Anxiety

Toilet Trauma

It didn’t go according to plan. ‘IT’, being, reducing my meds.  The decision was made by me, MYSELF, in the presence of my psychiatrist.  He wasn’t convinced but went along with it – maybe to spare my feelings or to let me really SEE. Maybe he thought it would be funny. Let me just say, I was monumentally wrong. 

Allow me to share a recent, fairly harmless example.

Here’s what would have happened IF I had been on a proper dose of meds:

I walk into the bathroom expecting everything to be in order but the toilet is plugged. AGAIN.  How annoying. Puzzlingly, the plunger is MISSING. How inconvenient. Being lazy and thinking I can just handle it using the toilet brush, albeit less effective, it will probably pump enough water to dislodge whatever is stuck. (EEW)

I quickly grab the handle of the brush and pull it from its holding container.  I say, ‘OH SHIT’ (literally) as the container is right FULL of nasty, dirty toilet water which propels forth across the entire half bath and makes an ugly puddle on the floor.   

I still need to use the bathroom.  I squeeze my legs together, submerge the brush in the almost overflowing toilet to swish it around and rinse off the offensive crap (HA HA).  I complete the rigorous pumping action and am rewarded by the glorious flush of the tank. “Oh good, the toilet isn’t broken.”

Now, I pick up the toilet brush container, dump (Heh heh) its contents in the toilet. FLUSH.  Put the container in the FRESH toilet water and use the brush to ‘CLEAN’ it. While Container and brush chill in the toilet, I spray and wipe down the floor, the walls, the mirror, the pedestal sink, the windowsill, the window, the blinds, the picture frames, and the cat’s litter box.  “Gee, I hope I got it all.” I finish by giving the toilet a quick clean and putting the container and brush back on the floor beside the toilet.  THEN, I use the bathroom and carry on. 

How it really went down – me on reduced meds: 

I walk into the bathroom expecting everything to be in order but the toilet is plugged. AGAIN. I scream, ‘BLOODY HELL! WHO PLUGGED THE TOILET AND WALKED AWAY? WHO PLUGGED THE TOILET AND FAILED TO REPORT IT IS OUT OF ORDER?  WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?” Puzzlingly, the plunger is MISSING. “O MY GOD! WHERE IN THE HOLY HELL IS THE PLUNGER?  WHO TOOK THE PLUNGER? WHY WOULD ANYONE TAKE IT? AND DIDN’T WHY DIDN’T THEY RETURN IT?  WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?”  

In a frenzied rage, I grab the handle of the brush and pull it from its holding container.  “OH SHIT!” The container is right full of nasty, dirty toilet water which propels forth across the entire half bath and makes an ugly puddle on the floor. “UUUUUGH!!! YOU BASTARDS!”  I still need to use the bathroom.  I squeeze my legs together, and hastily submerge the brush in the almost overflowing toilet. I VIOLENTLY pump it against the drain with superhuman force until it flushes. 

Now, I pick up the toilet brush container, causing spillage and swearing under my breath. I dump its contents in the toilet. FLUSH.  I angrily force the container into the FRESH toilet water and use the brush to ‘CLEAN’ it. Leaving the container and brush in the toilet, I yell, “I GUESS I HAVE TO CLEAN THE WHOLE BATHROOM TOO! WHY IS THIS ALWAYS MY JOB?  CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?  I’M NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN! NEXT TIME SOMEONE PLUGS THE TOILET, IT IS STAYING EFF-ING PLUGGED UNTIL THEY FIX IT THEMSELVES!” I spray and wipe down the floor, the walls, the mirror, the pedestal sink, the windowsill, the window, the blinds, the picture frames, and the cat’s litter box.  “F***. I probably missed some. We just have to live in FILTH.”  I finish by giving the toilet a quick clean and putting the container and brush back on the floor beside the toilet.  THEN, I use the bathroom and carry on. Everytime I meet someone in the house, I stop them and list ALL the UNPLEASANT things I HAVE TO DO EVERYDAY and how I’m not the ONLY ADULT in the HOUSE who is capable of cleaning.  I continue to passive aggressively return to this subject FOREVER. 

STOP.

I often question whether taking medication is stifling or ACTUALLY helpful.  The process of weaning off, changing my mind, and then slowly increasing the meds again until I reached a state of lessened anxiety, was a SIGNIFICANT struggle.  It was worth it just to discover that my spirit stays intact.  My essence remains with or without medication.

I officially take medications to curb the symptoms of borderline personality disorder.  Personally, I think ‘Borderline Personality Disorder’ is a misnomer.  It’s more of an EMOTIONAL disorder.  Without meds, I am unable to regulate my emotions and trend toward intense, catastrophic anxiety, inflexibility, negativity, and depression.  It is really hard WORK to check myself, especially as a pastor who is, by nature,  expected to be humble, accepting, and loving.  IF a trigger IS hit, it’s a challenge to reel it in.  I’m a bit of a walking emotional time bomb. IF I feel ignored, abandoned, or disliked, I react emotionally to quell the overwhelm of anxiety.  My behaviour CHANGES to protect, numb, or distract myself from the discomfort of extreme stress.  Shielding my fragile self-image sometimes spells personal sabotage and destruction. It can be AWKWARD.

Without the meds, my whole bathroom saga felt like a personal attack on my ability to parent and keep house. As if the clogged toilet was a CALCULATED demonstration of what I have FAILED to teach my children and how terrible I am for letting the ‘yuck factor’ in cleaning get OUT OF HAND.  It triggered a subconscious cascade of unwanted thoughts and memories about EVERY failure I have perceived in my motherhood and marriage. My self-judgment spurred the loud cursing that was designed to rouse the attention of my family, name myself as the victim and BLAME everyone else to take the pressure off of my isolated position in the story.

I don’t think this is unique to BPD, but I experience splitting, which is a marked division between my ‘NORMAL SELF’ and my ‘UNHEALED SELF.’  As a result, my mood swings are unpredictable.  I have issues with identity confusion and internal conflict. Insert [Imposter Syndrome]. Depression overtakes me with a deep sense of ongoing emptiness.  It is in THESE moments that I need MORE than medication.  I need to look inward, embrace mystery, and trust GOODNESS to prevail.

Once, when I was feeling pathetically helpless, I prayed for something very specific to cheer me up.  “God,” I said, “I never REALLY ask you for anything tangible.  It would help me enormously to know you ARE listening.” Then, as if God works like some kind of magical Santa Claus, I asked, “Please, please, please let the clothing I ordered arrive TODAY.”  I’m not usually so desperate about clothes, but these were clergy garments that would refresh my wardrobe after many years of body dysmorphia and clothes that just didn’t fit right and detracted from my professionalism.  When I finished I scolded myself for being SO petty.  I went on with my day.  When I got home THE BOX was on the table.  I began to do the math – “what day did I place the order?  Has it been 6-8, or maybe 12 weeks?  Was this MY intuition or did GOD really just DO that for ME?” The crust around my soul began to crumble. (sounds Grinchy)  “What IF God just did that?”….. “Um, God, okay, thank you for showing me that you ARE real and you HEAR me.  I’m so sorry that I put you to the test…  So…hey…you’ll deliver my package when I ask – what then will you do with my REAL problems?”  

This is an experience I often return to when I’m in distress.  God cares about ME. God loves ME.  God looks out for ME, myself.  The missing toilet plunger doesn’t matter.  The mess has no enduring consequence. My family is not to blame, no one is plotting against me or abandoning me.  The toilet is JUST clogged and there IS NO plunger. It’s an inconvenience. Nothing more. The goal of treatment for emotional/personality disorders is differentiation of self – having the ability to maintain one’s true self in anxiety and in emotional situations.  My healing work is focused on changing my relationship between how I THINK and how I EXPRESS my EMOTIONS. It leads me through the storms of life to find my center calm, my connection to the ground of all being, my Christ-heart, my godspark, my soul.

I’m a work in progress.  Aren’t we ALL? Dr. Richard Schwartz’ theory of ‘Internal Family Systems,’ takes Dr. Bowen’s ‘Family Systems Theory’ which is concerned with the different interdependent roles assumed within healthy AND dysfunctional families, and APPLIES IT to an individual person and their many ‘parts’.  This resonates.  I don’t feel that I have a bunch of different personalities inside of me that fight for leadership.  But, I do feel like I have distinct PARTS. 

In IFS the ‘parts’ include EXILES, the parts of yourself that your ‘system’ works to keep hidden and out of trouble.  They carry your burdens like shame, fear, grief, anger, dependency, and loneliness. They also long to be healed and freed. MANAGERS are your parts that protect ‘the whole system’ from feelings of hurt and rejection. They maintain control by creating an illusion of safety by being super competent, and utilizing your self-critic to prevent humiliation and abandonment.  FIREFIGHTERS serve and protect ‘the system’ when triggers hit too close to home.  They react, attack, and create diversions (like addictions, eating and sleep disorders, extra work, self-harm, and dissociation), all to keep your exiles from seeing the light of day.

My favorite part is the CORE SELF.  When you can uncover this part and maintain it, it becomes the active and compassionate LEADER of all the other parts. It takes away their ‘jobs’ and replaces them with pleasant, and positive, productive roles.  It is your natural essence, that has been sheltered from damage by all the other parts. Your Core Self acts with spontaneity, and creativity. It emerges when you feel centered and truly safe and calm. Your confident core self is Playful, Curious, Adventurous, and Stable. It is your BEST SELF.  When it is uncovered, it needs NO improvement, because it’s already perfect the way it is…..the way God made you.

As a Christian, the core self, my best self, fits the concept of my soul – which I believe is beyond the limits of the physical body or the human psyche.  The soul is the essence, energy, electricity, everlasting part of you that IS accessible during this earthly walk and contains ALL the wisdom and strength you need to find peace and healing WITHIN  yourself.  I’m not talking about a cure-all.  I am talking about a state of being that is calm, knowing, and in fact, a little piece of God’s all encompassing love that has settled in you no matter what else is happening in your life.  

People are complicated.  When you are faced with dirty toilet brushes and stuff that’s stuck, BREATHE. Center yourself.  Ask all your managers and firefighters to give you some room, to step aside.  Hug your exiles and draw on your CORE – the being that God meant for you to be – be filled with THAT light.  Bathroom drama, I think most dramas, CAN be navigated with improved self-awareness and the courage to be vulnerable. We can live as we die and die as we live within our personal ‘system’ and in interconnection with and care for the ‘systems’ of OTHERS, even if they expect you to clean the toilet.

“SHOULD” is a dirty word.

My psychiatrist thinks Thursday is my day OFF, but it’s not.  I like how happy it makes HIM to think I follow such a healthy routine, so I don’t correct him. Truthfully, I don’t have a consistent day set ASIDE to rest.  There is NO time to rest, even if I’m NOT working.  

Keeping up with all my mindfulness tasks is a JOB in and of itself – yoga, meditation, listening to music and podcasts, reading, dog walking, fresh air, sunshine, volunteering with ponies, seeing friends and extended family, or even just calling them, writing, crocheting, playing guitar, drawing, EVEN praying – crammed all together in a day or two ARE work.  Add housekeeping and family management to that and I’m DONE.  Actual work at my JOB can be a welcome distraction from my self-improvement schedule and home life.

Sometimes I fall prey to the jaws of my own anxiety and feelings of guilt.  The SHOULDS begin to PROD at me even when I’m trying so hard to ignore them.  You should be working, they nag. You SHOULD be at the office, there’s so much to organize, so much to prepare, so many calls you COULD make.  It’s a nice day, you SHOULD walk around the village and visit ALL your parishioners.  They’d appreciate it.  You should go NOW. Isn’t so and so due for surgery?  Didn’t somebody just have a bad fall?  What about checking in with so and so’s recent widow? Isn’t there a get together, an event, a cause you SHOULD be supporting?  You should be MORE involved in the community.  There’s still half a day left – GO to the coffee shop, the community center, the park.  Be visible.  Be AVAILABLE.  It’s good for you.  People need YOU, Nadine! They are hard pressed for SOMEONE to minister to them.  Get off your self-absorbed butt and get to work!

No?  Well then, at LEAST mow the lawn, weed the flowerbeds, sweep the deck, do the dishes, do the laundry, prepare the recycling, take out the garbage, get the mail, scrub the floor, clean out the fridge.  I never dust.  My conscience has NOTHING to say about dust.

I’m dialing back on one of my antidepressant medications.  It’s going great. Gosh I’m edgy.  EVERY feeling is augmented.  Shame is ugly.  I COULD blame my meds.  That’s what I’ll tell my therapist.  Oh- those meds!  They wreak havoc on everything ‘MINE’.  

Rosie KNOWS the truth.  She’s the pony who listened to ALL my bull yesterday.  She could tell I was uncomfortable in my own skin – getting too close to touching my OWN rawness.  Deep in a pit of self-judgement and loathing.  Her eyes held me.  I got lost in her gaze.  She trained me up ‘real good’.  It wasn’t a calm day at the farm and the horses were startling easily.  

But Rosie overcame that.  I can’t take ANY credit because I was a mess.  First, as per usual, she gave me a hassle on our promenade to the arena.  She didn’t WANT to stand where I asked. She KNOWS that she can easily OUT LEAD me. But something shifted.  After rubbing her itchy bum on the support beam, she urged ME to groom her.  She let ME lean in, scratch her ears and murmur at her. She was STILL.  She was PATIENT (she’s usually sassy).  When I turned away SHE stepped toward me, put HER nose on my shoulder, she coaxed me to ENJOY her contact, she nuzzled and listened to me breathe out. She was so EMPATHETIC and KIND. Thank God for her.

Today the SHOULDS are still bugging me.  I’m mostly ready for Sunday.  I’m procrastinating though.  This is PRIME sermon writing time.  The scripture readings are about taking time for rest, for Sabbath restoration and healing.  Jesus says the commandment about keeping the Sabbath is a gift for US.  GOD DOESN’T NEED REST.  But God knows that WE DO.  

In a few days my edginess will dissipate.  I’ll settle down.  The shoulds won’t be so LOUD.  Let the Spirit fill your troubled heart with the same empathy and kindness I found in my pony friend.  Medication or not, it WILL see you through the rough patches and bolster your tender heart for every tomorrow. 

Rainbow Ties

So, I’m writing about my mental health AGAIN. Not to worry, please. I AM OKAY.  I forgot about the Family Day holiday and failed to refill my medications – so I’m NAKED (figuratively). For some reason, the pharmacy DOES NOT give out medical narcotics in large quantities (I know, right?) so it’s easy to suddenly run out if I get distracted. I’m off kilter TODAY but I know THIS, at least, is temporary.

It’s too bad that I am  currently in the middle of an EXTENDED mood episode. Depression is a strange beast.  I shut off and fly on autopilot through my necessary working hours – a hollow puppet of myself entertaining my audience with laughter and fabricated presence. People are cared for, sermons get written. I am thankful for every POSITIVE moment. When I’m like this, my whole self is not required to get it done. But, without my WHOLE self, tasks and interpersonal work are lacklustre. 

This depressive state bleeds into ALL the nooks and crannies of my life – my family sees the worst of IT.

All it takes is one little stressor – a WORD. A LOOK. A THOUGHT. A BAD DREAM. A DISAPPOINTMENT. A REJECTION. A reaction from someone else I CAN’T control. My mood plummets.

It starts as a sweeping SADNESS that pushes behind my eyes, threatening tears.  My chest becomes FULL with melancholy.  In the pit of my BEING, grows a feeling of DREAD. My stomach reacts with nausea. Terrible mournfulness reaches up to SQUEEZE at my lungs, shortens my breaths, makes me gasp in the air, and the tears escape. My head becomes a pressure pot and my body dejected,  my spirit broken.  What begins as a quick change in mood SITS for hours, days, weeks, months. Immovable depression.

But LIFE moves on. I take on the semblance of myself and ride it out. There’s NOTHING I can do to appease the monsters of anxiety, shame, guilt, and anger.

I’ve learned to hide it. To smile. To DO the THINGS. But when I’m in their grip, I know they are just waiting to launch another direct attack when I’m ALONE.

Before I knew about mood disorders, I thought I was just weird. I’m STILL weird, but now it has nothing to do with my mental illness. I don’t know if that’s positive or negative.

Several weeks ago I saw a beautiful rainbow over Lake Huron while I was driving to a meeting.  I was already into this bout of depression. There had been DAYS upon days of sunless, drab and dreary, rainy weather. The bow in the sky came with the first SUNSHINE in a long time. Everyone at the meeting was commenting on it.

Later I read multiple social media posts and saw a number of pictures of that SAME rainbow, a sign in the sky pointing to our intrinsic connection to each other and the planet.  Images were shared from ALL OVER the county of Huron. It was remarkable to see the excitement and the relief found in a SHARED experience of beauty. Its profundity wasn’t lost on my depression.

We were talking about it that night as I was tucking my neurodivergent, now 20 year old daughter into bed. I ACCIDENTALLY leaned in to kiss her and quickly pulled away when I realized my mistake. She HASN’T allowed that kind of touch since she was a small child. But she said, “It’s okay, Mommy, you can kiss me”. RAINBOW MAGIC. The holiest of moments come UNBIDDEN.

I think this depression is beginning to lift. I wanted to write about the rainbow almost a month ago. Last night a friend told me she’d seen a picture of me on Facebook and she thought I looked powerful.  POWERFUL.  Her words SHOOK my tired bones. The image was from Sunday’s video. I was preaching about our solidarity as God’s children, Christ dwelling in us and through us at our best moments AND in our dejection. So many people, so much hurting, and so much LOVE to share. A thousand years are like one day in eternity.  Perspective is everything. In a world full of ALL the things, rainbow connections are still beautiful and sacred. Thanks be to God.

Practicing Peace

Casting negativity is my coping ‘GO TO’.  If something hurts, I accept it, but with a certain degree of self-blame.  If something feels good, I don’t know what to do with it so I PICK it apart until it SMARTS. Being conscious of this is a God-given gift that might, eventually, help me embrace that  I’m simply a HUMAN BEING, experiencing the peculiarities of humanity.

A member of my congregation stood on my porch with a holiday gift.  The gift was very much appreciated but his WORDS took me by surprise.  He said, “There’s something DIFFERENT about you. You’ve changed. I don’t know exactly how, but it is all positive. You are having a revitalizing effect on people.”

Wait, WHAT? I’ve been thinking about this for days. Of course my mind pulls me to an accusatory position.  ‘What was WRONG with me before? What if I can’t live up to his expectations?’ The pressure is ON. 

But, what if he’s right?

I agree that something HAS changed. It didn’t occur to me that others might perceive it while I’m not even sure of it myself.

A number of months ago I made a BIG decision to STOP the search for that ‘one more START-OVER place’ to add to the list of parishes served before I reach a reasonable retirement age.  I have 10-15 years+ – plenty of time regardless of HOW it all pans out.

I’d had a rough go with depression and my personal family side of things.  During THAT time, my congregation started a ‘VISIONING’ project in which I felt some insecurity and realized I do not have 100% support from EVERYONE I serve.  Ingredients for a perfect internal storm.

A couple dissenting voices ring so much LOUDER and linger WAY longer than dozens of affirmations.  My innermost self has an overwhelming need to be accepted, to please people.  The naysayers hurt my ego RATHER DRAMATICALLY.  Cue the downward spiral.

It took awhile.  Horror. Anger. Lashing out. Blaming. Self punishment. These ALWAYS come first.  After a time I settled down. I decided, church aside, to focus on what feels RIGHT for my family.

I can’t put my finger on an EXACT time, but I knew the Spirit was with me,  poured into me, CRADLED me, consoled me, and re-lit my inner soul fire, my Godspark, and with it came a NEW peace with myself and with my life.  That must be what my kind parishioner was talking about.  Peace begets peace.  It SPREADS.

I continue to struggle with depression. There’s a pill for that.  Even so, I have felt noticeably LESS concerned for how people feel about me in general.  Perhaps I’ve simply started to grow up. MATURITY is setting in. I’m savouring moments MORE than dissecting them.  I’m throwing caution to the wind and allowing my TRUER self OUT – the power tripping jerks have problems of their own.  Sometimes I’ll get caught in the crossfire.  NO ONE is 100% of everything necessary for EVERYONE.

Life is full of learning. I’m grateful for the opportunity.  God is GOOD. May we look forward with HOPE and live graciously and GENTLY with one another.

Your Slip Is Showing

Oversharing is NOT a trait restricted to Borderline Personality Disorder.  I’m pretty sure EVERYONE does it.  BPD MAYBE gives me an exaggerated tendency to talk about myself.  When I’m uncomfortable, I’m silent. BUT when I loosen up or feel especially daring (or want attention), it’s blah blah blah, BLAH,  BLAH – TOO MUCH information. I HAD a friend once who, when I got out of hand, said  ‘Nadine – your slip is showing.”  You know the HORROR of tucking your skirt in your pantihoes or your slip hanging out from beneath your dress? – THAT’S how she reined me in – by reminding me that I was EMBARRASSING myself. 

Back in the day, I drank to curb my social anxiety. It was TOO MUCH and I went way TOO FAR.  Luckily, disease forced me to kick that habit.  I never used to remember EXACTLY WHAT kind of foolishness I spewed or risky behaviour I’d tried to TEMPORARILY boost my ego.  Yes, I’m STILL in therapy.  

I don’t show people my underwear or discuss explicit ‘none of your business’ kind of stuff in search of acceptance anymore, but I STILL overshare.  After such an episode I PANIC.  Did I say TOO much?  Will that come back to BITE me?  WHY did I say THAT?  What’s WRONG with me? CAN I TRUST THIS person or THESE people?  For the love of God, NADINE, you KNOW better!  I constantly cut myself down in the RAW feeling of the aftermath.  I feel like I’ve wounded my very soul.

Yup, I see the irony that this blog is all about me and my inward struggles.  Why not find ONE person to talk to rather than telling all to the ether of cyberspace? I don’t know. I’ve got issues and I’m too tired to judge my decisions. It’s also ironic that I’m a minister. I stand in front of my church and am pointed out and asked to say something in social situations SO OFTEN that it’s a wonder I haven’t been locked up.

Finding and nurturing healthy relationships is REALLY REALLY HARD WORK.  I turn to things like the internet where I can say the things that I WANT certain people to know without ACTUALLY telling them. I’m in a public job so I can FEEL LIKE I am likable and BELONG even while I’m depressed and lonely.

Sad. I know it. Awareness is everything.  I know more today than that kid I was 30 years ago. She was a certifiable MESS who created reasons for friends to disappear.  I’m still a mess, but a MATURE one.  I know to seek help and I’m learning to notice the people who stick by me even when I am TOO MUCH.  

Today, I just want to say THANK YOU – to all the people who are willing to stick around and gently remind people LIKE me when our slip is showing. You are the BEST.  Praise to the Lord Almighty! Can I hear an AMEN?

Nobody’s Perfect

 “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

2 Corinthians 12:9

I’ve felt a real SHIFT recently.  It didn’t come all at once but I could sense my heart moving DIFFERENTLY. Is this something that comes with age? No – it is NOT age!  I prefer to call it an increase in the collection of LIVED experience. This coming weekend I will be celebrating another year added to my maturation of KNOWING.

The last year has been a personal push and pull but, after some much needed self reflection and trusted feedback, I have made some quiet decisions that make me feel a LITTLE more settled.  I don’t feel AS lost.

Personal PEACE has always been hard to maintain. For a time, I was totally and completely OBSESSED with exercising. Yoga, weightlifting, walking, sit ups, squats  stretches – EVERY single day.  My muscles had no time to heal. I also cycled through eating less, eating more, eating healthier, and fasting (AKA  STARVING myself).  This left me with too little protein to support the high activity so I was CONSTANTLY dizzy.  My body shape morphed rapidly and accordingly, as did my personality. 

Meditation, mood tracking apps and journaling didn’t last long.  I’m all disordered and couldn’t sufficiently rein them in. I committed myself to going outside and standing with my face to the sun for 10 minutes a day – even in the deep crispness of winter. I committed to SHOWERING.  SERIOUSLY. If you get it, if you relate to ANY of THIS, you are my kindred. WELCOME. Pull up a chair. I KNOW, RIGHT?

I kept up with the yoga during my sick leave, four years ago, and I read 142 books. I expected to return to work rejuvenated. Instead  I was EXHAUSTED and have remained so through Covid right to THIS moment.  

Breathe in. 1-2-3-4-5-6.

Hold. 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8.

Breathe out. 1-2-3-4-5-6.

I think, I HOPE, I’m finally starting to TOUCH it. INNER PEACE.  I’m still working on all the ‘forgive yourself for not knowing then, what you know now.’ There’s A LOT to wade through there. 

I didn’t know the venom my oldest brother directed at me EVERY moment of my childhood was traumatizing. Since his death 10 years ago,   I’m only now deciphering how my relationship with him impacted my whole life. My relationships. My choices.

When I get trapped by the SELF WORTH devil,  it IS hard to escape unscathed. It’s way too easy to list all the things I’ve done wrong in my life and worse, all I’ve failed to do as a parent.  It’s truly something to be able to sort out the blessings from the pain of our lives because the blessing often roots in the hurt.  It ain’t so easy to just ‘turn that frown upside down’. So much baggage hangs from the sad lines on my face.

The only thing that has really kept me from sinking is my desire for God. Does that sound weird? Yup. It sounds weird, doesn’t it? Desiring God.

I saw a Meme somewhere recently that took me by surprise. It said, 

“What a great joy it is to laugh with someone and consciously notice how much their existence means to you.” It drew out tears. Maybe I’m just an emotional jellyfish, but they were real and beautiful, a salty wet ocean that reminded me again of my faith. My constant yearning for God.

In the moments I despise myself most,  I most clearly realize how much I need to depend on God to LOVE me for who I AM.  I am NOT the perfect daughter, sister, wife, mother, aunt, pastor, or friend.  Imperfections and weakness seethe through me, they battle with me to be let out. When my most hated parts wear me down, I am reckless, snappy, snarky, hateful, and so very angry.  But you see, when I come back to myself, shake it off, straighten my blouse, God is still loving me like crazy. ‘Good job, kid. You made it through. What will you do now?’

My answer will always be, ‘Well Almighty One, I will share love.’ God’s love is the constant, stable reality that even accepts us at our worst, when we feel like failures, when we feel sinful. Our weakness pulls us closer to God. I can feel my godspark soul shine brightly through the shroud of self-disgust and radiate outward, guiding me (AND YOU, TOO) to be empathetic, and to embrace others in their weakness too.  We can pause, breathe, and wonder at the gravity of human worth, the simple joy that comes in accepting one another as God does.

Our imperfections can bring us closer to God and to others, especially to those we might look down on. Our flaws help us grow compassion and the ability to give and receive love.

This is the PEACE I feel I’ve been shifting toward.  God is perfect.  We are perfectly designed to be what God created us to BE. The divine Spirit dwells within OUR bodys, which are still full of sin.  God has chosen, for now, that we, the forgiven, still be imperfect. It’s the now and not yet of God’s realm within us. You are a Spirit-filled ‘work in progress’.  We are not yet what we will someday be. 

There is strength in weakness and joy is at the ready in your divinely held heart. 💖

 “Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own” Philippians 3:12
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Frolicking Faith (paired with Depression)

“Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” 

Philippians 4:8

I woke up this morning with a heavy head. It didn’t take long for the familiar gnawing to start in my gut and radiate to behind my eyes where tears sit at the ready.  I want to eat, eat, eat, (I’m eating right now – but I’m not hungry), and I just can’t DO the THINGS. If I have to see anyone today, they won’t know that I’m stuck in this cloud again. I should’ve been an actress because man, am I GOOD.

There is comfort to be found, if not in my lived moment, then in scripture. I think, in my young adulthood, the big draw to ministry was the realization of the Spirit’s indwelling in me and a desire to help relieve suffering. As a person who lives with borderline personality disorder, I fix myself on God’s unchangeable love. I do not need to fear abandonment (even though I do) because God will never leave me alone.  We all carry a divine spark. Knowing this brings relief, even if only at a cerebral level – it’s a good starting place.

I feel low today. St. Paul wrote his letter (quoted above) to the church in Philippi while he was in PRISON. Certainly he was in an uncomfortable place. Somehow he rejoiced ANYWAY.  His words remind us that reflecting on the good things, being thankful in each moment – whether marred by clouds or brightly lit – is to live out the incarnation of Christ.  

From my experience with depression I know that sometimes remembering the happy yesterdays can provide at least an iota, a small flicker of hope. Things won’t always be like this. THINGS WON’T ALWAYS BE LIKE THIS!

Yesterday was Sunday. It was a GOOD day.  In the middle of leading church, a childhood song popped into my mind.  It worked with my sermon about Jesus’ parable of the sower from Matthew’s account. Can you imagine God sowing seeds like a jolly farmer? God is like the sower who uses a ridiculous method to scatter seeds. There’s God, frolicking along, not worried about what kind of terrain on which the abundance of seed land. Imagine Oprah Winfrey and her joyfully anticipated giveaways – “Seeds for you, and seeds for you, and seeds for EVERYBODY!”  There goes God, frolicking along.

Anyway, the song in my head seemed appropriate. 

“Everyday, lambs at play,  in the fields where lilies grow.

 Frisk about, in and out, they are  happy, so!

Jesus’ little lambs are we, and he loves us, you and me. 

As we share in his care, we will happy be.”

Frolicking lambs across fields of plenty. That’s God’s picture of us. We mustn’t forget how it feels to frolic.

My depressed mind is clinging to the wealth of blessings from yesterday. Congregants indulged my need to sing said song.  I held a baby at coffee time, unbidden. He was placed in my lap. Bare toes, soft hair, that milky smell. That alone made the day a winner.

I was invited out to lunch with a couple of matriarch types and another ‘youngster’ like me. A lady in her 90ies DROVE us to a fairly new local restaurant I hadn’t been to yet.  The staff were lovely. The ladies at my table knew EVERYONE there and anyone more that entered. They laughed and shared their secrets with me (I think they were confessions). The trust, the fun loving, and the community felt like a good frolic.  We NEED each other. God is so, so good.

This bout of depression may last a while. By God’s grace, I’ll SURVIVE. I’m grateful for the ability to pull goodness into the deep pit. It will mingle with my Godspark and keep me company until I rise up again.

12 I know how to be abased, and I know how to abound. Everywhere and in all things I have learned both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. 13 I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

Philippians 4:12-13

Durably Disordered

In June of 2015 my daughter (the younger of my twins) was eleven years old.  We were camping and had just come back from a difficult visit to the camp store.  Stuff happened.  I was irritated by the onlookers and wrote the following on Facebook:

“My daughter suffers from selective mutism, social anxiety, learning delays, and unidentified behavioural disorders.  I stood beside her in the public camp parking lot as she lay on the pavement and loudly invited anyone to run her over … Because her mother doesn’t care.  ‘We’ don’t love her or want anything good for her.  ‘We’ are the worst parents. 
She proceeded to punch me until I couldn’t breathe.
You all saw it.
Don’t judge her. Don’t take it personally when she won’t look at you or talk to you.
This is a very real mentally disordered reaction to not getting the toy she wanted from the store and simply from being around strangers.  Your eyes on her make her anxious, and she assumes you want something from her.  Many things set her off.  Sometimes, she chooses fright, freeze, or flee.  This time, she chose to fight.  It happens often.  It’s devastating.  If you encounter us again, please give us the space to deal with it.  Prayers and love are welcome.
Don’t tell us how to parent.  Reserve judgment.  We are doing the best we can to do right by her.  Awareness is Everything.”

I received a lot of sympathy posts.  It just made me angry with myself for trying to protect my image of proper parenting.  Nobody needed an explanation.  My own personality disorder switched on and made me fight, too.   

I don’t know what it is like to be my daughter.  She, however, identifies with me.  She sees me get flustered, sweaty, angry, and popping pills.  We normalize each other’s behaviour.  It’s a daily struggle for everyone who lives with us. The pressures of life weigh heavily upon anyone who is mentally ill or somehow neurodiverse as well as for caregivers.  Mental illness is common, but my daughter says she often feels strange and alienated. Some days she feels like she should never have been born. Other days are tolerable. Once in a while, she has a happy day. We celebrate those moments. 

She began medication for anxiety, depression, and selective mutism when she was nine.  It was a hard decision.  I loved her spunk, bounciness, brightness, creativity, and  joie de vivre.  We were terrified that we would lose those beautiful parts of her personality.  It did change her.  I can only describe it as a kind of numbing.   Her intense emotions were replaced with a void of unfeeling. Her expressive body movements and her voice became less marked.  As the years wore on, we added Autism Spectrum Disorder to her greatest hits list.  Looking back, it all makes sense.  Cradle to nineteen – she has quirks that make her as unique as she is complicated.  She is a fabulous artist and extremely knowledgeable about insects, animals, and the natural world.  

I’m writing this after a couple of hours with the Newfoundland ponies that my friend at Poppy’s Haven so generously allows my twins and I to interact with.  Today my daughter wasn’t feeling her best.  Whenever she overextends her effort to be social, she manifests physical symptoms.

Oh, but the smiles!  Oh, but the sound of her voice!  Oh, but the delight she took in caressing, grooming, and whispering to the ponies!  It was so great for both girls.  Combined, the three of us are a walking ball of tension and anxiety.  Not today though, nope.  We even visited with my friend’s Newfoundland dog.  What a beauty.  He sparked much conversation.  

Today I caught a glimmer of the brightness I rarely see since starting my daughter’s meds.  We are so blessed to have a safe place for her to enjoy and practice being herself.  I am forever grateful.

Please. Help us normalize mental health.  Talk about it and fight against the stigma.