Day Four: Hope

This blog post is part of my 2017 Write 31 Days blog series 31 Reflections on Mental Health and Illness. To read the whole series, click here for the series index page.

"I plead with you -- never ever give up on hope, never doubt, never tire, and never become discouraged. Be not afraid."

- Pope St. John Paul II

Friends, I'm going to be really real with you.  This is a hard entry for me to write.

One of the hardest things in the last four years has been the virtue of hope. I have written about my struggles with this several times on this blog. It has only been in the last six months or so that I have dared to say, "I have hope" with regard to my mental illness. That is a MASSIVE step forward for me and it is one that I do not take lightly.

It has taken me nearly four years to utter the word hope in any meaningful sense, but it has taken me most of my life to truly understand what hope really means and what it means to have hope. This most recent four years has helped me understand that hope is so much more than a feeling or emotion or even some kind of certain knowledge about God or your eternal destination.

Hope is vital. It is the very lifeblood of our existence and that makes it an absolutely critical thing to possess when you are struggling with the darkness and uncertainty of mental illness. It is the thing, without which, you have no chance of healing or recovery. I have known that it is very important for a long time, but it wasn't until I felt as though all my hope in everything and everyone was gone (God included), that I began to truly understand just how vitally important it is.

I included the quote from my patron saint above because it's one that, as much as I love my Papa (my affectionate name for him), has served to cause me great frustration. Many people are familiar with the last sentence of that quote because it is one of the most famous lines from his initial address to the faithful in St. Peter's Square just after his election to the papacy, but fewer know the rest of the quote.

When I read this quote in its entirety, I felt the all too familiar feelings of frustration bubble up inside me. Instead of encouraging me, it made me feel angry and misunderstood. I couldn't understand how this great saint and leader of the Church could say such a thing to people suffering unimaginable horrors and many worse than my own. The simple answer is that he suffered greatly and yet, through all of his suffering, he clung to Jesus and put his steadfast hope in Christ's love. In other words, he could say it because he knew it was true.

"Never give up on hope." -- This doesn't mean that you can't struggle with hope. It doesn't mean that you can't or shouldn't have the experience of feeling hopeless. It doesn't even mean that you shouldn't express those feelings and struggles. In fact, bringing those into the light is what keeps you from falling completely into despair. Telling someone -- a priest or minister or friend or counsellor -- that you are feeling hopeless and telling them as often as you need to is how you find your way back to hope again. John Paul's exhortation here means to me that no matter how dark it gets and no matter how hopeless you feel, realise that despite what you feel, there is still hope and never give up on searching for it anew.

"Never doubt." -- First things first -- doubt is fine. Doubt is okay. Doubt can actually lead you towards the truth and away from lies. This exhortation doesn't mean that you can't ever doubt anything. You can certainly doubt anything and anyone -- even God. I've been there, done that, and yes, even with God. For a very very long time, I doubted that God cared for me anymore because I doubted His presence in my life. I felt abandoned by Him in my darkest hour and so I even began to doubt His existence and His Word, the Bible. I'll admit that I didn't stay in doubt of His existence or the Bible for very long, but during those weeks when I found myself so very doubtful of everything I'd ever known about Him, I wondered if I would ever find my way back. I did find my way back, but that experience of doubting left me changed and with a new understanding of God that I've never had before. In the case of mental illness, I don't think St. John Paul ever meant that doubt isn't allowed, but rather that we should never become so mired in our doubts that we stop believing altogether. During my period of doubting God, I struggled with belief, but I never stopped believing.

"Never tire." -- This one is a real gut punch. Mental illness is exhausting and healing from mental illness is exhausting. Again though, this doesn't mean what it appears to mean on the surface. John Paul's life was marked by the grief of losing both his mother and father and both his siblings before age 20, by being forced to study in secret to become a priest, by living through Nazi occupation of his beloved Poland and Communist occupation after WWII, by being nearly killed by a Nazi truck while working in a mine as a young man, by being shot during an assassination attempt, and by the ravages of Parkinson's disease. If anyone had a license to be tired, it was John Paul II, but he was indefatigable. He had an almost superhuman strength and energy despite all the many crosses he was called upon to carry. I believe there must have been days when he was very very tired, but he kept going and kept fighting the good fight. He heeded Jesus' words to His apostles and made up his mind to "persevere to the end" (Matthew 24:13). "Never tire" simply means -- persevere, even when you are tired of fighting and you want to lay down and die, keep fighting. Keep moving forward, even if only inch by inch.

"Never become discouraged." -- Again, on its face, this seems like a horrible thing to say to someone who is struggling with mental illness. Mental illness is, very often, discouraging. There are medications that don't work, challenges to face (often one immediately after another), suicidal crises, and then all the day to day ordinary life stuff to deal with on top of your mental illness. That can make it feel as though you're drowning in discouragement. This statement "never become discouraged" doesn't mean that you can never feel discouraged or sad when you're struggling. Rather, I think it means to never allow discouragement to keep you stuck in one spot so that you become so tired by it all that you stop believing and give up on hope all together.

It's really the last statement -- "Be not afraid" -- that ties it all together. Fear has the power to be both a great motivator and a great hindrance. Good fear motivates us to move forward, to protect ourselves, and to do things like plan for the future. The fear that John Paul is speaking of here is the kind of fear that leads to a total giving up on hope and that which keeps us from persevering to the end so that we may be saved. Mental illness is absolutely scary at times, but it doesn't have to be that way. One of the biggest things that helps my fears when it comes to my illness is knowing that I have people around me who know that I'm struggling, who love and care about me, and who are willing to walk with me through the hardest days.

So with all of this knowledge, is hope easy for me? Nope. It's actually one of the hardest things for me to embrace even now. I still doubt myself and doubt that I'm moving forward. I still have moments when saying the word "hope" out loud makes me feel a bit queasy and anxious because I am afraid that it will lead to things getting worse (this is irrational, I know!). That being said, I say it a lot more often these days than I used to and I genuinely believe that there is a light at the end of this dark tunnel I've been in for decades.

Even though I still have days when it's hard to find hope, I can say with all honesty, that I know hope exists, because I have come to understand that hope is the person of Jesus Christ Himself. He is hope incarnate. The very Word of God is, within Himself, the virtue of Hope in all its fullness. And that, my friends, is a very powerful thing to have in your mental health toolbox.

Day Three: Create

This blog post is part of my 2017 Write 31 Days blog series 31 Reflections on Mental Health and Illness. To read the whole series, click here for the series index page.

There is power in art. It has the power to transfix, move, inspire, enlighten, excite, overwhelm, and even heal. Most of these powers are found in the finished work of art -- whether that is a painting or book or movie or piece of music -- but the healing power of art is often found in the creation of it.

As someone who has spent a lot of her life involved in singing, dance, and theatre arts, I have a deep appreciation for all the many forms that art takes. Although I am not very gifted when it comes to the visual arts like drawing, painting, or sculpture, I find myself drawn to them and drawn to try to create something using paints, pencils, or other media. I used to wonder why I felt this way, but the older I have gotten, I think the reason is that I find something in creating a piece of visual art that benefits my mental health. There is nothing quite like skimming a pencil, pen, brush, or even a crayon over a fresh white sheet of paper and causing it to bring forth shapes, lines, and colour. Likewise, there is something infinitely satisfying about the feeling of clay, fabric, or yarn in my hands as I manipulate it into something that pleases me or expresses what I am feeling. It soothes and comforts my spirit to create. The very act of creation can be healing in and of itself, but creating something can be healing in another way.

One of the things that I am most adamant about when it comes to mental health is talk therapy. I have been through hours and hours of therapy. After all these years, you would think that I have this talking thing down. The problem is that even though Pendragon (my therapist of just over 8 years) knows me better than nearly anyone (save my husband), there are times when I find it hard to express what I'm feeling in words. That's when I sometimes turn to creating something that, hopefully, expresses what is inside my head and heart better than I can verbalise.

I didn't always do this, but about two years or so ago, I got a spiral bound sketch book and some basic art supplies (crayons, coloured pencils, oil pastels, markers) and every time I was feeling like I needed to get something out but couldn't find the words (or wasn't able to talk to Pendragon at that moment), I would get out the sketch book and start creating. The first time I did this, I was away from home visiting my in-laws and feeling really overwhelmed by the cacophony of all the noise and activity in their house, so I went to the local Panera Bread with my art supplies, grabbed a cup of coffee and settled in for an hour or two. When I left there, I felt more grounded and better able to manage my emotions.

Later, when I got home, I shared what I had drawn with Pendragon. He asked me questions and made observations about it (some of which surprised me) and I was able to glean an insight or two as well. After that experience, I packed my art supplies in a backpack and now whenever I am going to be away from home for several hours (and I know that I'll have an hour or so free time while I'm gone), I grab the backpack and take it along. Most recently, I was struggling to explain to Pendragon my current mental state, so I decided to try to draw it out. I'm not a great artist, but when I showed it to him at our next session, he immediately connected the dots and helped me to better understand it too. He also pulled some meaning out of it that, while not something I'd originally intended, was startlingly accurate and very helpful in my healing.

If you are struggling to express your feelings or need a way to help release some difficult emotions, I encourage you to create something. You can use whatever materials you like. The only rule I have for myself when I create a piece of therapeutic art is that I draw what I'm feeling and I don't hold back. If it's happy, I draw happiness. If it's sad, I draw sadness. If it's dark and dangerous, I draw dark and dangerous. If it's a mix of emotions, I draw the mix. The reason I don't hold back is that I want to be honest about my feelings -- even the really difficult, messy, and scary ones -- so that I can find healing through the act of creation. So go forth and create!

P. S. Sometimes I create by baking something. I've always loved baking (and cooking) and I am pretty good at it too. I find the repetitive movements involved in the process (chopping, peeling, stirring, kneading, measuring, etc) very soothing and it's always fun to see and eat the end result of all that work.

Day Two: Tell

This blog post is part of my 2017 Write 31 Days blog series 31 Reflections on Mental Health and Illness. To read the whole series, click here for the series index page.

When it comes to caring for your mental health, in my opinion, there's no more important thing than today's prompt. One of the lies that a mental illness will tell you is that you are totally alone in your struggles and that if you tell someone about what you're feeling or thinking, no one will care or believe you or they'll think less of you. This is often a hard lie to overcome, but it is an absolute requirement that you overcome it. If you don't tell someone, it won't have even a prayer of getting better. Once you overcome this, you've taken your first step on the road toward healing and health. With that in mind, here are three "tells" that are helpful as you journey forward.

1. Tell a licensed professional therapist or counsellor.

Talking to a friend or family member about what you're feeling is a great first step and it will help to a certain degree. We all need friends and family around us who are willing to listen when we need to vent, but if you're struggling with mental illness, just venting isn't going to be quite enough. A counsellor provides a neutral, non-judgmental, and outside perspective on what you're going through. They can also see things that you (and your friends or family) may not be capable of seeing due to their education and experience. Finally, a counsellor or therapist can refer you to a psychiatrist if you need medication, a psychologist for testing or more focused treatment, or other helpful resources that apply to your situation. A counsellor isn't there to tell you what to do or fix the issue for you. They are there to listen, offer perspective and insights, and guide you toward helping yourself.

Oh, and if you need to vent, they are there for that too. I have lots of people I can vent to, but there is something quite different about venting to my therapist inasmuch as I can say absolutely whatever comes into my head without fear of judgment. For his part, he often replies to my venting with something that brings about a new insight for me or helps me process whatever I'm venting about in a way that a friend or family member just can't do.

2. Tell someone if you are having thoughts of suicide.

This one is an absolute MUST. I cannot stress the importance of this one enough.

If you are thinking of killing yourself -- even if it's just a fleeting thought that goes away -- tell someone about it. It doesn't really matter who you tell, so long as you tell someone. Thoughts of suicide are serious and I want you to keep living. You can tell:

• a friend 
• a family member
• a therapist/counsellor
• a doctor or nurse
• a minister 
• a coworker
• a police officer or firefighter
• or even a stranger. 

So what if you don't feel comfortable telling anyone in your day to day real life because you're afraid of being judged or of what will happen to you if you confess those thoughts? You can tell someone and remain anonymous.

• In the US, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) or you can go to their website and use their online chat to talk to someone about those thoughts. 
• If you don't want to talk to someone on the phone or via online chat, you can also text. Just text the word HELP or TALK or HELLO to the Crisis Text Line at 741-741 and a trained crisis counsellor will text with you about what you're feeling. 

I keep both of these numbers stored in my phone contacts so that if I'm struggling and need an immediate listening ear, I don't have remember them or look them up in the moment. I would encourage you to do the same or at least jot them down on something to put in your wallet or purse.
 
3. Tell your story.

This one may seem counter-intuitive, but trust me. Telling your story can be incredibly helpful and healing. Despite the fact that we are talking about issues surrounding mental health and mental illness more than ever these days, we still have a long way to go toward eliminating the stigma that surrounds this subject in our society. People remain very shy and secretive about the fact that they have struggled with depression or anxiety. They worry about what others will think about them if they know or they consider it a "personal" matter that isn't something that they feel comfortable sharing with anyone. They may get treatment for it, but they do it quietly and perhaps no one ever knows, but them and their tightest inner circle.

Besides getting treatment, one of the best things I ever did for myself was to start writing about my struggles with mental illness. It was really hard when I began sharing openly about depression, anxiety, PTSD, struggles with my faith, etc. but the more I have shared, the more I have begun to understand how much it helps me. Eventually, I wrote a public declaration of the fact that I will no longer remain silent about my struggles with mental illness. I shared that one blog post as far and as wide as I could. I asked others to consider sharing it too. I am convinced that if more of us were completely vulnerable with each other, then in time, the stigma would be significantly reduced to almost nothing and those who struggle would realise that they are not alone and would feel comfortable getting the help they need.

This is why I encourage you to tell your story to the world. You need not blog about it or share it all over Facebook. You can start small by telling a friend, coworker, neighbour, or acquaintance that you've never confided in about your struggles. You can join a mental health advocacy group and tell your story to those in the group. Of course, you can blog about it too. For me, telling my story has involved all of those and by and large, it has had a real healing effect on me. There is something incredibly powerful about bringing your struggles into the light which makes you stronger and the illness weaker. By giving voice to your pain and mental health struggles, you also encourage others who may be fighting their illness without help to know that they are not alone and that help is available. It may be hard (and it's still hard for me sometimes), but I know you can do it!

Day One: Worship

This blog post is part of my 2017 Write 31 Days blog series 31 Reflections on Mental Health and Illness. To read the whole series, click here for the series index page.

To be honest, this is both an odd and logical place to begin talking about the topic of mental health and mental illness. It is odd inasmuch as it isn't what I'd have chosen to start with, but it is logical for me to begin with it as a person of faith. For me, worship of God is essential to my whole life and for my mental health, it is absolutely critical. It is vital to the point that if I am forced to be away from it for a week or two, I find myself struggling harder mentally and emotionally. 

As a Catholic, what worship means to me is the Mass. The Mass is where the supreme sacrifice of Christ is represented and He comes to offer Himself as nourishment for our bodies, minds, and souls through the Holy Eucharist. He is truly present --- Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity -- in the consecrated host and in the cup and partaking of that gift is a kind of sustenance that gives me a whole lot more strength than I have normally. That's because when I receive Jesus, I am receiving an infusion of His perfect, salvific grace. That is extremely powerful. So I receive communion during worship and go out and conquer all the mountains of mental illness, right?

Actually, no. It doesn't quite work like that at all. 

What happens is that it gives me strength for the journey and a lifeline when I am falling fast into the darkness and want to give up. In truth, I don't often feel like worship of God benefits me at all, but that's because day to day, I can't see the bigger picture. Day to day, I'm focused on housework, parenting our three daughters, my marriage, my advocacy work, and therapy. Some days, I'm simply focused on breathing in and breathing out and making it to the end of the day. 

So how do I know that this Holy Eucharistic nourishment that I receive each week as I worship God in community with my fellow Catholics is, in fact, something that benefits me?

 

It's when I've gone through the darkest darkness and am bereft of the mental ability to choose life and light that I see it. When I find myself on the other side of those great chasms of despair which threaten to take me away from this existence, I can look back and see His strength guiding my hands, feet, and even my addled mind. I can see how the graces I receive each week enabled me in those moments to reach out and find a hand to hold to help me back to a place of sanity and life instead of death.

For me, it's that critical. It is, at times, quite literally, the difference between attempting suicide and staying safe. It sustains me in the good times, but when my mental health takes a serious nosedive, that is when I truly believe it makes ALL the difference. I think that's why I feel kind of Jesus-anemic when I haven't been able to go to church and receive Jesus in Holy Communion. I need Him like I need water and air and food. 

For the last two Sundays, I've been unable to meet Him and receive Him in my weekly worship and I can tell. Thankfully, the Church offers Jesus to the faithful every single day of the week at Daily Masses, so there are other opportunities than Sundays. It's hard to find the time on a weekday, but for me, this week, I think it's going to be a priority to come and worship Him again even before next Sunday. 

I'll end with a quote from one of my patron saints, Pope St. John Paul II, which I think sums up this need and desire for worshiping and receiving Jesus in the Eucharist:

Introducing: 31 Reflections on Mental Health and Illness

 

The background of this is images from a special box I made during a period of intensive outpatient therapy. The many images are reflective of who I am, things I like, and goals I set for myself during that time.

“Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” 

– Ferris Bueller

Indeed, life does move fast and it hardly seems like two years have passed since I did my first Write 31Days series. I remember being rather daunted by the prospect of writing every single day on a single topic, but felt like God was pushing me to both write and to write about my struggles with mental illness. That series was called 31 Days of Stumbling ThroughDepression and it was about my struggles with a particularly difficult episode of depression. Had I known then what I know now, I would have titled it a bit differently and changed the word “depression” to either “PTSD” or “mental illness.”

At the end of that series, I had intended to keep writing my story, but discovered that I needed a break from it. Instead, I started writing other things about faith, family, and life in general. The thing is though, that try as I might, I couldn't get away from the subject of mental health or my personal struggles. I took a pretty long break from writing a lot about it, but eventually, with a mention of something here or a post on a subject there, I kept writing about it in a roundabout sort of way. My posts have been sporadic at best and not really much of a story, except for the fact that much of the things I've written have been pieces of my story.

I thought that I wanted to continue where I left off two years ago with this year's series, but after much discernment and looking at this year's Five Minute Friday Free Write prompts for 31 Days, I decided to go in a different direction. Part of my discernment about this included the fact that, as in the last two years, I have a lot on my plate with staying on top of my mental health, family life, and helping organise our local Out of the Darkness Community Walk for Suicide Prevention.

To that end, instead of continuing my personal story, I am going to use this year's FMF prompts to do a series of reflections on mental health and illness. Each post will feature the day's prompt word and a brief reflection on a mental health or illness topic. Although I'm not going to really do these in five minutes or actually as a free write, I want to keep them fairly short and edit them as little as possible so as to keep with the spirit of Five Minute Friday. Although this won't exactly be a continuation of my story, I will be sharing pieces of it at times along the way as well as sharing things I've learned through my journey.

I hope that you will find these posts to be helpful and educational in some way. Please feel free to leave me comments and let me know if you found them helpful. I'd also love to know your thoughts on these topics too! Most of all, my prayer is that these posts will serve to bring light to the darkness and hope for those who may be struggling (or watching a loved one struggle) with mental illness. God bless you!

A Reflection on 9/11 and Mental Health

Mom: "They're all gone."
Me: "What? What are you talking about?"
Mom: "The Twin Towers. They're gone. They're all gone!"
Me: (starting to cry) "Oh dear God. All those people..."

That conversation with my mom is how I found out that the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York City had been reduced to rubble. I was living at home, working at a local restaurant, and was off that morning. As usual, my dad had made breakfast and after eating, I decided to have a second cup of coffee and watch the Today Show with my mom. I had worked two double shifts in a row prior to that day and was still plenty tired. As I snuggled on the couch with our cocker spaniel curled up on my feet, my eyelids grew heavy and I began to drowse. At some point, mom woke me and said that there had been an explosion at one of the two Twin Towers and although I heard her, I was so sleepy that it didn't really register completely. I nodded for a bit more and then upon halfway dropping my coffee cup in the floor, decided to give it up and go back to bed for a bit. At some point after witnessing the towers collapsing, my mom woke me up to tell me the news.

I couldn't believe it. It was unfathomable and hard to wrap my head around. I remained glued to the TV for a good part of that day and the next, desperate for some scrap of something that would explain it in a way that I could really understand. As I watched and the rest of the story unfolded about the two other planes, the FAA's grounding of all flights, the military jets who were scrambled to patrol the airspace above us, the Americans stranded abroad and stranded in cities in the US away from home, the terrified people covered in ash and soot fleeing away from Ground Zero, and the many things we just didn't know yet, I began to feel terrified. The footage of the planes crashing into the towers was played over and over, people were interviewed who were desperate for word of their loved ones, and there was practically nothing else on television or the radio.

Everyone was absolutely consumed with a need to know anything and everything about what had happened. 

Then still photos and more video became available.

Then I saw it.

At first it was just a brief glimpse of part of a video and the person who was talking about what was happening said that it was a person who had jumped from one of the floors above the impact zone in that tower. They had chosen to die by suicide rather than wait around and die by fire. The video was shot from fairly far away, but as I watched, I saw a very tiny human shaped speck in free fall toward the ground.

I suddenly felt like I was going to throw up. I felt an intense fear grip me and my heart began to race. My heart broke for that poor soul who felt so hopeless and scared that he or she chose suicide. My heart broke again as I understood that the reality of the situation was that there was no way that that person could be rescued even if he or she had chosen to wait it out and stay alive.

I felt something else too, but I didn't realise what that feeling was until just today. 

You see, thanks to a Facebook friend, I saw that image again today. She posted a much closer range, much clearer still image shot of a person who was in free fall, having chosen to die by suicide that day. She added the comment, "Never forget the reality of 9/11. Shocking image -- but so important to remember."

I felt that feeling of intense fear grip me again and my heart began to race. I knew as my eyes took in that photo that was so clear that I could tell you what the person was wearing, that what I was feeling was the feeling of having my PTSD triggered. Fear is a kind of anxiety and whenever I feel anxiety, it almost always means that I am re-experiencing trauma from my past. In my case, what I felt on 9/11 as I watched that video footage and today as I saw the still image of a person in midair, was a re-experiencing of trauma from my childhood where I felt trapped. I was trapped in wholly different way as a child, but it was still a situation of feeling like there was no good way out and that no matter what I did, I would suffer horribly.

When I saw that video footage at age 25, something inside me went back to when I was a child and a teenager and although what I was witnessing wasn't literally happening to me, in a sense, it was happening to me -- at least in some part of my mind. Anytime I get too close to the graphic details of someone's death by suicide, it has that affect on me. Part of this is because I have attempted suicide three times, so there's a strong association with that too. While this person's situation was different than my struggles with mental illness, there is a common thread between us in the feeling of being trapped. He or she was quite literally trapped with no way out but to die in one way or another. I felt trapped, but because of my mental illness was unable to see the reality that I could find a way out that didn't mean death by my own hand.

Seeing that photo today brought it all back to me in a flash. My friend said of the image that although it was shocking it is "so important to remember."

No. No it's not. It's not important to remember all the graphic, gory, horrible, terrifying details. It's really, truly not.

I and many other people like me could live our entire lives without seeing that photo ever again. We could do that AND successfully remember what an awful, life-shaking day that was. It is not necessary to rehash all the nightmarish minutiae in order to recall the events of that day. It is not necessary to subject ourselves or others to the most lurid tidbits each year. For many people who lost someone that day and those who lived through the terror of that day, they will never forget even though they may desperately wish they could.

I don't need to purposefully expose myself to all of that in order to remember and not forget. All I need do is look at the calendar.

The date itself -- September 11th -- will, to quote President Franklin D. Roosevelt, live in infamy in the hearts and minds of those who were alive to see it. They will recall with crystal clarity how awful it was and the fear of those moments when they realised that our collective culture as Americans had been irrevocably changed forever. They will forever see the date of 9/11/2001 as a kind of dividing line between the way things were and the way things are now.

More to the point, repeated viewing of those kinds of images can negatively affect the mental health of those who see it, especially if they are prone to depression, anxiety, or PTSD or have survived a suicide attempt. I know it negatively affected my mental health today.

I'll be 100% honest and transparent. I haven't been in a great place over these last few months and came very close to attempting suicide in July. It's why I've not been posting much. I've been working hard in therapy on trying to process trauma and one of the side effects is that it stirs up a lot of emotions that I've spent my whole life trying to stuff down. It's hard, but I have the help of my support team and strategies to keep myself safe and cared for when things are really hard. Sometimes though, something comes along that triggers something and there's not a blessed thing I can do about it. Today was one of those days. That photo triggered me and it made me mad.

I got mad because it wasn't necessary for me or anyone else to see it and now I can't get it out of my mind, so here I am writing about it. I got so mad that I unfriended the person who posted it and reported the post to Facebook. I rarely ever do something like that, so you can bet if I do, there's a good reason. For me, the reason is that I don't need someone in my life who is that insensitive to others and I'm pretty sure that posting that kind of thing goes against Facebook's terms of service.

I don't expect everyone around me to know or understand my personal triggers, much less be responsible for not triggering me. I take full responsibility for that. What I do expect is for someone to understand that it's not okay to post stuff that is very obviously upsetting to a large percentage of the population.

Please hear me when I say this: posting photos of suicide is NOT okay ever. NEVER EVER EVER EVER. There is NEVER a good reason to post a photo of suicide on social media or use it in a news article on TV or the internet. If you get nothing else from what I'm saying here, PLEASE get this.

Even if it doesn't trigger anyone, it's disrespectful to the person who has died and to their family. But the thing is, research has shown that publicly posting photos or videos of suicide IS triggering and can create a kind of contagion effect where others wind up attempting suicide too. Even if you don't know the research, I just cannot understand how anyone thinks that it's okay to post something like that. There's just NO need for it and it can do so much harm.

If you want to remember 9/11 or any other major event by looking at photos or videos like that, go ahead. Just leave me and everyone else out of it by keeping them to yourself.

Five Minute Friday: Expect

It's Friday and that means it's time for the linkup at the Five Minute Friday blog! Since the last time I linked up with the FMF community, Kate has moved things from her personal blog to a new space that is totally dedicated to FMF. Go check it out! This week's prompt word is....

EXPECT

Friends, it is June. More to the point, it's almost the middle of June. I have been so inundated with the stuff of life lately that I just haven't had the time or mental energy to write in this blog. I don't know why I can't seem to make myself do it. I guess I've gotten out of the habit (not that it was such a firm habit to begin with!). I start posts and then don't finish them. I just looked and I literally have over 100 posts that are drafts. They're just sitting there, waiting for me to do something with them. I don't know what I'm expecting. It's not like they're going to finish themselves or edit themselves. Some of them aren't actually too bad.

Several months back we actually had this prompt word and I had a pretty decent post going with it. I had actually finished it, but it was long and seemed really disjointed to me, so onto the scrap heap it went! Looking back over it, I can see now where it can be cut and not lose meaning or impact. That's what I feel like I'm always chasing. I write so many words and so often, I'm scared of cutting things. I'm scared of just writing without editing too. I don't know what I expect the reaction of others to be to my verbose ramblings. Maybe they'll think I'm crazy. Maybe they'll think I talk too much. Maybe they'll think that I need to just stop writing altogether because I really really suck at it. These are the voices in my head that keep me from writing a lot of the time.

Even when I do write something that feels like it's pretty good, I wind up getting scared to publish it. I've felt this way from the beginnings of this blog and I don't know how to conquer these feelings. I don't know how to change this. I think it's because I expect my writing, my blog, and all of it to be as good and polished and lovely to look at as my fellow bloggers. The thing is, I don't really like polished and pretty all the time because it's not who I am. But polished and pretty gets people to read and to comment.

Baring your soul, talking about uncomfortable things like mental illness, and trying to write in such a way that causes people to think seems to be met with silence and indifference. It makes me wonder who is reading and if they care. Then I wonder why I care so much about that. I try not to care, but here I am, caring again. Here I am second guessing myself. Here I am wondering if when you finish reading this, you will forget this as soon as your eyes hit the last word. Here I am wondering if what I have to say about anything is worth sharing with the world. These thoughts and wonderings and fears are what keep me from writing. I don't want to expect anything of this, but I am only human and we human beings are messy, complicated, and complex that way.

I don't even know if any of this makes any sense to anyone but me or if I should expect it to make sense. I just know that I feel compelled to return to this space and write. I just don't know if I ought to expect anyone to read it.

FMF: Sing

I didn't think I had anything to say about this week's prompt word, but suddenly the first sentence came to me and then I found that I couldn't stop writing. I love my Five Minute Friday community, but on those weeks when the inspiration does actually come, five minutes just isn't enough to convey everything that is in my heart. So without further ado, this week's prompt word:

 

SING

What do you do when you can't sing?
What do you do when your heart can't hear the song anymore?
What do you do when the song that once called you now hurts you with its words?
What do you do when your voice leaves you and the notes are replaced with tears?

The good Christian and Catholic answer would be that you keep singing.

But it's not that easy. It's just not.

It's not that easy when every time your eyes take in the words on the music sheet or hymnal and you feel a knot in your stomach, a lump forming in your throat, a quivering tremble in your normally steady voice, or a white hot anger spreading through your chest. Honestly, sometimes when your the song becomes too painful to sing, what you do is stop singing.

I know. I know. That's not what you're supposed to do. But it happens.

Can I tell you something? Despite whatever message shame and guilt are telling you, sometimes it's 100% okay to stop singing. God understands. He understands the pain and suffering we are enduring and that sometimes forcing ourselves to sing just exacerbates that pain. He's felt the same pain you are feeling -- whatever that may be. He gets it in a way that no one else can or ever will. It's because not only did He feel that ache in your heart when He was put to death for the sins of mankind, but He feels it now. He is with you in your pain. More to the point, when we are suffering, we are closest to His Sacred Heart.

So what do you do when you can't offer a song of praise or worship or even thanksgiving to God? What on earth do you do?

You offer up your sorrows instead. Offer every tear, every heartache, every moment of screaming and shaking anger, and every little bit of you that hurts. Offer that up to Him. You may be asking the question, "well, how do I do that?" The easiest thing to do is to make a conscious decision that whenever you feel all the things that steal your voice, that you will say to Him, "Jesus, I offer these to You." It doesn't have to be any kind of flowery or fancy sounding prayer. Just a humble offering in the midst of pain. Yes, that sounds easy and yes, it's hard to do. It can be especially hard to do if you are angry with Him.

So if you're angry at Him, what then? If that is what you are feeling and you can't bring yourself to offer anything to Him, just offer Him the promise that you won't run away. You can rage. You can rail. You can scream. You can tell Him exactly how you feel and use all the swear words in your vocabulary. All of the above are acceptable because He can take it. Just offer Him the promise that no matter how angry you get, you will keep coming back to Him. That means that you'll continue to do at least the bare bones basics of faith so as not to let the relationship die. Things might be distant for a while and you might be tempted to turn away, but keep turning back to Him. Sing Him the song of your promise to be obedient and faithful even amidst your anger.

I know that if you are hurting -- no matter the reason -- that you may be screaming at your computer screen right now and telling me in no uncertain terms that I'm bonkers or that I don't get it. You may be crying as you read this because you think that there's no way that you'll ever sing again. You may be in such great pain that you are praying that He will mercifully take you from this life. You may have reached a point where you are no longer concerned with singing any song because you are thinking of ending your life yourself. 

I know absolutely all of these pains. I know the anger, the rage, the heartbreak, the deep ache of wanting the pain to stop, the praying that God would take my life, the thoughts of suicide so dark that I couldn't see my way into the next hour, much less tomorrow. I know all of these things so well, my friend. I get it on a deep level.

Actually, I get it right now. I've had a week when the heavy dark cloud has been hanging over me and I just couldn't shake it. This evening, in fact, I felt so overwhelmed by it that I lost my ability to care that I was in the floor, shaking with sobs, and my eldest daughter was watching it all. It was horrible. It's still not so great. My classically trained soprano voice hasn't sung at all this week.

To be honest, I've not regularly sung His praises in the way that I normally love to do, for almost three years. So what have I done? I've continued in obedience and done the bare bones. I've gone to Mass each week and on holy days. I've prayed the blessing over meals. I've prayed bedtime prayers with my children and husband. I've wept so many tears that they would likely fill a rather large vat by this point and many of them as I've been on my knees before Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. I've screamed at Him (yes, with profanities on occasion) and told Him how angry I am and that I felt abandoned by Him when I needed Him most. I have, in my own disjointed and imperfect way, tried to continue on in faith and obedience even when I didn't feel anything and even when I didn't want to anymore.

My efforts to that end haven't been fruitless, but I have needed an abundance of help from my spiritual director, Fr. B. and the graces of the sacraments of Reconciliation (confession), Anointing of the Sick, and the Eucharist. Those meetings with Fr. B and the graces I've received through frequent reception of the sacraments have been like a healing balm that works slowly, but steadily. I can't say that my song has returned in full, but I am finding moments when the words and music fill me up with more than pain. I still don't sing as much as I once did, but my voice is returning in fits and starts.

So if you can't sing and it hurts too much, know that you are not alone. He is with you even in your pain and anger and silence. May Christ who knows your pain and hears your silent anguished song abide with you until you can sing again.

*********

If you find yourself at that place where you are thinking of suicide, please reach out to someone. If you need it, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) or if you'd rather text to someone, text the word HOME to 741741 and the Crisis Text line will text you back.

FMF: Empty

It's been a while since I've written in this blog in part because we've had a lot going on within our family life of late. I really want to get back into the habit of writing on a regular basis, so with that in mind, here's my contribution to this week's linkup at the Five Minute Friday community. This week's word prompt is EMPTY. Given that we've just been through Holy Week, I've been thinking and meditating on Christ's last week on earth and more particularly, on His death and resurrection. This prompt definitely pointed toward all these meditations for me, so that was the inspiration for this. I hope you find something in it to edify and encourage you. Happy Easter!

EMPTY

I have heard quite a few people ask the question of Catholics, “why do you keep Jesus nailed to the cross?” It's a good question. Most non-Catholic Christian churches do not have a cross with Jesus nailed to it. Their crosses are empty. Having grown up Baptist, I was always told that the reason the cross was empty was because He had overcome death. So if the empty cross is a symbol for Jesus having overcome death, then why do Catholics display and wear a crucifix?

There are a number of reasons for this, but the biggest of these is that having Jesus on the cross in front of our eyes makes it so that every time we see it, we are reminded of His great love for us – that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. You see, it is death that we see when we look at a crucifix. It is an agonising, brutal, vicious, torturous death. It is also a beautiful death. That may sound strange, but think of it this way: not only did His death bring about redemption and the possibility of salvation for all of mankind, but He bore that death with the full knowledge that there would be those who would reject His love. When Catholics look at a crucifix, we are moved both by the agony of it and the beauty of it, because we see Him at His most loving.

One of the other things that a crucifix encourages us to do every time we look at it is to persevere as we carry our own crosses. It also encourages us that He is with us in that journey because He has been there and He knows the pain of carrying a cross. He knows it more perfectly and more fully than we will ever begin to fathom. So when we gaze upon the crucified form of Jesus on a cross, we can draw great strength from being reminded that He is with us, helping us to carry the crosses of life.

Finally, there is one Truth that we are reminded of every time we gaze upon a crucifix and that is this: there is no way to heaven but through the cross. To reach heaven, we must go through the cross. We can't go around it. We can't avoid it. We can't ignore it and pretend that it isn't there or that we don't need it. We need to embrace the crucified Christ because His love for us in that moment is what enables us to reach heaven.   

Without the crucifixion, there can be no resurrection and the resurrection – the empty tomb, not the empty cross – is the ultimate symbol of victory over death. That empty tomb is a promise that one day our own tombs will be empty because we will be raised up, our bodies made perfect because of Christ's death and resurrection, and we will be with Him for eternity, enjoying the beatific vision of God the Father.

So we keep Jesus on the cross – not because we are consumed with His death – but rather because seeing Him there is an unavoidable and constant reminder of just how much we are worth to God. When the world tells you that you are worthless or you feel like God doesn't love you or doesn't care about you, I encourage you to go look at a crucifix and meditate on what you see before you.

That, my friends, is the message of the crucifix. The crucifix in all its brutality with Jesus hanging upon the cross is a message of great love and of great hope. We know when we see it that this isn't the end of the story and so the crucifix points us toward the empty tomb and the resurrection. It gives us hope that our own crosses are not the end of our stories. It gives us hope that with His help, we can persevere to the end, having run the race to its completion and having obtained the prize of eternal life.

Five Minute Friday: Slow

Hey friends! It's been a while since I joined in with the folks at Five Minute Friday. If you're just joining me, know that this is a little longer than the average FMF post and that's because I don't set a timer. Yes, I know, I know. That's supposed to be the point, but I just can't do it that way. So I kinda do it my way. If you're a fast to moderately fast reader though, this should take you five minutes or so to read (so there's your five minutes). If you'd like to join up with this week's posts on the prompt word SLOW, then hop over to this week's prompt at Kate's blog and click on the linkup at the bottom of the page. Without further ado...

SLOW

It's been almost two months since the last time I posted here and I wish I could say that it's because life has been moving really fast or that I've just been so busy that I didn't have time to write, but I can't say that. Life has been, as it happens, pretty slow. The very beginning of the year, from just after New Year's to about mid-March, tends to be a wonderfully slow time of year that follows on the heels of the whirlwind of activity that comprises daily life and the many family and faith celebrations from September to December.

And friends, let me tell you, I need slow.

I have always been a fan of this time of respite and slowed down activity, but this year, it took on a new meaning for me. I didn't really realise it until this past Thursday when I was sitting in Dr. D's office and we were wrapping up our session. It had been a pretty intense session of EMDR and talking and my emotions were pretty close to the surface. I don't recall the exact thread of conversation, but somewhere in the midst of our normal wrap up talk, he commented that he thought I was on the right track with what we were working on. I agreed with him and replied that although I knew it was, it was still hard. He said "Oh yes, I know it is. I think though, part of the reason it's hard is because it feels like your progress is coming so slowly right now, but once we get through processing a lot of these memories, you'll notice that your progress speeds up and goes much faster."

You see, through the past four years I've been wishing for fast. I've been craving for time and progress and everything to just speed up and get me through this pain I feel. It hurts a lot when you're going through severe suicidal depression and PTSD. You feel like it's a nightmare that will never end and because it's so painful and so exhausting, you yearn for the passage of time (and all the normal thing that come along with it, like therapy sessions and tears and the like) to speed up so you just don't have to feel it anymore. Slow is the last thing you want and yet, time moves along like a turtle in a swimming pool of molasses.

What struck me about what Dr. D said on Thursday is that I knew the moment he said it that it was true and that I had already experienced that. Back in November, we took a pretty significant break from doing EMDR (a traumatic memory processing technique) because of the fact that I had experienced a very intense trigger around that time that needed to be worked through. Trying to work through traumatic memories on top of dealing with intense triggers can be far too much all at once, so we stopped the EMDR and to focus on helping me cope with the intense trigger. What I noticed during this break of about 2 to 2.5 months was that my progress did, in fact, speed up. I had more energy, more ability to handle day to day stresses, lessened irritability, and my sleep wasn't nearly as fraught with nightmares as it had been.

At some point in January, once the holidays had passed and things were calmer, we started doing EMDR again. Some of the things I'd seen improve stayed, while others slowed, and still others came to a halt altogether. I found myself wishing that it would speed up again and stop with all the slow movement. I got very frustrated, but kept pressing on despite it. The more frustrated I got though, the slower it seemed to go because I was avoiding some of the things I needed to do for myself to keep moving forward. I wasn't really facing the demons of my traumas and looking them full in the face. I was only really doing the bare minimum because I wanted to get to the part where things speed up again.

When Dr. D mentioned the bit about "processing a lot of these memories" I realised that I not only had experienced this, but that the slowing down that was happening was a natural part of the process. I also realised that until the last couple of weeks, I hadn't been fully embracing that slowness or the process. I can't say what changed and made it so that I began to embrace it again, but in that moment last Thursday, I realised something very fundamental about my healing journey: I need slow.

I need these times of slowness and intense therapy where I look at these things under a microscope and plunge deep into these memories. I need these times when I am pushing forward through molasses and sobbing uncontrollably as I face the traumas of my past anew. I need the slowness of these times to allow me to really find and untangle the threads which are binding my mind in a feedback loop of reliving these memories because that is painstaking, complicated work that requires patience, determination, a great deal of help from others, and a very slow perseverance. I need the slowness of only being able to do the basics of self care and resting a lot so that I don't get overloaded. I need to feel the intensity of the emotions that surface so I can learn how to cope with them and better manage them. I need slow.

So things are slow right now. Things are really intense too. The stuff my brain has been dredging up the last couple of weeks has been so intense that I've felt weak physically and needed a boost of caffeine and food immediately afterward just to be able to drive safely. It's also needed a lot of unpacking after processing, so my sessions with Dr. D have run longer and I've been seeing Pendragon at least twice a week and almost immediately after I see Dr. D each week. You'd think that it would be therapy overload and sometimes it's pretty intense too, but it's keeping me on a more even keel than I think I would be if I didn't have that extra help. The great thing about having these two professionals helping me is that they both have different perspectives and help me find different threads of connection and understanding that I might not be able to find without them. Gray helps too. We often do a little debrief when I come home and very often, things come up that later get addressed with EMDR or in talking with Pendragon or Dr. D.

With all that intensity and slowness, I know I will be glad for a time when we break from things so that progress speeds and breathing is easier, but knowing that this slowness is part of the process and that it is moving me forward is helpful. As much as this slowness is hard, it is forcing me to look at these traumatic memories full on and really feel the impact of them in a way that allows me to understand them and move past them instead of repressing them or hiding from them.

It's very hard work and it's very painful and there are days, like yesterday, when the pain is so fierce that I want everything to end -- but I know that slow doesn't have to mean running away and death by suicide. I know that all this pain and agony as I face this stuff in the slow is shaping me into a better person who is stronger, braver, and better equipped to do the work that He has planned for me as a wife, mother, mental health/suicide prevention advocate, and child of God.

The mountain is steep and the climb arduous, breath-stealing, excruciatingly painful, and interminably slow, but I know the vista that awaits me at the top will be worth it all the more for the journey.

One Word 365 Recap and Thoughts on 2017 - part 2

(If you missed it, click here for part 1)

I didn't connect this struggle of faith with hopelessness until one very dark afternoon while waiting in the carpool line at my daughters' school. I had been struggling through several very days of dark moods when my friend Chez, who had been very concerned about me when I stopped talking to him, called me on the phone as I sat waiting for school to get out. He suggested to me that what I was feeling with regard to God sounded like hopelessness and I knew at once that he was right. I realised when he said it that I had cringed at the sound of the word and that I'd been actively avoiding using that word. I knew that the painful, gaping hole inside me was there because of a lack of hope. You would think that knowing this might help, but it only seemed to make it worse. I sank deeper into despair and grew more and more disconnected from my faith and, subsequently, from any desire to continue living.

To make a long story short, a flicker of light appeared in March of 2015. That's when I attended a Lenten ladies' devotion at our parish that was led by our family's beloved friend, Fr. B. After the devotion ended and everyone was chatting and nibbling on snacks, I went to say hello to Fr. B as it had been a good year or so since we'd seen each other. After our initial hellos, he asked how I was. I didn't want to burden him with my troubles, but something in the tone of his voice when he asked the question reminded me that he is more than just a priest, but a dear friend. That reminder of our treasured friendship undid my resolve and any attempt at trying to pretend I was "just fine" completely crumbled. In a choked up voice, I told him that things were hard and I'd had much better. He looked at me with such compassion that I felt myself start to cry a little bit. He handed me a napkin, gave me a hug, and said he'd be praying for me. That alone was a priceless gift, but then he told me to send him an email and we'd get together at his parish and pray about it. I did just that and a week or so later, we met together.

I'll admit that at that first meeting, I wasn't very keen on the idea of praying at all and told Father as much. He understood and before insisting that we pray anyway, he heard my confession and gave me the anointing of the sick. After those two sacraments, we began to pray -- or rather he prayed. I sat beside him and as the words of the prayers washed over me, the dam burst and I bawled like a baby. When Father finished praying, we talked briefly while I wiped my face and then we walked over to the main church and he gave me communion before leaving me there by myself to pray.  As I knelt there in the church, a sense of calm stole over me that I hadn't felt in a very long time. I had promised Father that I would stay for at least 10 minutes, but somewhere in the midst of that silence, 10 minutes stretched into an hour without my even noticing it.

After that meeting, we began to meet regularly, about 1-2 times a month for spiritual direction and prayer and over time, that increased to weekly at times based on my need (and his schedule) along with keeping in close touch by email as well. What grew out of those spiritual direction meetings was a very slow and very tenuous renewed relationship with God. In the past year and a half, there have been moments when I have wondered if what I was feeling stir within me was a spark of hope, but every time I have felt this -- whatever this is -- it has gone as quickly as it came, snuffed out by fear, PTSD triggers, or the circumstances of life. I have longed for hope to return and it has remained elusive and also something that I simply cannot bring myself to believe that I will ever have again.

And yet.....here we are and it's time to choose another word for the year and I'm being nudged by the Holy Spirit to choose "hope" as my word for 2017. I felt this insistent nudge about a week or so ago and immediately refused to entertain the idea. I've continued to feel it since then and every time I have shut the idea down so fast that if it had a head, it would spin. Nope. Nope. Nope. BIG old NOPE. Think of Dana Carvey's impersonation of George H. W. Bush where he says, "Nope, not gonna do it. Wouldn't be prudent at this juncture." That's basically where I'm at right now.

The Holy Spirit even went so far as to nudge me to mention this idea to Pendragon during our last session and to Gray last night. Obviously, Pendragon didn't push me and neither did Gray, but I know that both of them would be encouraged if I did decide to take the plunge and make "hope" my word for this coming year. The thing is, I can't do it because of how I know it would make them feel. If I chose this for any reason other than a desire within myself, I think it would be a miserable failure.

And yet....and yet this nudge is persistent. Do you know how I know this nudge is from the Holy Spirit? It's because everything within me -- every instinct, every gut reaction, every fiber of my being -- is screaming at the top of its voice, "Noooooooooooooo!!!!" and as much as I want to ignore this nudge to do it, I simply can't. It's not that it's louder than my own voice, but that it's just as loud and inexhaustibly, relentlessly determined not to let me wiggle or headbutt my way out of this.

So here I am on the edge of 2016 becoming 2017, still resisting and still scared. I know I need to just bite the bullet, say "Okay" and make the commitment, but for whatever reason, I just can't. Then why write this long essay about words and this subject? Because I needed to write it and because I know that despite not beginning the new year with a new word, this isn't over yet. It's only just beginning.

In the meantime, pray for me. God knows that not only did I need to write this, but that I need to do it too and only He can help me find the courage to plumb the depths of this virtue and learn how to find it, embrace it, and allow it to grow in my heart once again.

One Word 365 Recap and Thoughts on 2017

Eleventh Doctor: Vincent, can I help?
Vincent van Gogh: It is so clear you cannot help. And when you leave, and everyone always leaves, I will be left once more with an empty heart and no hope.
Eleventh Doctor: My experience is that there is, you know, surprisingly, always hope.

*****************

I'm not gonna lie y'all. It was a rough year for me personally. It was also a year that turned my world upside down in a way that was really difficult (and still is to a great degree), but that will, I think, eventually wind up being positive. The jury is still out on that, but my therapist Pendragon said something at our most recent session on Thursday that he hasn't said in a long time. Actually, he used a word that he hasn't dared to use in a long time -- but more on that later.

A couple of years ago I discovered this thing called One Word 365. Basically, the idea is that you select a word for the year to be a kind of focus word, if you will, that you allow to influence and change you mentally/emotionally, physically, or spiritually. For 2015, I chose two words because as much as I tried, I couldn't shake the idea that I needed to embrace both of them -- write and follow. The first one was chosen because I had just come off the 2014 Write 31 Days challenge in October and I wanted to commit myself to writing in my blog more regularly and keeping up with it instead of just throwing it to the side. In the two years that have been since, I've had ups and downs, but I think I've managed to write at least one entry each month and some months, more than one. That may not seem like much, but it's a start. I chose "follow" as a word because I was struggling spiritually with wanting to follow after Christ. I've spent pretty much my entire life following Christ, but had gone through a trauma so severe that it had shaken my faith to the deepest levels. I wanted a reminder of what I had always done and that I knew deep down that I still wanted to do -- follow Him.

For 2016, I kept my 2015 words and added a third -- move. In 2015, I participated in my first ever Out of the Darkness Overnight Walk and struggled physically much more than I wanted to do. After only completing about 1.5 miles of the total 18, I felt defeated and I knew that although I had emotionally been struggling, I wasn't in the physical shape I needed or wanted to be either. I also knew that I needed to lose weight and make some changes to better my health, so I decided that a good first step would be to start moving more. To that end, I joined a local gym so that I could start walking and lifting some weights and in April, I got a Fitbit tracker to help motivate me to take more steps each day. I can't say that I suddenly became a fitness fanatic, but I did get more steps in this year and as a result, I lost a little weight and got in a little better shape. This year I completed 7 miles of the 18 during the Out of the Darkness Overnight walk and that was with the addition of taking a nasty tumble and mildly injuring myself. So although it wasn't a hugely different year with regard to fitness, it was a better year than the one before it and it is the beginning of a journey that I'm going to continue this year.

Speaking of this year, I suppose it's time to tell you about what happened the other night in Pendragon's office. You see, out of deference to how much he knows I've struggled with it, there is a word that he has studiously avoided using for the most part over the last three and a half years. He knows how much this word has caused me anguish and buckets of tears. He knows how many hours I've spent in his office talking around this word, afraid to even breathe it aloud. Because of that, he hasn't pressed me on it, but during our conversation on Thursday, he went out on a limb and said that he felt like the things I've been learning with my psychologist Dr. D have been beneficial and that the fact that I've been able to use those skills is a good reason for hope.

Hope.

I have to be honest. Just typing that scares the heck out of me. I have been scared for almost four years to have hope. It is to the point that in the beginning, I couldn't make myself utter the word aloud, not even in its more common sense (like "I hope you have a great birthday."), much less talk about it in any depth or use the word in its theological sense. A lot of my reluctance to talk about it has come from the fact that part of the theological sense of it has to do with trusting God. For someone who has trusted God her whole life, that ought to be easy, but trauma has a funny way of changing the most fundamental things about a person in ways that he or she never thought possible.

You see, the trauma that I endured and the PTSD that came about as a result of it also created a deep pit of anger within me and a quite a lot of that anger was directed towards God. I felt deserted by Him in my greatest hour of need, despite having cried out to him amidst the ordeal I went through. It was as though He had vanished completely. The silence was deafening and the sense of His presence which had always been so real to me, was gone so completely it was as though I had never felt it at all. The combination of the trauma itself plus feeling so completely abandoned by God shook my faith so much that for a very long time, I wanted nothing to do with God or even anything associated with God in any way. It got so bad that I eventually began to doubt my faith and struggle with the temptation to turn away from God completely.

(Please click here for part 2.)

Quick Update -- November

It's been well over a month since I've written. I'm still alive and kicking, although more than a little bit busy. This time of year is normally very busy for our family (LOTS of birthdays, feast days, holidays, parties, school performances, etc), but it has been made even busier by an increase in therapy for me. I'll just suffice it to say that I was dreading the general election on November 8th for various reasons and then the results hit me very, very hard. I am, quite honestly, still trying to recover from that. That may not make much sense to many of you, but it is where I'm at right now. Perhaps one day I'll write more about what happened that day and what I'm currently feeling, but now is not the time for it.

Speaking of writing, I don't know how much I'm going to be writing in the next month or so. I'm kind of re-evaluating what I want to write about in this blog and if I even want to continue this blog at all. I think it serves a purpose at times, but sometimes I'm not sure that it's what I want to keep doing. I have a lot of thoughts in my head and ideas for posts, but I'm struggling a lot to make any of it make sense or sound coherent. I'm also struggling to stay true to my goal of writing on a consistent basis. I'm not totally ready to give it up, but I'm trying to discern what the best path is for me. Right now, this blog is definitely on the back burner as my family and my spiritual and mental health are my top priority.

If you want to keep up with new posts, the best way to do that is to like my blog Facebook page (Tales From A Southern Catholic Momma). When I post something new here, I'll add a post there with a link. It seems the easiest way to handle things. For now, that's about all I've got.

Pax!

Day Two: First

When life comes along with a challenge or a task which seems complicated or overwhelming, many people ask the question, "What do we do first?" It's the natural human way of approaching something that has lots of pieces, parts, steps, or that seems difficult to understand or navigate. First steps are important to get right because they can often determine the course of things or the order of any steps which come after it. They may even determine the outcome of a particular endeavour.

When you realise or someone else realises that you are experiencing symptoms of what may be a mental illness, it is the perfect question to ask. There are a few different first steps that can be taken when this is the case:

1. Make an appointment with your regular doctor. 

At this appointment, talk to him or her about your concerns and your symptoms. As your regular doctor knows your medical history, he can use that to determine if perhaps your symptoms are related to an issue you already have and if so, what the appropriate action is. He may order blood or imaging tests to rule out certain physical illnesses which may have symptoms that are the same as what you are experiencing. He may prescribe medication or change a medication that you already take. He may also go ahead and refer you to a psychiatrist and/or therapist.

2. You can make an appointment with a therapist or psychiatrist.

If you have many symptoms that seem to fit a particular mental illness and you are reasonably sure you aren't physically ill, you may choose to do this as your first step. Like meeting with your doctor, a psychiatrist or therapist can help you understand if you do have a diagnosable mental illness that needs therapy or medications. If you do not have a diagnosable mental illness, a therapist or psychiatrist can still help you in dealing with the symptoms or particular challenges of whatever is actually going on which is causing the symptoms -- including if it's caused by a physical illness of some kind.

3. If you realise you are having symptoms of a mental illness, but no one else around you has noticed, tell someone.

This is a hard first step, I know. It requires a lot of courage and some discernment too. It may be the very last thing you want to do, but it's critical if you want to get better. I know that sounds like I'm exaggerating, but it really is that vital. If you have a mental illness, you're going to need a strong support system outside of your doctor and/or therapist. You're going to want someone you can call or text or visit with who will listen, be there for you, and walk with you through it. Since not everyone is equipped to handle being that kind of support, that's where the discernment comes into play. You want to choose someone who you trust and who you know you can count on when things get hard. Ideally, this should be someone who is close enough to where you live that you can be around them in person, but it doesn't have to be. Even better would be for you to have more than one person you can talk to about things, so that if one person is unable to be there in a given moment, you've got other people you can turn to when things go pear-shaped.

4. If you don't have anyone you can tell how about your symptoms, try calling the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (TALK) and talk to someone there. 

You don't have to be suicidal to call them. They are trained to listen and can offer a way of venting your feelings if you have no one you can turn to in your day to day life. They can also provide you with resources to find help in your area if you don't know where to start looking. I keep this number in my phone for myself for those times when I know that my support people are either tapped out emotionally or physically or when they're unavailable for some reason (like being out of contact because of vacation or limited access to phone or the internet). I have called a few times as well when I had my normal supports available, but was struggling to reach out to them like I normally would. The Lifeline is a great resource for anyone who is struggling with mental health issues and for those who are part of their support team.

Just as there are positive first steps you can take as you start a particular task, there are ones that, if taken, will make your task all the harder. With that in mind, here are three "first steps" to avoid:

1. Staying silent and trying to go it alone. -- Silence helps no one, least of all, you. If you're dealing with a mental illness, going it alone and trying to muscle your way through it in silence will only work for so long. Ask me how I know this.

2. Freaking out and doing nothing. -- This is a hard one to avoid because it's a very common reaction when you're dealing with something that is as overwhelming as the symptoms of mental illness can be. Also, no one really wants to have a mental illness, so freaking out is pretty normal. Just don't let it stop you completely.

3. Ignoring the symptoms in the hope that they will go away. -- If you have a diagnosable mental illness and you do this, I can guarantee you that it won't work and it will only make things worse. It won't help if your symptoms are the result of a physical illness either. Trust me. Ignoring things and trying to distract yourself from what you're feeling may work temporarily, but in the long run, you'll need some help from professionals in one way or another.

If you follow the first steps mentioned above (and avoid those other first steps), you will be glad you did. It's a pretty tired old adage, but it's true when people say that the first step is the hardest. It is. That first step takes immense courage and when you're already feeling so vulnerable, that can be even harder. Know this though: you CAN do it. You can! I believe in you! Go forth and conquer that first step! Once you've done it, you'll be on the path and then, it's just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other and taking it one step at a time.

Day One: Season

As summer slowly fades into autumn, the time of the year that I call The Season of Celebrations begins for our family. In the next three months, we have the following:

• Five birthdays
• Our wedding anniversary
• Four major holidays
• Three Holy Days of Obligation
• Four name and/or patron saint feast days
• Two additional saint feast days plus one of the many feasts celebrating Our Lord
• Advent and the beginning of the Catholic New Year
• Choir concerts at school
• Class Christmas parties
• Family coming to visit

And all these are just extras on top the normal day to day things of life like chores, paying bills, cooking meals, parenting responsibilities, grocery shopping, school, work, and church. I often joke that at I take a really big breath somewhere around mid-September and don't exhale until January 2nd. It certainly feels like things move crazy fast and there's just not enough time for anything during this season of the year. I think the fact that the days get shorter and darker earlier makes it feel even faster than it already would.

Another thing that makes this season seem to rush by is that I'm personally going through a difficult season of life as I struggle with PTSD and depression. This season has been ongoing for just shy of four years now. It has its own challenges because it adds to the frenetic pace of this season. Part of this is because I have been engaged in quite a lot of therapy and other supports to try to find some healing from this. Each week, I see my therapist twice by myself and once with Gray for marital therapy, my psychologist for EMDR and other help with PTSD (his area of expertise), and my spiritual director for prayer and spiritual counsel. I also have a special holy hour each week after my meeting with Fr. B. All of these things help me stay on a more even keel emotionally, but they not only take time to do, but I spend quite a bit of time in the car going from one appointment to another and back home again.

To be honest, I'm dreading the upcoming fall season of celebrations because I'm feeling tired and less than able to manage it all, but I don't have much choice. Guess I need to talk to Pendragon about ways to lessen my stress and help me get through this special season of the year. This is a strategy that I often employ when I'm feeling overwhelmed by life -- make a note of it and make it a priority to bring up in my individual or our marital therapy sessions. Pendragon always has good ideas and often is able to help me find a balance. I highly recommend that if you struggle with a mental illness, talk to your therapist or doctor about ways you can better manage the more stressful seasons of your life -- be they the end of the year holidays or other times of the year.

My prayer for this upcoming Season of Celebrations is that it is one that is full of joy and goes much more smoothly than I am anticipating!

31 Days of Forgotten Fridays

This year instead of trying to come up with something super original for Write 31 Days, I decided to go back to Fridays. Five Minute Fridays, that is. Because of life interruptions, sickness, family issues, and difficulties getting my writing mojo flowing, there have been quite a number of Five Minute Friday prompts that I've not written on or linked up in the past year. There were some of these prompts that I had ideas for but just couldn't manage to get anything written before the next week and the next prompt rolled around. There were other prompts that nailed me between the eyes so hard due to their appropriateness for my life at that time that I found it impossible to write something based on them. There were still other prompts that I just totally didn't even see the first time around because I was so inundated with dealing with life that I completely forgot about looking for the prompt and writing on it.

Because I'm going through quite a lot of late and don't have a lot of mental capacity to write much of anything (just check the gaps in the dates on this blog), I decided to try and use this month to focus on getting myself back into a habit of writing more often. To that end, I made a list of these "forgotten" Five Minute Friday prompts and decided to use those as a jumping off point for my Write 31 Days series this year. As of the writing of this, I am four days into October and haven't yet written any of the days, but I'm going to do my best to get caught up and have the first five days up and published by tomorrow (which is October 5th). 

Those of you who know me from the Five Minute Friday community will already know this, but if you're new to my blog, you should know that I'm a FMF slacker. I don't exactly set a timer and only write for five minutes. I don't always write and publish without editing. I have tried to do things by the rules, but have wound up with tons of anxiety and self-doubt about everything I've written. For my own mental health, I decided to do it my way. I write whatever I want on the prompt and take however long it takes me to write it. I know that means it's not technically a "five minute" Friday, but I don't think anyone minds too much.

I guess that's it for now. I hope you enjoy this little jaunt through 31 Days of Forgotten Fridays!

P. S. I'm hoping to be able to kind of tie all the posts together with a common theme, but if that proves too difficult, I may just write whatever I'm inspired to write.

Five Minute Friday: Five

It's been a while since I've linked up with my friends in the Five Minute Friday community, but for the first time in some weeks, I actually had a decent idea for the prompt. Granted, the idea came to me as I was falling asleep last night, but I managed to remember it, so here it is! 

FIVE

Five Things I Love About Fall

As of this past Thursday, it is officially fall. Where I live, the first day of fall never quite feels like fall, so it's hard to get into the fall state of mind. Even after the official first day of fall, the temps remain summer like in the 90s during the day and dropping into the upper 70s at night. The trees are still mostly clad in green and short sleeves and shorts still abound everywhere you look. That said last Friday night, I saw a graphic from a local meteorologist on Twitter with the comment that after Sunday, we would get to say goodbye to the 90s! The graphic showed the highs and lows for the next week or so and I nearly squealed when I saw that the last day on it had a low of 56! Huzzah! As it is Thursday again today, I can say that it's officially FALL!!! The temps the past few days have been AMAZING! Today was absolutely gloriously gorgeous with clear sunny skies and temperatures that didn't get above about 75. With the advent of these fabulous temperatures, it brings to mind all the many things that I love about this time of year, so without further ado, here are FIVE things I love about fall!

1. Fall leaves - I've loved gazing at fall foliage since I was a young girl. There's something so lovely and magical about how the leaves turn from the greens of summer to the sunny yellows, subdued browns, bright oranges, and flaming reds of autumn. My mother used to say that the trees were exchanging their summer dresses for fall ones. As a girl, I loved to imagine the trees standing front of a mirror trying on their new colours before deciding what to "wear."

2. Pumpkin Spice Lattes - Nowadays, there's pumpkin spice everything. You can walk through the aisles of your local grocery stores and find cookies, cream cheese, cereals, breads, ice cream, cakes, air fresheners, soaps, and even deodorant! The thing that I think started it all is the Starbucks' Pumpkin Spice Latte. The popularity of the PSL is so big these days that it's almost a little bit uncool to say that you like them, but I'm not ashamed. I LOVE a pumpkin spice latte from Starbucks! There's something about them that never fails to help reduce my stress levels and make me feel calm. 

3. Soups and Stews -- I am very happy to eat a bowl of soup or stew or chowder any time of the year, but there's nothing quite like a steaming bowl of soup on a chilly fall day that makes you feel good inside. Some soups and stews -- like chili or creamy butternut squash -- are the kind of thing that just begs to be made and eaten when the mercury starts dropping and I am all too happy to oblige. In fact, as far as chili goes, I am chomping at the bit for things to get cold enough to make it because it just doesn't seem nearly as good when the weather is warmer as it does on a crisp fall night.

4. Snuggly Blankets -- Where we live in the south, summers are spent with ceiling fans whirring and lightweight sheets and covers when you sleep, but I really look forward to when it cools off so I can break out my fuzzy, snuggly blankets. I love to sit on the couch on a cool morning, watching TV with my first cup of coffee with a big fuzzy blanket draped across my lap. One of my favourite memories made in the last four years is snuggling with my youngest, GB, sharing one of those blankets while she watches Daniel Tiger and I drink my coffee. I'm not really a big fan of mornings, but when she snuggles up to me like that, it makes everything -- including the fuzzy blanket we share -- that much better. 

5. More Energy, Less Sweat -- One of the things that I like least about summer is the fact that the heat and humidity do more than just make me uncomfortable and frizzy haired. They are so oppressive at times that they drain my energy to the point that I just don't feel like doing much of anything. The heat of the summer also means that I wind up sweating a lot more than normal which also contributes to the lack of energy. When the temperatures finally cool off, I often find that I suddenly feel like I have a burst of energy that I didn't have before. My favourite thing is when I step outside for the first time after things cool off and can really feel the difference in the air temp, it's like someone has hit me with a little bit of sugar to my blood stream. It's not what I'd call invigorating, but it definitely energises me. I love being able to sleep more comfortably and without waking up feeling slightly sweaty. It's bliss! 

Bonus Thing I Love About Fall: My beloved patron saint, Pope St. John Paul II, has his feast day during the fall on October 22nd! I can't wait to celebrate his feast day in a few weeks!

What are you favourite things about fall? Tell me about them in the comments!