Thanks to sheer luck or good defense mechanisms, I’ve managed to get through life so far without the aid of a therapist or an SSRI. Like everyone else, I have my down moments (or days). For example, I have an occasional celiac depression—when I am dying for something with gluten because everyone around me is eating a bagel and I can never eat one again. Or I have my annual one-day depression when the clocks are set back in the fall and I face the dark, cold days of winter.
But last month, I was hit by two solid weeks of feeling blue. It was completely different than my mini-depressions. I was working hard, day and night. But I’ve done that before. Winter wasn’t letting up. But it never does in February. I put on a happy face at work, but I was glum at home. Just ask Peter.
It wasn’t too long before I figured out what was going on. I had a new boss. He’s fine. But what I didn’t realize was how accustomed I had become to being the acting boss. I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed getting all those phone calls from folks who couldn’t make a decision without my input. I missed that feeling of being absolutely essential.
My mood lifted when I remembered that it was my decision not to apply for my boss’ job. I’m at a stage of life when I should be maintaining the status quo at work or slowing down. Once again, I had a little time for me. I was over the serious blues. Life is good. I’m lucky.
And I’m de-funked.