Microdepressions

The subtle, sneaky ways that the world around me brings me down

You are likely familiar by now with the concept of a microaggression. I’ll let the folks at Wikipedia define it:

Microaggression is a term used for commonplace verbal, behavioral or environmental slights, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative attitudes toward stigmatized or culturally marginalized groups.

In other words, it’s little stuff that folks do to one another to harm them in some way. It might be using a term like “male nurse”, or asking an adoptive parent if they have any children “of their own”, or building a website that is incompatible with assistive technologies like screen readers.

Following my wife’s death, I have found that the world around me is filled with sources of harm that are similar to, but distinct from, microaggressions. I call them microdepressions. They are all of the little ways that the world messes with the emotions of and brings down a guy who just suffered a terrible personal loss. They are legion.

Usually microdepressions are triggered unintentionally. Regular, everyday, otherwise benign situations become a bunch in the gut when experienced in the wake of loss. The elderly couple who walk hand-in-hand daily on one of my frequent running routes remind me that I will never share that routine with Sadie. Updating my patient profile prior to a recent appointment with my doctor required changing my marital status from “Married” to “Widowed”. Checking the mail not only means being confronted with letters and advertisements addressed to my wife, but also having to update my list of businesses and organizations I have to tell about her death.

Many microdepressions are self-inflected. Dozens of times each day I see something and think to myself, “I should text a photo to Sadie!” or “I should tell Sadie about that tonight!” before I can catch myself. But those are automatic thoughts, difficult to control. I can hardly be blamed for them. In contrast, the house is filled with reminders of her that I could easily change or remove. I don’t.

The truth is, I don’t mind experiencing microdepressions as I go about my day. I like the little bursts of sadness, not because I enjoy the feeling of sadness itself, but because every time I get sad, it means I’m thinking of Sadie. I want to think of her, even if doing so makes me tear up. I’m not ready to leave sadness behind.

Besides, microdepressions are, by definition, micro. They are small. Manageable. Not that small things cannot be harmful, of course. One can become overwhelmed by masses of lilliputian triggers if one does not have an appropriate way to deal with them. But with good tools in one’s toolkit — a strong support structure of family and friends; good diet and exercise habits; a wry sense of humor; or a capable therapist, to name just a few — it is possible to develop healthy responses that build a person back up after their loss tore them down.

I know that there will come a day when microdepressions related to Sadie’s death all but disappear, and I know that day will represent a positive milestone. I’m not in a hurry to get there. No, for now I am happy to be just a little bit sad for just a little while a handful of times throughout the day. It keeps me close to Sadie, and that’s what I really want right now.