Five Minute Friday: Hope

Note: This post is my weekly contribution to the Five Minute Friday community that is hosted by Kate Motaung on her blog Heading Home. Click here for more information about Five Minute Friday and how you can get involved! To link up with all the other entries for today's prompt word, click here.

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I'll be honest, friends.

I don't have any fancy or uplifting words to say this week on this prompt. You see, hope is not my forte these days. It's just not in my box of things to lift me up and make me praise God. I suppose that makes me seem like a really crappy Christian. Honestly, the fact that hope is kind of in absentia makes me feel like I'm worthless as a Christian. I mean, I'm supposed to put my hope in God. Trust in Him because He is the bringer of hope and the uplifter of the hopeless.

Yeah. Just can't do it.

I can't bring myself to say the word "hope" with any kind of meaning behind it these days. My spirit and heart are wounded. They've been wounded for quite a long time. Actually, they've been wounded for two years to this day.

You see, it was on this exact date -- July 10, 2013, that I lost my hope. I was violently traumatized emotionally and the hope that used to reside deep within my spirit was wrenched away in that moment of trauma and I have been unable to find it again.

And believe me, I've tried. I have tried to find that hope.

I have looked for it in scripture, in prayer, in worship, and in the healing graces of the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick (which is for spiritual healing primarily and then physical/emotional healing comes as a secondary benefit) and the other sacraments. What have I found?

Nothing.
Nada.
Zip.

And worst of all -- absolute silence from God.

Because of this, I went a long time where I wouldn't even use the word hope in its more secular sense of something wished for -- aka "I'm hoping for a chocolate cake for my birthday" -- because even that left a sour taste on my tongue. I didn't want to hope for anything because hope could be stolen and destroyed and all without any warning.

I have since resumed using it in its secular sense, but still don't really use it in the spiritual sense. I also don't use it when speaking of my illness because every time I have said that I feel a sense of hope that I'm getting better, I wind up about five steps backward from where I thought I was with my recovery.

I mentioned this prompt on Facebook in small group of women who encourage one another and my comment was: "This week's prompt is HOPE. *facepalm*" One of the ladies in the group who was trying to encourage me said that despite everything that I'm going through that I am "living hope" and that all the things I do to get through each day and deal with this illness are "rooted in hope."

I appreciate the thought, but I think what I'm really doing is living obedience.

A very long time ago, when I was just a little girl of 6 years old, I gave my heart to God. I made a commitment to follow Him with my life. I didn't know what that commitment would entail at age 6, but as I got older, I began to understand that a big part of it was obedience to God's will for me. At first, I thought it was just obedience in things like who to hang out with, who to date, obeying my parents, going to church, etc. As I matured though, I came to realise that it was more than just those sort of big things, but the day to day little things too. At some point in my early adulthood, I realised that He wants my obedience in EVERYTHING.

Living obedience is not always easy in good times, but when life hits us with unexpected stresses, it can be very very hard. So how do you live obedience when you have no hope, feel abandoned by God and feel totally broken and crushed in mind, body, and spirit?

You do as my spiritual director, Fr.B, told me today. Take it one day at a time. When you cannot make yourself remain obedient, you lean on those around you who are faithful to Him to help you. You put one foot in front of the other. You breathe in and breathe out and somehow, you get to another day. 

And I'm not gonna lie. You cry a lot. Seriously, a LOT. You scream at God and beat your fists upon His feet. You cry some more. You consider often just turning your back on God altogether. More crying. You vent your spleen to someone who will listen -- be they friend, family, priest, or therapist. And you cry some more. The crying happens nearly daily when you're in this hopeless place where obedience is the anchor you are clinging to by a thread.

It sucks. It sucks a lot because when you're in this place, it feels as though you will never be doing anything but living obedience. No joy. No meaning. Nothing but monotonous obedience. I wish I could tell you that it gets better. That the hope returns and that the joy is abundant because of the struggle.

But that's not my story.

I'm still living obedience. As I wrestle with myself and my faith amidst all the day to day stresses of married life and motherhood and the overarching noonday demon of depression, I do the little things and big things that He has called me to time and again.

And I cry a lot. But that's okay. Because we have tissues. :) 

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*This was meant to be a 5-minute exercise, but once I FINALLY got started, I had a hard time stopping myself, so I'm more than a little bit over. Just pretend it was 5 minutes, okay? I won't tell if you won't! :)

Join in the Five Minute Friday fun and link up over at Kate Motaung's blog!

The Other Man

Strip courtesy of peanuts.wikia.com.

Two people that I mention on a routine basis on this blog are my husband, Gray and my therapist, Pendragon. I've talked a lot about Gray's support and our story, but I haven't really talked much about Pendragon. I know some people might think it strange to go into much detail about their therapist, but he is an important person in my life and I wanted to share some of my thoughts about him.

In the last 2.5 years, I've seen him so frequently (due to the intensity of this episode of depression) that I have jokingly referred to him as "the other man in my life." Outside of Gray, he knows me better than almost anyone on the planet. It's very rare these days that I pull something out that totally surprises him. I've gotten to know a little bit about him too as he's shared different experiences he's had with similar things to give me a new perspective or encourage me that I'm not alone in something.

More Than Medication

In 2008, I was going through a particularly severe depressive episode, complete with self-injury. It began about 11 months after the birth of our second daughter, AB, but it wasn't until about 4 months later that I finally managed to make an appointment with a psychiatrist at a large psychiatric group near our apartment. I had gone off my antidepressants when I got pregnant with our eldest daughter, M2, but never got back on them postpartum because AB was conceived so soon after M2's birth. Gray suggested I might need meds again, so I made the appointment.

At the appointment with Dr. Alt, I gave him the basic history of my illness and waited for his assessment. He asked some questions about the current episode, looked back over his notes, and finally said in his pronounced German accent, "I am going to give you a prescription, but I think you would benefit from talking to someone."

My heart sank. I wasn't expecting that.

In retrospect, given that I was cutting myself and severely depressed, it was silly to think I could get away with just taking a prescription, but I didn't feel ready to talk about stuff. He continued, "So I'd like to set you up to see someone. Do you prefer a woman or a ma--”

"A man." The answer came flying out of my mouth before he'd even finished his question. He raised his eyebrows and looked down at his notes before addressing me again.

"Are you sure? You wouldn't prefer a woman?"

I shook my head and replied, "No, I wouldn't."

He continued, "The reason I ask is that in my experience, women are usually more comfortable talking to a woman."

I shook my head more firmly. "Not me. I would prefer a man, please."

He bent his head over my patient file, scribbled something down, and looked up again. "Well, in that case, I think I have just the person for you. I think you'll like him. His name is Pendragon." He made another note, then turned to look at something else on his desk. After a few moments consultation, he asked, "would next week be okay for an appointment with him?" I nodded mutely. After a bit of writing, he stood, handed me both a piece of paper bearing my new prescription and a larger one with instructions for the front office to make that appointment with Pendragon and with that, ended the appointment and ushered me out of the office.

The First Appointment

Time has a nasty habit of speeding up when you want it to crawl and the time between my visit with Dr. Alt and my first appointment with Pendragon flew by like a gust of wind. The day arrived and suddenly I found myself sitting in the parking lot, steeling myself to go inside. I finally got myself together, went in and checked in at the front desk. I sat down to wait. It must have been a few minutes, but it seemed like I'd barely sat down when I heard a pleasant sounding male voice call, "Therese?" I looked up and saw a rather tall, very young looking man holding a file folder and looking around. I stood up and we made eye contact. He repeated my name, "Therese?" I nodded quietly. "Hi, I'm Pendragon. It's nice to meet you."

I think I muttered something like "Nice to meet you too" but I can't be totally sure. My heart pounded nervously and I felt like I was barely breathing. He motioned toward the double doors that led back to the individual offices and invited me back. As we walked, I glanced at his face again and was struck by how very young he looked. Is he even old enough to be doing this? How old is he? As these thoughts went through my head, I suddenly realised that he was about six paces ahead of me. Dang, long legs! Hold up! Wow, he's tall!

I don't recall much of that first session. I do remember being surprised that he sat across from me rather than having a desk between us. I also recall that he didn't push me for details or pressure me to tell him anything more than I wanted to tell him. As a result, I didn't mention the self-injury or suicidal thoughts. I wasn't sure how he'd take it. My experience in the past had been very negative with doctors and therapists who just didn't understand self-injury and I'd only ever admitted suicidal thoughts to one other person. I wasn't sure if I could trust him with those darkest of secrets. Despite my reticence in that first session, I did find myself warming to him. He had a kind face, a relaxed approach, and my initial impression was that he wasn't judging me. At the end, we made an appointment for two weeks later. In retrospect, he must have sensed I was in more distress than I was letting on because as I was leaving, he told me that if I needed to talk before that appointment I could call during office hours, leave him a message, and he'd call me back. It was a small thing, but it made me feel a little less alone in my struggle. I decided in that moment that I thought I liked him and that this just might work out.

These Days...

Well, six years later, he still has a baby face (for real y'all, he looks like he's barely out of college), but I have since learned that he is, in fact, older than me by about 4 years. I've also learned more about him which has strengthened my ability to relate to him, be myself, and do the work of trying to recover and make positive changes in my life. These days I don't have to gallop to keep pace with his long legs, since he is now in private practice and the walk from his waiting area to his office door is only about four steps.

Because I trust him implicitly, I also, very rarely, hold anything back. He knows me well enough now though, that he can tell if I am. He still doesn't pressure me to say things I'm not ready to say, although he has perfected the art of helping me find a place where I feel able to say those things. In fact, there have been days when the depression has lain so heavy on me that my tongue was rendered silent and I couldn't bring myself to speak at all, but somehow, bit by bit, Pendragon has managed to help me find my voice and speak many difficult things aloud.

He doesn't judge me -- ever. No matter what kind of insanity falls out of my mouth or how much I sob and use half a box of tissues at one go. He doesn't care that the moment that I come in his office I kick off my sandals, tuck one foot underneath me, and plop down on his comfy sofa with all the grace of a paraplegic hippo. His office is a place where I feel safe and able to truly be my authentic self -- stripped of masks and defenses, totally honest, raw, vulnerable, and exactly who I am with all my good, bad, and in between. I've come in his office exhausted from too little sleep, in need of a shower, wearing clothes that were dirty, half out of my head from not eating for days, and so darkly depressed that I was silent as a tomb and have found deep concern, a lot of patience, and and a determined perseverance to help me find my way to a better place through self-care, coping skills, and changes in my thinking. I never feel like I'm under some kind of judgmental scrutiny.

Despite the lack of feeling scrutinized, Pendragon is keenly observant and is able to glean an awful lot about me and the kind of week I've been having before I've said the first word. I first noticed this two years ago when I had an appointment after one of the most traumatic days of my life. I know therapists are trained to be observant, but I think he is particularly so and it's very helpful as he has used those observations to point things out to me that I wasn't even aware of previous to that moment.

Lest you think that our sessions are all gloom and doom, we do laugh. In fact, there have been several moments where both of us were shaking with laughter. It's a darn good thing too, because the nature of mental illness is that you really need that kind of pressure valve to release tension and help ground you a bit. Pendragon also encourages me in the good things in my life like my marriage, my kids, and most importantly, my faith. He is, like me, a Christian (although not Catholic) and understands the vital role my faith plays in my life and in my mental health. His encouragement of the pursuit of my faith has been especially important as I've struggled mightily over the past 2 years with feeling connected to God and wanting to remain faithful in my walk with Him.

I am immensely grateful to God for bringing Pendragon into my life. To be honest, I do not have adequate words to express my gratitude. I am thankful for his listening ear, outsider perspective, professional expertise, and immeasurable amount of compassion, gentleness, and caring with which he has helped me through many a difficult situation and some of my darkest hours.

And so with that, I will wind this up and say "Thanks be to God for His merciful gift of a compassionate healer who helps me be just pensive enough to fight and slay my dragons."

Five Minute Friday: Favourite

Note: This post is my weekly contribution to the Five Minute Friday community that is hosted by Kate Motaung on her blog Heading Home. Click here for more information about Five Minute Friday and how you can get involved! To link up with all the other entries for today's prompt word, click here.

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This beats fast food burgers ANY day!

See that picture above? Yeah, I'm going to admit it. That's one of my favourite things to chow down on when I'm ridiculously hungry. I mean, it's a behemoth of a burger, so hunger is a good accessory to have when attempting it, right? Even hungry though, sometimes I can't finish it. Granted, the fries sitting beside it might be partially to blame. They are another favourite of mine. The place that makes this yummy burger and fries is one of our family's favourite places to go eat. It's pricier than McDonald's or Wendy's but the quality is SO much better and we get the good feelings that come from helping a local business and business owner stay afloat. The owner is a fantastic guy and has become a good friend. He's always helping out in the community and even takes canned food donations to donate to the local food pantry (and you get a free drink if you donate 2 cans -- neat, no?). He's also a fellow Catholic, so we talk faith a good bit when we go in there if he's around and not too busy. I'll be honest though. There have been times when I've gone to eat my favourite when it just didn't enthuse me at all. It wasn't that the recipe had changed or that the burger or fries were cooked differently.

It was all inside my head. I couldn't summon up any of the excitement or usual happy anticipation that comes along with a favourite food. I've had this happen with chocolate, ice cream, my favourite colour, favourite songs, favourite activities, favourite books and movies, etc. I've even had it happen with my fandoms -- and y'all know how I am about my fandoms.

It's one of the hallmarks of intense depression. In psychological terms, it's called anhedonia which means a loss of interest or pleasure in things that normally give a  person pleasure or interest them. It's when your favourite colour becomes blah and chocolate might as well taste like wallpaper paste. It's when you don't feel that familiar thrill of excitement when someone tells you that a new movie in your fandom is coming out soon.

In a word, anhedonia SUCKS. It really really sucks to have all the little joys of life fade away and it makes depression that much harder because one of the suggestions that is usually made to help alleviate the symptoms of depression is to focus on the little things and little joys of life. All those little favourites that normally help lift your spirits should be something that you can turn to when depression gets really black and miserable, but thanks to the nature of this beast, it's often hard to do that. 

So what do you do when your favourite this or that just isn't anymore?

First, you need to make sure you mention this loss of interest to your therapist. He or she needs to know this because it's a serious symptom. Not only that, but your therapist will likely have some ideas for helping you with it.

Second, try to engage with your favourite things anyway -- even if you look at them and the sight of them makes you want to scream swear words and hurl them across the room. I've been there and there have been days when I've engaged with them and days when I haven't. Hey, I didn't say it was easy. It's not. This is probably harder than talking to your therapist.

Third, be gentle with yourself if you don't manage to engage with your favourites anyway. Try to find new things that interest you if you can. If not, employ other self-care tactics until you're able to engage with your favourite things again. For example, my favourite colour is red. I have more red in my wardrobe (especially shirts) than I probably need. When my depression got very very bad at the beginning of this episode, the red disappeared because I couldn't look at it, much less wear it. It wasn't just red though. I tried to wear things that were other colours, but found myself repulsed and annoyed to the point that it was distracting and totally unhelpful, so I engaged in self-care. My self-care was to clothe myself in black from head to toe. That might seem an odd, counterintuitive sort of self-care thing, but it worked and it enabled me to focus more on treatment and life in general because it eliminated the frustration of everything feeling all wrong all the time. It's been almost 2.5 years since this episode began and the red went away and I still cannot wear it (or its derivatives like pink, magenta, etc.) much at all. I've branched out from the black some in the last 6 months and wear some blues, whites, greens, and dark purples, but little to almost zero red. I'm working on getting back to my favourite colour again, but I don't know when that will be -- and that's okay.

One final honest admission --- I've gone way over on my time limit for this week. Way over. Sorry Kate! I just got rolling and couldn't seem to stop. But this is all from the heart and it's where I am this week.

Join in the Five Minute Friday fun and link up your post at Kate Motaung's blog!

Update - June 24, 2015

Life has been moving along pretty quickly these days. I haven't been writing a whole lot, but I've been trying to keep up with the Five Minute Friday posts as often as possible (along with joining the #fmfparty on Twitter on Thursday nights!) and post the odd thing as I am inspired. To be perfectly honest, depression has been kicking my tuchus of late. The last week or so has been a bit better, but I've been in trip planning/packing mode so blogging has been lower on my list of priorities.

Trip, you ask? Why yes indeed!

I'm headed to Boston this weekend for the Out of the Darkness Overnight walk which raises funds for suicide prevention (<---- click the highlighted link to donate to my fundraising efforts). It's organized by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention and the funds raised go to support their programs which help educate people about suicide prevention, help those in crisis situations, advocate for better mental health care, and provide support programs for those who have lost a loved one as the result of suicide (those people are often called "suicide survivors" which is not to be confused with people who have survived a suicide attempt). They have a very ambitious, but I believe doable, goal of reducing suicide by 20% by the year 2025. Given that approximately 112 Americans die by suicide every day, that's saving just over 8,000 a year! What a huge difference that would make!

So to help achieve this goal, the AFSP does local walks and national walks. The walk in Boston is one of two national walks this year and will take place this Saturday night. It starts at dusk and you walk a distance of about 16-18 miles through the night and into the dawn of a new day. The journey is a symbolic one in that for those who struggle with suicidal thoughts, often the darkness seems to go on forever, but the reality is that the dawn does come if you hold on long enough. The reality is that the dawn is hope and there is hope for those who are struggling with the kind of intense mental illness that leads one to contemplate or attempt suicide.

For me, this is both a journey of solidarity and also a personal journey. If you've read much of my blog, you'll know that I am no stranger to depression and suicidal thinking. Both have been with me for many years and will likely be with me most of my life. For me, this walk is something I want to do to show support to others who struggle but also as a means of healing for myself. It is my hope -- and it makes me a bit nervous to use that word -- that this experience will help heal some old wounds and some more recent wounds and greatly diminish the struggle with suicidal thoughts that has plagued me so intensely for the last couple of years.

I'm not expecting a miraculous sort of healing to take place, but I know that these kinds of things do have the potential to cause certain things in us to shift, to get us thinking, and perhaps prompt us toward positive change. I know one change it has already wrought in me and that's that I feel a definite pull toward becoming more involved in mental health awareness and advocacy. I'm not sure where that's going to lead, but this walk is a good place to start, I think. During the walk, I am going to take lots of pictures and I'm going to try to blog some of those either during the walk itself or just before I crash post-walk, so be on the lookout for that!

For now, I need to start a load of laundry so that tomorrow I'll be ready to get my bag packed. Please say a prayer for me as I take this journey and pray for Gray too. He's going to be home with our three wild little women for the whole weekend while I do this. I know he's up to the task, but I also know how energetic and sometimes trying they can be.

Pax Christi,
TM

Five Minute Friday: Fear

Note: This post is my weekly contribution to the Five Minute Friday community that is hosted by Kate Motaung on her blog Heading Home. Click here for more information about Five Minute Friday and how you can get involved! To link up with all the other entries for today's prompt word, click here.

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(picture courtesy of Warner Brothers Pictures, quote added by me)

So here I am again. It's time to write and well, honestly, the words aren't coming so much. I had a lot of thoughts kinda race through my head but not a single one of them seems to want to coalesce into something coherent. So here are a few thoughts on fear -- disjointed though they may be.

• Fear isn't always a bad thing. There is indeed such a thing as healthy fear. Healthy fear comes from God and can keep us out of trouble.

• Here's one of my favourite quotes about fear from Professor Remus Lupin in the book Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban:

"I didn't think of Voldemort," said Harry honestly. "I -- I remembered those dementors." 

"I see," said Lupin thoughtfully. "Well, well . . . I'm impressed. That suggests what you fear most of all is -- fear. Very wise, Harry."

• Fear isn't the absence of strength. It isn't some kind of weakness. It is an acknowledgement that you are human and that life is scary sometimes.

• Fear can be paralyzing at times, especially when you are scared spitless and have absolutely no idea what to do. In those moments, the best thing to do is hit your knees and do your best to give it to God. Yeah, I know, not so easily done.

• Even the most fearless looking person has something they're afraid of -- heights, fire alarms, the number 13, the sight of blood, or becoming a parent for the first time. I was reminded of this while watching Deadliest Catch this week. One of the Northwestern's deck hands, Jake Anderson, got to meet his baby boy on this week's episode when his wife gave birth.

• Don't worry about your fears. Face them and in so doing, cultivate bravery. A very wise person once said to me that bravery isn't a lack of fear, but the strength to face your fears in spite of them. I like that a lot.

Until next week...

Join in the Five Minute Friday Fun and link up at Kate Motaung's blog!

Lull

This is part of my prompts series from the blog The Habit of Being. Each of the posts in this series will feature the prompt for that post as the post title. While I may sometimes use the current day's prompt, it is more likely that I will pick and choose as inspiration dictates. If you are interested in following along with the prompts or writing some of your own, here's the link to the page with the prompts: http://thehabitofbeing.com/writealm/

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The huge oak tree in fairer weather.

The huge oak tree sways,
Its stately limbs stretching skyward
Side to side, they fan in the heavy breeze.
The air, thick with water
Hot and heavy, despite gusts of wind.
Clouds above hang pendulous
And ever darkening from gray to patchy ash to soot
Plump with the promise of rain soon to come
And the pleasant smell of petrichor when the rain has ceased.
My hair whips around my face
Strands catch my nose, lips, slightly open mouth
As I assess the sky for signs
Of more than the rumbles of thunder and streaky lightning.
Girls rush inside to escape rain.
My feet follow theirs
Fingers flicking the TV on for more learned advice.
The littlest bear crawls into my lap
Seeking snuggles and my voice to read stories.
My lips find her soft hair and
We rock together through "Guess How Much I Love You"
Her sisters retreated to their room
And in the quiet, the sound of falling rain.
I gaze down, see steady breaths
The little bear has fallen asleep
Lulled deep by raindrops, rocking, and reading,
Her sweet curls moving gently in the ceiling fan's cool breeze.
In the lull between wind and water.
In the lull, my eyes close to rest a moment
And fully feel the weight of sleep against my torso
Keeping this rare moment of quiet close to my heart
Before the lull between chaos and chaos ends.

My littlest bear, GB, sound asleep on the sofa.

Five Minute Friday: World

Note: This post is my weekly contribution to the Five Minute Friday community that is hosted by Kate Motaung on her blog Heading Home. Click here for more information about Five Minute Friday and how you can get involved! To link up with all the other entries for today's prompt word, click here.

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I look around at the world sometimes and I wonder if me, being just one person, can do anything that truly matters or makes a difference. I'd love to be able to change the world in a positive way, but the world is so big and complicated and there's so much red tape and strife everywhere, that it can be overwhelming to even think about where to get started.

The conclusion I've come to again and again is that in order to change the world, I have to be willing to do my little part. No big change or even little change comes without effort on the part of someone or a group of someones. Even a small thing can, when added to a bunch of other small things, become something that makes a positive change in the life of someone else in the world. And isn't that what its all about? Wanting to make a difference in this world -- whether it's nature conservation, the environment, animal welfare, human welfare, poverty, or whatever -- is about making a change that will benefit someone else's life in a positive way.

So you start small. You take that first step. Sign up for a group or a newsletter. Get involved with a local charity. Do a little bit. But don't stop there. Keep going. Keep getting involved with whatever cause sets your heart on fire.

For me, one of those causes is mental illness education and advocacy. To that end, in just over two weeks time I am going to be in Boston, MA doing a walk to benefit the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. It's called the Out of the Darkness Overnight Walk and the funds each walker raises help educate others about suicide prevention, help those in crisis, advocate for better mental health care programs, and provide support programs for those who have lost a loved one to suicide. It is a fantastic cause. So far, I have raised the requisite amount, but this particular cause is so dear to me (given my own struggles with depression and suicidal ideation) that I would love to raise a bit more.

Would you consider helping me?

It's very easy to do. Just click on the link below to go to my fundraising page (it's a page set up by the AFSP) and click the bright orange donate button at the top of the page. Absolutely ANY contribution is greatly appreciated. Your donation, along with many others, will help save lives and any life that can be saved from suicide is a definitely a great way to change the world.

My fundraising page

Some of my thoughts on depression and suicide:
10 Things To Know About Depression (this is a two part post - part 1 and part 2)
Understanding More About Suicide

Join in the Five Minute Friday fun and link up at Kate Motaung's blog!