Help?

Help -  I need somebody

Help - not just anybody

Help - you know I need someone

Help!

I have never been one to admit I might need some help, let alone reach out and actually ask for it. I've written before about my fierce independence from a very early age (here), and how it eventually dawned on me that community was God's idea and plan for us all in the first place.  

That was before this depression reared it's ugly head - or at least before I acknowledged it as such. I'm now finding myself in very unfamiliar and unwelcome territory. I need help.

I don't want to need help. I very badly want to be able to "get through this" on my own. I've tried to convince myself that with enough prayer, enough soul-searching, enough self-care and positive thinking, that I can deal with it. Alas, it's becoming clear to me that my own efforts are insufficient.

I think there are several issues that are contributing to this feeling, and I wanted to sort through them so that I might better understand. The reason I'm thinking about this today is because my husband asked me this morning (carefully, gently, kindly, with much fear and trembling) how he could help me through this. 

My husband is an amazing man. His whole life has been full of challenges and injustices and difficulties. He allowed all that to shape him and enslave him for a long time. But in the last several years, that has changed dramatically - he has changed. Now, when a new or buried issue surfaces, he doesn't waste any time. He looks at it honestly, faces it head on and BOOM! - kicks it to the curb. 

I admire that so much. However, I have a sense that this process won't be so straightforward. I have to put it in motion by actually wanting help. As I explained it to him, I'm only at the point where I want to want help (which isn't much, but it's better than nothing).

There are various elements involved here. Pride, fear, shame, embarrassment, guilt, denial, a desire for independence and self-sufficiency, an aversion to self-revelation and a deeply-ingrained sense of being undeserving of such attention and aid all play a role in my reluctance to seek the assistance and guidance I know I need.

The laziness I've struggled with my whole life is also hindering me here. There are so many times when I just don't want to do the hard work of self-discovery and self-care and accountability and growth. I don't want any more soul stretching - it hurts. I want to avoid the hard conversations. Sometimes, I just want things to stay the way they are - I want to be content in my weaknesses and issues, and keep pretending that everything's okay.

But everything's not okay. And my struggles are not only hurting me, but the people closest to me, as well. I feel a little more willing to reach out for help for their sake rather than my own. 

Underneath it all is my overwhelming fear of failure and disappointing people. It sounds so ridiculous when I write it out - I'm afraid I'll fail at recovery, or healing, or whatever the eventual goal in all this might be. I'm terrified to reach out and receive support, only to let down those who are supporting me. I'm fearful that I won't "get better" and that my support network will throw up it's collective hands and give up on me if I'm not "coming along" as desired or expected. 

So really, what I'm looking for is unconditional love. Which I know can only be found in God. No one else can ever achieve it perfectly. And I've already practically rejected my not-yet-assembled mental health team because they won't be able to love me like God does. Yeah, that sounds pretty ridiculous, too. 

I know I can depend on God for that kind of love. But I also know that He's providing me with people who care about me enough to journey alongside me - to help and to guide, to encourage and to challenge, to bring healing and life and renewed hope. I'm so thankful for those who've already reached out to me, offering support and care and advice and grace. I'm praying for the courage to dare to take the necessary next steps.

Thanks be to God that we never walk alone.

Jekyll, Hyde, and the Other Guy

I'm trying hard to figure myself out. That's one major purpose of this blog -  "I write because I don't know what I think until I read what I say." (Flannery O'Connor) I spent most of my life ignoring myself while trying to help others figure themselves out, so I guess I had a lot of catching up to do.

The problem is, I keep changing. Sometimes it's good, upward growth (not literally, of course - I'm afraid that ship has sailed), sometimes I fall down, take steps backward and sometimes the changes are lateral ones, neither positive nor negative - just change. Now, I know I've just described life in a nutshell. For those who have been more or less self-aware, it's old hat but for me, at forty-one-and-a-half and just beginning to ask the questions in the last few years, it can still be a little disorienting.

In my most recent assessment, I've concluded that I have no less than three distinct personalities: one when I'm free from depression, one that emerges when depression envelopes me, and one when I'm teetering back and forth on the brink of depression. (Yup, it all centers around depression these days. And that's ok.)

When I'm free from depression, the world is my oyster! I'm the confident, people-loving, bubbly Joy with whom most people who know me are familiar. I am hopeful, full of plans and goals. I'm able to do the things I need to do, to participate in activities I enjoy and to delight in the world around me. I can care about people and share myself with them. This Joy has her issues and shortcomings, but she's learning to accept and even enjoy who she is.

Depressed Joy is best described as numb. (Incidentally, isn't numb a weird word?) Shrouded as she is in a thick cloud of nothingness, she doesn't feel much. Hope is gone, energy is gone, delight is gone, emotion is gone. The only real thing is delusion - which isn't real at all, by definition. She plods through her days in a dense fog, trying to do what's necessary. Being with people is agonizing at best; being alone is even worse. This Joy doesn't think much about accepting herself, her only goal is to keep her head above water, to keep herself from drowning in this invisible sea of despair.

I've only recently identified the third Joy - the one who is somewhere in-between. It's a strange place: hope is there, but delusion is there, too. It often feels like a tug-of-war for my soul, between two well-matched competitors. One will have the upper hand for a time, and then without warning, the tide will turn and the other side looks as if it will win. I've spent the last few weeks there, and it's terribly confusing and unstable. (I think I feel most sorry for my family and friends when I'm this Joy - like me, they never know what's coming next...)

You'd think that this discovery would be demoralizing, maybe - even frightening. However, instead of bringing me down, this observation has been most beneficial and freeing for me.

One of my newest disciplines is to consciously look for God's hand in everything. And the more I look, the more I see that His fingerprints are all over my life. Even in this.

So, armed with this new self-knowledge and more aware of God's presence than ever, I put one foot in front of the other, again and again. And when I can't, I can still know His peace, because peace is Jesus and He will never, ever leave me.

Thanks be to God.

I Hate Myself Today

I hate myself today.*

I didn't know I felt this way until a relatively minor mother/son clash occurred. Some disrespect, some defiance, some almost-eight-year-old attitude - nothing I haven't encountered before. But after sending the culprit to his room, I retreated to my own (isn't it funny how that's a reward rather than a punishment as we get older?) and as I collapsed onto the trunk/bench at the foot of my bed - which incidentally is right in front of mirrored closet doors - it all came pouring out, along with my tears.

I hate myself for being a bad parent (I must be a horrible parent to have such a brash, undisciplined son); I hate myself because I've somehow managed to put on yet a few more pounds this summer (which I definitely did not need); I hate myself for gradually falling out of several disciplines that have been so life-giving (I've been so lazy and undisciplined and indulgent this summer); I hate myself for feeling so aimless, direction-less, purposeless (shouldn't I know what God wants me to do next?); I hate myself for being a terrible wife, daughter, sister, aunt, friend (seems like I've neglected everyone I care about); I hate myself for worrying about the future, about finances, about my family (seriously, haven't I learned anything about trusting God?)...

I'm so tired of trying and failing in so many vital areas of my life, trying again and failing again, and again, and again... Looking back over the summer, I'd have to say that I've pretty much stopped trying.

My summer has had the appearance of productivity and fullness on the outside. Packing up, moving, unpacking; backyard fires and gardening; little family outings; preaching and leading worship; getting up early to walk - these things filled my days with activity, but little else. The depths have remained unstirred, have stagnated. The inner life - real life, one might even say - has shriveled up.

The overall effect of this whirl of activity has been that I've allowed myself to give up on the things that are hard, that take effort, that aren't fun, that don't come easily and naturally. Disciplines that are refreshing and life-giving and healthy and beneficial - but not amusing or sugary or undemanding. More like challenging and painful - at least at first.

But now it's Fall - or soon will be. A new season is a gift from God, a chance to begin again. And oh, I'm so grateful! But will I take this opportunity and run with it? Or will I let it slip through my fingers yet again? Stay tuned...

*In case you were wondering, this intense hating myself moment didn't last very long. But the fear to try remains. It was about a month ago that I wrote about falling down and getting back up. I wrote from a burst of motivation that quickly fizzled out. In fact, that's where most of my blog post come from - a place of fallenness, of brokenness... Ughhh.

But that really shouldn't come as a surprise. "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." (1 Corinthians 12:9) This is where God's light shines the brightest in my life, when I'm weak and powerless. He loves to come in and pick me up, dust me off and set my feet on His path once again. It's only by His grace that I can remember at all that my feelings aren't the boss of me; that the way of least resistance is rarely the best way; that my value and worth are inherent, NOT based on my actions (or lack thereof).

Into this and every new day, we can venture forth with courage and hope - armed with His power, filled with His peace, covered by His grace, drenched in His love.