A Year Of 'Turning My Light Back On'
My How Time Flies...Since Emerging From My 'Cave'
One year ago today, I wrote about my years-long struggle with anxiety, agoraphobia, depression, and grief. For a long time, they had controlled my choices, my energy, and my sense of self. But that day, I noticed something different: they finally seemed to be loosening their death grip on me. And I was beginning to feel like myself again.
I remember writing that post from a place that felt hopeful but tender and uncertain, like stepping out of a dark cave into daylight, still squinting, still waiting to see if the light was real. If the light was here to stay.
Back then, even small acts felt monumental: walking outside, talking to my neighbors, reaching out to friends I hadn’t seen or talked to in years.
The past year has been filled with real change, movement, and messiness.
There have been some genuine highs and a few sobering lows. Moments of progress I never thought I’d reach. Setbacks that reminded me how fragile progress can feel.
There were a couple of trips to the emergency room that reminded me to take better care of myself. There were a couple of cruises that reminded me I had finally rejoined the “real” world. And there were long stretches of calm, often interrupted by sudden chaos that made me wonder if I was healing or just learning how to cope.
Deep down, I knew I was moving forward, even if I couldn’t always see it.
Early on, progress was in fits and starts as I rebuilt trust with my own nervous system. Learning how to leave the house without bracing for catastrophe. Letting myself exist in public spaces without constantly scanning for exits, threats, or reasons to flee.
As the months passed, something quietly changed. I began wanting to participate in life again. Not out of obligation, not because I “should,” but because I actually felt a pull toward the world. Conversations felt easier. Plans felt less heavy. I caught myself thinking about the future without immediately shrinking from it.
That doesn’t mean the year was smooth. It wasn’t.
My two emergency room visits scared me more than I let on. They were wake-up calls that my body has limits. I’m not as immortal as I like to believe.
Some of my old friends were “too busy” and/or moved on in ways that made me feel disposable and left behind. That made me sad. And a little mad too.
Some of my new connections turned out to be flakier than a fresh croissant. They looked good from the outside, warm and inviting, but underneath were half-baked and full of hot air, more interested in the idea of connection than in showing up.
Despite some disappointments, I’m still trying to put myself out there and stay open to new connections. But I do get exhausted by people who don’t seem willing or able to meet me halfway.
All of this has been part of learning how to take better care of my mental and physical health, which I’m realizing is not a destination but a moving target. I’m finally starting to understand that I am not immortal, even if I do imagine myself as a budget-friendly superhero who can power through anything with enough will, humor, and denial.
The truth is, I need more rest. I need better boundaries. I need to listen to my body more often instead of arguing with it most of the time.
In hindsight, the most important shifts in my life have not been external at all. They have been internal. I no longer treat dark periods as personal failures, or as proof that I have somehow broken myself again or erased all my progress. Instead, I do my best to see them as part of the terrain of being human, as seasons rather than verdicts, as traffic signals rather than life sentences.
A year ago, I thought “turning my light back on” meant returning to who I was before my world grew so small, before anxiety and agoraphobia reshaped my life and rewired my brain. After more than three years, I emerged from the cave a different man. Not broken, just changed.
I’m still learning how to carry light with the darkness. How to stay present even when things feel uncertain. How to trust that dim days do not erase bright ones. Because my light still flickers sometimes. Some days it’s strong and steady. Other days it’s a pilot flame. But it’s still on. And a year ago, I wasn’t sure that was even possible.
So this isn’t a victory lap. It’s more of a quiet checkpoint. A moment to look back and say: I’m still here. I’m still trying. I’m still grooving and moving. And for now, that feels like more than good enough.
Keep calm and keep your light on!
Clint 🌈✌️
P.S. Millions will be watching the Super Bowl later. Even though some of those players (and Bad Bunny) are great eye candy, I’m not a sports guy. But I do love revisiting this In Living Color sketch. It’s pure comedy gold. I give it two snaps up!
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ICYMI = IN CASE YOU MISSED IT
SUNDAY = Lovely Day To 'Drive'
MONDAY = Extrovert Or Introvert?
TUESDAY = Consistently Inconsistent
WEDNESDAY = Old Dog Learning New Tricks
THURSDAY = Caring + Counterprogramming
FRIDAY = Seeing Is Believing?
SATURDAY = Rubbed The Right Way
BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY
02-08 = Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979) = American writer 🌈
02-08 = James Dean (1931-1955) = American actor 🌈
02-08 = Ralph Chubb (1892-1960) = English poet, printer and artist 🌈
MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY
“Only the gentle are ever really strong.”
James Dean
I am what Jung called a deeply intuitive. I am not a Jungian but I am supported by what he said about the fact that deeply intuitives have more challenge in fitting in with the external world. They usually feel that they do not belong and that they are not good enough.
You may or may not be deeply intuitive, too.
There is a man putting out YouTube videos, using the name Wisdom and Happiness. They are quite "heavy" to watch but they do teach the depth of Jungian psychology.
That apart, as it may not be useful to you, I have welcomed with joy your emergence over the past year. Hugs and kisses.
Clint, 👍👍👍5⭐ Cheers DougT 🏴🇬🇧