Sunday, August 18, 2013

Climbing Back Up

You must do the thing you think you cannot do.
- Eleanor Roosevelt                                    

I know I've moaned about this before, but I haven't exercised in many, many months; and I've reached my highest weight ever- 162 pounds.

Yesterday, we went with our friends to Ithaca and one of our stops was Buttermilk Falls - a very beautiful place indeed with trails running up and down either side of gorgeous falls and natural pools. We decided to hike it. 

Going down was okay, but going up was no small feat - especially for me! The ascent is approximately 600 feet of mostly rock-hewn steps. Within the first few feet up, I was huffing and puffing. By about 100 feet up, I had long trailed behind the others and didn't think I could make it. My husband stayed back with me and even offered to pick me up in the car at the bottom of the falls. But I decided I would finish what I started, even if it killed me! 

As I continued on, what I began to notice was that when I thought of the entire walk up and how much I had left to go, my legs felt like lead. I simply could not go any further and had to take a break. On the other hand, when I mentally took it one stair set at a time, hiking up became manageable. 

After about 45 minutes, I finally made it; and the triumph felt good.Today my legs are sore - a good sore - and I feel ready for another long walk this afternoon.

It is very true, You must do the thing you think you cannot do. It builds character - and muscle!

Ditching Isolation

One of the hallmark symptoms of dysthymia {long-term, low-grade depression} and major depression is isolation; and I isolated for years. Don't get me wrong. I liked people. In fact, I spent a lot of time with friends and family over the years that I was dysthymic - but, it was always difficult for me on some level. I felt desperately inadequate and unworthy - not because anyone made me feel that way, but because my head made it so. 

Then of course, when in the throws of major depression, all I wanted was to be alone, swaddled in the darkness and misery I felt I deserved. I lacked the energy for socializing and certainly didn't want to impose my miserable self on others. 

In recovery, things have changed dramatically. 

This weekend, my family and I are visiting good friends in New York - friends that I haven't seen since my hospitalization. They are friends whom I love and have always enjoyed being around, but this time I feel even more present than ever before. I find myself enjoying the full richness of our friendship and time spent together. In a way, I feel like I've poured back into my skin again. I am fully myself; and it feels good! It feels like coming home.


From our outing to Ithaca today: is good!