Disclaimer / This post is written from a singular point of view and experience.  This is not meant and should not be construed as medical or psychological advice or expertise.  Medication can be a very important tool in managing one’s mental health, and I am grateful that options exist to support the complex and uinque needs of all those who struggle with their mental health.  I feel that medication was instrumental in managing my depression and anxiety at certain points in my life, and I do not rule out returning to it if there is a strong case to do so.  To anyone reading this who is struggling, my heart is with you.  Please don’t hesitate to take advantage of all forms of treatment or reach out to me with questions about my own personal experience. You are not alone.

I was 15 the first time I reached out for help.  I wrote a note to my parents on a piece of lined school paper, and hurriedly thrust it into their hands with the instructions not to read it until I was upstairs in my room.  I knew what I was feeling didn’t seem “normal”.  I was so sad, and I was so ashamed.  I also knew that I couldn’t handle it on my own. 

I would spend the next two decades in and out of therapy and on and off medication for depression and anxiety in an attempt to unravel the twisted wires in my brain.  I was typically on a low dose SSRI, as I was diagnosed with a chemical imbalance resulting in depression and anxiety, and the medication would help me to keep my head above water as I pursued cognitive behavioral therapy with various psychologists. 

Those psychiatric office visits are a bit of a blur for me.  They were short, and I knew what the doctors needed to hear.  I wanted the pain to go away, and this seemed like the quickest path to achieve that goal.  It was almost comforting to hear that the reason I would spiral into the quicksand of anxiety was not my own shortcomings but my defective neurotransmitters.

It was almost comforting to hear that the reason I would spiral into a quicksand of anxiety was not my own shortcomings but my defective neurotransmitters.

There were periods of time, a year or so at most, where I would decide that the time had come to ditch those little pills.  I didn’t need them anymore, or I didn’t want the feeling of emotional weakness that went along with taking them.  “I’ve got this!” I would think to myself in a moment of bravado “I’m cured.  I’m happy.  I’m not sick anymore. This journey is over.”

But the journey wasn’t over.  I remember moving in with my then boyfriend, and breaking down on our IKEA sofa.  I doubled over with gasping panicked sobs, and he supported me in getting back on medication and back into therapy.

Anti-depressants aren’t happy pills, or at least they weren’t for me.  I didn’t feel amazing all the time, but I didn’t feel crushing lows either.  And it was those lows that I feared the most.  I would do anything to avoid those feelings of desperation, insecurity, inadequacy, shame and failure.  If it meant driving in neutral, often feeling numb, then so be it.  Even keel felt like the gear I should be in at all times- the gear that “normal” people were in effortlessly. Soaring highs felt irresponsible and childish, panicked lows felt hopeless and interminable. 

I would do anything to avoid those feelings of desperation, insecurity, inadequacy, shame and failure.

I had a decision to make when I became pregnant with my first child.  I knew there were some risks associated with taking antidepressant and anti-anxiety mediation during pregnancy, but I also knew I was at higher risk of developing post-partum depression with my mental health history.  I rolled the dice and stayed on the medication.  My son was born seven weeks early, and although it wasn’t definitive that the medication was the cause, it scared me enough that I made an attempt to wean off my medication prior to getting pregnant with my second.

If you’ve ever weaned off antidepressant or anti-anxiety medication, you know it’s not the most pleasant experience.  I took a month to wean off mine, and in retrospect, it was far too rushed.  Although I didn’t realize it at the time, I would come to understand that the deep plunge back into depression was a symptom of withdrawal from the medication, not the absence of medication itself.  I quickly got back on my original dosage and proceeded with a healthy, nearly full term, pregnancy. 

Although I didn’t realize it at the time, I would come to understand that the deep plunge back into depression was a symptom of withdrawal from the medication, not the absence of medication itself.

Medication didn’t spare me from post-partum depression this time around.  After moving across country with a newborn and a two and a half year old to a city where I knew no one save my brother and sister-in-law, I experienced six months of crippling post-partum depression.  I felt like I was failing not only myself, but my children and my husband as well.  I sought help from a specialist in post-partum mental health and increased my medication dosage.  Eventually, I began to even out and brought my dosage back down to my typical levels. 

Something was nagging at me though, and it was different than the other times where I wanted to be off meds just to be off meds, just to be “normal”.  I began viewing my mental health in a different light.  I didn’t want to numb the pain anymore, I wanted to know the pain.  What if, instead of numbing it, I confronted it dead on with curiosity and compassion?  What if I accepted that there wasn’t a cure?  That I wouldn’t magically wake up one day and be happy from here on out.  What if I decided to feel everything…and accept every feeling?

What if, instead of numbing it, I confronted it dead on with curiosity and compassion?  What if I accepted that there wasn’t a cure? 

It took me nearly four months to wean off my medication three years ago.  To give context to those who understand this kind of dosing, I was on 10mg.  That is the lowest dose you can take before you start splitting pills.  I moved at a glacial pace, staying with a current dose or even upping it a bit when withdrawal symptoms, and there were many, started to set in. 

Over the last three years, I have experienced the challenging tail end of my marriage, a new job in a new field after five years at home with my kids, a divorce, a move and a freaking global pandemic.  And you know what?  I felt EVERYTHING.  But for the first time, instead of denying my emotional range, I accepted it with gratitude.  When I would start to spiral into anxiety, that was my cue to act compassionately towards myself.  When certain behaviors, like drinking (read my post ‘How I Quit Drinking and Became a Better Mom’), were leading to irritability and depressive thoughts, I responded with curiosity instead of judgement.  When my heart would explode with happiness, that let me know what was truly important to me.

I felt EVERYTHING.  But for the first time, instead of denying my emotional range, I accepted it with gratitude.

The decision to stop taking medication was the permission I needed to inhabit myself fully.  To avoid shunning certain parts of myself while exalting others.  When I was in high school, I remember thinking of my depression and anxiety as this grey black tangled hornets’ nest.  Something to be feared, avoided and ashamed of.  I do still have that reflex of fear, I’m not sure that will ever go away, but I do know that all feelings, positive or negative will pass.  I am no longer ashamed, and I no longer avoid (for very long- it’s a work in progress) uncomfortable feelings.  They are my teachers, and I still have a lifetime to learn from them.

If you are interested in learning more about the process and side effects of discontinuing anti-depressant or anti-anxiety medication, check out this article from Harward Medical School.