All these years I’ve never really had an appreciation for nature. Birds annoyed me. Scenery was boring. I hated raking the leaves and shoveling the snow. But most of all, I just didn’t really like being outside. There was too much pollen, too much dirt, not enough things to do. Weak excuses, I know! I just wasn’t the most active kid. I would ride my bike around the neighborhood in the summer. And I would snowboard or tube in the backyard (or hit the slopes, of course) in the winter. As a family, we would go on the occasional hike or camping trip. But aside from that, I spent most of my free time indoors—I preferred to be in my room.
Growing up, my mom used to take us to the library all the time. I can’t say what drew me in exactly, but naturally, I gravitated towards fantasy and sci-fi—that interest has only strengthened over time. That being said, fantasy being what it is, I spent many a day immersed in wild landscapes. Reading about forests and oceans. Over the hill and through the woods. You know, heroes embarking on adventures and all that. Which should lend itself to love and appreciation for nature, right? Wrong! I liked nature in theory, but not in practice. I wandered the deserts and the plains on the page, but couldn’t be bothered to do it in person.
Fast forward to high school. Some things changed, but many others didn’t. I remember reading (and writing) quite a lot of poetry all four years. It was my first love, even if I didn’t want to admit it for a long time. There’s one unit that’s still particularly vivid in my mind. It was the winter of sophomore or junior year, the entire term was spent reading poetry. We started with the Brooding Romantics, then we moved onto Transcendentalism, and we ended with a third movement that I can’t seem to remember the name of (Realism maybe?). As you would expect, many a poem touched upon flora and fauna, scenery and wildlife. Sure, each one was super descriptive, sounded great, and was beautifully crafted, but I never truly understood it. I could picture the scene in my mind, but I could’t see the appeal in it, or appreciate the beauty. Nature just didn’t seem to resonate with me. I tried again and again to see things from their perspective but I just couldn’t do it.
The fact of the matter is I just didn’t have much appreciation for life in general. I wasn’t one to count my blessings or see things with rose-colored lenses or consider the glass to be half-full. I was more likely to mope or feel sorry for myself or focus on what I lacked. My vision was clouded by my hurt. I had too much bitterness and resentment in my heart to allow for love to come in. And without love, there is no appreciation. I know that full well now. Without love, everything dies. Without love, there is no joy or happiness or peace. Without love, there is only pain and hardship and bitterness. Everything needs love, everything starts with love.
I understand that finding a romantic partner is particularly difficult for some. But that’s not actually what I’m trying to get at here. When I say that, “everything starts with love,” I mean that everything starts with self-love. Unfortunately, that is easier said than done. I dunno what it is about our culture, but we’ve conditioned ourselves to be our biggest critics. We’re prone to self-deprecation and devaluing our worth. I suspect that oftentimes started out as a defense mechanism to protect us from bullying. “If I’m laughing at myself, then it means that they have no power over me.” But where do we draw the line? When does the self-deprecation go too far? When does it start to damage our ego and effect our self-confidence? I wish I knew the answers to these questions when I was younger. Perhaps my teenage years wouldn’t have been as rough.
But as I’ve said before, we’re not able to change the past. Our trauma and our scars are a part of us, just as our passions and our interests are also. The good and the bad make us who we are. We can’t have strength without weakness. Positive without negative. Healing without hurting. That being said, my depression and my anxiety are a part of me. It’s a part of my history, but it’s also a part of my story. Even though I’ve found my healing, these are things I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life. Depression isn’t a thing that’s over and done with, it’s something I have to fight every single day of every goddamn year. Despite what it seems, acknowledging that doesn’t mean that you’re giving it power. But rather, that you accept and love yourself as you are: the good, the bad, and the ugly. Your mental illness(es) are part of your story, but they don’t define you.
For a long time, that wasn’t something that I believed. Instead, I let the voices win. I bought into the lies that they told me. You’re worthless. You’re useless. You won’t amount to much. It seemed that my depression and anxiety would get in my way at every turn. And so they did until I finally ended up in therapy. Life was quite dark for me, trapped beneath a cloud of despair. I’ve vowed to never return to that melancholic state, but it’s a daily struggle for me (and for people like me). That’s just how it goes.
I’ll have good months and bad months, good weeks and bad weeks, good days and bad days. Some days are easier than others, some days I can be strong in my resolve. Others are tougher. But regardless, I will still fight. Battles will be hard fought, but the war will never be won. But that doesn’t mean that I give in. I just need to keep picking myself back up, dusting off my shoulders, and continuing forwards. Instead of cowering like I used to, I stare down my mental illness and say, “not today, motherfucker. I am in control of this life, not you.” Just because I’ve been dealt that card doesn’t mean that I’m going to let it hold me back. Not anymore. The going has been tough, and will continue to be, but I’ll be better for it in the end. I only come out of this stronger. Better. Wiser.
So, as I grow older, the acceptance and love for myself also grows. And with that comes appreciation. Appreciation for the things around me. Everything that I’ve been blessed with. The good and the bad. My strengths and my weaknesses. The lessons that I’ve learned. The trauma from my past. The brightness of my future. But most importantly, I’ve finally started to understand the thing that never made sense to me before. I’m finally able to appreciate the beauty of nature. The birds chirping in the morning. The scent of flowers in bloom. A trek through the forest. A walk along the beach. The stunning vistas from the mountaintops. Life can be abundant, and full of joy. It can be happy and fulfilling. It can also be busy and stressful. So don’t forget to take a moment to smell the roses.
JHUMWRITES—A Mental Health Blog 