This Time Tomorrow


"It" has a Name

OpinionStephanie Gorsky

This post is the second in a three part series. If you haven't read my first post, check out {breathe}.

So, I made a Doctor's appointment for my threenager (see definition, signs and symptoms here, ha) and decided that maybe I should book one alongside of him. I had noticed for months that I just wasn't able grab a thought. I would be thinking so many thoughts at any given time, but was never able to fully grab hold of a specific thought and think it through to the end. I had also noticed my emotions were out of whack and that I was no longer able to experience extreme joy or extreme sorrow. I felt very disconnected from my feelings which was something that I'd never felt before. I'm usually great at feeling and defining my emotions. I had also felt a deep rooted sense of worthlessness that spanned the majority of the last year. I knew I was a little bit off; I kept telling my husband that some days I felt "foggy" and other days I felt like I could more easily rationalize feelings and situations in my mind. But, for the most part, I felt really clouded. I felt like I couldn't keep up with my mind - let alone real life. 

So, I called to book the appointment. When the receptionist asked me what the reason for my visit would be I swear I heard crickets on my end.

"Hello?" she asked, probably wondering if we'd been disconnected.

It took me probably 20 seconds (that felt like 20 minutes) to muster up a voice crackling, "Well, I, uh, I've just been feeling really sad lately. I had a baby this year and I just feel...sad. I have a toddler too...Yeah, so, I just feel sad. A lot. Like, mostly all of the time that I'm awake." This woman. This sweet, sweet woman was just so lovely. She replied in such a gentle tone, "Awe. Ok! Well. We'll see you Wednesday morning!" 

* * *

So in we walk to the Dr's, standing to check-in at the front desk, B-girl screaming at the top of her lungs while throwing and spitting soggy veggie sticks everywhere #SnackTrapsSuck and PK going on about how he wanted the automatic doors to STOP OPENING because he had JUST GOT HERE and he WAS NOT READY TO LEAVE YET! (if you know PK, you'll laugh.)

I felt so flustered.

"Why am I here? Maybe I'm just feeling overwhelmed all the time because I put myself in trying situations like this exact one." < that, amongst many more, was my thought while dodging veggie sticks, verbally confirming my address to the receptionist while helping PK stack blocks he'd found and brought over from the designated child play area and filling out an electronic "Are You Feeling Anxious or Depressed" questionnaire form. (mercy)

* * * 

Fast-forward to when the nurse came out to s̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶m̶e̶ take us to the room where we would see the Doctor. "Maybe I shouldn't even mention it? Maybe I should just leave it, address why we're here for PK and go home? He's probably going to think you're crazy anyway... Yeah. Don't even mention it." 

I am so thankful for a Doctor (and a God) who asks me the questions I need to be asked when I don't want to be asked them. It's like when you're in school and the teacher asks, "Who wants to read the next paragraph aloud?" and  e v e r y o n e  looks down to avoid eye-contact with the teacher.
Don't pick me, don't pick me, don't pick me. 

"So, tell me, how are you feeling these days?" 

Sigh, he picked me

That question opened a whole can of tears. I began to list off all the emotions that I was feeling and all the things and areas where I believed the absolute worst about myself. I began to give language to and recite the words that I believed at that time, defined me: failure, incompetent, alone, ugly, unworthy, overweight, purposeless, demotivated, tired, just to name a few. After a couple minutes of explaining where I was at, he looked at me and said: "Well, I think you are definitely experiencing a bit of a depression." 

We dialogued back and forth about all my thoughts and feelings for as long as the kids would let us and then went our separate ways after his diagnoses and recommended intervention strategy.

I got in the car and took in a deep breath.

Just, breathe. 


It had a name now. It had a face and it had a description. My feelings felt justified.




I could finally see so clearly what I was dealing with and man, was it ever ugly. It's name is ugly. It's feelings are ugly. It's thoughts are ugly. 

Driving home, I mulled over everything that was exchanged between the Dr and myself. I hadn't had any initial response yet - I had just been thinking it through. When I got home and could sort through my thoughts while the kids napped and I realized I wasn't responding in fear or shame or hopelessness. It was actually the exact opposite: I felt confident.

I felt now that I knew exactly what I was dealing with, I could call on it's ugly name and release it from my body.
(I realize that statement may sound intense and extreme but if you know me, you know that those two words describe me well at most times.)

God's timing never ceases to amaze me.

The day I was officially told I had depression and had been struggling blindly with it for months since B-girl's birth was the day I allowed Jesus to free me from it and release it from it's hold over me. 

* * *


To be continued . . . 
Keep an eye out for part three soon :)