Autumn

The weeks leading up to October were fraught with emotion, a deadening, and even grief. Having managed my mental and emotional health for the better part of my adulthood, it still came as a surprise, a punch, and a slow fall to darkness. I was pretty sure I wasn't going to share this publicly, but then one of my reasons for being on this earth is to share with others, to let others know they are not alone, and to share the parts of us that are so messy and oven shame filled until we share.

A friend explained autumn is a season of death; we witness this with leaves falling, the grown getting colder, and the last of the blooms shriveling. We feel this in our sleep patterns, waking up in the dark before daylight savings sets in. Yet, this took me by surprise. I have been here before in October. This season can hit me with a sadness, a shift, and some bewilderment.

I know enough in my adult body and psyche now to share with a trusted friend or two, even explain to my teen boys, "Hey, I am not feeling so great mentally for now; just know if I am short with you or sad, it is not you," I explained I could do the minimum on some days and a little more on others. I showed up to teach as I always feel better teaching; I showed up for my other gig in the mortgage industry as it felt good to be an "adult" and focus. Both feel like an act of love or service; I realize this is just how I roll. Helping others helps me as long as I don't forget myself. And I often tell others to show up no matter what, so I listened to my advice.

I am still not through this murkiness, but I allow it to settle in as October settles into this world. A part of me was fading, passing, even dying off over the last several weeks. This sounds dramatic, but it is the only way I can describe it. I felt like I was in the most extended high school breakup. That kind of ache. The one where you can't eat or catch a deep breath. I woke up achy, flu-like like, reminding myself to do the adult things: brush my teeth and take an early morning shower to shift my being if just a little bit.

One of the best parts of being a mother is my boys, keeping my rooted-on earth. My youngest needing to get to school for football by 6:45 am every morning meant I had to show up and show up early. This also saved me. And it told me I would be okay, as other times in depression, I have been able to roll around in it more. In this part of my life, the adult in me knows to show up, to live with the duality of suffering mental health, and to show up for those I love, which, in essence, is also showing up for me.

I sat with it, and I realized it was a part of me that needed to go. A part so buried in deep survival, a kid whose parents' divorce was traumatic 40 years prior, a woman who white knuckles a lot as the world seems so much at times, and yet I find joy and contentment in the smallest moments.

What needed to die away from me? I am still figuring this out. But my constant story that I am alone in the world, my continuous story that I should not ask for help, my constant story that I show up for others but deny the same. It is the death of to-do lists to feel productive; it is the death of husting to make a living and worrying about the future; at times, I forget about THIS moment and continue to find balance. But mostly, it is me saying I can't do this alone, and the irony is I have the best-loved ones at a hand's distance. Again. I think I am alone so often, and I am not—my story but not so much the truth.

It was also the realization I needed more focus at times. I think A LOT, and I feel A LOT; this is why a to-do list is good for me if it is not done with fury and worry. It is good for my mental health, heart, and head. Less worry, less sadness. More focus on my career in yoga as a teacher and a student and in leading retreats, which are so close to my heart. It is just admitting time after time we are all so human, and we need to find constant grace and forgiveness, which is not the same as numbing out or ignoring. I know this; I have tried both.

So, while autumn may welcome cozy nights, a much-needed change from the long days of summer, know if you are feeling a lot or afraid to slow down as you may feel more – you are not alone. Understanding the darkness allows us to accept it, to live in it, and to handle it. I am with you, and while we head to shorter days and longer nights, the sun always always comes up in the morning.