I love the picture of your tea and biscuit! I also loved the picture from your house, and the mug next to it with the question - any craic? Who knew my mother had the key to battling depression with her tea! I drink both coffee and tea, though only one cup of coffee in the morning. Unfortunately, the tea is often forgotten or left out. Now I’ll have to rethink that. And take a look at Chris Aiken’s website.
My toolbox - well, I’m not sure I’d even call it a toolbox. I never even knew it was depression until well after college. I thought of it as the black melancholy of my Irish ancestors coming to visit me. Even before meditation taught me to be curious and investigate strong emotions and depression - “notice the sensations in the body” was what my teacher said - I did notice that if I waited it out, it would go away eventually.
Medication has never been a part of my dealing with it, not even self-medication. I did, eventually, talk with a therapist. Well two of them, but the first one became a problem when I gained some confidence, because I reminded him of his very strong mother and our sessions became about him. That ended fast and I found a woman therapist who was helpful for the entire time we worked together. She agreed mine did not seem to be a chemical depression so much as a situational depression. I thought of it as repressed rage, and the time with the therapist and years of practicing meditation did and do a lot to help me deal with it.
And now I have the tea prescription! As we move into fall, that seems like a wonderful tool for my toolbox…
"the black melancholy of my Irish ancestors coming to visit me" -- I love that line. It has an Irish lilt. I have a whole chapter in Prozac Monologues dedicated to the words we use:
The DSM has its checklists. People with depression have poetry.
People with diabetes discuss their diet, their feet, their retinas. They check glucose levels. Put two diabetics at a table, they compare numbers.
People with depression talk in metaphor. We talk about the cloud, the curtain, the weight, the darkness. When it goes away, we say, “It lifted!” That lift is a physical sensation, actually, of lightness or elevation.
I had to smile when reading this, Willa. As a fan of detective series emanating from the UK, I am ever attentive to how many times tea is the answer to virtually every moment of crisis or sadness. When things are going poorly, put the kettle on. It surely can't hurt, and often is a source of healing and just a little hope. Kenya was the place in which I drank considerable quantities of tea. It never hurt, and it often helped.
I love the picture of your tea and biscuit! I also loved the picture from your house, and the mug next to it with the question - any craic? Who knew my mother had the key to battling depression with her tea! I drink both coffee and tea, though only one cup of coffee in the morning. Unfortunately, the tea is often forgotten or left out. Now I’ll have to rethink that. And take a look at Chris Aiken’s website.
My toolbox - well, I’m not sure I’d even call it a toolbox. I never even knew it was depression until well after college. I thought of it as the black melancholy of my Irish ancestors coming to visit me. Even before meditation taught me to be curious and investigate strong emotions and depression - “notice the sensations in the body” was what my teacher said - I did notice that if I waited it out, it would go away eventually.
Medication has never been a part of my dealing with it, not even self-medication. I did, eventually, talk with a therapist. Well two of them, but the first one became a problem when I gained some confidence, because I reminded him of his very strong mother and our sessions became about him. That ended fast and I found a woman therapist who was helpful for the entire time we worked together. She agreed mine did not seem to be a chemical depression so much as a situational depression. I thought of it as repressed rage, and the time with the therapist and years of practicing meditation did and do a lot to help me deal with it.
And now I have the tea prescription! As we move into fall, that seems like a wonderful tool for my toolbox…
"the black melancholy of my Irish ancestors coming to visit me" -- I love that line. It has an Irish lilt. I have a whole chapter in Prozac Monologues dedicated to the words we use:
The DSM has its checklists. People with depression have poetry.
People with diabetes discuss their diet, their feet, their retinas. They check glucose levels. Put two diabetics at a table, they compare numbers.
People with depression talk in metaphor. We talk about the cloud, the curtain, the weight, the darkness. When it goes away, we say, “It lifted!” That lift is a physical sensation, actually, of lightness or elevation.
I had to smile when reading this, Willa. As a fan of detective series emanating from the UK, I am ever attentive to how many times tea is the answer to virtually every moment of crisis or sadness. When things are going poorly, put the kettle on. It surely can't hurt, and often is a source of healing and just a little hope. Kenya was the place in which I drank considerable quantities of tea. It never hurt, and it often helped.