What if I hadn’t failed when I was 15 years old? What if I hadn’t come-to that night and immediately realized how precious this life is?
I would never have met my husband, looked into my children’s eyes, spent time with many great teachers and friends.
I would never have danced in Lebanon, or taught yoga in my home studio in Chengdu. I would never have been able to support my husband through his strokes, or walk the beaches of Koh Samui feeling the water wash up against my feet.
I wouldn’t have been able to attend my brothers weddings. I would never have been able to feel the love for those dear to my heart with the intensity I can now. I would not have been able to feel their touch or to hug them.
I would not have been able to nurture my quest for self knowledge.
Not one person knew. I didn’t want to worry anyone, I didn’t believe in myself enough or trust any body enough.
I was held up on a pedestal.
Me? Depressed? Who could I have asked for help?
In retrospect I wish I had talked to someone – a teacher at school, a good friend, a trusted family member.
And then when the feelings came back many years later and I was contemplating the same action again, I did call for help. Some didn’t get it, but I didn’t give up. I tried different people.
A dear, perceptive friend of mine in Koh Samui drove over immediately and spent the afternoon with me, drinking tea and chatting, making sure I was stable enough before she left me.
I wrote to trusted friends for support. I started talking to a psychotherapist.
I have my husband and children to look forward to, to support and help bring up. The last thing I want is to be the cause of more suffering.
Why do I write this? Because by sharing my story, it may reach someone who is feeling desperate or hopeless, someone who needs a push to reach out, to ask for help.
Reach out for help.
You are worth it. Life is worth it.