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Part of the way that my depression manifests is to make me too exhausted to do anything. For several years, I was too exhausted to unpack many of my belongings or to clean up after myself or to put away clean laundry or to accomplish much of anything other than lying in bed watching The Andy Griffith Show.

Recently, though, I've been feeling a bit more ambitious. In the last couple of months, I have re-organized two closets, finally cleared the junk from my third bedroom (now my office/craft room), set up an etsy shop to sell things I no longer need (it's not open yet), and even cleaned out my car and vacuumed up most of the dog hair. Don't get me wrong: my house is still a nightmare mess, but it's starting to be less nightmarish than it was in, say, December.

This weekend, a student of mine and his friend came by and helped me to move and clear out all of the boxes that were stacked in my garage. Many of these boxes were things I packed when my family sold my childhood home. These were items I hadn't seen since 2007. They included such varied objects as old checkbooks, a Jem doll (sadly, her earrings no longer flash), books that were important to me in college, and I even found my mother's old costume jewelry that I'd thought was gone forever. Most of it got tossed in one way or another. I did put the costume jewelry away because I used to love those things when I was little.

Among these boxes were also some things I thought I'd lost since my last move: my document scanner, some sentimental Christmas decorations, and an expensive handbag I'd been sick with worry at having lost. Whew. So, it was a good exercise. I took several things to Goodwill. I am slowly purging all this extra stuff.

When the boys left, I felt great about how tidy and roomy the garage felt. I felt like I was getting things done. But, I didn't even know how accomplished I could feel until Sunday.

Late Saturday night, I rolled over in my bed and felt the center of the bed give a little and sag. I'd been afraid this was gonna happen since I put the frame together last year. The center support rail looked a bit flimsy when it was brand new, so I knew a year of sagging under my heavy body wouldn't have done it much good. Sure enough, when I removed the mattress the next morning, the center support was looking pretty...rough. For a long moment, I panicked. What was I gonna do? Where could I buy a new bed? Did I have the money for that?

Then, I realized I had put that frame together myself and I could certainly figure out how to repair it. So, I did.

When I say I feel proud of having repaired my bed, that is an understatement. I feel like Wonder Woman. Like Captain Marvel. After years of feeling helpless, hopeless, and useless, doing something for myself, to help myself, that required a certain amount of planning and execution feels like a real victory. Let's hope it's not the last.

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