
According to the World Health Organization, 5% of adults suffer depression.
My earliest memories of stifling depression go back to the age of 7.
By stifling, I mean the kind of clinical depression that courses through your veins, colors every thought, and places such a metaphorical weight on you that you feel unable to move in both literal and figurative ways.
Depression is a disease of inaction, of paralysis. At least, that's how it manifests for me.
It's a part of myself I have hated, a part of myself I've hidden and combatted — with drugs, with sex, with working too much, talking too much, taking on more and more … and I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.
Because the more I do, the more I can hide the depression that's lurking beneath it all.
When it comes to other people who are struggling with mental health issues, I am empathetic; I am patient and compassionate.
But when it comes to my own depression, I am none of those things. I am the opposite — impatient, angry, intolerant.
Getting a handle on my depression took a long damn time. Today, I am on the proper medication; I have tools and knowledge that I didn't have even 10 years ago. Because of that, I have this unrealistic expectation that it's solved, and when my depression crops up despite all my armor, I feel confused, angry, and anxious — but most of all, disappointed in myself.
I recognize intellectually that it's unreasonable to hold myself accountable for brain chemistry that I hardly understand, let alone control. But I do. I feel responsible for it.
I also recognize that making yourself culpable for something you have no control over is cruel.
If I had survived cancer and the cancer came back, would I blame myself? If I'm honest, I might. Which is so messed up.
Part of my (admittedly dysfunctional) coping mechanism is control. If I control the situation, the emotion, or the circumstance, then I won't hurt. If I take drugs to mask the emotional pain, I'm in control. If I cheat to prevent the heartache of being left or cheated on (because, of course, I'm unlovable), I'm in control. If I work, work, work, and push and don't stop, I won't have time for the anxiety.
It's all a lie. Because my need to control puts me out of control.
One of my biggest life lessons that has come up time and again for me is compassion for self.
And it's a lesson that I am learning over and over. Because I am stubborn. Because my expectations for myself are ridiculous.
I have written and spoken a lot about the Reiki healing I have done for the past 18 months. My Reiki healer has repeated this message to me during nearly every visit or conversation we've had: "You don't have to be Superwoman. Show yourself some compassion."
What stops me?
In my work as an advice columnist and general advice giver to my friends, I have said so many times that the most significant form of self-care is to say "This is how I feel." And I'm pretty good at doing that — except when it comes to saying "I feel depressed." Why?
Because when I say this, I feel like I have failed. I know that's not a fact, but it is what I feel.
I still have moments and sometimes days that I think about suicide.
Even with all I have in my life. Even with all the love around me. Even with how very much I have to be grateful for. And when it crops up, I hate myself for it. Because you don't have a right to feel this way. Because you have so much. Because you are a mother. Because you beat this thing.
If I were speaking to someone else who felt this way, I would say, "It's OK. You can be 100% grateful for your life and still feel depressed. Depression is not a choice. Depression is a chronic mental illness, and it doesn't make you bad or broken or selfish."
And still, I struggle to believe that for myself.
But I am working on it.
With Reiki and with meditation, I am doing active work — cognitive behavioral stuff — to rewire those brain pathways. I am making decisions to consciously, continuously handle my depression, and I remind myself repeatedly that it's a marathon, not a sprint.
My default for so many years was to jump to one crystalized thought: I want to kill myself. Today, I am working on a new one: I want to have compassion for myself, even when I'm depressed.
And it's working.
This article originally appeared on Ravishly and is printed here with permission. More from Ravishly:
There's a reason why some people can perfectly copy accents, and others can't
Turns out, there's a neurodivergent link.
A woman in black long sleeve shirt stands in front of mirror.
Have you ever had that friend who goes on vacation for four days to London and comes back with a full-on Queen's English posh accent? "Oooh I left my brolly in the loo," they say, and you respond, "But you're from Colorado!" Well, there are reasons they (and many of us) do that, and usually it's on a pretty subconscious level.
It's called "accent mirroring," and it's actually quite common with people who are neurodivergent, particularly those with ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder). According Neurolaunch, the self-described "Free Mental Health Library," "Accent mirroring, also known as accent adaptation or phonetic convergence, is the tendency to unconsciously adopt the accent or speech patterns of those around us. This linguistic chameleon effect is not unique to individuals with ADHD, but it appears to be more pronounced and frequent in this population."
Essentially, when people have conversations, we're constantly "scanning" for information—not just the words we're absorbing, but the inflection and tone. "When we hear an accent, our brains automatically analyze and categorize the phonetic features, prosody, and intonation patterns," writes Neurolaunch. For most, this does result in copying the accent of the person with whom we're speaking. But those with ADHD might be more sensitive to auditory cues. This, "coupled with a reduced ability to filter out or inhibit the impulse to mimic…could potentially explain the increased tendency for accent mirroring."
While the article explains further research is needed, they distinctly state that, "Accent mirroring in individuals with ADHD often manifests as an unconscious mimicry of accents in social situations. This can range from subtle shifts in pronunciation to more noticeable changes in intonation and speech rhythm. For example, a person with ADHD might find themselves unconsciously adopting a Southern drawl when conversing with someone from Texas, even if they’ve never lived in the South themselves."
People are having their say online. On the subreddit r/ADHDWomen, a thread began: "Taking on accents is an ADHD thing?" The OP shares, "My whole life, I've picked up accents. I, myself, never noticed, but everyone around me would be like, 'Why are you talking like that??' It could be after I watched a show or movie with an accent or after I've traveled somewhere with a different accent than my 'normal.'
They continue, "Apparently, I pick it up fast, but it fades out slowly. Today... I'm scrolling Instagram, I watch a reel from a comedian couple (Darcy and Jeremy. IYKYK) about how Darcy (ADHD) picks up accents everywhere they go. It's called ADHD Mirroring??? And it's another way of masking."
(The OP is referring to Darcy Michaels and his husband Jeremy Baer, who are both touring comedians based in Canada.)
Hundreds of people on the Reddit thread alone seem to relate. One comments, "Omfg I've done this my whole life; I'll even pick up on the pauses/spaces when I'm talking to someone who is ESL—but English is my first language lol."
Sometimes, it can be a real issue for those around the chameleon. "I accidentally mimicked a waitress's weird laugh one time. As soon as she was out of earshot, my family started to reprimand me, but I was already like 'oh my god I don’t know why I did that, I feel so bad.'"
Many commenters on TikTok were shocked to find out this can be a sign of ADHD. One jokes, "Omg, yes, at a store the cashier was talking to me and she was French. She's like 'Oh are you French too? No, I'm not lol. I'm very east coast Canada."
And some people just embrace it and make it work for them. "I mirror their words or phrase! I’m 30. I realized I start calling everyone sweetie cause my manager does & I work at coffee shop."
This article originally appeared in May.