In the work I am blessed to do, one of my main goals is to enhance people’s understanding of the different types of mental illness, especially depression.

I am passionate about promoting such understanding because I believe that the opposite of fear isn’t calm, it’s understanding. This is because the more we understand about anything, the less we fear it.

I know firsthand that many well-meaning people genuinely want to understand what it’s like to be trapped in the horrific iron grip of depression, but they fall short when they compare depression to something like, say, sadness on steroids.

Not.

And while sadness, in all its forms, is disruptive and terrible, it is the proverbial D-League compared to the Major League ability of depression to slowly and sadistically gut a sufferer of all hope of a life worth living.

With all that said, until just recently, I have struggled to find sound words and applicable metaphors to describe the difference. But I am happy to announce that the answer recently came, literally, first from the mouths of a roomful of babes, and then from a single one of them.

I was working with a 2nd-grade class, talking to these wonderful 7-year-olds about emotions and feelings and the like, when, in an instant, I felt the irresistible urge to ask them a question:

“Is there a difference between sadness and depression?”

In reply to my obviously ridiculous question, I heard a very loud chorus of, “Duh!”

I was instantly surprised by their response and further moved by how quickly it came and how unanimous it was.

“So, who would like to tell me what the difference is?”

Trevor, who was sitting right in front of me, had seemingly waited his entire 7 years of life to answer this question. And on this day, I was soon to discover that we would be switching roles: Trevor would be the teacher, and I, the student.

He jumped to his feet and assumed a dominant stance: left leg forward, right leg back, hands on his hips, and then Trevor began to educate yours truly.

“Mr. Bartley, it’s simple.”

“When you're sad, you know why.”

“When you're depressed, you don’t.”

OMG!

I am 63 years old, and in all my years on this planet, there have been few moments when truth was given to me as clearly, concisely, and powerfully as this.

Trevor is exactly right.

When any of us feels trapped in the mental “hellness” of depression, and we're asked any version of the dreaded, “Why do you think you are feeling depressed?”, the truth, as Trevor revealed, is that we literally have no answer.

It’s not because we're being noncompliant, evasive, or elusive. It’s because we simply cannot come up with a reason, and that's because depression doesn't make sense to anyone, especially us.

Yes, we can list everything we're grateful for, do our best to focus on what’s working, and remember that we have survived 100% of our worst days. But even then, somehow, depression warps reality.

Even with irrefutable evidence that we are doing okay, this evil, dark force convinces us that we're not just falling behind, but that we are about to get run over. Our instruments show we are flying level, but the monster makes us believe we are upside down and headed for a crash of mythic proportions.

We don't just act, feel, and think depression; we believe we “are” depression.

That’s “are” as in we identify with the malady.

Not a person who is depressed. Rather, depression who is a person.

Did someone say, “Hell on Earth?”

And when those involved cannot grasp the truth Trevor revealed —that there is no “why” — they may become frustrated, annoyed, and possibly angry—reactions I can certainly understand.

But now, armed with what will hereafter be known as the “Trevor Principle," I would offer the following to all of us, myself included.

If we are with someone who is suffering from depression, and in response to our question of “why,” they say…

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know why.”

Let’s remember what Trevor has taught us and respond with…

“Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“What can I do to help you feel supported right now?”

And with that, we will surprise the person in need with our brevity and understanding.

We might very well shock them by being satisfied with their answer and demanding nothing more than to know how we could support them, even checking to confirm that what we are happy to provide them would indeed be helpful.

Could it really be that simple?

Truth almost always is.

End of lesson.

Class dismissed.