8 Things our Mental Health Journey has Given Me

The list of things mental illness and my own poor mental health has taken from me is long. But, it has given good things as well. 

Things our journey with mental illness has given me:

Empathy:   She asked, “Can we pray together?” I had expected, “I’ll be praying for you” or maybe even, “Can I pray for you now?” after I had shared how our world was being upended by my husband’s sudden bout with mental illness. But what she did was radically different. She gently took my hand and together we crumpled, helpless before Jesus. I thought she was going to pray for me. She didn’t. She prayed with me.  

Having served in ministry for over twenty year, I’ve prayed for lots of people. Intercessory prayer is a beautiful thing, a biblical thing. Jesus Himself is our intercessor, the mediator between us and the Father. But He is also one of us. Praying with my dear friend that day was less like listening in on Jesus praying for his disciples (in John 17) and more like Jesus weeping along with Mary when her brother died, both of them in a sobbing, grief-filled embrace (John 11). All this time I’ve been missing out on praying with others, especially in the midst of their suffering for it brings us both before the only one who can truly heal or comfort. 

This is empathy: with, not for. 

Practice with uncertainty:

Every time I have to say “I don’t know” I cringe inside. I am a person who likes to know. Recently, I read an article suggesting there are things in our lives that have an unknown duration, things that are indefinite. As I considered what that meant regarding our battle with mental illness, I got angry. Not knowing when our battle would possibly be over, I felt I needed to have infinite energy and strength to match that indeterminate time. Pretty sure that is a lie, but as I contemplated it more I realized…

 Indefinite invites me to wonder if it possibly could be

A thing He’s deemed will walk the rest of life with me. 

As I raged in angst of pondering what felt so dark and wrong

A mercy new as I realized I don’t have to feel infinitely strong.

Joy: 

Joy carves out a hollow in the heart for hope to take root. 

One night, as our kids were cleaning the kitchen, our daughter, pretending to be Santa Claus, put soap suds on her chin. Somehow her goofy gesture escalated into a full on battle of the bubbles, with every man for himself. It was such a joy filled moment despite the fact that our lives had been upended with my husband’s repeated panic attacks the previous weeks. Bubbles and suds covered everything in the kitchen, including us. I felt light-heartedness had returned to our home. Even now I borrow a bit of that light-hearted joy from those sweet, tender memories to recollect there is more than just struggle, restoration is possible. Even the memory of joy holds power. 

Friends:

I learned a little ditty when I was a kid, “Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other’s gold.” Obviously, it stuck with me but I never really liked it. New friends meant things were changing. Change is hard for me. I don’t even like it when my husband gets his hair cut. But I’ve noticed, change happens despite all my efforts to prevent it. So, I might as well lean into the good things change brings, like friends. 

We have new friendships that began when we shared glimpses of our journey with panic attacks, OCD, and depression. I can see in their eyes that they understand. They know our struggles because they have experienced it too, maybe not exactly as we have, but enough. Silver. 

And golden friends? One friend showed up at our door, drove four hours to reach us when our family’s crisis first hit. He willingly stepped into the chaos. He hugged us. He sat with us. He listened. He engaged each of our kids in meaningful conversation. He bought us dinner with piles of left-overs for the next few days. Then he got back in his car and drove the four hours home that night. Later that week, a giant box of paper plates and bowls arrived from him. The note said it was to make mealtimes easier for me in the upheaval. He made us feel seen and loved. 

This is friendship, silver and gold. 

Creativity: 

I used to think of creativity as something I did for fun, as part of a hobby, confined to the realm of paintbrushes, clay and canvases. I’m not quite sure how I came to that conclusion, but all this trauma we’ve experienced the past several years has revealed that creativity is essential far beyond the art room walls. 

Creativity fuels my imagination that sparks hope. And hope is what we need to survive. Creativity helps provide alternative strategies for new, unexpected situations to break the old, unhelpful patterns of behavior and thought, a game changer in cognitive therapy. 

I kinda geek out when I begin talking about the interplay of creativity, imagination and hope, especially in relationship to God. God revealed Himself to us first and foremost as a creator in the opening lines of the Bible. Later, it says God is hope and gives hope. I could use some of that hope. Now, praying for creativity and imagination is one of my favorite things to pray for because I have seen it ignite the spark of hope in me. (Romans 15:13) 

Success: 

The nature of our experience with Trevor’s mental health issues demanded a swift upheaval of our lives. All my benchmarks for success were stripped away in a matter of days. I remember complaining to a mentor once saying, “I get nothing done. Nothing.” and I wasn’t exaggerating. 

She helped me see, while I was getting nothing tangible done there was much going on beneath the surface: emotional work, spiritual work, relational work. In fact we’ve never worked so hard in our lives, but we are working toward a much different goal, one where the results are not clearly visible.

My view of success was unhealthy, I see that now. I needed the recalibration but was scared of the deconstruction it would require in our lives, but mostly in my heart. Mental illness did all the demolition work, now we are rebuilding, hopefully more healthily.

I heard not too long ago, "If dependence is the goal, then weakness is an advantage." 

This is the way of following Jesus. 

It resets everything when you think about it. 

(Quote by Todd Wagner)

Patience:

 I adore my husband. He is a good, good man. I also like him a whole lot…most of the time. Hey, I’m keeping it real here. A healthy marriage has room for that. Knowing I love him and he loves me makes all the difference in my ability to be patient. 

Patience is hard. Having a reason to be patient makes it a little easier. My reason is love. Remembering that I do this all for LOVE, helps me keep my patience and do it without developing resentment for my energies and efforts. I’m far from perfect, so don’t think I do this well all the time. 

For a while we were on two parallel but separate paths in our recovery process. Eventually, we had to merge those paths together, not just in a partnership, but back into a marriage. It was rough and sometimes still is. Our trauma taught us things that are difficult to unlearn, because emotional memory is stronger than logic sometimes. So, we saw a couples counselor. One particularly rough relational week he sent us home with some homework. Once a day we were supposed to put on a one minute timer, close our eyes and think about something we appreciated about the other person. It was a deeply powerful experience that was once again proof that even the memory of joy holds the power to bring hope and fuel patience.

Perspective: 

What is truly big and what is actually small? That is the question. 

When our world had to be recalibrated to accommodate the complexities of our mental health needs, we began to see what is really big and what is really small. Making small things big is problematic, like when Trevor repeatedly asks me about the imaginary piece of glass he thinks he swallowed, it seems like we will never be free of the terrible hold of OCD on our lives. It's really a small thing, but feels big because I am so close to it. 

Also, making big things small is dangerous. I am a case study for this one. I had a raging battle with TMJ disorder that had been going on for months because I refused to acknowledge how stressful life suddenly was and consequently how that was influencing my body.  I cannot minimize the effects of big things just because I don’t want to admit they are there, because they just feel too big to tackle. This journey helped integrate me, aligning my perspective with reality. I need to know we are climbing a big mountain, but I also need to remember I only have to take one small step at a time.