Part of the Family

I finally see the mean inner voices for what they are:
part of the family.
I’m never going to eradicate them.
Fear,
self-doubt,
self-criticism,
and depression
will always be in the car
in the road trip of my life–
a month from now,
a year from now,
ten years from now.
And that’s okay.
They can be here–
as long as they know their place.
They sit in the back.
They sit shotgun.
They are not the driver.
I repeat:
They are not the driver.

*Credit where credit is due: this poem is a paraphrase of a part of Big Magic, by Elizabeth Gilbert.*

Sometimes We Can Find Meaning, Even When We Can’t Find Happiness

“What’s the point of life
if you aren’t going to be happy doing it?”
is a lovely,
and often useful,
sentiment.

But for those of us with depression,
happiness isn’t always within reach.

My depression is so long-lasting
(I fear it may be lifelong),
that it has prompted me to ask myself,
“Is an unhappy life still worth living?”
“Is there a purpose to life beyond happiness?”

This morning,
a more effective question
for pushing myself to live intentionally
popped into my head:
“What’s the point of unhappiness
if you aren’t going to live
while doing it?”

(P.S. For my readers with depression: I know that sometimes, in deep bouts, “living” is completely out of the question. Sometimes, all you can aim for is surviving. That is okay too. <3)