“Hey, how are you?”

What a simple question that, when asked sincerely, may rock your world.

That is, if you’re prone to such reactions. I sure am.

It’s amazing to me sometimes how lonely depression feels. It’s an inherently self-absorbed state; you constantly feel as though you’re the only one who feels stuck or anxious or overwhelmed. And as a result, you end up alienating others just out of the fear that you’re the only one on this path.

For me, it’s easy to drown in the label of depression when I’m low. Sometimes, knowing I have depression actually makes things worse. I feel so separate from the “healthy” brains, when really, depression is somewhat “normal”. Some folks experience depression chronically, like I do, but I believe all people experience depression in some form or another in their lifetime.

So, why do I cling to that belief that I’m alone when I’m low? Or that my depression is just too much for anyone else to handle? I get into these spirals of rumination in which I am terrified of sharing my true sentiments in rocky places. I am afraid I’ll just be a taker, that the failed attempts at connection with my loved ones are indicative of larger problems with their feelings toward me, and around and around I go.

Woof. I exhaust myself just thinking about it.

Sometimes I imagine what it’s like to just not care so much. I don’t think I have that option to really let go of everything, but good Lord, do I need to keep making the attempt. Not because I’m not “good enough” as I already am, but because I deserve to not live my life in a constant state of worry and analysis. Nobody does; that sounds plain awful.

As I always seem to come back to when I learn and write, everything begins with small steps in self-talk. In coaching myself to let go of the little lies I’ve believed for so long that a part of me keeps believing them, even though I’ve spent years trying to unlearn them.

It’s funny; I was hiking this weekend with my love and we came upon a 20-ft boulder that we’ve both tried to climb previously. He’s got these lovely, long legs and fear of basically nothing, so he scaled it without much thought and stood on top, in awe of how far he could see versus what he saw from the ground. Internally, I was frustrated. I wished I could get up there, but I wasn’t as confident in my bouldering skills as he was. He hopped down and then I mustered up the courage to say, “Ok, I want to try to get up there, too.”

Alright, let’s get real. I have a serious fear of heights. A few years ago we were hiking and went to cross a log over a river that was about 4 feet above the river and I got stuck. I literally had to sit down and scooch myself back to the shore.

It was embarrassing. 

Back to Sunday: I climbed up the first boulder that would lead me to the second, taller boulder. I was basically straddling the side, riding it like a horse, and my love was patiently explaining that I was only about 6 feet from the ground and the gap was about 2 feet wide. No big thang. Yet I was frozen.

Here’s where that little bit at a time comes into play.

“Come on, Jenna.”

“It’s not that far. You want to get up there. You would be far more disappointed if you went down the mountain missing that view than if you indulged your fear.”

“Just wiggle a bit this way, there you go..”

A minute or two later, I was on my feet, straddled between both boulders. Alright, here we go, just one thrust and.. YEEP! Ok, I’m face planted on the big rock now, time to avoid looking at the ground and climb this brother pucker (edited for my mom).

That’s when my old climbing hobby kicked into high gear. My sweetie coached me in the spots I couldn’t see well, but I made it up to the top with my own arms and legs. And you know what? The view was pretty cool.

But the feeling of overcoming my fear was even better. 

One step at a time, one hand hold at a time, one little fear let go at a time. I couldn’t jump on top of a boulder. I couldn’t even follow someone else’s route to the top (blame that on short limbs). So I had to find my own route, my own little bit at a time, my own way of moving forward.

I don’t feel like I’m making this a very veiled metaphor. The boulder symbolizes depression. Eh? Get it?

<Insert deflecting, self-deprecating comment here, since I can’t seem to hold back from these when I write.>

Ok, enough of that goonish nonsense. Let’s return to that first question: “hey, how are you?”

I’ve been climbing this most recent boulder slowly. I was stuck for a bit, and it was uncomfortable and embarrassing, and I’m likely to get a little stuck again. And yet, a seemingly trifle text from my little brother this morning with this question catapulted me to the next level of the boulder.

The truth is, I can be a taker sometimes. I mean, we all can. But the BIGGER truth I have yet to fully embrace, is that I still need to be patient with myself in this process of climbing the boulder. I need to learn to let the little things go, to not take anything personally (shoutout to The Four Agreements), and remember the moments when my sincere answer to “hey, how are you?” is sought. I am of value, whether or not that is daily recognized in a way that I can see or hear. I also have to climb that boulder with my own arms and legs, though I am immensely thankful to those in my life who may help guide my steps and encourage me along the way. And I also have to recognize that I’m not the only one climbing, right? So if I’m missing that guiding voice, I still have to use my own strength to take the next step upward.

Wrap it up, Jenna, it’s getting heavy! 

Alright, alright. Enough metaphors. If you’re reading this, know you aren’t alone, whether you’re on an upswing or things are feeling rough these days. Find the moments where you can #begolden and keep moving forward. Things always, always, always get better. Learn where you can be kinder to yourself and others and #choosejoy.

And never underestimate the power of just checking in with your loved ones, giving them the space to answer sincerely.

And hey–how are YOU?