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.
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.
Things have been rather heavy around here. By around here, I mean in my head. I’ve just nearly recovered from a WEIRD laryngitis in which I learned I actually talk A LOT. I had no idea.
It was good to pass on a few voice-necessary tasks to others for a few days. It was restful, I guess. Except for the anxiety it created in my deep tissue. Asking for help ALWAYS has me bracing for judgment while others simply do the favour as if it ISN’t a life-altering burden. I’m learning.
I was SILENT all through the US presidential election. Even though I’m Canadian, it made me feel like I was drowning, like the waves were battering my heart and the current was dragging me under. But we all made it through anyway. The day passed. Morning came again.
I wanted some time outdoors, to breathe in nature and exhale my stress. I was feeling pretty healthy, so yesterday my friend and I spent some time at the water’s edge. It was a dull and VERY windy day with a tiny bit of drizzle. Lake Huron was absolutely WILD. As we looked out over the water I suddenly felt a terrible dread begin in my gut. There was a person out there in the enormous waves. Stunned, we asked each other, ‘They couldn’t be swimming, right?’ I mean, it’s November – unseasonal weather, but still. Are they drowning? Panic gripped. Another head bobbed above the water – there are two of them. Did they have a boat? Did it capsize? What were they thinking, boating in this turbulence? We were about to lose it when I suddenly realized they were wearing wet suits. Oh – were they scuba diving? In the murky, churning deep?
It took us some time to understand. The men were tethered by their ankles to paddle boards. One would stand up and try to surf but get knocked down by the incredible waves – some of which looked to be as TALL as the men! I’d lose sight of one, then both, and WORRY- but they kept turning up, bobbing, going under, or lying flat on their boards, letting the waves carry them. One of them came ashore. He walked out of the wildness holding his board. His face was slathered with some kind of thick cream – to protect his skin, I suppose. He said, “Now it’s YOUR turn!” with a grin. I told him he was amazing and completely OUT OF HIS MIND. He walked briskly to the pier, up to the end and jumped off, back into the waves for ANOTHER go.
Those guys would be NO help to one another if anything were to happen. They were TOO far apart and the water was too fast and too POWERFUL. My friend and I would be of no use either. I shuddered at the thought.
As we watched I relaxed a little and began to ADMIRE the freedom these guys must be feeling. IMAGINE IT. Thrill seeking is scary and can be really dangerous. Despite this, these guys were clearly enjoying themselves and not concerned. Maybe they were strong swimmers or trained for these conditions. Whatever the case – THEY were NOT in control of the waves. They did, however, get reprieve from the battering by clinging to their boards and staying afloat as the waves crashed through them. I remember being in a wave pool. It was pleasant. It was even kind of fun. It could NOT compare to what I was seeing.
Precariously relying on a wetsuit for warmth and a little tie to a floating board to keep one safe while within an expansive, violent body of water, knowing your life was out of your hands but choosing to live it anyway – AWESOME.
Life is precarious, isn’t it? There are no guarantees that we can ever control what is and could happen to us or to the people we love. The world is TUMULTUOUS and POWERFUL. We are powerless to control it. It’s also amazing and beautiful. Choosing to live in the face of uncertainty, making the most of every moment, not letting fear hold us back from goodness – is AWESOME.
As the guys were floating atop the crazy waves, I imagined how it would feel to move with the flow, to accept the power that engages and envelops, to look up at the big wide sky just as the sun was peeking through the clouds, It’s glittery rays hitting the water, being ONE with unspeakable beauty. It made me so very thankful to have been witness to this. My friend and I walked away full of appreciation for life, as it is, as it will be, always awesome, always mysterious, and always mysteriously presenting gifts of goodness and glimpses of freedom in the most fantastically unexpected ways. Thanks be to God!
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.
“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. 2 Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge. 3 They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them. 4 Yet their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world.”
Psalm 19:1-4 NIV
My husband GINGERLY tows our LARGE travel trailer so that our family can go camping with ‘the comforts of home’. By ‘COMFORTS’, I mean, bringing many of our furry friends. Andy removed the dining table and bench as well as the couch to make room for animal enclosures and adult sized bodies to sleep on the floor. As we careen down hills, and barrel around curves WAY too fast, my hubby swears and, I pray. Our kids (all over 18 except for 1) sit squished together in our F-150, which is VERY difficult for our daughter who lives with severe OCD ETC. Everyone is packed in like sardines. The twins and their youngest brother in the back, Andy and my oldest son in the front, with me between them. I have to keep my feet up on the console with my knees way up in the air – it’s like doing a 6 hour abdominal CRUNCH. Man, my knees ache, and my belly gets sore! The 3 guinea pigs are stuffed under the back seat. The gerbils are in two carriers at the feet of one of my daughters. The dog sits ON TOP of my other daughter and son. It is GRUELING. But we have collectively decided that it IS worth it.
Do you watch ‘The Chosen’ series on TV? It’s not for everyone, but I enjoy the visual and the literary license taken to depict ‘A’ story about the ministry of Jesus the Christ. MY CHRIST. There is an episode in season one, illustrating Jesus BEFORE the onset of his public life, BEFORE he calls his disciples or any of that. In it, Jesus pitches camp – FOR REAL. He sets up a cloth shelter, makes a fire pit surrounded by rocks, collects wood, forages food, builds a wooden table, a work bench for tools he carries with him, and a hanging rack. He cooks over the fire with clay pots, and eats from homemade bowls. He sleepswith his body on the GROUND. He washes his face in a stream. He prays and exercises. He sits and CARVES MANY things. He hums and sings and EVEN tells campfire stories to children who visit him.
It resonates. I was raised by AVID, RUSTIC style campers. I have given up some of THAT experience to accommodate the unique needs of MY children that would otherwise have prevented us from camping AT ALL. But I can speak this language of minimalistic, nomadic, nature exposed, and nature dependent circumstances.
The wallpaper on my phone is my FAVORITE icon of Jesus, “Christ in the Wilderness” by artist Kelly Latimore. She pictures Jesus sitting alone in the wilderness, under a starry sky, next to a campfire. He looks run down, in need of a rest. He gazes at the galaxies above, perhaps pondering HIS HUMAN SMALLNESS. The way he sits suggests he is cold or maybe shielding his legs from biting flies. It is meant to represent his 40 days of temptation by the devil. He is removed from all the ‘comforts’ of civilization and faced with the discomfort of CREATURELY living. To me, it speaks of reorienting oneself to the earth, the enormity of creation, and solidarity with lions and tigers and bears, OH MY! In my camping experience there have been bears, yes. Chipmunks, racoons, skunks, deer, and the damn mosquitoes are the norm.
A funny thing happens when we settle into our campsite. My son who has led the life of a HERMIT since Covid, emerges from the trailer to sit by the fire. To go for hikes with the dog. To visit with extended family. To smile and laugh, I can see his eyes and it fills me with RELIEF and JOY. He worries me, SO.
My neurodiverse daughter ALSO gladly emerges. She hunts for all things living, capturing frogs, snails, millipedes, aphids, salamanders, moths, isopods (roley poley/pill bugs), spiders and Daddy Longlegs (did YOU know they ARE NOT spiders? I still don’t like them). She admires them ALL and thoroughly researches them on her tablet. She takes tons of pictures and then releases them back where she found them. Her OCD seems to vanish as she treks through the bush, off the path, searching through rotten logs, under rocks, and in the dirt. She loves seeing nature in action. Ants moving their larva. The variety of mushrooms. How the chipmunks taunt the dog and steal her kibble. She doesn’t realize how much exercise she is getting. Like my son, she has exerted little energy since Covid.
The rest of us drink in as much of the beauty and serenity each day brings, even as it rains, as our pets get sick, and the trailer breaks. Being outside ignites energy. It lights a fire in our weary souls. We suddenly feel the urge to move, to explore, to create, and to EAT. All that fresh air makes us VERY hungry!
In Jesus time, I don’t suppose the smells and stuffiness of being indoors was very appealing. Going outside and breathing deeply is therapy for a life so congested with STUFF and overscheduling. It allows a moment to taste and see that the Lord is good. Look up, look down, look around, look within. God is everywhere. Nature opens us to receive the gifts of energy renewed, hearts filled, and the hope of living unto death.
No matter what your position on the spectrum of mental health, I prescribe for you to GET OUTSIDE! Creation speaks not a word. Creation enfolds, inspires, energizes, and teaches us how this planet is good. The animals – mammals, reptiles, amphibians, birds, fish, insects, arachnids, molluscs- vertebrates and invertabrates, they are GOOD! Trees, shrubs, grasses, flowers, weeds – ALL GOOD! Dirt, soil, rocks, and sand, moss, fungi – so very GOOD! Each with a God-given gift to serve the earth and EACH OTHER! WE are a part of this circle of GOODNESS! The same SPIRIT is where we live and move and have our being. (Acts 17:28).
Maybe Jesus wasn’t REALLY a camper, but he appreciated the created world. Maybe you aren’t a camper EITHER. You can STILL enjoy the fragrance of a beautiful garden, the breeze on your skin, the sound of the wind through the trees, the taste of the fresh bounty from the earth, birdsong, chipmunk chatter, the cry of a loon, the touch of soft grass on your toes, the smell and pitter patter of the rain. Nature embraces you just as the Spirit embraces you, wherever you are, whoever you are, however you are. These natural things are available to us to seek out, to nurture, and to visit. Serenity is found in hearts that listen for the ‘ground of all being’ that sings the rythm of the universe into the foundation of our humanity, into our Godspark, our very soul. What a BLESSING to belong to this GOODNESS.
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.
"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.
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.
Nuanced Niddy 