7 Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?
13 For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. 14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well.
23 Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts. 24 See if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.
There’s a part of myself I’d like to befriend, I empathize with her, but I don’t like her. It’s too hard. I haven’t forgiven her for the mayhem she causes, unaware, the relationships she destroys, the judgment she invites. These are irreparable damages.
She isn’t all bad. I mean, there are some wonderful and happy memories- and I’ve done the hard work to remember her innocence, her goodness. I get her. I underwent the testing, I did the research, I have weighed and analyzed my mental health issues. I talk about her in therapy – I understand – but it’s hard to accept all the things she did and does that I did and do that hurt and continue to hurt. It’s hard to shoulder this responsibility.
She feels so betrayed, used, and less than enough. She is always a part of me. She is inside my mind, and my gut- she reminds me how I routinely dissociate. She brings shame to the forefront. She is inconsolable. She takes me down to the depths, and part of me remains suffocated there. She tells me I did this to myself. She begs me to see her, to acknowledge her, to love her, to affirm and absorb her pain as it seeps through my mind at inopportune moments.
She is me, and I just come short of embracing her. I am not whole – because she needs my help to heal. That lonely, confused, misguided young woman who can’t find herself is still me. She is the me who feels worthless, who begs for attention. Who makes life altering choices in desperation. When I fall into depression, she washes over me. I succumb to regret. I believe the lies she takes for truth. I believe I have failed, I’m insignificant, unlovable, and too selfish to be dignified and respected. Even with evidence that this can’t be true, I still spiral down like a kite who has suddenly lost its supporting wind.
My hope: Isaiah 43:18-19
18 “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. 19 See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.
Casual pleasantries are NOT my thing. I’d rather hold my breath and pretend I’m invisible than fill the silence with EMPTY words. I’ve been feeling super uncomfortable lately. For many months, actually. It’s just my present state of being. My inner and outer selves are exchanging blows. It’s QUITE messy.
When someone makes socially acceptable, lighthearted banter in my direction, perhaps cheerfully saying, “Hello. How are you?” I usually respond with an “I’M fine, how are YOU?” That should suffice, but it feels like I’m lying.
I feel uncomfortable, spiritless. I don’t know why. I just do. “Hello, how are you?” “ME? I am NUMB. How are you?”
13th century English is FUN. ‘Numbness’, is described by the word, ‘TOPOR’ (Latin: torpōr/verb torpēre) – to lack sensation. This word sounds UGLY and DIRTY, and just AWKWARD enough to express my spiritual and intellectual inertia. Torpid, torpidus, torpitude, torpidity, torpify. These word forms refer to the idea of tending or serving to MAKE something or someone NUMB.
“Hello, how are you?”
“I am in topor.
I am torpid.
I have been torpified.
I am in the depths of torpidity.
I am overcome with torpidtude.”
Or my favorite, “I TORP”.
I feel like a torpid frog. I am benumbed and stupefied. How are YOU?
We used to have a bearded dragon named Lightning. He spent weeks in biological dormancy. He stopped hunting, eating, and bathing. IN FACT, he stopped MOVING altogether and appeared NOT to breathe. In reptiles, this is called brumation. In other animals, it is hibernation. In the wild, it happens to protect certain animals from weather and starvation.
I feel like I AM a wild beast who has been forced into domestic living. I didn’t choose to torp, it’s just a part of how I SURVIVE. Numbness is often a part of mental disorders. It can be a part of dissociation, depersonalization, and derealization, or in my case, emotional dysregulation. It’s a COPING mechanism. It’s OKAY to feel torpid sometimes. Take some extra time for yourself. Focus on rest and goodness and trust that ‘HEALING WILL COME ON THE WINGS OF THE SPIRIT AND WE SHALL GO OUT LEAPING LIKE CALVES FROM THE STALL’. (Malachi 4:2) Too much? It’s okay. God holds you in times of joy and in torpidity.
I’ve been spending a lot of time in the passenger seat as my son learns to drive. I am NOT fond of driving. I don’t feel like I’m in control behind the wheel. It’s complicated. Although I trust my son, implicitly, riding in cars augments my ALREADY heightened feeling of vulnerability. I’m not an ideal driving teacher, so I sit quietly and try not to freak out unless, of course, we are about to die.
I was 17 when I was learning to drive. My FATHER thought I was doing well enough to give highway 401, the then BUSIEST and WIDEST freeway in North America, a go. Thankfully, G1/learner permit drivers are no longer permitted to take this RISK. We began navigating through the city of Peterborough, where we lived. I drove us down Highway 7, which had 2 lanes. Then I continued driving on Highway 115, which had 4 lanes. Then, I turned off onto Highway 401, which had 8 lanes. With each highway, my fear increased with the SPEED limit.
Once on the 401, I panicked. I desperately wanted to pull over. There is NO ‘safe’ place to sit on the shoulder of the 401. I started crying and screaming, and swerving. My Mom and my sister (it’s unfortunate they’d come along on THIS adventure) also began to shout. Somehow, my Dad talked me through it. (I’ve blocked out the memory). My panic, dissociation and almost total shutdown could have killed ALL of us. I avoid highway 401 as much as possible.
It’s little wonder that I took up pastoring in RURAL settings. I do okay in the country on the back roads, as long as they’re paved. Once, while driving a parishioner home, I crashed my car into a tree while TRYING to power through freshly laid gravel with my sports car. (Sunfire) Fun times. Night time driving in the country presents the constant danger of deer crossing. I hit actually HIT one and have avoided driving after sundown ever since. And then there is snow. Snow is ALWAYS scary.
Once, early in my ministry, BEFORE becoming a mother (I think this matters to my state of mind), I was driving through a rural, winter storm and slid off the road. That’s not accurate. I BARRELLED off the road, jumping the ditch and landing in a farmer’s field, just inches from a large tree. I’d been making pastoral calls and was not dressed appropriately for winter. Since this was a time BEFORE I had a cell phone, I got out and trudged through the deep snow to the nearest farmhouse.
There were little kids outside. The mother was wary of ME – wearing frozen blacks and a clergy collar. I steeled myself to IMPOSE until help arrived. I used her phone. I didn’t call the police but a nearby parishioner who pulled my car out with his tractor. My car thawed for HOURS in his heated barn. It was terribly humiliating.
This accident could EASILY have been avoided. I COULD have stopped pressing the gas. I could have TRIED to steer into the skid. But I JUST gave up. What possessed me? How could I NOT care? In a single second, I made a decision that ran contrary to anything I dreamed I would do in similar circumstances. I didn’t think about it for many years because, well, accidents happen. Only AFTER being diagnosed with depression and mental health deficits after years of ministry, after having children, after MY child was diagnosed with mental health disorders – then the UNRAVELING began.
Do we know what is in our hearts, hidden in our minds? What weighs on our subconscious? When I was a child I used to think SO hard about what ‘FOREVER’means that it made my head hurt. Still does. The idea of forever and, by extension, the idea of ‘NEVER ’, torment me. Forever and never are impossible to quantify. If I’m honest, the idea of eternity is FRIGHTENING. Will my racing thoughts EVER end? Ending permanently is just as terrifying. How can my thoughts STOP? How can I just disappear, just stop BEING?
Somehow, something in me knows it IS eternal. This sense grew exponentially when my brother died 13 years ago (today, actually). I can feel eternity IN myself, and it brings both comfort and fear. It’s hard enough to open ourselves to trust in the goodness of creaturely living, let alone the eternal life of our souls! WHEN will it be well with our souls? Do we, as we are, have to END to embrace it?
Science says that electricity, energy NEVER burns out. I imagine that means THIS aspect of our little lives remains viable in the universe. THAT part is recycled. Stardust. Our bodies decay and contribute to NEW life on EARTH. But what of our soul? What happens to our individuality, our thoughts, our loves – are they simply LET GO? As a Christian, I look to Jesus, but he doesn’t give ANY satisfying answers, just more puzzlement. He says things like: there will be NO marriage, we will be like angels and belong ONLY to LOVE(God). After bodily death, being with family won’t be the primary activity. Worshipping Love ITSELF will fill our time, and ALL will be ONE family. We’ll even meet NEW family. (Matthew 22-30) St. Paul says that we will be closer to one another than we are NOW, but not in the same way. (1 Corinthians 2:9) So – we won’t be alone, but all of this still scares me. Also, the relief of letting go, giving my brain a rest, equally entices me.
The decision I made in that snowstorm was probably LESS a decision than it was a product of my Borderline Personality- emotional dysregulation. I can be overwhelmed, impulsive, and reckless when I feel threatened. That was a recipe for disaster BEFORE starting medication to curb these symptoms. I take better care of myself now. Our personal self care has benefits for EVERYONE we love.
Our brains are wired to survive, even in trauma. There is an INNATE awareness that life now IS important. It is important to LIVE IT. FEEL IT. SAVOUR IT. The richness and depth of ALL human emotion come from opening our hearts to love a little bit each day. Because of our capacity for love, I trust that WHATEVER is next is GOOD- because LOVE is good. I believe that Love will embrace the best of us UNTO eternity. All this confusion, learning, joy, and shit, ALL of it – is somehow WORTH the effort.
I work hard to remember to weigh my thoughts before acting. Every day, I give thanks for the GRACE to live THIS life. Life leads all of us into a deeper knowing of our souls that will somehow transform us into ONE and give us the PEACE that surpasses all of our current understanding.
My grown kids scoff whenever I remind them that I could fly. Not airplanes. I am NOT a pilot. What I am is accident prone, CLUMSY. My kids often tease me that ‘it’s too bad I’ve forgotten how to fly, maybe then I’d save myself some bumps and bruises’. Funny. Laugh as they might, it IS true, I COULD fly … I really BELIEVED it was true, once.
I clearly remember having to run to work up some speed and then DIVING forward into a flying hover, just a few feet above the ground. I’d fly like that ALL the way to school, eating cherry tomatoes from a sandwich bag while my head and chest kept me on a steady course. No one around me seemed to care, or maybe they didn’t notice. It was GLORIOUS. I could reach down and touch the dirt. I could put my arms out and feel the rush of the wind on my skin and through my hair. It was a fantastic feeling. FREEDOM. I also remember failing the take off, hitting the ground and feeling the road burn – so what does that tell you?
I doubt I’m the only person who thought they could do it. Flying memories must be pretty common because the experience so often turns up in literature and media. Flying is a wonderful escape to another world for Peter Pan and the Darling children. In the magical world of Harry Potter, flying was a given in the game of Quidditch. Flying is COOL and EXCITING. Kids’ imaginations are limitless and so vivid that the veil between memory and fanciful tales can be hard to discern.
BEFORE I knew about Narnia or even what a ‘wardrobe’ was, my closet was a special place. Actually, it wasn’t a closet at all. It opened into a vast, ever-changing space that belonged ONLY to me. Sometimes it looked like one of those sunken living rooms, an entertainment area from the 70s (it WAS the 70s after all) – but bigger – expansive. It kept going and going, like a vista of memories mixed with hope and glimpses of freedom beyond my wildest dreams. It had EVERYTHING I could ever need or want. It was delightfully different each time I visited – something new, something exciting, something GOOD. Having a secret place or an imaginary world – provides a safe place to practice being grown up, to try out new skills, and to build self esteem. Make believe is an important piece of childhood learning. It’s an escape, a respite from being too little, too weak, too quiet, too undereducated, or too inexperienced to do mysterious grown up stuff like being in charge.
In my closet I had a variety of my ACTUAL special dresses on hangers – I would carefully choose which one to wear whenever I took a ride in my flying machine. OH YES! My flying machine! It was docked SOMEWHERE in that secret place, ready to take me wherever my heart desired. It was rectangular and stood upright. It was made of dark wood, and had carved spindles binding each corner. It had a tiered, rounded roof with a ball and spire on top. It was open to the air, and there were two little benches facing one another. My flying machine wasn’t much larger than a telephone booth. I SWEAR that this was BEFORE I knew about Dr. Who or the Great Glass Elevator in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory!
MY flying machine would take me over parades, over people I knew from school who would look up in admiration and wave, and CHEER, “There goes NADINE! She looks like a PRINCESS in that dress!” I could EVEN bring someone aboard if I wanted to. I could welcome kids who usually paid me NO mind and gain their friendship because of my secret room. I could come and go whenever I wanted. I could do whatever I wanted. I got to make ALL the decisions. People really, really LIKED ME. I felt FREE as a bird. It was sensationally FUN.
I never invited my family to see it, though. It was ONLY for me, myself. It felt safe and affirming, a place where I wasn’t ever teased, humiliated, or alone. Where I wasn’t ever angry, or afraid.
Often, when I left the closet, I could hear voices out in the kitchen. I’d get excited, thinking my family was having a hoot of a good time and I didn’t want to MISS it. But, then I’d wonder – WHY didn’t anyone tell ME? Didn’t they notice I wasn’t there? I’d run out to look. ‘Here I am!’ But EVERYONE was tucked into bed and asleep. It was the middle of the night. It confused me terribly. How LONG had I been in the closet? What DID I miss? WAS I missed? Did they forget about me and go to bed? Did they hear me coming and DISAPPEAR on purpose? I still wonder about those voices.
This is where everything gets a BIT uncomfortable. Even the wonder of my imaginary world, full of freedom, acceptance, and friends would not console the feeling that I had been somehow ABANDONED. It was clear that NO ONE really cared about me. These persistent feelings, no doubt, sprouted from something unpleasant and unfair that happened to me and have haunted me my entire life.
If you’ve read any of my stuff, you know I’m the queen of OVERSHARING. Here it comes. Beginning at a very young age, my self-worth has always been based on the APPROVAL and ACCEPTANCE of others. I’m prone to intense DEPENDENCE on my select favourite people. I have terrible, sometimes debilitating ANXIETY. I am petulant, some might say I’m a little self-destructive. It’s true, I am easily frustrated, I CAN be convinced that the world might be more cruel than it is kind, I often ooze with self-LOATHING. My moods and emotions are unpredictable. I struggle with feelings of EMPTINESS, SHAME, PARANOIA, and ABANDONMENT. I am impulsive, I need acceptance and attention. Can you guess my DIAGNOSIS? I don’t think any LABEL is a perfect fit, but in mental health language, I have Borderline Personality Disorder. No two cases are ever the same, so this unique MANIFESTATION is mine alone – even so, I’m sure there are points that will resonate with others for whom emotional or mood dysregulation are everyday concerns.
My memory tells me I had a wonderful childhood. On most counts, I REALLY did. My parents, my whole family, were the BEST. No family is perfect and we aren’t, by a long shot. But, I thought we really set the standard for how families SHOULD function. That’s the narrative, to this day. We love each other. We set the bar. I was loved, I was cared for. I still needed a safe place to be alone. I longed for understanding, freedom and acceptance. I had MASSIVE tantrums, I felt injustice wielded against me. I worried about death and, I worried about going to HELL – A LOT. I was angry, sad, and fearful about being left alone. My imagination was a soft place to land.
I recently took a course about trauma informed care in which the instructor suggested that Borderline Personality Disorder as well as several other mood and emotional dysregulation disorders might fall under a NEW umbrella called Complicated Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. CPTSD. As you know, PTSD can develop from an ACUTE trauma, something that happens to you or something you witness, maybe a car accident or a shooting – a SINGULAR event beyond your control. CPTSD can develop from ONGOING trauma, something that repeatedly happened to you over a long period, or something that CONTINUES to happen to you or something you witness over and over again, including physical and emotional abuse, and ESPECIALLY in early development and adolescent years. I find this new blanket term less negative. It carries HOPE. Maybe it ISN’T my fault. Maybe I can accept who I AM a little bit more, maybe confusion can be relieved, and inner conflict resolved. Maybe I DON’T HAVE TO FEEL so alone, ashamed, and consumed by my disorder.
Trauma responses vary greatly between people, even between those who share the SAME experiences. Why do some of us develop disorderly symptoms? It’s a good question! CPTSD is caused through a combination of genetic, neurobiological, psychological and psychosocial factors. I learned this in “The Neurobiology of Everyday Life” course I found online. It taught me so much about the way our brains work. Our brains are uniquely influenced by these categories and each category in a disordered condition can factor in at different levels of responsibility. In a trauma workbook, I discovered that my disorderly mind is a result of roughly 30% neurobiological/genetic and 70% psychosocial. I don’t know if the numbers really mean anything – but it takes some of the onus off me, personally.
Does mental illness run in your family? Maybe you have a genetic predisposition. Did you know that depressive disorders, eating, and substance abuse disorders often coexist? This is true for people with CPTSD symptoms. How does your brain manage emotion? Behaviour? Long Term memory? Motivation? Learning? How does your brain deal with the effect of substance use? Brains that display mental health stress develop symptoms in the limbic system (which processes and regulates our emotions and memory) . Did you have adverse childhood experiences that you may have been unable to process in a healthy way?
When I was seven years old my family moved to a new town. My closet didn’t come with me and I NEVER felt it’s magic again. I had memories of my time in my sanctuary, but had nowhere new to turn for comfort. My life became more and more difficult for me, until, ‘KABLOOIE’ – I was a young adult, loose in the world with all the same old shame weighing me down. I was impulsive. I felt empty and angry. I did things that could have caused me great harm. My closest relationships were terribly unstable. (I hate you, don’t leave me!) My sense of self was largely distorted toward the negative. My emotions were so intense I would dissociate, completely detaching myself from them. Girding this all up was my fear of abandonment.
Too HEAVY? Yup, sure. There’s an upside. My children helped me to REIGNITE that sense of wonder and trust in myself that I used to find in my bedroom closet. Creativity is an outlet for taking what’s locked up inside and letting it out by expressing it. It’s a safe way to rehearse and address difficult thoughts and emotions. Try something new sometimes. Take some small risks. LEARN your heart. SPEAK with your soul.
Psalm 139 is one of my very favorites. Did you forget that I’m CHURCHY? Here’s a small sermon for you. Although I CAN’T escape who I THINK I am or think I HAVE to be, I also cannot escape from God’s LOVE. God’s love is inescapable both on my best days and on my very worst days. I tell myself to BREATHE about it – for me breath is the same as prayer. Maybe these words will be helpful to you, too. Note that the word ‘Sheol’ means something like ‘darkness- as found in what, for some, is the presumed abode of the dead’. Okay, From Psalm 139:
1 O Lord, you have searched me and known me. 3 You…are acquainted with all my ways. 7 Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? 8 If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. 9 If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, 10 even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.11 If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and night wraps itself around me,” 12 even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, 13 For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. 14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well. 16 Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. 17 How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! 18 I try to count them—they are more than the sand; I come to the end—I am still with you.
Whoever you ARE, whoever you THINK you are, God, LOVE, the Ground of ALL BEING, the Creator, knows YOU and loves YOU. You were made in LOVE’S own eternal image. God knew you before any chaos, trauma, disorder, or illness entered your life. LOVE knows your whole Self – the physical and the spiritual. And, God is with you NOW, dwelling in your heart, and will remain with you ALWAYS. You are NEVER alone. God will NOT abandon or shame you. You are worth EVERYTHING. Our task is to walk in this truth, this hope, and this meaning that compels us to KEEP ON trucking on, and bring light into the lives of all who suffer likewise – because everyone is touched by human pain. The good news is that everyone is also touched by eternal JOY.
As an adult, I realize that all the make believe and imagination in my young life was a gift. Today, when I’m not daydreaming, I have found comfort within myself, the self I know best in solitude and in nature. My BEST self whom God already knows. Self-care is soul-care. Be well my friends, and walk in peace.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
“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
Nuanced Niddy 