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.
"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well." Psalm 139:13-14
My Dad used to say I was happiest when I was miserable. I’m NOT saying he was right, but maybe I am MORE comfortable in the FAMILIAR terrain of misery than I am in unfettered happiness. It IS a TASK to ALWAYS be on guard, trying to present an acceptable picture of myself and my family – ESPECIALLY during the holidays. The inner struggle to appear conventional and meet social standards is MORE exhausting than surrender. But it’s how I roll.
I’ve already hoisted the drawbridge and covered the peek holes. I’m determined to balk the barrage of uninvited speculation that I already IMAGINE is heading my way. This is a classic defense mechanism. WALL UP. My counter attack is being RESENTFUL and DEFENSIVE. Isn’t that precious?
It’s NOT what some may think. I do LOVE and cherish connecting with family, friends, and my parishioners during the Holy weeks of Christmastide. It’s my OWN preconception that I’m being judged, being deemed unacceptable or somehow insufficient, that DOES ME IN.
I hope I don’t come off as being full of myself or conceited – I NEED others to LIKE me and AFFIRM me CONSTANTLY. But are people REALLY looking THAT closely? I am mortified by any HINT of disapproval that I expect from others as they survey the chaos of my life, my parenting, my marriage. I cross my fingers and hope they know that we are UNIQUE. There’s nothing wrong with being unique! You can’t equate apples to oranges or sugar plums to lemons, right?
Stopping the bombardment of GUILT and negativity is difficult territory, especially for people like me who have just ENOUGH self doubt to REALLY engage in a battle between personal truth and conjecture.
The ANNUAL Christmas FAILURES began a couple Sundays ago. I forgot to charge the phone used to record our church services and WILDLY ran home in a panic (across the street) to rip the charger away from my unsuspecting daughter in order to give the device 15 minutes of JUICE before the ushers would come looking for it.
I’d totally forgotten about flowers that had been tucked into the fridge. DEAD funeral flowers are NO JOKE. Especially since they were saved to honour a church matriarch one last time. ALL the FEELINGS. I gave the ushers the WRONG hymn numbers to post, causing mayhem.
I forgot to remind someone to light the altar candles, so they were lit WELL into the service. One child asked if she could be EXCUSED from MY children’s message. How cute.
My sermon was long-winded and I could see people drifting. The stole I wear, symbolizing the heavy yoke of Christ as he carried the cross kept slipping off my shoulders until I got SO annoyed that I whipped it OFF and threw it on my chair. I was out of breath. After service, when the robe came off and I was walking through the hallway, I found that my fly was UNDONE.
At coffee hour I noticed the unwoven ends of my sweater HANGING out. It was a sweater I made – screaming out a message of my CLEAR incompetency. Hmm. Unwoven ends. I like that as a metaphor.
Later that day the local churches were having a live Nativity with REAL animals and costumed kids acting out the Christmas story. I was in charge. My help couldn’t make it. LOTS of people dropped out sick. SO – LAST minute EVERYTHING. Me and my new volunteer helper ended up as part of the costumed troupe. We were standing next to our little holy family, she an angel and me a shepherd, directly BEHIND the rear end of a cow. We were in REAL danger of getting pooed on the WHOLE time. I swore under my breath hoping no one could hear me and I wouldn’t be struck down. That day required extra anxiety pills and MULTIPLE pep talks.
Shortly after this I became ill (SURPRISE!) and had no choice but to ASK for help to finish up pre-Christmas visits and cheer basket deliveries. I didn’t JUST feel judged. I felt GUILTY and ANGRY at myself and anyone who dared say a word about it.
Shame, Shame, SHAME.
It continues at home.
We spend a small FORTUNE on vet bills – so what’s happening? What am I doing WRONG? In a matter of days, the cat started puking, UNNATURALLY, and repeatedly and our old dog started to veer OFF the tracks and was acting FUNNY. Is that ICH disease on the angel fish? WHY is there blood in the guinea pig cage? The gerbils attacked and wounded each other AGAIN. The giant snail retracted into its shell, is it dying? Is it dead? I dunno. It really looks kinda dead…
Everyday I fight with myself about all the ‘SHOULDS’ my teens would need to meet in order to fit into the social norm of their age groups. For instance, they should
-be done school by now
-drive
-socialize
-know life skills
-be practicing life skills
-be working
-be cleaning, helping, doing little things for themselves
-wear typical clothing, or at least something more than pajamas
-go to church (mine)
-be confirmed (me again)
-have FAITH (again, this one is my hang up)
-understand the value of money – everything is NOT disposable
-see doctors, dentists, hairdressers by their OWN volition
Although I DON’T necessarily AGREE with everything on this list, being AWARE this list exists is a crushing blow to my mothering skills.
SPEAKING of SHAME, my children Should NOT
-See my husband and I fighting or hear us shouting
-Know our debt, or our problems
-Parent us
-Mediate between us
HUMILIATING.
I have plenty of reasons to stay AWAY from family gatherings.
Our kids DON’T have proper attire for church, sleep, winter, or even daytime. We can’t afford it (due to our insane pet related bills! They eat BETTER and have better health care than we do!)
The animals are impossible to care for when traveling. I have FEELINGS about asking anyone to pet sit for us.
Our Truck is too SMALL for us. But it’s what we have.
We can’t take the Trailer because it is STILL in disrepair.
We can’t have people OVER because we CAN’T hire a housekeeper, because we CAN’T get the house in order WELL enough to let someone ELSE try.
Everything is broken or garbage. Our refrigerator and pantry are gambles I suggest you DON’T take.
Andy and I don’t get enough sleep or enough time alone.
All this self-assumed inadequacy wreaks havoc on our family’s
Mental health. Anxiety, Anger. Impatience. Poor communication. It all LEADS to feeling belittled and unheard, blaming and resentment. A TOXIC cocktail of pain and disgust. I dissociate. I binge. I shut down and shut out. We ALL have our own crutches.
Tis’ the season. I read somewhere that animals NEED winter in order to rejuvenate, heal, and grow, many in the darkness of hibernation or brumation. It said something about how people could EMBRACE this time too. To dismiss the distractions of the bright light. We winter by hunkering down. We are drawn to warm blankets, hot drinks and cozy fires. It CAN be a time to dig deep. To REFLECT on the past and look forward to the potential of the future. It is a time for REST and for waiting.
Sometimes I wonder what God was up to ordaining the likes of me to share the good news of God’s new and growing creation. To preach about the goodness of life and the power of humility and love. To take YOUR hand, give it a squeeze and remind YOU that you are NOT alone.
God is with us NOW just as God has ALWAYS been. We remember the dark, dank, messy birth of Jesus, Mary’s resolve, strength, and resilience, Joseph’s humility, patience and love of God.
In the midst of guilt, shame, and complicated human relationships, Jesus was born. Our brains and bodies belong to God who KNOWS us and LOVES us and CELEBRATES our UNIQUENESS and our SACREDNESS. No problem is TOO big, no hurt TOO overwhelming that God will abandon you. I know this to be TRUE because God has walked beside me through all the corners of HELL.
I hope that this year we will walk together somewhere more pleasant.
Misery loves company because the company of misery is God.
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?
Hey, it’s me. I’ve been in an exhausting battle with my demons for several WEEKS now. I know this might surprise a few of you who know me personally. I’m an AMAZING actress.
It’s hard – life is hard. SO hard. It’s trying to balance plates on your head kind of HARD. Have you seen that? Those talented ones who can catch and hold plates – DOZENS of them- spinning, sliding, almost slipping off, all moving this way and that whilst being expertly balanced on the head of a guy on a unicycle. HARD. Me? ME? I would drop the first plate. NO. I would fall off of the unicycle before the first plate was tossed my way. NO. I’m the plate that was missed and lies shattered on the floor.
Coming up for air in this mess of a world is a REAL struggle. For a few weeks, depression has kept me in its grip – so much so that in actuality it felt like I was on the WRONG end of a telescope – you know – if you put the wrong end to your eye everything looks so, so, SO, very far away instead of magnified. Everything has been out of reach, and all I could do was PRETEND I was really present. Dissociation NUMBS and convinces you that nothing matters. It’s a surreal play, a show that I wade through with big, inappropriately loud laughter, smiles ’til Tuesday, joviality – and the DEEPEST sadness, an empty, LONELY despair of just being.
Alone. I feel ALONE in the midst of lively family chaos. I feel misunderstood. Devalued. Angry. SO ANGRY.
These are my worst demons. Feeling abandoned and alone. Being angry and misunderstood. HATING that I hate myself for HATING myself.
Week upon week. Depression. Pulling myself up by my bootstraps. Keeping up with the flow – because LIFE.
I LOVE my life. My teenage children bring me JOY. Having fun with people, hobbying, caring for my congregation – JOY. Being out in nature, observing the stars – JOY. Caressing the ponies – JOY. My dog is my Bliss. JOY. Yet – YET – yet – depression catches me in its heartless web and convinces me that my joy is NOT real or not DESERVED or is about to END. For me, depression expresses itself as GRIEF. I have been in a suffocating state of mourning.
As the days go by, I am feeling less sad – although anything can SQUASH my progress. I think I can write sermons again – it’s been a disaster for several Sundays – a catastrophic stream of discombobulated words, words to bring love and comfort from the depths of my wounded heart.
If you feel like me, know that I AM rooting for you. TRULY, I am. To everyone else – if you notice us, LOVE us. We need you. Whoever you are, I’m praying for you and for this damnedable world. Mental health is a stepping stone to physical and spiritual wellness. Take GOOD CARE.
I know how OTHERS would describe me. It’s much harder from my perspective. Whoever provides these writing prompts asks questions I’d dare not explore without invitation. I wasn’t going to write about this one, in fact I vowed to avoid it, however, since completing my morning obligations, I’ve been sitting here on my couch with my phone, doing NOTHING at all to help my spirit. Maybe this will stir me to do SOMETHING. My blog, Nuanced Niddy, has become something of a journal and confessional space that I find FREEING.
I am on my ‘day off’ from my PAID work. I’m always the mom of 4 teenagers and wife to a hard working man. He’s also very stressed and does his best at the end of the day to do his part. Thank God he cooks. We’d live on toast if he didn’t.
There’s a lot to do. Every room of my house is dirty, the refrigerator and the bathrooms need serious attention and the yard is a disaster. It all requires so much energy. STARTING is too overwhelming.
Time spent focusing on my WORK work keeps me from tackling THIS embarrassing mess. I feel bad for my kids. They live here too. I’m not sure why I don’t enlist their help. As it is, I don’t ever let anyone from OUTSIDE past the porch. My family doesn’t care. They let anyone see. This mortifies me.
As a churchy public ‘celebrity’ of sorts, I carry myself mostly in my ‘SWITCHED ON’ position. It’s exhausting but weirdly easier to be ‘HER’. Pastor Nadine doesn’t need to be so concerned with the rest of herself. Not that she’s inauthentic, but when I am ‘her’ I don’t have to be me. I have a hard time with ME.
While Pastor Nadine is jolly, intelligent, strong, chatty, likeable, funny, experienced and interesting, that’s really only a well practiced MASK.
I am often depressed. I am mentally ill. I don’t fit in. I don’t believe people like me or respect me. I’m anxious, terrified by things that better adjusted people can do with ease. I’m a horrible judge of character. I am either too quiet or I share too much (like this). I’m impulsive (like cutting my own hair at midnight). I’m never satisfied with my body, I’m moody, I’m high maintenance. I like attention and I hate attention.
Pastor Nadine and I share some important qualities. We care, A LOT. We want to be helpful. We have deep faith in an all LOVING God. We love our family. We love being in God’s good creation. Working for justice and peace drives us.
I happen to have Borderline Personality Disorder. It’s complicated. It is a very uncomfortable condition. It’s not something that attracts people, that’s for sure. EVERYONE wears different masks for different situations. I think we all have different PARTS of ourselves that contribute to the WHOLE of oneself. A part of me always insists that I keep smiling, keep working, keep surviving. A part of me desperately wants me to RUN or to QUIT. Having a personality disorder doesn’t mean I’m so different. It DOES mean that my ‘parts’ are not functioning properly. Mental health and physical health EQUALLY require relief. Some ailments need surgery, some need medication and counseling. ALL health issues need our empathy and compassion.
When I was born the nurses likened me to a tiger lily. I appeared so tiny and fragile like a lily but I was strong like a tiger. I still like that description. Strength and vulnerability marry well. How would I describe myself to someone else? I’m just like you. I’m someone doing the best that I can to follow the way of loving YOU and all people, including myself. God willing.
It seems I am always tired, angry, and laughing too loud. Depression is EXHAUSTING. During this current bout of it, I listened to an audiobook for the first time. If you’re wondering, I find that it takes just as much focus as actually reading the words. The lovely part is that there is a storytelling presence. It feels intimate. It feels like a connection, like someone sitting next to you, keeping your heaviness in check, engaging in a relationship. Listening to this voice feels like you have a FRIEND.
It disturbs me that I was listening to the authour of a ”TELL ALL” memoir narrate her own words this week, and I was feeling all kinds of validation and solidarity with her when I heard about the death of Sinéad O’Connor. GULP. It was HER voice, HER memoir, “Rememberings” that I’d been listening to. It makes me shiver in shock.
I’ve admired Sinéad since I was a teenager. Back then, she was mesmerizing and terrifying. She was so angry on behalf of the causes she supported that she stopped at NOTHING to clearly advocate. She was about the age of my older brother. It wowed me that she was so young and passionate about things I’d not given a thought to, if I was even aware of them.
I’ve just invested hours into getting to know her, to understand her more, to LOVE her, and to look forward to MORE from her. My respect for her has done nothing but expand. She endured SO MUCH. And now THIS.
Despite abuse and misogyny, she spoke TRUTH. She did everything she did on her own terms. Despite multiple mental illness diagnoses, she kept on keeping on. She was a mother, a woman of faith, and an advocate for the helpless.
My parishioners are familiar with what I call our Godsparks – the Holy Spirit dwelling IN each of us. Sinéad expressed that she strongly felt the Spirit, the Comforter whom Jesus promised, in and around her. She said that when she was speaking, the divine in her spoke to the divine in another. Her music was her ministry, and she followed her Godspark wherever it led.
During coffee time after church this morning, a friend and I were discussing how no one goes untouched by trauma. We may not be aware of what influences our behaviour or that of others. I know I wasn’t. We are so quick to label and judge. Mental illness is still so STIGMATIZED that we who have serious risks often go unchecked. Even under close supervision, disaster can strike.
No medical cause for her death has been offered, but we know Sinéad O’Connor lost her son to mental illness by suicide. I lost my brother to mental illness by suicide, too. Suicidal ideation is sneaky. I’ve always maintained that I could NEVER go through with it.
This week reminded me of my own vulnerability. There WAS a time in my first pastorate when I was young, I was married, and I held the world. YET, one snowy night on a back road, my little sports car started to get hard to handle. I was sliding and DECIDED there was nothing I could do. I didn’t even try. I GAVE UP. I just surrendered to the darkness. I let go of the wheel and let whatever was coming COME. I denied being clinically depressed. I hadn’t sought diagnosis, treatment, or any help at all. Thankfully, the car slid off the road, cleared the ditch, and sunk deeply into the snow just inches from a tree. I liked the adrenaline rush and the attention I got when I shared the carefully edited story about what happened.
Mental illness, unresolved trauma, impulsive behaviour – it can MESS with your brain even unto death.
We do a lot of praying in church. I pray almost constantly wherever I am. When things go sideways, my impulse isn’t to blame God. Instead, I CONVINCE myself that I must be praying WRONG, or I’m so BAD that God’s not listening. Really awful theology, I know.
Two things that will stick with me from that memoir I listened to this week. First, Sinéad O’Connor thought ‘cry laughing’ was the best expression of the mania and depression of so many mental illnesses. “Nothing feels better than cry laughing,” she said. She also said, “God doesn’t always GET to answering our prayers IN TIME because sometimes God is TOO busy WEEPING.” Indeed.
Look after yourselves. Pray. Feel your Godspark at work and let God answer prayer in, with, and through you. Peace friends.
I was out shopping for yarn the other day (it was July 20th – I’m crocheting my first dress), and my daughter took the picture you see above. It’s JULY. I’m just not prepared to shift to Halloween.
In Canada, we celebrate Thanksgiving first. I’m not even ready to think about the Fall holidays. Seeing this had a hugely negative impact on my day, my mood, and my view of the world. What is wrong with people? I sound like Charlie Brown (I often feel like him, too). All this commercialization, this rush to start the party early, leaves little room to appreciate the liminal space, the time between the now and the not yet.
Please take a second to breathe. Inhale, 2,3,4,5. Hold 2,3,4,5. Exhale 2,3,4,5. Notice your breath, your beating heart, each muscle, tendon, and joint. Breathe in again. Feel the rush of newly oxygenated blood pulse through your veins.
THIS, THIS IS our personal miracle. Every breath depends on the mechanics of our body, intricately laced together and given life by the energy of our great SOURCE. For me, this translates into GOD.
In church today, I preached on Jesus’ parable about wheat and weeds growing together, treated EQUALLY, only to be separated by the owner of the field at the harvest. We each have a tangled up bunch of weeds and fruit in our hearts. On the last day, all that causes sin in the world and inside of us will be burned away as we come into the full GOODNESS intended for us.
Waiting sucks.
I’m prone to depression and I’ve had a hard week. Smiling on the outside. Dispirited within. Preaching victory. Living in torment.
How do you suppose we can be both Spirit-filled and dispirited? If God is dwelling in me, why am I so miserable? It doesn’t make sense. Suffering doesn’t make sense. I know my suffering pales in the face of the war, disaster, and fatal prognosis endured by others. But I’m a long-suffering woman. That’s what I’ve concluded, and I come from a long line of the same.
Long suffering has changed what I believe about God. God makes me extremely frustrated.
The hope I’m supposed to glory in just isn’t realized fast enough. Why must we ENDURE life rather than LIVE it with abundant blessing?
Have you heard of Job? (J-oh-b). He’s a Biblical Old Testament Prophet who could write the book on enduring pain. In a very short time, he lost everything. His 10 children were suddenly killed. All of his livestock was also killed. Then, yup, all of his servants were killed. At the same time, he lost his wealth, his health (he was covered in boils), and the support of his grieving wife. His friends blamed him for his suffering. “You must’ve really made God angry. Sucks to be you, man, ” they said.
Like his friends, Job thought that all suffering was divine punishment for sin. Job hadn’t sinned – but boy did he suffer – not for punishment, but simply because pain is in the human experience.
Why the *!#*!#! doesn’t God fix this? God’s wisdom is far beyond mine. Like Job, I can make the choice to trust God and draw strength from that divine spark in my heart. I can choose to persevere. I’m a stubborn one. I will continue to voice my disapproval of the vacuous gods of consumerism.
Yup. I am despondent, I’m melancholy. God didn’t defend the reality of pain or explain why it remains in the order of things. God only tells Job to have faith. Be patient, live, love, and leave the rest to the divine.
Deep breath. 2,3,4 5
Good grief, Is this enough?
God, I hope so.
“And now my soul is poured out within me; days of affliction have taken hold of me. The night racks my bones, and the pain that gnaws me takes no rest. My inward parts are in turmoil and are never still; days of affliction come to meet me. I go about in sunless gloom; I stand up in the assembly and cry for help. My lyre is turned to mourning and my pipe to the voice of those who weep.
“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.
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.
At my monthly check in with my psychiatrist, I told him that my mood has actually been OKAY for a while. It WAS true. I saw him while I was still riding a wave of adrenaline after a surprisingly positive weekend among the people of the church I minister to.
With all my mood and personality disorders and my frequent depression, it is really something when I wholeheartedly feel hope, love and connection with them. Having a good, relaxed time socially is always a challenge. But I was feeling it.
Maybe it’s because my ‘Mommy senses’ tingled when I held the new grandson of parishioners who are integral to our faith family. A measure of their joy rubbed off on me and I am still so thankful.
Yeah! I held a perfect bundle of baby in my arms! I have longed for the pre-pandemic ease in which our interactions with the most vulnerable among us were not blanketed in fear. What a gift to count his tiny fingers and toes, to feel the warmth and weight of him and to marvel, to bask in the created perfection on my lap! God is good.
This was at a summer social so graciously hosted by members at their home. The sound of the giant Jenga blocks falling, the giggles echoing, the joy and exuberance of the children diving, somersaulting, and splashing in the pool. The watery trails of drips that followed them to their towels and snacks was nostalgic of when my own kids were small. I found it deeply satisfying to witness.
Sitting together with leisurely chatting, roasting marshmallows singing together around a fire, not to mention the perfect weather was just fantastic! God is good.
The next day followed with our Cemetery Decoration service. I was overcome by the turnout and hospitality shown to the bereaved. The mingling of relaxed laughter and vulnerable, unhidden tears was breathtaking.
How the sun, the breeze, the great outdoors, so comfortably provided us with a fittingly natural cathedral to do the work of remembering together. We stood on the holy ground of grief and faith together. Our church family graciously helping one another, teaming up to unpack an unrehearsed, gorgeously human service full of organic, heart felt love and tenderness. God is good.
So WHY, as I rode to my appointment did that familiar nagging ache of sadness and hopelessness clutch at my gut? Believing in God’s love for me and the goodness so evident around me DOES NOT fix my mental health.
It’s weird, but after each high, I seem to go right into a low. I came home from that appointment and sucked back my extra pills that are designed to curb the nagging feeling.
It doesn’t negate the wonderful feelings of the weekend but it does stir up anger and questions I’d rather not dwell on.
Nuanced Niddy 