I'm sorry I said I was fine.

Remember the mean girls, from high school?

Mercifully, that torment falls away when we graduate, doesn't it. For most people. The sweet relief of growing up releases us from the grip of petty name-calling and we can walk effortlessly down a hallway without fear of insult or injury.

But I kept one of mine.

I didn't mean to. I didn't know.

She's here all the time. She's here now. She is clever and perceptive and knows me intimately; She knows where my most vulnerable places are. Every time I walk through my bathroom I have to walk past her, head down, eyes to the floor, hoping desperately that she won't notice me today. But she does, she always does. And her cruelty is unmatched.

You should probably stay home. You shouldn't let anyone see you like this.
You are disgusting, don't you know how to take care of yourself?
You can't wear that, you don't have the body for it.

You are unworthy.
You are human garbage.
You don't have anything left to offer this world.
Why can't you just get your shit together?
You are useless.

I've been hiding for most of February, from friends, from the world, from the truth. I turned 30 this month, and did my best to celebrate it. In earnest, I really don't care about age or the numbers attached. I had no dread or fear for this birthday, and it has been otherwise very low on my radar of significant things that warrant worry or emotional energy. It was a good day.

But February has been a hard month.

I've had an old friend visiting. My bully. My mean girl. And I can hear her constantly. When I'm smiling and joking, when I'm speaking with you. When you're speaking with me. She sits beside me when I'm driving and lays next to me in bed. She lives in my head and has a direct line to my heart and she makes my bones ache. She makes my self ache. Tangibly ache; like the agony of losing a loved one, I am compelled by grief and mourning and crushing self loathing and spend my days weeping softly in the shower or wailing from my couch as my children watch Netflix in the other room.

If I said I was fine, I was lying.
I'm sorry.

She told me you didn't want to hear it. She told me you might say something insensitive and make it worse. She told me you didn't have time for me. She told me you had problems of your own, and that I've already asked enough of you and I shouldn't be so selfish.

It's as though I am living behind glass as the life I've worked so hard to build carries on around me. I can see my husband and my children smiling, but I can't hear their laughter. I can't reach out and touch them no matter how agonizingly I want to, how hard I try. I can see my friends and my book club talking and laughing, and sometimes the autopilot in my head says something that sounds meaningful and sincere, but I can feel a terrible distance and I feel like it's painfully obvious to everyone.

But no one can hear my cries for help, and the glass is so thick they can't hear me banging from the inside.

When I am asleep I do not miss my life, I do not miss my family. Because I am asleep. But depression is so different. Depression is being awake but having to watch from a distance. I'm not allowed to participate, I'm not allowed to feel the joy and fulfillment from my hard work.

And if I'm being honest, on my worst days, it feels worse than death.

I have never died, so I can't say for sure. But it is a special kind of torture, watching your life go by, powerless to break free, gasping for air. It is a torture so crushing that in its most gripping moments it has you absolutely convinced that you will feel this pain forever.

And sometimes I just want a rest, you know?
I'm tired.

I'm tired of fighting. So in the darkest depths my mind rolls over the fantasy, just ever so lightly.

What if I could sleep until this was over?

But it will never be over.

Then what if I sleep forever?





But 

I will not let her win.

I will take my life back.

And it is going to be hard.

My husband and I are working together on some strategies to combat this visitor, and are going to be implementing them in the weeks, months, years ahead. Probably for the rest of my life.

I'm going to get up early and take some time to centre myself before I am thrust into my day.
I'm going to nourish my body with life-giving foods.
I'm going to engage in my passions and create things that feed my soul.
I'm going to take a walk outside every day regardless of the cold because I do not have the luxury of winging it anymore.

That's what it comes down to, really.

I can't be spontaneous anymore. I can't fly by the seat of my pants. I need strategies, systems, and structures. I've lived within them before and I've thrived but when I thrive I forget about their importance and they fall away. Like vitamins you forget to take when you're feeling better.

I need to come to terms with the fact that I have a lifelong illness that I'm not just imagining. I have a serious and potentially fatal disease that I need to learn to live alongside and not deny anymore. This is my reality. I need to listen to my body, and speak to my best self, and she needs to speak kindly back. Always.

I've been in desperate need of a map to lead me out of this darkness, but I've had it all along.
The journey just seems so long and so impossible.

But. My family deserves to keep me.
And I can do hard things.

So it's time to fight.

Cut it off

Depression and anxiety have absolutely transformed me.

I am a completely different person than I used to be.

Every time I looked in the mirror, and saw that girl with the same hair and the same clothes and the same makeup, the discrepancy made me lurch in anguish. Why can't I be her? I asked myself. Why can't I will myself out of this fog and move through time? The girl in the mirror was happy and uncomplicated. She was ignorant and complacent. Life, for her, was easy.

But I'm not her anymore. And pretending to be her was going to kill me.

I have longed for short hair for years and years. Sierra, Whitney, Erin, Monica, Christine. These women came before me and courageously shed their security blankets. And how I longed to be in their shoes. I photoshopped myself with short hair, I watched youtube testimonials, I read articles on the pros and the cons.

Turns out what it took was having absolutely nothing to lose.

What did people see when they looked at my perfectly styled loose-curls, my expensive ballayage treatments? What message was I sending the world? What message was I sending my daughter about women when I stood in front of the mirror for hours with a blowdryer and a flat iron? What message was I sending my sons?

The truth is that I am complicated. I am a strong advocate for human rights, including women's and the LGBTQ* community. I am an advocate for animal rights, environmental protection, and being kind over being right. I am bisexual. I'm a struggling vegan. I have severe depression, anxiety, and depersonalization/derealization disorder. I believe in science. I am an artist. I am a kickass mother.

And I am all out of fucks to give about my hair.

I love you, but everything you're saying is wrong.

Ever since I finally received my official diagnoses for my mental health conditions, telling people "what I have" has been a considerably easier task. If they're kind, which they almost always are, they ask what these words mean and usually I willingly go into detail about the ways in which these conditions affect my day-to-day life. There is one trend, however, I have found more prominent than ever before and a pattern that is becoming a little too unbearable; Nobody knows how the hell to respond. But... they know they can't say nothing.

I suffer from unspecified depression as a result of my Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) which means, at its core, I worry about absolutely everything. A lot. Like a lot a lot. I often get so trapped in my thought spiral that I leave my body entirely. My worries are completely unprecedented, irrational, and excessive. And when I spend every waking minute of my life obsessing over my worries, it leaves me exhausted, burnt out, and inevitably depressed. On top of everything else, I also struggle with Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder, which is really the icing on the cake. This is my situation right now, and quite frankly it is close-to-magical to have a name for it.

I feel so supported and fortunate to have so many people in my life who care about me and I know that some of the things I'm about to say might ring a few bells for you. That's why it's so important to me to remind you that I know that anything you've said or done has been from a place of love, however misguided. If you've ever said any of the following statements to me, know that I took no offence and hold no grudges against you as a result.

I am on a track to healing and always doing everything I can to find balance and manage my symptoms while maintaining my relationships and taking control of my life back.

But... if it's okay with you... here are a few phrases I could probably live without.

"Let me know if there’s anything I can do."

I won’t. One of the most excruciating parts of depression is knowing what a perfectly huge burden I am on my loved ones. I am so painfully aware of how difficult it can be to love me or remain a part of my life. Most of my friends and family have to “take care of” me from time to time and this thought keeps me up at night. So given the choice between agonizing in the dark by myself or asking someone for help, I will choose the former every time. Sometimes I just want people to pretend I don’t have a mental illness, so by reaching out for support I’m just reminding them what a burden I am and (in my mind) pushing them farther away. I will paddle in the raging waters by myself until I pass out or find land. However, my survival instincts are still functioning so if someone were to throw me a life jacket, I wouldn’t hesitate to take it. I’m trying to learn how to ask for it, but for now it is almost impossible for me so if you are able to give it without being asked, or even just text me once in a while to let me know you haven’t given up on me, that’s really all I need.

"I think I have a touch of that."

You don’t. This isn’t the flu, and these aren’t common symptoms of the human condition. When I tell you I have GAD, and you say, “Yes, I worry about a lot of things, too.” then you probably aren’t really listening. My conditions are excessive, spontaneous, and irrational. They are often debilitating and deeply painful and colour every moment of my life and when you suggest that “you have what I have” you are ending the conversation and preventing any possibility of learning more. You are essentially saying, “I already know everything about that.” And so you are not only devaluing my experience, you are also suggesting that it is common and “nothing special.” I by-no-means think I'm special, but I do think my personal experience is my own, and different from anyone else's. So unless you've been diagnosed with the same conditions (and even if you have) you probably don't know exactly what I'm going through. I know you want to relate to me in order to connect with me, and I really do appreciate that, but in the future a better response is to ask specific questions about my experience, listen well, and tell me that it sounds really hard. Some other phrases to choose instead include, "If that's anything like what I've gone through, it must be tough" or "I experience similar things, so I know how important it is to tell you that I'm here for you."

"You’re being a bad friend."

I already know that, and I don’t mean to be. I can see how much my illness and your feeling of helplessness hurts you, and I assure you it hurts me all the more knowing that. But with my mental health, it moves in waves and sometimes I need to hole up in a cave for a while until I’m feeling ready for human contact. So sometimes I can’t be everything you need me to be, and I’m really sorry for that. But it’s never something you’ve done or said, and I’m not freezing you out. In all honesty I probably don’t even realize how much time has passed since the last time we spoke. If you are able, reach out to me. I will almost always reach back. And I do hope that one day I’ve got enough of a handle on this thing that I can return the favour. I assure you, I am working on it.

"Everyone gets sad."

Of course they do. I know that. Depression is different, though. Sadness is an effect of a cause. Depression usually has no cause. Everything could be going perfectly well on a beautiful sunny summer day, but I’ll still look in the mirror and feel like a ghost is looking back at me. I will still walk through my home and touch my things and wonder how they got there, where I am, and how I will ever escape this prison. Knowing there’s no cause exacerbates the condition, because there’s no solution. So the thought runs through my head over and over, “Look around you, everything is fine. Why can’t you just be normal and enjoy things?” And it sucks. What I wouldn’t give to just be regular, ol’ sad.

"Have you tried ______?"

I have. Twice, probably. Thank you so much for caring about my wellbeing and wanting to offer a solution, I know it comes from a place of love and I really appreciate it. But I’m currently doing everything available to me to battle this monster and your suggestion actually makes me feel like you think this is a simple problem with a blanket solution. And sadly, it is so much more than that. If there’s something you have tried that eased the pain or you personally know someone who has made considerable progress, feel free to tell me about it. But please don’t be offended if I politely decline your advice. And if you think some time at the spa would be helpful, please feel free to invite me along on your next trip.

"So why is this happening? What caused this episode?"

Probably nothing. Probably absolutely nothing. What’s most likely is everything is great in my life and I have absolutely no complaints and also I hate myself and everything around me and want to curl up in a ball in the dark forever. Actually, reminding me of the fact that there’s no reason for the way I’m feeling makes me feel worse. Sometimes I actually feel like I need to make up a reason, just to satisfy the concerned party's need for one. If there was a problem to be solved or an event that could be prevented, don’t you think I’d have done that by now? There is no reason, other than genetics, for why I’ve stumbled into a pit again. But I could use some company while I’m down here. Or a snack, if you’ve got one.

A letter from my daughter on the day she is born

I became a feminist the day I found out I was going to have a baby girl, though not really, because I've always been a feminist - I've just never really known it. Feminism is the belief that men and women should have equal rights and opportunities, which makes it sort of a misleading word since it contains the prefix "fem" which implies some sort of female supremacy or something. When I tell people I'm a feminist, often the assumption is that I feel that women are superior, or are somehow owed more than their male counterparts, but in reality it's just about equality on all fronts. And it was never really important to me until that fateful day.

I grew up with what would have been considered at the time very progressive parents. They were open minded, and not too prickly about social standards and stereotypes. They didn't concern themselves with what others thought too much, or outward appearances. I never felt the sting of inequality growing up; Pink frilly things were never thrust upon me unless I asked for them, and I wasn't expected to play with "traditionally girly" toys unless they were specifically requested. I had five brothers, and played with their toys as much as my own. I wore pants and got dirty outside all day, and I also played with baby dolls and Barbies and owned one very nice, shiny, princess dress that I never let my friends wear when they came to visit. I was encouraged to read as much as I could, run as much as I could, and ask whichever questions I wanted to ask without fear.

I was exposed to a lot of new things when I started school, and some opinions I didn't share. Sometimes societal pressures weighed on me, and sometimes when I picked out my back-to-school clothes I let the opinions of others influence my decisions, but I was more often drawn to things that made me happy and comfortable, and activities that felt right for me. I am so grateful to my parents for laying the foundation for me to become whoever I wanted to be, and haven't thanked them enough for that.

I'm a creative, introverted homebody so the principles of feminism have never been very important to me. I've never felt an urgency to fight for equality because I don't feel like inequality is changing my life very much. I've never really taken a moment to really think about it though, honestly. The day I found out I was going to have a daughter, I realized I didn't have the luxury of my selfish perspective on these issues anymore. I realized that day that I had to fight this fight and stand up for this cause in her place so that one day maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't have to. I was lucky enough to live a life relatively unmoved by my sex, but I couldn't be sure she would, and the only thing I could do to help make sure she could be whoever she wanted to be was adopt these principles, get comfortable with these conversations, and try to lead by example the life of a strong, independent woman.

I'm still trying to find a balance. Sometimes I'll go off on a feminist rant to my best friends who smile and shake their heads at my intensity. I worry that I'm becoming that annoying person, you know the one, who can't talk about anything without bringing it all back to these core principles and concerns. I don't want to always be standing on a soapbox, and I want people to take my causes seriously. I also don't want people to think I hate pink (I love it), or have anything against women whose genuine hearts desires just coincidentally line up with traditional gender roles (I'm a stay-at-home-mom, too, and it's all I've ever wanted in life!) I just want boys and girls to have equal claim to all of the colours, and women to have the option of going back to work without judgement. Which unfortunately means sometimes being that annoying person whining about how all little girls clothes are form fitted and ruffly, and how ridiculous it is that there are "girl" Legos - at least until I can figure out a balance that's right for me.

I started writing this letter in my head on that fateful day, and have been streamlining it and editing it on an ongoing basis. It will never be perfect, but I think it's as close as I can get it to how I'd like it to be for now. Some of my earlier drafts swung too far in one direction, and then course corrected too far in the other, but this one I feel falls right in the middle, which is a great starting place for a new human, don't you think?

And with that, I give you a letter from my daughter, on the day she is born.

Hello, World!

Today I was born a female, and there’s never been a better time than right now! The world is filled with strong female role models and heroes, and giant leaps toward equality are being made each and every day!

Even more important is that I was born a brand new human being. I am a clean slate, a fresh start, and a package bursting with potential to be anyone or anything and I can’t wait to discover what my unique traits will be. One day I’ll be old enough to develop strengths and weaknesses, likes and dislikes, but for now I’m just a tiny new human, completely unbiased and untouched, ready to soak up the magic of this universe like a sponge.

This is such an important time in my life because everything I do and see and hear is for the first time, and it will all help me to develop the opinions and beliefs I will have one day. Everything I’m exposed to will form the person I become, and I deserve to experience this world without limitations or stereotypes. So, that being said, until I am old enough to have preferences and interests of my very own, here are a few ways you can keep my world open and bright for me, ripe for the picking.

1. Let me enjoy all of the colours.

Pink is a beautiful colour. It is prairie sunsets and strawberry ice cream. It is my older brother Oliver’s favourite colour, and one day it might be mine too! But my favourite colours may also be blue like the sky or green like the grass, or yellow and orange like the autumn leaves. Until I am old enough to pick my most favourite colours, let my toys and clothes reflect all of the colours of the world equally. I do not need pink and purple versions of things simply because I am a female, and a blue t-shirt or Christmas stocking will not turn me into a male simply because it is blue.

2. Let me be fancy when the occasion calls for it.

Sometimes, an event calls for a fancy dress. There is a time and place for frills and sequins, glitter and lace. Everybody has a little bit of fancy clothes hanging in their closet for special occasions, but nobody has only fancy clothes. I only need a little bit, just like everybody else, and on a day-to-day basis I’m sure I’ll be alright wearing comfortable clothes that don’t limit my exploration and experience of my world. One day I may be naturally drawn to dressy outfits, or inspired by my favourite characters and want to dress like they do, but until then, if you’d like to buy me clothes, a great question to ask yourself is, “Would I buy something like this for her mom?” If the answer is no, maybe try and choose something less frilly, less sparkly, and more practical for my everyday adventures. My brothers don’t wear suits all of the time, and I don’t need to wear dresses all of the time either.

3. Call me beautiful, but also call me smart.

Nicknames like Princess can be fun sometimes. If I act like a princess, or enjoy wearing dresses and crowns, that would be a very suitable nickname for me. Telling me I’m beautiful is also nice, because as a human being that is abundantly loved, I am most certainly filled with beauty. My mother’s most used nickname for my older brothers is Beautiful, and they adore it because it reminds them that their intricate inner workings are at the very least a wonder to behold. But if you are going to comment on my looks, remember that much more important are my heart and my mind. Tell me I am kind when I’m being kind, and tell me I am clever when I am being clever. Ask me about my interests and the new discoveries I’ve made. Remind me that I have the potential to be strong and brave. Call me a leader, a warrior, and when you call me Beautiful, I hope what you really mean is that I am filled with beauty.

4. Let me play with all of the toys.

My older brothers’ favourite toys are dinosaurs and trains, which means our house is bursting with them. I’m going to be surrounded by them, which means I’m probably going to like playing with them. Everything around me will seem new and exciting because I will never have seen it before, and I’ll crave the learning and growing that comes from experiencing things for the first time. One day I may be drawn to things like play-makeup and costume jewellery. I might be drawn toward baby dolls and easy bake ovens, flowers, butterflies, unicorns. But until I am old enough to know which toys I like the best, let me choose for myself what my interests are, without assuming what they will be. No toy is gender specific, and I might enjoy playing with a race car as much as I enjoy playing with a baby doll. 

Above all else, love me for who I truly am. Praise my strengths and help me work on my weaknesses. Give me the freedom to choose for myself who I’d like to be, and how I’d like to impact this world. Guide me so that I may make good decisions, and become a kind, independent person. Introduce me to every new and good thing this world has to offer, without limitations based on sex or cultural assumptions. I want to be excited about being a female in this world, but I’m going to need your help with that.

I am a brand new human being, and I can’t wait to discover this incredible world and live each day of this complex and glorious life, with your support and guidance and love.

Thank you!

- Penny

Penelope Wilde - A Birth Story