The strength of those dealing with chronic depression

       I just saw a post on Facebook about a pastor who has committed suicide.  I didn't know the man personally and I don't know if his struggle was a long term struggle with depression or if something had happened that led to this decision.  But I know that depression is much more common than we acknowledge, as is other mental illness.  More, the stigma around mental illnesses is so great that it is difficult for people, especially people in high profile and leadership positions, to share their struggles with it.  They fear the judgments, they fear being discounted, they fear being misunderstood.  And the reality is that all three of those are likely to happen to people who struggle with depression.  But again, the particular misconception I want to focus on today has to do with the belief that those who struggle with depression are somehow weak.
        Let me be very clear: I think that people who struggle with mental illness are often some of the strongest people I have ever met.
       Imagine a life in which you struggle daily with chronic pain.  By chronic pain, I mean the kind that makes it difficult to walk, difficult to get up, difficult to breathe.  It weighs on you, is present in every cell of your body.  There is no cure, no help for it.  And you don't just struggle with this once in awhile, but every day, every hour, every minute.  Now imagine that accompanying that pain is a constant voice following you around telling you you are no good, that you are worthless, that you are wrong about everything. Still, with that pain, and with this loud voice (that voice of depression) in your ear, you are expected to "be normal", "snap out of it", "be positive", to work, care for others, especially your children and your family.  You are expected to put a smile on your face, to be positive and upbeat, to interact in a meaningful way with those around you.  You are expected to behave as if nothing is wrong and to have ears to hear the pain and struggles of others, while that voice continually tells you you are unlovable and not worth the air you breathe, while the chronic pain eats at your cells and your mind.
       That is a glimpse of what it can be like for people suffering from chronic depression.  Every day that they get up, every day that they go to work, feed their kids, interact with others, offer a smile or an ear - every day that they do this, they are acting with an amazing strength, the kind of strength that people with chronic depression often show every single day.  It is not a sign of weakness that some commit suicide.  It is a sign of unimagined strength that more don't.
       I have done quite a bit of pastoral care and counseling for people with depression.  But there is one person's story I want to share in particular who is a very dear friend who struggles deeply with depression.  It is incurable in her case, and not really even treatable, so she struggles.  The fact that those around her knows she struggles with depression but have always seen it as a sign of weakness has only increased her sense of pain, isolation and alienation. My friend went through a huge family crisis, very different from my own, but of a similar magnitude.  And those around her kept saying how strong she seemed, how amazing she was that she kept going.  But her private response to me?  "If I could get up every day with the kind of pain that I feel with the depression, then getting up every day during a crisis like this was not the challenge that many imagined it to be.  It was just one more place of pain, like all the others, that had to be lived through, walked through, survived.  I had to do it for my family.  There wasn't a choice.  People do what they have to do when they love their kids."  Yes, she is a woman of amazing strength.  But not just because of what she has survived, but because of how she lives every single day of her life.
        Because the truth is that sometimes people can't do what is best for their families.  And again, I don't see that as weakness. Sometimes that voice inside tells those with depression that the kids and family would be better off without them. Sometimes, no matter how much we think they should know better, they can become convinced by the voices of depression, by the strength of their own pain, by the chronic struggle every day that suicide is the only option, that the world really would be better off without them and/or that they simply cannot continue another moment with that kind of pain.  When that happens we lose someone to suicide or addiction or in some other way.  It is tragic.
      But that tragedy would much more easily be avoided if people were not so judgmental about depression, if they realized it is not something someone can "snap out of", and it is not a choice that a person makes, if they realized the strength that it takes for folk with depression to live each day, and if they honored the experiences of those people for what they really are.
       I will say again what I said at the beginning of this post.  Many of the strongest people I know are those who live with depression and who carry on.  They are among us, often hidden, often unseen.  And they live, despite what our culture says, despite the misunderstandings and despite the battle they have to wage each and every day within themselves.  If we want to be part of preventing more suicides like the pastor I read about this morning, we have to start by educating ourselves about the disease depression. We have to find compassion and understanding.  And we have to understand that it is strength not weakness that enables people to walk through their lives despite the depression.

Other People's Stories

For a few months now I've been attending our local "Warrior's Journey Home" group.  It is a group for vets who have served in any of our wars, and for those people who care about their experiences and want to be there to support them.  The vets who come do so in order to talk through their experiences, not with a professional, but just to be able to speak what they went through, what they continue to go through, as a result of their time serving, in the presence of people who will listen, care, and intentionally love and support them without judgment.  It is an awe-inspiring experience to be honored with their stories, with their trust, with their feelings about what they experienced and continue to experience as a result of their time spent in military service.  Everyone in the circle can share, can speak, without others offering advice or trying to "fix" them or argue or even discuss what has been said.  The rest of us are there to listen, and we take on that role with an awareness of the amazing gift it is to us to be included in their sharing.  Often even the people who have not served in a war share.  They share the experiences they've had with other vets.  Or they share how they have been impacted by the stories they are hearing.  Or they share something they have read or learned about what it is to serve in a war.  Their stories, experiences, thoughts, are also gifts to the rest of us who are present to listen.

But I realized last night as I listened that I have never once shared or spoken in this circle, except during the initial check in and the ending check out where we simply look one another in the eye and promise to be present in that place.

The people who know me know that it is not because I have nothing to say.  It is hard to get me to shut up in other situations.  I have opinions, and thoughts, and feelings about almost everything.  But as I sat there last night, I realized that I don't speak in that group because I am truly, deeply awed by what the people in that room have been through, what they have suffered, what many of them continue to suffer (because of PTSD, war injuries, etc.).  I say nothing because I am aware, during that time, in that space, that the traumas and tragedies I have experienced in my life time are so small and insignificant in comparison to what these vets have gone through.  I have not gone through what they have, so what is there for me to possibly say in that space?  I can only listen, and care, and support them by listening as they process through their histories.

Today I went to visit one of my parishioners who is very ill.  She was lying in her bed, as she is transitioning towards death, and she made the comment that she can not imagine going through everything that I have experienced.  She said that she feels she has nothing to say when she looks back at her life and compares it to what I have been through.  She named some of her own tragedies - divorce, loss of a second, beloved husband to death, the physical pain she sometimes now experiences as cancer takes over her body. But she felt that these experiences were small and insignificant when compared with the challenges I have faced.

As I listened to her I found myself wanting to argue with her.  "No!  Your experiences are every bit as significant!  They are your life - your journey, your lessons, your blessings, your gifts, your challenges, your opportunities to grow and learn and move and respond to what life has given you. Your experiences are different, but they are not less meaningful or less important.  We cannot compare suffering (or joy!) in this way, or somehow discount the things we have gone through as trivial simply because they are different and have impacted us differently."

And then as I found myself speaking these words, I remembered last night.  Ah.

Whatever the stories of other people, I am deeply blessed to hear them.  Whatever the struggles and traumas, or amazing wonderful experiences others have gone through or are going through, I see it as an awesome honor to listen, to be brought in on their journeys, to be trusted with those stories and to be welcomed into their thoughts and feelings.

But their stories really are about them.  They aren't about me.  They aren't invitations for me to compare my life and find it wanting or shallow - either in joys or in struggles.  They aren't judgments or condemnations that say my life has lacked courage or strength.  And when I find myself focusing on my own life in comparison, I am failing to listen and be fully present with them in that moment.

So for today, I accept my life for what it is.  And I continue to be grateful for what others choose to share with me.  I will endeavor to listen better, to be present more fully.  For that is my call in those moments.

Making Amends, Part III or..."Rebuilding what was broken"

Tyler put this in a comment after my last blog post, but I felt it deserved it's own post:

Thanks, Tyler, for the image.  Beautiful, truly.
When we are willing to give what is broken our best effort and materials, what we make can be stronger, more beautiful and MUCH more interesting.

Still the choice is always there - do we put in the effort? Or do we throw away the broken pieces, declaring them beyond repair?

Personally, I think we throw things away far too quickly and easily in this culture...things, relationships, people.
I'm guilty as well.

But look at what we miss out on when we make that choice?

Sometimes I get Tired - a moment to whine.

     Okay, I admit it.  Sometimes I get tired of being "the one" in charge.  I get tired of never really having a day off because if I'm not working at work, I'm "working" being solo Mommy, which is often harder.  This week is vacation week for me, and so I took my youngest 2 children to Great Wolf Lodge for the last couple days while eldest child is having special time with her grandparents for a few days.  It was great fun, but still, I was the only adult.  And today, even though I'm still "on vacation" I wrote a sermon (because we have a service tonight that I'm still leading), started dealing with trying to get our church web-site back up, answered several hundred email (okay, I admit it wasn't that many, but it sure felt like it was!!) and attended to some house projects that were a lot of work but desperately needed my attention.  I paid bills.  I ordered books.  I tried to get help dealing with the horrible smell that is now emanating from my fire-place and which undoubtedly belongs to a demised animal that will cost me a great deal of money to have removed.  I wrote in my journal, worked on my book a bit, and generally have felt this great pressure today to get so much more done than I have.  I've been on my own now for a year and 2 1/2 months (not that I'm counting), the lone adult holding it all together - work, kids (including one with special needs), household.  I take care of a lot of people - my kids, mostly, but also people in need of pastoral care, extended family members, etc, and sometimes I get tired.  Sometimes I get lonely.  Sometimes I feel the pressure of the thousand and one things that have to happen every day in order for my small world to function.  I have a team of support folk who are wonderful.  But when things are too crazy and busy, I don't reach out to them because it feels like there isn't time - isn't time to take care of me - which leads to further exhaustion.
      It's more than that, though.  It's more than just the "what needs to be done".  It is also my own inner voices, which are highly demanding, which lead to a tiring day.  Those are the voices that say that raising three kids (again, including an extremely challenging special needs boy), trying to support with time and money an incarcerated ex-spouse, working a full time job as pastor plus another job as church musician, doing laundry, keeping the house clean, working on my book, reaching out to friends, praying and praying and praying - that somehow all of this is not enough.  And that I'm not doing all of it well enough.  But it is also the "image" of pastor that I often feel I have to present.  I feel that I have to be the one holding it all together.  I feel that I have to be strong and faithful and confident.  I have to be quick to forgive, quicker to apologize, and never make a mistake that actually makes a real difference to anyone.  I need to have vision and to be the one to show those around me where God is present in each and every moment.  I have to put aside my own ego and my own pains and griefs and be present with others in their situations.  I have to be perfect - according to the Book of Barbara.  And I can't do it.  So I get tired.  Tired of the voices inside that tell me I'm not enough.  Tired of the attempts to write meaningful words that tell stories without hurting anyone or revealing anything about others in the process.  Tired of the same old memories and thoughts and self-corrections running through my head.  Tired of ....well, just tired.
     So, for today, I decide to own that.  To name it for myself and for other people.  Sometimes I get tired.  We all get tired.  Some days we get lonely.  We all get lonely.  And it is human and it is okay and it is acceptable to not be perfect and to not be always upbeat and to have days where we are just...tired.
    God is still there with us, even in the tired.  What does God have to say to me today in my place of tired?  God says, "you are enough."  "Being imperfect is still enough because I love you no matter what."  "You are loved." "What is most important is this moment, living now, even if that means you don't get everything 'done'." "What is most important is the people around you, not the projects."  "You don't have time to NOT reach out to those who love you."  "You don't have time or energy to NOT take care of yourself."  "It's okay."  "You are okay."  "Tired is okay."  "And I am still here with you, even in that, even in that."
     So my word to all of you today is the same.  It's okay to have down days.  And God is with you in those as well.  Thanks be to God. (and thanks for listening to my 'whine').

Wisdom to Thrive By

We watched the movie, Life of Pi for Faith and Film night this evening.  Wow.  I still need to process through a great deal of it.  But some of the wisdom that struck me the most this evening had to do with how we frame things.  I've talked about this before, but I am more and more convinced that how we frame things, how we tell our stories, how we choose to interpret or put meaning to things makes all the difference in the world.  I'm reading a book called The Beethoven Factor by Paul Pearsall.  He, too, talks about how our ability to thrive (not just survive or recover from pain and trauma) has to do with how we make meaning out of those events in our lives which are hard to bear.  Can we find meaning in these events?  Can we tell our stories (even to ourselves) in such a way that there is life in them?  Hope in them?  Purpose and reason to them?  Can our hard experiences help move us to places where we see and appreciate the beauty and blessings in our lives more fully?  Can those challenging events, traumas, crises help move us to places where we savor and relish the good, even when things are hard or difficult?  If we can reframe the losses in our lives, give them a different story, a different understanding, we can move through them with grace and peace.

For example, we often hear of people doing this when a loved one dies.  Especially if it is a young person, those people who can reframe the loss away from it being senseless, pointless and just evil can usually deal with it better.  Examples of that reframing include "She's in a better place now" (though, personally I really, really dislike this particular reframing), "The life she lived was full and meaningful and she gave all of us so much while she lived it."  "His life was short but densely lived." or the ones I think are the most helpful, "I'm going to use this tragedy to help other people."  That is what the woman who began Mothers Against Drunk Driving did.  She took her own personal tragedy and brought good out of it - good for a great number of people.

This isn't the pop positive psychology that says we can make things happen with our thoughts.  Instead, it is a real positive psychology that says we are in charge of how we take things in, how we make meaning of events in our lives and then how we take that meaning to make our lives stronger, better or more full.

This is the difference between allowing a wound to fester and become infected, or allowing the scarring to build a stronger skin where the damage to the body was done.  When our bones break, they heal together with an increased strength.  Yes, a sign of the original damage may be found - but the sign is a place of great strength, especially if we get help in setting the bones correctly (though this is often painful!) before the bones heal.  The same is true for psychological injuries.  Do we allow them to damage us in such a way that we become the "walking wounded", or do we take the broken places, work to set them right in any way we can, and then build strength from them?  It doesn't mean there aren't scars - there are.  But those scars can be where the deeper strength lies.  And that strength then can help us to build lives that are more full, more whole, more loving and more grace-filled.