Quicksand is one of nature’s cruel traps. If you were to step in some right now, you wouldn’t start sinking to the bottom as quickly as it might seem based on some old Hollywood movies. Quicksand’s cunning lies in its ability to pray on people’s tendency to struggle – swallowing them deeper with every thrashing attempt at escape.

Quicksand, paradoxical in its nature, is how I would characterize my relationship with anxiety and depression. Symptoms can emerge at any point in my life, granted the conditions are right. And, as it can be with quicksand, I’ve come to find that getting back to the surface sometimes means learning how to float instead of fight.

Dipping my toes in quicksand  

In the spring of 2012, I had just proposed to my future wife and my spirits were riding high. Unfortunately, as I’d come to realize too late, so were my stress levels. Not all stress is bad, you see – this concept has taken me some time to grasp. I was excited about the future with my fiancée, but also apprehensive because the notion was so new to me and, admittedly, it brought some old insecurities to the surface that had been dormant for a while. Not to mention, I had recently moved to a new town to be closer to her and simultaneously acquired a new boss who was demanding more hours on the job (lucky me). Amid life changes, long commutes and time constraints, traditional pastimes suffered – less time for those beloved evening runs or Happy Hour toasts with the bros.

Though these factors and others all seemed so superficial – and because I never took the time to process any of the changes that were happening in my life – collectively things began to chip away at my emotions under the radar. As elevated feelings of anxiety finally reached a boiling point, a panicked brain began a frantic search for answers. Why did I suddenly feel so on-edge and insecure all the time? There had to be a simple explanation for such a rapid change, I reasoned. I just needed to figure out what wrong exit I had taken, and I would be back on track in no time. It would turn out to be more complex than that and without a quick-fix, I spiraled into depression.

I’d like to say this phenomenon was new to me, but that’s kind of how my relationship has been with the A&D duo (can I coin this as a new hip phrase for anxiety and depression? No, okay). More like a roller coaster than a steady ride. So, as I slid further and further down the tracks, those painful – albeit familiar – symptoms began to emerge. Anger and frustration grew stronger with my impatience. Exhaustion set in, but sleep became elusive at night. Isn’t it lovely when that happens? I began to cry periodically, and then daily as weeks stretched into months.

This downward trajectory wouldn’t run its course without a few more terrifying questions to ponder along the way – my mind has always been a real comfort like that. What does my future hold? Will I ever be happy again? How does she really feel about all this? Feelings of dread, guilt and shame took over. I was in the quicksand and I was fighting.

My story continues – it gets better

When I talk about my obsession with finding answers, it isn’t to discourage the effort – only to say that it’s a process that can take longer than we prefer. I saw three different therapists as I tried to make sense of my situation, each offering useful insights and anecdotes in replace of the “aha” moment I’d been seeking. I read the Bible and prayed a lot, which – for me personally – offered wisdom and a way to stay hopeful. I also read a good book by Paul David titled ‘At Last a Life,’ in which the author reflects on his own struggles with anxiety and depression. The general theme, which I’m paraphrasing out of laziness, was this: “live alongside your feelings.” Seemed counterintuitive, but it’s a message I recognized based on prior experiences – times my mom would urge me to carry on through rough patches and avoid getting caught in the cycle of rumination.

So, I took these useful tidbits to heart – decided to do all the things I’d normally do if I wasn’t feeling so awful. I didn’t want to see anyone, but I made myself do it anyway. I went to work each day and headed to the bathroom when I needed to cry. I let my hands do their shaking when they needed to, and my muscles do their tired twitching without jumping on Google to crosscheck my symptoms on message boards. Weird thoughts and irrational fears? Sure, I invited them in and finally gave them the space they demanded – it was my Halloween party and everyone was invited. Though I had been stubbornly determined to manage things without medication, I did have a prescribed dosage of Xanax at my side to help with those tougher moments.

As I continued to embrace this “fake it until you make it” strategy, you know what happened? Not much, it sucked. It really did for a while. Slowly but surely, though, I did begin to take note of subtle changes. Maybe they weren’t even changes, but peaks of sunshine I’d never noticed until I gave myself more time to look up and observe. I realized that I could be crying one second and laughing the next (that kind of sounds crazy, but you know what I mean). Moments of calm could come after a storm, especially if I let the clouds pass without trying to outrun them. I learned that I could succeed – not just survive – during the day even with this perceived monkey on my back.

Above all, I learned that being vulnerable isn’t so scary and it’s downright a requirement – in both healing and in love. And, if you keep telling yourself that you’re okay, one day you might just start to believe it.

Finding balance, but not really

In my story, there’s no real turning point in which I can say – definitively – that homeostasis was restored. I wasn’t “fine” by my wedding date, but it turned out to be one of the best days of my life. Depression was at least a passive passenger that came along for the ride with me and my wife on our honeymoon in the mountains. Everyone got along well. Even today, I have frustrating bouts of anxiety and insomnia that were spurred from that period years ago which I’ve never been able to quite shake. I just try to accept it as another piece that makes up the whole of me and keep moving.

That’s kind of how I live now. As someone who has experienced anxiety and depression in waves of intensity, I treat myself kind of like someone in the 12-step program. Not always a junkie, but permanently an addict. One thing I do know, as I anticipate future encounters with quicksand, I’ll keep applying the wisdom I’ve learned from previous experiences – wisdom I’m truly thankful for and hope to pass along to my two young kids as they begin to face this stupid beautiful world.

Oh, and there’s one more major misconception worth noting about quicksand – that it’s not always as hazardous as it has been portrayed. In fact, quicksand is typically just a few feet deep at most – not the massive, hungry monster that many envision. Maybe it’s that stigma, or the fear, that can keep people isolated in their struggle – resisting the urge to extend a hand to those closest to them on the periphery. I guess everyone’s story is different, I’ve always been sheepish about telling mine. Maybe quicksand is enigma, or perhaps I have the wrong analogy. I tend to overanalyze things…I’ll leave it to you now.