A Reader’s Concern

A couple of weeks ago, I posed play in opposition to depression, one of many of possible perspectives on this age-old ailment.

One reader wrote in to say that I implied that those who are depressed are just not trying hard enough, not playing enough. Therefore, they are at fault for their own circumstance.

I have blamed the victim.

When someone writes, I can only assume there are others who may well hold similar thoughts and feelings. And it is important to give voice to such concerns. I do not take my platform here lightly.

A Complex Nature

Of course I sympathize. Depression is a painful, horrible place, a pit full of snakes, spiders, and spikes without a ladder to get out. Who could possibly ask for that?

Saying, “snap out of it” or anything similar is just a slap in the face, an insult to injury. Of course, those there would prefer not to be depressed. To imply that play on its own will get a person out, as if they are just not trying to play enough, is simply untrue, if not cruel.

I’d like to take a moment to emphasize that there is no panacea. For some, medications help. In fact, I prescribe them regularly. For others, a discovery of meaning in work or in relationships makes a world of difference. For others yet, a direct confrontation with existential dread begins a new path.

More often, help is a complex blend, parts known and unknown, sometimes dispelling the dark fog as mysteriously as it arrived.

A Double-Edged Sword in Hope

But there’s another important issue that I’ve missed.

It’s a blindness rampant throughout our culture, in our stories, in our child-rearing, in our research, and more. This blindness plays out in the message, “Anything is possible, so long as we put our minds to it.”

Hope.

How can hope be anything but wonderful?

Well, hope can be downright terrifying. In fact, every hope has a fear.

Behind every “What if I can?” is “What if I cannot?”

As such, hope is not entirely benign.

Some therapies encourage a person to reflect, “What’s the worst that can happen?” And then, “How likely is that?” The implication is that whatever it is that you are worried about probably won’t happen, and therefore you should feel safe to step forward into whatever it is you want to do.

The trouble with the approach is that it is an appeal to our weakest selves. Certainly, it is important to be gentle with ourselves when raw and in our most damaged states. But I’m also not a fan of pretending my emotions don’t exist either.

And the emotions of hope also carry the message, “Careful… bad shit happens.”

A Compassion with Fear

Why not appeal, certainly as gently as needed, to that part that needs to grow strong?

We could still look at the thing and its hope, and then say “What’s the worst possible outcome?” But then fully embrace that fear, to the kindest degree we can with ourselves.

This is not “feel the fear and do it anyway,” This is feel the fear, the pain, and the myriad awful emotions, understand their message if there even is one, and then decide.

Attempting to find a way out of a pit, why not seek all the handles? Medication, meaning, people, and beyond. We can do what it takes.

Only one of those paths might be to try finding some meaningful play in life. Even so, we may well fail. We may fail for the hundredth time, injuring ourselves yet again. In fact, even a “success” may do us absolutely no good, if not make things worse, for all I know.

But it’s hard to deny that play does tend to appear, in our will, in our challenges, and in even our way of being when depression lifts.

Hope is not benign, but neither is water. And without water, there is no life.

We can attempt to fully acknowledge the possibility of horrific failure through the heavy work of self-nurturance. Beyond this point, whether we act or not, we then carry strength.

Try again? That is the decision.

– Kourosh