I awake to the sounds of my family readying for the day: five-year-old Pearl sharing last night’s dream with her mom, twelve-going-on-sixteen-year-old Rain cajoled into rolling out of bed, their mom carrying on a stream of “come on, let’s go,” refrain in order to start their day. I love hearing their exchanges, grateful that I have family around me, that I’m not alone while I await my husband’s ability to make the move to be with us full time. Through my open window I smell autumn in the air, heralding in my favorite time of year, yet I feel anxious.

I gaze at myself in the mirror, look into my eyes and question why I feel this way. In just a few short days I will be on a plane heading to one of my dream destinations, Italy, and I should be elated. I am, deep down, but a cloud of fear, guilt, or something infringes upon my ability to be excited and happy. For someone like me, the perpetual optimist, these episodes of gloom are unwelcome and confusing. I don’t do depression well. I feel myself slipping into it, wish I could banish it with positive affirmations or long walks; anything to distract myself until the mood lifts. But it is insidious and like all the times before, I have to just get through it.

Through therapy I’ve learned to acknowledge what I’m feeling in a particular moment. One of the emotions that took a long time for me to accept I’m feeling is anger. When my wonderful, insightful, and effective therapist asks me, “How does that make you feel?” I skirt around with words until finally, reluctantly I admit, “Angry.” Although I’m not feeling angry at anyone or thing at the moment, except perhaps myself for not feeling joy at my good life, the lessons I’ve learned about examining a particular mood help me to first, identify the feeling/emotion, and two, embrace it. This helps to honor my ability to experience life; all its ebbs and flows and understand that humans are complicated beings. I’m one of the more complicated ones I know. As I examine my life at present, I can pinpoint the likely culprits worming their way into my psyche, causing me distress. If I am open to shining a light on them, perhaps I can tamp them down enough to feel better.

For several years I’ve desired to return to Italy and to my good fortune, I’m going again. Thanks to a generous, world-traveling cousin, I’m flying to join them and be their guide as we tour the land of our ancestors. I’m more prepared for this trip than I was twenty years ago, confident that I’ve done my research and am familiar with the places I’m going. Yet, I’m feeling anxious. Since plans were made months ago, I worried senselessly, feared I’d get sick or into an accident preventing my trip. That didn’t happen, I’m healthy and uninjured, but not there yet so there’s still time for disaster to strike. Will I pack wisely? What should I take and how can I consolidate so I’m not burdened with too much? Once I’m in the air and on my way, these worries will be moot and as I’ve done in the past to great success, I’ll go with the flow. This adventure is sure to be the ultimate distraction from depression.

When the trip is over, I will return to the project I’ve been diligently working on since the beginning of the year – completing my memoir. The past I’ve been delving into, bringing memories to the surface, reliving them by writing them down, is sure to be a root cause of what’s ailing me. I actually love the process of writing my life story, both the good and the bad. The memories of accomplishments and good times fill me with happiness. Writing about the challenges and heartache I’ve experienced does take a toll but writing them down has always been my salvation. Out of my head and onto paper, it’s worked wonders for me all my life.

That’s why today, after feeling the dark cloud descend upon me, I sat down to write this missive. I feel the weight lift, I take a slow, deep, cleansing breath and voilà! I feel ready to tackle the day. My head is clear, I have ambition, and I carry a smile on my face, no more slip sliding away into depression. At least for now, my day holds promise.