Letter 142: Help
When it's too heavy
Readers, please meet the very brave and very wise Nicole de Vuurst. Thank you, Nicole. And thank you, Nicole’s parents and community.
Trigger Warning: depression, suicidal ideation.
If you or someone you know needs help, please call the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. You can call or text 988 anytime for free, confidential support 24/7. You can also visit their website at 988lifeline.org for more resources.
“Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.”
—Brene Brown
Five years ago, I was locked away — quite literally. I was in a 5-month deep depression, where no part of me wanted to still be alive. I’d tried everything up to this point — therapy, medication changes, a partial hospitalization program, biofeedback, massages and working out every day. Nothing seemed to help. I was a shell of a human being, existing but not living. At this point, I was being shuffled from point A to point B by my parents — not caring at all where I ended up. They gave me choices, don’t get me wrong. But I didn’t have an opinion either way.
When it was time to try another route, my mom and dad packed me up and dropped me off at a psychiatric hospital in Houston, Texas.
They said “If you had cancer, we’d get you the best treatment. We want to do the same for your mental health.”
“Whatever,” I thought, and most likely said. It wasn’t, and still isn’t, lost on me what a privilege it was to be able to go to a place like this, but I simply felt hopeless after failed attempt after failed attempt to climb out of this deep depression.
When I arrived, it was exactly as you might imagine it to be, minus the padded room (although I was told that one existed, I just never saw it). They took my face wash, my shoelaces, my belt, my tweezers — anything that could even slightly be used to harm myself or others. I had my own room, but every 15 minutes, a staff member opened the door to check-in. Each night, we all lined up at the medication counter to receive our medications while a nurse watched closely.
I was truly at rock bottom.
During the day, we had a strict schedule, mainly containing various therapies, classes and appointments. Family therapy, group therapy, individual therapy, spiritual counseling, medication management, self-compassion class, cognitive behavior therapy class and many more. For the first several weeks, I hated it. I still felt numb and unable to take in all the information being thrown at me.
Then, one night, I sat in the common room with some other patients, playing a game. Someone said something and I laughed.
I laughed?
A real laugh! I swear it was the first one in months. It took me by surprise. Little by little, over the next several weeks, the light came back into my body. I started to feel lighter. I had sparks of joy. I engaged with the people around me. I was finally able to listen and learn from the classes and therapies.
Over those eight weeks and four more at an outpatient program in Houston, I learned more about myself, my emotions and my relationship with those around me — more than I thought was possible. I also learned so much from the people around me — people struggling with mental health, addictions, and eating disorders. So much so that, five years later, I barely recognize that girl who walked into the doors of that psychiatric hospital.
She was so scared, in constant fear of disappointing everyone around her.
She was so hard on herself, beating herself up over even the smallest mistakes.
She never allowed herself to feel sad or mad, thinking joy was the only acceptable emotion.
She didn’t feel worthy or acceptable, assuming that she would never measure up.
She was working so hard to live up to impossible standards.
If I had to sum up what I learned from those 12 weeks, what I thought was my rock bottom and the months and years that have followed, I’d say this:
You’ll never be perfect & no one expects you to be.
Be gentle with yourself, you’re only human.
All emotions are good and necessary, what matters is how you deal with them.
You’re allowed to have thoughts, feelings, and opinions, even if others don’t agree with you.
Vulnerability is the path to connection and makes yourself and others feel less alone.
These are hard-fought lessons, and I still have to remind myself of them often. But that’s the beauty of healing—there’s not an endpoint. It’s a continuous journey. What we think is our rock bottom might just be the start of something beautiful.
Nicole’s 5 Favorite Things:
Cozy Nights Candle: This smell makes you want to wrap up in a blanket and binge your favorite TV show.
This Popcorn: The perfect midday snack packed with tons of flavor. Available at Costco, Target, etc.
Glossier Balm Dotcom Lip Gloss: Makes my lips feel so smooth and moisturized, perfect for fighting the chapped lips!
The Women by Kristin Hannah: such a powerful historical fiction book from the perspective of a Vietnam War vet and her experiences before, during, and after the war.
Apple TV’s Shrinking: I am obsessed with this show and will tell anyone and everyone about it!!! I laugh, I cry, and I count down the days until the newest episode comes out.
In gratitude,
Nicole Van de Vuurst
I loved reading your story. Thank you so much for sharing. You have worked so hard and your bravery is inspiring!
Thank you for sharing your story. I am so glad you are ok.