My Life on Stress Leave: One Year Later

Walking away from that job was one of the best moves I have ever made. Life has been so much better since leaving all of those soul-crushing politics behind. The counselling and self-work have certainly helped, and I’m sure the medication is contributing, but leaving my job has had the most profound impact on my quality of life. As difficult as it was for me to accept help and to concede that going on stress leave was necessary and it didn’t make me a failure, the privilege of being able to do so is not lost on me. I'm grateful that I had the option to step away and shut down, I'm grateful for those three months. They gave me the clarity and confidence to stand up for myself and make a change. This new chapter has been challenging, but in an inspirational sense, not a defeated one. Which is certainly refreshing.

This time last year I was sinking. Fast. I had lost all hope of, and frankly, all desire for, feeling good about myself and enjoying my life. I desperately wanted it to all be over. I had stopped making plans for the future, I couldn’t even see a future, nor did I want one. I was just existing, biding time until the details of my plan were in place. I was writing letters, sorting out the legal stuff and gathering documents. It’s strange how that period of my life simultaneously feels so distant and so fresh. Although it didn’t feel drastic as it was happening, this past spring and summer brought about some big changes. I learned how to prioritize fun and rest, a concept that had previously been incomprehensible. I stopped putting myself in situations that fuel my anxiety and negative self-talk. I became more comfortable saying no and upholding my boundaries. And, after years of dreaming about it, I finally took the leap and started my own business. 

I fell back in love with summer. I realized that for the past few years, while I certainly coped better during the summer, I didn’t enjoy it. I wasn’t really happy, I was just less miserable compared to the rest of the year. This summer, I had fun. Like real, genuine fun. I felt true joy again. The type of joy that isn’t dampened by anxiety or guilt. It was busy, as summer always is, but I only made plans that would build me up, not tear me down. If it felt like an obligation, I didn’t do it. I also listened to my body and took breaks proactively so that I wouldn’t completely crash. One particular moment, which technically occurred in the first week of fall, was especially meaningful. I went to a concert, a big arena show, for the first time in many years. The headliner was my latest favourite artist that I had been wanting to see for awhile. As I stood there watching this incredible show (while also singing along at the top of my lungs of course) with my best friend beside me and the energy of the crowd radiating around the arena, it really hit me. I was still here. Life was good again. I felt that warm glow deep in my guts that I had forgotten even existed. I was happy. My mind flashed back to the previous winter when I thought my days were numbered. I hadn’t planned on being around for another summer and I certainly hadn’t expected to experience another moment like this one. That is also when it occurred to me that I had bought the tickets several months in advance, which meant I had actually planned for the future. 

This year, as the weather started to change and the final few warm sunny days slipped away, I got nervous. I could feel something inside me shifting. The descent was starting, the come down from the previous four months of fun weekend getaways, quality time with good friends, long sunny days on the water, scenic bike rides; It all came to an abrupt halt. Daylight hours were rapidly disintegrating and everyone was sinking back into their normal routines as the excitement of summer faded. The Darkness was fighting for my attention, trying to convince me to let it pull me down again. I was tempted. I found myself resurrecting old habits and old thinking patterns, and it scared me. It was like an old addiction trying to creep back in and take over. I knew I couldn’t go back to that place. I had to be proactive. 

I often resent how much time and effort I have to put into refuelling. I hate that I have to fight so hard to fend off The Darkness. Intellectually, I understand that I need to accept this about myself, that the more I resist, the harder I’ll fall. But acceptance has been tough. I wish I had more capacity. I am so envious of those that never seem to run out of steam, those that can have one quiet evening of rest and be fully recharged. For me, the process takes several days, sometimes weeks. It’s funny how we are all innately wired to compare ourselves to others. Strange that something so detrimental to our mental health can come so naturally. 

The guilt that comes with slowing down, that feeling of inadequacy, inefficiency and laziness, that’s the hardest part. Trying to talk myself out of feeling guilty doesn’t work, it only increases the fear and frustration; That’s when the old habits and harmful thinking patterns gain traction. So this year when I started to fall, instead of succumbing to my instincts and trying to fight the descent, I had to let it happen. I relied on all of the tools I had worked so hard to accumulate over the past year. I made counselling and massage appointments, I took a step back from my social life, I allowed myself to rest and I sat in the uncomfortable guilt until it slowly lost its power. I’m learning that rest and recovery doesn’t have to be dark. 

These are early days in what I am hopeful is my new post-suicidal life. My perspective has changed. I see now that I don't have to conform to the normal adult life. It is possible to operate outside the box and enjoy everyday life. Now when I think "wouldn't it be nice if I could..." instead of writing it off as a fantasy, I ask "why can't I? What's stopping me?". It won’t always be bright, but, like any big lifestyle change, I am optimistic that fighting off The Darkness will get easier and being happy will slowly become more instinctual.