My Experiences With Major Depression

"Good humor is a tonic for mind and body. It is the best antidote for anxiety and depression. It is a business asset. It attracts and keeps friends. It lightens human burdens. It is the direct route to serenity and contentment." – Grenville Kleiser

As a young professional I thrived on perspectives like Kleiser’s. If I could be clever enough, witty enough, engaging enough, I might make people around me feel better, which would make me feel better. I imagined that’s what they needed—because I always needed it. I used to think that was my fate—to have to work harder just to belong and be perfect just to be accepted.

I didn’t notice the narrative I was following, and as I aged that formula slowly imploded. Responsibilities piled up: more friends to keep happy, more responsibilities at work, longer commutes, the body slowing down, relationships evolved into marriage which evolved into children. All good things, but all very resource intensive for somebody trying to outrun an impending sense of failure and doom at every turn.

Before long I could no longer out-hustle that sense of not belonging. Performance stumbled in a couple of areas, which led to guilt and shame and doubt. I couldn’t juggle it all, and I felt like I was watching a pileup in slow motion. I started expecting struggle and failure. I had been masking a problem that I could no longer hide.

A new experience emerged within me. I always feared I was different, less than everyone else, unworthy of love. And now my fears were finally being proven true. I spent more time feeling the truth of my “unbelonging,” which led to more and more despair, which turned into major depression.

I’m not saying “major” just to be dramatic. It is the clinical term applied to a cyclical feeling of unworthiness and hopelessness. Typically, life is enjoyable, but when the depression flares up the absence of motivation, persistence of self-doubt, and fatigue seem unrelenting. But learning to manage it has had far-reaching benefits—kind of like the curb-cut effect with accessibility. I would like to share some of what I learned here that colleagues and loved ones might find useful.

It snowballs quickly, and I am always the last to know.

When I am cold, hungry, happy, or hurt, I am the first to know. But when depression strikes, I am the last to know. As discussed in this LinkedIn post on depression, for much of my life acting on my gut was a good thing. Work hard. Don’t be late. Exercise now, not later. Be social. Learn to play ice hockey. Life was a series of instincts and responses, and when I followed my instincts, things worked out great.

But I trusted my gut even when it started telling me not to exercise, not to socialize, not to worry about eating well or getting enough sleep. From my perspective, I was doing what I always did: I had a thought, it seemed like a good idea, and I would act on it. I didn’t feel different or notice anything different for days, at that point I was feeling both depression AND the lethargy from several days of bad choices. It hit me all at once. That’s why people around me notice the depressive episode long before I do.

 The quick fixes repaired nothing.

My early experiments with managing depression were very unsuccessful. I resented the way I was feeling, I didn’t understand it, and I just wanted it to stop or at least let up a bit. Some things were effective. Immersive experiences helped—video games, long movies, sometimes traveling. But outside of those moments of “escape” the despair only got deeper. Some things that feel like a fix only delay what’s to come or even amplify the problem.

Asking for help was hard, but worth it.

When I am having a depressive episode, I tend to feel very guilty. My productivity and creativity are down. I feel like I am letting everyone else down. Imagine feeling that way … and then imagine talking openly about that at work. The risks of career-limiting repercussions were too frightening—and scared me away from asking for help.

But then I learned that when I hide a problem, I deny people the chance to show me what they are made of—not just the bad, but also the good. Even the most caring people can’t help if they don’t know. What if my boss and colleagues were able to offer a wealth of support, information, and personal experience?

I decided to disclose major depression to my manager and a small number of colleagues. They responded with personal stories, suggestions for help and support, and best of all, “How can I help?” It was such a relief.

Now that I feel deeply supported by this company, my manager, and colleagues, I’m inspired to do the best that I can, and especially to be supportive of colleagues facing their own challenges. I am also leaning more into the unexpected professional benefits of depression and ADHD, which can include bouts of intense creativity and inspiration that can be summoned and directed for good use. 

How I stay healthy today.

My brother and I came up with a simple framework we call “the four pillars.” I can never eliminate major depression even with treatment, but I can at least control four variables that minimize each episode: who I spend time with, what I put into my body, whether I exercise, and the quality of my sleep. But when I struggle, I focus on those four things that ensure I am at my best, regardless of what that “best” looks like. Taking shortcuts on any of those four things invariably deepens the depressive episode.

I hope others finds this recap of my experiences useful. I might not be the best person to look to for advice, but I do know that hearing other people’s stories was a great help to me.

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