Aug 18, 2017 |
by Molly Jo Realy @RealMojo68
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Five Things Friday
We’ve been doing the Five Things Friday posts for a while now. A start, a stop, a hiccup, but now we’re steady at it. I’ve enjoyed your topic suggestions and comments on these posts.
Recently, someone asked what my five favorite posts on FMD are. Y’all are smart. You already know where this is going. Of course, I could list twenty or possibly a hundred. So choosing my five favorite posts is a bit of a challenge. thankyouverymuchforthesuggestionyouknowwhoyouare.
And I’m betting once I hit “publish” I’m going to think up five other posts that could do justice. Or ten. Or twenty. Or, oh, heck. Just read them all.
But for now, here’s what comes to mind whenever I fondly think of Frankly, My Dear . . . I hope you’ll click through to find why these mean so much to me.
- Life Lessons from Willy Wonka
Willy Wonka: You Have a Better Chance, Because You Want It More.
- My Broken Thumb
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Depression is not a spiritual deficiency.
- Champagne and Supernovas
Frankly, My Dear . . . Effervesce, baby.
- And They Say Getting There is Half the Fun. . .
The Three Writing Amigos. . . and a Photobombing Flight Attendant
- What If We’re Not Drowning?
What If We’re Not Drowning?
Of course, y’all know I couldn’t choose just five. Right? I mean, there were hundreds of posts for me to choose. And can I just say narrowing it down was like the first time I baked those biscuits from Lindsay Reine’s Cookbook. #epicfailure
Having said that, I give you the Honorable Mention:
#EmbraceTheCrazy: Climb the Mountain
Frankly, My Dear . . .: Latch and Climb.
Now it’s your turn: What are some of your favorite posts from around the blogosphere? Are you a blogger? Which ones are you most proud of?
TWEET THIS: Five Things Friday: Frankly, Favorites. @RealMojo68 #franklymydear #amblogging
TWEET THIS: What are some of your favorite blog posts? @RealMojo68 #amblogging
With a full computer and coffee mug,
Happy reading!
~Molly Jo
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
Nov 18, 2015 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Let’s be real clear about something: Medical depression is a chemical imbalance, it’s a body malfunction that makes it hard to function. The same way a broken thumb makes it hard to hold a mug without a handle. You learn other ways of managing, and you know that some day the thumb will heal. It may not always work perfectly, but it will work. And if it doesn’t, you learn other ways of managing, of holding your mug.
People who suffer from depression are not weak in faith. It’s not a spiritual deficiency. Sometimes holding on to that mug takes all the strength a person has, but at least they’re holding on.
So stop telling them they’re doing it wrong.
If your thumbs are working, if every atom in your body and brain are working at full capacity, congratulations. Your name is Jesus.
Guess what. My name’s not that.
My thumb may be broken, but the rest of me works just fine.
I see a lot of memes about “share this if you know someone who suffers . . .” but we don’t, do we? We don’t “share” because we don’t want to be associated with “that”. We glance, nod, think of someone else, think “there but for the grace of God go I.”
We think, “If only they did this, tried that, went here, skipped there . . .”
We make our own judgment calls of how their life could be, should be, better.
We hide, we’re embarrassed. We think we’re less than perfect because it comes down to “us” and “them”, where “us” are the “normal” people and “them” are the ones who suffer.
We/Us avoid getting too deep with we/them. We/us are uncomfortable, can’t comprehend how this thumb doesn’t work, we/us don’t really want to know how the thumb broke to begin with, we/us offer solutions. The problem is, we/them can’t always pick up your solution. Sometimes, we/them are so used to the broken thumb, that we/them sometimes don’t remember it will heal. We know how to compensate and make do. We don’t always know how we broke it. We sometimes feel it’s always been broken, or we forget it’s broken. We think this is the way it’s always been. But it isn’t. We just don’t always remember “normal”.
We/us can’t understand why we/them just can’t “get it together”. We think they aren’t strong enough, they must want this, or not want God. We think there’s a disconnect between their body and their soul and they don’t want to mend it.
We/them can’t express ourselves. We/them know we ask too much, and we/them put we/us in ridiculous positions where we/us have to say no which perpetuates our/their sense of alienation.
We/them feel combative, defensive . . . and always alone.
We just want to be invited back to the normal table.
Sometimes the problem isn’t we/them. Sometimes a thumb break is the kindest thing that can happen to us/them because it’s at that point that there’s a conscious realization that something’s not right.
Sometimes the best help we/us can give us/them is to not to splint the thumb, but just ask, “Can I hold that mug for you, for a little while? Can I stay here and watch you try, and learn how you cope so I can see more of how you are? Can I be with you, in case you start to drop your mug and I can help? Can I be normal around you and not make you feel less normal? Can I do that for you? Will you let me?”
And we/them will say, “No. It’s awkward. I’m embarrassed. I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to have my own thumb back right away. It shouldn’t take this long to heal. I should know how to do this by now. It’s my thumb that’s broken, not yours. You shouldn’t be here for this. Go away. Go away. Go away!”
That’s when we/them need we/us to say, “Yeah. I’m gonna be your thumb for a while. I’m gonna be your normal.”
That’s when we/them need we/us to stay. No matter what.
That’s when we/them will drop the mug, push we/us away, say things we/them don’t mean, do things we/them shouldn’t do.
That’s when we/them need we/us to stay. NO MATTER WHAT.
And sometimes say nothing.
But just stay.
And when we have our thumbs back, we/them still don’t want you/us to leave. Because it can be really scary to admit we were broken, but that’s when you were there. So it’s also hard to admit while we want our thumbs back, we’re afraid you’re going to leave. Because some people like us when we’re broken. It’s the only time they hear us. So sometimes, we stay a little more broken, a little longer, so we don’t have to be alone.
And then we know. We don’t like being broken. Not really.
We just want to be back at the normal table with our normal people and forget there was a time we weren’t normal.
You don’t understand. And that’s okay.
Our normal isn’t your normal and it may never be.
We don’t want to be unique. We can’t help it.
We’re different. We’re not always broken.
It’s our faith that things will get better that keeps us holding that mug.
Depression isn’t a spiritual deficiency. It’s just a struggle.
Without faith, I wouldn’t be here to tell you these things.
Without faith, I wouldn’t believe it will get better.
Depression isn’t a spiritual deficiency. And it doesn’t define me.
Like a thumb, it’s just a small part of my body.
Some days it’s more useful than others.
It won’t always be broken.
I won’t always be broken.
You won’t always be broken.
Have faith in that.
Depression is not a spiritual deficiency.
And Frankly, My Dear . . . that’s all she wrote!
Mar 15, 2015 |
Moses answered the people, “Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again. The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.”
~Exodus 14:13-14 (NIV)
I suffer from depression. This isn’t something I used to talk about. It’s nothing I’m ashamed of, because I’m still here. But it’s definitely something misunderstood. And most people are afraid and embarrassed about it, whether it’s happened to them or someone they love.
I’m still here. Which means I’m strong enough to get through that one-more-moment that I needed to get through. But what about the next time? Will I be strong enough then?
Being strong hurts. It hurts not having someone else to lean on, to help pick up the pieces of a fractured heart, or scream happiness with. It hurts to be the one, and not have the one.
Do you ever think about the percentage of creative people who deal with depression and other “disorders”? I believe it’s because we feel things much deeper than average people. Artists of any media are particularly susceptible to opening ourselves up to a life that wounds us to the core. Feeling terrible is better than not feeling at all, and feeling it at such a depth makes the creativity that much more powerful.
When I’m affected by the chasms and peaks of life, I see it more broadly than I can express, except through emotion. I find beauty in hurts and puzzles in rays of sunshine.
I feel more deeply and am more confused by the beauties of this life than I can ever begin to explain. I don’t search for the darkness, but neither am I always afraid of it.
I’ve struggled through some horrendous moments and I’m lucky to be alive. I don’t share the details of my story with a lot of people, because I never know how they’ll react.
There’s a certain vulnerability with letting someone have the keys to your destruction, and trusting them enough to not use it against you.
That’s not my saying. I stole that gem of wisdom from my writing mentor.
In the context of a good book, the characters need to be flawed and need to struggle with each other. In the context of life, it’s a lot more complicated, and a lot more unsettling, and doesn’t always wrap up neatly.
Mostly, life is good and I’m okay. But now and then, something, or a collection of somethings, will trigger that stress in me and try as I might, I can’t always “put on a happy face”.
Depression has its own set of rules that unless you’ve been there, you can’t possibly navigate. Well-meaning people have tried to control or change me. They don’t realize it’s not as simple as that.
I’m not discounting the benefits of avoiding triggers and trying to make things better. But depression is an internal event.
Here are just a few gems from people who haven’t been there:
- “If you just stopped thinking about it, you’d be happier.”
- “Get some rest. Things will be better in the morning.”
- “Have you tried vitamins?”
- “Doctors don’t know everything. You should see someone else.”
- “Medications only make it worse.”
- “You need a change of scenery. Why don’t you get out for the day or take a weekend vacation?”
- And what I find to be the most hurtful: “You just don’t have enough faith.”
There’s also the struggle to identify a cause. Many times, my depression is provoked by something nameless. It’s a constant presence, in the shadowy corners, just waiting to be recognized. It’s its own thing, caused by nothing and solved by nothing else.
The best a person with depression can sometimes hope for is just to breathe through the moment.
I say again, I’m lucky. Through years of hard work, self observance, and a decent group of friends to support me, I’ve learned to identify my triggers and my solutions.
I’ve learned to monitor my body. If I’m not eating healthy enough or sleeping enough, that can make my thoughts a little less clear. Which makes it hard to filter out the negative thoughts.
I know the difference between having a glass of wine with dinner, and going out to a bar so I don’t have to stay home alone. Self-medicating isn’t just about medicines. It can also be food, TV, thought patterns . . . whatever a person uses to feel better.
I’ve learned that the most important thing I can do is reach out. It’s also the hardest. My depression embarrasses me. I’m a typically joyful, outgoing person. I love nothing more than to be surrounded by people whether it’s church, fellow writers, or even my favorite clients from the day job.
I also don’t like to bring other people down. I don’t want to explain myself or disappoint my friends. I don’t want to hear someone’s outside opinion of what I’m doing wrong. So I keep to myself. Or I hide it behind the fake smiles and the hugs and the I’m-Doing-Fine’s.
And I keep hiding. Until it’s bigger than I can handle. Until something’s gotta give.
“Stop forcing a catastrophe where there’s not even a storm.”
I’m lucky to have friends who have known me long enough to realize my triggers before I sometimes do. Friends who can talk me down from the ledge when I didn’t know I’d even stepped out. And I’m lucky those friends were there for me this weekend.
I wasn’t in physical danger, but I was certainly not in a good place. What I thought was just fatigue and anxiety had combined with, as they pointed out, the exorbitant amount of stress from the last few months until I stopped fighting the triggers. I began barking at people with an unfiltered vocabulary. I broke promises. I was ready to fight almost everyone in my path. And I didn’t care.
Depression can garble thoughts. What I think is right in the moment, isn’t. Who I think is against me, isn’t. But I can’t recognize what’s right, or I don’t want to admit the embarrassment of misunderstanding. Even if it’s fleeting. Even if it’s undeserved. Apologizing for being irrational is a painful and humiliating experience. So I don’t.
I just can’t seem to get this life-thing right. So the depression grows. And I keep it to myself.
My depression comes with its own trust issues. It’s hard to know who to talk to, who to tell what to, and who to listen to. Do they really understand me? Do they have my best interests at heart? Or do they want to “help” me to feel superior about themselves? They’ve not been here, they’ve not had these thoughts. How can they possibly understand.
I tried to read my Bible for that whisper of hope and direction. I just heard the words “Be still.” Which I couldn’t do. I mean, I’m depressed, right? Which means I’m anxious. My legs are bouncing while I’m sitting. Or I’m up, pacing the floor. Or sitting on the bench practicing my steady breathing and hoping not to hyperventilate.
If one more person asks how I’m doing then keeps walking instead of waiting for a real answer, I’m gonna lose it.
I didn’t want to lose it. I had to find a way to fight this. I had to find a way to get back to being me. But I’m afraid to talk to anyone because this is different than who I was ten or twenty years ago. They won’t see that. They’ll just see this and think same ol’ same ol’.
And then I found it. Exodus 14:13-14. Moses answered the people, “Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again. The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.”
Just as God led Moses to the Red Sea, He led me to my shore. He parted the stormy waters so that whatever was threatening them in their future vanished, and He promised that what was troubling them in their past would remain in their past. He didn’t promise them a perfect tomorrow. He just promised them a way out for now.
Stop. Take a breath. You asked for my help, and I’m here. Now. In this moment.
And in that moment, with my trusted friends, I was able to securely reach out and know, it’s gonna be okay. They’re not judging me based on past moments. They’re not judging me at all.
They’re just reaching back.
December 8, 2014
My depression is something I will always have to live with. Most of the times, it’s dormant, hidden, controlled. When it isn’t, I have to learn it’s okay to stop fighting myself and others. I don’t always have to keep this a secret.
And I don’t have to be ashamed.
This weekend I realized I have too much to say. I’ve been quiet for too long. It’s time to be authentic and reach out, so others can reach back.
Tonight I feel just a little less lonely. And I think I’m gonna sleep better than I have for a while.
And Frankly, My Dear . . . that’s all she wrote!
You may also enjoy reading:
Before You Pray
2015: HOPE
It’s Complicated, Part Two: Christianity
Aug 25, 2012 |
Two days ago, I posted about my living in fear. Now, while those fears are true, and real, and constant, I don’t want you to get the impression that that’s all there is to me.
I don’t suffer depression. I’m not in need of medication. But I do bounce around from Happy to Sad to Stressed to Carefree. That’s not me. That’s my environment. That’s 14 months of unemployment and car repairs and medical bills and frustrations. And believe me, this week it’s been hitting us in spades.
So I vented.
If I were to post only Happy Thoughts, I wouldn’t be honest with you. I value you. And, it’s apparent you value my honesty. Thursday was my third most popular day at Frankly, My Dear… (My most viewed day was July 25, “Alienation“. The current Chocolate Heaven (and a Giveaway!) is quick on its heels!).
And so I just wanted to say
Thank you.
I really do appreciate each of you, and your wonderfully supportive comments. Writing is my calling, my comfort, and my catharsis.
Even when we don’t agree. Even when I write too much, or too little. You are there. Even when you don’t comment, you read. And Frankly, My Dear… is growing stronger. Because of you. Thank you.
On my Facebook page, almost every evening I post a link from a year ago. It’s fun to look back and read the many ways I’ve grown, changed, and even stayed the same.
I can’t believe it’s an accident that today’s Year-Ago post is Filigree Frosting. You all are the icing on my cake.
If I could bake each of you a cake, I would.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
