Guest Post: Arthritis Awareness Month and a Personal Journey

Today’s post is written by Elizabeth Bender, this blogger’s daughter.  Beth was a contributing author in “Wherever,” published last month.  She currently attends Baylor University and hopes to be a Child Life Specialist when she graduates.  Many thanks to Elizabeth for sharing her story and insights!

May is Arthritis Awareness Month. I want to share my personal story with how arthritis has impacted my life and how I live with it as a part of who I am, but not letting it control who I am.

I never thought that I being 20 years old would have to deal with arthritis. Arthritis is an old person issue, right? Wrong! In fact, over 100 different forms of arthritis exist impacting individuals of all ages. Each form of arthritis affects individuals in different ways. I personally struggle with reactive arthritis.

Reactive arthritis occurs because of infections that attack the joints. A range of infections can bring about reactive arthritis. My reactive arthritis comes from strep. So my actual diagnosis is post-streptococcal reactive arthropathy. In October 2015, I was diagnosed with strep and was put on an antibiotic. Unfortunately, I then had recurring strep infections throughout the fall.

I continued to struggle with a sore throat, body aches, and extreme fatigue (I fell asleep on the bathroom floor one day during a class). I was then told I had some bad virus that was taking months to go away. The sore throat went away, but my body aches did not! Specifically the joints of my wrists, fingers, ankles, and knees were in great pain. There were days where I wasn’t sure if I could get out of bed, but I did! Finally in February, I was referred to rheumatology by my primary doc.

After a few appointments with him and a bunch more blood work, I finally had a diagnosis and an action plan. My strep antibodies were elevated, but no strep bacteria. The strep antibodies attack my joints which is what causes the arthritis. My action plan included monthly penicillin shots for 6 months to five years to lower the antibodies and continuing pain meds with evaluations every once and awhile.

I have now received three penicillin shots and have noticed some improvement. However, those days of not being sure if I could get out of bed are not gone. I still have those days. I am pretty much constantly in pain. It just ranges in severity. Constantly being in pain has the side effect of extreme fatigue; however, I am learning how much sleep I need to make the next day go better. I have tried to not take pain meds, and it doesn’t always work. Some days, I am unable to get my shoes on because of the swelling of my feet (this really bothers me when I want to wear a certain pair of shoes with my outfit!).

When I go to bad at night, I never know how I will feel when I wake up the next day, but I live each day to the fullest that I am possibly able. I have chosen to not let my pain take over my life. I finished two semesters of college when many people told me that they would have just dropped out and wondered why I did not.

I choose to do daily activities and go out with friends and put a smile on because I am happy and I want to do the things that make me happy. Some days I have to alter what I do, but I do what I want to do within the constraints of what my body allows.

Over the past seven months, I have had to redefine what normal is to me. There are days where I wish things would just go back to normal, to the way they were back in October before I first got sick. I am learning, however, that that definition of normal is gone.

This state of being is my new normal and I am learning to accept what this means. I am constantly learning and re-evaluating in my life to understand my own feelings and attitude towards my struggles.

At times, I realize I need to adjust my attitude and once again focus towards the positives and good things in my life.

I find that often it is not the fact that I have reactive arthritis that I struggle with the most, but it is rather how other people interact with me that I struggle with. Many people know that I have been sick, but few people understand that I continue to be sick and that I may struggle with this for a long time. My least favorite comment I frequently receive is, “You are looking good,” or some variation of that phrase. It can be hard to hear this when I am constantly in pain. I do not like talking about myself and the pain I am, but sometimes I wish that people just knew so that I do not have to “endure”  these types of comments.

Living with asthma, chronic kidney stones, and reactive arthritis has taught me something I think is particularly important. Everyone deals with different problems whether emotionally, mentally, or physically. Many people believe that they should not discuss their problems because other people deal with issues that are “worse” in comparison.

While I think it is important to have a healthy perspective on one’s own problems, I fear too often we do not welcome discussion of problems because we constantly play a comparison game. I hope that everyone can find a place where they are comfortable to discuss what they are going through no matter the “size” of the problem and receive support to help them through it.

I want to reiterate that over 100 forms of arthritis exist, yet few methods of treatment or prevention exist for them. May is Arthritis Awareness Month. I hope you seriously consider what you can practically do to raise awareness for arthritis and medical research for this condition that affects people of all ages.

Perhaps you do not feel passionately about arthritis.  I encourage you to find something you are passionate about and create awareness for that issue so that working together we can make the world a better place.

Mental Health and the Art of Listening

Looking back in my last post, I realize that I was a bit frazzled as I wrote it.

Clue #1: I didn’t capitalize appropriately. Some bloggers do this for style. I was frazzled and writing fast.

Clue #2: I wrote the post in 23 minutes. Yes – from “begin new post” to “publish post” with “categories” and “tags” in between, only 23 minutes flew by.

Clue #3: The post has had more shares than any other post I have ever written. Frazzled, raw, and unfiltered posts grab readers right in the gut, and readers share.

I have had several private messages through Twitter, Favebook, and my email….I’m so glad it is helping people to articulate, share, listen and hope.

I am also really sad that the post even had to exist.

I currently have a lot on my plate. Those who know me recognize that I say this a lot. The truth is: this might be the fullest it has been in a while, and it’s going to stay full for a bit. As a good friend/mentor says, “It is what is it.” The days will be long and interesting, and we will get through them.

What I do not want to do in the midst of this busy time, though, is to lose my ability to listen.

I should pause here and share that I struggle to be a good listener. I tend to want to interrupt, fill in your sentence, and move on to the action part – usually where I fix whatever it is that happens to be wrong. However, I have been trying hard recently (and for the past decade!) to look others in the eyes, be still, and give space for them to explore in my presence rather than dragging them past themselves into a solution.

I have sat on the receiving end of this practice with friends, my counselor, and mentors.  This is where the work of improving mental health happens.  Mental health doesn’t improve because you give me your recipe for success.

Mental health improves because I feel heard.

How can we be better listeners?

1. Close our mouths as others talk. I’m not kidding. We need to get over ourselves and not want to get in a word.
2. Breathe deeply and look the other in the eyes. The calm that we present will help the other remain calm even when the situation may be very chaotic.
3. Do not fear silence – in fact, count to five or ten before talking when the other person pauses.
4. Ask open-ended questions that allow others to understand their issues better. An example of this happened over the weekend when a friend asked me to clarify a statement I had made. It was not for her understanding that she asked the question but rather as a way for me to see over the issue and past what bothered me.
5. Just listen. Just be there. If the other person sheds a few (or many) tears, honor those tears, let them flow, and don’t comfort to the point of stifling what might be a very healing or cathartic moment.

I share quite openly that I struggle with mental health issues.  the last post I wrote published less than three hours before I spoke to our church’s youth group about mental health and their faith.

I told them that there are adults willing to help them.  I told them that because I have experienced that truth over and over again in my life.

I have run into the person here or there who has not known how to listen. If it is a tough time for me, that is really, really hard.  When I’m in a more gracious place, I realize that I’m not always so good at this art of listening either.

It’s a new day. It’s a new week.  Football season is over, and the Broncos won (yay!).

As we start off this week, let’s try to practice listening more and taking less. We may learn more about others than we ever dreamed was possible.

 

tapping, rocking, and laughing

I smelled him as soon as he passed me on the way to finding a seat on our flight from Spokane to Denver.  It was the combination of the smells that struck me (not just alcohol, not just cigarettes, and not just something sweet that could have been marijuana). It seemed unnecessary for all of the smells to be tied up in one person at one time.

As soon as he sat down one row behind me in the opposite aisle seat, he started to move.

First, it was his legs and feet. Wiggle, wiggle, jiggle, jiggle.  Nervous energy that seemed to have no end.  It started with toes, then moved to his knees, and finally both of his legs were working up a storm.

Next, it was his fingers. Tap….tap…tap, tap, tap.  A rhythm that only he could hear. One that definitely needed to get out of him.  More energy.  Tap…tap…tap…tap, tap, tap…tap, tap…tap.  Try it – each ellipses set is a pause.  It started with one finger, then moved to his whole hand drumming, and ended with both hands -sometimes alternating while at other times combining in rhythm.

Finally, it was his whole body in motion. He rocked, he swayed, and his head turned and bobbed. He seemed to be at his own wedding dance with really loud rhythms that only the exceptionally carefree (or intoxicated, in my experience) enjoy.  The seat could not contain him.

This was all before take off.

A friend of his sat next to him a few minutes later, and he calmed a bit.  However, the rhythms returned.

“Are you high?” his friend asked.  No response.

“Dude, seriously, are you high? Drunk? Both?” his friend asked again. No response.

The movements continued, and the airplane physically moved with him.

We need to pause here for a moment.  This flight, for me, was a return from a serene – almost retreat type – weekend.  I had enjoyed calm, had learned to drink tea, and had slept well.  Having the world around me forced into movement by a young man kind of shocked my system.

When the plane reached cruising altitude, I had figured out how to ignore the constant rhythm behind me.  Somehow the next hour and a half went by without my mind engaging in the potential anger I could have for the young man’s dance party behind me.

As we started to land, the movements intensified.  And then the laughter started.

I had disengaged to this point, but I could not help but eavesdrop. Nonsense, total nonsense, poured from the two young men’s mouths.  This was followed by an amount of laughter that I rarely have witnessed.

“We are so high,” the friend said, and they both broke out in floods of laughter.

I had clearly missed something during the flight.

By the time we landed, the tapping, rocking, and laughter made it impossible to ignore them.  As we all stood awkwardly waiting for the cabin doors to open, I glanced at these two men.  Clearly, they knew each other well, and this was not their first flight in such a state.  They thought they were extremely funny while at the same time it was clear that they knew they were only funny to themselves.

The good news, for the dance party young man, was that his body had calmed.  Perhaps flying caused anxiety for him.  It is quite common.  Perhaps he had too many chemicals at war within him combined with the movement of flying.  Whatever it was, it stopped when he stood up. I was thankful that he had not vomited at some point during the flight.

As I walked off the plane, stating the required “thank you” to the flight attendants as I did, I thought about how many of us stifle the movement we feel inside of us in order to conform to the social norm.  This man had no conforming in him, and it seemed to free him enough to laugh…and laugh…and laugh.  Lucky man, really.

While the social setting does always permit this sort of freedom, I think we sometimes create an additional layer of reserve.  When I do that, and then you do that, we lose our ability to laugh – or cry – or even engage with emotion at all.  A bunch of stiflers with no access to emotions makes for a tough society, and we all suffer when this happens.

This semester, rather than teaching a class at UMary, I am taking an online class from Brené Brown about vulnerability and being authentic. One of my take-aways so far has been that we do not set each other up for engaging in real conversation with one another.

When we are real with one another, we learn to ask much more authentic questions with the intention of  creating a safe space for the other to respond and expand on that response without any personal agenda (including that the interaction be quick) for that conversation.

This young man was real – a bit too real perhaps? – and part of me envied him for being able to let out all of that energy and laughter with 135+ other strangers around him.

As January comes to a close, I want to encourage us all to identify one place where we need to show up, be present, and provide that space for others to be present.  We cannot change and move airplanes overnight, but one small step in the right direction can happen.

Adjust and Move On

When we moved from Minneapolis, MN, to Bismarck, ND, last year, we found a home super close to a grocery store. This means that I make several visits to the store throughout the week to buy only what I need. Because I work from home, I often run to the store on a quick break in the middle of the day. The employees there recognize me, and we greet each other and talk as “almost” friends.

Instead of a bar (hint: Cheers…cue music), I have a grocery store.

The other day, I discovered that I am not the only person for whom this is true. In fact, my guess is that there are several people like me.

The woman for whom I discovered this is true entered the store at the same time as I. She pushed a cart into the store from the parking lot and then switched to a scooter-cart once inside. We passed each other in the aisles as we circled the stores in a similar rhythm, and we left the store at about the same time.

As she transitioned from scooter-cart back to cart, an employee engaged her in conversation. Initially, it appeared that they knew each other from outside of the store; however, I soon realized that they had the same kind of relationship that I have with the deli person.

He asked how she was, and she shared about how her condition continued to deteriorate. She may be in a wheelchair at some point, but she does not know exactly when that would be. He made a comment similar to one I have made about how that must be hard or some other non-committal and non-engaging phrase.

Her response caught me off guard.

Before I go on, I want to step back for a minute. I have had some struggles in my life. I know many people who have struggled in their lives. I have watched some people handle things well, and I have watched some people struggle more than I thought they should. Just writing that sentence shows how I have a pretty judgmental side. Who am I to judge how someone else handles their struggles? All of that to say that I have seen others live out the principle that this woman stated, but I do not think that anyone has ever said it exactly the way she did.

“Well, you just adjust and move on,” she said.

What? Did I hear her right? Adjust and move on? I don’t think I have ever heard someone state a philosophy quite so well. No stages of grief exist in that philosophy. In her statement is an inherent drive to accept what is happening and to do so quickly. The statement defines a desire to live life as it is rather than wishing for something different.

Regret, denial, worry, and other such concepts steal today from us. When we spend our precious moments wishing that this moment would be different than it is, we lose the moment. It passes us by, and we can’t get it back.

I realize that our minds are all wired differently, and many of minds get in our way.  We trip over ourselves and get entangled in our thoughts.  I have no idea how long this woman has had the condition that she has had. Perhaps she struggled through some denial, depression, or regret in years past, but today – as her condition only seems to worsen – she faces it with strength.  She plans to adjust and move on.

Do not misunderstand the power of these two concepts together.  

This is not – as my huz would say – a “make like a Disney movie and ‘Let It Go'” moment.  It would be great if we could skip the adjust moment and go right to the move on moment. But that is not what this woman is suggesting.  Adjusting our thinking from what we thought would be to being able to move on to what is going to be requires intentional thought.

A couple of years ago, we took our then senior-in-high-school aged children to Europe as a last hurrah before they scattered into adulthood.  It was a great trip, and I would do it again tomorrow if someone handed me tickets.  On our way home, we made a connection that scared me to pieces.

I had never seen anything like it before.

As we neared our gate area, we suddenly found a wall of people all pushing toward one spot.  Airport officials had set up a moving passport check right outside of our gate area.  Passengers trying to get anywhere had to funnel into one area with a few checkpoints.  We shuffled forward, and time ticked onward.  It seemed our flight would take off without us.

This was not a high point in the trip for me!

I like control.  I like to know what is happening.  I like order, and I like logic.  There was none of this in this situation.  More than one of my family members worked to keep me calm.  As it neared departure time for flights, officials would call out the destination, and passengers would move to the front of the line.

There was nothing to be done.  A tantrum, screaming match, or breakdown would only make our situation worse.  In fact, we observed a man try those tactics – bad choice.

Adjusting my thinking to the fact that I would have to settle in, wait, and move on whenever the crowd permitted was not easy for me, but I did it.

We shuffled. We waited.  And eventually we were aboard our plane headed home after the trip of a lifetime.

Regardless of how drastic or simplistic the situation may be, we can apply the same principles and choose contentment rather than dread.  While many life circumstances are very hard, those who survive well seem to be the ones who can find the silver lining, make a change in their thinking, and accept what is out of their control as that.

How does this sit with you? New concept? Or old friend? I would love to hear from you!

I Would NEVER….

Over a decade ago, as a late 20-something and first-time pastor’s wife, I sat in a room full of crafting and scrapbooking late 30-somethings at a friend’s home.  The chatter quickly turned to the latest hair-coloring or nail-doing experience with advice and suggestions hanging in the air between us.  At the time, I neither colored my hair nor had my nails done.

I stated clearly and boldly that I would NEVER color my hair and that I would NEVER pay someone to paint my nails.

Several years after that fun evening filled with laughter and my judgmental attitude, I discovered that having someone paint my nails helped me not to pick at the skin around my nails.  I had (finally) been properly diagnosed with bipolar tendencies and placed on medication.  The huz and I had long known that the skin-picking was a tell-tale sign of something being “off” in me, but I struggled to stop.  The kind ladies at the nail shop clipped away the straggling pieces of skin and transformed my fingers from disfigured to beautiful.

So much for NEVER paying someone to paint my nails…

As I passed my mid-30s into my late 30s, I noticed more and more grey in my typically deep brown hair.  As someone who others had mistaken for the nanny of my own children a decade earlier, I enjoyed the age-centering feeling the silver strands gave me initially.  As time went on, though, I started to notice that some of the strands were dull rather than the vibrant silver that I knew would come in another decade.  My dear stylist suggested a little layering of color to ease me into the next decade or so.  Every two to six months, I have her add another layer of blending, and it is fun.  Even though I do not want all of my silver to go away, I love the vibrant feeling I have leaving her place.

So much for NEVER coloring my hair….

This blog has been quiet for several months – over six to be more exact – and there are several reasons for that. I would love to say that “being busy” is the main reason, but that is just an excuse that I allow to rule my actions.  In reality, I think I gave up my voice – that style of thinking and writing that I have relied upon to communicate my deep soul thoughts.  When I started writing a blog a day in August 2011, I started to find my voice again.  I found a rhythm, and I thought, “I will NEVER stop writing.”

And then I did. The blog went silent.

I do not think that there is anything wrong with the fact that I have not written for a while.  For ten weeks of that silence, I compiled others’ voices (and little bit of my own) into a project for Village Creek Bible Camp.  The compilation of voices all focusing on providing a daily devotional thought to anyone who would buy the book is – next to my marriage and raising two wonderful children – the project that has given me the most life. Ever.  I was seriously overwhelmed by nearly thirty others giving their time, energy, and talent to a project that was born from a conversation.

So…what is wrong with NEVER?

The social media world bombards us with information about much bigger NEVERs than hair-coloring or not blogging.  In our efforts to share our deep beliefs on all points on a given spectrum, we often reach a point where we say things that sound a lot like NEVER.  And then those NEVERs start to create walls between us, and our dialogue stops as we pick up our stones ready to throw them toward the words on the “other side.”

Before we say NEVER, we might need to take inventory of our lives and our purpose.

The words on the other side of where we stand have people in front of them. In the same way that I let a stream of judgment flow onto my friend about hair and nails, we cover others around us with our opposition to their words.  We rarely consider the harm that this brings to our relationships.  Even when do consider it, that rarely concerns us.  We want to win the argument.  We want to be right.

And we forget that there are relationships at stake. 

Often our differences and judgments come from our life experiences.  We engaged in some kind of NEVER earlier in our lives, and now we have to stand against that in order to reconcile or to redeem our past decisions.  We have been hurt by the NEVER of someone else, and now we have to stand against that in order to heal.

Anger – judgment – does not lead to healing.

As an opinionated person, I am grateful that – in America – we all get to have our opinions.  With the First Amendment in place, I can be wrong, you can be wrong, and we have to be civil about our disagreements.  If our speech incites actions that would harm others, we lose that freedom. While most people would disagree with me on this, I am going to say that most of our current speech falls into this category.  Rather than engaging in loving conversation that leads to greater understanding of others’ opinions, we lob hateful (and sometimes unrelated) grenades at the other side and then look surprised when an explosion occurs.

I have had a few thoughts bouncing around in my head that sound a lot like “that voice” that I used to have through writing blog posts.  As I share those thoughts, I desire to always come to “the table” with love, consideration, and hope.  In my latest “old age,” I know better than to say that “I would NEVER” (purposefully) be hurtful as I write.  I do hope that I avoid hurtful speech, though, and would appreciate readers holding me to that.

I Didn’t Mind the Mirror

I need to confess something to the blog reading world: I have started to exercise again.

Back in 2011, when I blogged almost daily, I also was exercising often.  On August 20, 2011, I walked my first official 5k “race.”  Hours later, I lived out 30 minutes of terror at the hands of children throwing balls at the lever which then dunked me.  The result of the dunk tank experience was a herniated disc that still bothers me to this day…it has changed my life, and it has limited my ability to exercise to a no-impact regimen of “running” in deep water.

I joined the Bismarck YMCA in September.

I went to a water aerobics class one evening in October, and I was kind of turned off by the class.  The instructor was not really clear in her instructions, and she was not super inviting to newcomers. There seemed to be an established group of attendees, and I did not see hope in breaking in.  I also discovered that even a few minutes of impact (jumping jacks) in the pool aggravated my injury.

I was not sure what to do, but I remembered that walking has always been my best form of exercise.  I returned to the pool in November, picked a lane, and started to “run” in the water…and I have been running ever since most days of the week when I am in town.

I feel better when I have put in a day’s run, and I am starting to feel results in terms of strength, endurance, and attitude.

On Tuesday, I did something crazy as I changed into my suit in the locker room: I looked at myself in the mirror.

Pause for a minute: I do not have a full length mirror in my bedroom anymore. We did not do this on purpose, but our mirror in Minneapolis was not ours – it was in the house when we moved in, so we left it there when we moved out. The only full length mirror in our new house is on the wardrobe in our guest room.  For the first several months in our new house, we did not even have a face mirror in our bathroom – I had to go upstairs to look in the main floor bathroom after doing my hair to be sure it looked ok.

The mirror at the YMCA is not one that I have ignored – there is one in each row of lockers/changing areas.  But Tuesday was different: I actually looked at me.

Pause again: Like most women, I have spent many years struggling with how I look and with doing things to alter how I look.  While I haven’t had surgery to change anything, don’t think I haven’t considered it!  I would love to get rid of the elephant rolls on the inside of my knees, and my thighs would not need to greet each other with every step.  And then there is my booty…

I realized that the mirror at the YMCA tells a pretty accurate picture.  There is nothing altering it to change how I look.  And I just looked at myself standing there, swimsuit on, about to go out to the pool with all of the kiddos in swim lessons, their parents peering at them through the observation glass from the lobby, the teachers, and the lifeguards.

What was amazing was that I did not mind the accuracy of the mirror.  Yes – there are flaws, but I see loads of others with flaws as I enter the pool area. The swim instructors all have suits on, and they are all “normal” people who probably would pick out some things to change in themselves.  The parents looking in from the lobby area may have clothing covering their flaws, but there are flaws.

And what are flaws anyway?

Does a different body type from some ideal that I have in my head or that you have in your head create a “flaw”?  And – if there are flaws out there – is there someone out there that is flawless?

I doubt it.

Even those who are the least flawed look at themselves and wish that something about them would be different.

As I climbed into the pool, I started to write this post in my mind. What I want to share is that – at least on Tuesday – I was thrilled that I was moving and doing rather than working toward some ideal in my head that likely would not be attained anyway.

For the first time in my life, I am not concerned about fitting into some size for some event so that I can look better than I do today.

For the first time in my life, what I want to do is create a lifelong routine that does not stop when the “big event” or number dictates that I have reached something.  I just want to feel good, move well, and know that I am helping my body be better. If looking “better” (what does that mean????) is a side effect, then great.

I certainly hope that this content feeling stays for a while because feeling alive in my own skin rather than wanting to shirk away from the mirror is an amazing feeling…one that I am quite sure God is pleased about.  He created me in His image, and – while I’m not entirely sure that means my outsides look like His (does He have outsides??) – He certainly wants me to be radiating His image.

…and that is easier to do when we are not hiding from ourselves.

Guest Post: Waking Up

Today’s post is written by a former student of mine who is all grown up, married, and having kids.  She mentioned in a Facebook post a while back that she is doing some writing, and I asked her to share some words with my readers about her experiences and what she is learning.

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I’m basically positive my husband and I have had the worst first years of marriage of any couple I know.

We got married and had a premature baby two weeks after we moved into a townhome. Then my month old peanut and I got to camp out at the hospital with my husband while doctors did lot of testing to find that he had a disease called CMV( can’t even begin to spell it) which very nearly killed him. The disease took a toll on the transplanted kidney from his mother, so I was working, caring for my little girl and a very sick husband and pregnant with our son.

Kevin ended up having to have another transplant, which was full of its own roller coasters, but also full of blessings. As he recovered, I got to see who my husband was as a healthy man and it was great. I felt like I had a partner for the first time in our relationship rather than another person to take care of.

My son was also born healthy and on his due date after only 3 hours and 15 minutes of labor. It seemed things were slowing down and we might actually reach a less chaotic norm.

Instead of feeling hopeful and relieved, I was a basket case.

All throughout the ordeal with my daughter and husband, I felt a sense of pride that I was handling things so well. Yes it was scary and stressful at times but I never once saw the black pit I once called home. Then, once it seemed things should be going well, there it was, as dark and hateful as before.

Instead of acknowledging it however, I tried to ignore it, hoping my depression was a fluke and that it wasn’t really back after a seven year absence. My denial turned to determination. After all, we had just come through a hurricane, so there was no reason I couldn’t nip this again.

It wasn’t long after this, and I found I am expecting our third baby.

We figured then that it was just pregnancy hormones but coming up on halfway through this pregnancy, I know that it’s not. The last month has been especially hard; I’m not really sure why, but I got to a point where I became angry with my depression. I am sick of feeling broken and crazy and not even feeling like I can cope with getting my kiddos a sippy cup at times. I hate the feeling of being bogged down and just overwhelmed with the slightest thing.

I became desperate in my pleas with God to give me strength and guide to the right resources so I could figure out what was going on inside my head and even learn how to cope once again. I came across the book Mended by Angie Smith, intrigued by the title, and began reading. I’m only a few chapters in, but already the book has helped me see that, even though I prayed like crazy the past few years, I just expected God to be there and to do what I considered to be His job.

It is very humbling to be reminded that He is first and foremost God, and to realize I had looked at Him as a genie, something I scorned in others. Looking back, I began to see the ways God was giving me an opportunity to lean on Him and how I had pridefully taken stock in my own strength. More than anything, I am seeing through the last few years, how desperately God is pursuing me.

One of the things I was most afraid of growing up was living a mediocre life. I never wanted to get caught up in hum-drum.

That’s exactly what I was doing.

My friendships have suffered because I got caught up in my own world. I feel like God is doing what He has to do capture my attention, not to punish me but because He wants an intimate relationship with me. He knows I can be more, even if I’m walking around in a fog half the time.

There is so much I am still learnin, and am still frustrated by depression, but at least I am waking up again, little by little.

Book Review: Troubled Minds

I love Facebook for as many reasons as I dislike it.  I cannot stand that people (including myself sometimes) do not consider what they write before they click “post.”  I get annoyed when we are drawn in to conversations on Facebook and say things that we would never say in person. 

Our personalities are amplified on Facebook.

If the negative aspects of our personalities are amplified on Facebook, it makes sense that our positive aspects are amplified as well.  One personality type that I especially appreciate on Facebook is the “sharer.”  This is the person who sees something great and wants to let everyone know about it. Others “share” things as well, but the “sharer” tends to have credibility to those shares – perhaps the person has read the book, knows the author, or has tried the product.

A book title  “share” came across my Facebook wall recently that motivated me to purchase a book – ok…three books – immediately.  I had planned to buy the two books by Caryn at some point anyway, but buying three books on Amazon meant free shipping.  And – let’s face it – I needed summer reading just in case I actually take my vacation time.

Much like my experience with Sober Mercies by Heather Kopp (read my review by clicking here – trust me, you will love the title of the post!), Troubled Minds by Amy Simpson has consumed most of my recent free time (and has even caused me to put off some other things that were supposed to get done).  It is an absolutely compelling read.

Compelling reads tend to have similar elements such as personal stories, important factual information, or calls to action.  These types of books draw us in because of their very nature.  Amy Simpson brings all of these to the table.  It is not or but rather and.

Personal Story: Amy weaves her own family’s story throughout the book. From page one, readers know that the author has first-hand experience with mental illness as the daughter of a schizophrenic. This connection throughout the book is so important.  Amy does a great job of including this story without pushing the reader to feel pity for her and her family.  She shares some difficult experiences, and we feel for her – but she only takes the story so far as to remind readers that she knows what mental illness is, what it does, and how the church could do better to help those who suffer.  Excellent.

Factual Information:  Amy provides a useful tool in Chapter 2 with an overview of the most prevalent mental illness categories.  This allows the reader to become a lay person in this area with some understanding of the broad categories and how a mental illness may show its face.  What is does not do is prepare anyone to become a therapist!  But that is not Amy’s point, and she makes that quite clear.  Amy also shares statistical information about churches, pastors, and mental illness.  Excellent.

Action Points for Churches: Each chapter has suggestions for churches as well as stories of current churches who are ministering to those suffering from or supporting others with mental illness.  The main point of each item is that churches should do something to reduce the stigma around mental illness.  Excellent.

I have one wish in this book.

While Amy does a great job of mentioning pastors who suffer themselves, I wish she had devoted an entire chapter to this.  She primarily mentions pastors with mental illness as those who tend to be more aware of mental illness, who try to minister to others, and who have a better understanding of the need to reduce stigma.  What she does not do is suggest to congregations how they can minister to or better understand their pastors (or their family members) who suffer from mental illness.  This is not a huge drawback to the book; however, it was a missed opportunity that I think is a huge need.

I recommend this book to just about anyone who breathes.  Buy it. Read it. Share it.

Mental Illness: It is an Illness

As I tried to get out of bed yesterday morning, this post wrote itself in my brain. With every re-setting of the alarm and clicking on the snooze button, paragraphs formed in my mind.  I was compelled to write it. I tried to be productive all day – because of my current (crazy and, honestly, about to get crazier) work demands – it took until 4 p.m. yesterday before I had time to actually sit down at my desk and write.

As I mentioned in Monday’s post, we need to get educated about mental illness because it does not always look the way we expect it to.  With a little play on the “Drowning Doesn’t Look Like Drowning” article’s title, I elaborated about how we expect depression (and other mental illnesses) to look one way, but they often look entirely different.

Each person’s experience with mental illness may look different than we expect.

As I thought about the post, though, I realized that – as important as the concept of knowing how depression and other mental illnesses may show themselves differently – accepting the fact that mental illness is an illness…rather than some manifestation of laziness or whatever negative adjective that has been used to describe the mentally ill…is pretty important.

Let’s all say it together (I dare you to say this out loud wherever you are right now): mental illness is an illness, and an illness needs to be treated. (Repeat as necessary)

If you (all) can agree with the truth that mental illness is an illness and – therefore – should be treated in the same way that other illnesses are treated, then another part of the stigma surrounding mental illness can be removed.

Just in case you cannot agree with this, I guess I will just keep writing the thoughts that came to me as I slept…and awoke…and slept…

Who withholds treatment from someone with diabetes?  No one!

I use diabetes as an example because it has several good correlations with mental illness.

• Both can sometimes be controlled with diet, exercise, and life choices.
• Both often require medication.
• Both are controlled best when “patient” makes and keeps appointments with a trained professional.
• Both require a lifetime outlook but could be mediated or “in remission” so to speak.

I know that I do better with my bipolar self when I eat better, walk or do yoga, and make good choices (like getting enough sleep).  When I do not do what I know I need to do, I am working against myself.  The same is true of a diabetic.  In some people with either illness, medications could be avoided (in some cases) when following the “life prescription” from our doctors.

However!!!! I had a good friend in high school who followed all of her doctor’s directions, and her cholesterol (yes, I switched illnesses…you can follow…) still required medication.  She was just five feet tall but weight under 100 lbs and never went to McDonalds.  She was not  someone you would expect to have a high cholesterol problem!  No matter what she did, though, she could not change her chemical make up without medication.

This is true of many with mental illness, but society often forgets that this is true.  There are many who expect those who suffer with depression to just pull it together or those who suffer from schizophrenia to stop hearing voices or seeing people who are not there.

Seriously?

If we accept that mental illness is an illness, then we need to agree that the illness may need treatment.  And that treatment could involve both life changes such as more exercise or eating right AND medication, therapy, or other things.  Telling the person with a mental illness to try harder is pretty insulting.

When we are someone who suffers from mental illness, we need to accept this, work with our health professionals, and make wise choices so that we can live as “normal” of as possible.  We may need to do a few things to help our condition, and we need to accept that and –  well – do them.  For example, I absolutely should start every morning with a walk.  When was the last time I did that??? Time to start – it helps!

When we are supporting someone who suffers from mental illness, we need to support that person, to hold that person accountable for going to appointments, and to encourage him or her to do all that will help – diet, exercise, medication, life changes…whatever! BUT we need to be careful and wise how we do that.  What we say is not nearly as important as how we say it.

In the past few months, I have taken some time off from this posting a lot on this blog.  While I did that, I took a blogging class that asked to consider why I write.  Originally, it was to help me to mediate the impact of my own bipolar self.

For nearly two years, I wrote and wrote and wrote. I wrote about everything – things I saw, things I did, and things I thought.  I argued against myself from one week to the next on issues.  I ranted. I raved.  My fingers flew across the keyboard.

My mind emptied, quieted, and slowed.

The blogging helped me.

Now, though, I see my purpose in this blog to a voice for those who have lost their voice to whatever biological, psychological, or illogical sickness ails them.  I want to help those who have been marginalized because of society’s misunderstanding of the crazy we feel inside our head – and trust me, I think some crazy thinks sometimes.

The foundation for this purpose first and foremost has to be to help promote the fact that mental illness is an illness.  While those of us who suffer from it – just like someone who suffers from diabetes or high cholesterol – can make choices to help mediate it, we might not be able to “just get over it.”

And we need not only to be treated but to be respected, loved, and even cherished.

I am thankful for my family and friends who have walked this road with me over the past three years since my diagnosis. While I have probably always suffered, I was incorrectly diagnosed throughout my life. Now that we have an accurate diagnosis, we can have an accurate treatment plan.

But it is not easy being me…and is not always easy being around me…but that seems to be another blog. As usual, I have babbled…and have no idea how to end…so I will just stop writing…

Happy Wednesday!

photo credit: © 2006-2013 Pink Sherbet Photography via photopin cc

Depression Doesn’t Look Like Depression

As early summer hit – that time when kids and pools collide – an article circulated my Facebook world titled “Drowning Doesn’t Look Like Drowning.”  I skimmed as I have older children who now often take charge of younger children, and I thought to pass it on to them.

As I drove around the past few weeks, the title of the article changed. The content of the article changed…at least, in my mind it did.

The point of the article was to educate us and help us to reconstruct our visual understanding and recognition of a very real problem.  Children drown in pools often because those around them do recognize the warning signs.  We think drowning looks one way. And we are wrong.

The same is true of depression – or any mental illness, really.

Unlike drowning, depression has no singular season. There is not a single time in the year that one should become hyper-vigilant about knowing the signs of depression or mental illness.  And – unlike the drowning article – a single 500 word article with some bullets cannot sum up the entire warning signs of all mental illnesses.

We need to get educated!

I am currently reading Troubled Minds by Amy Simpson and plan to have a review of it out one of these days.  I have only 40 pages left, but life has interrupted me.  The point is that it is one book that I can already recommend.  The internet is also full of information – webmd and the Mayo Clinic each have excellent resources about mental health warning signs.

Depression may not look like depression – or at least our perception of it.  It’s time to find out what it does look like so that we can help those around us…or get help ourselves!