Depression and Self-Acceptance

It is 4:30 in the afternoon on a beautiful sunny day. Both cats are asleep on me. They are the reason I haven’t poured a second glass of wine.

I’m in cozy pajamas, sitting sideways with my legs stretched out on the couch. One cat cuddles between my shins. The other stretches across my thighs.

The conflicted guilty feelings I have annoy me.

I look out the sliding doors onto my balcony. I see light blue sky between bare-limbed trees.

I judge myself. People I admire and envy are not in their living rooms reading with their cats. They are on hikes. They are active. They are out of the house, out in the world.

They have courage. They have motivation. They are Better.

I am Worse Than. I am lazy. I am scared. I am unmotivated. I am any number of things a person shouldn’t be.

I should be different. I should be better. I should be out walking. Exploring museums. Seeing friends. Seeing plays. Meeting people. Being active.

All of those things are a whole wide world of Not Me.

They are not who I am in my current incarnation. They are not who I am in my current stage of healing.

I stay cocooned in my home because this is where I am safe. The noise level and events are predictable and under my control. The company is easy. The scenery is soothing. Nothing jars my nerves or requires a reaction. Everything I do is acceptable.

I hope I’ll someday be one of those people who wants to go and do. Who likes being out of the home rather than being in it. That’s not me, though. And until that changes, if it ever does, that will have to be okay.

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