How Do I Get Out of This Funk?
The two-pronged attack for defeating depression.
By: Michael Thompson
I recently decided to write a book. I had just finished reading books like Atomic Habits by James Clear and The Willpower Instinct by Kelly McGonigal, Ph.D., and was motivated to accomplish something great. I started writing for hours a day, prioritizing time at my desk over time with my family and quit playing World of Warcraft and console games.
I crafted my morning routines with care, I would wake up and write while my brain was still half asleep to take advantage of the sleepy, dreamy state to enhance my creativity. I would meditate to improve my mood and enhance my well-being. I exercised and stretched. I took cold showers and listened to audiobooks. I tracked my sleep and optimized meal times.
My evening routines were equally busy and intentional. I meditated and read, studied Korean, and journaled. I was doing all those things you’re supposed to do.
I wrote a thousand words, then ten thousand. The sense of progress I felt was wonderful. I churned out hundreds and sometimes thousands of words per day. I told everyone I knew I was writing a book and was incredibly excited about it. I wrote every day for months.
I felt amazing. I lost thirty pounds over three months, and the weight stayed off.
But this sprinting pace was not to last. I started writing fewer words and for fewer hours until I was barely breaking one hundred words per day. At my slowest, I would barely get a sentence out. I stopped finding joy in writing or any of my carefully cultivated habits.
I doggedly kept at it. After all, these habits are supposed to be good for you, automatic, and make it easy to do your work and be successful, right? I felt guilty playing video games. I felt upset and burnt out because I couldn’t eat what I wanted and felt I was not allowed to relax.
I’d earned it, right? I mean, I’ve been working my ass off to learn this new skill at work, to push this project, to write this book and raise these kids, and what has it gotten me?
I’ve been trying hard, and I’m tired.
I’m not rich; I’m not successful. I’m not a good dad.
I started drinking more than usual and completely stopped doing anything in line with my goals. I felt worthless and guilty and lost.
I stopped finding joy in writing, and it became a chore. I didn’t want to do anything or talk to anyone. I downloaded social media again and scrolled mindlessly for hours. I started snacking and started playing video games for hours again.
My performance at work started to slip. I was doing the bare minimum and couldn’t find the motivation to start new projects or finish the ones I had started weeks ago.
I didn’t want to do anything, talk to anyone, or go anywhere.
I was stuck.
I had fallen to the level of my habits, and I was still doing all of those things that you’re supposed to do, but I was miserable.
“You do not rise to the level of your goals. You fall to the level of your systems.” -James Clear.
Suddenly, something struck me. From a half-remembered book, an Instagram reel, or a YouTube video somewhere, I realized I might be depressed.
Maybe depression for me isn’t being sad all the time.
For me, it’s not wanting to do anything.
Like anything.
Depression is finding no joy in playing video games. Or any of my hobbies, books, or projects.
It’s scrolling Reddit all day when it doesn’t bring you joy
It’s eating a snack and feeling guilty for it, so you eat more.
It’s wanting to curl up into a ball to cry and then sleep for a long time.
Maybe depression looks different for all of us, but one thing is for sure.
Depression is a Bitch.
******
The Wandering Medicine Man
I heard a story about a wandering medicine man from Africa. In some versions, he’s from Asia. He would go from cities and villages to teach his craft. He would show people how to make painkillers from willow bark and salve for sunburns with the sap from small bushes. He taught them how to wash wounds so they wouldn’t get infected and how to bind broken bones so they would heal correctly. He could heal every sickness and every disease among the people.
One day, in a village sick house, the medicine man encountered a man locked inside a cell who complained of voices in his head. The man said angry voices were screaming terrible things at him all the time. The most hateful things you can imagine. Telling him to do things or hurt people. The man clutched his head and screamed, “Make it stop!”
The village elders said, “This man is possessed by pixies. Look how he rips at his clothes and gnashes his teeth. Can you help him?”
The medicine man is overcome with compassion upon seeing how tormented this poor guy is. “Of course I can help him.” He says and gives him the cure.
The man sits down in the center of the room, completely at peace, and the healer tells the villagers they can let the man out; he’s healed.
Now, for a moment, play a mind game with me. Just imagine you were this man, and you were infected by pixies.
If you’re unfamiliar, a pixie infection feels like these little voices in your head saying mean things to you. Like other tricky beasts, these pixies can wear masks and pretend to be someone you know. They can mimic voices and pretend to be people we love and care about.
Can you hear the pixies in your head?
This one is wearing your dad’s face and asking why you haven’t started that project yet.
This one is wearing your face and is telling you how lazy you are.
Can you hear them?
I can hear them. Does that make me crazy?
Possibly.
Why are my parents in my head yelling at me that I’m not good enough?
Why is my pastor’s voice in my head telling me that I’m not worthy? That I’m flawed and I need to be redeemed? I haven’t been to church in a decade.
Why is my son’s voice in my head telling me he hates me?
Why are all of these people being so mean to me?
They’re reminding you of every failure, every sin, every mistake you’ve ever made, and every time you thought an unpleasant thought.
You lose your motivation to do anything. You have no energy to do anything that requires more effort than looking at your phone or staring at the TV.
Until you’re sitting on the couch eating snacks and playing video games and feeling guilty about it, so you stay up later and later and play on your phone and watch videos, and you don’t enjoy any of it, and way down we go.
The pixies are screaming at you, driving you mad,
You’re fat!
You’re lazy!
You’re stupid!
The world would be a better place without you!
Now you’re screaming, tearing at your hair, crying because you can’t take hearing these voices in your head anymore, and you scream, ”Make it stop, Jesus, make it stop!”
And he does.
The voices stop, and you’re at peace. Can you feel that relief?
Can you feel the silence, like a fresh breeze on an arid day? Cooling you and chilling you? You’re refreshed by the silence in your mind, and as grateful tears stream down your face, you ask, “What did you give me?”
“Compassion,” he says. “Love and compassion.”
Compassion is a powerful tool.
The Dalai Lama defined compassion in The Art of Happiness as:
[…]the feeling of unbearableness at the sight of other people’s suffering […] In order to generate that feeling, one must first have an appreciation of the seriousness or intensity of another’s suffering.
Imagine you had a friend come to you and say, “I’ve been feeling depressed lately. I don’t know what’s wrong; I just don’t want to do anything. I’m not happy, and I don’t know what to do.”
You tell your friend, “That sounds tough.” and offer a hug or a handshake. “I’m sorry you’re going through that. I’m here if you need me.” and you mean it.
So he opens up and shares how he’s been fighting with his wife and yelling at his kids. He shares how he’s been beating himself up about it and how he can’t get any relief.
You’re not sure how to respond, but you imagine how he must be feeling.
“It’s okay.” You say, “Everything you’re feeling is valid. You’re allowed to feel those feelings. And you’re allowed to rest.”
“Be kind to yourself.”
Now, perceive that interaction from your friend’s point of view. Put yourself in your friend’s head as they describe their issue. Think of all of the negative thoughts that cloud your friend’s head daily. Maybe you don’t have to try very hard to imagine mean thoughts in your head.
He didn’t do “the thing” he said he would do, so he feels lazy.
He stays up too late and feels regret.
He overeats and feels gluttonous.
He feels desperate and confused.
You can feel his self-hatred and his shame. You can feel his desire to be free of these feelings.
Now, hear yourself say those words, “It’s okay. Everything you’re feeling is valid. You’re allowed to feel those feelings.”
And you’re allowed to just rest.”
Be kind to yourself.”
Can you feel how that feels to have someone validate and acknowledge you?
Treat yourself like a good friend and have some compassion for yourself.
Forgive yourself for what you did or didn’t do.
Because tomorrow’s a new day and a fresh opportunity to succeed.
********
The point
What does this have to do with getting out of a funk, and where’s the two-prong attack?
It has everything to do with it.
Prong one: Do the thing.
- Identify one dream you have (e.g., learn Korean)
- Define daily actions you can take to get you to that goal. (e.g., practice for 15 minutes)
- Schedule an activity somewhere in your day (e.g., right after lunch)
- Think of some reason you would not want to do that thing. (e.g., it’s boring)
- Solve that problem (e.g., complete a single lesson and move on)
- Profit
The critical part of this step is respecting yourself.
Imagine meeting your future self. A portal opens, and they emerge from it and say, “I’m from the future. I’m here to show you what your life can be.”
They describe your dream life. You have a job you never knew you wanted, and your relationships and investments are thriving. Your living situation is impressive. Everything you wanted has been fully realized, and it sounds fantastic.
“I wanted to show you this,” says Future You, “but you have to promise me you will do it.”
You look yourself in the eye and make a solemn vow. You voice your dream out loud. “This is the future I will have.”
Your future self disappears through the portal, leaving you with that promise hanging in the air.
Now comes the hard part. You do the thing. Define a goal, make a plan, and then have enough respect for yourself to show up. Just like if you promised your friend you would make it to the gym. Even though you really don’t want to, you’re going to show up to the gym and do that workout.
And you’re going to keep showing up.
You will have days where you don’t feel like doing that thing. Do it anyway. You made a promise.
Some day, you’re going to miss doing that thing. You’ll sleep through your alarm and skip your workout or eat an entire row of Oreos or that whole pint of ice cream. At some point, you’re going to fall off the wagon.
That brings us to the other part of the two-prong attack:
The second Prong: Show yourself some compassion.
On that day that you missed your thing and you’re feeling guilty about it, it’s okay to say, “I’ll do better next time.”
Allow yourself some grace.
Just like your car can’t be in 5th gear all the time, you can’t always be on your A-game.
Some days, you have less energy and willpower, so you fall back to doing the bare minimum.
It’s okay to rest and recover. Show yourself some grace and compassion. Allow time to relax when you need it by being patient with yourself.
Sometimes it’s okay to stop doing things and just be. In fact, it’s critical to stop what you’re doing and breathe. The scientists behind Healthy Minds and the Dalai Lama agree that examining your thoughts and emotions regularly will improve your mental health.
Enjoy sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee and remove all expectations.
The second prong is not only about compassion. It’s also about recovery and the time it takes to recover.
Maybe on that first attempt towards your goal, you miss the first scheduled event. You feel guilty and say, “That’s it, I blew the week. Guess I’ll start over on Monday.”
Monday is an easy day to start. It’s the first day of the week; it feels fresh and is a natural starting place.
Fuck waiting until Monday.
Shorten your recovery. Why not start again tomorrow? Yes, this day is ruined, but tomorrow’s a fresh day.
That’s still not short enough.
Break your day into four quadrants: night, morning, afternoon, and evening. These are your new recovery periods. Instead of saying, “This morning is shot, I guess I’ll try again tomorrow,” you’re saying, “This morning is shot, I guess I’m working out this afternoon.” or “I’ll write this evening instead.”
Your downtime goes from a week of not progressing toward your goal to a few hours.
If you keep this up, your success rate increases, and you’re moving the needle incrementally toward your dream. Those small wins start accumulating; before you know it, you’ve put on 20 lbs. of muscle.
Maybe some days, you need more than one cycle to recover. You may need a day, a weekend, or a whole week. But put an expiration date on your rest period and at the end of it, shift it back to the quarter-day recovery periods and get back on your streak.
This is the way that you eat the elephant. One bite at a time. Imagine the fork you use to achieve this massive goal has two tines:
- Do the thing and respect yourself.
- Show yourself compassion and recover.
This isn’t a cure-all for severe mental disorders, but if you’re anything like me, this will get you out of your funk and back to moving the needle on your goals.
Disclaimer: To support my family, I may make a tiny commission from the affiliate links in this article.
