It all started with scoring the game-winning goal on my Tuesday night hockey team.

Not only did I score, which is super rare, but it was actually the deciding factor that gave us the win. (Of course, it should be noted that it really wasn’t that great of a goal. But when you don’t score much, you can’t really be picky if you know what I mean.)

On the way home I called Andy to give him to good news, except I wasn’t happy at all. I was miserable and I didn’t understand why. After hanging up the phone I burst into tears. Somehow I found myself driving to my parent’s house instead of home.

I’m sure you can imagine the scene now: Mama and Papa Fiorio sitting on the couch watching TV because that’s what a normal couple does on a Tuesday night. And then there was me just throwing open the door with tears streaming down my face.

Ahhhh every parent’s dream.

(Although, let’s be real, it is kind of scary that YOUR CHILDREN NEVER OUTGROW NEEDING YOU!!!! They don’t teach you that at parent school)

So as my dad is making me dinner (#bestdadever), I am sitting on the couch trying to explain to my mom that I don’t understand what is happening to me. I don’t seem to enjoy things like I used to. I’m just going through life because that’s what I’m supposed to do, but I’m not excited about anything. I cry at everything.

Mom: “Is there a chance that you’re pregnant?”

Me: “Not a chance – my birth control is solid.”

Mom: “Have you considered that you’re depressed?”

Me: “What? No, I would definitely know if I was depressed.”

My dad walked back in with my sandwich and the conversation moved on. Eventually, I stopped crying and made my way back home. When I got home though I did what every millennial loves to do: I googled for medical advice.

Google Search: Symptoms of Depression

Holy shit.

Eight out of ten of these describe me.

And then I started crying again (I know, I know, so many tears…).

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There are no words that can accurately describe depression.

For me, depression was living in a black hole. Alone in the darkness, I was removed from all of my friends and family.  I knew that I needed to get out of the black hole to feel better, but I didn’t have the energy, strength or knowledge on how to escape.

The scariest part to me about my entire experience was how long it took me to realize that I was depressed.

That might not seem like a big deal to most, but I consider myself a pretty reflective person. I have gone to several therapists since I was 18 (therapy is great – highly recommend!) for both small and large things. Not only that, but I have had mild seasonal depression in the past so I know what it feels like to have down days.

So why didn’t I realize when I was having several “down days” in a row for several weeks on end that I was depressed? How long would it have taken for me to realize and seek help if my mom hadn’t innocently mentioned it during a conversation?

Looking back, I think I was blinded by some external factors. I had recently left a job that was causing a lot of stress in my life. I thought that changing jobs would solve all of my issues. Except two months after I started my new job and things were not any different should have been a big red flag for me: something bigger was going on.

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I am one of the lucky ones. I was raised in a household that both supported and encouraged therapy. You go to a doctor when you are not physically feeling well, why would the same principle not apply when you are not mentally feeling well?

(This is a rhetorical question, but just to ensure we are all on the same page: your mental health is just as important as your physical health. Seek medical help if you aren’t feeling well physically or mentally.)

Besides my family support, which taught me that therapy is not a bad thing, I am also lucky to have a therapist that I can go to if needed. Even though she is currently out of network, I can thankfully afford to pay the out of pocket costs ($140 per visit).

These factors really helped me jump start my escape plan. That night, after googling (and excessive crying), I emailed my therapist to schedule an appointment.

The ironic thing is that even though I knew I was depressed (thanks Google!) and I knew I needed help, hearing myself being labeled as having depression was really really hard. I did not want that label.

It’s okay to break your bones or tear a muscle, but it’s not okay to be depressed.

How was I going to explain this to my (new) boss? How could I leave work for weekly appointments to see my therapist? I didn’t want my boss to assume that I couldn’t handle things or that I was a liability.

We all hope that we work in environments with supportive bosses and supportive HR departments. I hope these are things you never have to worry about. But for me? I was not strong enough to test my work environment. I deemed it too risky for me, as a relatively new employee, to take that leap.

(Which is sad for so many reasons and, for the record, by no means has my company or my boss ever indicated that I would have been treated poorly.)

So instead I went to therapy less often because the coveted “after working hours” time slots were much harder to come by.

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There is no easy fix to depression.

And, quite frankly, that is what scares me.

Yes – with the help of my therapist, my wonderful support system and more time than I would care to admit – I escaped the black hole. But I am not at all confident that I will be able to handle it the next time I end up in the hole.

That’s actually putting it nicely. To put it bluntly: I am TERRIFIED of the black hole.

I hated how it made me feel – how it stunted my feelings and turned me into someone I was not proud or happy of. What if, next time, I can’t escape? What if, next time, it’s worse or it lasts longer? What if I am destined to deal with the black hole for the rest of my life?

Yes, I am definitely handling all of this in a healthy way.

Andy tells me that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and that even though I don’t realize it, getting out of the black hole has made me stronger and better equipped for any future occurrences.

I’m not quite sold (although serious snaps to Andy for all the support).

So where does that leave me?

Well, that’s a great question.

The reality is that most people don’t write about depression until they are out of it and can provide a happy ending. Or at least an optimistic ending.

I wish I could tell you that I have beaten depression and its never coming back.

But I just can’t.

What I can tell you is that I try to choose reflecting on how far I have come instead of on how easily I could fall (*try* being the operative word here).

And every day is just another step forward.

And hopefully, if the black hole reappears, I’m far enough forward that I don’t fall as deep.

Because, in the end, what is life if not just taking little steps?

#imtakinglittlesteps

Note: This blog post was written several years ago and I just recently got the nerve to publish it.