A Peek Inside An Anxious Mind

I’ve been seeing a counselor now for years, five to be exact. At the beginning it was once a week, and then as the tools in my mental tool belt increased, I was able to drop to once a month. Here’s the thing though, I am not cured of my depression. It goes into remission. Good habits and the power of a daily relationship with Jesus Christ keep it in check, but I live with the ability to be easily triggered. Much like an alcoholic is forever an alcoholic and makes lifelong choices to stay sober and not drink, a person who struggles with depression must daily make choices to stay in the light, choosing joy and peace rather than anxious or sad thoughts.

But I wish my drink of choice were more physical, staring me in the face with a physical temptation. Instead, my poison is thoughts—trains of thoughts, tirades of thoughts, spirals of thoughts—into deep, dark places. Thoughts that run rampant in the background of my subconscious where they do their damage unseen and unchecked for longer periods of time than I would like.

Let me see if I can explain….

In the summer my teenagers sleep late, I love this because I like to sleep late. It gives me a chance to really dive into my Bible study or get an early start on the chores of the day before the house gets loud with activity. If I get up and spend time in God’s Word, my thoughts are more ordered, more calm, more centered. So yesterday started off well!

By 11am everyone was up and moving, and we had a plan for an adventure exploring the Beltline in Atlanta on our bikes. On the drive down, I reminded my kids they didn’t need to be on their phones in the car, but in my brain, my thoughts were disappointed:

Why do they want to be on those stupid phones all the time? They just woke up! They know they’re not allowed to be on them in the car. I’m terrible at holding them accountable to that rule. That’s my fault.

Now that the kids are off their phones, the silence in the car overwhelms me.

Why can’t I think of anything to talk to them about? I’m terrible at conversation. This feels so awkward. They don’t want to talk to me about anything anyway. But you’re teaching them how to have conversation. You’re setting the example for them to follow. If they don’t know how to carry on a conversation in the car, that’s your fault.

We finally find our parking space and start our bike ride. It’s an overcast, slightly humid day, but I’m grateful the sun isn’t shining, or we’d be twice as hot. The ride is pretty in spots, full of lush underbrush overhanging the trail. We pass under bridges covered from head to toe in graffiti. I’m enjoying myself when it dawns on me:

This isn’t a very good way to interact with my kids. They’re basically up in front of me by themselves this whole time doing their own thing. How is this bonding us as a family? How does this open doors to conversations?

And so, the onslaught of thoughts continues ALL. DAY. In reflection, I continued to judge and criticize myself and my actions as a mother the remainder of the day. At lunch I was at a loss for communication again, by the afternoon we were all so tired from our adventure we came home and retired to our separate corners on our separate devices. Dinner was good because when my husband’s around, he’s better at getting us all to talk. He’s a better communicator. But when he and my son leave to head out of town, and I’m left alone with my daughter, again, she wants to text friends and watch movies, and I want to take a bath and watch movies, and so the day ends. All the while, I’m beating myself up in retrospect about how her and I have nothing in common to help us connect together. I end the day feeling like a waste of a human being, incapable of connecting with her own children, and beating myself up for hiding behind my screen instead of engaging in the life inside my house. I go to bed drunk on anxious, critical, depressing thoughts.

Jesus. Sweet Jesus.

I wake in the morning in need of lots of water to flush my system and my time with Jesus to flush my spirit.

It takes energy and commitment to let go of yesterday and all its failures, so I can try again today. Walk differently today. Make different choices with my thoughts and actions, but sometimes the day stretches before you like a barren wasteland of hopeless, unavoidable failures waiting to happen. I mean, that was what happened yesterday? Logically, it can happen again today as well.

Jesus! Help!

….

This is the life inside my head. One small peek. I can think like this on a myriad of topics throughout the day. On the worst days, it feels like I am being beaten constantly. Those are the days I don’t want to crawl out of bed because the thoughts can start that early, even in my dreams before I ever wake up. Those are the days I convince myself the world is better off if I don’t show my face today. There are plenty of people who do not face this struggle, who are never aware of their own thoughts, and if they are, their personalities allow them to “snap out of it” as so many of us are encouraged to do.

If you were being physically beaten, would you want someone to walk up to you and tell you to snap out of it? (Just offering some perspective.) What would you want them to do? Step in. Offer help to block the attacker. Offer you a safe space. A way out. People who commit suicide are looking for a way out. They are tired of being beaten. Like most diseases or conditions, depression exists on a scale of 1-10 or stages like cancer. If you suffer from stage 4 depression, suicide is one of your treatment options. That’s the level of mental beating that person has taken.

And much like cancer, you don’t need to experience it to have compassion for those who suffer. You don’t even need to understand how or why their brain thinks the way it does, to be able to come alongside and offer support and a safe space. The stigma surrounding mental illness must end. I am as passionate about that statement as I am about treatment.

I have Jesus. He is literally my daily Savior. He is my first line of treatment. (1 Timothy 1:15, Acts 4:10, 1 Timothy 4:10)

I know I need His power and presence in every breath I take just to be able to take thoughts captive and gain victory over the darkness (Job 33:4, 2 Corinthians 10:5). The more mature in my faith I grow to be, the less energy this requires, but I’m not great at it yet. His Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path (Psalm 119:105). I literally have His promises plastered all over my house. I like to think I’ve done that for my kids, but I read them all, every day, at every turn in my home (Deuteronomy 6:9, 11:20). On my best days, I’m blasting praise and worship music into the silence of my home, drowning the sound of my own thoughts with truth. My counselor is right. The way I think about myself, judge, criticize, evaluate, analyze myself has to stop. It has to change.

I have Jesus, a supportive husband, Prozac, friends who gently hold me accountable and encourage along the way, a family who loves me unconditionally, and insurance that covers mental health 100%. I have everything a person needs to fight and overcome depression, and it is STILL a daily battle. The wins outnumber the losses little by little as the Lord continues to do His work of sanctification through my life, but the losses are heavy and hard.

Someone you know doesn’t have the same support and privileges I have been afforded in my fight with depression. Someone you know doesn’t have any of these supports at all, not even Jesus. It’s why giving this world Jesus is the most compassionate and life-saving effort a person can devote their lives to (2 Corinthians 5:20). Jesus is enough. Even without all the other supports, He would be enough to sustain, to keep me from wanting to leave this earth because He breathes life into His children (Acts 17:25, Job 34:14-15).

I struggle because as a believer who has been afforded the privileges of all my supports, I think I should only need Jesus too. I shouldn’t have to rely on medicine, counseling, etc. But the reality and truth is… this is the journey God has ordained for me and my life. The woman struggling with depression in Africa may only be given Jesus at some point in time, and He will be all she needs, and that’s all she’ll ever be given, and He will be enough.

He is enough for me too. Period. I know this. There have been seasons when He was all I had, and He was enough. Yet, He is also the Father who gives good gifts. Why some are afforded certain good gifts and others are not is one of the great mysteries of being God. He knows me best; therefore, He knows what’s best for me.

My Jesus knows humility is essential to real life. He was the humblest of us all (Philippians 2:5-8). Medicine and counseling keep me humble. Without it, my pride, my own natural strengths, and my own intellect power me through my days. Humility is a necessary piece of the puzzle. We cannot be fully dependent on the Lord if pride is present at all (James 4:10).

It has been my observation of God’s kingdom that all of His children are given something to humble them—a thorn in the flesh as Paul puts it (2 Corinthians 12:7-10). For some it is their marriage, their life circumstances, their health, their finances, their station, their job, their friendships, their family, their children, their losses—the list is unending as to what God can use and how He can give the gift of humility to His children. These are all crosses we bear for the sake of Christ. We take them up and we follow Him regardless, dying to ourselves every day (Luke 9:23, 14:27). This is what it means to be a Christian, a child of God—grateful surrender to the cross that keeps us humble, knowing it’s a good gift from a Good Father who’s saving us from ourselves. Every day. Our pride is sin, and our sin is death (Romans 6:23). There’s no other answer to pride, but humility.

So today I will be grateful for the cross I bear. The depression I battle. I will reframe it with new purpose and lean into my Jesus and His good gifts—the gift of medicine, the gift of counseling, the gift of gratefulness, the gift of humility, the gift of His presence, the gift of salvation. Today He will be enough. That is my choice.

Who do you know struggling with anxiety? Depression? Who feels overwhelmed by life? You do not have to understand the cross they carry to be able to cheer them on along their path. Send that encouraging text. Mail that gift. Don’t be afraid to place a hand on their shoulder. To drop off that meal. Show up. Be present. Be available. Cover them in the protection of your prayers. Bend the Father’s ear to their plight with your incessant interceding on their behalf. Don’t throw your hands up in the air because the enemy has paralyzed you with lack of understanding or empathy. Seek understanding (Proverbs 2:2-5).

My daughter asked me the other day why I struggle with depression. I didn’t have a good answer for her because I live a blessed life. I could only tell her the condemning voices inside my head are loud and constant, and I need help to silence them. When the condemning voices are silenced, I hear the Voice of the Spirit clearly Who is the source of my joy, creativity, sensitivity, empathy, compassion, and purpose. Hearing voices is both one of my greatest strengths and greatest weaknesses. It’s how God put me together. It’s my cross to bear. By God’s grace, these condemning voices are not my daughter’s struggle, but maybe I can teach her how to show love to someone who struggles differently than her. Maybe teaching that alone to one more person in this world is a far-reaching ripple in the ocean of eternity.

What I do want her to know is Jesus is my Rock, my Answer, my Support. Following His lead is my best treatment plan. Healing and wholeness can only be realized through His power alone.

“Thank You, Father, for the gift of humility that enables me to fully rely on You. Thank You for the gift of humility that protects me from my own pride and the death and destruction it causes not just for me, but for those I love (Proverbs 11:2). Thank You for using the struggles we inevitably face for our good and Your glory—that no cross we bear is meaningless or carried alone. Thank You for glimpses of You.”

Forgiven, Not Perfect

There’s a misperception about Christ-followers that we are perfect people with perfect lives. That joy flows from our pores; unicorns and rainbows our constant companions. Even as a Christian, I often feel I have failed to represent Jesus well when these are not my realities or outlooks on life. But that’s not truth. Truth is I am a broken woman even after 35 years of following Jesus. I live in a broken and hurting world, and I am just as affected by the marching beat of its sin as the next person.

The difference is I choose to look to Jesus to save me—not myself, a job, a calling, a passion, or another person. Even in pursuit of Him, I fail.

Truthfully, I haven’t spent much time in God’s Word these past few weeks, not with the regularity that saved me and kept me sane during quarantine, not daily. Since the move, I’ve been low, down, fighting feelings of uselessness, worthlessness, and meaninglessness. I know all these feelings can be combated with time in God’s Word, allowing Him to fill my heart and mind, but the depression begs me to sleep.

It beckons me to stay in bed and pretend another day doesn’t need my presence a little while longer. It is a sneaky, difficult foe to fight. The worship music I play around the house is a soothing reminder of my Jesus keeping the darkness at bay.

I always wonder why I allow myself to fall into this trap. Why don’t I make time to fellowship with the Lord? Why do I allow myself to neglect time with Him when I know it only helps and never hurts? When I reflect, I come up with three deeply honest answers…

One, I silently, secretly blame God for putting me in this season, in this waiting room. In response, I think I can “punish” Him by withdrawing my fellowship. What a fool, I can be in my own pride. As if the Creator can be punished by the created. The truth is I only punish myself because fellowship with Him is the breath I breathe, the very air in my lungs. (Job 33:4) Not to mention, what a petty, vindictive way to treat the Man who wants nothing but the best for me; Who’s sacrificed everything to prove His love for me and asked only for my trust in return.

Second, I’m tired. I’m sad. I’m in the process of healing. It takes time to recover. It takes energy—heart, mind, body, and soul—to recuperate from a hard hit. Big life changes are hard hits. Even the ones you see coming, the ones for which you think you’ve prepared, still hurt on impact. My Jesus knows this, and He gives grace to the weary. I may not be reading His Word the way I know I should, but I also know He’s pouring His grace out over me and into my life. I can feel it when I close my eyes and give thanks for the small things. He never leaves me.

Third, like most people I know in life, I hate admitting when I’m wrong. There are days I willingly choose not to engage in God’s Word. I choose television, tasks, chores, phone calls, word games, internet scrolling, shopping, sleep, or even exercise, but I won’t choose time with my Jesus. Because I am stubborn, and I know meeting with Him requires a humbled heart willing to confess my sins and ask for forgiveness. It requires a willingness to let go of what I want in life, so I can receive what He wants to give. Sometimes, my stubborn, prideful heart just wants to hold on to what I want a little while longer. Yet, I cannot receive more of Him while also holding on with both hands to what I want.

Right now, when I do read my Bible, I’m reading through Acts. This past week there was one verse in the chapter that has held my mind’s eye ever since, even on the days I’ve chosen not to engage in His Word.

Acts 3:19: “Therefore repent and return, so that your sins may be wiped away, in order that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord.”

Isn’t my Jesus precious? Isn’t He gracious and good? When I read this verse, when it replays in my mind, it is not the voice of a sidewalk preacher. It is the voice of the Lover of my Soul pleading with me to come home and be with Him. Not begging as if He needs me but pleading out of love and concern because only He knows what is best for me, and He wants me to choose what’s best. He wants me to choose Him. To repent of my pride and foolishness and stubbornness, and simply return to His side where He promises my weary, hurting, healing heart, mind, and soul will be refreshed by His presence.

This friends, this makes all the difference. Christ-followers aren’t perfect; they are forgiven, and when we’re doing it well, when we’re living in the freedom of that forgiveness, there is a peace and joy and love that flows from the Holy Spirit dwelling with us. Emmanuel, God with us. You see Christians mess up just as much and just as badly as anyone else in this world, sometimes worse. But we’ve learned the art of admitting/confessing our mistakes, owning them, asking for forgiveness, and moving forward with another clean slate in the eyes of our God because of the shed blood of Christ. His mercies are new every morning and great is His faithfulness to His children (Lamentations 3:22-23)!

“Father, forgive me for my childishness. Forgive me for thinking I could punish You, Creator of the Universe. Forgive me for leaning into my weariness instead of leaning into You. Forgive me for my pride. Thank You for always being with me. Thank You that You never leave or forsake me no matter how often I leave and forsake You. Thank You for the promise of refreshing in Your presence. I’m here, Lord, with open hands. Fill me with more of You.”

Own Your Story

Three years have passed since I first penned the following words. Three years. I don’t live in this dark space as much as often anymore, but I still do the work to keep the darkness at bay. Every day.

Someone reading this needs to hear these honest words. I know I’m not alone. I know depression threatens the life force of so many in our culture—another weapon of Satan’s to deaden our souls. Yet when cast at the feet of Jesus, He has used it as a tool to soften and sharpen me at the same time. In Jesus’ hands, my struggles with depression have grown me, matured me, and drawn me closer to Him. He is my True Savior in every way.

So read these words with grace and compassion for those you may know who also struggle. For those who battle silently, maybe even yourself…...

 

 “I live inside a cage my mind has built. I’m not sure when the cage started to form. I could point to early signs of anxiety in middle school, so one could blame hormones and puberty. I could point to an OCD like ambition in school, a need for perfectionism that I’m sure docked years off my life as I lived utterly stressed until I graduated Summa Cum Laude from college. Those words look nice on a diploma now, but they carry no weight, no meaning--just a reminder that I lost sight of life going on around me earlier than some.

I got married soon after and discovered I was equally good at analyzing myself and my husband as I was my schoolteachers and assignments. Living life became a subject to analyze and respond accordingly in order to pass. No wonder when the unexpected adult disappointments in life began to pile up, I was emotionally unprepared to fail. And failure took its toll.

I failed. Often. Over and over again. I became keenly aware and scarred by every failure.

If someone reading this hears one thing in this message, hear me say I desperately want to be rid of the negative, fatalistic, dream-killing attitude I have toward life sometimes. I WANT to be my biggest cheerleader because I’m everyone else’s. I desperately desire for my feelings to match the good actions and choices I choose to make in life. I’ve prayed for relief, for healing from this mind curse. I’ve begged God to increase my faith, so that doubt and second guessing and paranoia wouldn’t cloud my judgement. That my energy wouldn’t be sucked away from inward mind battles--battles spent capturing every thought, all the time, 24/7.

And so far, God has only answered all my prayers with a therapist, some anti-depressants, and now a psychiatrist referral. How did this happen? Why is this happening? Is this who I’ve always been? I don’t think so. In my mind’s eye, I may have been stressed for most of my life, but I was happy. I think I was. Was I? Depression makes you doubt everything about yourself. It skews reality, casting long dark shadows over the brightest memories, and promising nothing but rain clouds on the horizon.

And so, I take the meds, and I make and keep the appointments, but I grieve for the person I use to be so many years ago. I grieve the loss and dampening of her drive and spirit. I grieve because she had a great life and good years surrounded by good people. I grieve because I’ve prayed for her to be returned to me, and my answer is therapists, drugs, and a psychiatrist.

And I’m angry. Angry that this is the answer to my prayers. Angry that the mind God gave me is being given this weight to carry, this thorn in the flesh. We all have our “thing” I’m told, and I’m seething mad that mine is depression. 

So, I guess I’ve hopped around all over the stages of grief over this topic for many, many years now. The only stage I’ve never landed in is acceptance. How do I accept that my children will grow up with a depressed mother? How do I accept that my husband may never have the bride of his youth again? He deserves so much better. How do I accept that this disease of the mind will bleed into and taint every relationship I choose to make from here on out in my life? How do I not crawl into a hole and give up? How do I ever regain my energy for life when it’s being spent daily on managing my mind? How do I accept this new reality?

I don’t know.

My favorite devotion, Streams in the Desert, says, “Unbelief continually asks, ‘How can this be possible?’ It is always full of ‘how’s’, yet faith needs only one great answer to even ten thousand ‘how’s’. That answer is--GOD!” 

God. Jesus. The Bible.

Such simple answers to all the difficult questions. I used to be ok with these answers. I used to trust them unwaveringly. The core of me still does, but life has taken its toll. Unexplainable, unfathomable tragedies have left their doubts embedded deep in my faith. Oh, me of little faith. “Lord, increase my faith and help me to believe again with the fervor of my youth.” All these realities I confess and lay before the feet of my Jesus. I pray these prayers and hope and look for signs of healing.

Acceptance looks like, maybe, that I’m not supposed to be healed. I will be helped, never alone, never forsaken, never devalued in the sight of my King, but never healed. Oh, me of little faith? I don’t know. I don’t think so. Not this time. I think acceptance looks like being able to admit I have chronic depression and not just resign myself to a life of managing it but choose to commit myself to a life of managing it. Instead of being depression’s hapless victim, I must trust that my God is bigger, claim His victory over my life, and walk like I am more than a conqueror in Christ Jesus my Lord (Romans 8:31-39), gaze shifted high and fixed on the eyes of my Jesus who loves me with an undying, unchangeable, relentless love. He will not fail me though I will fail Him.

My mind may churn and spin, but Jesus is not chaos. He is a Strong Refuge, an Anchor, a Rock, and He is mighty to save (Zephaniah 3:17). He makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters. (Psalm 23)

My outlook on life may weigh heavy with what is bleak, but Jesus is Light in the darkness (John 1:4-5). He is Hope (1 Peter 1:3-6). His yoke is easy and burden light compared to going it alone without Him (Matthew 11:28-30). When I walk through the valleys of deaths in all forms in this life, His rod and staff comfort and guide me.

My body grows weak from this physical fight, but my Jesus is Strong. He is the embodiment of all Strength. He will give me the gift of Himself to help me bear up under that which is too much for me to bear alone. He will give me the wings of the eagle to soar (Isaiah 40:31).

All these truths I know, but do not feel. That doesn’t make them lies.

Acceptance looks like choosing joy instead of feeling joy. When I figure out what that looks like practically, I’ll let you know.

Acceptance looks like me owning this part of my story and being willing to share it, instead of hiding in the shame of the stigma.

Accepting this new reality is scary and hard, and maybe I won’t. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be better. Yet acceptance knows that is a lie. There is no “better” when it comes to depression, there is managed. The question isn’t, ‘Do I feel better today?’, the question now becomes, ‘Am I managing well today?’ 

Accepting this new reality means not getting offended when people close to me ask if I’ve been taking my medication. Accountability and support are vital for anyone who is sick.

Acceptance looks like owning this as part of my story, but not letting it define who I am in Christ.”

 

…… And this is the path I have traveled. Will travel. For three years, I have taken a pill every morning when I put on my deodorant. For three years I’ve check in with a therapist at minimum once a month. I exercise regularly. I watch what I eat. I know my triggers and the signs of an impending crash. I can ask for solitude, and I schedule self-care and sabbath.

But most importantly of all—of all the work, of all the treatments—I spend time with my Jesus. Every day in some way. He is crucial to my mental health. He is the foundation making all the other treatments effective. They are all necessary, but He is essential. Without Him at the foundation of it all, the treatments fail in my own strength. They are not enough because without the source of His power in my life, I am not enough. Anyone trying to convince themselves otherwise is sadly mistaken and foolishly misled.

Today, I don't feel healed from depression, but I am at peace with how the Lord has chosen to help me. He may choose to heal me completely one day because He can, but if He doesn't, His grace is sufficient for today (2 Corinthians 12:9). I'm not angry anymore about popping a pill every day. I'm not ashamed either. Acceptance is still a work in progress. Finding joy and feeling it still a journey, but one I don't walk alone. Never alone (Matthew 28:20).

We are a world surrounded by embattled hearts and minds. Tread lightly. Recognize the rock of judgement heavy in your hand before you throw it. And maybe more importantly for some, remember to give yourself the grace you give to others so well.

How will you tap into the Source of acceptance and ownership of your thorns in the flesh? Your hard things? Today, how will you show grace toward someone who’s trying to reach their point of acceptance and ownership? How can you be Jesus or give Jesus to someone today, even if that someone is yourself?