a deep grandness.
a love letter to witches, the Grand Canyon, and Zoloft.
We started hiking the Kaibab Trail of the Grand Canyon a little before 5am. We had traveled from all over to be here for Char’s 40th birthday and much-delayed bachelorette party. This big hike was the main event for most of us. I was so nervous. I didn’t bother to check my headlamp, because I had just used it two days prior for a pre-dawn run. But it wouldn’t turn on. When we opened it up to change the batteries, you could see that the electrical connections were eroded. It was toast. It was 16 years old. I threw it in the trash at the trailhead to save myself from having to carry deadweight for 17+ miles.
I had never seen the Grand Canyon—and I still hadn’t! It was pitch dark, with an almost new moon, so we hiked down into darkness. Every so often, I got my phone out to use the flashlight feature and looked like a real gaper. But mostly, if I was in front of one of my friends, I could use their light.
Marching into the darkness of the Grand Canyon, I thought about how much I’ve symbolically marched into the darkness of life lately—with semi-wavering trust that there was the goodness and beauty of grand measure on the other side. (tbd, still.) I thought a lot about my recent decision to wean myself off Zoloft (“Vitamin Z” if ya nasty). It wasn’t a decision I wanted to make. It wasn’t a decision I had even told my husband about. I had made this decision, because I had run out of Zoloft pills. I had made some minor efforts that left me disappointed: called my provider in Seattle and left a message asking if they could transfer my prescription (never got a call back); called a therapist in Jackson to try to establish care (never got a call back… which, if this therapist knew me at all would know that that just makes me want to crawl and hide in the shame of unwantedness); called the Bartell’s in Seattle that I WOULD have gotten my prescription refilled (two of the Bartell’s I usually picked up prescriptions from have since shuttered their doors) but finally hung up after two bouts of waiting on the phone for a half hour with no human contact; and my last ditch effort was texting a medical professional friend, asking her if she could write me a prescription (she—totally understandably—couldn’t, because she doesn’t fuck with brain meds and friends).
So I decided to take the few pills I had left and break them in half and wean off of Zoloft for the duration of this trip to the Grand Canyon with 12 other women.
I thought about how easy it was to get on antidepressants after I had a baby. How it was the only time in my life that a doctor I was supposed to regularly see asked, “Are you okay? How are you doing mentally? Do you think antidepressants would help?” This was May 2020. How luck was I to have someone paying attention to my mental health and asking. I’m pretty sure that if you would’ve asked the general population how they were doing in May of 2020, most of their answer would be:
I thought about how in 2023, a new provider had made me fill out a questionnaire about my mental health before I upped my Zoloft, so we could compare a couple months later. When I came back two months later, his office had lost my filled-out questionnaire and he asked me if I remembered any of my answers. I thought about how broken the suicide hotline in America is (I’m not in crisis, but what if I was!?) and how (especially in the medical industry) no one believes women.
I marched on into the darkness, feeling okay about my decision to wean off myself. I was pushing myself—both in that canyon and in life—but I know I can do hard things. I didn’t even think about the irony of how I could light up the way with my phone, but it was much better when there was a friend with a bright headlamp behind me.
Looking to the stars, I realized how incredible this journey was and how many MORE stars there are than I ever remember. It was incredible. The headlamps of other groups of women dotted the trail as we went down, down, down and the light started to appear on the landscape.
The coolest thing about hiking with eight other friends for eight and a half hours is that you quality catch-up time with so many people in ways unlike any other.
While hiking with one of my closest friends, she asked how it was all going. “Good!” I said, “I feel good and I’m actually weaning myself off of Zoloft right now.”
She stopped in her tracks to look me in the eye and ask, “Why?” and then she continued, “When I weaned myself off the first time, I felt like I had a brain tumor.”
I told her that I felt good! Things were good! Oh, also, I can’t find any more pills. But things are good! (the things we tell ourselves to justify the decisions we didn’t get to make for ourselves.)
We hiked on. We got to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and then started the arduous hike back up to the rim via Bright Angel. Here’s the thing (about hiking, but probably life as well): hiking down, in the coolness of the dark, even if you don’t have a headlamp, is MUCH easier than hiking straight up in the sunshine and heat of Arizona. I felt the difficulty in my body that started to seep in my mind—wondering if I actually had this. If I was actually good.
Three of the friends who we started with had taken another way back, so when the five of us finished the big hike, it was absolutely a celebration. We surveyed the greatness and depth of what we had all just done—together. It was hard. It was beautiful. We all did so well. I’m so proud of us!
Later that day, with still a ton of weekend ahead of us, my friend who I had told about weaning myself off of Zoloft came to me and said, “I don’t think you should go off your meds. There’s gotta be so much Zoloft on this trip, you can surely borrow a few pills while we figure out how to get you a refill.”
In our 20s, the semi-embarrassing medical phone call or text you made to your closest friends was asking for Plan-B. It was $60 a pop and nearly impossible to get in the 2000s, because you had to go get a prescription for it or—at best—go fill out some paperwork at a pharmacy and wait to be judged. (!!!!!) So you hoped that one of your friends had a cool OB-GYN who gave them a prescription for a handful of Plan-B at a decent price, so they could get it all at once and keep it in their closet. In our 30s, the semi-embarrassing medical phone call or text you make to your closest friends is asking if they have any Zoloft to spare before you can get your stash replenished.
Over the next two days, we went swimming, we went bowling, we went out to fancy dinner, we shopped, we played Salad Bowl (the comments about the “blanket round” are us), we did Tarot readings, we had the best time… and it was all dotted with sweet little moments of me sharing with friends how I needed some help and them DELIVERING.
One night, I stayed up talking with a friend about all her medication that she has to take since her breast cancer treatment. She opened her pill case and walked me through each. She told me she had plenty of Zoloft and that I could swing by her place when we got back and easily borrow a few pills.
One moment in an airport, another friend sat next to me and told me to pull out my phone. “Let’s get you some appointments and get you that Zoloft refill.” (I am tearing up now just thinking about her sweet insistence.)
In the end, it was a genius friend who recommended Amazon Pharmacy (they eerily had my insurance and provider already and contacted my provider FOR me… listen, this is all creepy AF, but do you understand how convenient it was compared to what I’ve been going through for the past month) that delivered (literally will be delivering today) and my friend whose home I stopped by yesterday morning to borrow some Zoloft whilst Marcelline took off her shoes and daydreamed about having her own yard.
(sidenote: the dahlias of my friend reminded me of the cover of And Yet by Kate Baer, which I bought on the trip at a bookstore in Flagstaff. I read this poem aloud whilst some of us sat on the porch of our AirBNB and drank wine.)
I did not think a move back to Jackson was going to ever be in the cards for me… nor did I really want it to, if I'm being honest. But the Universe pointed me and my family directly to Jackson and I started marching into the darkness, not knowing what to expect, but knowing it would be hard. I'm fairly confident that if I hadn't moved back to Jackson, I wouldn't have come on this trip and that would've been a damn shame, because this trip gave me hope for this grand adventure of life I'm on. I was giddy to glom on to this witchy crew and look to them as the constellations, lighting and directing my way. Each of the friends on this trip became the bright stars in this phase of my life. I haven't laughed that hard, bowled that hard, hiked that hard, shared that hard (IRL! whoa!), or smiled that hard in a GOOD LONG WHILE.
Thank you, witches. Thank you, Universe. Thank you, Grand Canyon. Thank you, Zoloft. 💫
A Little Break:
GET IT DONE: I have prided myself on getting things done around here. And by “around here” I mean this here blahg. And my new job. And not much else. For a while—on the advice of my writing mentor—I tried to work on the revision of my book by writing essays for The Messayist that could maybe make it to the book. (you probably noticed… it was a bit clunky around here.)
And I also have to (get to!) run the NY Marathon in three weeks and some change. (TOMORROW IS THE LAST DAY TO DONATE TO MY MARATHON. I’M ALMOST TO MY GOAL!! THANK YOU!!)
The thing is: I’m getting real close to where I need/want to be for my first book. And I’m getting to the part of marathon training where it takes a LOT of physical/mental energy. I need a break from this here news(love)letter. I need to catch up on things (like send tote bags to paid subscribers—I’m so sorry!) and I need to put my energy towards these big things I feel so close to. I’ll still send out a monthly news(love)letter with a playlist and some astrology to AOE (angels on earth: aka paid subscribers), but beyond that, I’m not going to be back on this weekly clip until after the marathon and after I finish the current revision of my book of essays. Thank you for understanding. I love you.
Quick Hits:
Jam of the Week: Maggie Rogers – In The Living Room.
(holy moly I think the next trip I go on with girlfriends we will be belting this out on the drives and then inevitably during the living room dance party.)
I Started Wearing This Scent.
(I got it on my trip this weekend and I’m so excited that it might bring me back to this season of life with every whiff. and yeah, I don’t care that it’s technically cologne.)Could Not Be More Excited For This Show To Start Again.
(it’s so perfect and sweet and funny.)Maybe Because I’ve Seen Frozen 5000 Times.
(but I found this SO funny and also I love both of those guys.)
A big, long news(love)letter for y’all before a much-needed break. Thank you for being here and being supportive and being the bright shining stars in the darkness.
xxo,
rachel.