For the past several weeks, I have felt called to share some difficulties I have been facing. However, each and every time I have been inspired to write, I have felt discouraged, telling myself that no one wants to hear what I have to say…that what I feel isn’t important. That I shouldn’t let people know that I’m struggling.
This is the true battle between Good and Evil. Light and Darkness. God and Satan. God says to share my story. God says to bring it into the light. Ephesians 5:13 – “But everything exposed by the light becomes visible — and everything that is illuminated becomes a light.”
Satan, however, tells me to be quiet — further isolating myself and further sitting in darkness.
Well, get behind me, Satan. I want to be the light today.
We live in a world that is pumped full of fake. From beautiful, fully-filtered Instagram feeds to braggy Facebook posts dripping with cries for attention and calls for compliments – it is nearly impossible to get a read for what the Hell is really going on out there.
I am confident in saying this because you bet your Photoshop that I, too, am guilty of posting only the moments of my life that are aesthetically pleasing. I take a photo with my iPhone and then lighten, brighten, tweak, and tone it until it looks worthy of likes and comments. I take selfies from flattering angles and only when my makeup looks just right, and that foodie-approved entree I’m eating at that cool restaurant? I’ll post a picture of that, too.
But a couple weeks ago, on a Monday, I didn’t leave my bedroom. Actually, I didn’t leave my bed. Aside from the few minutes I needed to get Leo up and down for naps and food, I didn’t move. I cried all day because I felt like a prisoner in my own body, mind, and home.
I wish I could say that was a one-time occurrence, but I have suffered several days just like that Monday over the past several weeks. I am consistently the last one awake in my house – fighting for every spare second of sleep. I spend hours crying each day, not really knowing why.
I am happily married and have been for almost 12 years. I have four amazing children, and I am blessed to be able to stay home with them. We live in the home of our dreams that we built from scratch. We go on vacations and frequent date nights. I go shopping at Target as a hobby.
My life, on paper (and Instagram), is as good as it gets.
But, I am battling depression.
Yes, battling.
Waking up everyday is a battle. Getting out of bed everyday is a battle. Showering? A battle. Brushing my teeth? A battle. Making small-talk and conversation so that people don’t suspect anything? A battle. Telling myself I am worthy of happiness and abundance, despite how shitty I feel? A battle.
I haven’t posted photos of that stuff on Instagram, but I have taken a few and this is what they would look like if they showed up on the ‘Gram.
No, depression isn’t funny. It is very real.
And we don’t talk about it.
If I talk about it, I will make people feel uncomfortable.
If I talk about it, people will think that I am a bad mother or wife.
If I talk about it, people will think I am ungrateful for all the good things in my life.
If I talk about it, people will want to run from me instead of run to me.
So instead, I will stay silent and suffer alone. Which will make it worse. I will never get better.
And as a result, all the other people around me who may also be secretly and silently suffering from their own mental battles will never get better either.
Today, I’m calling bullshit.
That internal dialogue is what the enemy wants me to think. Silence leads to isolation and isolation leads to darkness and darkness leads to that feeling of never ending loneliness and despair.
So I am sharing this struggle. I am bringing it to light so that it can be light for someone else. Someone else is reading this right now and feeling alone, sad, scared, and frustrated. Someone else is reading this and has tried to “shake it off,” “let it go,” and every other catchy Disney song to no avail. Someone else is reading this and is all too familiar with this battle and all the shame that goes with it.
In fact, according to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, 16 million American adults live with major depression and 42 million American adults live with anxiety disorders.
That’s almost 60 million “someones.”
I am not alone and neither are you.
When we fall and break a leg, we seek treatment. We go to the doctor, we get x-rays, we get a cast, we take pain medicine. We also receive physical help, right? We get a reprieve from our daily chores and responsibilities. We are told to rest and heal.
Fill in the blank with nearly any physical ailment we have. We get help. We rest. We heal. We also typically do not feel ashamed or embarrassed to talk about what happened with our friends and family.
But when you struggle emotionally, there is this element of “personal control” that is implied. Like if you just smile more, you will feel better. Or if you go shopping, you will be happy. Or if you go out for a Girls’ Night, all your troubles go away. Or if you just count your blessings, you will feel more joyful. Or if you just tell yourself to get over it, you will be fine.
“Mind Over Matter” is a valid phrase – until the mind is what’s the matter.
I have been working with a therapist for nearly a year now, and it has been the single best thing I have ever done for myself, and I recommend it to anyone (truly, anyone and everyone on this Earth would benefit from it). However, I have still fallen victim to depression, despite my best efforts. This further solidifies to me that this isn’t something I can completely control…and fix… by myself.
As I navigate the next steps and work each day to get better, I pray that anyone else who is feeling this way is empowered to share their darkness.
Just like when we were children, everything is less scary once you turn on the lights.