Mental Health Update

Switching jobs is the best thing I could possibly have done for myself. My current office isn’t perfect by any means, but my mental health was really, really suffering by the toxic workplace I have now left behind.

And, you know, I wish I could write about something other than my mental health, but I feel like I’ve got to go to war with it every day still.

I’ve made some additional changes that have helped. I’ve started walking Thea every morning before work. I’ve gotten back into exercise a little bit. There’s still a long way to go with that, but I’m making baby steps in the right direction. I’ve stopped having groceries delivered. I’m cooking more. I’ve found a church that I like and, although I’m certainly not attending every Sunday, I do feel like I’m committed to that one church.

There is a really big other thing that I hesitate to write here, but I feel like I need to do it.

I’ve really done my best to reestablish my relationship with my sister, but I am now realizing the negative effects that’s had on me and I’m taking a step back.

Part of what has been problematic is that my sister does not want me writing about her. So I did my best to stop doing that, but the impact has been a lot bigger than just not writing about her.

And, to clarify, it’s not that she doesn’t want me to write about her in a negative light. She doesn’t want me to write about her. Period. And it’s not just her. She doesn’t want me writing about my nieces or nephews. Really, I think she probably doesn’t want me to write anything about our parents or grandparents or extended family.

Several months ago, we had an important conversation. There was a conflict and I’m going to write about some of the details of it, because that conversation was really eye-opening for me.

During that conversation, my sister told me she doesn’t want me to talk about her, regardless of what’s being said, so it’s not simply that she doesn’t want things out on the internet. If people bring her up to me in conversation, she wants me to say something to the effect of, “I’m sorry. I can’t speak about my sister.” Even in casual conversations with my co-workers, if they ask me about my family, she does not want me to say ANYTHING about her.

So, getting back to the issue with the blog, I’ve really tried to comply with what she wanted and I tried to not write about her at all, or if I was writing about her, I would not identify the person as her, but label the person as a friend. But it’s really limited me and given me a certain amount of anxiety. Feeling the anxiety of, “What if I accidentally mention her?” has made it feel impossible to show up here with the openness and transparency that makes this blog what it is and it’s honestly tainted this space for me.

One of the taints is that it’s felt like the blog is less mine than it used to be. It’s something she has no right to control, but her angry reactions to my writing have needed to be avoided at all costs, so she somehow has gained a certain amount of control over the blog just because I don’t trust her not to go ape-shit if I accidentally mention her.

This blog, at times, has been my sanctuary from the storm. It’s a place where I process my life and try to better understand myself and the world around me. I recognize that my disclosures affect others, and I’ve tried not to be a complete jerk, but there really is no other medium that has done for me what blogging has done. Losing that left me without my sanctuary and without a release valve for the pressure of life. It also caged me a little bit – took away my freedom.

There is another harm that feels a little harder to explain. I’ve always tried to believe that the best way to live in this world is to be exactly the person I pretend to be and to avoid pretense. I try to show up and allow the people around me to see all of me, with nothing hidden. I tend to believe that if there is something I’d be tempted to hide, probably that thing is not a good thing to have in my life to begin with. Having to essentially hide everything related to my family makes me feel like there must be something wrong – something that’s not okay. Something that’s offensive or gross. Something that is such a deviation from the norm that it has to be locked away. Following that line of thinking down to its inevitable end, when I conform to my sister’s request that I not write about her or the family and not talk about her ever… I end up feeling like there are things deeply wrong with me, because there is so much that has to be hidden. It’s a warped psychology, I know, but that’s genuinely how I start to feel when I’m forced to censor myself.

One of the things my sister recently said that sort of knocked some sense into me was to bring up times that I’ve blogged about her in the past… like 10-15 years ago. And it just made me realize that no matter what I do, she is going to hold onto the perceived wrongs forever. When we were in our 20s and she was bringing up things from a year or two before, it wasn’t quite so clear to me that her grudges are so deeply held. Now that we’re in our 40s and she’s still bringing up the same perceived wrongs that she brought up 20 years ago, that’s pretty revealing. Clearly, it doesn’t matter if I sacrifice this outlet that helps me be healthier, that gives me a creative space, that brings me joy and connection… doesn’t matter. She is going to bring up this blog no matter what I do and she will try to use it against me until one of us dies.

If that’s the case, why on earth would I continue to sacrifice it?

There were several other major things she said during our conversation that I marinated on and they were just so, so toxic/controlling/gaslighty. I’m not trying to be petty by writing these things, but she honestly made me question things I should not have been questioning. She caused me to think I was to blame for things that are not my fault. It was really unhealthy.

At one point, my sister was saying really unkind and judgmental things about a person we both know. I tried to get her to stop by pointing out that I have a positive relationship with this person. She doubled down on complaining and insulting that person even more. I told her it puts me in a really awkward position when she says such negative things about him.

Her response was to blame me.

She said I should not have pointed out that I have a positive relationship with him and that if I say something like that, I should expect her to respond exactly the way she responded.

It honestly took me months to reflect on that and come to the conclusion that, no… me making a positive statement about someone does not force her to say negative things about him. It’s not my fault. She is responsible for her words. I am allowed to say positive things about people – that’s actually a very good thing for me to be doing and I should keep doing it.

There was also a moment when we were discussing forgiveness. She was angry with me over a text I sent that was not fowl, aggressive, or really very bad at all. It had a slight edge to it, because I was expressing irritation, but, really, that’s all. It was also based on a misunderstanding on my part; I didn’t have all of the facts when I sent the text.

Somehow, this text that I sent during work, between doing a lot of other things, while I was not really paying attention, completely blew up.

First, my sister told the whole family about it, including my nieces. I hate that she brought them into it. Kids should not be put in the middle of adult arguments. Not healthy.

Next, she didn’t approach me to discuss the text and a couple of weeks went by. I only realized she was pissed and giving me the cold shoulder when I called to try to sort out our holiday plans. I was at the grocery store and talking to her on the phone. I tried repeatedly to end the conversation, but no matter how many times I attempted to deescalate things, she was going to let me have it. She even criticized my attempts at deescalation and the way I was using active listening skills – she HATED when I paraphrased or reflected her words back to her. She complained when I summarized and tried to bring the conversation to an end. Legitimately, if you google active listening skill list, paraphrasing and summarizing are on every list that pops up.

After she and I hung up, I figured out that I had a misunderstanding about some facts, and I apologized. Same day as the phone call.

Still didn’t fix things.

A month or so went by, and I asked my sister to get coffee – always gotta have those conversations in a public place, because I know she’ll be quieter and better if other people are around.

During the conversation, she was sort of saying she forgave me for the text, but then continuing to bring it up and criticize me for it. She was doing the thing where you say, I forgive you, but…_________. I hate when people do that.

I started to say something like, “Well, we view forgiveness really differently, so maybe it’s unfair for me to have expectations about how we will move forward.” She and I have had the forgiveness conversation a lot of times. I’m very Calvinist in my belief that the core of Christianity is unmerited grace. She knows that I really, really prioritize the idea of letting things go and moving on, not holding grudges – it’s a core belief and a core value for me. I certainly struggle with it, but it’s really my most deeply held value.

Instead of letting me finish my sentence, she interrupted me, called me self-righteous, and lashed out, saying that I don’t move on from things as well as I think I do.

That was a huge wakeup call for me – I’m not even allowed to finish my sentence when I’m speaking about my most deeply-held belief? AND I’m called self-righteous because I prioritize unmerited grace?

My overall feeling after talking with her was there is absolutely no space for me to be myself in this relationship. I’m not permitted to talk about my core values. I’m not allowed to speak well of people she doesn’t like or has had a problem with. I’m not really allowed to even mention most of the people I’m closest with.

At one point, I actually said, “I’ve avoided talking about certain topics, because I didn’t believe there was room in our relationship for me to speak. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there is room for me to say things. I don’t know.”

And she changed subject.

After that conversation, it just very, very clear that there is not room for me to be myself AT All with my sister. It’s an unavoidable truth.

I’m somewhat grateful for how terrible that conversation was… because it revealed to me how much I have allowed her to limit who I am. I’ve hidden things about myself that I think are really beautiful, because she can’t see the beauty.

So, I think it’s been a really big and helpful step forward for me to stop trying to hold onto that relationship and return to being the best version of myself I can possibly be. She can take me or leave me, but I certainly can’t continue to abandon myself every time I’m in her presence.

Finally, I found myself a therapist. I’ve had two sessions, and it’s gone well so far. Last week, we did a lot of background stuff, so I didn’t feel super challenged; it was just making her aware of my job, family, habits, hobbies, social circle, etc… This week, however, was a bit of a punch in the gut.

I have convinced myself that my work-life balance is good. Also, I have believed that I have plenty of friends and hobbies. I told myself that I like being by myself.

Turns out, it’s pretty obvious that I’ve let me job consume my entire life.

I work and I come home. My weekends and evenings are about getting ready for the next day at work. I may not be working while I’m at home, but I’m thinking about work. I’m preparing to work. I spend almost zero time with people I know from anywhere except work and law school.

My therapist did this obnoxiously artful job of making me realize this major, major issue, without her actually confronting me with the issue. She just kept encouraging me to do things other than work. And I felt inexplicably closed off to that. Didn’t want to do it. Felt defensive about it, in fact. She was making perfectly reasonable suggestions, and I’m usually very coachable. Tell me to do a thing, and you should consider it done. But I did not want to do anything with other humans and it was hard for me that she kept nudging me to do things other than work.

It honestly hurts my feelings quite a lot to realize I’ve become a version of the lawyer stereotype. I work too many hours. I don’t have friends. I drink too much wine. I can’t talk about anything except the law.

I hate all of that for myself.

Also, my therapy homework for the week was to pay attention to my co-workers. See if they appear to have healthy lives. See if they are talking about alcohol. See if they are staying at work late. See if they have lives outside of the office.

And the thing is… they mostly are not well-balanced humans. I can’t remember if I’ve written about this, but I’ve moved into the Special Victims Unit at work, which means ultra-high stakes for a lot of my cases. Sex crimes. Child victims. Vulnerable adult victims. Really traumatic stuff. And A LOT of trials. I am in trial next week. I’m in a different trial the week after that. I’m in a week-long homicide investigation training the week after that. And I am the least-experienced attorney in the unit, so they are not giving me the most challenging cases or the hugest caseload. The attorneys I most admire in the unit… they live the job.

I don’t want to be only the job. I really don’t.

But I love, love, love being in trial and working with victims. It’s the greatest. It lights me up inside. And I have oh-so-very-much to learn right now. I’m still learning how to be a prosecutor. I’m still learning how to do trials. I have taken on so, so much.

But my therapist is right. It’s time for me to step out into the world and talk to non-lawyers about things other than the law.

So… next step, I’ve found a cooking class I may try to take.

Thanks for listening, interwebs. 🙂

Grandmothering One’s Self Out of Depression

I’ve begun referring to myself as “Child.” Only within my own mind, mind you. Never out loud.

I’m not sure when I started or why, but I think it’s been helpful.

Simple.

Will you please just take a shower, for me, Child? I know you don’t want to, but will you please just do it?

You can reach out to just one friend, Child. Just send one text. I’m sure they’d like to hear from you.

Slow down, Child! Make sure you taste your food/see that sunset/breathe/smell the rain.

The voice that calls me “Child” sounds like a patient grandmother talking to me. Sometimes, she calls me “My Child” or “My Love.”

Most of what I grandmother myself about is basic habits. My habits got really bad while I was depressed. It isn’t an exaggeration to say that I needed prompting to get myself to shower.

I was never not functional – never showed up to work without looking (mostly) professional. I’ve been a good lawyer.

But I have needed prompting to go to the grocery store – as opposed to ordering a weeks’ worth of delivery (Indian food, Mexican, pizza…)

I have needed prompting to get off the couch. Go for a run. Do some yoga. Walk your little dog. She can’t walk herself, Child.

Prompting to read, write, pray, journal, go to church.

Do yoga.

Do the dishes. Plan meals. Go to the grocery store. Peel sweet potatoes.

Ramen is okay, Love, every now and then, but it’s not proper for every meal, regardless of whether you put broccoli in it or not. You love food. You enjoy eating other things, if you’d just try. Cook a new recipe. Find a new recipe.

Try.

Try a new show on tv. Or a new movie. Go to a movie. Go to a coffee shop. A book shop. Go for a drive.

Plan a vacation. Just something in Arizona. Go somewhere new. You’ll have fun.

You love ComiCon. Buy tickets to ComiCon. Invite someone to go with you.

A quote from Les Miserables explains my depression quite well:

“One declines, descends, trickles away, even crumbles away, and yet is hardly conscious of it one’s self. It always ends, it is true, in an awakening, but the awakening is tardy. In the meantime, it seems as though we held ourselves neutral in the game which is going on between our happiness and our unhappiness. We are the stake, and we look on the game with indifference.”

Depression isn’t really sadness at all. Now that I’ve experienced it, it makes no sense to me when people talk about this or that being depressing. What they really mean is that this or that is sad… unless they mean it’s something that tends to make you feel as if nothing matters. As if we’re all headed nowhere in this life. We all live, breathe, eat, sleep, die. And really, as Captain Hook said, “Death is the only adventure.” So, we just need to wait it out. Just wait. That’s all.

I didn’t really have much insight into my depression for at least the first few years, and I think that’s because, depression is not unreasonable. It’s based on a few things that are very, very true. It just excludes a much vaster collection of things that are also true. It excludes all of the positive truths. Or, perhaps it minimizes them.

Depression never told me that kindness didn’t exist. It just told me that it ultimately doesn’t lead anywhere. Sure, be kind to others. Certainly don’t be unkind to others. But, in the end, the bigger picture is so broad and wide that kindnesses just blend into the dead end panorama.

Again, we turn to Les Miserables:

“Children accept joy and happiness instantly and familiarly, being themselves by nature joy and happiness.”

No need to go to war with joy, Child. You are, by nature, joy and happiness. That is true.

It’s going to monsoon today, Child. Look at the sky. Isn’t it beautiful? I know how much you love a desert storm. True.

It’s been quite a while since you’ve written, My Child. You’ve got the time for a blog post. Writing would do you some good.

Your feet have done well the past couple of weeks. Maybe you should go for a short run? Better get moving if you want to beat the storm.

I’ve had some great boons at work lately, one of which being a lateral move to the Special Victims Unit, which means that many of the victims in my cases are now children. In the few months since I made the shift, children have seemed more vulnerable and more beautiful to me. More noteworthy.

Really, life is best when its approached in the way of children. Basic. Hedonistic. Curious. Open. Accepting of joy. Used to being prompted by their grandmothers to do things.

There will be fireworks soon and your little dogs will be scared. They need you to keep them calm. Better get those dishes done soon, Child, so you can be fully present once the booms and bright twinkles consume the space around you.

As Far as the East from the West

I’ve been thinking a lot about forgiveness. I had a pretty unhealthy thing happen that effed with my head and I’m trying to put my heart right about it.

I grew up with a lot of unforgiveness around me. Minor infractions were blown out of proportion. They were treated the way I might expect it to be treated if I had tried to use heroin in the parking lot of a police substation. Unintentional slights were brought up in every argument for years and years and years. It was a constant, ongoing record of wrongs. It was, “You’re a bad Christian because you left your laundry in the dryer,” or, “I’ve bought everyone in the house a copy of this book since you had the audacity to touch my copy of it. Now no one has any reason to touch my book.”

So when I really started experiencing the gospel… not just knowing what it was, reading it, or being able to recite it… really experiencing what it feels like for my sins to be as far from me as the East is from the West… it truly pierced my heart. I felt and still feel an elegant pain when I think about it. It hurts to acknowledge the unmerited grace I have received and constantly need.

Since first feeling that pierced heart, I’ve tried to be really, really intentional about grace. There are a lot of aspects of Christian faith that seem fluid or flexible to me. Doctrines that I’m not sure about. Doubts that I have. Grace is not negotiable to me. It is the core of Christianity. It is the foundation. It is Christianity.

I’ve tried to become quicker and quicker each year to forgive. I want to let go of grudges. Forget wrongs. Move on, especially when I can see an eagerness or even just a slight desire for being at peace in the other person. I don’t think they need to apologize or take responsibility for anything. I think it’s right for me to just forgive them.

Years ago, I copied down a Paul Tripp quote that went something like, “No one gives grace better than someone who knows she needs it.”

I try really hard to know I need grace.

So, a few months back, I messed up and sent an unintentionally, but decidedly rude text. I talked to the recipient of the text, heard what they thought I had meant by the text, tried to convey what I actually had meant by it, and I apologized.

But this person just couldn’t seem to let it go. There was a period of this person not talking to me at all. I asked them to get coffee and we tried to hash it out.

I finally was like, “Hey, have you forgiven me for the text?’

There was a really long explanation of why the text would not be forgotten, but the person didn’t say whether I was forgiven or not.

I tried to express concern that I didn’t want the text to be brought up again and again in future and unrelated conflicts. I was hoping we could move on from it.

The other person repeated a bunch of things about the text not being forgotten.

I asked again if I was forgiven and was essentially told that I was forgiven, but the text wasn’t forgotten.

And it didn’t sit right with me. It just felt like, “Come on. It was a text – like, really? You’re threatening to remember a careless text I sent you? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

To be clear, the text definitely expressed annoyance at something I should not have been annoyed about and it included some things that I mentioned, but really should have fully explained. It was also based on something I thought was true that wasn’t true at all. It was a careless, but not malicious or threatening text, so I really didn’t understand how a Christian could possibly think the way to handle this was to tell me they intended to hold onto the text… keep it for later use.

I started trying to explain why I would hope that forgiveness meant something different than that…

And then the person interrupted me and accused of being self-righteous.

And… I don’t know.

I don’t want to be the jerk who just ignores it when someone criticizes me. Obviously, the context of the criticism matters. We were in the middle of an argument, so I have my doubts as to whether there was any good motive behind calling me self-righteous. It doesn’t seem like it was meant for my edification. It seems like it was probably said to stop me from explaining what I think the gospel is.

However, maybe I am self-righteous about what I believe grace is. I certainly don’t want to be self-righteous. Admittedly, I feel a lot of frustration and judgment at this thing where Christians think they are allowed to say they’re forgiving someone and then secretly (or, in this case, openly) hold onto anger and judgment. I’m obviously judging the anger and judgment…

Maybe it’s also a thing where I shouldn’t feel entitled to undiluted forgiveness? I’m the one who sent the rude text. Maybe it’s self-righteous not to focus on my wrong and let this person remember whatever the hell they want to remember?

It’s just, forgiveness, to me inherently cannot be “forgiving but not forgetting.” That kind of “forgiveness” feels counterfeit and dangerous to me… it feels like just enough of the gospel to inoculate a person from ever truly being pierced by it.

I stand by my belief that true forgiveness is as far as the east is from the west. I don’t know if I’m self-righteous about it and I guess I will marinate on that for a few years… But what is this life even about if not trying to be generous with offering grace to others… as if we know we, ourselves, need it?

The Church Miracle!

People have said frustrating things to me about my issues with the church. It’s been similar to the things people used to say to me about dating: “You’re being too picky.” “No church is perfect, so you have to accept some of the things you don’t like.” And, you know, they would give me that look… like they felt I was very misguided and were sorry for me – pitied me.

But, you know, I genuinely believe it’s right not to settle. Both in my searches for church and partner.

I’m sorry, but I was never going to be happy at a church that owns and uses a snow machine in the desert. I wasn’t going to fit anywhere that women only work in the nursery and answer the phones. I really don’t benefit from sermons about strengthening marriages, and, to be frank, I think those sermons do more harm than good, so let’s avoid those as much as possible. What’s really great is when sermons are about the Bible and Jesus. I don’t care all that much about the quality of a church’s music. It is quite important to me that my church care for the community in tangible ways. Thus, I kind of have to be somewhere that has vibrant ministries. And not just any sort of ministries… the sort that aren’t easy or sterile. I need to be at a church that’s willing to get its hands dirty.

Aren’t those fair things to want from the church?

I get the feeling most people’s expectations of the church are way too low. Perhaps they just want to have some polite friendships, hear a pleasant little sermon, sing songs, and be home in time for lunch. The end.

I don’t know… am I missing it? Isn’t the Church supposed to be more than that? Isn’t she supposed to be SO MUCH MORE?

Some time ago, Amy the Dentist told me about a church she and her husband were going to try out. My mom and I went there and we thought it was good. We didn’t immediately start going every weekend or anything, but we each sort of went sporadically and it grew on us.

It’s an Oro Valley church, which means a certain amount of affluence and age. Also, not a lot of ethnic diversity. Honestly, if you’d asked me if it was the sort of church I would grow to love based on that profile, I would have said a pretty confident “no.”

But… they’ve been working on starting up a ministry to help people leaving incarceration to transition back into the community. You know… giving them cell phones that connect to the internet. Practical things like that. Obviously, I really love this sort of ministry; it’s right up my alley.

Also… the sermons are, you know, based in the Bible. The only time I’ve heard the pastor switch translations was to read one specific passage out of the First Nations Translation because he thought it was beautiful. And, okay, my love language is books, I’m especially drawn to pastors who read and talk about books, which this pastor does. And… FIRST NATIONS TRANSLATION?! I didn’t honestly know that’s a thing, but I went out and bought one pretty soon after hearing Pastor Sam talk about it.

Also, he’s not the only preaching pastor. He definitely does the heavy lifting, but every-now-and-then, they have the other pastor preach, and SHE is great. That’s right, there’s a nice feminism thing happening. It’s not ostentatious feminism, which I can’t abide, but it’s an intelligent feminism, supported by the Bible. Sam points out things I never noticed in passages I’ve read a ton of times… about women in the Bible preaching. It’s so, so wonderful.

So… I’m pretty happy. I feel cautiously optimistic that God has placed me. I’m not joining a small group just yet, but I may attend some events in addition to the Sunday morning stuff, and we’ll see what happens. For now, I’m just glad I didn’t settle for the snow machine. 🙂

TV Recommendation: The Last of Us

Back in 2013, I was just barely still in my 20s and I was friends with a lot of 20-something men. I played video games. They played video games. It was a ton of fun to talk about gaming and geek out together.

* Note: If you know things about video games, feel free to skip this next three paragraphs…

Now, video games have a stigma to them, but really, there has been a transformation of the genre over the decades so that they have become an incredible medium for immersive stories. Sure, it’s still possible to pick up a video game that entirely lacks nuance. You can play as a plumber who is just racing around a track and shooting turtle shells at opponents. There are also many, many games where the most important aspect of the game is slaying an enemy, well, just because… why not shoot someone or something…

However, there are also so, so many games where the story is the most important feature of playing. Those have always been my jam. I have tended towards something called RPGs (Role Playing Games), where I play a character who is living out a story. There are usually cut scenes where the game stops allowing you to control the character and just gives you a cinematic experience of the story. Some of the games actually allow the player to make choices that change the story in enormous ways. Those are my favorite. I’m not a huge fan of first-person shooters, but even they have often started to err on the side of having a compelling story.

Something else that’s noteworthy is the leaps and bounds that game production has made over the years. There are now sweeping musical scores, well-known actors voicing the characters, gorgeous and complex artwork… it really is no longer the two-dimensional cartoons that were available when I was a kid.

So, back in 2013, I was a high school English teacher, and it was really important to me to help my students see how much they actually LOVE stories… often in different forms than the stories they were exposed to through mandated curricula. I made them do plot diagrams of tv commercials, dance numbers, really any narrative I could find to try to show them that story permeates our existence and that story is wonderful.

One of my friends at the time was a math teacher named Lawrence. He was far more up-to-date on video games than I have ever been. I think he actually worked at knowing what the new releases were and pre-ordering certain games. I also think he played on every gaming system that existed at the time (PC, Playstation, XBOX, Nintendo, and probably others), whereas I have only ever been an XBOX girl, so I missed out on some of the best games ever released and he did not miss many of them at all.

I keep bringing up 2013, because that was the year the first Last of Us game was released. It’s a Playstation game, so I never played it in its entirety, but Lawrence was really, REALLY into it right after it came out and had me play the opening scene once while I was at his house.

At its core, The Last of Us is a zombie apocalypse story. You can watch the actual game intro here. If you don’t want to watch the game, you can also just watch the tv show, which is mostly loyal to that opening sequence, although it does begin earlier in the day and fleshes things out quite a bit. Also, though, I’m going to describe how the intro goes as you play it…

SPOILERS: The game begins with Joel and his young teen daughter Sarah having a sweet little moment on Joel’s birthday. She fixes his watch for him as a birthday present and they joke around a little. Sarah falls asleep on the sofa and Joel carries her to bed. She is woken up to a panicked phone call from her uncle Tommy. The call gets cut off abruptly and you take control of playing Sarah. All you can do is walk downstairs, talk to your dad, and watch as your neighbor breaks through the sliding glass door. Joel shoots him and he tells you something really bad is happening. Together you run outside, where uncle Tommy meets you. You all get into a truck and try to drive out of the city. There is chaos. Helicopters. People running. Zombies. Road blocks. Tommy is driving and it’s impossible to get anywhere in the chaos. He crashes the truck and Sarah’s leg gets injured, so you take control of playing Joel. You pick Sarah up and carry her through the streets, trying to avoid the attacking zombies. Tommy helps protect you until he has to stay back to hold off a bunch of the zombies; you continue on without him. It’s terrifying, but you eventually get to the edge of the city, where you should be safe. You run into an armed military man. You talk to him and he’s (understandably) jumpy. He gets on the radio, talking about you and Sarah. He gets his orders, which appear to be to kill you both. You (Joel) start trying to tell him that neither of you are infected, but he shoots at you anyway. Sarah falls out of your arms and you are lying on the ground. He approaches and is about to kill you when Tommy catches up and kills the military man before he can kill you. You rush to get to Sarah, who has been shot. She makes these horrifying, sad sounds, and then dies in your arms.

That is the opening scene to the game.

Lawrence wanted me to play it because it was the first game that had ever made him cry.

I played a little bit beyond that opening scene, so I knew, before I watched the show, that the next scene you play is many, many years in the future (maybe a decade?) as Joel still surviving the apocalypse.

Fast forward to last year. I got real, real sick in November 2024 and needed a show to binge. The Last of Us Season 1 was on my list of shows to watch, so I went for it. And it was so, so good.

So good.

It’s one of those shows that really captured me. I felt like I knew the characters. I loved them. I empathized. The production quality was so high. It used some of the same score as the game. The acting. The writing. All of it was impressive. Aside from the quality of the production, however, I had one noteworthy thought that I’d like to share, because it’s a strange thought for this sort of show: “Oh my gosh, this is so beautiful and wholesome.”

Now, I feel like I need to clarify that a bit. There are a ton of F-bombs in The Last of Us. There is death. There is cannibalism. There is some rapey stuff. There is cult action. It is not a show I would recommend for a child to watch. That said, at it’s core, The Last of Us is the story of a dad who lost one daughter being thrust into a father role with another teenage girl.

And there is not one moment that feels icky. I hate to write it like that, but I have honestly come to expect tv and movies to only show older man/teen girl ickiness. The Last of Us isn’t that. It’s sweet. It really depicts fatherly love. Joel, as a character, has so many obvious flaws, that really get examined well at the beginning of season 2. However, his flaws are the sort of flaws a good father can still have. In a time when “America’s Dad” turned out to be such a sicko, it’s really lovely to find a wholesome story about fatherly love. Of course, The Last of Us depicts other loves as well, but so much of what viewers took from watching was a breathtaking depiction of fatherly heartache.

And fast forward to this week.

I’m sick again. I finally got Covid. For a long time there, I felt like I was a video game character, dodging the virus that infected the world… perhaps I was immune. My blood was the cure! I took pride in never having had it… but now I have it.

Honestly, Covid hasn’t been all that bad for me. Of course, it’s a different virus than the one that emerged in 2019, so I think it’s to be expected that it’s not quite so bad. Also, I have never taken a nasal decongestant before, so once I discovered Afrin, I was flying high. My symptoms were only very bad for three days. I actually only tested myself for Covid because one of the judges on the criminal bench tested positive the day before I was intending to return to work, so I thought it best to be safe. Turns out, even though my symptoms have almost completely subsided, I have Covid and have had to stay home. I’ve been pretty stir crazy, however, the best part of being at home was deciding to rewatch the 1st season of The Last of Us and then continuing on to watch season 2.

For the record, I think season 2 may actually be better than season 1??? I won’t include any more spoilers, but the emotional impact was so much. I sobbed, which was particularly gross since I already had excess snot in my nose.

A person who had played more of the game(s) would have expected the story to go where it did. I, however, did not see any of it coming.

It was great.

So…

Watch it.

I wish I had a better ending for this post, but the gist of it all is, I loved, loved, LOVED the tv adaptation of The Last of Us. Loved it.

And I think you will too.

Happy viewing.