Swamps of Sadness and Getting out of the Mire (Patreon)

If any of you have watched The Neverending Story, you will instantly recognize the image above. For those of you that haven't, what you're seeing is the exact moment in the movie where I would totally lose my shit as a child. And as an adult. Atreyu, the warrior, is on a quest with his best horse friend, Artax. They have to make it through the Swamps of Sadness, which Atreyu thinks will be no big deal. They have faced so many big, scary, difficult things--how will sadness stop them? What they quickly learn is that sometimes sadness gets all of us. It's sneaky like that. Sometimes, despite all your bravery, logic and coping mechanisms, sadness just wins.

(Spoliers for those that haven't seen Neverending Story)

As a kid, seeing this movie, it always shocked me that Artax didn't make it. Good was supposed to triumph over evil! The hero is supposed to stumble and get back up and CONQUER. But they don't. Atreyu makes it, but Artax just can't maintain hope in the face of the Swamps of Sadness. It's just too much and he gives up. It's a moment of overwhelming grief and learning to accept that sometimes you can't just bluster and push your way through despair. Sometimes you have to give in.

Now, I'm not saying that in giving in you should do something harmful or irrevocable. I'm not talking about dealing with depression which is so much more than just being "sad." I'm not even qualified to touch that topic and if you're struggling with depression I sincerely hope you will reach out and talk to someone who is qualified.

What I am talking about is the very real and totally normal feeling of despair. Of feeling sad. Of trying to accomplish something in your life and failing. I'm a big fan of failure--that's how you learn. That's how you get better. If you're not failing at something occasionally, then you're not pushing yourself to do more and be better. That being said, sometimes it's frustrating and it gets to you and you fall into the Swamps of Sadness.

I was very much raised on the "bring yourself up by your bootstraps" kind of mentality. If you can't handle something on your own and conquer it, then what good are you? Sometimes this can be helpful. I don't quit easy. I'm stubborn. But ultimately, I don't like any mindset that discourages someone reaching out for help. Humans are pack animals and sometimes you just have to lean on someone. This is very hard for me. Logically, I know it's good and healthy, but emotionally I feel like that dependency is failure. But failure is good and it means...well, you know. It becomes this wretched cycle that goes back and forth and makes you very tired. 

Ultimately, you need to know that your brain is a jerk and it lies. When I'm deep in the swamps and I absolutely know that my brain is being a lying asshat, I do two things. First, I accept it. I'm not going to wallow in it forever, but it's okay to be sad. It's okay to feel things that aren't positive. You do not need to smile and be happy all the time. In fact, that's actually a little creepy. So I accept and I comfort myself. I read. I go for a walk. I try to appreciate the things that I do have going for me. My family is safe and dry and warm. We have food. My cats are still assholes. My mom made hot cider last night and we put brandy in it and it was delicious. I have new books to read. These are things I can lean on when I need to process my misery.

The other thing I do is reach out to friends who will understand what I'm despairing about. If it's a parenting thing, then it's the parents that I know and admire. For book stuff, it's a group of writers who will help me get perspective on the thing my brain is lying about. Because let me tell you, it's hard to write funny books when you're full of sad. That being said, it's also hard to write funny books when you've never been sad or angry or frustrated or upset. Humor is born and fostered by unpleasant emotions. 

There is a wonderful Guardian piece out there by Neil Gaiman about Terry Pratchett. Now, I think Pratchett is one of the funniest writers and I will always strive to write half as well as he did--though I have the sense that he would have told me that I'm being an idiot. One shouldn't compare one's self to another in that way, but only strive to be the best creator you could be. Still, I look up to his writing in a lot of ways.

Let me show you a snippet of that article:

He sat in the back of the cab beside me white with anger, a non-directional ball of fury. I said something, hoping to placate him. Perhaps I said that, ah well, it had all worked out in the end, and it hadn’t been the end of the world, and suggested it was time to not be angry any more.

Terry looked at me. He said: “Do not underestimate this anger. This anger was the engine that powered Good Omens.” I thought of the driven way that Terry wrote, and of the way that he drove the rest of us with him, and I knew that he was right.

Negative emotions, as we call them, have their place. (There's an excellent picture book called Angry Monkey that I recommend that covers this in a very funny way.) They aren't to be spackled over and hidden. They are to be felt. They are, in a weird way, to be enjoyed. Because once you are through them, they are the fuel that drives us forward.

I often joke to people that I write out of spite. It's not really a joke. It's truth. Someone tells me I can't do something and I dig my heels in and say, "Watch me." 

I may not love the Swamps of Sadness. I never really enjoy my time there. But I live for the moment when I dig my heels in, square my shoulders, and go back to the keyboard.