I was supposed to believe that this pill would alleviate my pain, my fears, my inability to function, my sadness and disconnection from the things I loved, my extreme and disturbing thoughts about life and death.
It took me a few minutes to swallow my pride before I could swallow the pill. I knew I was moving into unknown territory.
On paper, it didn’t make any sense for me to be experiencing a “major depressive episode,” as the psychiatrist had called it. People like me aren’t supposed to go through depression. Are we?
For over a dozen years I’ve been a successful yoga teacher, devoted to holistic health, to meditation, and to spirituality. I’m thriving in my job, with hundreds of beloved students in New York and Miami, working for a great company, taking people on retreats to beautiful places around the world, leading yoga teacher trainings and workshops, married to the love of my life, with a beautiful apartment and two loving cats, living in my favorite city surrounded by beaches and sunshine.
But there I was: struggling with the most basic decisions, like brushing my teeth, drinking water, taking a shower, getting out of bed. And nonetheless, I kept going, day after day.