Strength in Numbers

"The human heart tells us that we are more alike than we are unalike."  --Maya Angelou

Have you ever noticed that many of the things you are scared of aren't really as bad as you thought once you see them in the light of day?  Like the creature in the window at night--terrifying and looming in the shadows but just a tree branch when the sun comes up.  My biggest fear--and one that is shared by so many people brave enough to admit it--is that I'm just not enough.  Not smart enough, not pretty enough, not a good enough mother, wife, teacher, friend, nurse, you name it.  It took me the better part of 35 years, a patient husband, some therapy and good meds to figure that out but at least I know now.  But what helped me as much as any of those things was/is talking about it.

I like to talk, I talk all the time--often just to hear my own voice my husband would tell you--but I never talked about my fears.  The first time I remember being really depressed, and acknowledging that I was actually depressed, was my senior year in college.  I was crazy busy, over committed to extra-curricular activities, planning a wedding--oh yeah and trying to graduate from nursing school.  I didn't tell anyone.  I cried myself to sleep, when I could sleep, for days on end.  Stress ate, snapped at people, boo-hooed at commercials and sad songs on the radio but I didn't talk about it.  I was afraid that if I told people I was sinking they would think less of me--they would see that I wasn't enough.

It happened again (or maybe just continued) in the middle of my first year as a nurse.  I hated my job, hated being a nurse, wondered what the heck I had just spent 4 years and many thousands of dollars doing and what was I going to do instead.  Nursing was hard, and scary, and I was sure I would kill someone because I wasn't doing it right.  I didn't tell anyone.  I cried myself to sleep, when I could sleep, for days on end.  Stress ate, snapped at people, boo-hooed at commercials and sad songs on the radio but I didn't talk about it.  I was afraid that if I told people I was sinking they would think less of me--they would see that I wasn't enough.

About a year after I had my son I was right back in that same place.  My job was overwhelming before motherhood and got harder after.  I felt guilty when I was at home--I had soooo much work to do; guilty when I was at work--I should be with my baby.  I was failing everyone but I didn't tell anyone.  See a pattern here?  It got so bad that my husband asked me if I'd ever considered hurting myself or my baby.  That was my lowest point.  I finally made an appointment, sought counseling, took an anti-depressant, and started on a journey to recovery.  But, outside of my husband and my doctor, I still didn't tell anyone. 

One day in lecture, mental health lecture fittingly, a student asked if it was normal to consider driving off into the sunset at night and just leaving her life behind her.  It wasn't quite a suicidal ideation but I recognized that tone in her voice that said, "I just can't."  I started talking.  The relief on her face when she realized that she wasn't alone in her fears was payment enough for my disclosure.  She said, "I thought I was the only one" and I realiized that I had too.  I'd never talked about it because I was so certain that the fault lay with me.

That was a watershed moment for me--I'm not the only one!  I started asking questions and-- lo and behold-- all nurses feel terrified that first year, all moms worry they are failing their kids at one time or another!  There is nothing special or unique about me--I'm just as screwed up as the next person! 

I'll be 38 in a few weeks and I still worry, every day, that I'm not enough of something.  What's different now is that I don't see that as an inherent flaw in my personhood, I see it as human nature.  And when I get to feeling like I'm really not enough, I call somebody and talk about it.