I laugh when people say “I was overwhelmed, too.” Not at their kindness, for that is what it is. And I am grateful that they extend it to me. But I laugh nonetheless.

These people forget what I do for a living.

I work for people who are mentioned on the news, a company with billions in revenue. When I walk into rooms, and the company that I work for is printed on my name tag- people come to me.

I am not overwhelmed, nothing about this experience can overwhelm me more than the work I do on a daily basis.

But I am in distress nonetheless. A distress and sadness that is pushed down and put into nice little boxes and set on a shelf. Until the shelf is full, and I have no more boxes.

The waves of sadness come in, and threaten to overwhelm. One wave after another…

I am divorced.

I am single.

I am broke.

I am busy.

There are too many emails to return, calls to make, appointments to keep.

To go under is inevitable for women in my family. We always do. Sometimes for moments, sometime for years, sometimes more.

We are shipwrecked and marooned on our island with only our depression to keep us company. Until we tire of the sadness, the loneliness, the emptiness.

Then we wade into the water and head for shore. We take a piece of depression with us, but we are grateful for those who who extend their hand to help pull us up.

The new friends.

The old friends.

Family.

We know that we will be overwhelmed and sad again, and we get out our boxes and start to fill them up. Until we end up on the island again.

But I have hope. Because even though every woman in my family knows depression inside and out, even though we have sat on that island and contemplated the depths of our despair. We always swim back.

We always come back,

Always.