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!

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!

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.

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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.)