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.)

The Big Lie of Mental Illness

One of the most difficult things about living with a mental illness and trying to manage it is trying to recognize what is true and real versus what is a lie. On the surface, that sounds like a silly statement because most people have a pretty firm grasp on reality in their day to day lives. I mean, they know that the sky is blue, that the grass is green, that people need oxygen to live, that gravity keeps us all rooted to the ground, etc. These are more general truths and easier to see. The harder things are the more specific and personal realities. That's where mental illness likes to lie and convince you to swallow those lies.

To outsiders, these lies are very obvious. For example, a person struggling with bulimia or anorexia hears the frequent lie that they are fat, obese, or overweight. For those who are outside of that disease, it is very easy to see that the person struggling with the eating disorder is either a healthy weight or underweight, but it's not so easy if you're the one struggling with it. You may stand in front of the mirror and try to convince yourself that it's a lie and that you need to eat to stay alive, but the illness has lied to you so often and so loudly, that it's almost all you can hear about yourself.
Depression lies. Bipolar lies. PTSD lies. No matter the illness, they all lie.

While each illness has lies that are specific to it, many of the lies that mental illness tells tend to overlap between the various illnesses:

• "You're worthless."
• "No one cares about you."
• "You'll never get through this."
• "You shouldn't need help. You should be stronger than this."
• "He/she only stays with you out of guilt, not love."
• "This is hopeless."
• "You are alone in this."

I want to address that last one -- "You are alone in this." I think this is one of the single biggest lies that pretty much transcends every mental illness. You feel as though no one has ever gone through what you are going through or that no one you know has any idea of the pain you feel. You may feel physically alone because of a lack of support via family or friends or trained professionals. You may feel spiritually alone as though God has abandoned you or as though no one in your faith community understands what you're going through (and sadly, many people of faith still believe mental illness is something that can be prayed away or is the result of demons or sin). You may feel isolated due to your living situation -- living alone, living in a rural area, having no family or friends close by to help.

Here's the truth about this lie -- you are NOT alone. Let me repeat that. YOU ARE NOT ALONE. If I can convince you of one thing, I hope it's this. I know that it sounds simplistic and perhaps a bit like I'm trying to make light of your feelings, but trust me. I've been there and I know how fierce this lie is and how easy it is to believe it.

I've heard this lie (and many others) more times than I can count. When I was in so much pain and the feelings of being so totally alone were so strong, it made believing this lie as easy as hearing it. I've believed it so fiercely that I have done things that were detrimental to my mental health and that only made my illnesses worse. I would isolate myself, stop reaching out to others, hide my pain from those closest to me, and slowly drown in my feelings to the point that the pain was more than I could bear and suicide became an option that I not only considered but actively planned.

So what changed?

Well, for one, it took my big brother Chez knocking me over the head several times with his own particular way of phrasing things. Every time he heard some expression of my feelings of being totally alone, he would firmly, but kindly tell me that "feelings are not an accurate barometer of reality." In other words, our feelings about things don't always tell us the truth. The reality is that I am surrounded with people that care deeply for me -- including Gray, my kids, Pendragon, Sif, Rikert, Fr. B, and my big brother Chez -- who all want the best for me and that best includes improved mental health. But feelings are strong and this wasn't an easy or fast change. In fact, it took not only Chez's admonitions and support, but also various supports from Gray, psychological help from Pendragon, and Fr. B's prayers and support. Most of all, it took me making a conscious decision to believe that I wasn't alone so that I could reach out to those people when I felt most alone.

Let me be clear -- that conscious decision didn't erase my feelings or the lie that pounded through my head. Far from it. If anything, there were times that the lie grew much louder and more difficult to fight against and the feelings of loneliness grew stronger along with the temptations to let go, sink into despair, and embrace suicide. In many ways, once I made that conscious decision, the fight actually got harder because that decision meant that I was suddenly having to trust people and be really vulnerable with them in ways that I hadn't before.

One of the biggest hurdles was to learn how to totally let down my walls and be 100% vulnerable with Gray. It wasn't that I didn't trust him before, but rather that I was scared of hurting him with all my pain. You see, the depression and PTSD had lied to me that if I was totally honest with him, he would get scared and have me locked up somewhere or that he would just decide that he couldn't handle "my crazy" and leave altogether.

Because I believed these lies for a long time, I struggled violently and almost daily with wanting to kill myself. The feelings were so intense that there were more than a few times that I made a suicide plan and intended to carry it out. The only person I was reaching out to at that point was Chez. You see, it's easier to be vulnerable with someone who lives 2000 miles away (although I kept some things from Chez too). Thanks be to God though, Chez cares enough about me that after trying to convince me to talk to Gray and running into a brick wall, he went around the wall to Gray directly and told him to talk to me. That was a very hard conversation to have and one that I fought having. In the end, it took several marital sessions and a lot of help from Pendragon (in those sessions and my individual ones) to help me work through my fears and be completely vulnerable with Gray.

In the interest of being completely candid, I still have moments when I struggle with being totally vulnerable and honest with Gray, Pendragon, and Chez too. It's much easier these days than it used to be, but every now and then when things get really dark and I feel alone, I want to isolate myself from everyone again. Instead of giving into those temptations and feelings though, I fight back. I reach out instead of being quiet. I talk to those in my support team -- Gray, Pendragon, Fr. B, and Chez primarily -- and I talk to them honestly. It's not always an easy thing to do either, but then fighting against yourself never is easy.

Gray and I still do marital sessions with Pendragon on a regular basis. Those sessions help a lot. They give us a place to talk through our struggles when they arise, to vent about a difficult week, to strategise when things are tough, and to continue to work on communicating with each other. As I often tell people, it's not that our marriage is in dire straits, but rather that given the nature of my illness, we want as much help as we can get.

Notice that I said "we" rather than "I" in the previous sentence. That's because another thing these marital sessions have accomplished is to more solidly unify Gray and myself into that "one flesh" that is spoken of by Jesus. We are a team in this. I no longer have to fight this alone. That's the thing about mental illness and the big lie that "you are alone in this." It not only convinces that you are alone, but that you must fight it alone, but that's a big fat lie as well.

You are not alone and you don't have to fight it alone. Even if you feel alone as you read this, know this one thing: you have me. Yes, me. See that red square button on the right hand side of this page? It's the one that says "Email The Momma." If you feel alone, all you have to do is click that button and send me an email. I promise that I'll write back.

If you need someone to connect with sooner than I am able to get back to you, you can pick up the phone and make a call. I know that's hard to do sometimes, but you can do it. I believe in you! If there's no one that you feel comfortable calling, then call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (TALK). You don't have to be suicidal or in a severe crisis to call them. Just dial the number. You can also click the link I provided and chat with them via the internet if you'd rather talk that way. Both the hotline and the crisis chat are available 24 hours a day/7 days a week.

One other option if you have a cell phone and live in the USA is the Crisis Textline. It's super easy to use. All you have to do is text the word "Start" to the number 741741. When you do, a crisis counselor will text you back quickly and talk with you about whatever is on your heart. I have not personally used this resource, but have heard wonderful things about it. If you want more information on it, just click the link above.

The big lie that "you are alone in this" is a hard one to overcome and a hard one to convince yourself to fight against, but it IS doable. Remember: feelings are fickle and not an accurate indicator of what is true and your feelings WILL lie to you about this, but now that you know, you can fight. Reach out for help if you need it. You've got this!

P.S. Lest anyone reading this thinks I've got it all figured out, I want to assure you that I don't. I wrote most of this yesterday (7/13/2016) and I got hit with the big fat lie of being alone today. I was physically alone, but my illness came along and tried to convince me that in my moment of struggle that no one cared and that I was absolutely alone. It smacked me over the head like a sledgehammer. I felt weak and struggled for a solid hour before I finally gathered enough wherewithal to remember that my feelings were lying to me. I wrestled with this lie for a good hour before I managed to remember that Gray was just a text message away and that I could reach out to others. That action of reaching out eventually quelled the lie (after some time and some prayer too), but it shook me a bit. As strong as I've gotten and as much as I've learned, I can still fall prey to this vicious lie. I don't tell you this so that you lose hope, but just to be transparent with you. The hope in this is that I remembered that this is a lie and I overcame it. You can too!

Monday Joys -- July 11, 2016

I'm a couple of days late in getting to my Monday Joys post, but when you see my list, I think you'll understand!

1. Appointment with Pendragon -- always a good thing, but a much needed thing this past week as things had been very difficult the week before. Ended on a good note as we talked about the weekend to come.

2. Voxing with my buddy Tara and hearing all about her awesome week last week.

3. The Five Minute Friday Twitter party on Thursday night -- couldn't do much chatting as I was exhausted from my day and still had stuff to do, but it's always good to see everyone even if all I do is pop in and say hi.

4. Finally had a doctor's appointment w/my regular doctor after about 14-16 months of not seeing him. I was down in my weight by 8 pounds, which he seemed pleased with and I was genuinely glad to report that I've been making some strides in improving my mental health. He ordered labs for cholesterol and I got a phone call on Monday afternoon that my cholesterol numbers were good.

5. Meeting with Fr. B for spiritual direction and prayer. He gave me a very special gift that he picked up in Rome for me. It was a third class relic of Pope St. John Paul II! I loved him even before I became Catholic and have felt a special affection and kinship with him for a long time, but that has only increased since he's been canonized as a saint. Fr. B blessed me with the relic and then gave it to me. I cried tears of joy which only increased when he told me that not only had he brought that back, but that he'd prayed for me at Pope St. John Paul II's tomb while he was in Rome. What a blessing!

6. Appointment with Dr. D for EMDR. It was a very intense appointment as we tackled one of the harder parts of my trauma memory, but I think it was a fruitful appointment. He said that he was very optimistic about my progress and about my future progress.

7. Left Friday morning for Atlanta, Georgia for a "retreat." I put that last word in quotes because although we call it a retreat, it's not a very spiritual kind of thing. It's actually a huge meetup of a group of my friends that I met online some ten years ago. We're a community of women (well mostly women, but we do have a couple of men in the group too) who all practice natural family planning (aka NFP). While a large percentage of us are Catholic, there are a number of different faiths represented from non-Catholic Christian to LDS to Orthodox Jewish as well as some women who do not profess any kind of faith at all. We live all across the USA for the most part, although we also have a number of ladies who live in Canada, and a few more who are in other countries around the world. Every two years, we have a "retreat" where we meet up in a particular city for a weekend of hanging out, talking, laughing, and getting to know one another face to face. The only really spiritual thing we usually do is that we go to the Saturday night vigil Mass together (mostly us Catholics), but even that is a fun experience. I went to my first such retreat two years ago in Kansas City, Missouri and had such a blast that I told Gray I was putting him on notice that in two years, I'd be going to wherever the next one was and to just plan on being without me that weekend. This year, I told him that I'd be going to the one in 2018 even before I left for Atlanta!

It was an amazing weekend! I met several ladies I'd wanted to meet for a long time, reconnected with ladies I met last time, and enjoyed seeing a few of them that I've gotten to know fairly well over the years (who live in my home state). I also felt incredibly loved all weekend long and so supported. That support was very important when I had a flashback on Sunday afternoon at a restaurant. I was so embarrassed by it, but the ladies were so loving, understanding, and supportive that it helped me manage that difficulty much easier than I would have if I'd been alone.

8. Ended my weekend on Monday morning when I took a quick trip to the Atlanta IKEA store after leaving the hotel. I'd never been to an IKEA before, so it was a lot of fun to walk around and see what it was all about. I also grabbed a quick bite in their restaurant before getting on the road to come home. I also bought a few things and made plans to return another day when I have more time to look and perhaps buy something bigger (like furniture) that we need.

9. Seeing my kids again after such a long weekend and being enveloped in their hugs and declarations of how much they missed me and love me.

10. The Barnyard Pimp sandwich from The Pig and The Pint in College Park, GA <--- YUM. SO much YUM! The remainder of the retreatants and I went out to dinner there on Sunday night and 4 of the 7 of us ordered that sandwich. It was marinated fried chicken, sharp cheddar cheese, bacon, avocado, and an apple butter barbecue sauce on an onion roll. As if all that weren't enough, I had their ridiculously delicious loaded mashed potatoes for a side and a Crispin blackberry pear hard cider to drink. Y'all. Just Y'ALL. It was all SO good! We decided that it was our favourite meal of the weekend.

11. Speaking of meals, Friday night's meal at the retreat was super fun too. We kinda all went different ways for dinner that night and I went with a group of seven other ladies (8 of us total) to a local Mexican place down the road from the hotel. We ordered two pitchers of margaritas (trying to be economical since we all wanted one) and although we didn't need the alcohol to turn on our laughter, it certainly increased the giggles. I only had a very small drink since I was driving and it's good that I limited myself because any more than that very small drink and I'd have been over the legal limit for sure. Those margaritas were seriously strong. One of the ladies commented, "They weren't playing around. I think they must have put a gallon of tequila in those two pitchers!" The food was very good and we all enjoyed it. We enjoyed lots of conversation -- which was punctuated with raucous gales of laughter -- along with the food. As we sat waiting for our bills at the end of the meal, we looked up and suddenly saw the staff approaching with a pair of plates and two sombreros. One of the men was carrying a pair of cymbals too. When they reached our table, they put a sombrero on one of the ladies and then put one on me! I was totally surprised! Then they put a plate of sopapilla drizzled with chocolate syrup and covered with whipped cream in front of me and my friend with the other sombrero. We looked at each other in astonishment. "Did you do this?" "No! Did you?" "No!" The entire table shook with laughter as the eight of us tried to figure out who had done this. While all of this was going on, the staff was singing, "Happy Birthday" to us while the man played his cymbals and we laughed uproariously. No one could figure out who had set this up. See, my birthday is in March and my friend's is in February, so neither of us was anywhere near celebrating our birthdays! I'm giggling just thinking about it. We had so much fun that KJ and I have declared that July 8th is, forevermore, our shared NFP birthday. On Saturday morning, one of the ladies who had heard the story of our "birthday" celebration gave both of us a "birthday" card with the inscription, "Happy NFP Birthday!" It was absolutely perfect.

With a bit of luck, next week's edition will be posted on Monday instead of Wednesday. I thought about it on Monday night, but was so tired that I decided it was probably a good idea for me to try and sleep. Then I took one more day to rest up a bit before attempting to write. I had such a great weekend that I needed a day and a half to recover!

Until next week!

Monday Joys - July 4th, 2016

My friend Tara over at Praying on the Prairie does this weekly post called Sunday Blessings where she recaps her week by counting her blessings. They can be really big things like an answered prayer or small things like a text from a friend. I've long enjoyed reading her posts and have thought about doing something similar but have yet to hit upon a way that I want to do it. Well, today being July 4th and having had a pretty good day, I got sort of reflective in my Facebook status update. As I was rereading what I'd written, it occurred to me that all of the things I had listed were little blessings. That's when it hit me that the way I want to do this is try and list my little joys each week. As I was considering this post, it occurred to me that a good reason to try to start getting into the habit of doing this each week and doing it on Mondays rather than Sundays is twofold:

• Depression and PTSD often make it hard for me to see anything as joyful, even when it is. Doing this each week may help me be more mindful as I go about my week of the times when joy shines into the cracks of my day to day life. 
• Mondays are a day that I dread for a number of reasons. I have hated them since I was a child. Mondays mean that you either have to go to school or work or if you're like me and you're a stay at home mom, it means you're alone with the kids and no adult conversation or interaction. It's often a big downer after the weekend and especially so if you've had a really awesome weekend or are coming off a fun vacation. I guess the thought is if I sort of refocus my Mondays a bit by listing the previous week's joys and blessings, that it won't be quite as onerous.

I can't promise that my list will be nearly as long as Tara's is each week, but I can promise that there will be little joys. So, without further ado, here's the first installment of Monday Joys!

1. A vox from my friend Tara - so good to hear her voice. I've been missing her!

2. A long chat with my first cousin J. We talked for a good two and a half hours! It was like old times and I can't wait to do it again.

3. My weekly spiritual direction meeting with my priest, Fr. B. This week was very hard, but Father was so patient, gentle, and compassionate with me. He also reminded me of some very important things -- one of which is that he's always praying for me, Gray, and our family.

4. Fr. B gave me a second class relic of St. Brother André Bessette! He said for me to "hold onto it", so I'm not sure if he means me to keep it for good, but even if not, I am honoured to keep it for a time. St. Brother André was known for having a gift of healing in this life and his intercession as a saint has been attributed to numerous miraculous healings and cures.

5. A 30 minute long aromatherapy deep tissue massage on Thursday following my appointment with Dr. D for EMDR. My body had been so tense from all the stresses of the week (very rough week emotionally and spiritually) that I needed to have all those knots worked out. I hadn't planned on doing it, but I think my guardian angel must have nudged me in that direction because I suddenly had the idea and knew that I just had to do it. It was AMAZING. After the massage, I had a complimentary steam shower which was such a refreshing thing in and of itself. I actually had a cool shower but enjoyed steam coming from the vents and the combination of that with the massage left me feeling so totally relaxed and calm. It was nice to feel all clean on my drive home too!

6. Panera Bread's blood orange lemonade is, quite simply, THE BOMB. I could drink it several glasses of it every single day. With the mercury in the mid to upper 90s and the humidity so heavy that you feel like you're walking through a steaming oven, it's the perfect way to help you cool off, quench your thirst, and re-energize. Yes, it's a little pricey (about $2.19-2.59, depending on size) but if you're like me and you want more than one glass, it's worth it because the refills are FREE. I highly recommend a big glass of it paired with the Green Goddess Cobb Salad with Chicken for a light and refreshing lunch or dinner when it's too hot to cook or you just want something filling, but not too heavy. I recommend the lemonade all by itself as well!

7. Hamburgers made and grilled by my hubby Gray for our 4th of July repast. I enjoyed mine with sliced tomatoes, sharp cheddar cheese, dill pickle chips, mayo and ketchup. YUM!

8. This afternoon M2 decided to put on one of the digital music channels that comes w/our satellite package. She chose "classic rock" and soon the house was filled with The Eagles, Lynard Skynard, The Beatles, Three Dog Night, and Queen, among others. She and her sisters jammed out and I grabbed our littlest girl, GB, and tried to teach her some dance moves. That evolved into her sisters wanting to dance with me too and pretty soon we were all swaying, twirling, and grooving to the beat. The best was when "Joy to the World" by Three Dog Night came on. SO much fun!

9. As it's the 4th of July, some fireworks were in order. AB had spotted some leftover fireworks from last year in our garage about a week ago and was chomping at the bit to light them off tonight. I stepped out to one of the local fireworks sellers and bought a few sparklers, some cherry snappers (those paper snaps you throw at the pavement), bottle rockets, and a package of really pretty fireworks that came with their own mortar to use for launching them. The girls had fun with the sparklers and the cherry snappers and we all enjoyed the bottle rockets and other fireworks. We also enjoyed the fireworks being set off by our neighbours down the street, around the corner, and about two streets over as they lit up the sky.

10. Dessert tonight was yummy -- store bought apple pie and vanilla bean ice cream. Simple, classically American, and just perfect!

11. Bedtime prayers tonight with my girls were a quiet kind of comfort.

12. Sitting in the grass with GB in my lap and her big sisters snuggled close while we watched the fireworks made my heart swell with love.

13. All the excitement of getting ready to see all my girlfriends this coming weekend at our every other year "retreat." I know these gals from an online community and consider many of them dear friends. It will be so wonderful to see all their faces again and hug their necks and chat and giggle until our voices are hoarse.

14. The blessing of my big brother Chez and my friend Rikert who are always so good to pray for me when I need it. I am so thankful for them both and their support.

15. The fun of the Thursday night Five Minute Friday Twitter party. I wasn't as active this week, but I always enjoy hanging with that community and chatting about our week.

16. For M2 who leaned over after communion on Sunday as I knelt crying (as I frequently do) and said, "Momma, I just had the thought that I should pray for you, so I prayed and asked God to give you some good sleep and no bad dreams. I realised that I hadn't really prayed for you like that before and that I should, so I did. I'm sorry I didn't before now." That caused even more tears as I leaned over, kissed the top of her head, and embraced her in a hug. I told her how much I appreciated that. Her sweet tender heart just bowls me over sometimes and this was definitely one of those moments.

I guess that's all for this week. With any luck, next Monday, I'll be back to do it all over again. Until then...

Just a quick update

This week has been a beast. I'm still alive and kicking, but a lot has happened. I had something for Five Minute Friday that was mostly ready to go, but just haven't gotten back to finishing it. I know that sounds odd given that it's supposed to be an exercise done in five minutes with no editing and using the week's prompt, but I stopped doing FMF like that several months ago. So I take as long as I need to write and edit if I feel it is necessary (although I try to keep it to a bare minimum and only do what is necessary for it to be readable -- inserting forgotten articles, changing verb tenses, etc). This week, that means that I'm likely not going to be completing my FMF entry. Tomorrow (Thursday) is going to be busy for me and I doubt I'll have time to get back to it before the linkup ends.

If you're not too busy, would you send up a prayer for me? I've got a lot going on in the next few days and week and I'm dealing with all of that on top of struggling with my illnesses too. Gray could use a prayer or two as well. Whenever I'm struggling, he invariably is put under a lot more stress as well and it's so hard for him. He's so wonderfully gracious about it though. I love him so much and want to support him in prayer too.

God bless y'all.

Pax Christi,
The Momma

Five Minute Friday: Whole

It's been a few weeks since I've joined up with the Five Minute Friday community, so if this gets a little rambly, y'all bear with me, okay? I'm a bit out of practice. If you'd like to join and write something on this week's prompt word, head over to Kate's blog Heading Home and link up at the bottom of this week's post.

Whole

There are so many things I could write about with this word, but I think I'm just going to kind of ramble and pray that it all kinda melds together into one coherent thought. The first thing I thought about when I saw the prompt word is that I haven't felt whole in a long time. I think the last time I felt really, truly whole was when I was pregnant with our eldest daughter, M2. We'd been married for about six months when she was conceived and I was overjoyed at the prospect of becoming a mother for the first time. Everything seemed right in my world, in my life, and within myself. I was happy and healthy -- physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

I have struggled for most of my life with feeling broken. I've been broken because of bullying, low self-esteem, a lifetime of obesity, emotional abuse, mental illness (my own and that of close family), self-injury, suicidal thoughts and attempts, and spiritual wounds. When I met Gray and our friendship began, I was on my journey to the Catholic Church. As I went along that path, I began to see those spiritual wounds being healed and in Gray, I found a kind of love and acceptance that was a balm to many of my emotional hurts and scars. When we married, I felt a sense of wholeness that I hadn't ever thought possible -- and yet, there remained pieces of me that were broken, although I didn't see it at the time.

Those broken pieces have sharp, jagged edges that continue to cut me apart and tear at my desires to be truly whole. Despite my journey to Catholicism, I've had some of those old spiritual wound scars be reopened in the last three years by circumstances and situations out of my control. Thankfully, Fr. B, my spiritual director, has been helping me -- slowly though it seems to go -- to get at the deeper roots of those spiritual wounds so that I can find not just healing for the superficial tears in my spirit, but a deeper spiritual wholeness.

Emotionally, I am definitely a long way from whole. I've struggled mightily with this task that I felt the Holy Spirit set before me to read and meditate on the Psalms each day and write about it in this blog. Some of that is due to spiritual healing that still needs to take place, but a lot of it is that my brain and body are so tired from fighting depression constantly for the last three years that I have many days that I do good to just be awake and vertical instead of in bed.

I want to be whole again. I want to enjoy my life again. I want to have hope that I can be whole someday. Right now it's not all darkness, but what light I see at the end of the tunnel is a tiny pinprick that is so far away that I cannot fathom the distance. It might as well not be there at all as far away as it is. But that tiny pinprick is what keeps me alive. When I can see it, I can think of the possibility of wholeness. When I can't, then I can't see wholeness for anyone and all seems lost. So I focus on that pinprick of light and keep following my big brother Chez's advice to put one foot in front of the other.

Maybe one day, I'll step out of this dark tunnel and emerge through that pinprick into the light of wholeness. With my luck, that won't be in this life, but will only happen once I've shuffled off this mortal coil. I suppose there is actually truth in that statement. I mean as humans, we're all broken by sin and our broken and sinful world. We may do our best to rid ourselves of sin, but we still fall victim to the sins of others and the messed up way the world works because of the effects of original sin. The only cure for the messiness of our sin sick world and its effects on all of us is Jesus. He is with us, of course, via the Holy Spirit and in the Eucharist, but I don't think this world will get much better until He comes again. So maybe wholeness in this life is something to be sought after, but not to be received until He comes again.

I don't know. I don't have all the answers. I just know what my heart yearns for -- to be fully and completely whole in Him.

Psalm 12

I'm a day late with this meditation. Yesterday was a long day and by the time I got around to finally having time to sit down and actually write, my ability to think coherently was long gone. I'll admit that there was also the issue of being frustrated and not wanting to write yesterday. With each day that passes, I'm finding it harder and harder to write. It's not that the subject matter is so complicated, but I think I'm hitting a wall mentally. That and the last several days, I feel like I'm writing the same words over and over. The more I think about it though, maybe that's what I'm supposed to do.

Today's psalm is subtitled, "Plea for Help in Evil Times." You know, this was written a few millennia ago, but given the way our world seems to be at the moment, it could have just as easily been written today. It speaks to how there are so few people left who are godly in the psalmist's world. It's very easy to see how that applies to our world. You know that old saying, "the rich get richer and the poor get poorer"? For me, that is a good example of this idea. The reason the rich get richer and the poor get poorer is because of the sinfulness that so permeates our world. You can see it play out in other areas as well -- war, domestic violence, slavery, famine, the lust for power, murder, etc. With all that ungodliness going on, it's easy to see why the psalmist penned these words:

Help, O Lord, for there is no longer anyone who is godly; the faithful have disappeared from humankind. They utter lies to each other; with flattering lips and a double heart, they speak. (verses 1-2)

But those who suffer in the wake of such ungodliness -- the poor, enslaved, beaten, sick, unjustly imprisoned, etc -- are not forgotten by God. Even as the psalmist bemoans the wickedness he sees around him, he expresses his hope in God's love for those who follow him and suffer injustice:

"Because the poor are despoiled, because the needy groan, I will now rise up," says the Lord. "I will place them in the safety for which they long." (verse 5)

God does see when His children suffer and even when it seems there is no one left who follows Him, He won't leave us abandoned. He will place us in safety.

That's a hard thing to see sometimes in the thick of it. I know if someone had said to me during my trauma almost three years ago that God had not abandoned me and would place me in safety, I'd have thought they had lost their mind. Quite honestly, I would have thought that if they'd said it to me in the immediate months after the trauma. I had horrible flashbacks, the most vivid and scary nightmares I've ever had, and was mostly miserable and felt very unsafe for a long time.

Looking back on it though, I can see that while I didn't feel safe, God was holding me in a place of safety. He was loving me through others -- my husband Gray, my three sweet little girls, my big brother Chez, my friend Rikert, and many others -- and through the therapeutic skills of my therapist Pendragon. He kept me safe from myself on a number of occasions when I despaired of anyone who cared or loved me. Eventually, He also loved me through providing spiritual healing through the ministry of the Church and my spiritual director, Fr. B.

I still have moments and even whole days or weeks when I feel unsafe and abandoned, but I am beginning to know in a more powerful way that even when I feel that way, He hasn't left me drowning in the aftermath of the evil that wreaked such havoc on my life. I still have a long journey ahead of me, but I feel better able to weather the storms of this illness and this thing we call life (because goodness knows life has tons of storms even without mental illness!) than I have felt in a long time.

Until next time...

Pax Christi!

Psalm 9

Today's psalm is the longest one I've read thus far in this little exercise, but I know it's not the longest to come yet (Psalm 119 may have to be spread over a few days!). Given its length, I decided to take a slightly different tactic for this meditation. As I always do, I read the psalm in my Bible and then left it for a little bit. More specifically, I went and took a shower. I don't know about y'all, but I do some of my best thinking in the shower. Well, wouldn't you know it, I didn't think much about it at all. Instead, my brain went a thousand other directions. As I was coming back to it, I decided that instead of focusing on the entire psalm, I was only going to focus on a single passage from it. In this case, it's a couple of verses.

The Lord is a stronghold for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. And those who know Your name put their trust in You, for You, O Lord, have not forsaken those who seek You. (verses 9-10)

This particular passage kinda jumped out at me because of the word "oppressed." As I said in one of my previous posts, I've been seeing all the red flags that would normally indicate demonic oppression for well over a year. Gray has said several times in the last three years that he believes that the severity and lengthiness of this episode of depression is due to some kind of attack by the enemy. Any other time I would have agreed with him, but when you're struggling amidst such heavy darkness, it's hard to see light or anything -- much less actually discern spirits.

I think another reason that he probably arrived at that conclusion was because of the drastic change in my spiritual life. It's not that I suddenly stopped going to Mass or doing the base level required stuff, but I lost my ability to connect to it, to find joy in it, and most of all, began to struggle with even wanting to do the basics. I found Mass to be emotionally tortuous at times and an especially agonising challenge most of the rest of the time. For a good portion of the last three years, I participated as a cantor (someone who sings the Psalms and Gospel Acclamation for Mass) and soloist as well as being a regular chorister. I felt like I had an obligation and that people were counting on me, so I stayed and I was honestly miserable. It got to a point where I not only dreaded Sunday mornings, but found that I had no desire to go at all. At some point, I began to feel a kind of revulsion at the idea of attending Mass and even told my big brother Chez that I just didn't want anything to do with anything of faith anymore.

Still, I pushed forward. I went through the motions week after week, month after month. I began to despair that I would never find any peace with my faith or with my relationship to God ever again. At one point, I began to question whether everything I'd always believed was really true or was just something someone made up. That was the lowest point. In that dark valley, apathy set in and the only thing that made me get up and go to Mass on Sundays or pray blessings at meal times and bedtime prayers with my children was my love for my children and my desire to be a good example of them. I wanted them to see me as someone who was struggling, but still continuing to practice her faith, so that some day when life hits them with something that causes them to be angry at God or question their faith, they'll maybe recall my example.

I don't remember what pulled me out of that low point exactly, but I know whatever it was, grace was behind it. A little less than year ago, I began seeing Fr. B for spiritual direction. That was when my faith began to change. It wasn't overnight or even after a few months. It took a good six months before I noticed anything at all. It had been happening gradually, but one Sunday evening when we'd gone to Mass, I realised that I hadn't felt so annoyed and angry. At some point after that, I had several bad weeks in a row with my depression. Given how bad things had become, Fr. B and I stepped up our meetings to every week instead of every 2-3 weeks.

I knew when I walked into the first of those weekly meetings and saw Father's purple stole, holy oil, holy water, a small hand sized Benedictine crucifix, Father's Bible, and a very worn looking small leather book that things were about to get serious. It was about to go down spiritually. That day Father heard my confession, anointed me with the Oil of the Sick for healing, and prayed prayers of deliverance over me. To say that it was intense is an understatement. As he prayed, he blessed me several times with the holy water and touched the crucifix to my head. I started bawling at some point and just kept crying and crying and crying. After he was done, I blew my nose and wiped my eyes. I wasn't sure if I felt different, but I knew that I was actually looking forward to spending some time with Jesus once Father and I parted ways.

We walked over to the church and he gave me the Eucharist and then left me to pray. I spent the next hour and a half praying, crying, praying some more, crying a lot more, and then I did something I hadn't done of my own volition in a long time -- I sang. It was just a simple Latin chant that I know and that was all I sang, but I sang. Don't get me wrong, I didn't feel great paroxysms of joy, but I sang. It was kind of a big deal. When I left, I felt emotionally lighter.

It didn't last though. That's the thing about experiencing spiritual attack or oppression. It's rarely over and vanquished in one go. I think that's because demons are kinda persistent. It's not much consolation at the time, especially if you've been suffering as long as I have, but you have to ignore that it sucks and be more persistent than the demons. So I went back the next week and the next and the next and the next. Before I knew it, Christmas was approaching and both my schedule and Father's got very busy. Then we went out of town for the two weeks surrounding Christmas and New Year's to visit Gray's family.

After Christmas, I set up another meeting with Father, but we didn't resume at our weekly pace. It was back to every 2-ish weeks. Then February hit and my mood took a serious nosedive. We stepped up our meetings again and Father continued to pray both deliverance and other prayers over me, hear my confession, anoint me, and give me the Eucharist. I continued to spend an hour or so after meeting with him to pray and talk to Jesus. Somewhere toward the end of the month, something significant happened. I didn't see it at the time, but Father did. He had told me earlier in that meeting that he really believed that my depression had both psychological and spiritual causes. I halfheartedly agreed with him in the moment, but was still clinging to not wanting to see oppression where it was clearly present.

After that meeting, my mood improved and I found I had more energy emotionally and physically. I found that I was actually enjoying some things, laughing more often, being less grouchy with my children, and that I was looking forward to things in the future in a way I hadn't before. It took another week for me to make the connection between how I was feeling and the spiritual side of my depression.

It's been about three weeks since that happened and although I've had some bad days, my mood has been more or less at the same level. I'm not joyful or what I'd call happy, but this feels different. I told Gray today that I'm starting to feel more like myself. I've been wondering in the last couple of weeks if how I'm feeling means that I'm turning a corner with the depression. I've been very nervous about even thinking that because I've experienced such disappointment in the past when I thought things might be getting better, but today, I found a kind of peace about it. Whether or not this is a harbinger of good things to come, I don't know, but I'm accepting it for what it is for right now.

So why the long story? Because at some point in all this mess, I realized in a very palpable way that I was definitely being oppressed and that motivated me to put my trust ever more firmly in the Lord. In some ways, I think my insistence on not believing that it was oppression protected me in a way. I needed to find my way back to God, to have some healing take place in that relationship, to let go of a lot of the anger before I could be in a place where I could call my God my stronghold and actually believe that He wouldn't forsake me in my time of trouble.

The other thing that I realized as I read this verse is that despite my anger, despite how far from Him I ran, I was still looking back over my shoulder at Him and trusting Him on a certain level. My stronghold was in Him all the time, but I just didn't know it. That obedience and that desire to have my children see some better example about faith in me, that was my trusting in Him to not abandon me (even though I felt abandoned). The reality is that He didn't and He won't and that is what I must cling to when all seems lost.

Until tomorrow....

Pax Christi!

Psalm 6

All the psalms in the Bible that I'm using have a short phrase that was added by the editors which gives you an idea of what the psalm is about. Today's psalm subtitle is: "Prayer for Recovery from Grave Illness." That actually makes a lot of sense to me as this psalm has been one that I've felt effectively expresses much of what a person of faith may feel emotionally when going through a grave illness. In particular, it resonates with my experience of going through depression.

But depression isn't a grave illness, right? Actually the statistics say otherwise. In the United States alone, some 42,000+ people die by suicide and the biggest risk factor for suicide is mental illness. Given that depression is one of the most common mental illnesses in this country, it's not a big stretch to say that it's likely the illness behind many of those deaths each year.

Even if you don't wrestle with thoughts of suicide though, depression can weigh you down so much that it feels as though you're so deep in the blackness of it that you might as well be six feet under. Those intense emotions of sadness, heartache, numbness, loneliness, and despair are at the heart of the psalmist's prayer to God in Psalm 6:

Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing; O Lord, heal me, for my bones are shaking with terror. My soul also is struck with terror, while You, O Lord -- how long? (verses 2-3)

I have absolutely felt every bit of this in the last three years. I've even said to both Gray and Pendragon that I feel as though I'm wasting away, little by little. When the depression gets so dark that I cannot see anything light, there is a kind of terror there that resides deep within my bones.

I am weary with my moaning; every night I flood my bed with tears; I drench my couch with my weeping. My eyes waste away because of grief; they grow weak because of all my foes. (verse 6-7)

If I could somehow summon every tear that I've ever shed because of depression, I imagine there would be enough to fill the several gallons. In the last three years alone, I've shed enough tears that there have been many occasions when I thought I would dehydrate myself from crying. I have wept so much that I have moaned and howled with the ache of it. I know that sounds like I'm being dramatic, but it's the truth.

When the emotional pain you feel is as intense as mine has been, you may find yourself at a place where you just can't vent anything with sobbing alone. I'd never had the experience of such intense crying until I lost my ability to cry for several months at the beginning of this depressive episode and eventually had the dam burst in Pendragon's office one day. Since then, I've had quite a few dam bursting moments. The second part of this passage always seems so perfectly written to me: "My eyes waste away because of grief; they grow weak..." I have often felt after a long spate of crying that I feel a great weakness around my eyes, almost to the point of heaviness. I think that might account for how sleepy I often feel following a good cry.

The Lord has heard my supplication; the Lord accepts my prayer. (verse 9)

I think this verse is the hardest for me at times. All the struggles I've had with my faith have shaken me and made it all the harder to pray this verse and believe it. To be honest, there have been times when I have struggled so much with belief that the only prayer I could manage was, "Help. Oh, help." and this out of desperation, more than belief. In moments when the darkness was less heavy, I have prayed "Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief." (Mark 9:24) I know intellectually that God hears my prayers and that He accepts them, but given His silence and my inability to connect with His Presence, that intellectual belief offers cold comfort.

Still, because Truth is reality and I have always believed in Truth -- even when I didn't fully understand it -- I keep praying. Also, I know that despite my lack of connection with Him, He is doing things. I still don't like feeling like I'm in the dark and that He is nowhere to be found, but I see the traces of His touch on my soul from time to time. And that is enough.

+ O Lord, I offer this psalm up to You as a prayer from one who has been through the darkest of valleys and still breathes. When the heaviness of this illness lays waste to my ability to see You or believe that You are there, I pray "O Lord, I love. Help my lack of love. O Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief. O Lord, I hope. Help my lack of hope." Jesus, I trust in You. Amen. +

Psalm 3

This psalm really hits me where I live. There's so much that speaks to me in it that I could honestly write two or three blog posts on it with no problem at all. Of course when I say that it hits me where I live, I'm talking about depression -- more specifically, the depressive episode I've been struggling through in the last three years.

O Lord, how many are my foes! Many are rising against me; many are saying to me, "There is no help for you in God." (verses 1-2)

Recently, on a couple of different occasions, Fr. B has said to me that he thinks that I've been dealing with not only the psychological part of depression but a definite spiritual part too. I've struggled mightily with my faith for most of this episode and still struggle with it even now at times. Gray has posited on many occasions that he believes I'm being spiritually attacked or oppressed. I'll admit, I've been reluctant to believe that. What I've been seeing are all along are all the signs of spiritual oppression and I've been ignoring them because I didn't want to believe that there was anything demonic going on.

Part of this is that I used to go to a church before I became Catholic where there were some people who saw demons under every rock and attributed demonic influence or attack to nearly any problem. Prayers for deliverance were pretty standard. I even went through prayers for deliverance from depression back then and when nothing happened, I grew very bitter toward the practice. What changed was that I trust Fr. B and his discernment. He's not the sort to see demons everywhere, so when he senses that there's something going on, he is serious. I had been very resistant to any kind of deliverance prayers or ministry until he and I started meeting for spiritual direction. My trust in him allowed me to put my hesitancy aside and let him pray prayers of deliverance over me. And this time, little by little, the various things that had kept me at odds with my faith started dissolving.

Despite this, I still resisted the idea until I had a very powerful experience of being spiritually attacked that frightened me so much that I could no longer ignore all the signs. The next time Fr. B and I met and I told him that, he prayed deliverance over me again and as I wept, he said he sensed something happening with me. I didn't feel any change, but over the next week I had a realization: I have been feeling less anger toward God, less animosity toward my faith, and there has been an increase in my desire to move toward God in the last several months. In short, there has been a very slow, steady healing of faith happening right under my nose and that is due in large part to my having been delivered of some of the spiritual oppression I've been experiencing. My foes have been many, rising up against me and whispering the lies that God will not help me. I had been drowning in the tide of these attacks and had believed the lies, but all of that has been changing.

But You, O Lord, are a shield around me, my glory, and the one who lifts up my head. I cry aloud to the Lord, and He answers me from His holy hill. (verses 3-4)

I know that despite being so attacked, God has protected me. He has protected me as He has from the day of my conception with the presence of my guardian angel. He has protected me through the interventions of my husband Gray, my therapist Pendragon, and my friends who have saved me from myself. He has lifted up my head through the encouragement of dear friends and family. He has heard my cries in the night, in the day, in my bed, in my car, and lying prostrate before Him present in the tabernacle. For a long time, the last part of verse 4 didn't resonate with me at all. I was under such a heavy oppression that I was unable to see Him or hear any kind of answers. To be honest, I still struggle to see Him and hear Him. The difference these days is that I've grown more able to bear what seems like His silence and absence.

I lie down and sleep; I wake again for the Lord sustains me. (verse 5)

Oh this verse! This verse! I'm getting a bit emotional just reading those words. You see I've been absolutely dreaming of being able to lie down and sleep. Sleep doesn't come easily for me. I struggle with horrific insomnia that is brought on by anxiety about lying down and closing my eyes. This is because of the nightmares that I have which take me back to my trauma again and again and again. When I finally do sleep, I don't want to wake because I'm so very tired from fighting nightmares. I don't feel sustained. Of all the verses in this psalm, this is the one I have the hardest time swallowing. It's the one that causes me to want to stop reading and close my Bible. Maybe one day it won't be so hard. Or maybe it always will be. Crosses and such, you know?

I am not afraid of ten thousands of people who have set themselves against me all around. (verse 6)

What a bold statement! In my case, I'm not surrounded by ten thousands of people, but I know there are likely quite a few darker forces at work who have definitely set themselves against me and do their best to not only surround me, but envelop me. Am I afraid? Honestly? Yeah, a bit. I'd like to be as bold as this, but I'm just not there yet. It's a process and one that I'm still muddling through.

Rise up, O Lord! Deliver me, O my God! For you strike all my enemies on the cheek; you break the teeth of the wicked. (verse 7)

Obviously, this is a prayer of the psalmist for help. I don't normally ask for my enemies cheeks to be struck or their teeth broken, but I do ask for God's protection from evil. I also ask the saints to pray with me against any evil that might beset me. St. Michael the Archangel is an especially powerful intercessor against evil because of his special status as the warrior angel who leads the heavenly army in the fight against Satan and his army in chapter 12 of Revelation.

Deliverance belongs to the Lord; may your blessing be on your people. (verse 8)

In the end, I cannot find my way out of any kind of oppression on my own. I need the help of the Lord which comes through prayers of deliverance prayed over me by Fr. B, frequent reception of the Sacraments, and remaining obedient to what is required of me by God. Being so vulnerable and trusting when it comes to this process doesn't come easily for me. I still wrestle with a great many doubts, fears, and a real lack of genuine hope. I still have difficulty with what seems to me to be God's silence and absence. I'd love to say that I'm becoming more mature in my faith through all of this, but I still have so many days when I'm sure that God looks at me and sees a whiny, ill-humoured, petulant child. I want that deliverance now, not tomorrow or next year or when I'm 50 years old. But just as my deliverance itself belongs to God, so does its timing. As impatient and immature as I am, there's nothing for it but to keep pressing on and to keep asking for His blessing and His mercy while I wait on Him.

Five Minute Friday: Share

I'm linking up with the Five Minute Friday community again today to spend time writing on this week's prompt: SHARE. If you'd like to join the party, come on over to Kate's blog and link up with the rest of the community! Just click here to find today's post and scroll to the bottom to link up your own musings on today's prompt. Without further ado, here are my thoughts on....

SHARE

Some people probably wonder why I share so openly on this blog. In part, it's because I've always loved to share. I was always the girl who happily shared things with others when she was little. I would share my food, share my toys, and share my love through hugs, kisses, and kind words. As I grew older, I learned in some ways to be more selfish. I suppose that's part of growing up in this fallen world, although I'm ashamed to admit that I don't share as readily as I did when I was a child.

I'll admit that I don't share chocolate very easily. I find it very difficult to share my trust. I struggle with sharing my story at times because it's really hard and takes a lot of strength and courage to do so when the story is dark and difficult. I was reminded last night though of why I love sharing. It does something to me inside that I find difficult to put into words.

Yesterday was my 40th birthday and it was a really great day by all accounts. I think part of why it was such a great day is that I did a lot of sharing. I shared some time with an old friend and her daughter over coffee and cake pops at Starbucks and then as we meandered through Target together. I shared my popcorn (from Target) with my youngest daughter for an afternoon snack. I shared my discoveries about my family history and ancestry with my mother in law. I shared the remaining cake pop with all three of my girlies.

I shared birthday dinner with my family -- including a gigantic dish of fried ice cream that was brought out to celebrate my birthday (complete with 5 spoons to facilitate sharing). * As we sat there eating spoonfuls of frosted flake covered vanilla ice cream drenched in chocolate and strawberry syrups and mountains of whipped cream, I reflected on how much I enjoy sharing with them. There is something sweet about sharing moments of joy and a delicious dessert with those I love. I think it's beccause amidst the sharing of tasty treats and time spent together, underneath it all, what we're really sharing -- is love.

And isn't that what sharing is all about? When we share with others - be it joy, time, clothes, toys, or even sorrows -- what we're really doing is showing love. I think that's why sharing appeals to me so much. It's a chance to love on people and that is something that I've always enjoyed and believed that I'm called to do.

In the interest of sharing, I'll share this with you -- while I didn't write this in exactly five minutes, I did actually set a timer today! The little * above is where my timer went off! Until next time...

Five Minute Friday: Morning

It's been a while since I've linked up with my friends at Five Minute Friday, but today's prompt was such a good one that I knew I had to write something on it. I don't exactly do the whole "five minutes" part of it as I'm not good at writing under that kind of pressure, but I love the prompts and reading all the various things people write about. The community are a really great bunch of folks too! If you're interested, check out the link above for more information and to link up with this week's prompt, click here. This week's prompt is MORNING. The following is my take on that prompt in a free verse poetic sort of style.

I am waiting for morning.
Every night, I wait for a day that has yet to come.
It isn't dawn or sunlight or birds tweeting their birdsong
Which makes me wait and yearn.
It is what a new morning signifies.
Hope.
Oh Hope, you temptress you.
I look for morning
Because I am promised that you are found in her embrace.
When the light filters through the trees and illumines the world
I am told that you are to be found amidst that wondrous moment.
So I wait.
And I wait.
I wait for morning.

I am waiting for morning.
Every night, I wait for the scent of dewy grass and cooler breezes.
It isn't the air so pure with freshness or quiet stillness
Which makes me wait and yearn.
It is that I may find new purpose in the morning.
Purpose.
Oh Purpose, how you seduce my senses.
I look for morning
Because I am promised that you are found in her embrace.
When all the world has just awoken and nothing yet dares to stir,
I am told that you are to be found amidst that wondrous moment.
So I wait.
And I wait.
I wait for morning.

I am waiting for morning.
This night, this endless, dark night keeps me waiting.
It is the raging tumult of rain and storms, howling wind, and impenetrable darkness
Which keeps me waiting and yearning.
It is these that pull me into hopelessness and worthlessness in this horrible night.
Hopelessness.
Oh Hopelessness, how you tear me apart again and again.
I look for morning
But you blind my eyes and tell me that I will never find morning again.
Worthlessness.
Oh Worthlessness, how you inject your venom like a drug into my heart.
I look for morning
But you deafen my ears and tell me that I am not worthy of seeing morning again.
In this onslaught and torrent
I am buffeted about, as weak as a thin piece of paper.
I am doomed to the night.

Morning with all her promises does not come.
Night and all his terrors abound.
But there are voices in the howling wind.
Voices that I strain to hear.
Voices that urge me to keep waiting for morning.
I am weak, like paper.
I am tired of waiting.
I cannot wait any longer and the night is fast stealing my voice.

Then strong arms hold me fast in the night.
Compassionate and understanding ears hear my wails of exhaustion.
My head and hands are lovingly tended with prayers and oil.
The voices walk with me through the night.
So I wait.
And wait.
And keep waiting.
And although it is still night
And dawn seems unimaginable and impossible,
These supports give me the strength
To keep waiting for morning.

A Few Links for Wednesday

I don't often pass along links, but I save them a lot. Facebook is a place where I find a number of them. If you're on Facebook, did you know that you can save links? It's super easy. Just click (or tap if you're on your phone) the little arrow in the upper right hand corner of the post containing the link and select "save link." It will add the link to your "Saved" page. Then you can go back and look at your links at your leisure. I use this all the time when I run across something that looks interesting, but I don't have time to really read it or look at it right that moment. You can also use this feature to save pictures, videos, and posts (yours or others' posts) to look at later. I love it for all those yummy looking recipe videos that are floating around on Facebook. Anyhow, here's a few links that I've found recently that I thought you might enjoy having a look at. It's a hodgepodge of stuff, but life is a bit of a hodgepodge as well, right?

1. Catholics routinely make the sign of the cross at the beginning and ending of prayers, during Mass, and as a part of other rituals and rites. If you don't understand what it means, it can seem an empty gesture, but the reality is that it's full of meaning. This short video (only 2 minutes, 35 seconds) explains three awesome things that this gesture means.

If you're interested in learning more, this article "21 Things We Do When We Make the Sign of the Cross" from Catholic Exchange is a great list of things that the sign means. Even if you aren't Catholic, I highly encourage you to give either the video or article a look. It's really interesting stuff and will give you a greater understanding of this beautiful gesture of Catholic faith.

2. Since I have quite a few friends who, like me, have kids, I've seen this a few times, but it is really neat. It's a video that shows you how to make your own watercolour paints! Seriously. That is SO cool! I haven't tried it yet, but I really want to give it a whirl and see how they come out. It looks really easy and involves ingredients that most folks already on hand in their kitchen. I could see this also being something fun for grandparents, aunts/uncles, babysitters, or teachers to try. Crafty!

Homemade Watercolors
Posted by Skillshare on Tuesday, February 2, 2016

3. I am an unabashed Anglophile and Hibernophile. This means I really, really love most things that are British or Irish. :) Tea is one of my favourite things and it is so perfectly British and Irish that it might as well be a part of their collective DNA. It's so ubiquitous that they sometimes don't even bother saying "tea" at all, but will instead say to you, "Let's have a cuppa. I'll put the kettle on." Many British offices have tea trollies which are a cart that's pushed around the office so you can grab a cuppa and a biscuit (that would be a cookie to us Americans) for your break or to enjoy at your desk. People drink it black, with lemon, white (with milk), and with or without sugar. A particularly British thing is what many Americans refer to as either "afternoon tea" or "high tea." These are used interchangeably, but did you know they're not necessarily the same thing? This brief article highlights the similarities and differences. A word of caution though: it's likely to make you crave a cuppa and some scones! Here's the Difference Between Afternoon Tea and High Tea!

4. Because I love a good recipe, how about some Samoa Brownies? Om, nom, nom, NOM!!! A friend posted this on FB and I had to save it. They look so delectable and like they'd be pretty easy to make. Here's a picture of the finished product, courtesy of the blog Incredible Recipes from Heaven:

And of course, the link to the recipe! The blog post has step by step pictures to make it easier to see what it should look like as you go alone. Mmmmm....

5. And finally, but, I think probably the most important link of all, this link of a letter "To the Husband With the Wife Who Has Depression" If you don't look at any of the other links on this page, please give this a read. It is written from the perspective of the wife struggling with depression to her husband. I could have written every single word. As I read it, I found myself getting teary-eyed and choked up. So much of the thoughts in it resonate with me and my experience. It expresses not only how hard things are for the wife, but what she needs from her husband in the way of support and understanding. One thing that is different from my experience is that Gray actually knows all of this. I am so incredibly grateful that he does, so I posted this to my FB timeline and tagged him. I also added the following note to him:

I love you so much for knowing all this, for holding me fast through the darkest hours, for helping me grow beyond the place where I stay silent all the time, for being my safe place to fall when I do find reaching out hard, for all the sacrifices you've made for me both big and small, and for loving me mind, body, and soul with the love of Christ. I could say all this a thousand times a day and it wouldn't be enough to adequately express how grateful I am that God joined us together or how deeply I love you. You are my heart and my beloved. Always. xoxoxo 

Hope you've enjoyed one or more of these links! I'll share a few more another time. Have a great Wednesday!

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall...(A Holiday Recap)

It's a new year and believe it or not, it's already the 13th of the month! Half of January is gone and I've been slacking. Well, not exactly slacking, just not really writing. Part of that is because of something that happened last week just after we returned home from visiting Gray's family for Christmas and New Year's. I'm working on a blog post about it, but it may be a few more days before it's ready. As I've been on my computer this evening, I actually ran across something on Pinterest that might evolve into a blog series. I'm going to noodle over it for a bit, read some more at the blog where I got the idea, and with any luck, something interesting will come out of it. I actually felt a little bit of excitement when I first saw it -- which is kinda rare for me these days. Who knows?

In other news, we had a pretty good Christmas as these things go. Made the two day drive to my in-laws house, stayed about 2 weeks (from just before Christmas until just after New Year's), and made the two day drive home -- and NO ONE got sick.

Y'all. That is so HUGE.

We have been married for 10 years now and in that amount of time, we have never been able to go to my in-laws house and have everyone well when we leave, well on the road, well while we're there, and well all the way home. The usual culprit is Miss AB (our middle girl). She gets kinda pukey sick and it has the potential to be very very bad. Put it this way, we've visited the local hospital near my in-laws house TWICE because she was vomiting and we couldn't get her to keep anything down. We've also had sickness spread through the family too. Last year (Christmas 2014) while we were there, Gray got sick twice and the second time around was bad enough that we had to stay an extra day so he'd be well enough to travel! This year, I made sure we all got flu shots well in advance of the trip and on the advice of my mother-in-law, picked up some Dramamine for AB on the off-chance that her sickness might be motion-induced. It worked!

The visit itself was pretty good. We enjoyed time with Gray's brother and his wife, Gray's sister, and the girls all had fun with their cousin E-beth. We also did a studio portrait session with the whole family and got some great prints of our immediate family, one of our three girls, and a couple of others. After the portrait session, I enjoyed some girl time with my two sisters-in-law.

Also discovered that I like spicy bourbon. My brother-in-law suggested that I try Evan Williams Fire as it's very smooth. It is delicious! I bought a fifth of it and enjoyed the entire bottle over the course of the two weeks, a finger or two at a time. The only bad thing is that I am pretty sure that it's not available in my state (we have strict limits on what can be sold w/regard to alcohol) and it's illegal according to state law to bring any alcohol across state lines. Oh well! Something to look forward to when I go back! Got to go to my favourite local fabric store with my mom-in-law and snagged some Doctor Who, Star Wars, and Star Trek fabric and something that made me think of Firefly as well. Geek fabric for the win! 

New Year's Eve was a quiet evening back at my in-laws' house. We basically watched the BBC America Doctor Who marathon all day long. The only break was when we five left to go to the local parish to attend the Vigil Mass for the Solemnity of Mary the Mother of God. It's a holy day of obligation (meaning you have to go to Mass) and you can either go on the day itself (January 1st) or the evening before at the Vigil Mass. Since we knew we were going to stay up late to ring in the new year, we elected to go the evening before. I'm kinda glad we did. It was very calm and quiet in the church and to be honest, my nerves were a little bit frazzled. The church was still decorated with all the beautiful candles, Christmas trees, and the Nativity scene and there was a sort of hush as we entered and settled ourselves into a pew. I can't say that I felt a deep sense of God's presence (although I know He was there), but there was a peacefulness about being there that I've missed. After Mass, we returned to Gray's folks' house and the Doctor Who marathon continued. Dinner was yummy pot roast with mashed potatoes, carrots, and broccoli which was very comforting on such a chilly night. The rest of the evening was spent drinking hard cider (and bourbon after midnight) and snacking on chips and dip and other yummies while watching Doctor Who. I spent part of it working on my final blog post for the year. When midnight rolled around, we had only our middle daughter AB who was still awake. After kisses and hugs to welcome the new year, everyone but Balinda and I went to bed. We enjoyed some more snacks and chatted while watching TV.

M2, AB, and I had a mommy-daughters date just before we left to come home. We hit the local mall, grabbed pretzels at Auntie Anne's, browsed and bought sale items at Bath & Body Works' semi-annual sale (LOTS of yummy scented hand soaps for cheap!), and enjoyed looking at all the fun stuff at Five Below. The girls had an impromptu lightsaber battle in the store while I looked at grown-up colouring books and funky magnets. In addition to all our smelly soaps, we came home with 2 colouring books for me, 1 each for the girls, and an Inside Out magnet for our ever growing magnet collection. That night as I began the task of packing to come home, Gray and his mom and I watched the special Sherlock episode "The Abominable Bride." SO good!

We got home a couple of days after New Year's and I think we were all glad to be back in our own beds and surrounded by the familiar things of home. Vacation is nice, but it's always good to get back to the regular routine of life too.

Hope you and your family had a good Christmas and New Year's! God bless you in 2016 and always!