This Familiar Haze

When I look out the window, I see a gloomy haze of smog.  The sun has barely attempted to rise; the nearby mountains may as well not exist.  For several weeks, the pollution level has stayed unreasonably high.  We stay inside with our air purifiers, spending as little time outside as possible.

In these cold, polluted days, the hazy darkness seems to have seeped inside me. When I look back, the hard times seem to rise up threateningly in memory.   When I look ahead, I feel weary at all the life still to come.  I am reluctant to call it by name, wishing to deny it a little longer.  But I already know: it is the heaviness of depression stealing in again.

It is not a surprise; I know this illness will likely follow me through life in ebbs and flows. Right now I can manage.  The dark lays heavy on me, but my mood lifts in the sunshine.  I may dread going out, but I can still enjoy being around people when I do.  My mind feels muddled by complex tasks like cooking, but cleaning still brings me peace and a sense of control.

With the darkness comes fear.  Winter is always hard, but what if it just gets worse?  What if I go down to the depths I have been in the past?  My memories are of darkness and heaviness, the demons that chase me, my “thorn in the flesh.”  The good times are hidden like our mountains; do they even exist? 

It is hard to keep perspective when you cannot even trust your mind.  I know the past included many good times, and the future will include many more.  I cannot see the sun and the mountains through my window, but they are still there.  The light and happiness are still there too, just temporarily hidden by the mental haze.  This illness of the mind says the light does not exist, but I remember this: depression lies.

Of course I am ready for both the smog and the depression to lift, and it will.  But while I am in this place, I realized that I don’t have to fear.  I can face the memories of darkness.  The burdens of the past did not crush me.  I may have felt hopeless, but I kept on until I could find the hope again.  In the moments (months, years) of my greatest weakness and weariness, God’s great strength carried me. Surely he bore my griefs and carried my sorrow. 

I remember a time, just a couple of years ago, when restoration seemed impossible.  What could ever pull me out of this hole?  How could I ever be okay again?  And yet, with time and intention, restoration happened.  I entered a period of greater health and stability than I had known in years.  I am still powerless to restore myself, but God is still powerful to work in me.

So I will not fear.  I have walked this path before and come out the other side.  I will keep walking through the haze until I reach the clear morning light.

One Word for 2018: Restore

I have never been into New Years Resolutions. In lieu of resolutions, a few years ago I jumped on the One Word bandwagon, where you choose one word you want to define the year. Some of my words have worked out great and ended up being a very meaningful theme of the year, like the Year of Grace. Other years did not turn out at all like I hoped.

I had a word in mind at the beginning of the year, but I didn’t ever fully commit. For one thing, we were in the middle of moving and transitioning back to the US for a year, and I had a few other things to think about. I also felt reluctant to commit myself to something that I wasn’t sure would happen. The word I flirted with was “restore,” but it was more of a hope than a resolution.

We spent this year in the US with the specific purpose of seeking healing and restoration, and we were committed to actively work toward this end. We attended a debriefing and renewal retreat that got us started in digging deeper into how we got to this place of depression, sickness, and burnout.

We saw dozens of doctors about various medical complaints, some we had put off for many years. I found a psychiatrist and began regular counseling, both a first in my years of depression and anxiety. Kevin had a break from the stresses of teaching and dealing with challenging school situations. In the fall I had a break from home schooling, and family provided a lot of help with the girls.

We were not passive in our quest for health. But at the beginning of the year, I had trouble believing that any of these things would actually make a difference. In the midst of depression, it is so hard to believe you CAN get better. When something is wrong inside of your mind, what can you do outside that would possibly heal you? We were so worn down after surviving for so long, we couldn’t see what doing well would look like.

It has been a slow process. I came back to the US this year thinking I was over depression, only to discover that wasn’t true at all. I reluctantly began to understand that depression will very likely always be a part of my life - hopefully something I will be able to manage well, but never something I can ignore.

I asked my psychiatrist if I would always need to be on antidepressants and she said, “Well, it depends. Do you want to go back to feeling like you did before?” Hmm. I really wanted to be a person who could stop taking medicine and be all better. It takes a mindset change to accept that for me, this is a chronic illness. But I also feel more hopeful. In understanding my depression I can give myself permission to get the help I need. I can open myself to the possibility – through medication and prioritizing mental health – that I really can do well.

This year we have enjoyed amazing physical health. Well, Kevin had a couple of hospitalizations. That was not amazing. He avoided the majority of the last couple of years of sickness, so this year was probably worse for him health-wise. And we had the usual sicknesses, but compared to the last few years it was pretty amazing. We had long stretches of time when everyone was healthy. Our bodies finally had the chance to recover enough to rebuild our immune systems. And nobody got pneumonia!!

We are not completely healthy and mentally stable and perfect, unfortunately. We have spent the last couple of weeks of the year with sickness and asthma flare-ups. Sickness is always discouraging, but it is part of life, not necessarily the start of another season of continual sickness. We are still striving to function better as a family.

However, looking back to where we were at the beginning of 2018, we have come a long way. Slowly, over time, we have built up the inner resources that were so depleted. We can look on the challenges and stresses that will face us in China and still want to return.

When I look toward 2019, I have no idea what it will be like. I’ve stopped trying to predict the future. We are setting plans in place for how to operate better in China. We are prepared to do what is in our power to stay healthy. We also know how much is outside of our control. It’s hard to live very long in China without adopting a somewhat fatalistic mindset.

I can’t see what the future holds, but I can look back and see where we have come. I picture Samuel, setting up an Ebeneezer stone and declaring, “Thus far the Lord has helped us.” We did as much as we could, but in the end the restoration was not in our hands. We can look back and see God was faithful to bring it about. We can walk into the new year with confidence, whatever it holds, knowing the Lord goes ahead of us and will continue his work of restorations.

What does a depressed person look like?

“Everyone has a story or a struggle that will break your heart. And, if you’re really paying attention, most people have a story that will bring you to your knees.” - Brene Brown

You may look around and think, “I don’t know anyone who is depressed.” Probably most people you know look normal. Functional. Together.

We all want to look like we have it together. It might be okay to struggle because of some obvious and outward and universally understood circumstance, but not too deeply or too long. We should be able to get over it and move on. If everything is going okay in our lives, we should be okay.

Except that the outside doesn't always mirror the inside. Even when we are barely functioning, we seem to cling to this social code. We smile and keep it together because that is the appropriate way to behave around others.  And when we can't manage to keep it together, we hide away so nobody knows we are falling apart.

So what does a depressed person look like?

They may look successful.  Maybe they have awards and scholarships and smiles.  They may wonder what is wrong with them, what is this fatal flaw that makes them so desperately miserable.

They may be surrounded by friends, such good friends they even wear matching clothes!  They may socialize in the dorm and go out with friends on Friday nights.  In between they may lie on the floor crying alone, wanting to live but not sure if they can survive.

They may look adventurous and daring, striking out on their own in the world.  They may love their job, feeling a sense of calling and purpose.  They may wonder if they are worthy of taking up space in the world.

They may have the life and the family they wanted.  They may feed and clothe and bathe their children, and even smile at their antics.  They may be crushed by the weight of trying to get through another day.

Each one of these pictures represents a time when I was severely depressed. In only one of these times did someone else know that I was depressed.  How is that, when I had friends and family - close friends even, and family who cared about me?  It is because you can't always see depression from the outside.

When I look back on these pictures I feel the disconnect.  I do have good memories.  I did smile and laugh and do things with friends.  I got good grades, taught well, was a pretty decent mom.  And yet I also remember what I felt like inside. I remember the palatable darkness that threatened to swallow me, the gaping emptiness, the deep exhaustion from acting like I was okay.  I remember questioning the will - or desire, or ability - to live.

How can this paradox exist?  And how can we ever see what someone is feeling on the inside when we are so good at hiding it?

Maybe we can't see it.  Maybe we have to hear it.  We hear it because we are listening.  We enable them to be open and honest because we have been open and honest.  We fight down the urge to give advice or judge or swoop in and rescue; instead we just listen. We don't even encourage or offer solution or try to drag them out of the pit - not yet.  First we step into their pain and sit with them.  We say, "I'm here," and then we stay.


"In the deepest, night-blind fathoms you're certain that you're alone. You aren't. I'm there with you. And I'm not alone. Some of the best people are here too...feeling blindly. Waiting. Crying. Surviving. Painfully stretching their souls so that they can learn to breathe underwater...So that they can live."
- Jenny Lawson

This Weird Feeling of "Not Depressed"

The other day I read a verse in Psalm 30:

I will exalt you, Lord,

for you lifted me out of the depths

and did not let my enemies gloat over me

Lord my God, I called to you for help,

and you healed me.

It struck me that this verse was actually true. Of course it was true before, when I had read it with a kind of longing and reassurance that David understood being in the depths. I had read it with desperate hope that one day I would feel this way.  Now I realized I actually did feel this way.

I can remember clearly two years ago being lost in the middle of those depths. I could not see anything other than a fog of depression, and I could not believe it would actually get better. I was calling for help but the healing was not happening. Last year I told our member care specialist, “I have come out of the pit just enough to realize how deep it is, and how far I have to go to get to the top. I am still really far from okay, but I can almost see what 'okay' looks like.”

When we came back from China at the beginning of the year, I though I was mostly better. I just needed to deal with the after-effects of these years of depression and surviving and burnout. We attended a three week intensive debriefing retreat – three weeks because we were that bad off. It was so helpful, but at the end of three weeks I found out that I was still depressed. “High moderate depression," my counselor and her little inventory described it. That was pretty discouraging because I had just had three weeks of daily individual and group counseling and I was still depressed! When I thought I was doing better!

I came to realize that now and in the past what I thought of as depression was actually severe depression. If I could function and didn’t want to die, I figured I wasn't really depressed anymore. Apparently "better" looks like something higher than that.

This past month, after continued counseling and a new medication, I have remembered what not being depressed feels like. There are times when I feel what I presume is normal baseline – is this what people really feel like? - like I can handle life and I think that good things might actually happen in the future. I feel stable. It’s a weird feeling. I have been able to enjoy my kids, even to enjoy this stage and not wish they would please just grow up more and not need such constant help and attention.

Obviously there are still times when I don’t enjoy them – when Nadia is clinging and screaming, when Juliana is whining and stomping around, when Adalyn has to be prodded every single step of the way to do every single task. But this is the normal counting-down-to-bedtime stuff of parenting. These days, I rarely feel like my head will explode. When no one is screaming, I can actually enjoy this stage with these little people.

Of course there are still emotional times, frustrations and disappointments, the discouragement of sickness and poor sleep. But the amazing thing is, I can feel grieved or discouraged and then I can get over it. The next day I may feel pretty good again. I am not dragged down into an endless downward spiral.

When my psychiatrist first suggested a mood-stabilizing drug, I was a bit skeptical. “I’m not sure my moods are unstable. Everyone has ups and downs. By the way, what do stable moods look like?” Apparently they look like ups and downs but the ups are above the level of depression and the downs are something you can recover from. Apparently it is not feeling like you are crazy all the time. How interesting.

I do feel more stable now. I can see yellow paint or 80’s décor and not feel like everything is really weird and the world is an unsafe place. I can be in a strange or unpleasant situation but when I am out of that situation, I can shake it off without it tainting my whole day or week. One night I was talking with my family about a possible suicide/murder in our town and about a childhood friend with a terrible disease. You know, pleasant bedtime conversation. I felt sad and disturbed but I didn’t even have any terrible dreams that night. And I have had a lot of terrible dreams in these past months.

In fact, dreams have come up several time in my counseling because I have had so many disturbing ones. One of my less disturbing but frequently reoccurring dreams, second to stressful travel dreams, are out of control elevators. I’ve had these dreams for years. I get on an elevator and it never goes where I want it to. It shoots up to dizzying heights or drops deep into the ground or veers sideways into different buildings. I can never get where I want to go.

A few weeks ago I had another elevator dream. I got in an elevator and realized there were no buttons. All it had was a big lever you had to pull at just the right time to stop on the right floors. In my dream I was able to pull the lever and stop at just the right floor - twice! I was excited by this dream because it was the first time I had ever been able to control the elevator. Even though it wasn’t easy and didn’t function like I expected, I was able to make it work! I think this must be what it is like to not feel like your life is out of control.

Even though so much of our lives are out of our control. We cannot control if we will be able to stay in the city to which we have grown attached or in the country where we have lived for 13 years. We don’t control what apartment we will live in or who we can have over to our home. We don’t control when our heat comes on and turns off and we have no thermostat to adjust. The other day Juliana, so cutely and innocently said, “Wouldn’t it be great if they invented something where you could make the temperature anything you wanted – hotter or colder if you needed?” My sister said, “Um...they actually already have that.”

We don’t know how long the local public schools will continue to accept foreign kids or how long our area will continue to accept foreigners. Who will be the next among our friends to have to leave? Sometimes we know months in advance with time to say goodbye. Sometimes it happens suddenly, even overnight, and our global circle means friends we may never see again.

We can influence but not control our health. We can prioritize but not control mental health. We know that all manner of situations might force us to change our country, our homes, our jobs, our friends, our schools, our way of life – all in one fell swoop.

But I digress. There are so many circumstances of life we cannot control, maybe more than ever before, but somehow life doesn’t feel like it is spiraling out of control. A sickness feels like a regular event that we will recover from. A change of plans is inconvenient, even stressful, but it is manageable. I can see that it will probably not throw our life into utter chaos and alter the entire course of our lives.

I have this weird thought that life may actually work out. I have moments when I am downright optimistic. (No fear though, I don’t really thing lasting optimism is in my nature, whereas my witty sarcasm clearly is.) I have these moments when I realize I feel happy, just effortlessly happy in the midst everyday life. Is this what normal feels like? Is this what it means to be truly okay?

I forgot what this feeling was like, and it might take a while to get used to, to believe it is not just a fleeting phase. It will definitely take a while to work through the habits and thought patterns carved out by years of depression and anxiety. I realize there were many times in life when I thought I was all better but depression and anxiety were still having a profound impact on my life. I am trying to look back and sort out what was depression and what was me. I am seeing the ways that God has brought healing through counseling and medication and a lot of time.

I am climbing out of that deep, dark pit, and the view is looking pretty good up here at ground level.

How Crazy is TOO Crazy?

I write a lot about mental illness because 1) I have many years of experience with it, 2) I am very interested in mental health and plan to get a counseling degree one day, and 3) I think stigma is stupid and I want to do my part to dispel it.

I know I appear to have very little filter, but I actually do reign myself in a bit. If I write something that makes me seem too unstable, then I back off a bit and write about something a little more normal next time. I want to remind people I am more than my depression and anxiety.

When I write about my experiences I do worry that readers will think, “Crap, she’s much crazier than I thought.” I want to reassure people that I am not actually any crazier than I have been for the past 20+ years. Actually I am in a better place now than I have been in quite a while, and definitely more stable than many points in the past. The difference is I didn’t talk about it before. So don’t worry - nothing new here.

But I do wonder, how much crazy is too crazy. Many people deal with depression and counseling is not too unusual. Everyone feels anxiety sometimes, even if they don’t have an anxiety disorder, so the rational aspect of that makes sense (maybe not being disturbed by yellow paint).

But what about schizophrenia? That’s pretty weird, right? What if someone has a panic attack in the airport? So awkward. What if someone needs shock therapy? Uncomfortable, 1900’s stuff. Can we talk about suicide, or will that freak you out? Nobody judges you for a stay in the hospital, but a mental hospital is a whole different matter. We are allowed to be physically sick (although chronic illness and invisible illnesses are probably made up, right?), but mental sickness needs to have some boundaries. We are allowed a certain amount of crazy before we turn to hushed tones and sideways glances.

So one of my fears in writing about my own mental illness is scaring people off. I don’t want people to talk in hushed tones or wonder if I’m about to go off the edge. Because if I am about to go off the edge, I want to be able to be honest and get help to pull me back. What I deal with is not actually that uncommon, most people are just pretty good at hiding it, like I did for many years.

Some statistics for you: The World Health Organization estimates that over 300 million people worldwide suffer from depression. The CDC states that tens of millions of people in the US suffer from mental illness and estimate that half receive no treatment. A 2016 study by NIMH found that 6.7% of all U.S. adults have had at least one major depressive episodes. An estimated 31.1% of US adults experience some type of anxiety disorder in their lifetime. We’ll talk more about suicide in the future, but the same study found that 4% of US adults had suicidal thoughts during the year 2016. If you enjoy statistics, here’s a bunch more: https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/statistics/index.shtml

The main take away is that mental illness affects a lot of people. It undoubtedly effects people you know, probably many people. And a lot of people don’t get help, likely for various reasons. The cost of healthcare, for example. While our insurance covers counseling, the ever increasing deductible means I will be paying for it out of pocket, and counseling is not cheap. I feel like it is worth spending the money on, but for many people it is just not possible.

Some people don’t even realize they are dealing with mental illness. In high school and even college, I didn’t understand what the problem was, I just knew something had to be wrong with me since I couldn’t seem to handle life like everyone else. I didn’t tell anyone about my suicidal thoughts partly because I didn’t know how to. Even my most recent 4^th period of major depression took me a full year to recognize, and I “should” know by now what depression looks like.

When I was younger I also didn’t talk about my depression and anxiety because I was afraid of people thinking I was really weird or weak. The stigma may have lessened but it is still very real, and like in most things, adolescents are probably the most susceptible to being misunderstood. I am fortunate now to know a lot of people in the mental health field – and a lot of people with mental illness – who are willing to talk about it. This makes a huge difference in my willingness to be open, and many people don’t have that.

For the one struggling

If you struggle with mental illness, here are some things I want you to know. You are not alone. Once you open up about it in whatever way you feel comfortable with, you will undoubtedly find other people who are struggling too. Find someone you feel safe with, who will listen without judgment and try to understand you. If you are having a hard time, it is okay to protect yourself from the constant news cycle and overwhelming information. Expect less of yourself for a while, because dealing with the rough periods takes a lot of energy.

Get the help you need. This is not selfish – this is important to your health and wellbeing. This is not weak; it is brave. Maybe you would find counseling helpful. Find a counselor you connect with and that actually helps you. Sometimes medication is really useful, because sometimes your brain chemistry needs some help. There is nothing wrong with taking medication!

Recognize that you are a spiritual, physical, mental, and emotional being and that all these areas are affected. Addressing the spiritual component is helpful but “thinking the right thoughts or praying enough” does not address the other areas, and puts a lot of guilt on yourself that maybe if you had a strong enough faith you would be joyful or anxiety-free. This does not make any more sense than someone telling you that focusing on truth and praying enough will cure you of cancer or high blood pressure It is just not true.

Realize that a lot of people truly don’t understand what you are going through, and if you say, “I am dealing with anxiety,” that doesn’t necessarily mean a lot to them. Talk about the specifics of what you are struggling with: “I feel like my chest is tight all the time and I can’t breathe or think clearly.” Give them some grace as they try to understand. But again, talk to people who are trying to understand. For your own sake, avoid sharing too much with people who are just critical or give unwanted advice.

For the one supporting

For those of you who are close to someone with mental illness, try to listen and understand instead of giving advice. Recognize there is a difference between “feeling down” and clinical depression, between feeling worried about a problem and anxiety disorder. A counselor tried to explain the difference to us like this: If you are feeling down, maybe you should take some brownies to a neighbor because doing something for someone else is a pick-me-up. If you are clinically depressed, this won’t help. You don’t have energy to make brownies in the first place, and even if you did you don’t want to leave the house to see the neighbor.

You can encourage things like exercise (“Why don’t you meet me to walk once a week?”) and self care/getting out of the house (“Let’s have coffee this week.”) but also realize in themselves, these are not solutions to serious problems. In fact, carrying the weight of another person's problems or trying to be their sole support is draining on you and unhealthy for both of you.

Encourage your friend to seek help. Finding a counselor or support group can be overwhelming, so if they are open to the idea, help them find some resources and possibilities. When I was really struggling in China, our member care specialist helped me to find resources within China. She called them to find out details, costs, and how to get in contact with them. It was a huge help, because a task like that was completely overwhelming to me.

Learn what you can about what your friend or family member is dealing with. Knowledge often takes away some of the fear. Ask them what their experience has been like. Ask questions like, "What does depression feel like for you? What are some things that trigger your anxiety? What things have you found helpful or not helpful in the past? What are some areas of daily life you struggle with most?" Recognize that a person might not know what they need or may have trouble accepting help, so instead of "Let me know if you need anything," you could try, "I’m going to make food for you this week – what day is best? Let’s meet for coffee and a good talk - what about Wednesday?" Ask about specific ideas like watching the kids or helping to find possible counselors in the area.

In parting I will share a few words from Jenny Lawson, an author who writes hilarious books about mental illness.  If you are mentally ill, are not afraid to snort-cry-laugh, and are not terribly put off by a lot of swearing, check her out. She is amazing.

When we share our struggles we let others know it's okay to share theirs. And suddenly we realized that the things we were ashamed of are the same things everyone deals with at one time or another. We are so much less alone than we think. - Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson