After a life-altering trauma, the author sought healing beyond conventional medicine. What followed was a demanding inner transformation—integrating fractured parts, rebuilding self-worth, and shedding inherited identities. Through somatic work, intuitive guidance, and spiritual practice, she championed a personal relationship with God, cultivated self-reverence, and learned to forgive, quiet the ego, and live from Love.
Just because I had made it out of the psych ward without being labeled “crazy,” and no longer desirous of committing suicide, did not mean that life was all sunshine and rainbows. The only measurable change incurred from my stay at the hospital was an increase in my daily sertraline consumption. Life was still business as usual—except now, it was noticeable that the antidepressant acted as a buffer between my experiences and the manner in which my body and mind responded to them.
I know it was recently reported that the SSRIs (Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors) don’t work the way the medical community once thought they did (surprise, surprise). All I can tell you is that they do something. From my experience with them, I’d say they act as a numbing agent, dulling whatever “bad” feelings I encountered. It didn’t get rid of them, or prevent them from happening; the antidepressant just made the sensations manageable to a degree. Manageable, yes—but not absent. I did still experience chilling despair and depression. At one point, I resorted to cutting myself as a way of coping with the pain. (Which, I suppose, could be viewed as an improvement over wanting to kill myself…but still not ideal.)
My therapist seemed more concerned with the fact that I had gotten shit-faced drunk while performing said cutting. Apparently, it was poor form to drink copious amounts of alcohol in your house, by yourself (I guess if you had an audience, it would be better).
She wanted to know why I had resorted to alcohol…I told her it was because I didn’t have any better drugs. Furthermore, I didn’t think we were treating the right condition. I felt like my diagnosis should be more like PTSD.
The therapist explained that PTSD was typically reserved for soldiers who had experienced war, which didn’t apply to me. But I couldn’t help thinking—if someone goes through something that alters how they feel, how they move through the world, isn’t that trauma? War or not. It made more sense to treat the root cause—the trauma itself—rather than just its symptoms. I hadn’t felt this way before those events. They changed me. So to me, the diagnosis should reflect that. We should be working with the trauma, not circling back to childhood stories that felt beside the point.
Again, we agreed to disagree…begrudgingly.
Progress was made during this period. I adopted a dog, which my therapist allowed into appointments, stating it was easier to talk with me when the dog was around. I moved into my own place, doing wonders for my ego. (This was a big deal because I had been scared that I wouldn’t do well living completely on my own. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep the depression at bay and would subsequently, succumb to it. In hindsight, my emotional state during this time was tenuous at best. Basically, it was a rollercoaster ride with big swings. I didn’t experience high highs; I just had really low lows that would eventually return to baseline. I triaged these lows by chasing dopamine. I was already on the highest prescribable dosage of sertraline; so, I turned to alcohol…cigarettes…food, etc.; anything to get a boost in my mood.) I started taking Muay Thai lessons, developing empowering muscle memory. I also started practicing mindfulness meditation, strengthening my ability to be self-aware.
Part of this progress included a job change and relocation, providing an entirely new community, which turned out to be supportive, fitness oriented, and far more inclusive. At this point, I was no longer seeing the therapist, but I was still on the antidepressant. Determined to regain faculty over my life, I continued to do the work of introspection. I completed workbooks based around differing schools of psychology, causing me to thoughtfully examine my inner life, observe thoughts, and identify what elicited emotional reactions. I actually had a bit of a social life, which fed my confidence.
I started to reincorporate physical activity into my routine. I took up swimming and biking. I had a friend who was a runner (like, he qualified for the Boston Marathon). His enthusiasm for the sport convinced me to give it a go. Turns out, I hate running—not just because I’m not good at it, but because I genuinely don’t enjoy the activity itself. This is an important distinction because I had been under the impression that all physically active and health-minded individuals ran—it just seemed to be part of that archetype. I had been trying to get myself to fit that mold—but that wasn’t me. Turns out, rowing is my steady-state cardio activity of choice.
It’s important to figure these things out about yourself and find what works for you. To be fair, the therapist had told me to incorporate an exercise practice into my routine (I had to take a break from Muay Thai due to having a screw surgically implanted in my foot) to which I responded, “You keep saying that.” She had replied, “You keep not doing it.” She was right. It would have behooved me to have maintained a physically active practice throughout my therapy, but without proper guidance, it’s damn near impossible to formulate and follow an appropriate, effective program when you’re suffering from mental and emotional challenges. Throw in physical ailments (like having foot surgery), along with significant life changes like moving to a new town and starting a new job, and you can forget it.
As I became more physically active, I started paying closer attention to how my body felt. Swimming, in particular, made me aware of a persistent stiffness in my thoracic spine. That awareness led me to a chiropractor for regular adjustments (turns out they can also adjust feet and ankles…game changer). This opened the door to a whole new realm of care. I found myself drawn to “alternative” health modalities and, almost immediately, I was a huge fan. I began exploring Eastern wellness practices—Chinese medicine’s focus on meridians, herbs, acupuncture, and more. These systems have thrived for thousands of years, yet they’re often treated as taboo in Western culture.
Continuing to explore new ways of supporting my body, I started taking hot yoga classes. I had never done yoga before, hot or otherwise, but it felt like a good idea. I HATED the first class. (I think the beer and chicken noodle soup I consumed prior had a lot to do with that.) But I went back. In the next posting, we’ll talk about yoga’s impact on my mental-emotional well-being.