When depression descends, sometimes it is hard to move forward. When anxiety strikes, it is easy to spin out. A double whammy leaves you feeling trapped. In a rut.
Growing up on a ranch, responsibility comes early. Most kids learn to drive as soon as you can reach the pedals and see out the windshield at the same time – it’s simply a necessity. In fact, the first time I drove solo was about 7 years old in a truck pulling a 16-foot stock trailer. You learn to drive with heavy loads, a third gear that plays hide-and-seek, and kamikaze wildlife. Driving on a two-rut dirt road in an old ranch truck demands attention that makes highway driving seem almost like cheating. The challenge is upped by inclement weather, but the work goes on and so do you.
In New Mexico, we don’t get just very much rain outside of the monsoon season, but when the rains do hit you get the chance to learn to drive in lots of mud. As I was attempting to drive up a muddy hill recently, I realized that it was an apt metaphor for what I was facing in my life. I tried to steer my vehicle across a part of the road with some rock for traction, but it slid into some ruts made by an earlier visitor. I was literally stuck in a rut until the road leveled out.
When depression descends, sometimes it is hard to move forward. When anxiety strikes, it is easy to spin out. A double whammy leaves you feeling trapped. In a rut.
How did I get here?
You might fall into the tracks carved by someone before you. In the back of your mind, you know to avoid them, especially if they lead off into the ditch, but sometimes you just… slide. Maybe it was a dishonest piece of ground that looked firm enough but sucked you down as soon as you began, committing you to that path even through you wish you had chosen somewhere else. Was your mind wandering? Did you get cocky, thinking that it looked a little iffy, but surely it would be alright. You could have taken precautions, but sometimes not even the best safeguard is enough.
Now what?
You can’t go too fast, because then you’ll lose what little traction you have. Fishtailing down the road leaves tracks that others can see, that might harden and stay for weeks as evidence of your lack of control.
You can’t stop, because losing momentum is fatal. It is a daunting project to free yourself, requiring tools that you can only hope that you have brought along or can improvise.
All of this is deceptively exhausting. Tension starts in your neck and shoulders and creeps down your limbs. White knuckles, strain to retain control over something, anything. You have to remind yourself to breathe.
And then, sometimes, despite all of this, you have to concede a momentary forfeit.
Breaking free
You rack your brain, trying to think of anything that might help you. And it comes – go back. Back? you think. No, forward. I can’t go back. But you are out of options, so you reverse your direction. And you try again. You might think that you look ridiculous, rocking and lurching your way on, sending muck flying all around. But it’s working. Backwards, forwards, inching along to dry ground.
Then there you are. Free. There are more bogs on the road, but you made it through this one. And you can make it through the rest. Sometimes you might have to call for help. I hope that you have someone nearby who can come pull you out. If you don’t, give me a shout. I know how to drive in mud.
Featured Photo Credit : Lori Lamb
