Annika Durum

I just read a recent post from Debra Fotheringham, a very talented local Utah musician about some of the feelings behind her song “Ebb and Flow.”

Debra’s feelings about the cyclical nature of illness—in whatever presentation: physical, mental, chronic—really resonated with me.

I left the following comment:

“Ebb and Flow is one of my favorite songs of yours, if not my number one. The whole cyclical nature of mental heath issues (and many physical chronic health issues too) took me a long time to come to terms with, and I think it’s part of what’s missing in our greater cultural discourse around mental health: that you can put in the work, do everything right, and still end up going through it all again. That gets treated by many as personal or moral failing, when it’s simply the nature of chronic illness. And many mental health issues are chronic! We don’t “fix” anxiety, depression, adhd, autism, PTSD, etc – we manage them. And we build toolsets, and social nets, and learn how to take breaks, and how to rest, and we find people and spaces where it’s okay to not be okay because sometimes we need to do that too.”

And continued on thinking about what just the last few months have looked like for me, with all their ups and downs. Two major surgeries. The devastating and wildly unexpected death of my youngest niece, with all the trauma and familial struggles you can imagine would go along with such an event. Ongoing chronic health issues. Not an easy or passive start to the year.

For all that, 2026 has provided a lot of contrast. I got paid for my first public mural. I won a poetry contest (Quillkeepers’ Press Fall 2026 Poetry Chapbook Contest) and am getting my first poetry collection, Rotting Season, published this fall.

Rotting Season is inspired by nature and all the wildspaces I love, but primarily focuses on and follows the cyclicality of the natural world. The earth does not just bloom and bloom and bloom. It ebbs and flows. If you want to bloom—you need to rest. You need to let some things rot and break down in the soil of your life. All the matter that decays is nutrition for whatever comes next.

I’m embarrassed to say how long it took me to learn that. To learn how to slow down, really slow down. To even learn how to enjoy that slowness. But truly, learning to embrace the down time and the decay—to make composting not only a lifestyle and waste reduction choice, but a philosophy—both changed and saved my life.

And it let me get through these ebbs, surgeries and grief, ready to renew. That’s a very optimistic and easy thing to say, but harder in practice. From a physical standpoint: my doctors have cleared me to resume physical activity. I know very intimately how important it is to take your time easing back in, and even with a religious attendance to the run/walk/run/walk, emphasis on the walk, approach to building up running endurance—I managed to nearly immediately get bad tendonitis in both hips. I’ve been walking like a decrepit, geriatric sailor with sea-legs.

It’s fine, it’s not anything patience and a little PT won’t fix. Just a reminder that sometimes slow is even slower than you think. I’m doing my exercises, I’m taking walks.

But I also miss who I am when I’m physically capable. Exerting myself physically does a lot for my mental health. For reminding myself that I’m capable of difficult things. I love the people and places I’ve met while taking on physical challenges. But mostly, I love how much it helps me quiet and focus my mind.

There’s a mental place that only exists at the edge of a certain physical threshold, and it’s holy. You cannot go so far that you are fully depleted, but you must go far enough that every thought is an intentional effort—and therefore must be worth the cost.

I’m glad I’ve learned to find some peace and grace for myself in the ebbs. This last one’s been a doozy. I’m looking forward to the next flow.

This photo of a golden eagle was taken on a recent mellow, but very lovely, hike with some friends.

Also, if you haven’t listened to Debra’s song yet, really go give it a listen.