From Barely Coping to Almost Hoping

(Disclaimer #1 My thoughts on depression, anxiety, and coping are based on my own experiences and observations. They are in no way clinical facts nor a suggestion on how to handle your own depression. Please reach out to counselors, therapists, friends, and family.)

(Disclaimer #2 I have no idea how this post is going to be organized. The perfectionist in me is super anxious about not having any idea how this will flow but if I wait to be organized, this will never be written. I thank you for your patience as you follow my many trains of thought)

I'm a sharer. I like to share. As an only child, I grew up wishing for someone, anyone to share with. Okay, so I know now that I wouldn't have been quite so good at sharing as I thought I would be when I was 9 but, when it comes down to it, I do get a great deal of satisfaction from sharing- whether it is time, resources, or just my opinion.

But sharing that I've struggled with the feeling that I wasn't needed in the world, or that I was never going to be good enough to make a difference, or that no one loved me is never something I wanted or intended to do. I have spent my entire life attempting to convince my community that I am confident and strong, that I am an imperative cog in the wheel, that I am mature enough to teach and guide children, that I am someone who can be a role model... yet the truth is that I feel that I've spent most of my life living like a fraud.

I didn't have what I considered a happy childhood. A lot of it was cultural. My parents never told me they loved me. This was completely normal for them growing up 50 years ago on the Korean peninsula but I heard my friends' parents tell them "I love you" all the time and I was convinced my parents just didn't love me. I knew that I was hit more frequently and harder than my peers. Again, this was the method with which my mother was raised but all I could see was that my friends weren't their parents' punching bag. I think that as a child of immigrants, I felt extra pressure to show that my parents were like other parents- I didn't need them to be perfect, I just didn't feel like my mom keeping me at home from a school orchestra concert due to a bad grade was a good reflection of a "normal" mom's reaction- and a "normal" mom was all I wanted.

So I didn't talk about this with anyone. Think about this for a second- by the time I had reached my twenties, I felt unloved and unwanted by my own parents but I didn't feel I could discuss this with anyone because admitting the shame of being such a disappointment that I was unwanted was worse than the black hole of depression I was digging myself into.

Through many therapy sessions and unofficial counseling with friends over many a bottle of wine, I've come to several realizations about my youth:

My parents, especially my mother, did the best they could with the experiences that they had.
I am a stronger person today as a result of the battles I faced growing up.
My upbringing was so much more privileged than so many other kids around the country and around the world.
Even though #3 is true, my frustrations with my childhood are still valid.

You would think that #1 would be the hardest to come to terms with but #4 is actually still the most challenging. See, I spent most of my life angry at my mom/parents and accepting that they did their best felt like I needed to forget about any resentment and not let my childhood affect me. The thing is, they're called your formative years for a reason. One can't NOT let the first 20 years of life affect the rest of the years that follow. I was raised to keep quiet, not emote, and not share anything more than necessary. But as I sit here writing an unsolicited post about my feelings on a platform for all to see, we can see just how submissive I turned out to be.

Now, this post isn't supposed to be about my childhood. I could do a whole series on the cultural struggles of raising children as immigrants, or being the child of immigrants. But right now, I need to set up how my years 1-21 affected the ones after. I think that this would be a good time to throw in that I have taken my parents to counselling sessions with me. I have sat them down to have conversations about times in my life where I felt undervalued and not accepted. For any readers who may have contact with my parents, I especially ask that you don't bring this up with them. It has been brought up. The funny thing is that many moments that I remember so clearly as signs of refusal from my mom are completely wiped from her memory. She doesn't remember hitting me or kicking me out. At all. And I've chosen to be okay with that. You see, the goal here isn't to exact revenge; I don't necessarily want my parents to feel bad. I just need to feel better. And my emotions, my happiness, is the only happiness over which I have complete control.

I recently had a conversation with a fellow musician in town whom I had run into before, although I couldn't place her precisely. She mentioned to me that she was pretty sure we had music-ed together before in a chamber music setting, which basically implied I should remember her. She remarked that it was probably around 5 or 6 years ago and I looked at her and joked, "well, I've blocked out about 4 years of my life there so it's probably my fault." She looked at me kindly and simply responded, "I'm sorry to hear that. You must have been really sad. Our minds do that to protect ourselves. I'm glad you're better now."

WHAT?!? I felt a physical blow to my chest. I spent the following rehearsal in shock. This woman, whom I don't even remember meeting during my depressed haze, had noticed something that I had hidden from my closest friends and even from myself. I had noted to people in my life how I had blocked out a good 4 years of my life many times but no one had connected it to my depression. If there was one event that made me want to improve my mental health, it was Danny's death (see previous post). But if there was one event that convinced me that I needed to share my story, it was her calm remarks to me that day.

Potential trigger warning. If reading about people's thoughts on taking their own life may be detrimental to you, please skip down past the next dividing line.

Growing up with a nurse as a mom meant that I was constantly being reminded the extent of what the human body can handle. When I complained about being thirsty, I was reminded of how long we can go without water. Same thing with food. If I felt sick, she would tell me to go make myself throw up. I knew in my dramatic teenage brain that if I wanted to make a statement, that it would have to be big. I never cut myself but I had seen my mom accidentally cut herself while cooking enough to know that, when the time came, which knife would cause the most damage. And I had read enough to know that wrists wouldn't get me anywhere. So I was going to go for the neck. I had a high pain tolerance and I knew that I would be able to take it.

So I wrote my letters. I didn't have a lot to write. Mostly teachers, grandparents, and a few friends. But when and where were still elusive to me. Here's the one thing you need to know about me: my compulsion to support, please, and not burden others is a driving force in my life. I will go very far out of my way to make sure that I've done what I feel is my duty in helping someone else. So I couldn't pick a place because I didn't want to leave a mess to be cleaned up. If I had been such a burden in life, how was it fair for me to be a burden in death? And I couldn't pick when because there was no time at which I didn't have a performance coming up. It would be so inconvenient for the people left behind if I wasn't there to fulfill my responsibility and I couldn't live (or die.. sorry, too soon?) knowing that if I just left the world, people would have to scramble to make up for the job(s) I had dropped.

If you have ever questioned my commitment to kids' orchestra programs, it is because they literally saved my life. I felt necessary there. I felt like I was making a difference and that I was both seen and appreciated. When I apologize to old orchestra friends now for having an ego or being a bit bossy back in high school about music, what I'm really saying is, "Thank you for giving me a chance to make something of myself in this world... thank you for giving me a reason to live."

So, I never followed through in taking my life.

I tried, instead, to blame my environment for my unhappiness and moved to Indiana for school. I assumed that if I just got away that all my troubles would be behind me. It took me another 3 years at school for me to hit rock bottom again. I blamed much of this on my violin professor. And, no, he wasn't free of blame, in fact, I do think he was in a position to help me but had no interest. I personally believe that if his relationship with me had been more positive, I could have finished out my time at school. But that's neither here nor there. I had a voice professor there who gave me the tough love I needed when she started seeing me slip. I remember her looking me dead in the eye one time and saying, "Esther, I know you can do better. Don't apologize, just do better." And I had an accompanist who always reminded me to go with my gut, ignore my violin professor and play my truth. So I had support. I had people who saw my struggle and yet, I couldn't get free of my demons. Finally, I concluded that I was making my own darkness.

People saw me as such a light and a joyous spirit. Performing in real life was no harder than performing on stage. All I had to do was smile brighter and laugh louder; no one knew that I was struggling to even get out of bed in the morning. I changed majors, changed friends, changed lifestyles, I even changed who I dated. And after 3 years, I realized that I was exhausted. I was on the verge of losing my scholarship from missing so many classes from simply not leaving my room. I was constantly hiding from my friends- I mean literally, I just wanted to be alone. And I had lost music. I lost my love of music. I can vividly recall which practice room I was sitting in when I gave up. I looked at my violin across the room and all I wanted was a match to light it all on fire.

So I returned home. I figured that I had already failed as much as a person could fail. To my surprise, my parents didn't constantly remind me of my shortcomings. In fact, they mostly left me alone. They unknowingly gave me a chance to sink even further into my dark hole.

I started going to therapy. My counselling sessions gave me a change to talk through everything. I went through my childhood, my relationships, my jobs, and what on earth my purpose was in life. I did most of the talking... it would have been less expensive for me to talk to myself and possibly just as effective. Then I brought my parents to a session with me. I'm not sure I've ever seen them so uncomfortable. Talking about emotions was simply not something that they were going to do. By the second group session, I realized that this was not going to be a joint healing or a group journey. I remember hearing my mom telling me she loved me for the first time. I remember that it made me so angry. The idea that my mother couldn't be bothered to tell me she loved me until a therapist advised that it would be helpful to me to hear her to say it. I mean I had heard those words more genuinely spoken by drunk frat boys I had known for 3 hours. I told her I never wanted to hear her say that again. I had finally heard the 3 words I had been dying to year for 21 years and when I heard them, I felt the exact opposite of warm and fuzzy. So I gave up on therapy.

And then I started teaching. You remember that one of the biggest driving forces in my life is a need to help others. That sounds like I'm tooting my own horn. "Look at me, I can't help but help others!" Except that was true. I made a friend who started advising me on everything from who to date to where to work. I realized later that I was her little project. I had found someone who was interested in making something of me and I spent 2 years following her vision of where I should be. She encouraged me to teach everyone I could, so I got every mentoring/teaching position in the community that would hire someone without a degree. Most of these commitments were associated with something that she was already doing. I didn't even have time to care for myself- I was so busy helping others. Then came a day when she dropped our friendship, completely out of the blue, no fight or explanation, and with it she took several of those teaching jobs.

For 2 days I spoke to no one. This was the worst breakup of my life. It wasn't even breaking up with a significant other. It was divorcing my life. The people I had come to admire and respect as mentors took her side. I realized at that point that I was truly, truly alone. A part of me felt a bit of déjà vu from 2 years prior when I had returned from school. But this time I knew how to get out of my funk: work. I remembered that if I had jobs lined up, obligations to show up for, that I would have to keep going- it was just how I was wired.

In case you are lost in time, we're sitting around mid 2013 at this point. I decided to get retail jobs, continue teaching, and attempt to perform more. I stopped looking for my life's purpose and looked instead for small victories. Over the next year, I started subbing with the Oregon Symphony and I took pride in the fact that I was up there without a degree or much experience. I had done that for myself! I was asked to tour with a singing group as a pianist and although I was not qualified for the job, I learned so much about myself during that time. And in the summer of 2014, I took a full time position at the violin shop where I had been working part time for years. I had all these people taking a chance on me; I didn't realize it then, but I was starting to slowly climb out of my little black hole.

I don't know if you noticed but I had taken on a lot at this point and you might also notice that I don't mention dropping anything. I kept filling my calendar because it kept me from thinking of the now. I was quickly on the path to making myself so necessary to so many people that I didn't realize that I was making myself less useful with each commitment. I started feeling overwhelmed and I became anxious about everything. I wasn't performing at 100% at my job, or my teaching, or my playing. I should have known better; I should have known to slow down. Luckily, I had people in my life who started calling me out on that. It didn't hurt that I had some health problems that were a physical manifestation of my anxiety.

I started paring down my obligations. I started examining my priorities and I found that I didn't want to lose any job I had involving kids. I had inadvertently made it my mission to make sure that I could let as many students as possible know that there was someone out there who cared about them. If there is one group of people that kept me afloat for the past 7 years, it is the young people in my life. From the kids I nannied, to the orchestras I coached, to the private students who tested my patience, these were the humans that kept me positive, truly positive. These were the ones who made me want to go on. So besides my full time work, I tried to focus a majority of my energy on the young people in my life. And any performing I did needed to be emotionally satisfying to me. I would no longer do things that didn't make me happy.

Sounds like I figured it all out, huh? I spent the next 2 years doing more of what I wanted but being no less busy than before when I was fighting my anxiety of being spread too thin. I mentioned yesterday that I had rescheduled a meeting with Danny 3 times in the month before he died. Work needed to be my priority and most of my friends understood that I would squeeze them in when I could, maybe once a year. The fat that I was trimming out of my life was quality time with friends.

Then Danny died. I am going to skip the details because I talked about this loss yesterday. It's safe to say that his death shifted the axis of my world. I realized that what I was doing wasn't enough. I needed to do more to prevent any more of my friends from feeling the way Danny had- the way I had.

I realized that putting my friendships last was putting myself last. We weren't in grade school anymore. They weren't friends with me because they had to be. These people who kept wanting to see me were people who cared about my well being. And if I cared about them, I needed to be present for their lives too.

So in the 2 years since Danny died, I have tried to keep a filter of love over everything I do and say. I make more time for my friends and I make more time for myself. Meals, shows, and trips alone are something that I constantly keep on my calendar and I'm strict about it! And I force myself to be spontaneous (I know that defeats the purpose but... baby steps). I take naps. I don't listen to anyone who tells me I'm at the wrong place in life. I still work a lot. I still stay busy, but I move just a little slower. I enjoy a few more moments every day. I tell people that I appreciate them and that I love them. Most importantly, I am happy being alone. Do you know how long it has taken me to be happy alone?

For an only child who had the well provided upbringing that I had, you would think that I would have learned how to be happy with myself years ago. But it's been 27 years and I'm just starting to get the hang of it. And I'm learning that sharing is the key. Truly sharing of myself for the right reasons is what will continue to save me... with just a few moments of selfishness thrown it.

Before I end my saga, I want to share a few things I do to keep myself going:

Schedule friend dates- For me this means I call a friend over a month in advance and say, "hey, in 5 weeks, I'm going to sit on your couch and we're going to do nothing." It doesn't matter that this is ridiculous. My close friends know that this is a matter of survival for me.
Volunteer- I take on a few things, whether it's teaching/mentoring or performing that are not paid so they are purely for the satisfaction of giving of myself without turning into work. I never feel more positive about the state of the world than after I've spent time giving without expecting anything in return.
Keep a non musical interest- Right now, I'm taking tap dancing... okay it's related to music but it's completely different. I just need something to remind me that I am not defined by music alone.
Let friends in and ask for help- I have a friend who is married and his wife knows that I might call at any time. I mean I try not to call in the middle of the night, and I honestly sometimes forget about the time difference but the point is, he, up til now, has known more of my darkness than anyone else. Even knowing that I can call at any time is something that calms me when the storms of life get crazy.
Let the darkness in- Keeping my worries, however illegitimate they may be, at bay isn't actually a way to handle my anxieties. I let myself have dark days. I let myself grieve and cry and get angry. I let myself because I know there are just as many reasons to smile. And I don't want to fake my smile any more. Without working through my depression, I can't feel true joy. So I let myself go down there, just for a visit. Then I remember that there are reasons to come back.
Share my story- Obviously, I'm doing this here so you know this but still I need to mention it because it's something I have chosen to do with the hope that letting people know what I've gone through will help me from having to go through it again.

I had no idea starting out how long or short this post would be. I didn't know what I would put in and what I would leave out. You might feel there are holes in the story and you are welcome to ask me directly if there is something you want to know. There were a few moments where I had to fight myself to leave in something that was relevant but might also invite judgement. There were also a few times I had to take out a detail that I passive aggressively wanted to leave in and realized it was time to move on. As I approach my 28th birthday, I realize that I am not "healed" by any means. Mental health is a journey and I'm always one crisis away from a breakdown. I'm not perfect. So thank you for being with me on this journey. Thank you for reading all my thoughts regardless of how beautiful or ugly they may be. Thank you for loving me enough to even open up this link to read.

I'm overwhelmed by the number of people who have contacted me in the past 48 hours. People sharing their own stories of depression, of coping, of dealing with death, of self acceptance. I can only hope that my vulnerability will continue to allow you to be more open about your own life. I wish that my story might inspire you to review the relationships you create daily. And I pray that we all remember the importance and responsibility we have to share love and joy in our little corner of the world.