Faithfulness is greater

God is faithful.

This is what I keep saying to myself as I watch death rip through families in 2020. This year’s events are unprecedented. As a country we began the year with death – Kobe and Gianna Bryant. The sudden death of those two was devastating to their family and those who admired him. 

We called it a freak accident.

One of my cousins lost her dear friend to health complications. His death was totally unexpected as well.

We called it his time. 

The “mysterious illness” that people were contracting and suffering from became widespread. It took two of my cousins.

We call it coronavirus. 

Now here we are, at the end of the year, and my cousin collapsed and was unable to be revived. 

We call that unfair and too soon.

Do you see a pattern here? Life keeps getting sucked away from people we hold dear. I keep seeing grieving families – talking to them about how I deal with grief and the effect it may have on them. 

Then here I am…barely dealing. 

Sometimes grief, worthlessness, sadness, and lack of understanding just tear through my heart – leaving tornado-like wreckage in its path. Sometimes I can barely move or even breathe because life feels so heavy, so unbearably heavy. Then the enemy whispers in my ear, 

“How dare you try and help others when you can barely help yourself some days? Who do you think you are – offering to be there for others when your prayers for yourself remain unanswered?”

I know these thoughts are planted instead of originating in my brain because I know of God’s faithfulness! I depend on it. I am still here because of God’s love for me and faithfulness in standing beside me no matter what I walk through. 

I weep because God’s love for me is so unfathomable; yet so real that it’s palpable. I raise my hands in worship and praise to God while I am by myself, simply because I don’t get why He is sticking by me; but I am overwhelmed with gratitude. 

I have no idea what my life would look like without God’s faithfulness – and I won’t let the enemy convince me otherwise.

Faithfulness is greater than promises and words on a page. Faithfulness makes those things come to life. Faithfulness proves the good you see in others. 

God’s faithfulness is the only way we have gotten through this 2020 Twilight Zone and it is the only way we will continue on as we fight for some semblance of normalcy. 

God is the only One we can wholeheartedly depend on to provide for our good times and walk with us through the bad. His faithfulness may not always look like what we want – but the way God is there for us is always what we need.

So…now isn’t the time to pull away. Even if you can barely draw close to Him because the weight of life’s unfairness is weighing you down – draw close anyway. 

He’s waiting…

Chicken or the egg?

What came first? Physical pain or mental and emotional hurt?

Physical pain is something I deal with all the time. I have chronic illnesses and have been in pain ranging from a 4-10 (on a scale of 1-10) since 2003. I know how to handle the pain, even though sometimes it does become nearly unbearable.

Life forces me to push past the pain in order to function like a “normal” person. But when I am mentally unstable or dealing with anxiety or under the weight of depression, that ability to push past the pain just isn’t there. So, I stay home and try to deal – alone.

I walk under a gray, unyielding cloud during that time. The last thing I want is to bring my gloom around other people. And the thoughts I have when I’m that low make me seem pretty worthless:

“No one wants to be around someone who isn’t happy”, the enemy of my soul whispers.

“They don’t understand what you’re going through anyway”, he taunts.

I can’t battle the thoughts andencourage myself to go out and do something.

My motivation is on zero.

When I could normally think of the good time I would have, and that be my motivation, I am left with so many reasons why I am unloved and unwanted. Then the reasons to stay outweigh the reasons to go. So, I stay home and try to deal – alone.

This is what suffering in silence looks like.

You don’t talk about the physical pain, you just endure it. Then when it becomes too much, the discouraging thoughts crowd your hearing and you can’t even hear positivity. It’s like your irrational thoughts are a force field keeping out any positivity that is trying to get to you.

All of these, and a ton more, are reasons why I am missing in action at certain events or even just Sunday dinners. Most of the time I push past the pain. Sometimes, I just can’t.

So, if you are not feeling it today – if you struggled to get out of the bed just to do the norm – you have someone here to empathize with you. I know that you will have the strength to make it through this day…whatever that looks like for you. You have the strength to make it through.

See you tomorrow!

6*7*2018

You can’t be joyful if you’re resistant to vulnerability.

It’s been one year…one year since we stood outside of the Crisis Stabilization Unit. My husband handed me my duffle bag and I stared into his eyes – trying to find the glimmer of hope that I could not feel deep inside. We kissed and my eyes welled up with tears. Then I said for the thousandth time that day:

“I’m so sorry, Babe.”

My hubby reassured me each time that there was nothing to be sorry for; however, I just couldn’t get over the fact that I was admitting such dark, private thoughts to him and a bunch of strangers.

As open as I claim to be I realized that, at that time, I was unwilling to be vulnerable about present issues in my life. I freely discussed how I got through the pain of miscarriages and how the feeling of loss never really goes away. I spoke with the bereaved about what helped me deal with my mother’s death. When wives wanted to vent about their husbands, I was there and shared some of my own marital struggles. When moms needed the time away to admit how much they love their children but don’t always like them, I was sitting in their “Amen!” corner.

But if you asked me about anxiety and depression, I wasn’t free to tell you I dealt with symptoms of both every single day. I did not tell anyone how much my physical pain induced mental and emotional pain. I suffered in silence with how much my physical inadequacies equaled my lack of self-worth. Telling someone that I couldn’t physically declutter my house because of said pain, yet the clutter was breaking me down mentally…well, that just seemed a bit worse than just dealing with it all. So, I kept dealing.

Until I couldn’t.

Refusing to be vulnerable almost killed me. Believing the lies that my non-Pinterest looking life was less than my fellow SAHMs almost had me taking my own life. I almost “made room” for that Pinterest loving, homeschooling mom to come and take over my family. I almost gave in to the dark hype.

Thank GOD for His Word and those bold enough to share it with me.

The Bible is all about embracing who God made us to be and how He sticks close to us when we can’t do that. Scriptures like,

You created the deepest parts of my being. You put me together inside my mother’s body. How you made me is amazing and wonderful. I praise you for that. What you have done is wonderful. I know that very well. -Psalm 139: 13-14

And,

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. – Psalm 147:3

I was very broken…so broken that I didn’t even know the depths of my hurt. I placed Bubble Guppies bandages over large, gaping emotional wounds – expecting the wound to heal. Over time, scar tissue developed and, in my ignorance, I thought that was healing. But now I am left with infected scars that need to be opened back up, cleaned out, properly cared for and THEN bandaged.

I’m in the cleaning out stage of this lack of vulnerability wound. But there are other wounds where God is still scraping that scar tissue out and that hurts so good 😉

God is still revealing my many wounds.

The only difference is, this time, they will heal properly.

She didn’t look depressed…

“I can’t believe she committed suicide.”

“She didn’t seem sad when I last saw her.”

“She didn’t look depressed.”

I have read this statement, in these exact words and variations, in news articles and on social media posts. Some people ask: What does depression even look like?

I cannot speak for everyone who struggles with depression but here is a glimpse of what depression looks like in my life:

• Irritability at everything, everyone, and every situation.
• Angry outbursts, literally, over spilled milk.
• Low mood, as doctors call it. No anger, no happiness, no sadness…just…nothing. Apathy.
• Inability to make decisions – from what to eat for dinner to what bill to pay next
• No motivation to do anything – shower, interact with my husband and children, watch tv, write, cook, clean…not even wanting to do nothing, but doing nothing since that is the only option.
• Withdrawal from all activities that require me to leave the house. Now, this is a tricky one because the people who know me know that I’m not really trying to leave my house anyway LOL! But when you don’t see me at all, for any event, for 3 or 4 straight weeks…you might want to check on me because I could be depressed.
• Tears falling out of my eyes, even when I will them to stop. I do not cry easily, so by the time I get to this point, I should be following my crisis plan. These types of tears mean that I am at some sort of breaking point and I need outside, probably professional, help.

My depression doesn’t look like everyone else’s. According to a clinician I spoke with, my symptoms aren’t even typical for females. So, severe depression went unchecked with me for longer than it should have – simply because I wasn’t showing the typical signs people look for. Welp…I am not your typical gal (wink).

I want to share a picture as well, to show you exactly what depression looked like for me.

When others see this picture, they say, “Oh, you all are such a beautiful family!” And I agree. But I also what to share three things that I think about when I see this picture…things that I do not usually share:

1 – I look at how my nieceypoo fits right in there with us; and how many people don’t even notice that we have an extra child in the picture lol!!

2 – I think about how hard I worked to wear that mask you see. Yep…that is a mask of happiness on my face because I know many people can’t take the vortex of sadness that implodes within me. So, I smile even when I am deeply hurting. Usually there are no words to describe the sadness I feel, anyway. I even spoke in dark jokes about the mask I would put on. I would tell my hubby, “Don’t worry. I’ll put my mask on by the time we get to church” or “Don’t worry. I won’t bring ya’ll down for the whole ride there”.

3 – I remember a conversation I had with some family members prior to showing up to this event. I sat on our porch steps and poured a bit of my heart out to them – telling them how I wondered why I was even here on this earth and if I should continue to be. I told them “I’m having a hard time mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Like, in real life.” But we were all too wrapped up in what we were experiencing to really take my words seriously…or to really hear the heart of what each individual was saying.  And I wonder what could have happened if they did stop for a moment – to acknowledge the weight of my words and sit with me in that moment. What could have happened if I pushed my issues aside and truly listened to theirs, too? That day could have been a lot different!

So yeah, some people may be tired of hearing me talk about depression or reading my posts about it.

But all of the things above are reasons why I won’t ever stop sharing. There may be some atypical male or female out there who needs to hear that they are not alone in their feelings…that they are not alone on this earth. So, I will shake off the shame and embarrassment that comes with putting my “business” out there.

All of this transparency just might be someone else’s life preserver.

 

 

Finding Beauty

So…I’m 30 *cough*…something and have just found my way into the makeup world.

In my teens, I was an Aaliyah-type tomboy – all up for wearing baggy clothes and boy’s shoes, but don’t ask me to climb a tree. My junior and senior year of high school, I kept my nails done (thanks Dad), hair in that good roller wrap (swoop and all – Dad, thanks again), while wearing sweatpants, Tims, and a Nautica jacket.

But full makeup just wasn’t my thing.

My mom had allowed me to try mascara when I turned 14. She taught me all about how to smooth clumps and to make sure I applied evenly to avoid “spider lashes” as she called them. I loved the look of mascara, bottom lid eyeliner, and lip liner with a super shiny lip gloss.

Yep…I was the black lipped, “chicken grease” looking teen. I just wasn’t smacking my gum. That has ALWAYS annoyed me!

I had acne. Not just some little pimples, though. I had small pimples that were frequently surrounded by humungous, pus-filled mountains. I used to wish I understood makeup enough to try and hide those things. But foundation, concealer, highlighter, contouring…all of these words were lost on me. I had no idea how any of it worked and, frankly, I wasn’t curious enough to do any research.

See, this was before YouTube and Google, smartphones and iPads. Heck, this was before WiFi, during the dial-up internet era. Who was starting that internet up to do research on makeup? I surely wasn’t. I just wanted to check my AOL messages, see who was on AIM, check my Black Planet account and then I was off of the computer – ready to pick up my best friend in my Dad’s Caddy and hang out.

I even entered and sailed through my 20’s without much knowledge of makeup. I didn’t need it to impress guys. My hubby and I started dating when I was 18 and got married when I was 24 years old. He prefers me with no makeup, so I lucked out in that area!

Then I turned 30 years old.

At 30, I was somebody’s wife and somebody’s Mama…to two young children to be exact. I began to feel like I belonged to everyone else and not myself. Teah slowly faded into the background of life and, in the foreground, you could only see “Babe” and “Mommy”.

I didn’t realize it was happening that way until my baby cousister’s (cousin/sister’s) wedding. I had 4 children by then and the week leading up to the wedding, I realized I needed makeup. These racoon eyes seemed to be all I could see when I looked in the mirror. This was the first wedding I would be in where we were left to our own beauty skills. So, I turned to my sister (in love) to see what makeup to buy. I really wanted to look special for the wedding. We FaceTimed and she talked me through picking foundation, concealer, and later she even gave me a foundation brush. She knew I wasn’t devoted enough to find a good one hahaha!

When we got ready for the wedding that weekend, I felt like a brand-new person. I really enjoyed applying the makeup myself and seeing the end result look so good. From that day until today, I see the reason why people wear makeup. It really does make you feel pretty.

Now, I even follow different makeup artists on Instagram and YouTube. It is so neat to see all of the different ways eyeshadow palettes are used or to see how some ladies like to put concealer on after foundation. But, while I am scrolling, I notice some negative thoughts and feelings that surface.

1. After seeing so many flawless skinned, perfect coifed curly girls, I start to notice all that they are and all that I am not. It’s like I go from “She is so pretty” to “I wish I was her size” and “I wish my curls looked like hers”.
2. The more I scroll, the more I plan to do things to look more like these beautiful females.
3. As I plan all of these nearly impossible changes, I start to feel a bit depressed about how I can’t really make all of it happen.

If I am doing this, as a 30…something adult with shaky but somewhat intact self-esteem, how are my girls going to feel when they start scrolling through social media with a semi-clean self-esteem slate? Will my lessons about self-love and embracing all of their flaws stick in their minds? Or will the pictures and likes (or lack thereof) drown out their Mama’s words?

I have about 3 more years (hopefully) to try and figure this thing out before my oldest girl regularly asks us for a social media account. Before all of that begins, I want my girls to feel good about themselves – with a realistic self-love, knowledge of what God says about them, and comfort in their parents’ adoration – so they will not fall into the comparison trap.

We must do our best as parents to confirm our girl’s inner voice, so they are able to handle peer pressure without succumbing to bullying and/or, possibly, pondering suicide.

Because it was one thing comparing outfits in high school in the 90’s. Nowadays, those outfits can haunt our girls all day through social media or she can become the butt of a joke in a YouTube video before she even walks into 1^stperiod. And then, if she hides the bullying and cyberbullying from her parents, yet keeps focusing on the embarrassment she experienced, she could likely end up being found hanging by her belt by dinnertime.

This may sound like a dramatic exaggeration. Google “teenage suicide” and I am sure you will be saddened by the amount of recent news stories.

We must work hard for our kids, to help them develop a healthy self-image and ways to defend themselves from bullying…and we must work fast.

Compassion with Long Sufferers

When you are faced with tough situations, the last thing you want to hear is: “It could be worse” or “Well, at least you aren’t ____”.

I know…I know. I can almost hear you saying, “Well I was only trying to help.”

We all have this innate desire to cheer someone up when they are down, in any kind of way. But, this type of talk? It minimizes what the person is actuallygoing through. It says to them “Your struggle/illness/challenge/grief isn’t significant because your life isn’t as bad as the next person.” No one wants to hear that as they suffer.

Another reason this type of talk isn’t encouraging is because most of us are aware of “the worse”, anyway. If we suffer from anxiety, “the worse” is a battle we fight everyday – we fight to come out of that future doom, unlikely or not. Also, not only are we aware of it; we already feel bad enough for feeling everything so deeply anyway. So, it’s like getting hit twice in your emotions. The first time you hit yourself with these negative thoughts. Before you can get up from that, someone else unintentionally hits you again. We know that there are worse things that could happen to us. But what is happening sucks pretty bad and that’s all we are trying to say.

If we are not given the opportunity to share what we are going through, we will continue to minimize our situations and emotions. Minimized emotions turn into repressed emotions – and repressed emotions lead to mess. Repressed emotions are feelings that you have pushed down underneath other feelings, never properly dealing with them. Because you are unaware of these feelings, you are also unaware of the reactions that the feelings create. You make a mess of situations because you are reacting to them with residue from emotions you have yet to express. You can’t stop something that you don’t know is coming; therefore, you have no control over repressed emotions. So, you look around at the aftermath of your relationships with no idea why these relationships didn’t work. Here’s a little hint: it’s because you did not have a safe space to express yourself freely – and all of this unawareness is causing you to implode or explode.

I’ve had my share of implosion due to minimizing what is going on with me. Now, I am really trying to live my life like I matter, too. I want to live like what happens to me is just as significant as something worse happening to someone else.

I still recognize my blessings.

I still thank God regularly for my reasonable portion of health and strength.

I am still verygrateful for the activity of my limbs.

However, along with that, I am also sad that I have chronic pain. I am disappointed in myself for falling prey to depression and anxiety to an extent that I needed an inpatient facility. I am also disappointed when I miss out on events because of a random flare or debilitating symptoms. I still find myself grieving my mom’s death, even 19 years later. I do not enjoy how my body gets to choose when it wants to function properly and when it does not.

All of this is an inconvenience in my life and it doesn’t feel good to combat these things, amongst others.

And most importantly, I want to be able to say all of this and not be met with “still be grateful” or “well, someone has it worse than you do”.

That is not encouraging to me. And because we have become accustomed to respond to people in this way, I am pretty sure only a few people are aware of how discouraging those statements actually are.

So, when you are in communication with someone who has a chronic pain illness, mental illness, or anything that involves long suffering, try some of these tips:

1. LISTEN to them. I believe, above all else, we just want to know that our loved ones care about what is going on with us and view it as significant.
2. BE EMPATHETIC. “I’m sorry this is happening to you” – “I wish you didn’t have to go through this” – “I’m praying that you find relief” – “How can I help you?” – and my most recent and personal favorite, “What is your greatest need?” Any and all variations of this type of talk is appreciated and makes us feel heard and loved.
3. LISTEN again. We don’t feel comfortable talking about our illnesses. Most people with chronic pain illnesses suffer a lot in silence because they have had rough experiences when they did open up. So, you sitting and listening, nodding in understanding, and being empathetic creates a safe space for us to express ourselves. This safe space will also prevent those repressed emotions from forming. So, you are filling our love tank andhelping us lead a life of emotional wellness.

Since our illnesses are invisible, we tend to feel that we are, too.

Let us know that you see us.

You see what we fight through.

And you are hoping, alongside of us, that we find relief at some point on this lifelong journey.

What’s my purpose? I have no idea.

What’s my purpose?

My counselor gave me this homework at my last session to answer the next time I see him.

“Don’t be too specific.”

My first thought was, “Seriously?”

I live life in too many specifics. Like, when people ask me, “How are you?” I have to talk myself out of saying, “Well, my feet were hurting once I put them on the floor today. I have a headache that started last Tuesday and still hasn’t gone away. Yesterday, I spent most of the day in a daze so this morning, I feel like I’m in a bit of a hangover. But, how are you?”

So, the question about my purpose is always a tough one. It has stumped me since my teens. Around 13 years old, I wasn’t the bubbly little girl I used to be. I was no longer eager to make friends and I realized I wasn’t really good at anything. So, I began to struggle with the question:

“Why am I here?”

At 24 years old, I married the guy I had been dating for 6 years. It was pretty much him and I against the world then, and the fact that we made it to the altar felt like it was a part of my purpose fulfilled. A few months in, my new husband accepted his call into the ministry. There was the feeling again…part of my purpose fulfilled…support my husband in ministry. However, as the newlywed months progressed, I started to get that “Why am I here?” itch again.

Four months into marriage, I got pregnant and had a miscarriage. The doctor said it was only one and it happened to more women than I knew. She said it was nothing to worry about. I believed her. God revealed something to me around that time – the way I valued the mother/daughter relationship and wanted to help others cultivate that relationship was a part of my purpose, too. So, I started Liberty University’s online program to get my master’s degree in Professional Counseling. I felt it would qualify me to help those people.

That didn’t go so well and ended in no degree.

Then here comes baby #2…

Our second child was completely unexpected since we took all precautions to keep from getting pregnant. We had to be careful, given my fertility issues. When the pregnancy went well and that 8 ½ pound baby was born, I felt like, “Welp, this is it. This is my purpose – to support my husband and have babies.” That satisfied me for a while; but it didn’t take long for that same question to come back, and this time with an unfamiliar emphasis –

“Why am Ihere?”

I prayed and sought God about this but still, no final answer.

A couple of years later, I birthed twins. I thanked God for blessing us again and restoring the twin pregnancy we lost earlier that year. However, the thought of me only being a wife and mother deepened. At first, I couldn’t have children but all of a sudden, it seemed like allI could do was have children.

Then depression set in…

If that’s all I’m here for, if my purpose is fulfilled, then I can leave. Why stay and keep putting my family through having to care for me during flare ups and random chronic illness symptoms? If I martyr myself, they can find another person who can work full-time, “wife” full-time, and “mommy” full-time. No more liability in the woman of the house. These negative thoughts began to flood my brain daily and I ended up in a mental health crisis.

And now, the counselor I am seeing post crisis brings that loaded question back into my life:

“What is your purpose?”

I’ve been searching for the right words to say but all I can come up with is “I don’t know”. At first, I felt bad about this answer. I mean, I read The Purpose Driven Life. How do I STILL not have an answer to this question? (I have a tendency to be very hard on myself.)

After really thinking about it, I realized I still don’t have an answer because my purpose is steadily unfolding. All of ours is, really. You may have an idea of what God wants you to do right now in your life. Or maybe you have a vision for your future and no idea about your present. Either way, it’s okay. Our purpose is fluid and the fluidity of it makes it difficult to have a solid answer to that famous, loaded question.

So, if you “still” don’t know what your purpose is, don’t beat yourself up. Stay open to the revelations that will continue to come up in your life. Personally, I’m going to keep in mind that the definition of purpose is “something to be attained”. My purpose is a story, not a quote. I’m placing a semicolon in my sentences – creating a flow between my paragraphs – and continuing to live to see my purpose unfold. And when my counselor asks me that loaded question at my next session, I’m going to happily shrug when I say, “I don’t know”.

 

 

I AM NOT ALONE

            I AM NOT ALONE.

I wrote this over and over in my journal on January 20^th, 2018. My mother in law came to get my kids so they could spend the day with her and I could have some time to myself. As soon as I shut the door, I broke down in tears. I thought it to be a little odd, as I don’t usually cry that easily. So, I went right to my journal to write out my feelings. It felt like I was imploding – holding in so much under the guise of “being strong” – that my emotions were no longer stable. My mind was racing. I felt like I was losing a grip on my sanity and on reality.

I need to see that I am NOT ALONE.

            I AM LOVED.

            I AM CARED FOR.

            I AM LOVED.

            I AM LOVED.

I tried my best to write my true feelings and encourage myself by also writing the opposite of what I felt. I did not see how anyone could care about me because there was so much evidence of failure in my life. {It’s weird how you can be aware of how irrational your thoughts are but still believe them.} I work from home, but chronic illnesses keep me from being able to keep a clutter-free home. Those same illnesses hinder me from working full time to help keep my family from drowning financially. Riding on these thoughts, the feeling of worthlessness kept creeping in.

As time went on, I began to think that there was someone else who could do this wife and mommy life better than me. I’m grumpy in the mornings while everyone else wakes up smiling. I hate outside (and heat and bugs) while my family just brushes this stuff off, so they can enjoy nature. I would much rather be at home when I have free time, but everyone else wants to visit family. It felt like I was no longer a good fit for my family. So, my thought pattern circled around these few thoughts, until they drowned out any rationale:

“There’s someone who can do it better. You just have to martyr yourself.”

            “I bet it would take my hubby no time to find someone he could really live this life with. He probably already wants to find her, but he’s a good man so he won’t up and leave me. Open the door for him to find someone else.”

            “Who would actually spend the rest of their life with me anyway? What was I thinking? I don’t have anything to offer. I don’t deserve to live, much less live this life with another person.”

By June 4^th, I was spiraling faster and faster. I floated through that day, giving my kids the essentials but nothing more of me. Tuesday was more of the same, except they had a doctor’s visit. All that morning I heard, “You’re such a great mom!” and “Your kids are so mannerable.” One nurse even said, “If I could give you a treat, I would. You are doing a great job with your kids.” Each time I heard that, I fought back tears because I was suffering in silence.

The next day, I asked my mother in law for a mental health day. I could feel the plummet happening inside of me, but I wasn’t ready to do anything about it. I figured I just needed a day to try and get myself together. The day wasn’t productive, though. I just slept…like all day long. Then, I still woke up the next day completely drained. My mind was in a fog and I couldn’t come up with one reason to end the day alive. I was hopeless. I no longer trusted myself with my own life. My friend, who had been checking on me every day since Monday, texted me that morning to see how the day before went. My answers were short, one-word answers (so not like me at all!), but she didn’t give up. The text conversation ended with me agreeing to make some necessary calls. I contacted Henrico Area Mental Health Services and finally admitted that I was not in a good headspace. They told me that I could walk in any time that day. So, my next feat was finding a ride. My friend texted me to see if I had called (she’s a persistent thing!) and I told her I did, but that I was also looking for a ride to get there. Do you know this girl found me an Uber all the way in the country?! Now THAT’S a friend! God placed her directly in my path that Monday because He knew she was just the right amount of harassment that I needed. I will always be grateful for my girl!

I get to the mental health services building and am reluctant to go in. I’ve driven by that building countless times – even prayed for individuals coming in and out – and never once did I think I would end up going inside. I opened the door and went to the window. The lady asked me what brought me there and, as I fought back tears, I told her that I was having some not so good thoughts. She handed me a large, green index card and at the top it read:

Check if you are experiencing one or both.

Right under that, it read:

I am having suicidal thoughts.

I looked at that box and almost didn’t check it. Who wants to admit something like that? I convinced myself that I should have stayed home if I was not going to be honest. So, I checked the box. The lady took the card, handed me a clipboard with paperwork attached, and told me that someone would be out to speak with me soon. Within a few minutes, another lady came out and asked me to step into a small room with her. She wanted to get an idea of where I was with the suicidal ideations. I let her know that I had pondered a few plans, but I hadn’t attempted anything. After a few more questions, she said, “It doesn’t sound like you need to go to the hospital or anything. Finish filling out the paperwork and we’ll check back in with you soon”. I thought, Whew! That was close. I’m glad I got out of that part.Within the next hour, she called me into her office so that we could chat a little bit more. Based on the criteria I met, she ended up suggesting that I check into an inpatient mental health facility called the Crisis Stabilization Unit.

The counselor explained that this place was a step down from a hospital, but that they would be able to give me what I needed – to get back on the antidepressant I was on while we had insurance and undergo intensive group therapy. The group therapy would give me coping skills that I needed to acclimate myself back into my life with a healthier mindset. Now I’m not a crier, but by this time in the conversation, I was a basket case. I told her, “Ma’am, I have a whole family and husband to take care of! I can’t just leave them!” She saw how hard it was for me to make that decision so she asked me if I wanted to call my husband. Of course I did! I couldn’t imagine being away from them for who knows how long, and I couldn’t make that decision alone.

My hubby, being the observant and tender heart that he is, asked me, “Babe, take us out of the equation. Not thinking about me or the kids, what do you feel you need to do? Whatever that is, I support you.”

That is when I admitted that I needed this type of help. Within a couple of hours, we got in touch with close family members and let them know what was going on. When I talked to my dad he said, “God saved your soul. Now these people gon’ save your ass.” I thanked God for that mouth that day. Truer words had never been spoken. So, we went to the house and I packed some clothes. Before I knew it, I was kissing my hubby at the door to the CSU and apologizing. I felt like I had let him and my family down because I was unable to recalibrate as needed when life seemed too overwhelming. He told me there was nothing for me to be sorry for and he squeezed me tight. I walked through those doors, determined to come out a better person.

            God. IS. LOVE.

            HE Loves me.

            HE Provides for me.

Over the next five days, I went through way more group therapy than I ever wanted to experience. We had 8 groups a day, only three times to use the community phone, and specified times for meals and bed. I met with a crisis treatment team, clinicians, nurses, and psychiatrists. I began my meds again and walked around, writing down the inspirational quotes that were on the walls. I even bonded with my volatile, schizophrenic roommate. The stay wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. God showed me just how much He was STILL walking right beside me, orchestrating my steps, even at the CSU. His love for me saturated my mind and heart to the point where I couldn’t help but share it with others. The other people in there needed to feel somebody’s love, too.

It’s been one week since I have been home. I would be lying if I said I feel great. A part of me feels like those who know about what happened are expecting me to be all healed up and ready for life. The reality is…I am not. Thank GOD I am no longer in crisis, but I am still at a level 3 suicide risk. I am able to convince myself to stay but that doesn’t mean that I don’t think of reasons not to.

The biggest epiphany through all of this is that I lack coping skills for life. I muddle through life, attempting to “be strong” all the time; but while I do that, I minimize my feelings and the things that affect me. Not dealing with overwhelming things doesn’t keep them from being overwhelming, though. What amazes me about this entire process is how God used this storm for my good. Like, as the winds were swirling around me, He was stillusing me. Even before the depression got this bad, I was never fully aware of my worth. If I am honest, I am not fully aware right now. However, God showed me in the CSU, and keeps showing me, just how my unique gifts touch people. I’m seeing now that there is something special inside of me. I was put here on this Earth for a purpose, too. And God has helped me to see that He laid out a path of ministry for me, just like He did for others. The irony is that I didn’t discover much of this until I was spiraling so low that I could barely see the sun. But oh, there was a Son shining right down where I was – directly on me and keeping His hand on me, even when I couldn’t feel it. And I know He will continue to have His hand on me. This fight isn’t over.

HE Redeemed me.

HE Fights for me.

I AM NOT ALONE.

 

 

Yeah, I’ve had those thoughts too…Suicide Prevention Week 2016

Suicide Prevention Week is September 7-13. I decided to write this to put a face to suicidal thoughts and depression. People who haven’t struggled with depression or suicidal thoughts are surprised when someone takes their life. Many questions float around:

“Why didn’t they just ask for help?”

“Didn’t they know who they were leaving behind? Didn’t they care?”

“How could someone be so selfish?”

It’s easy to ask these questions when you’ve never felt feelings or had thoughts of a depressed person. When a person is depressed, a positive mindset is out of their control. They are unable to “will” themselves to be happy. The dark thoughts they experience hover over their minds like dark, stormy clouds hover over the horizon. Looming and daunting – that’s what depression feels like. I’ve used this analogy to describe it to a friend of mine…depression hangs on you like a wet, fur coat. It’s heavy and uncomfortable but, unlike the coat, you can’t just remove it. It’s an unwelcome addition to your mind.

You may wonder why I am describing what depression feels like. I have a beautiful family, live for Jesus, have a supportive husband. My life looks alright to you. And yes, I have all of these things but that cloud looms over me more often than I am willing to admit. In spite of all that I have, sometimes I believe the lies that tell me no one cares. I’ve listened to the whispers that say I’m too fat to truly be loved, so I should just die. I’ve cringed inside while feeling that I don’t measure up to this mom or that mom and that my children would be better off with someone less irritable and more tolerable than me. I’ve cried because I believed that I am only a liability to my family because of Fibromyalgia and felt that I should just “make the ultimate sacrifice” for them. I didn’t want to listen to these things but I did. I wanted to be happy but when you feel so helpless it is hard to fake a smile (even though I did on a regular basis). And I’m not talking about years ago. I’m talking about a few months ago. I’m talking about last week. I’m talking about yesterday.

See, when you struggle with depression, it’s an actual struggle. You aren’t just depressed one day and never again. You don’t just have one battle and never face it again. For those who have only battled once, hats off to you! I wish that was my story but it isn’t, and I’m sure it isn’t the story of those of you who also have clinical depression. When you struggle with deep depression, you make a decision every day to stay alive. Typically, you aren’t sitting in a chair or car with a gun pressed to your head like on television. You’re deciding not to overdose on the pills that are, ironically, prescribed to treat your depression. You’re walking past the knife rack and deciding not to pull one of them out today so you can stop the feelings of worthlessness, helplessness, and sadness. You’re driving to your destination and not into a ditch or body of water. You are making a daily decision to stay…to stay alive for your family, to stay alive for your job, to stay alive simply to see if the feelings of joy and happiness will ever float your way. You stay. And you make that decision each day, each hour, each minute that you are able to fight those feelings. But it is a fight and it certainly isn’t easy.

You pray to continue to have the strength to get out of bed, even to just brush your teeth. As a mom, I pray for strength to continue to be here for my family because I know what it is like to be motherless at a young age and there is no way I can do that, on purpose, to my children. My children keep me alive. I don’t ever want them to wonder if I died to get away from them. Those are the thoughts that bring me back to reality – that help me to stay. I may not be the skinniest, the most patient, or the perkiest mom (there is only so much you can get out of me at the ungodly hour of 7 a.m.) but God gave me to them and them to me so there must be a reason for that. I will stay to find out what that reason is and to pass that reason on to them. I must stay. And if you are reading this and you feel so sad that you can barely raise your head off of your pillow, think of someone who wants you to stay. Give them a call or text. You don’t have to tell them what you are experiencing but simply telling them “I love you” will spark them to say that to you, and hopefully much more, so that you know why you should stay too.