As I write this, It’s late January in Seattle, which means no one’s doing great.
I call this season “the armpit of the year”, because it’s generally moist, smelly, and uncomfortable. The cozy part of winter feels behind us. Now is the wet slog into spring. This is the time for colds and mold and making sure the Christmas lights come down. And smack dab in the middle of this misery is Valentine’s Day. It’s an icky sticky couple of months, and if a client starts talking about trying to decrease their meds this time of year I encourage them to wait until the sun sets after 7pm again.
Mental health counselors are not immune to the effects of this area’s “Big Dark”. While I think we can contextualize and understand what’s happening better than average, we’re just as susceptible to depression and anxiety this time of year as anyone.
The tools I use as a mental health professional are a little different than many of my colleagues. I rely a lot on my ability to read body language, which I don’t think is common. I also am the type of person who likes to do word logic puzzles for fun, and those logic skills and language abilities come in handy when I’m helping someone put a word to what is happening.
And then late January rolls in, and it’s like a big cloud covers my brain and I can’t use my beloved tools the same way. It’s frustrating, feeling myself reach for those abilities and realizing I don’t have them. In my seasonally-altered state, the only way I can describe what is happening to me is:
“Its like when Deanna Troi looses her Spidey-sense.”
Let me explain.
On the fourth season of Star Trek TNG, Ships Counselor Deanna Troi suddenly loses her psychic abilities. It’s a long story, there’s two-dimensional plankton surrounding the Enterprise, it’s not important. What is important is that losing her powers is disorientating and demoralizing for Troi. She’s moody, she’s lashing out at loved ones, she’s a mess. She keeps reaching for her favorite tools and they aren’t there.
She keeps working. She’s still a really good trained mental health professional, even without her psychic abilities. Seriously, I think the scene where she discloses her changed abilities to a client should be shown in counseling school. Her self-disclosure is understated and elegant. Chef’s kiss.
This episode of Star Trek TNG fits my experiences with depression in many ways. But because I am so uncomfortable with the idea that mental health professionals are psychic, my subconscious brain slides in the closest descriptor I find palatable: ‘Spidey-sense’. Having someone think I tingle when danger is near is so much better than being asked to read a person’s mind.
My seasonal depression has been getting worse with age, or maybe I’m just better able to identify the real culprit without lashing out at people like poor Troi. At some point during the pandemic, I started taking small doses of Wellbutrin during the ‘Big Dark’, and it has helped. The drug doesn’t take all of the depression away, but it helps me have the energy to get my work done, be nice to my loved ones, and do nice things for myself.
And on days when the sun sets before 5pm, that’s good enough.
Curse those seasonal-two-dimensional plankton attacks!