On Friday, I mentioned my colleague who provided support and compassion. I am amazingly grateful for her presence. Other people also offered moments of support. When I first announced my depression, there were numerous notes and comments sent to encourage me. The expressions of love and support were a tremendous source of strength. A few friends offered to assist with, “anything you need.” While such words can be empty, these were not. They were an open invitation for me to reach out for anything.

I received a number of emails and texts offering encouragement. Most began, “I don’t expect you to respond to this…” It was moving to have people understand that the pressure to respond was difficult when things are hard. It was challenging to deal with my own issues. Implied needs felt like big additions to the list. Encouragement offered with no strings attached felt like personal blessings.

This experience was very difficult for my wife, but she never let it show. She supported what I needed even when it was hard. She sat with me as we watched, more than once, movies we saw many times before. (People struggling with anxiety and depression frequently rewatch familiar material because it doesn’t require deep attention, it is comforting, and there are no surprises.) She worked with me even when my mood shifted frequently. Almost every night, there was a hand-written note on my pillow when I came to bed. Some were kind words, some good memories, and some prayers. I have the stack of them on the bedside table. Just looking at them is an encouragement.

Tiny, temporary moments made a significant difference. Most people know I am a voracious reader. To be unable to read for months was excruciating. Every couple of months, a day would cause things to relent enough for some reading. Those days, few in number, were like Christmas morning. The same was true for the days I could create. It was difficult to look at pens, paint, and brushes, and be unable to use them. Creative days were a breath of fresh air.

I will say more about my faith and faith journey in a future post, but the days when I would sense the presence of God, when words, music, even nature would break through long enough to see beauty and find a moment of hope, were celebrations.

One of the most surprising points of light came in the amazing support I received through strangers on social media. I would share a bad headspace day and hundreds of people would respond with support and encouragement. Many of them had similar struggles and understood my thoughts and feelings. Oh, I received a few, “what do you have to be depressed about?” comments. Often before I saw them, the same strangers would forcefully stand in the gap for me and shut those voices down, then they would offer even more support. They didn’t know that those actions were making up for places that was missing in my life. They truly had my back.

There are many more moments like these. I began a gratitude journal a few years ago, and that practice helped me remember these bright spots when there were none to see. Sometimes, all I needed was a memory of a little light to find hope again.

As I continue to share my story, you will probably see the rollercoaster of this journey, but know there were moments of beauty, wonder, and love. I’ll be back with more on Wednesday. Thanks for joining me.

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“Christians?” I replied.

“Yes, but I specifically meant pastors. Christians tend to keep believing it is a faith issue and so they try harder to be better. Pastors add another layer by believing they can fix themselves and thinking such a diagnosis makes them weak.”

I could hear my spirit say, “Yes, and yes.” It was a big hurdle to overcome, but with help I came through. I quickly learned that I was not the only one with those thoughts about my situation. There were plenty of people (“loving Christians”) who were offended their pastor had depression. They made sure to point out it was my fault, that I didn’t have enough faith, and it was a bad look for the church. It wasn’t the support I was looking for, or needed.

When the symptoms subsided, I made a commitment to God that I would not remain silent because too many were already doing that, too many negative attempts to support existed, along with wrong understandings. These things made it hard for many to seek the help they needed. So, when things erupted this time, I stuck to my promise. Many people were supportive, but others were still sharing the same concerns of two decades earlier.

To be clear, depression is not just feeling down or sad. Those are only symptoms. Many people say they are depressed, but they do not mean clinical depression. The same is true for anxiety. When dealing with clinical diagnoses, we are talking about health issues. This isn’t about choice or faith, like many other health concerns, they are physical problems that need correction, assisted by therapy to develop healthy coping mechanisms.

People still do not understand this. When I reached out for support, there were people who were angry about my method and about me being public about it. This was not the response I would have received if I announced I was dealing with blood pressure or diabetes. Why? Because this was “mental illness” and it was a scary thing. What would people say or think. What would people do if someone wanted information (other than ask me directly)?

I don’t want this to seem like an attack, though some may read it that way. The takeaway, from my perspective, is that little has changed in perception. I’ve still been told I just need more faith and the Bible says we are not to worry. Honestly, that still stings. I want to define it as misguided compassion, but when you’ve addressed it publicly and repeatedly, it becomes more clear that it is a toxic response.

Please understand, many people have stood with me all along. I’ve had colleagues who reached out with compassion and offered support. Friends did the same. One of my colleagues lovingly took it upon herself to do health checks, to listen and offer as little advice as possible. She simply held space for me to be me, to be safe, and to be seen. God did amazing things through her.

Depression and anxiety are challenging battles. Grace and love make an amazing difference. I cannot express the emotional pain that comes with feeling isolated, alone, and unseen every day, for months. I could not control the feeling, but I learned to function with it. When someone reached out, not to fix things, but to say, “I am here. You are seen. I accept how you feel and honor that, but I am tangible proof you are not alone,” it made it easier to breathe for a moment.

I have a lot of gratitude for those points of light. I will be turning my attention to them on Monday. There were, and are, many people and things I am grateful for. They will be more visible when compared with these first two posts. I hope you will join me Monday and find gratitude as well.

The post Accepting What it Really Is appeared first on Thinking Faith Cafe.

One of my best friends in college asked me this question, and she was completely serious. Her perspective on what ordained ministry entailed was built on a number of assumptions. The assumptions fuel the classic comments I’ve received, like, “must be nice to only work an hour a week.”

These beliefs affected the way people understood what happened during the pandemic. If you only work an hour each week, then being stuck at home must be a vacation, right? Except, it’s not an hour a week, just the sermon writing takes 12-15 hours, and there was more to come.

Recently, I came across a thread by Rev. Eric Atcheson. As I read each post, I thought, “He’s writing my story!” There are a few important differences, but he captures what many clergy felt, and certainly what I felt. Please take the time to read it in his own words.

I did not resign, but the idea rolled around in my thoughts a few times. Watching the way a major portion of the Church, not my church, but the whole Church, responded to the opportunity to care for people; to sacrifice for the well-being of others was beyond disappointing. I am still seeking God for clarity on how to minister to the world in the wake of the harm the church committed. Right now, I am taking one step of faith at a time, with my spirit focused on Christ.

This was the backdrop for all of the other things that would take place during this season: my wife’s cancer diagnosis and subsequent treatment, ongoing safety protocols because of the damage to her immune system, my own infection and the two minor surgeries that went with it, insurance issues, and ultimately, my depression.

This is what happened. This is what brought me to the place I am. What I tried to pass off as exhaustion and burnout was actually depression. I find great solace in my psychiatrist’s words, “ After all that, I’d be worried if you didn’t have depression.”

Friday, I will share more of the story, but now you have the background of how I got to where I am. I am not posting this for personal attention. Instead, I want to bring attention to the needs of many, to the challenge to the church, and to the solutions I am discovering along the way. I hope you will continue to share the journey with me.

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