Spotify: From Eden EP – Hozier
“Jobs fill your pockets, but adventures fill your soul”
I recently decided to travel nurse again after a 6 month stent as a core staff RN at a hospital in Dallas, TX. I came to the hospital as a traveler, but decided to sign on to stay permanently. I signed a lease, bought furniture, signed up for cable and internet…all the things that I hadn’t been able to do as a traveler. I was prepared to feel so at home. I just knew I was going to enjoy having all my things in one place and having a place to call my own. I envisioned myself as Joanna Gaines…my overpriced apartment was going to be so farmhouse chic. I had artwork on the walls and succulents (they were fake, of course. RIP to all plants I’ve ever touched). I knew I was going to be so very happy finally being in one solitary place.
The problem was my solitary place turned more into solitary confinement. I felt smothered, claustrophobic, constricted. I couldn’t take a deep breath. I was completely alone and standing still for the first time in years and my knees buckled with the weight. I succumbed to my depression. Other than going to work, I was in bed. The curtains that Jo-Hannah Gaines had picked out were drawn completely shut. The couches that Jo-Hannah Gaines had excitedly picked out were unused. The flowers that Jo-Hannah Gaines picked out to add that perfect touch to the finished rooms were falling apart and rotting. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t eat. I cried. I slept. Sleeping was my only escape from the world around me.
I am grateful for my Mom. I can’t imagine how helpless she felt being states away and knowing I was in such a state. Multiple times she tried to come visit me and help me, but I denied her telling her I was fine and tomorrow was going to be the day I got up (it wasn’t). She was the one person who kept me somewhat level in my spinning, spiraling world.
Eventually, I got better. I made baby steps. A co-worker (who is now one of my best friends) recommended an NP to see and I was prescribed meds. Another co-worker invited me to supper with her and her sister and wouldn’t accept any of my lame excuses for not going. It was such a small, everyday gesture, but it meant so much to me in that time. I don’t even thinks she knows what she did for me, but feeling a part of something— feeling like someone cared—that made such a difference. Looking back, I really feel like it was my turning point.
Fast-forward to a few weeks ago: A co-worker told me how proud they were of the change they saw in me. Obviously I hid my demons at work, but I guess it still showed through the fake smiles and jokes. This co-worker described a change in me that I hadn’t even noticed. How when I first started at the facility I was so negative and sarcastic. I was quick to dismiss anything that caused me any extra work. I had such a negative attitude I don’t know how anyone put up with me. But she described a woman who had grown to face challenges head-on and with a positive attitude—a woman who found it important to uplift others as well as herself. She described me as someone I never thought I would ever be again: myself.
I stopped for a second to notice my life had leveled out. I was managing my depression. It was still there, but I could choose to not let it win. I kept my apartment clean. I was cooking for myself and exercising. I noticed myself complimenting others just to make their day. I noticed how my self-worth had returned, and how I expected more of myself and more from the people I chose to let in my life. I was proud to say that I was becoming Hannah again.
Something was missing though. I had my friends, my apartment, my dog, my growing career…but I wasn’t exactly happy with it.
So I signed a travel contract.
On the drive to Virginia I felt it. I felt my soul. At first it was just a flicker here and there, but on my detour to Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park I actually felt it. I had all the windows down and the cool air smelled like forest and rain. Hank had his head hanging out of the window, and I had my family’s amazing collaboration playlist playing on Spotify. For the first time in a while I thought “I’m happy”. Then I pulled off the road onto one of the gaps the park offered. The view took my breath away. Literally the breath caught in my chest. All I could do was stand on the barrier and gawk at the mountains, and the trees, and the river in such astonishment at the world we get to live in. I felt it then. It was like my chest wanted to burst and my heart ached from the beauty I was taking in. I took a deep breath. It was my first true deep breath in months—you know the kind that stretches all the way down to the bottom of your rib cage and causes your belly to poke out. That kind. I’ve never felt more guided in that moment or sure of a decision I had made in my life as I did on the side of that mountain.
My depression is still here. I feel like it always will be. But I needed Dallas. I needed to stop and see just how broken I had become. I needed my depression—my demons—to show their ugly heads and burn who I had become to the ground because the person I was then wasn’t who I am. It’s a slow process, but like Fawkes the phoenix (I told you I was a Harry Potter nerd) I’m rising from my ashes and growing into a better person.
I’ve chosen a job that can fill my pockets, but most importantly it has the ability to fill my soul. I think that’s all we really can hope for in this life. That and our acceptance letters to Hogwarts.