I have an admission to make. I suffer from “the blues.” It’s not depression and it’s not chronic, but it ain’t sunshine and rainbows either. Every few months, it drags me under like a tidal wave—sometimes for a few days, sometimes for a few weeks. I’ve got a long list of “whys” for this feeling: there’s a history of manic depression in my family; my monthly hormonal swings hit me hard; I live in a climate without enough sun; my job can be stressful. But I’ve discovered over the years that the whys don’t really matter. Sometimes I’m blue. It just is.

Yet, despite the discomfort it causes, this wholly unwanted syndrome has been one my life’s best teachers. The way I handle the symptoms traces the path of my own emotional maturity. And their regular recurrence gives me the opportunity to continually practice what I preach.

A rocky road

When you live with something your whole life, it takes an outside perspective to realize it’s unique. That’s probably why I was in my late teens before I acknowledged that I didn’t handle stress as well as many of the people around me. By “stress” I mean anything in life that didn’t go my way. Needless to say, I encountered a lot of it.

Like my mother before me, whenever life shifted even a degree off its axis, I would, quite simply, lose it. I shouted. I tossed things. I cried. I swore. I stormed out of social situations. I gesticulated wildly. In short, I made loud, embarrassing and quite spectacular scenes.

As I got older, and my adult tantrums became increasingly less socially acceptable, I shifted tactics. Although I still sometimes lost it in public, I mostly brought the behaviours back home. I alienated the people closest to me. I yelled at my husband and children. I fell into funks that buried me whole. It never occurred to me that I could dig myself out.

Finally, after one particularly bad spell, I hit my own personal bottom and sought out the therapy I so desperately needed. I learned tactics to manage my emotional overload. I discovered how to step back from the maelstrom my mind insisted on creating. I was given coping mechanisms to manage life’s vagaries. And the tantrums subsided. The rage cooled. The shame began to lift.

But the tendency never went away; it just shifted. I no longer lose control, but I still get the blues.

On the plus side—and there’s always a plus side—walking this rocky road has given me a range of strategies for rolling with the punches. Now, when I get down, here’s what I do:

  • Exercise. Ugh, it’s so damn cliché. But seriously, those endorphins are worth it, even when you don’t feel like it at all.
  • Meditate. Sitting still when your mind is stampeding like a herd of elephants is not an easy task. But if you can calm your breath, and your mind, for even just a few minutes, it’s amazing how much better you feel.
  • Find some perspective. It’s hard to remind yourself of healthy ways to behave when you’re committed to feeling like hell. That’s why I keep a journal where I jot down healthy notes to myself when I’m feeling good. That way, when I’m feeling sad, I can just read those excerpts and remember that my thoughts are not me. I don’t need to buy into them. They don’t need to rule me. I can even—gulp—ignore them. Entirely. I’m not saying it comes easy. I am saying it’s totally liberating.
  • Listen to music. I list it last, but it’s not least. I honestly believe music has saved my sanity. There are certain go-to artists whose lyrics transform my life. I’ve been reduced to tears, elevated to new heights, reinvigorated by musicians whose music has touched my heart. Cuz, let’s face it: if you’ve got the blues, you should at least sing them.

What do you do when you’re feeling blue? Share some strategies with us!