mental disorder

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?

Plates in the Air

FUN

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.

Me and Pastor Nadine. The masks we wear.

How would you describe yourself to someone?

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.

Cry Laughing (mental health)

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.

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.

My Can Of Worms

What could you let go of, for the sake of harmony?

What could you let go of, for the sake of harmony?

For the sake of harmony, the first thing I would let go of is the need to have the LAST WORD.  Good or bad, it doesn’t matter.  I’m not sure if I’m balanced enough to pull it off.

Letting go is easily one of the hardest things anyone with a personality disorder struggles with.   I have been categorized by my professional mental health POSSE as a textbook example of someone living with Borderline Personality Disorder.  I was not awarded that title until the occasion of my midlife crisis. Ahem. Sniff. 

I’m fine, REALLY. Actually, the diagnosis made A WHOLE LOT OF sense of A WHOLE LOT OF chaos and personal behaviours that I had A WHOLE LOT OF trouble forgiving myself for.  BPD was the answer I needed to take control of my life. HURRAH HURRAH!

My unique BPD diagnosis reveals that I have a preoccupied attachment style that sports high anxiety and fear of abandonment. Relationships are intense or avoided. I need to feel approved and accepted by others. This is complicated for a pastor, BUT HEY, why not add more people and more responsibility to my life? I mean, I’m uncomfortable anyway. 

People like me have an internal push and pull to be close while fearing being hurt and abandoned. My BPD type is Petulant and Destructive. I am quickly annoyed and frustrated, and I tend to interrupt. I am both humble and inflexible.  HUH? I know, right? In addition, I act without thinking, I have a high risk of hurting myself, and generally saturate myself in negative self-talk that leads to body dysmorphia, restrictive eating, as well as binging.

I can’t dismiss my mental health conditions, but I can benefit from some serious self-awareness.  I have to let go of thinking I can handle this all by myself.

Enter  IFS – Internal Family Systems Therapy. This is the only kind of therapy that works for me, and I’ve tried PLENTY. Here’s how it works: 

think of all your internal parts/voices/urges as you would a family. They might include a protector, a peacekeeper, an angry one, a left out one, etc.etc. IFS uses the terms Firefighters, Exiles, and Managers.   All parts are relative to your actual SELF.  I like the Christianized version that designates the self as one’s soul.  I always call this my GODSPARK.  It is everything your parts need to be in harmonious union.

Using IFS language, harmony refers to blending, a suitable arrangement of parts that fosters peace, balance, and equilibrium.

YUP. That’s quite a can of worms to reflect with, there… 

Are we talking about harmony without or within? Pastor Me appreciated a Bible verse that was read this Sunday.  In his letter to the Romans, St. Paul writes,

15I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.

Romans 7:15 NRSV

I hope that I will let go of shame, blame  fear, anger, negativity, and being so hard on myself.  I hate it. I hope to grow into understanding and start doing what I know is right and what I want to do in order to live lovingly and productively for my family, my church, and myself.

Until then, let’s say I could let go of the TV remote for the sake of harmony tonight and leave it at that.

Peace friends.

The Angst of Self Worth

Daily writing prompt
How do you waste the most time every day?
View all responses

I’m embarrassed and a little anxious to admit that I waste too much valuable time on negative self talk and reactive arguing with my family. Terrible. I NEED to be right. I NEED to be validated. I NEED to know that I count. I know this stems from years of low self esteem. I have spent a lot of time competing for attention and tolerating the worst of it just to remain guarded and feel safe in my own skin.

I question myself at nauseum. Did I say the right thing? Did my facial expression reveal my inner thoughts? Do I look professional? Am I too casual? Did anyone notice me swearing?

Then there are the shouldn’t-s. You shouldn’t have said that, ate that, bought that, texted that, worn that, tolerated that. You shouldn’t have waved at that person. You shouldn’t laugh so loud.

Being distracted by personal negativity often keeps me from seeing the good stuff that’s happening all around. I miss too many moments that could be GREAT because ALL MY PARTS are too loud and I can’t hear the voice of calm and wellness. I even forget about my faith – and that’s something. I believe in God’s steadfast presence in me and in ALL, yet I let my fear of abandonment win out over my desire to love. When someone I care about tries to get me to knock it off, I waste even MORE time fighting with them. It’s such a miserable waste of time to be closed off to being, feeling, and living happy and well.

I hope we all remember our innate and divine worth and rise above our human crap to live openly and compassionately with others as well as with ourselves. Chin up.