Hello, friends!! I don’t really use this blog anymore (you can subscribe to my new one at jessicakantrowitz.com) but in case there are folks here who aren’t connected to me in any other way, I wanted to make sure to share my latest news: My book has launched!! (You can order it through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or through your local bookstore with IndieBound!)
The Long Night: Readings and Stories to Help You Through Depression has been out in the world for a little over a month now. It has been such a fun experience to see it in people’s hands and read their reactions.
Every email, every review, every share on social media has meant so much to me. Here are some highlights:
“Reading this book is like having a conversation with a friend. I’ve never met the author but could feel the warmth of her compassion through all of her words. She is so gentle and loving as she shares her experience, and if you’ve ever suffered through depression and anxiety you probably know that most of the time the best someone can do is be present with you while you go through it. Jessica Kantrowitz makes space for you to feel what you are feeling without judgment and offers gentle pushes towards things that might help. Page after page had such beautiful writing that was so reassuring and comforting. The tagline is so true–you are not alone, and this will not last forever. Chapter 15 was my favorite, but there were so many good parts throughout the whole book. This book is from a Christian perspective but doesn’t sell God as some magic fix-it solution, which I like a lot, and was realistic about the nature of experiencing depression and pain.“
“Jessica’s book is a treasure. It is to be read over and over and then shared with those that are struggling. She offers her heart and her graceful gentleness to walk with you as a friend through your pain. She also shares tangible tools, such as mediation, centering prayer, yoga, CBT, etc, and how she specifically used them to aide in her healing process. She will pull you in from her first pages of invitation and become your guide as she shares her own experience and gives you grace and space to process yours.”
“In this first ten pages of this beautiful book, Jessica invites you into her world and expertise, and asks to join yours. It’s an easy, stirring read from cover to cover, but perhaps even more important, for those many of us who find comfort in connect ourselves to others’ experiences, but long reads a thing on the other side of the depression wall—you can pick it up and read a chapter on its own. This beauty is full of compassion and understanding.”
Since the first section of the book evokes the imagery of going for a walk in the woods, I made a video in the woods for a book trailer. I apologize that it doesn’t have complete transcription, but the text is below.
“Come for a walk with me, my friend. I know you are tired. I know that sorrow has settled into your bones like the ache from an old wound. Come with me anyway. Lean on my arm. It is only a few steps to the forest’s entrance and a few more to a bench where we can rest. I know the colors have gone out of your life, and you cannot rouse yourself to remember them. I know. In the twilight, the world is muted, and it will not sting as much when you can only see grey. We can turn back anytime. Your bed will be waiting for you. Just come out for a few minutes.
“Come for a walk with me, dear one. I know that walking is hard, and your muscles ache; you feel a weariness that does not pass no matter how much you sleep. I know that talking feels impossible, and you fear that if you do speak, you will be unable to stop and will wear me out with your words, crying over and over of your pain and despair. It’s all right, my friend. You do not have to speak, and if you do, there is space in my heart and in the forest for all your pain. There is space for you, my friend, believe me. Come and weep or come and be silent. Just come.
“Come for a walk with me, Beloved. I know you feel nothing but loneliness and being with people makes you feel even more alone. I know you feel lost and left behind, abandoned by friends and by the God you once adored. I know you feel a betrayal so sharp and real that sometimes you cannot breathe. I know that when I call you God’s Beloved it rings hollow, that if I speak the words of poetry or scripture that used to mean something to you, they now taste like sand in your mouth. Come into the whispering darkness of the trees at twilight and listen to the scripture they speak. Come into the shadows of the oaks and lindens until the darkness outside matches the darkness in your soul. Then listen to how the dark speaks its own language, one you could not hear in the bright light of day. If you do not hear it tonight, that’s okay, too. I will walk you home, regardless. I will trust your soul, regardless. Beloved, I will.
“Come for a walk with me, sister, brother, sibling. I have been here before and can maybe be a sister to you. Let me hold your hand as you learn to walk in this new world. You have been walking for years in the daylight, but this—this westering world where the shadows trip you as surely as the stones—is new territory. It is hard to move here, I know, but you can do it. We can do it together. Underneath your despair I can see that spark of strength. Not everyone will realize how much it took for you to step outside for these few minutes, but I know. Even if you collapse back in bed for the next twenty-three and a half hours, I know that the courage and strength it takes to face the world for those few moments are almost unimaginable. I know you feel so weak, little sibling, but you are strong in ways few people will ever know.
“Come for a walk with me, dear reader. I know you have questions I cannot answer, and there are things in your life I cannot understand. But let’s go out together tonight, away from the cacophony of the city, of the daylight, of the world wide web. Let’s go into the dusky woods together, the quiet dappled evening where the trolls and other monsters cannot follow. Let’s find one of the Ten Thousand Places, one of the hidden places where it’s okay to be sad and unsure, where it’s okay to ask our overwhelming questions and okay to let the answer be that we don’t know. I know you’re tired, and the day has already been far too long. You can rest soon, dear one, I promise. Only first, come, come for a walk.”
You are not alone, and this will not last forever.