you can't rush your healing

(as much as you'd like to)

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This one is a little more personal, but that’s a big reason I started this newsletter: to share the less glamorous parts of our lives and hopefully find solace in one another’s stories. When we share, we feel less alone. We are all just humans figuring it out!

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I am not great at being patient. Whether I’m waiting in line at the pharmacy, being placed on hold by the bank, anticipating the third season of White Lotus on HBO…or getting better. 

If I catch a cold and push through to tag along on a night out, I wake up extra tired and stuffy the next day. (Tissues and chicken noodle soup, pleaseee.) When I gave myself tendinitis last month, instead of giving my foot time to recover, I doubled down on walking around town…and accidentally doubled my healing time. 

This is a pattern. And so I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that speeding through my mental health hasn’t worked, either.

In 2021, following a string of *very* stressful life events, I became well acquainted with the fun trio that is anxiety, depression, and insomnia. (One feeds into the other, spiraling into a mind-numbing tornado that sort of wrecks your life.) After trying and failing, again and again, to feel better on my own, I realized I might need reinforcements.

I called my therapist, who suggested a low dose of antidepressants to help bring things back into balance. (Her exact words were that I was outside my “window of tolerance,” where our mental health is resilient enough to handle life’s surprises, challenges, and setbacks. Outside this window, even small amounts of stress can throw us way off. And I was way, way off.) I agreed to give them a try.

My doctor wrote a prescription, and I picked up a small paper bag at the pharmacy. The pills became part of my morning routine. And they worked: almost immediately, I began sleeping well and feeling like myself again. So after three months’ time, with the green light from my doctor, I tossed the rest of them and wiped my hands clean.

Or…so I thought. Eventually, the symptoms crept back in: difficulty sleeping, crying too often. My mind raced and couldn’t calm itself. When I reached back out, my therapist informed me that most doctors advise staying on for at least six to nine months, so the medication can work its full effects. In other words, I stopped too soon.

I sank in my chair.

My doctor, who prescribed it, should have told me this; I wish she hadn’t let me come off so early. But I also wish I hadn’t been so eager to stop.

I understand why I felt so antsy: the sooner I quit, I thought, the sooner I’d be back to my old self — and that couldn’t come fast enough. But healing takes time. It also takes support, which can look like many different things: a therapist, a prescription, chicken noodle soup, a friend’s shoulder to lean on as you hobble down the road.

Now, the second time around, I’ve just reached nine months on the medication. Again, I feel tempted to end here. I don’t love the chalky taste first thing in the morning; some side effects are less-than-ideal; I’ve hit the minimum time recommended by doctors…also, one less trip to the pharmacy? Yes please!

But if I’m honest with myself, I know it’s still too soon. When I consider stopping, I become anxious about my sleep problems returning; I worry I won’t be able to enjoy my future plans if they come back. I worry I won’t be able to enjoy my life. My intuition nudges me to stay supported a little longer. And that’s okay. We can stay here, supported, as long as we need. 

Healing is not always linear. It dips and curves, folds and bends. Similarly, the inputs and outputs of mental health are not always straightforward. (For some, SSRIs can actually cause sleep issues...it is very confusing.) What works now might not work for you later; what works for your sister might not work for her friend. It is nebulous. It changes. I know it’s possible that I could stop now and feel okay, but the potential risk of things falling apart again — once they finally feel so good — isn’t worth it.

To speed up my healing, I am learning to slow down; to choose patience as an act of love. If this resonates, I invite you to join me in being gentle and patient with yourself, too — you are too precious not to! (What’s the rush, anyway?!)

Love always,

Eden

P.S. Sending extra love to my mama, who is getting knee surgery for a torn ACL today — Mom, I’m wishing you all the love and patience in the world! <3

Being supported…literally