I have shared on here a little bit, ok maybe more than a little bit, about mental health. It's something I'm quite passionate about. The fact that we need to have good mental health. That it's just as important as being in shape physically, keeping our minds in tune and growing in our spiritual pursuits.
Mental health has an automatic stigma. People don't want to talk about their problems cause they might be seen as incapable of their job. Or they aren't sure what is true because they have had struggles with mental illness for so long.
My own journey with mental illness began when I was a young teenager. I didn't know at the time, but I suffered from depression. I had detailed plans about suicide. I even tried to suffocate myself. I never told my parents or anyone else. About that darkness, that desire to escape permanently from life. But that didn't make it go away. I didn't have the power to just not think about my depression so
it disappeared. That's not quite how it all works.
I did however have an amazing capacity to compartmentalize my mental illness. I learned how to say the right things, be in the right activities and follow the proper rules so that no one would find out just how wounded my spirit was. I went on to college and into marriage convinced that I could just be enough and everything would be alright. I could be good enough. I could make the best food for my family, achieve the right grades, be in all the church activities and be fully present with my babies. I could do it all and that would keep everyone from knowing I was believing I wasn't fit for this world.
Then life exploded and I had no mental energy to hide my depression. I had no safety net of control to cover-up the fact that I was barely surviving the life that I was living. But we moved and any tentative relationships I had been building were gone. Then we moved again and I got to throw myself into the frenetic energy of rebuilding our community.
I was still grappling with my depression on my own. I was so angry at home. I could hide the rage behind a pretty smile and the right Bible verse, but I was simmering like a pot on the stove. It took very little for my lid to blow off and leave splatter marks all over my family that I still am cleaning up today.
I got some help. And it did help. But I was still struggling to do this all on my own. To carry my own weight. To just eat the right food and exercise. To read the best books and put those systems into practice. We moved again and the people I had opened up to and been honest with were an hour away. My safety net of community was gone. I went into that dark space again. This time it was even further down. I couldn't find a rope or a ladder or a set of stairs to climb up out of the pit.
This time, there was a hand. A hand that reached down and grabbed a hold of my own. This hand had long tapered fingers, close clipped fingernails and a platinum wedding band that matched my own. This hand pulled me up out of the pit and back onto the firm foundation of our love. Back into the solid reality of the four moves, three kids and twelve years of marriage that had brought us to this point.
That was love. I learned in the two years of my darkest days of depression that I was loved unconditionally. That the all-consuming love of God was meant for me too. I learned what it means to be comforted in the midst of my suffering. That I could voice my doubts and fears and still be accepted as a help-mate and equal in my marriage. I learned so completely that I was worth loving. That I could fall back into the arms of Jesus and He would carry me.
Love showed up in my pit. Love still shows up every single day whether I am on top of the mountain or I'm walking the rim of another pit.
I didn't need a love that was flowers and jewelry and fancy dinners, though I like those things too. I needed love that was consistent. That was loyal and enduring. I needed a love that showed me what sacrifice and fight is. That I was deserving of effort. That I had worth not for anything I have ever done or will do, but because I was put on this earth.
You do too. You really really do. May you find a love like this.
Mental health has an automatic stigma. People don't want to talk about their problems cause they might be seen as incapable of their job. Or they aren't sure what is true because they have had struggles with mental illness for so long.
My own journey with mental illness began when I was a young teenager. I didn't know at the time, but I suffered from depression. I had detailed plans about suicide. I even tried to suffocate myself. I never told my parents or anyone else. About that darkness, that desire to escape permanently from life. But that didn't make it go away. I didn't have the power to just not think about my depression so
it disappeared. That's not quite how it all works.
 |
| photo credit www.talkspace.com |
I did however have an amazing capacity to compartmentalize my mental illness. I learned how to say the right things, be in the right activities and follow the proper rules so that no one would find out just how wounded my spirit was. I went on to college and into marriage convinced that I could just be enough and everything would be alright. I could be good enough. I could make the best food for my family, achieve the right grades, be in all the church activities and be fully present with my babies. I could do it all and that would keep everyone from knowing I was believing I wasn't fit for this world.
Then life exploded and I had no mental energy to hide my depression. I had no safety net of control to cover-up the fact that I was barely surviving the life that I was living. But we moved and any tentative relationships I had been building were gone. Then we moved again and I got to throw myself into the frenetic energy of rebuilding our community.
I was still grappling with my depression on my own. I was so angry at home. I could hide the rage behind a pretty smile and the right Bible verse, but I was simmering like a pot on the stove. It took very little for my lid to blow off and leave splatter marks all over my family that I still am cleaning up today.
I got some help. And it did help. But I was still struggling to do this all on my own. To carry my own weight. To just eat the right food and exercise. To read the best books and put those systems into practice. We moved again and the people I had opened up to and been honest with were an hour away. My safety net of community was gone. I went into that dark space again. This time it was even further down. I couldn't find a rope or a ladder or a set of stairs to climb up out of the pit.
 |
| photo from www.patheos.com |
That was love. I learned in the two years of my darkest days of depression that I was loved unconditionally. That the all-consuming love of God was meant for me too. I learned what it means to be comforted in the midst of my suffering. That I could voice my doubts and fears and still be accepted as a help-mate and equal in my marriage. I learned so completely that I was worth loving. That I could fall back into the arms of Jesus and He would carry me.
Love showed up in my pit. Love still shows up every single day whether I am on top of the mountain or I'm walking the rim of another pit.
I didn't need a love that was flowers and jewelry and fancy dinners, though I like those things too. I needed love that was consistent. That was loyal and enduring. I needed a love that showed me what sacrifice and fight is. That I was deserving of effort. That I had worth not for anything I have ever done or will do, but because I was put on this earth.
You do too. You really really do. May you find a love like this.
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