The last time I wrote about my depression was February 2021 – just over two years ago. Since that post, I have only written two other blogs. It’s not that I don’t want to write, just that it has been difficult to do so. I’ve written so many blogs in my head over the last couple of years, I’m glad that I have the time and capacity to sit down now and do some writing.

Thinking about sitting down to write, I am again sitting in a room in Victoria Clinic having maintenance TMS for my depression. This is the eighth visit to the Victoria Clinic, and I think I’m now settling into a routine of maintenance.

I came in Friday after work and will leave tomorrow morning, Tuesday. Really, just a weekend of treatment.

Before I get into the current phase, let me back it up a bit, as so much has happened to all of us since I last wrote.

The medical intervention for my depression took a real toll on me. There is no doubt at all that the TMS has helped me ‘find myself’ again. I feel like it has come at a huge cost to me, a cost that has been well and truly worth it.

I was never able to really return to my work at the ASRC. I did try, and ultimately decided that it was beyond my current scope. It was stressful to leave, I fought so hard to stay in the role; however, it gradually dawned on me that I wasn’t able to do the role justice, this wasn’t fair to the people I lead, worked with and the people who came to the ASRC for help. My separation from work was ugly and, possibly, one of the lowest points in my life. I left feeling misunderstood, rejected and alone. It has taken me a long time, and possibly still more time, to come to terms with that.

One thing that was evident to me, through the battle of leaving, I was no longer cut out for an executive role. That was a hard reality to face.

I did say to myself, when I left Family Life, that I would never return to a management role. Then, the very next job I took was a management role! I really should have listened to my inner self.

I loved my job at Family Life and the ASRC, I really did. I was good at it. Not only that, but I loved leading, I loved working with dedicated people, supporting them, and making a real difference in the lives of the people who came to our doors for help and assistance.

It was heart-wrenching for me to come to understand the price I was paying was too high. My mental health was suffering in a major way. Even though I had the drive and the passion for my work, depression and anxiety were significant barriers that worked away in the background, grinding me down, until I just stopped.

I took a break. There was a little money in the bank, and Michael was supporting me. It was a safe space for me to be. Uncomfortable, but safe.

Then gradually, as the sun started to shine every morning again, I knew that my next job needed to be radically different. Low-key, no stress, part-time and no strategies!

then on I get on my three-wheeler electric delivery vehicle and deliver mail to a commercial/industrial area. I’m home by midday, have a nana nap and ready for the next part of the day.

My daily stress is misdelivering a letter and batting off the occasional snappy Jack Russell.

I do at times miss the work I was doing. I wish I had something that would let me use the skills I’ve honed over so many years, maybe one day, for now, I’m happy being a hyper-organised Postie.

I wasn’t really prepared for the ongoing impact of my mental health. I sort of thought I was ‘cured’ after a couple of intense treatments. I’ll get there one day, for now, I will continue to focus on healing, I don’t know how long that takes any more. I recall the disappointment I felt when I realised I was slipping again, the dark clouds gathered once more. This time, I’m hoping that the early warning signs have helped get me here sooner. Being aware of my own feelings can be difficult, self-deception can be pretty easy. Listening to others can be frustrating. Sometimes those closest to me, know stuff about me, before I even know myself.

The treatment has worked well. The last few weeks, the thought of getting out of bed, and going to work has filled me full of dread. I would get home and spend my afternoon scrolling through YouTube shorts, waiting until Michael got home, so I could eat and go back to bed. This morning in one of our group sessions, another patient remarked that today was the first time he had seen me smile since I arrived. Michael, when he came to take me out to dinner last night, made much the same remark.

This morning, I awoke, smiling. Up and at ’em.

It’s good to be back.