2 things can be true at the same time

Walking on a tight rope of joy and deep depression + an interview with my mom on Christmas in the Philippines post-WWII

In my last newsletter about doing too much shit and needing a break, I said I was taking several weeks off. But I changed my mind just for this week because I’m excited to share something happy with you — and I felt the need to write about something sad, even if it’s painfully true.

My symptoms of depression and anxiety have come back, which has been stupidly hard to deal with the week leading up to Christmas. It’s a bummer because I was on a good run with my medication but maybe its efficacy has worn off. I don’t have time to squeeze in writing this but I’m doing it anyway. My body is exhausted, numb and tingly, one of my typical depression symptoms, yet I’m forcing myself to go on walks.

I tried a cold plunge for the first time in 50 degree Fahrenheit water for 3 minutes to snap myself out of my low. The good news is I did it, the interesting news is that I was able to do it because my mind was out of my body. This is what you would call disassociation and when I reflect on it, my teeth didn’t chatter nor did I feel cold. Weird.

I’m sleeping deeply and waking up exhausted. If I could, I’d be completely alone right now and, yet, I hosted 21 people at my house on Saturday. My swings are hard, I’ve reacted harshly toward my children and then sobbed about wanting to no longer live on this earth anymore. I know human touch and connection are good for me but when I make myself do it, it feels forced and sometimes terrible. Intellectually, I know this is the depression doing its work on my soul yet I can’t shake the feeling.

Two things can be true at the same time.

I know I’ll be OK, I just don’t know when and I’m trying to tell myself it’s OK to not know when. I’ve tried a few new things I haven’t done before, like a sound healing and chakra tuning session with a good friend, microdosing shrooms, and a shot of B6 that hurt like hell on my butt cheek.

My soul has been crushed this week AND it has been lifted, too.

When I watched my podcast interview with my mom, it brought me so much joy. It was fun to talk to my mom for the pod. I have heard these stories of her time in the Philippines countless times but I enjoyed watching her in the spotlight. My mom is 79 years old and she keeps growing and evolving. If I interviewed her 10 years ago, it wouldn’t have been the same interview because she’s a different, more lively person today. I enjoyed watching her loving the attention. I embraced her confidently telling her stories in front of a microphone and a camera. She had fun and so did I. Little did I know, my depression would do its work 2 days after I interviewed her. But it’s OK and I have to be OK with it.

We can be happy and we can be sad. Two things can be true at the same time.

I’d love for you to watch our interview, where she reflected on what it was like to celebrate Christmas in the Philippines in the 1940s and 1950s, post WWII. It involved walking to huts on stilts barefoot and singing Christmas carols. No gifts, no Santa involved.

Here’s a post I wrote around this time last year and I’m sharing it again here.

“We didn’t have presents!”

Mom would emphasize it each time we talk about the holidays. Over the past few weeks, mom and I chatted on the phone, and I’d ask questions as she remembered the details of Christmases from 70ish years ago, where the highlight of this holiday was a simple tradition – visit neighbors and sing Christmas carols. She’d recall the types of candies or rice cake treats she received going door to door and I was in awe of the simplicity, the beauty of the little treasures, because that’s all we need as kids. It’s during this time that I quickly forget, and also remember, nothing needs to be fancy for a child, just a touch of wonder (well, maybe sometimes, sugar).

I’ve heard mom’s Christmas stories so many times as a kid, likely rolling my eyes in reference to how us Americans got toys and how, back then, they got none, nor did they need them.

Isn’t it funny when you hear the same stories as an adult, they are now meaningful? Isn’t it a shame that we often “get it” way later as adults, that lesson or moral our parents tried to teach us, but our brains were never mature enough to feel the gravity of it?

I’ve enjoyed talking to mom, who recalled the days when Christmas was simpler, a celebration of Jesus’ birth. How they’d spend time together going to church as a family.

They didn’t shop for gifts, wait for Santa, put up a Christmas tree or line their homes with lights (remember, mom didn’t have electricity until she left for college).

I love that when I ask my mom about something from her childhood, it gives her an excuse to walk down memory lane with her siblings, prompting conversations and phone calls between brothers and sisters, all here in the US now. As the first born, her recollections were often different because memories are varied and our experiences are different based on when we were born, the order we land in the family. 

When mom went caroling, they’d sing Christmas carols in English, never in Ilocano, her first language and dialect of her region.

“I knew them all,” mom wrote to me in a text. The big hits like Silent Night, Jingle Bells, White Christmas, Joy to the World, O Holy Night. “Some kids didn’t know how to speak English, or what these words meant, but they knew these songs,” she said to me, laughing about the children who didn’t understand but never questioned the ritual. In her days, carolers received treats of gratitude in exchange for Christmas tunes.

Each house would give carolers various sweets made with rice, called tupig, suman, inkiwar, and binallay. These were also the desserts of my childhood.

Growing up, we didn’t eat cake at parties. Instead, we were surrounded by tables stacked with these sweet and sticky desserts — my mouth is currently watering for the taste of home.

When her brother went caroling, who is 11 years younger, songs and lyrics had evolved. He remembers singing Ilocano Christmas carols. While the tradition of passing around rice-based sweet treats continued, homes would sometimes hand out money. With higher rewards, carolers stepped up their game and had singing strategies. My uncle remembers spotting “rich” houses and so the group would split up into 2 or more. My aunts and uncles would arrive at these homes in more groups, pretend they weren’t part of the last set of carolers, and hope for more cash and candies. Genius in my book!