Are You Depressed, or Just in a Moment?

Something has happened to me in the last few weeks, and I’m not sure I like it. I am utterly unmotivated.

I try to write, and I stare at a blinking cursor. I aim to exercise, and I can only muster up energy for a walk. I drop off the kids at school and head back into my bed to scroll my phone or watch terrible dating shows. This is unusual for me; I’m typically a doer and productive.

Is something wrong, I wonder?

I think maybe not. Maybe, like a bear in hibernation, or a fish laying still on the ocean’s floor, I am just in a moment.

Perhaps I am changing; I’m not sure. I thought of this last evening, as the sun went down, and I was outside walking the dogs, not a soul in sight. I have taken up cooking, and I had a pot of vegetable stew simmering on the stove. It had been a long Sunday of soccer, church, basketball, and shopping with the kids. I felt strangely at peace out alone in the cold, and I looked forward to just coming home to my warm house, enjoying a meal and watching the news.

It occurred to me that this was different from my former self. First of all, I used to never really cook. I’d more like heat up things. My favorite meal to make for the kids was “The Golden Dinner,” comprised of chicken nuggets and French fries, all a shade of gold. Secondly, I had no interest in socializing. In the past, I’d love someone to pop-in for a glass of wine, or to chat on the phone, but I instead wanted silence.

Maybe I’m depressed.

You know those questions at the doctor’s office on the Depression Scale? Like the one where they ask if you’ve lost pleasure in things you used to enjoy? Well, for a moment, I might have. On the flip side, you could just view it as I’m maturing, or evolving, morphing into someone new. Maybe this isn’t a bad thing, or it’s just temporary. I mean, I did like my former self, the one I’ve known for nearly half a century.

I thought about how “back in the olden days,” women would cook, sew, take care of their kids, and blow the candle out before an early bedtime. That seems bleak. But I feel we’ve perhaps complicated things too much now. There is an expectation that we will go-go-go: work, raise kids, drive everywhere, have friends, socialize, accomplish something, get your nails done, fundraise for a cause, have fashionable clothes, work out, be a good wife, be a good daughter/son to aging parents, achieve.

I’m tired. Maybe I just want to put on leggings and a robe and crawl back into my nest.

Do not Disturb.

I am resting.

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