20 ways to climb out of a bog

I'm ready for happiness, I really am.

This week I played a game with my kid in Roblox where you just sink in different materials, from mud and quicksand, to jello and that ol’ fave non-Newtonian fluid of children’s books and science experiments, oobleck. Then you wash yourself off in a waterfall and go at it again. I spent about 20 minutes sinking. It felt great.

I don’t know if it’s grief, run-of-the-mill depression, anxiety-about-the-world, anxiety-about-my-life, or a neurodivergent need to catastrophize, but I’ve been having a rough time lately. I’ve had some wonderful moments with the kid, and a recent truly rejuvenating weekend away with some wonderful women, so it’s not like life itself has been miserable. And yet, here I am, elbow deep in a bog.

‘Tis me, the bog woman!

Last night, I was struggling to write in the local coffee shop, when I noticed that a tarot reader had set up a table near mine. Instead of doing my work, I went over for a reading.

I told her I was at a crossroads, creatively and career-wise, and uncertain about where to focus my attention and efforts.

She told me that she saw a hope for my future (phew), but not a lot of certainty, or, sadly, money. The cards were telling me to step outside of my comfort zone and follow my heart, but beyond that, the path was murky. Tell me something I don’t know, lady.

I enjoy tarot (if you haven’t read Alexandro Jodorowski’s The Way of Tarot, I can’t recommend it enough), but I don’t believe in as a form of divination any more than I believe in ESP or the power to bend spoons with one’s mind. And still, I was irked that she couldn’t just give me a bit of unambiguously good news.

Also me. Robust, swampy, strangely alluring.

My husband is an incredibly empathetic person. He’s also a fixer and eternal optimist who never dwells in the darkness (he is just like my mom). Sometimes, that leaves him itching to offer helpful, constructive ideas to pull me out of the bog, but he’s learned to pause and wait patiently while I lie in the muck for a bit.

I’ve been trying to follow the advice to “never worry alone,” lately. It doesn’t come naturally to me, but as I’ve been in the muck for longer than just a bit, you can consider this impulse to overshare about it a good sign. I think I’m ready to claw my way out of the decaying organic matter (or whatever is actually in bogs).

While I try to do that, here, in random order, are 20 things I like to hear when I’m sad.

1. I’m sorry that happened [or didn’t]. It sucks.

2. Do you want to talk about it?

3. I hate those people [places, things] too.

4. Should we fill our pockets with stones and walk into the lake together?

5. Artax, please! You’re letting the sadness of the swamps get to you. You have to try. You have to care. For me. You’re my friend. I love you.

6. You don’t have to worry alone.

7. I’m proud of you for trying so hard. 

8. Do you need a treat or distraction?

9. Here are some funny memes. 

10. It’ll get better. But maybe not today. Today can go jump in a bog. 

11. Let’s go to the spa.

12. Your mom would be so proud of where you are right now. 

13. That sounds scary. Is it scary?

14. Why don’t you take a nap? Whatever else you’re working on can wait.

15. I brought you a snack.

16. I made you a playlist.

17. Do you want to go for a walk?

18. You’re great just the way you are.

19. Focus on what’s real. Thoughts, often, are not real.

20. When you’re feeling a bit better, do you want me to help you make a plan to fix this?

<3