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.
For Nathan and Pam and Naomi and Lori and Cindy and all my Marys and Beckies and everyone I’ve been talking to. I hope you know how each of you has helped me. I hope I’ve been able to return that help.
God – December 8, 2014
A few days ago, I posted a lengthy status on my personal Facebook page. Since then, people have commented, sent messages, and shared.
It’s no secret where I stand in my faith. I’m not a Bible thumper. I’m not perfect. In fact, I revel in my imperfectness. I’m just glad there’s a God who loves me the way I am, and who continues to help me be a better person for the world around me.
“Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”
~2 Corinthians 12:7b-9, NIV
Let’s face it. Life is hard. It’s hard when you know God. It’s hard when you don’t know God. This post isn’t about God. It’s about Christians and the disservice we do to one another in our own community by expecting only the Pretties to be seen, by submerging the imperfections, the thorns, the scars.
If we as Christians portray only a perfect example of God, how can draw people closer to Him? If we tell seekers “It’s okay that you’re broken” then why do we expect completeness of ourselves?
The Christian Community can send out false messages. Not intentionally, mind you. I believe our desire is to attract others to Christ, and we feel we can’t do that if we’re shattered or chipped.
I disagree.
We are all damaged. One way or another, we are all broken.
I’m okay with that.
“Stop forcing a catastrophe where there’s not even a storm.”
Because God is the True Healer. He can, has, and will continue to heal my brokenness whether it is caused by others or myself. Whether my brokenness is physical, spiritual, emotional, mental, financial, or any-other-al, He continues to seek me out and heal me.
The healing may not come in the way I want, or as fast as I think I need. But His timing is perfect. And I’m okay with waiting on Him.
Cuz Father knows best.
The following is the Facebook post from a few days ago. I hope it starts a dialogue of honesty and openness. I hope everyone has a friend who accepts them unconditionally. And if you want to know more about my God, I hope you ask.
Please read, comment, share. And watch the video at the end.
Life is hard. But God is always good.
I promise.
You Matter.
~#~
June 7, 2015
So an interesting thing happened. Late last night I posted a status (now removed) of how it’s okay that I’m angry with God. I received some comments and messages that others are praying for me, that others understand, and a few that cautioned me about being so public about it.
Here’s the thing, and I’m not upset, just puzzled . . . but here’s the thing.
Not one person asked WHY. Not one person asked, “How can I help?”
And it saddens me. Not because I need attention (although we all do, right?). Not because I feel alone (I mostly don’t). But because the impression or attitude seems to imply that as a Christian I’m not allowed to have bad days, that I should share only joy and keep the rest to myself.
And it makes me wonder, if the people I know are Christian (myself included), if we are sending out these vibes that it’s not okay to be NOT okay, how are we being authentic? How are we letting others know we’re there for them?
Do we as Christians stifle the outreach and community of those who need us? Is it possible by saying “This isn’t the time or place” that what they hear is “You’re not worth my time or energy”?
I have a lot going on. So do you. So does everyone. I don’t air my “dirty laundry” for everyone. In fact, there is not one single person who knows everything. There are some who know most, some who get headlines without details, and some who get only one story or prayer request instead of the whole basket.
I’m not advocating spilling your entire life on Facebook or other public forum. I’m not agreeing with those people who are “virtue suckers” and complain just to get attention.
But do the people who need us know we’re here for them? Do they really know?
Or have we made it too hard for them to reach out? Have we made them fearful that we won’t reach back?
Or worse, do we assume because we already know them that we know what the current moment is about? Do we pray for them, consider them, reach out to them based on past experiences?
Or do we say “I’m still praying . . .” for whatever issue WE think needs prayer.
When was the last time you came up to a friend and said, “Tell me what’s really going on.”? And didn’t fill your head with presumptions of who you think they are and what you think they’re going through?
So many of us are really going through our own hell on earth, yet we’re expected to live daily as if we’re not. So many of us are so skewed by our own hells that we can’t see someone else’s is different. We can’t see that we’re sometimes hurting instead of helping.
So I apologize, here, publicly, to all my family and friends. I’m sorry that I’ve not reached out to see where you’re at or how I can help you. I’m sorry that I put myself first — my own thoughts and ideas of how life should be, of how you’re doing it wrong, of how you’re not there for me. I’m sorry for not being there for you in the capacity I should be.
I’m sorry.
But hear this: You’re important to me. In many different ways.
Our lives are silk webs that criss-cross and intertwine and pull others into and out of the design and I want to strengthen your thread.
I want to be here for you.
I’ve ignored you, I’m sorry. I’ve made you feel less important, I’m sorry. I’ve made my own hells more important than yours, and that is farce. Everyone’s hell is important. Everyone needs a helping hand to get out and rise above the crud that tries to buries us.
This is me. Being as authentic as I’m allowed to be.
I let you down, and I’m sorry.
I’m here for you now. All of you.
All I’m asking is that you be here for me, too.
And the rest of your people.
Make sure they know.
For several months, I’ve not been writing. At least not to the extent I was last summer.
It wasn’t writer’s block, exactly. I had a lot to say. I just got in my own way of saying it.
The thought had come upon me that what I had to say was far less valuable than what others had to say. That my words were less worthwhile than life.
I stumbled over the thought that perhaps
I am insignificant.
I’ve been going through the motions, attending critique groups, writers club, and special events. I’ve been editing and socializing and marketing and networking and doing all the things a successful writer does . . . except writing.
There are some moments that belong to others, stories I shouldn’t share. Seasons that are too personal to blog about. And life that moves too quickly to put it on paper.
February brought adventure into my world that I didn’t know it needed. Not only did Dot get engaged, they are already married and next week, heading to Seattle for a great opportunity for both of them. I’m utterly sad to see them leave, but it’s with open arms that I can let them go, and embrace the new part of my life.
“You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” ~ A. A. Milne, “Winnie the Pooh”
I was suffocated with a momentary fear that I don’t know how to be my own person. I’ve lived my live so consistently for other people . . . what will it be like to live alone?
And I saw the doors open on a new horizon.
I’m already chatting with WinCo Foods to create new #CookingForOne recipes.
My friends want me to share my journey of being pushed into an Empty Nest so quickly.
I’ve discovered that girlfriends, writers, and God are more important now than before.
There’s no lack of writing material for this new life.
I’m going to turn the extra room into a media/workout room.
I can write late into the evenings without interruption.
I’m able to stay out later, go out more often, and do more things because there’s not a second person’s schedule or dinner plans to coordinate with.
I’m no longer a single mom. I’m just single. And I’m okay with that.
Of course, I still have five cats and writing and home improvement projects. Those haven’t changed. But I’m seeing life differently.
I’m seeing it boldly and in living color.
I’m seeing HOPE.
HOPE is the thing with feathers . . .
Later this month, I’m having an Empty Nest party to celebrate my new adventures.
And I’ve decided that celebrating every day is an adventure in itself.
“Before they call I will answer;
while they are still speaking I will hear.”
I’ve always believed, because God is outside of space and time, that He has already heard the prayers the future me will pray.
For quite a few months last year, I struggled with morning anxiety. Waking up was painful as I was faced with so many unknowns: the deteriorating health of loved ones, incomplete projects, financial instability, family schedules . . . the list goes on and on.
I was unable to really write or even blog. I struggled with what to share and who to share it with.
I continued to pray in moans that only the Holy Spirit could interpret for me, knowing that God had a plan and even though I may not see it, it is good.
My Life Verse ~ Jeremiah 29:11
In retrospect, I can see how everything happens for a reason. In retrospect, I understand that I was getting in my own way.
I found this reminder note in my desk drawer at work and posted it to my private Facebook page, but I want to share it here, too, because, well, quite frankly, it needs to be shared.
December 8, 2014
On the morning of December 8th, 2014… When I was waking every morning with anxiety When I had writers block Before Rick finally went to his heavenly home Before Alex asked for my blessing to marry Hannah Before I was blessed with finances for TWO important writers conferences Before I started grocery shopping for one Before I had health insurance Before I picked up a paying client for media/marketing Before our lives were shaken, stirred, pressed but not crushed, running over … Before all these great and glorious moments, on the morning of December 8, 2014, I had a Heavenly dream. God put His calming hand on my shoulder and spoke to my soul and said, “It’s going to be all right. I hear you, and I’m already working on it.”
I am reminded every moment that God is a personal God, that He cares about every part of my being, that He is making me whole.
He cares about you, too. He’s already heard your prayers. And He’s already working on it.
A few months ago, I knew what I needed my word for 2015 to be.
The more I thought about it, the more I came to realize how perfect it is for my world.
HOPE is the thing with feathers . . .
I created this graphic from a photo of the peacock Dot painted for me. She finished it over a month ago but I asked her to give it to me for Christmas. The peacock is my symbol for 2015. It’s the colors of Mardi Gras. It’s the King of birds. It’s full of dignity, power, and of course, hope.
Next week’s Five Things Friday post will be full of more hope.
Today, I’m waking up and starting with a deep, cleansing breath.
Hope is an intangible that makes things tangible. It’s the elusive thing that makes all other things possible.
Even in my worst moments, I am okay, because I fundamentally have hope in the very core of my being, telling me that things will get better. When life crashes down, when the world crumbles and shakes into oblivion, Hope is one of the three things that remains.
Hope is what keeps us going, whether we feel like it or not.
Dot’s Peacock
For 2015, I hope to be a better writer. I hope to pay off more debt. I hope to attend writers conferences.
And I hope to be a better version of myself for the world around me.
