We’ve all got two wolves in us; a good one and a bad one, and they both want to eat. The best thing I can tell you is to feed the good one more.
– Matthew McConaughey
Anxiety and depression have visited me for as long as I can remember. I call it my flu because it doesn’t stay. And when it comes, it comes with power. I respect it because I know what it’s capable of.
At 59, though, I’m no longer terrified of it. I’m healthier and more at peace than I’ve been since childhood. But that peace didn’t arrive by accident. I had to build a life that protects it. That meant making intentional decisions—choices that, over time, proved to be right for me.
The first thing I did was steer clear of “the ick.” Negativity, drama, gossip, social media rage—these things are poison. So I’m protective with what I consume. I’m careful about what I watch, what I read, who I listen to, even what conversations I take part in. This is not as easy as it sounds. Even people you love won’t always understand.
That’s okay though. Peace is worth it.
The next thing I did is build a circle of people I can call, text or ask out for coffee (ew…Diet Pepsi?). Isolation feeds the wrong wolf. Years ago, depression hit me like a ton of bricks while I was working in my yard. A wave of pain dropped me to my knees and brought me to tears. Just then, my parents pulled into the driveway. Clearly there to see the grandkids, they waved and went inside my house. I remember saying in a voice barely above a whisper, “Mom, please help me.” But I stayed silent.
That was a mistake I’ll never repeat.
Next…I take better care of my body. Sleep matters. Water matters. Movement matters. Counseling matters. Make the appointment.
Play games! Pickleball, basketball, and even simple walks with my wife reset me. And then there’s laughter. I mean c’mon…things are funny. LAUGH.
And prayer. The older I get, the more I realize nothing I’ve ever faced surprises God. He always gets me through it. The more you let go of ego, the more you’ll embrace humility, forgiveness, and grace. It’s truly incredible.
And then there’s this truth: sometimes healing requires change.
Last year, I left a job I loved after eleven years. A week after cleaning out my desk I was on a short trip alone, when a wave of fear came over me. You idiot! What if your actions just swung the door wide open for the darkness to return? I listened to that voice. I even thanked it. But I had bigger goals. I wanted to find work that truly matters. Forget about money. Do what you’re good at, and make an impact on people’s lives.
I made a decision to fall in love with my life.
Make no mistake. My flu is dangerous, but I’m thankful for it. Without it, I wouldn’t have the same level of empathy. I might still be the guy telling people to “man up” or “get over it.” Instead, I know what it feels like to wake up exhausted. I know the headaches—the kind that come with more despair than pain.
I know.
Michael J. Fox once said that if God made him a deal that his Parkinson’s would be cured tomorrow, but it meant he’d have to return to the person he once was, no way in hell would he do that deal.
I get that.
My flu is mine. It’s a red-hot ember that lies dormant, and I refuse to throw gasoline on it.
I am worth protecting.
And so are you.
