad person. Depression isn't about being sad. It's not an emotional thing. It a brain chemical thing. It's physical. I am a happy, generous, active person, but depression made me feel like a wreck, a failure, a monster. That wasn't me. The meds simply (actually it's quite complicated) override that brain chemistry and allow me to be the true me.

So I guess the whole point of my writing this is to tell everyone who feels those things that there is help for you. You are not weak to need help. Do we tell a person with diabetes that they are weak for needing insulin? Of course not. You can live a great life if you want to. Depression does not have to drown you. Find someone in your life who will reach in and pull you out and help you find the treatment you need. It's hard, I know. It's embarrassing to admit that you are no longer strong enough to manage. That you have used up yourself. Like being eaten alive from the inside. Hang on. Ask for help. It is out there. And if you don't get the right meds on the first try, don't give up. Go to an expert. Not a family doctor. (Nothing against family doctors, mind you.)

If anything, depression has made me stronger than I was before. It has made me a better mother, because it gives me insight to see things in my children that might not appear on the surface. It gives me a heart of compassion for all beings who suffer. It makes me full of gratitude for my husband who loved me enough to hang in there with me. It makes me see more truly what is important. So that's the sappy part.

And Happy Mother's Day.