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.