I had several hobbies I really enjoyed before my major depression became as severe as it eventually did. One of those hobbies was fish. Not fishing for them, but raising them in fish tanks. I enjoyed everything about their care, and maintenance of the tanks. I enjoyed watching the fish swim. I enjoyed watching them eat, and how they reacted to me in a limited way. The type of fish I kept varied from the extremely gentle and colorful – like neon tetras – to the extremely aggressive – had to be fed live fish. When depression ruled my life, I took no interest in my fish, their care, and maintaining of their environments. I honestly was not sure if I would ever enjoy that hobby again.

On one of my trips to my old house, I did retrieve a couple of my fish tanks. One was a bow front 55 gallon tank, and the other was a little two gallon tank with a cool lighting system. When I had time I set up both tanks. In the past, I decorated my big tanks with a natural looking theme. This time, I decided to go with a completely different theme for my 55 gallon tank. I have decorated it with bright colors. There are still many more things I would like to add to it – bubble treasure chests, more bright plants, and etc. – but I am going to have to take my time – money issues. I have enjoyed what I have done with the tank so far.

I want active – but not aggressive – fish. What I decided to go with is what people often call fancy gold fish. Specifically, I want a black moor – has big eyes – and a bubble headed gold fish. Since they can get fairly large I will only have 1 of each in my big tank. I have not decided what I want to go in the little tank.

Yesterday, my mother – she was out with a friend – brought me home a surprise. A pretty, little black moor. Instead of being the usual all black, he is black, with gold markings. He looks so small in the big tank, but I think he is enjoying himself. He is extremely active – swimming all over the place. I have decided to call him Otto. I picked that name because of a book I had when I was a child. I cannot remember the name of it, but I remember how the story goes.

Basically, the little boy in the story gets a goldfish. He is warned not to feed it too much because “something” could happen. He names the fish Otto. The boy – like any kid, especially me – decides he would really would like to find out what the “something” is. So he dumps a bunch of food in the fish bowl. It is not long before the little boy figures out what the “something” is. The fish begins to grow, and grow. Soon he is too big for his bowl. The little boy puts the fish in the bath tub. Very quickly the fish is too big for the bath tub. The fish continues growing too big for the various things the little boy places him in. Eventually, the fish is placed in the town swimming pool. It is at the point, that the man who sold the little boy the fish – and warned him about feeding him too much – shows up, and is able to shrink Otto back to his normal size.

I am finding it very exciting, and wonderful that I am taking an interest in an old hobby again. I did not realize how much I had missed it until I started setting up my tanks. What a glorious mark of progress in my depression treatment.

55 gallon tank

Otto

2 Gallon Tank with blue lighting

Last week – when I went to group – I had the opportunity to have some one-on-one time with my counselor. It is the first time we have done that in a while. It was good. I needed the time alone with her to hear some ideas she had about how to manage some of the things going on in my life right now. At the end of the session, she reminded me of the attitude I had when I first began seeing her. Here is an example of the conversations she, and I used to have.

Counselor: “Why kind of things do you do to distract yourself when you are experiencing anxiety, stress or depression symptoms.”

Me: “Go to bed, and sleep. That is the only thing that works”

Counselor: “What about going for a walk, and getting some fresh air?”

Me: “Nope. My asthma gets in the way of doing that.”

Counselor: “Have you thought about volunteering or doing things for other people?”

Me: “Can’t do it. I always feel bad because of my diabetes, and asthma. There is no way I can do anything for anyone else”

Counselor: “Reading? Writing down your thoughts?”

Me: “No, and no. I cannot concentrate enough to do those things. Besides, that takes effort. I would rather just spend time in bed.”

My depression had so much control over my life that I had an excuse, and reason why I could not do any of the things she suggested. At that time, it seemed like everything she was suggesting took too much effort. Even reading a book. Spending most of the day in my pajamas – in bed – was all I wanted to do. My counselor’s purpose for reminding me of all the excuses I used to make was to show me how much different my attitude is now, and how much my life has changed.

I have a much more full life now than I have had in years. It has a texture, and a flavor that I cannot recall experiencing before. When I think back to when I first started my depression treatment – looking for any excuse I could to keep from getting better – and compare what my life was like back then to what it is like now, I am amazed. I do not think my old self would even recognize the person I am now.

My counselor gave me a wonderful gift when she pointed out the changes in my attitude.

“To find the good life you must become yourself.” Dr. Bill Jackson

Hello. My name is Melissa, and I am a recovering approval addict. I got my fix – my sense of self worth – from doing things to “win” the approval of others. I acted, said, and did what was necessary to hide the real me – the part of me that I believed was “not good enough” –  in order to get my approval high. Just like any addict, I would become physically ill when I did not get what I needed.

The act of people pleasing in order to gain their approval is a habit I began early in life. In the beginning, there was nothing to indicate that my approval seeking behavior would – or could – become a life threatening addiction. However, it did not take me long to figure out that if I behaved a certain way then people would say nice things to me – and about me When you are a young person with low self esteem, and self worth, you yearn for those times when someone takes the time to compliment you.

That habit carried on into my young adult years. I was so desperate to be liked, wanted, and loved that when I went out on dates I became the “perfect girlfriend”, never letting the real me out. It worked, sort of. The guy ended up with a young woman that he knew would do anything to please him, and I ended up with…well, I think I got the short end of the stick. My approval addiction impacted my other relationships as well. More than once, I walked away from a friendship because I had done something wrong, and I “knew” I would lose the approval – approval equaled love in my mind – of my friend.

The more I got high from the approval of others, the more I needed. Not only was striving for perfection wearing me out, my constant need for approval was wearing out the people in my life. Even worse, they knew I was addicted to their approval. They knew I had no respect for myself. They had no respect for me either, and used my approval addiction to provide themselves with amusement – at my expense. They would withhold their approval – expecting me to “jump through hoops“ to get it back, even when they could see the devastating physical effects it was having on me. Effects that involved, crying hard enough to trigger an asthma flare and a migraine, and becoming so upset and afraid that I “had done something wrong”, that I could not function. In their hands, it was a tool used for manipulation, and control.

I reached a point where I could not even “win” my own approval, and I was my own worst enemy. The only happiness I found was in what I could do for others – even that was fleeting. . I would dwell on how I could never do enough, do it good enough, or do it the right way. Those thoughts became the foundation for my self hatred. It was then that  my addiction became life threatening.

Once I realized that I would never adequately be able to get my “fix”, I gave up on life. I decided that I would be better off dead. At first it took the form of a sort of living death. I developed a debilitating depression, but even that was not “good enough”. I then took steps to make it more permanent.

It took that act of desperation to eventually make me realize that I COULD NOT live the kind of life that I wanted, and continue to seek approval from others. The life I wanted was one full of contentment, joy, and love. I wanted a life where I could be free to be me. Not some made up, approval seeking, people pleasing, superficial version of me that was something akin to a Stepford Wife. The thing that I needed to conquer my approval addiction was love.

It was not just any kind of love I needed. I needed self-love. Not a selfish self-love, but the kind of self-love that acknowledges who I really am – strengths and weakness included. It is the kind of self-love that encourages – even when I mess up – and does not beat me up. It tells me I did the best I could, and knows I will do better next time. It does not judge me as being unworthy, it simply holds me accountable to do the best I can everyday.

For me, I had one other type of love that I needed to acknowledge to finally break the hold of my addiction to approval. It was the love that God has for me. No person – not even myself – can love me as perfectly as God does. God valued me, even when I placed no value on myself. God loves me perfectly.

I found a lasting joy when I decided that the approval of others was not important to who I knew I was.

Are you addicted to the approval of others? Do you change how you act, dress, think, and even your opinions to please those around you? Do you gain part – or all – of your self-worth from the approval of others?

Argh! I have a habit I have never out grown. It is becoming frustrated when I know my mother is correct about something. The frustration is aimed at myself, sort of in a “Why didn’t I think of that” way. It is because – after she has pointed something out – I realize how obvious it was in the first place. I had one of those moments earlier today.

After smacking the top of my head on the car as I was getting into it, my mother expressed concern about all my recent injuries. In less than a week I have hurt my knee, hurt an ankle on my right foot, hurt my left foot, and attempted to give myself a concussion. I cannot figure out which foot/leg to favor when I am walking – they both hurt – so at times I am sort of shuffling along. I have a lump on my head from smacking it on the car, and advil has become a very dear friend.

My loud “Ow” – when I hit my head on my mother’s car – prompted her to share her thoughts about the “accident waiting to happen” bubble that seems to be surrounding me. The long and short of it is that she has diagnosed me with a severe case of distracteditis. Basically – in her opinion – I have too many things on my mind right now, and I am allowing all those thoughts to distract me. She believes that my distraction is causing me to not pay close enough attention to what I am doing, and my surroundings, resulting in my many injuries. She brought to my attention that if I continue going the way I am, there will come a time when I will do serious damage to myself.

She is correct…I have been hanging out in my own head, mulling over the many things that are going on in my life right now. As a result, I am not all that aware of my surroundings. I am not paying attention to where I put my feet, as well as my head. Time for me to get focused!