I have a deeper appreciation for life and moving through my day than I’ve ever had before. Two things happened in the past few months that helped me come to this realization: I started taking an SSRI, and I had outpatient knee surgery. Two very different things for completely different reasons—but in all honesty, both were the result of moving through life too quickly and absentmindedly. Both have completely slowed me down (and fattened me up just a little!), and it’s not all a bad thing.
Back in March, I quite literally lost my marbles and, thankfully, became fully aware that fooling myself into sleeping more, doing more yoga, or meditating more often was not going to be my cure. Truthfully, I was no longer able to do any of those things in a way that felt meaningful. Yoga still felt good physically, but it didn’t slow my thoughts or help me “just be” like it used to. Meditation was a joke. I sat there diligently, but I couldn’t stop the racing in my head.
I did everything I could to keep up with my life. I was (and still am) one of the most organized people I know. Everything was as efficient as possible. No time management tip was going to help—I would read them and think I could write a better article myself. I was stretched thin. There was no room for error. One small miscommunication between family members and the entire chain of well-planned events and pickups would fall apart. No way to live.
A few days before the marble-losing, I went to a routine Thursday morning report-out for senior leadership. As usual, I prepared at the last minute—rushed, but still pulled together something polished and well-coordinated. I walked into the conference room, my employee pulled up the presentation, and I slid my chair under the large dark wooden table.
SLAM.
I hit my right knee hard on one of the table legs.
There were the usual reactions—“Oof,” “I heard that,” “You didn’t need that knee anyway!”—and I shrugged it off and kept going. About 24 hours later, during a meeting with my small team, I noticed my knee hurt. I wondered why as I pushed through the agenda, then remembered hitting it the day before and briefly questioned why it took so long to register. That night at dinner with friends, it hurt more.
The next day, Daren and I went into the city. We were so busy and stressed that I didn’t think about my knee at all. The following morning, seemingly out of nowhere, I had my first long-overdue panic attack. I cried the entire way home. I noticed my knee hurt, but it wasn’t until late the next night—around 9 p.m.—that I realized how swollen and red it had become.
Daren was at hockey practice. I wanted him to look at it, but I fell asleep before he got home.
Long story short, the next few weeks were filled with panic attacks and knee aspirations. The panic worsened quickly. I realized I had to start medication—I had nowhere left to cut back. And have you ever tried to “relax” while in a nonstop adrenaline rush? It doesn’t work.
Once I started the SSRI, I began to notice how often my body was in fight-or-flight, even as my mind started to calm. It was eye-opening. I had been living like this all the time.
I first went to urgent care five days after the injury and was told to rest and monitor it. It stopped hurting—but it didn’t stop swelling. So I ignored the advice. I ran on it, did yoga on it, and didn’t call an orthopedist for three weeks. Who has time for this?
Eventually, I was getting it drained every couple of weeks… then every week… then it started swelling again almost immediately after each visit. At one point, the doctor tried to drain it and nothing came out. A wall had formed. Surgery or live with it.
It’s funny—my knee felt like a physical version of what had been happening mentally for years. Rushing. Ignoring warning signs. Doing the bare minimum to manage something that was clearly deteriorating. Until I hit a wall—mentally first, then physically.
It wasn’t until I had no choice but to deal with it that I realized how much my lifestyle was harming me. My body is all I have—why wasn’t I taking care of it?
After medication adjustments and a few rough weeks, the panic attacks lessened. And then I had surgery.
I’m not claiming I’m a changed woman, but I’ve had some of the most relaxing weeks of my life.
Since March, I’ve rediscovered the library. I’ve been reading a book a week—fiction. Nothing intellectual. Nothing self-improvement related. Just stories.
I’ve started getting bi-weekly massages. Daren and I have been spending more time at home—making the outside of our house beautiful, sipping cocktails, watching fun TV (not documentaries—actual fun TV). I’ve been coloring mandalas. Visiting local shops. Sitting in coffee shops with a matcha latte and a book. Writing for fun.
I’ve even started going back to sleep in the mornings when I don’t have to rush.
That, in itself, feels like a revolution.
My whole life, I woke up ready to go. Even when I was exhausted. There was always something to do. Something waiting. Something urgent. My dad used to bang on our doors and tell us we were “sleeping our lives off.”
Now… I listen to my body. And sometimes it tells me to rest. And I do.
After surgery, I slowed down even more. I slept. I sat outside with my leg up and a book. I noticed things. I wasn’t rushing anywhere.
One morning, I walked slowly down my own street and realized I barely knew it. The houses, the details, the quiet beauty of it all. It had always been there—I just hadn’t.
Later, on the ferry, I looked at my legs—one swollen, one not—and felt grateful just to have them. In the shower, I noticed their strength, their design, how they carry me through life.
I ate breakfast and actually tasted it. I thought about how each raspberry grew—slowly, over time—until it was ready.
I want that.
Slow growth. Presence. Awareness.
We spent the day outside. I modified yoga to meet my body where it was. The trees were alive with spring. Food tasted better. Life felt softer.
Healing—mentally and physically—is happening in small increments. Just like those raspberries.
This morning, I woke up early when Daren left to drive Kieran to work. I started writing this… then stopped.
I opened the blinds. Listened to the birds. Laid back down. Let myself rest.
I want to live like this more.
I’ve already asked to cut back hours at work—and thankfully, the answer was yes.
I don’t want to need medication or injury to slow down. I want to choose it.
We all need to live a little more and “do” a little less. Be present more and absent less.
Every single moment matters.
And I’m finally ready to live in them.
Namaste.
Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!
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Welcome to the beauty of life. You have inspired me. It’s nice to know that there is someone out there who can relate. My experience was the exact opposite. I am no writer but bear with me and I will tell you my story in my own words. I suffered for a long time from depression. I can remember being a little girl staring out the school windows thinking to myself “why am I here?” Days, years and months went by and it was the same old routine. Get up in the morning, school (which I despised), taking the bus home and then taking a nap on the couch. I always wondered why I slept so much but what the hell sleeping is great! Years went by, report cards came and went with bad grades, being grounded and just longing to be older. Yes because when I got older I could do whatever I wanted with no one to answer to. I would have a great job as a secretary have an apartment and get married. None of this happened. I graduated high school and went to a two year business school. After all even if I got bad grades I had to at least go to college. That is when I met my friend my best friend. I nicked named him “The Funk.” We were introduced one day when I didn’t want to get out of bed. He was so nice. He liked staying in bed too and so we started our journey together. When I did get up he kept me company by putting thoughts of laziness and confusion into my head. Again I thought why am I here? What am I doing? I don’t want to be in school. He reminded me that I could start over and do what I had always dreamed of. NOTHING! At the three week mark I got sick of him and kicked him to the curb. I didn’t know what happened to my friend but it was over and so my life went on and I stayed in school. I graduated two years later. I really wanted to stay in White Plains, NY and make a life but due to having no plan, no money and no goal I moved home. Life was exciting. Although I started drinking alcohol at 14 I could never keep it down. Yup I was the drunk puker. Every time I drank I didn’t stop until I couldn’t remember anything. One Saturday night in high school I went to the movies and drank my first orange soda and vodka. It was hysterical. There was a fly on the screen and that’s all I remember. I woke up in the janitors room with a guy holding me telling me it was going to be okay. I was carried in there by a friend so that he didn’t get caught letting us sneak into the mover theater for free and have alcohol. I was a freshman and my friend was dating a senior with a nice Camaro. After they snuck me out of the theater I was put into the car. Poor guy I puked all over that beautiful thing. We got picked up by my father and I turned my shirt inside out and he never knew. It was a different story when I turned 21. I was sitting at Mauri’s café in Meriden having a beer. One went down then two and suddenly I realized that I could drink without throwing up. This was great. Alcohol became my new friend. We didn’t spend every day together but I started to go out and have a life. I was no longer the little girl staring out the window at school. I had things to say you see. My new friend showed me that I could have a personality. I was the life of the party. Everyone liked me now. I had things to say, songs to make up. I was a lot of fun. I went on with life. I was grown up now. I still had no plan for myself but who cares I was going to be in my twenties forever. I still longed to for that life I missed out on in White Plains. I was in a co-dependent relationship and took my boyfriend up on an offer to move to Long Island. There I landed my first big job. I liked it out there a lot. We broke up and I moved into an apartment. I was really doing this on my own. I spent five years there. One day I got up and there he was in my bathroom. “The Funk.” It had been a long time since I saw him. I embraced him immediately. Things were different with him. He taught me a new way of doing things. For three weeks we got out of bed, took a shower, and went to the office with wet hair pulled up in a clip. One day someone commented to me and said “you have worn your hair slicked back and wet like that for three weeks.” In my head I thought well at least I made it to work. It was during the third week that I decided to try and figure out “The Funk.” A co-worker and I went to happy hour and discussed what was wrong in our lives. As usual I started to think Why am I here? More importantly I wanted to know why The funk and I were hanging out again. I called my aunt and explained to her that he had come back. Why does he do this to me? He comes around and makes me feel sad and worthless for 3 weeks and then disappears. She explained to me that The Funk was part of depression. At twenty three years old I started to question my life. Why didn’t anyone notice this as a child? Why did my mom let me sleep all the time? Why didn’t someone tell my parents your child lives in a constant state of day dreaming? It was all their fault. I was put on an antidepressant but to be honest I don’t know that it worked. I floated through life not thinking about things much. I had an apartment, a good job and I lived on my own in NY. What more could I have asked for. Fast forward 15 years with me. I moved back to CT. I got a promotion and worked for the Vice President of Morgan Stanley. I was somebody I thought. It wasn’t long after the move when life was going smoothly that The Funk showed up again but in a different form. This time we slept even longer. I went to work came home ate dinner and went to bed at 6:30 p.m. Boy did it feel good to sleep. I would fall asleep, wake up, look at the clock and think “wow it’s only 8:45 p.m.” It felt so good to fall in and out of sleep so that became my routine for three weeks. I was living with my parents and again no one noticed. Three years into my job The Funk was no longer around. He never came back but I met someone new. He was deeper and darker than anything I had ever experienced. I didn’t like him at all. He crept his way in slowly and stayed for a long time. Not only did he like to sleep we didn’t get out of bed. No more five day work weeks. We never worked on Mondays. Mondays sucked. I needed that extra day of rest. When we did go to work we just stared at the computer. I didn’t look out the window anymore I just stared at the computer. Eventually I was called into my bosses office and told that I wasn’t getting a bonus that year. I said I understood. I was not pleased with my performance either. My boss changed his smile and looked me directly in the eye and said “I think it’s time you found another job.” I was fired but they would pay me a months salary. Much to my surprise I was happy. If felt as if finally I could go and figure out what I was meant to be in life. That never happened though. I took a job as a CNA at a nursing home because I couldn’t stand the thought of collecting unemployment. Every day I went to work at 3:00 p.m. each shift I had to place fresh linen in the patients rooms. It was very routine. I had a job, I knew what to do, I did it and actually liked it. However that 3:00 seemed to bring the same thoughts every day. Why am I here? Why do I feel sad? What am I going to do with my life? I spent a 1/2 hour of that time every day like clock work having these thoughts. Again I will fast forward. I know this is long but bear with me girl. It was March of 1996 and I was working at the VA. I had just called off my wedding and feeling fantastic. Like you shared in your story I started to look around me. I had a favorite tree in Meriden. I drove past it every day. One day I noticed just how beautiful it was. The sun was shining all the time and the grass was green. I met my husband in June of 1997 and we were married in September of 1998. It was really happening. I had finally found him after years of dating endless losers I had found the love of my life. It was Saturday May 10, 2008 and I was standing at the reception in my wedding dress. I looked at all the people around me and felt so alone. In my beautiful white dress I felt invisible. These were the thoughts running through my mind. “Why am I here?” Why I am I standing here all alone?” “Why doesn’t anyone notice that I am alone?” “I don’t want to be here.” I pulled it together and danced my butt off. It was until six years later that my husband and I watched the video when he noticed that I looked miserable. After the wedding I went on with life. John knew that something was wrong and wanted to deal with it but I thought I am fine. Life is good. We were married and I pushed any thoughts that something was wrong out of my mind while my husband started to suffer for it. By 2011 John had become a different person. Silently suffering he slipped away and built up a wall. I however carried on. I got a promotion at work. I deserved it. I worked hard. I went from a GS-6, to a GS-7 and finally made it to the GS-9. The work overwhelmed me. I had to do critical thinking which I wasn’t used to do. As you know the VA changes hour by hour and at any time a new mandate could come out and throw a wrench into your entire day. I couldn’t handle it. That’s when Mr. D and Mr. Al K. Holic showed up. We hooked up with Mr. D and then it started. One bottle of wine, two bottles of wine and then three years later two bottles weren’t enough I had to have three. Yes that magic number 3. I had quite the personality now but not like in years past where everyone thought I was funny. John wasn’t laughing at all. He called me an alcoholic. Me? an Alcoholic. HA HA I thought. Alcoholics went to AA and sat around talking about it all the time. They had a label that I wanted no part of. He always said that I wasn’t funny at all. He was right. Not only was I not funny but I was violent. When having these drunken violent fits he would pin my down and ask me if I knew who he was. I would suddenly come to and I did know who he was but couldn’t stop. Eventually Mr. Al K. Holic and Mr. D took over my life. On a Bright Sunny August day I closed to curtains in my guest room and laid in bed. Nothing was going to bring me out of this. I laid there thinking about the sunny day and how I couldn’t bring myself to enjoy it. It was there in that bed that I had my first suicidal thought. Deep down I knew I couldn’t do it so for the next two years I would just keep it in the back of my mind. Life went on. In 2013 I had my last drink on November 11th. It was a week later that my husband’s words finally made sense. I was an ALCOHOLIC. This time my thoughts turned to “how could I live without ever having a drink again?” “Do you think I will become one of those dry alcoholics with no personalities?” It got easier as the days went by. Though I did attend a few AA meetings I never felt like I should be there. I knew what I was and knew that I could never touch a drop of that stuff again. I did not want to sit around in a dingy church basement. Though AA works and it is a great program and has helped millions I didn’t want to do it. Every time I struggled I just asked the Lord to take it away from me and he did. See it’s one thing to life with it every day and have a craving for something you know you can’t I didn’t want that. I wanted to be delivered from this disease and I was. With The Lord’s help, a great husband and supportive church family I was delivered. I don’t call myself an Alcoholic anymore because I know that I am so much more than that label. He went away but Mr. D came right back in. What was I supposed to do? I didn’t have an outlet. I had to deal with everything that was in front of me without a crutch. I had been getting counseling for years before that trying to work out what had happened to me as a child. I felt let down by the system and my family. A little girl who from the 4th grade on never new how to study, write a paper, or event concentrate. Thoughts just floated all over the place. I couldn’t keep organized with anything including my job. Why did this happen to me? What is wrong with me? Two antidepressants and I was still friends with Mr. D? It wasn’t until January of this year that I decided that I could no longer live like this anymore. I prayed a lot and asked the Lord to reveal to me what was wrong. I prayed about every single symptom that I had. Feelings of worthlessness, not having a path, can’t concentrate, lack of interest in anything and so on. There it was right in front of me. Mr. D was DEPRESSION. Okay I thought but why after two medications does this still happen. The racing thoughts, lack of motivation, concentration all made sense now. Not only was I depressed but I have ADD. I had always expected that. I started on medicine and within 3 weeks the medicine started to kick in. Just like you I was on a huge adrenaline rush. I had the energy of a race horse. I love it. I could do a million things. So many actually that I couldn’t keep up. By the time the weekend came around I found that my brain hurt. Now the racing thoughts of not knowing what to do changed. I had so many things to do that I was burning out. How was a I going to manage all this. The medication made me really hot and anxious. I was scared. Sitting at my PC at work I couldn’t calm down so I googled my symptoms and the side effects of the medication. For three weeks I had to go into the bathroom at work, lock the door, pray and over and over I told the Lord “This isn’t from you.” “Although you gave me this medication, you do not come with thoughts of impending doom and overwhelming fear.” “It’s not from you.” “It’s only a side affect.” They slowly started to go away. I have been able to set up a daily routine for myself. Each day I get up early, read my bible, take my time doing things, and go to work. I told my boss what was going on and her and I are working together with my weaknesses and getting things done. The only thing I didn’t know how to do was incorporate exercise. Although I do crossfit I seemed as if I was a machine living day by day. In order to fit it all in one thing would drop off. If I didn’t exercise I read my bible. If I read my bible I didn’t exercise. So I prayed about it and learned that my body is a temple and it is important for my mental health and well being to take care of it. Slowly but surely it started to work. I get up earlier now, read my bible, clean one room a day in the house, go to work and to crossfit. Just recently I started back at the a.m. classes. I am blessed to have picked up a ride on a commuter van that picks me up right down the street from crossfit. It is through reading the bible and taking care of my body, myself and my marriage that I survived the last 4 months of my life. The number three is not just a number it was the pattern of my life. 3 week funks, 3:00 thoughts of hopeless, 3 bottles, of wine, 3 medications, 3 years sober in November and 3 years of healing in my marriage. It has been the best time of my life. 3 months of discovering that there is more to life than waking up everyday. Everything is beautiful. Like you I notice the birds chirping right out side my window. So many of them each with a distinct sound. There is beauty all around me inside and out. I take the time to enjoy the early hour of 4:3o a.m. – 5:30 a.m. I jump out of bed longing to start the day. I flick the light on and swallow those three pills. I pour my first cup of coffee close my eyes and ask the Holy Spirit to show me Jesus through his word. I find myself thirsting for more of it. Eventually my big red dobe comes in and puts his head in my lap. I can do three things at once now. Read my bible, pet the dog, and drink my coffee. I manage to read, pet him. Small chores in the house get done, clothes get ironed and I am off. I can now enjoy my job and not sit in a meeting thinking why am I here? Do I even deserve this job? I do. I am here because the Lord has a plan for my entire life that includes my marriage, a career including my boss as a wonderful mentor, and taking care of myself spiritually and physically. My body is beautiful and it was made to do amazing things. I have found an outlet that makes me feel like I am accomplishing something. Step by step slowly but surely I make progress in every area of my life. If you ever told me that I would be climbing a 15 foot rope 8 times or doing 160 air squats with my ass all the way to the ground I would’ve laughed in your face. I never played sports and had the self confidence of a flea. The body needs to be taken care of it takes time and dedication to crossfit but I can honestly say that I enjoy spending the time with myself and watching my growth process. I know that I want to enjoy every part of life. Everything from the simplest thing like watching your dog run at full speed with his ears flapping in the wind is beautiful. I don’t want to waste one second of it. I sleep now but not like before. I wasted a lot of time in that bed. Now I just use it for rest. Some people say that medication is a bad thing. I used to go on and off of them trying to beat this thing myself. I decided that I will not live in darkness ever again. God formed me. Each one of us is different. I have a few parts of my brain that don’t work that well. It’s okay. I am who I am and don’t want to be anyone else. When I looked at you Esterina I saw a woman who had it all. A thriving career, a great personality as a matter of fact you are a walking encyclopedia. You know just about everything about something. I admired that about you. Your work ethic is incedible and you always look like you have it all together. I envied you. I now realize that none of us have it all together. I have tried many times to read your blog on my lunch at work but the site was blocked. I woke up this morning and there is was so I clicked on it. Thank you for sharing. Over and over in my head I have been wondering if anyone out there that I know suffers from something similar to my own story. Though are stories are different they are similar in so many ways. You inspired me to open up and write this. I pray that you and I wake up every day refreshed and renewed with our hearts open wide to explore all the beauty in the world. I am giving up on the number 3 and now going to take it day by day and not let one day get away from me. One moment at a time.
To Lisa. Hey beautiful. Thanks for sharing your own story. It is gorgeously insightful and well written. You made me cry. I had no idea and it’s so cathartic to share. A few people wrote to me off line after I wrote the blog in April entitled “My struggle with stress”. Every word made me cry and feel even more accepted for just being me.
I don’t know how much you have read but anxiety and depression are two opposites of the same disease. They use the same medication to treat them. So where as your story is totally opposite of mine, behind it all its mostly the same.
I can SO relate to sitting at work staring at the computer and then googling all kinds of symptoms. Little helps and you do feel alone. The cool thing about sharing is learning you are not. I’ve spent so many hours that way, working myself up to motivation.
I always admired you too. I remember when we met on the van back in 2008. You had just gotten married and you seemed so young, fresh, pretty and put together. I was surprised to learn you were actually a tiny bit older than me. And no one seems the protype for depression & you definitely do not fit the bill in my mind. You & John seemed so cute and newlywed. So sorry you had negative emotions swirling. Most of us do but it’s not something you talk about. Right after my 40th birthday when you came to my office to bring me the scarf (which I just LOVE btw), we chatted a bit about feeling crazy & PMS. I was glad to hear I wasn’t alone. It was right after my first panic attack. And while we both had to get back to work it felt really nice to connect.
Thanks again for sharing. Big hug & lotsa love, Esterina
Beautifully written and so bravely shared!
Wow. Amazing stories both of you. I also went to a clinical depression in the early 90s. No one will ever understand what it’s like unless you go through it. Mental illness is absolutely the worst. I would pick my cancer over that experience again any day. My oncologist save my life not once but twice. When he connected me with an amazing psychiatrist. He would always say to me “you know your own body” and that holds true in all of our three stories. Listen to your body. They hold the key