“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?” Matthew 6:25
“If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and night wraps itself around me,” even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you. For it was you who formed my inward parts; you who knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well.” Psalm 139:11-14
“They don’t make dresses for sausages.” That’s what a dear old lady in my Mom’s church choir used to say. When I was a teenager, I thought she was a cute, little Finn lady with a great sense of humour. She was short and looked ordinary enough to me – but I get it now. She was right. They DON’T make dresses for sausages. I have entered my SAUSAGE ERA. I’m a jumbo sausage. More specifically, I am a HOT Jumbo, Great Canadian Meat, Gluten Free, HIGH protein sausage.
I should say I’ve been here before. I had a brief reprieve from jumbo life when my health required a very restrictive diet. For a few years, I was more of a CHIPOLATA sausage – small and skinny. However, I have reentered the Jumbo arena, and let me tell you, it sucks.
Body dysmorphia is a terrible LIAR. When I was super thin, I was convinced I should be even thinner. Whenever my pants size goes up, I think I’m too heavy. Either way, SHAME has me in its grip. I wish I could take what Jesus says to heart and not give a crap about what my body looks like or, like King David, be grateful to be living in it for the gift that IT IS.
Sometimes, okay – NEVER I think about my body as a gift from God. It’s hard to imagine why the DIVINE would find it a pleasing place to dwell, but God chooses it ANYWAY. It doesn’t work as well as other bodies. It IS worse for wear. I’ve treated it poorly. There are accumulated and genetic health issues I simply can not fix. Most days, I am angry at my body, actually angry at MYSELF, and I’m a very long way from forgiveness and healing.
A couple of months ago, while trying on my spring and summer clothes, I realized I had gained considerable weight over the preceding two years. They were times filled with EXTRA STRESS that affected my self-worth, my family life, my social life, and my work. I’d given up alcohol (long story) several years before, so I distracted myself with FOOD instead. Apparently, eating a WHOLE chocolate bar every night adds up, and menopause weight is no JOKE, especially when it comes to stress eating.
Depression is a reality in my little life. It ebbs and flows in currents that start as an ACHE in my heart that quickly takes hold of my brain. It turns me into an actress. I stop living and fall into the shadows of despair and self-loathing. It’s HARD to remember that the blanket of darkness that enshrouds me is NOT as it seems. The weight is a cosmic hug and a warmth emanating from heavenly light. This ISN’T just Bible Study stuff or things I HAVE to say because I’m in the God business. God REALLY knows me and you too. God loves me and God loves YOU. We don’t have to act, or change, or do ANYTHING at all. Be yourself! I am a living, breathing, hot, sweating, extra large creation OF GOD.
I’m good enough. I’m strong enough. And gosh darn it, people like me – (SNL – anyone? Personal affirmations in the mirror? Nevermind)
I’m an agent of my Maker. Even if I’m a shape-shifter like the blobby Barbapapas, I used to watch on TV. ‘Clickety Click, Barba trick’- their bodies morph into whatever is needed – thin, thick, tall, short, big, small, narrow, or wide. Who cares. God doesn’t.
The world needs us so very much to be loving. Love yourself so you can dig deep and find joy and peace in loving others with everything you are. No holds barred.
PS. I’m still going on a diet and beginning a new exercise routine. It’s a way to love my body. Chin up.
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.
“We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.”
These could be the words to my theme song. I don’t have one, of course, but, if I did, it would be sung to tune 878787 PRAISE, MY SOUL, THE KING OF HEAVEN. Google it to hear the melody! It’s also Hymn #864 in the Evangelical Lutheran Worship book, if you have it.
MY EVER-PLAYING THEME SONG:
“Praise, my soul, the God of Heav-en; when af-flict-ed, struck down, scared. My soul shines since I am liv-ing, even when my heart despairs. Per-se-cut-ed, not for-sak-en, fazed I rise a-gain to praise.“
Catchy, ain’t it? Doesn’t it scream REALITY to you? I’ve done some family history, and I think I truly identify with the MANY women in my heritage who were lumped into the category of “LONG SUFFERING.”
Somehow they LIVED. They ran the race. They overcame, they carried on. When I feel the bone weariness of another depression washing over me, maybe I could sing a few lines and snap out of it. I CAN’T ACTUALLY SNAP OUT OF IT. Depression is UNSTOPPABLE even when you are managing it with lifestyle and medication. I have to sing this while I’m feeling OKAY to lay the BEDROCK for when I AM NOT.
BREATHE. Remind yourself that so far in your life, and so far today, you have NOT been CRUSHED into oblivion. Your worry and anxiety has not utterly DEFEATED your spirit. Despair is tempered because, LOOK, here you are – NOT forsaken and NOT destroyed. It’s good news EVEN if you feel like a truck has just hit you and there’s an elephant sitting on your chest. That sadness that separates you from strength and holds apart from relationships and community – it WILL eventually lessen and WHEN it does, you can sing my theme song with me. It will be the shield we wield on this earthly walk TOGETHER.
God shines glorious light into OUR hearts so we can see the divine TREASURE that is planted there, so we can know that even though death is always at work in us, we are also AFLAME with the extraordinary life of Christ.
I’ve been DOWN on myself through these many weeks of Christmastide. But a good friend reminded me that the judgement of others DOESN’T MATTER. It’s LOVE that matters. GOD is LOVE. Sharing love is good for what ails ya. Onward and Upward, friends.
My grown kids scoff whenever I remind them that I could fly. Not airplanes. I am NOT a pilot. What I am is accident prone, CLUMSY. My kids often tease me that ‘it’s too bad I’ve forgotten how to fly, maybe then I’d save myself some bumps and bruises’. Funny. Laugh as they might, it IS true, I COULD fly … I really BELIEVED it was true, once.
I clearly remember having to run to work up some speed and then DIVING forward into a flying hover, just a few feet above the ground. I’d fly like that ALL the way to school, eating cherry tomatoes from a sandwich bag while my head and chest kept me on a steady course. No one around me seemed to care, or maybe they didn’t notice. It was GLORIOUS. I could reach down and touch the dirt. I could put my arms out and feel the rush of the wind on my skin and through my hair. It was a fantastic feeling. FREEDOM. I also remember failing the take off, hitting the ground and feeling the road burn – so what does that tell you?
I doubt I’m the only person who thought they could do it. Flying memories must be pretty common because the experience so often turns up in literature and media. Flying is a wonderful escape to another world for Peter Pan and the Darling children. In the magical world of Harry Potter, flying was a given in the game of Quidditch. Flying is COOL and EXCITING. Kids’ imaginations are limitless and so vivid that the veil between memory and fanciful tales can be hard to discern.
BEFORE I knew about Narnia or even what a ‘wardrobe’ was, my closet was a special place. Actually, it wasn’t a closet at all. It opened into a vast, ever-changing space that belonged ONLY to me. Sometimes it looked like one of those sunken living rooms, an entertainment area from the 70s (it WAS the 70s after all) – but bigger – expansive. It kept going and going, like a vista of memories mixed with hope and glimpses of freedom beyond my wildest dreams. It had EVERYTHING I could ever need or want. It was delightfully different each time I visited – something new, something exciting, something GOOD. Having a secret place or an imaginary world – provides a safe place to practice being grown up, to try out new skills, and to build self esteem. Make believe is an important piece of childhood learning. It’s an escape, a respite from being too little, too weak, too quiet, too undereducated, or too inexperienced to do mysterious grown up stuff like being in charge.
In my closet I had a variety of my ACTUAL special dresses on hangers – I would carefully choose which one to wear whenever I took a ride in my flying machine. OH YES! My flying machine! It was docked SOMEWHERE in that secret place, ready to take me wherever my heart desired. It was rectangular and stood upright. It was made of dark wood, and had carved spindles binding each corner. It had a tiered, rounded roof with a ball and spire on top. It was open to the air, and there were two little benches facing one another. My flying machine wasn’t much larger than a telephone booth. I SWEAR that this was BEFORE I knew about Dr. Who or the Great Glass Elevator in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory!
MY flying machine would take me over parades, over people I knew from school who would look up in admiration and wave, and CHEER, “There goes NADINE! She looks like a PRINCESS in that dress!” I could EVEN bring someone aboard if I wanted to. I could welcome kids who usually paid me NO mind and gain their friendship because of my secret room. I could come and go whenever I wanted. I could do whatever I wanted. I got to make ALL the decisions. People really, really LIKED ME. I felt FREE as a bird. It was sensationally FUN.
I never invited my family to see it, though. It was ONLY for me, myself. It felt safe and affirming, a place where I wasn’t ever teased, humiliated, or alone. Where I wasn’t ever angry, or afraid.
Often, when I left the closet, I could hear voices out in the kitchen. I’d get excited, thinking my family was having a hoot of a good time and I didn’t want to MISS it. But, then I’d wonder – WHY didn’t anyone tell ME? Didn’t they notice I wasn’t there? I’d run out to look. ‘Here I am!’ But EVERYONE was tucked into bed and asleep. It was the middle of the night. It confused me terribly. How LONG had I been in the closet? What DID I miss? WAS I missed? Did they forget about me and go to bed? Did they hear me coming and DISAPPEAR on purpose? I still wonder about those voices.
This is where everything gets a BIT uncomfortable. Even the wonder of my imaginary world, full of freedom, acceptance, and friends would not console the feeling that I had been somehow ABANDONED. It was clear that NO ONE really cared about me. These persistent feelings, no doubt, sprouted from something unpleasant and unfair that happened to me and have haunted me my entire life.
If you’ve read any of my stuff, you know I’m the queen of OVERSHARING. Here it comes. Beginning at a very young age, my self-worth has always been based on the APPROVAL and ACCEPTANCE of others. I’m prone to intense DEPENDENCE on my select favourite people. I have terrible, sometimes debilitating ANXIETY. I am petulant, some might say I’m a little self-destructive. It’s true, I am easily frustrated, I CAN be convinced that the world might be more cruel than it is kind, I often ooze with self-LOATHING. My moods and emotions are unpredictable. I struggle with feelings of EMPTINESS, SHAME, PARANOIA, and ABANDONMENT. I am impulsive, I need acceptance and attention. Can you guess my DIAGNOSIS? I don’t think any LABEL is a perfect fit, but in mental health language, I have Borderline Personality Disorder. No two cases are ever the same, so this unique MANIFESTATION is mine alone – even so, I’m sure there are points that will resonate with others for whom emotional or mood dysregulation are everyday concerns.
My memory tells me I had a wonderful childhood. On most counts, I REALLY did. My parents, my whole family, were the BEST. No family is perfect and we aren’t, by a long shot. But, I thought we really set the standard for how families SHOULD function. That’s the narrative, to this day. We love each other. We set the bar. I was loved, I was cared for. I still needed a safe place to be alone. I longed for understanding, freedom and acceptance. I had MASSIVE tantrums, I felt injustice wielded against me. I worried about death and, I worried about going to HELL – A LOT. I was angry, sad, and fearful about being left alone. My imagination was a soft place to land.
I recently took a course about trauma informed care in which the instructor suggested that Borderline Personality Disorder as well as several other mood and emotional dysregulation disorders might fall under a NEW umbrella called Complicated Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. CPTSD. As you know, PTSD can develop from an ACUTE trauma, something that happens to you or something you witness, maybe a car accident or a shooting – a SINGULAR event beyond your control. CPTSD can develop from ONGOING trauma, something that repeatedly happened to you over a long period, or something that CONTINUES to happen to you or something you witness over and over again, including physical and emotional abuse, and ESPECIALLY in early development and adolescent years. I find this new blanket term less negative. It carries HOPE. Maybe it ISN’T my fault. Maybe I can accept who I AM a little bit more, maybe confusion can be relieved, and inner conflict resolved. Maybe I DON’T HAVE TO FEEL so alone, ashamed, and consumed by my disorder.
Trauma responses vary greatly between people, even between those who share the SAME experiences. Why do some of us develop disorderly symptoms? It’s a good question! CPTSD is caused through a combination of genetic, neurobiological, psychological and psychosocial factors. I learned this in “The Neurobiology of Everyday Life” course I found online. It taught me so much about the way our brains work. Our brains are uniquely influenced by these categories and each category in a disordered condition can factor in at different levels of responsibility. In a trauma workbook, I discovered that my disorderly mind is a result of roughly 30% neurobiological/genetic and 70% psychosocial. I don’t know if the numbers really mean anything – but it takes some of the onus off me, personally.
Does mental illness run in your family? Maybe you have a genetic predisposition. Did you know that depressive disorders, eating, and substance abuse disorders often coexist? This is true for people with CPTSD symptoms. How does your brain manage emotion? Behaviour? Long Term memory? Motivation? Learning? How does your brain deal with the effect of substance use? Brains that display mental health stress develop symptoms in the limbic system (which processes and regulates our emotions and memory) . Did you have adverse childhood experiences that you may have been unable to process in a healthy way?
When I was seven years old my family moved to a new town. My closet didn’t come with me and I NEVER felt it’s magic again. I had memories of my time in my sanctuary, but had nowhere new to turn for comfort. My life became more and more difficult for me, until, ‘KABLOOIE’ – I was a young adult, loose in the world with all the same old shame weighing me down. I was impulsive. I felt empty and angry. I did things that could have caused me great harm. My closest relationships were terribly unstable. (I hate you, don’t leave me!) My sense of self was largely distorted toward the negative. My emotions were so intense I would dissociate, completely detaching myself from them. Girding this all up was my fear of abandonment.
Too HEAVY? Yup, sure. There’s an upside. My children helped me to REIGNITE that sense of wonder and trust in myself that I used to find in my bedroom closet. Creativity is an outlet for taking what’s locked up inside and letting it out by expressing it. It’s a safe way to rehearse and address difficult thoughts and emotions. Try something new sometimes. Take some small risks. LEARN your heart. SPEAK with your soul.
Psalm 139 is one of my very favorites. Did you forget that I’m CHURCHY? Here’s a small sermon for you. Although I CAN’T escape who I THINK I am or think I HAVE to be, I also cannot escape from God’s LOVE. God’s love is inescapable both on my best days and on my very worst days. I tell myself to BREATHE about it – for me breath is the same as prayer. Maybe these words will be helpful to you, too. Note that the word ‘Sheol’ means something like ‘darkness- as found in what, for some, is the presumed abode of the dead’. Okay, From Psalm 139:
1 O Lord, you have searched me and known me. 3 You…are acquainted with all my ways. 7 Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? 8 If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. 9 If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, 10 even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.11 If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and night wraps itself around me,” 12 even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, 13 For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. 14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well. 16 Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. 17 How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! 18 I try to count them—they are more than the sand; I come to the end—I am still with you.
Whoever you ARE, whoever you THINK you are, God, LOVE, the Ground of ALL BEING, the Creator, knows YOU and loves YOU. You were made in LOVE’S own eternal image. God knew you before any chaos, trauma, disorder, or illness entered your life. LOVE knows your whole Self – the physical and the spiritual. And, God is with you NOW, dwelling in your heart, and will remain with you ALWAYS. You are NEVER alone. God will NOT abandon or shame you. You are worth EVERYTHING. Our task is to walk in this truth, this hope, and this meaning that compels us to KEEP ON trucking on, and bring light into the lives of all who suffer likewise – because everyone is touched by human pain. The good news is that everyone is also touched by eternal JOY.
As an adult, I realize that all the make believe and imagination in my young life was a gift. Today, when I’m not daydreaming, I have found comfort within myself, the self I know best in solitude and in nature. My BEST self whom God already knows. Self-care is soul-care. Be well my friends, and walk in peace.
It didn’t go according to plan. ‘IT’, being, reducing my meds. The decision was made by me, MYSELF, in the presence of my psychiatrist. He wasn’t convinced but went along with it – maybe to spare my feelings or to let me really SEE. Maybe he thought it would be funny. Let me just say, I was monumentally wrong.
Allow me to share a recent, fairly harmless example.
Here’s what would have happened IF I had been on a proper dose of meds:
I walk into the bathroom expecting everything to be in order but the toilet is plugged. AGAIN. How annoying. Puzzlingly, the plunger is MISSING. How inconvenient. Being lazy and thinking I can just handle it using the toilet brush, albeit less effective, it will probably pump enough water to dislodge whatever is stuck. (EEW)
I quickly grab the handle of the brush and pull it from its holding container. I say, ‘OH SHIT’ (literally) as the container is right FULL of nasty, dirty toilet water which propels forth across the entire half bath and makes an ugly puddle on the floor.
I still need to use the bathroom. I squeeze my legs together, submerge the brush in the almost overflowing toilet to swish it around and rinse off the offensive crap (HA HA). I complete the rigorous pumping action and am rewarded by the glorious flush of the tank. “Oh good, the toilet isn’t broken.”
Now, I pick up the toilet brush container, dump (Heh heh) its contents in the toilet. FLUSH. Put the container in the FRESH toilet water and use the brush to ‘CLEAN’ it. While Container and brush chill in the toilet, I spray and wipe down the floor, the walls, the mirror, the pedestal sink, the windowsill, the window, the blinds, the picture frames, and the cat’s litter box. “Gee, I hope I got it all.” I finish by giving the toilet a quick clean and putting the container and brush back on the floor beside the toilet. THEN, I use the bathroom and carry on.
How it really went down – me on reduced meds:
I walk into the bathroom expecting everything to be in order but the toilet is plugged. AGAIN. I scream, ‘BLOODY HELL! WHO PLUGGED THE TOILET AND WALKED AWAY? WHO PLUGGED THE TOILET AND FAILED TO REPORT IT IS OUT OF ORDER? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?” Puzzlingly, the plunger is MISSING. “O MY GOD! WHERE IN THE HOLY HELL IS THE PLUNGER? WHO TOOK THE PLUNGER? WHY WOULD ANYONE TAKE IT? AND DIDN’T WHY DIDN’T THEY RETURN IT? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?”
In a frenzied rage, I grab the handle of the brush and pull it from its holding container. “OH SHIT!” The container is right full of nasty, dirty toilet water which propels forth across the entire half bath and makes an ugly puddle on the floor. “UUUUUGH!!! YOU BASTARDS!” I still need to use the bathroom. I squeeze my legs together, and hastily submerge the brush in the almost overflowing toilet. I VIOLENTLY pump it against the drain with superhuman force until it flushes.
Now, I pick up the toilet brush container, causing spillage and swearing under my breath. I dump its contents in the toilet. FLUSH. I angrily force the container into the FRESH toilet water and use the brush to ‘CLEAN’ it. Leaving the container and brush in the toilet, I yell, “I GUESS I HAVE TO CLEAN THE WHOLE BATHROOM TOO! WHY IS THIS ALWAYS MY JOB? CAN ANYONE HEAR ME? I’M NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN! NEXT TIME SOMEONE PLUGS THE TOILET, IT IS STAYING EFF-ING PLUGGED UNTIL THEY FIX IT THEMSELVES!” I spray and wipe down the floor, the walls, the mirror, the pedestal sink, the windowsill, the window, the blinds, the picture frames, and the cat’s litter box. “F***. I probably missed some. We just have to live in FILTH.” I finish by giving the toilet a quick clean and putting the container and brush back on the floor beside the toilet. THEN, I use the bathroom and carry on. Everytime I meet someone in the house, I stop them and list ALL the UNPLEASANT things I HAVE TO DO EVERYDAY and how I’m not the ONLY ADULT in the HOUSE who is capable of cleaning. I continue to passive aggressively return to this subject FOREVER.
STOP.
I often question whether taking medication is stifling or ACTUALLY helpful. The process of weaning off, changing my mind, and then slowly increasing the meds again until I reached a state of lessened anxiety, was a SIGNIFICANT struggle. It was worth it just to discover that my spirit stays intact. My essence remains with or without medication.
I officially take medications to curb the symptoms of borderline personality disorder. Personally, I think ‘Borderline Personality Disorder’ is a misnomer. It’s more of an EMOTIONAL disorder. Without meds, I am unable to regulate my emotions and trend toward intense, catastrophic anxiety, inflexibility, negativity, and depression. It is really hard WORK to check myself, especially as a pastor who is, by nature, expected to be humble, accepting, and loving. IF a trigger IS hit, it’s a challenge to reel it in. I’m a bit of a walking emotional time bomb. IF I feel ignored, abandoned, or disliked, I react emotionally to quell the overwhelm of anxiety. My behaviour CHANGES to protect, numb, or distract myself from the discomfort of extreme stress. Shielding my fragile self-image sometimes spells personal sabotage and destruction. It can be AWKWARD.
Without the meds, my whole bathroom saga felt like a personal attack on my ability to parent and keep house. As if the clogged toilet was a CALCULATED demonstration of what I have FAILED to teach my children and how terrible I am for letting the ‘yuck factor’ in cleaning get OUT OF HAND. It triggered a subconscious cascade of unwanted thoughts and memories about EVERY failure I have perceived in my motherhood and marriage. My self-judgment spurred the loud cursing that was designed to rouse the attention of my family, name myself as the victim and BLAME everyone else to take the pressure off of my isolated position in the story.
I don’t think this is unique to BPD, but I experience splitting, which is a marked division between my ‘NORMAL SELF’ and my ‘UNHEALED SELF.’ As a result, my mood swings are unpredictable. I have issues with identity confusion and internal conflict. Insert [Imposter Syndrome]. Depression overtakes me with a deep sense of ongoing emptiness. It is in THESE moments that I need MORE than medication. I need to look inward, embrace mystery, and trust GOODNESS to prevail.
Once, when I was feeling pathetically helpless, I prayed for something very specific to cheer me up. “God,” I said, “I never REALLY ask you for anything tangible. It would help me enormously to know you ARE listening.” Then, as if God works like some kind of magical Santa Claus, I asked, “Please, please, please let the clothing I ordered arrive TODAY.” I’m not usually so desperate about clothes, but these were clergy garments that would refresh my wardrobe after many years of body dysmorphia and clothes that just didn’t fit right and detracted from my professionalism. When I finished I scolded myself for being SO petty. I went on with my day. When I got home THE BOX was on the table. I began to do the math – “what day did I place the order? Has it been 6-8, or maybe 12 weeks? Was this MY intuition or did GOD really just DO that for ME?” The crust around my soul began to crumble. (sounds Grinchy) “What IF God just did that?”….. “Um, God, okay, thank you for showing me that you ARE real and you HEAR me. I’m so sorry that I put you to the test… So…hey…you’ll deliver my package when I ask – what then will you do with my REAL problems?”
This is an experience I often return to when I’m in distress. God cares about ME. God loves ME. God looks out for ME, myself. The missing toilet plunger doesn’t matter. The mess has no enduring consequence. My family is not to blame, no one is plotting against me or abandoning me. The toilet is JUST clogged and there IS NO plunger. It’s an inconvenience. Nothing more. The goal of treatment for emotional/personality disorders is differentiation of self – having the ability to maintain one’s true self in anxiety and in emotional situations. My healing work is focused on changing my relationship between how I THINK and how I EXPRESS my EMOTIONS. It leads me through the storms of life to find my center calm, my connection to the ground of all being, my Christ-heart, my godspark, my soul.
I’m a work in progress. Aren’t we ALL? Dr. Richard Schwartz’ theory of ‘Internal Family Systems,’ takes Dr. Bowen’s ‘Family Systems Theory’ which is concerned with the different interdependent roles assumed within healthy AND dysfunctional families, and APPLIES IT to an individual person and their many ‘parts’. This resonates. I don’t feel that I have a bunch of different personalities inside of me that fight for leadership. But, I do feel like I have distinct PARTS.
In IFS the ‘parts’ include EXILES, the parts of yourself that your ‘system’ works to keep hidden and out of trouble. They carry your burdens like shame, fear, grief, anger, dependency, and loneliness. They also long to be healed and freed. MANAGERS are your parts that protect ‘the whole system’ from feelings of hurt and rejection. They maintain control by creating an illusion of safety by being super competent, and utilizing your self-critic to prevent humiliation and abandonment. FIREFIGHTERS serve and protect ‘the system’ when triggers hit too close to home. They react, attack, and create diversions (like addictions, eating and sleep disorders, extra work, self-harm, and dissociation), all to keep your exiles from seeing the light of day.
My favorite part is the CORE SELF. When you can uncover this part and maintain it, it becomes the active and compassionate LEADER of all the other parts. It takes away their ‘jobs’ and replaces them with pleasant, and positive, productive roles. It is your natural essence, that has been sheltered from damage by all the other parts. Your Core Self acts with spontaneity, and creativity. It emerges when you feel centered and truly safe and calm. Your confident core self is Playful, Curious, Adventurous, and Stable. It is your BEST SELF. When it is uncovered, it needs NO improvement, because it’s already perfect the way it is…..the way God made you.
As a Christian, the core self, my best self, fits the concept of my soul – which I believe is beyond the limits of the physical body or the human psyche. The soul is the essence, energy, electricity, everlasting part of you that IS accessible during this earthly walk and contains ALL the wisdom and strength you need to find peace and healing WITHIN yourself. I’m not talking about a cure-all. I am talking about a state of being that is calm, knowing, and in fact, a little piece of God’s all encompassing love that has settled in you no matter what else is happening in your life.
People are complicated. When you are faced with dirty toilet brushes and stuff that’s stuck, BREATHE. Center yourself. Ask all your managers and firefighters to give you some room, to step aside. Hug your exiles and draw on your CORE – the being that God meant for you to be – be filled with THAT light. Bathroom drama, I think most dramas, CAN be navigated with improved self-awareness and the courage to be vulnerable. We can live as we die and die as we live within our personal ‘system’ and in interconnection with and care for the ‘systems’ of OTHERS, even if they expect you to clean the toilet.
So, I’m writing about my mental health AGAIN. Not to worry, please. I AM OKAY. I forgot about the Family Day holiday and failed to refill my medications – so I’m NAKED (figuratively). For some reason, the pharmacy DOES NOT give out medical narcotics in large quantities (I know, right?) so it’s easy to suddenly run out if I get distracted. I’m off kilter TODAY but I know THIS, at least, is temporary.
It’s too bad that I am currently in the middle of an EXTENDED mood episode. Depression is a strange beast. I shut off and fly on autopilot through my necessary working hours – a hollow puppet of myself entertaining my audience with laughter and fabricated presence. People are cared for, sermons get written. I am thankful for every POSITIVE moment. When I’m like this, my whole self is not required to get it done. But, without my WHOLE self, tasks and interpersonal work are lacklustre.
This depressive state bleeds into ALL the nooks and crannies of my life – my family sees the worst of IT.
All it takes is one little stressor – a WORD. A LOOK. A THOUGHT. A BAD DREAM. A DISAPPOINTMENT. A REJECTION. A reaction from someone else I CAN’T control. My mood plummets.
It starts as a sweeping SADNESS that pushes behind my eyes, threatening tears. My chest becomes FULL with melancholy. In the pit of my BEING, grows a feeling of DREAD. My stomach reacts with nausea. Terrible mournfulness reaches up to SQUEEZE at my lungs, shortens my breaths, makes me gasp in the air, and the tears escape. My head becomes a pressure pot and my body dejected, my spirit broken. What begins as a quick change in mood SITS for hours, days, weeks, months. Immovable depression.
But LIFE moves on. I take on the semblance of myself and ride it out. There’s NOTHING I can do to appease the monsters of anxiety, shame, guilt, and anger.
I’ve learned to hide it. To smile. To DO the THINGS. But when I’m in their grip, I know they are just waiting to launch another direct attack when I’m ALONE.
Before I knew about mood disorders, I thought I was just weird. I’m STILL weird, but now it has nothing to do with my mental illness. I don’t know if that’s positive or negative.
Several weeks ago I saw a beautiful rainbow over Lake Huron while I was driving to a meeting. I was already into this bout of depression. There had been DAYS upon days of sunless, drab and dreary, rainy weather. The bow in the sky came with the first SUNSHINE in a long time. Everyone at the meeting was commenting on it.
Later I read multiple social media posts and saw a number of pictures of that SAME rainbow, a sign in the sky pointing to our intrinsic connection to each other and the planet. Images were shared from ALL OVER the county of Huron. It was remarkable to see the excitement and the relief found in a SHARED experience of beauty. Its profundity wasn’t lost on my depression.
We were talking about it that night as I was tucking my neurodivergent, now 20 year old daughter into bed. I ACCIDENTALLY leaned in to kiss her and quickly pulled away when I realized my mistake. She HASN’T allowed that kind of touch since she was a small child. But she said, “It’s okay, Mommy, you can kiss me”. RAINBOW MAGIC. The holiest of moments come UNBIDDEN.
I think this depression is beginning to lift. I wanted to write about the rainbow almost a month ago. Last night a friend told me she’d seen a picture of me on Facebook and she thought I looked powerful. POWERFUL. Her words SHOOK my tired bones. The image was from Sunday’s video. I was preaching about our solidarity as God’s children, Christ dwelling in us and through us at our best moments AND in our dejection. So many people, so much hurting, and so much LOVE to share. A thousand years are like one day in eternity. Perspective is everything. In a world full of ALL the things, rainbow connections are still beautiful and sacred. Thanks be to God.
"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.
Nuanced Niddy 