on depression

I still remember my first attempt at knitting: a bright blue yarn, about twenty-five stitches wide at the bottom, probably twice as wide at the top, and somehow, I managed to knit several holes in it. Nearly three decades after creating this masterpiece, it feels symbolic of how my life unfolded. Most of it resembles the good rows: one stitch looping into the next – some a bit loose, others more tight, most of them just right. And ever-expanding. But occasionally, a hole appeared, and I had to look away for a while.

My mother taught me that to fix a mistake, you unravel your knitting. You undo all the stitches until right before the point you went wrong. From there, you pick up your work as if nothing happened. She also taught me I could do this with my life.

Over the past years, the holes in my knitting had grown too big. It was barely possible to see the stitches between them anymore. So, I started pulling at the thread, trying to go back to when things were better. But the stitches wouldn’t give. The yarn turned into one big knot. And because I kept pulling, it nearly broke. This was too complicated for me to fix. I needed help.

When I started therapy six months ago, I had a clear idea of what would happen: we’d address my biggest current issue, and everything would be fine. That’s not exactly how it went. As I gently loosened the knot in my yarn, I realised this latest hole was connected to all the other ones. And to truly start living again, I needed to sit with them all.

For a while, it felt like working through this one issue would unravel the fabric of my entire existence. But unlike knitting, you can’t start from scratch with your life. So, instead of trying to undo every single stitch and begin again, I learned to mend the holes. A process simultaneously sad and beautiful as I was finally allowed to open up about everything I’d been taught to keep inside. And while I can’t erase the hurt I’ve been through, I am better equipped to continue this wonderful experience called life.