For Better And For Worse...

This time last year, I was wondering what I could honestly write on our anniversary to my love. I made a card for him that declared on the front that he was "My Favourite," because he was - still is! We had just survived our first difficult year in the 17 we had been a couple. It was our 11th anniversary and I felt like writing, "Happy Anniversary! Well, we had a good solid 10 years and then this one...It will be better again." Of course, I didn't write that. I think I wrote something like, "this year was awesome because it brought us Eli." This was true, but not the whole truth. It was (is) a challenging season in our relationship.

I came across an old blog entry. You can take a look here if you like. I wrote this three years ago and, I don't mind telling you, it made me cry a little at the sweet memories of how things used to be. It's not like we hadn't had troubles before now, just not ones that divided us so painfully.

In the year since last, things have gotten better for both of us and if not better, at least different - not worse. I can safely say it was a "not worse" year, apart from the brief time where I wanted to kill myself, but apart from that, not worse. (Too soon to joke? I have a problem with inappropriate humour...) We're still sorting ourselves out, still wading through stuff and getting to know our new selves and each other better in the process. I can safely say, we like one another better than last year and we're still very much in love - that never changed.

When I hear couples say things like, "we had a few rough patches - every couple does," I used to think, "not us!" We did just fine for a huge chunk of our lives so this "excrement smacking the fan moment" was a steep learning curve for both of us. I told jay I was going to tell you good people what we have learned from this time. He laughed at the idea we had learned anything...so I continue speaking for myself, haha! ;)

I have learned that we have the ability to hurt each other terribly...so be kind. Empathy. I can't tell you of its importance. Even when you think you know what's going on with someone, you might not. I'm not sure how empathy is even possible without a deep understanding of each other and open, honest communication. 

I have learned that we all need somebody to share hard times with...so we need more people than just us. (Hi friends, I love you! Sorry about the inappropriate joke - you are literal life savers.)

I have learned that honesty is better than bottling things up...but that it's good to chose your timing wisely. Every moment is not a good time to share your deepest thoughts and feels.

I have learned that when you come to an impasse, you should probably seek outside help. Communication is SO important. It is also probably the most cliché thing to say when talking about marriage, but it's true. You would not believe how fantastically terrible Jay and I are at communicating when we disagree. (Mostly Jay, but sometimes me too 😉) I'm pretty sure we need help in that area and since we both want to improve we will work it out.

I have learned that love is pretty powerful. Jason is a great many things to me, and I to him. *We are not our disagreements. Our differences don't get to define our relationship. Outside of those things, he is my best friend, the best parent tag-team member for our children, the hottest man around (at least in my eyes.) I love talking to him, I miss him when he's not here, basically, I really really like him. There's no one else for me, he is unique. I truly love him and because of this, we'll do what we said we would. I continue to take him to be my treasured husband, to have and to hold, for better AND for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health to love and to cherish till death us do part.

I love you babe, happy 12th anniversary!

Depression Diaries - Getting Better

Eleven weeks ago today, I was going through the paces of what might have been my last day.

I know it's eleven weeks because I counted it and was shocked at how little time has passed and how very different I feel. I hadn't methodically planned to kill myself or thought the plan through fully, but there was a vague plan that had been brewing and being modified in my mind for the weeks and months before hand. 

It's funny how clear hindsight is. It's like not realising you would miss something until it's gone or not valuing freedom until you've been enslaved (figuratively or literally.) This is how I feel about clarity of thought after being banished to confusion and half truths for a time. I don't know quite how long I had depression for before I recognised it for what it was. I found a poem in my journal yesterday dated almost a YEAR ago. The date surprised me more than my own words:

She stops. Shocked by the reflection that catches her eye.

Slowly, deliberately, she touches the cheek of the woman before her.

She looks closer, deeper into her eyes.

She recognises that feeling.

Look away.

Keep going.

Don't stop to feel or wonder.

Get

To

The

End

Of

The

Day.

One day I'll sleep forever.

The fog of confusion that has plagued my mind for God-only-knows how long appears to have left. I don't know exactly when but I think now that there are only shadows of it left. Thankfully shadows are evidence of darkness leaving and light being allowed in. The shadows themselves are not the darkness I felt, but reminders of what was and where I no longer want to be.

I imagine surviving to the other side of depression is a different process for everyone, but I thought some of you might like to know what I did and perhaps it might help you or someone you love.

The first thing I did was recognise that another trusted person looking in on this situation might have better judgement than me at that lowest point. This particular someone came to my house and, with Jason's permission, took me away to stay at my Pastor's house for a few days. I honestly had no idea of the seriousness of my actions and ideas until many weeks later.

I rested. Painfully and forcefully I submitted myself to rest. I started a medication that caused me to sleep all through the night and then during those days away, I journaled and doodled and read. I met with people I trusted from my church and they encouraged me, prayed for me and gave me practical advice and guidance. They allowed me to sob out my feelings and confusion without judgement. I can't express the value of having people listen with love and empathy.

I was as honest as I could be with Jason and worked out some steps to take, for our relationship, for our family life and for our future together.

I truthfully told some of my girlfriends what was going on. You can't know what a relief it was, during the worst times, to have them tell me, "if you feel like you want to self harm, text me. I'll come right over." Something that stopped me trying to work out how to hurt myself without detection was one of them saying, "it won't matter what 'accidents' you find yourself having. I will suspect you did it on purpose." Tough love is still love.

I stopped blaming myself for things that were beyond my control. I took responsibility for things I was guilty of. I got help to decipher the difference. This wasn't comfortable - no one likes to be in the wrong. I tried (am trying) to right my wrongs.

The reason I waited so long to talk to someone was that I didn't believe I was depressed. I knew why I was feeling the way I was - and since no doctor or therapist can change my circumstances and because I didn't feel like I had words to explain what made the circumstances hard, I didn't ask them for help. I only went to the doctor after taking an online mental health test...(not recommended - the internet told me I had many mental health issues including bi-polar.) Dodgy diagnoses aside, I knew by answering some of these questions that something was wrong. My friend told me to get off the computer and see a doctor. So I did. Who knew "reactive depression" was a thing? I do now.

One other thing I did was stop taking the medication I was initially on. I found that after a few weeks, I was having extreme and regular panic attacks that I didn't previously have. I can't recommend coming off medication that your doctor has put you on. I can, however, recommend listening to your body, reading the leaflet that comes with the tablets and involving others in your decision to take them or not. In my case, Jason could see the day-to-day change in me and was more objective than me in identifying the behaviour I was exhibiting and feelings I was having pre-medication versus the time I was taking it. Your doctor should be able to advise you how and when to transition off medication.

There are other practical things I did and am doing to stay mentally healthy. I know now the circumstances that will invariably cause me to sink into despair again and so I try to avoid them if possible or when faced with them, try to work out a better plan of action (and plan of thought, where necessary) to keep things clear.

I exercise to burn off adrenaline and release endorphins.

I draw, paint or write - anything creative releases something in me and brings me contentment.

I pray and find peace and hope.

I worship and practice deep thankfulness to change my perspective.

I take time off to rest.

I date my husband to revive and keep moving forward.

I realise this is long. I'm not through yet, but it is getting better. It will for you too.

Depression Diaries

I keep having this thought that *one day* I will blog about all of this. One day, when I feel better and I'm not confused or hurting and it makes some organised sense and I can share how it got better and give hope to others. You know what, though? I've read articles like that, but none that say, "I HAVE depression." Like, *right now,* I'm wading through the stinking debilitating mess of it - because depression is rude like that. Like pain, it can be dulled, but it refuses to be ignored. I suspect that if I write about this and post it in public, people will want to either console me or silently judge me for over sharing personal information. I'm not trying to get consolation and, for once, I find myself not caring if anyone judges me. I want to have a record of how frustrating depression is, and maybe I need to write that in the middle of it, because I can't not feel what it is like.

Right now I'm trying to stop my anxious thoughts shooting miles ahead of myself, drawing wrong conclusions along the way. Jay has to go away for work in a few days - 'I'd run away from me too,' are my thoughts about that. He's been tied up in work most of this week. He must not want to be near me. (I realise that this is not true, he tells me the truth of how he feels about me. I find it hard to accept his guaranteed love.) It is stressful to live with me these days. I withdraw from him. I know I'm doing it. I can't not do it.

My empty (decaf) coffee cup sits beside me - decaf by necessity rather than choice. It sits next to a pile of scrunched up tissues from my latest anxiety moment when I couldn't stop panic bubbling up and my heart pounding, my face flushing and tears effortlessly gushing. Gasping air to calm myself, covering my face, embarrassed and wanting to be alone but simultaneously wanting to be comforted...that's the confusing reality. I want to be better. I don't know how to be better.

I look at my body in disgust and wish I had've had the self control to not eat the seven peanut m&ms I just ate (yes, I counted them to make sure I wasn't eating too many - knowing full well 1 was too many.) I catalogue what I've eaten today, wondering when jay will be back so I can run my 2 miles. I've been running two miles every day this week. My tablets have increased my weight suddenly and rudely and I'm angry about that. Stupid medication. 

Must fight the medication. Maybe I'll just not take it. It hasn't made that much difference anyway. Sure, I'm not hurting myself or willing myself not alive anymore, but aside from that, it is NO GOOD because it made me fat and, if anything, I am *more* anxious now. I wouldn't want me. I feel disgusting and embarrassed of myself.

I think about how people still think today that depression is all in your head and how I should snap out if it. I half believe it and judge myself so very harshly for not doing just that. Catch a grip and stop going on about yourself. Think of others for once, will you? And so I think. I think about frustrating and frightening things happening to people all around the world, like little Febrina who just had her 4th birthday. She is a few months older than Sophia, but her birthday means she is too old to have the privilege of sitting in an air conditioned room for a few hours a day. Instead, she has to get used to 40C heat in a frightening and unsafe detention centre tent on a water ration, indefinitely. I think about my brave friend, a wonderful mother who battled cancer, and is still recovering from its unfair attack. I think about my dad, living with all the pain and frustrations of going blind... "What have you got to be depressed about?" I try to jolt myself out of it with shame, but that response appears to be broken. Comparative studies just make me feel sad. Sad for those people. Sad for myself. Sad for the future of everything and everyone. I am cynical. I am pessimistic. I just *know* everything will eventually go to crap. Time passes through me and I wait for these feelings to diffuse and fade as it goes. 

One day I'll write the 'feeling better' blog. Today is the 'it will get better' blog, because despite myself, I find a hope anchored in rescue. Hope for laughter without fear of the future. Hope for a better end.

Advent - The Silent Wait

Friends and family have asked what we will be doing for Christmas this year. The answer has been, "I don't know." We've never done Santa and I don't plan on buying back into the commercialism that the season brings. I don't have a tree, I do have fairy lights and some dodgy sharpie art.

We don't have an advent calendar, we do have a pay it forward calendar.

We plan on buying the kids a few presents each, like we did last year. We also plan to spend Christmas Eve in a long established "friends Christmas" tradition that we got adopted into last year by our Aussie family. Part of that will be a handmade gift exchange. Expensive only in thought and time. 

I'll do some reading of the Jesus Storybook Bible with the kids and maybe we'll attend a Carol service. That's about it for the things that we're doing but it's not all that is happening in me. 

Much has happened this year in and to my heart and it feels ready to rest. To rest. In this the crazy season of presents and cleaning and shopping and cooking and busyness and, for us, moving house too. I listened to a podcast about the silent years. About what it meant to wait for God before Jesus came. He talked about the parallel between those silent years and the advent period. To silently wait for God in the 'most wonderful time of the year' seems almost impossible, but it's what I'm doing this season. 

I was alone last week - and by alone I mean, Jay was travelling, I was very much still surrounded by children! Anyway, I was alone-ish and I took time to think and pray and sit in peace and just be still. I listened to music and wrote a bit and read and slowly the fog that has plagued my mind for months has begun to lift. 

It has been a hard year. I am so weary and so very ready for it to be over. It has brought me to dark places that are hard to speak out loud. It has brought me to the end of my faith and a tentative beginning of faith. Maybe I can talk about things more deeply when I'm rested. It's important to talk about mental health, because when it's broken it can lead to death, just as poor physical health can. This year hasn't been devoid of joy, it brought me my littlest son and kiddie birthday parties and family visits and close friendships and peace and love increased. These things are good. These things are necessary.

I haven't worked anything out. Except that I desperately need this Advent. I need the silence and the hope. I need Immanuel. God with me.  

Jesus' not-birthday

Two years ago we abandoned Christmas. We had done some research and with encouragement from some non-celebrating friends told our families. To be honest, it was a HUGE relief. Each Christmas, for us, was bound up in excess and debt and guilt. So much debt. So much guilt. We borrowed to buy and to look like we were doing fine financially. We borrowed to give it away to friends and family including our kids. We borrowed and I felt guilty. Guilty because I hadn't given enough, guilty because I knew we couldnt afford it. Guilty because it had to be paid back.  Somehow borrowing to give robbed the joy of receiving presents too. It felt wrong, but confusing because I loved spend time with family on Christmas Day, but I couldn't afford the shame of not affording it. It also felt wrong to give our kids boxes of stuff on one day and expect them to believe it was all about Jesus.

We had read about the origins of the season, the evils of what the tree represented and the pagan roots of the holidays date. We were rather dogmatically convinced that *Jesus* would not be bothered if we celebrated Christmas or not. We ran with this as the primary reason, "it's not Jesus' birthday."

I still feel a bit self righteous when I think that even if it was Jesus' special day, He definitely *would feel strongly about me stuffing my belly and expanding my stuff collection while emptying our wallet into our loved ones under the guise of celebrating Him. But I still think it, self righteously or not. (I'm allowed to think this way, because I'm judging myself and how we celebrated the holiday, not you!  I realise many people give to charity and give their time serving others, etc.)

That first year of 'giving up Christmas' we spent having lunch with friends, playing at the park and giving the kids a gift each so they weren't missing out. It was a lovely no-pressure day that I still have fond memories of.

The second year was a bit more surreal. Our first in the summer heat of Australia, waddling around like Mary herself in my 9th month of pregnancy. Jay had just told me he was not a Christian any more, so I had no idea what I was supposed to do about Christmas. One of Jason's work colleagues and his wife dropped in unexpectedly on Christmas Eve with a thoughtful gift for each of our children. The wife asked if we had a tree she could place them under? "Errr, no." She asked if we had a manger, perhaps?! (Still makes me giggle awkwardly) "No, no manger! I'll just put them on the counter." The truth seemed too odd to explain. We gave the kids three gifts each last year and I gave promises to My Love. We ate a meal together and Jay prayed for the last time. It too was a day I remember as being really special in a difficult time. 

Now to this year. I'm happy with giving three gifts each to our children. (Neither Jay or I are particularly motivated about gift giving for each other.) I'm feeling fairly neutral about a tree, although we don't have one. I kinda want to celebrate Jesus on His not-birthday. It feels like the right thing to do. I'm not sure what we'll do. In a months time it will all be over and I hope it will hold special memories too, whatever the day brings.

Spiritual Leadership

There was a time where I would have considered 'spiritual headship' to be a uniquely male entitlement. I easily assumed the role of 'humble helpmeet' in all submissiveness and was perfectly happy to do so. I felt secure under the authoritative and trusted judgement of my husband and this spiritual role spilled over into almost every area of our lives. It was never a position that was demanded by him, but rather one we mutually observed to work. Since we rarely disagreed on ANYTHING, it was simple and joyful to follow him wherever he went in spirituality and physicality. We were a team. A linear team.

My thoughts and actions on this topic have shifted. We have recently both abandoned religion. It looks different on us. Dramatically so. It has, however, been painfully and beautifully liberating for me.

At first, the burden on spiritual leadership felt uncomfortable, so much so that I pushed it off my shoulders almost as soon as it was placed there and half heartedly and begrudgingly dragged it around on a rope behind me. I knew full well that it was mine, but I pretended it wasn't there. I think I was hoping Jason would come along and absent-mindedly pick it up again, perhaps exclaiming, "Ah that's where I left it! Thanks for minding it, babe." That, of course, has not happened. At the time, I was alarmed at the thought that I would be forced to pick it up. I realise now that it's mine to carry and perhaps always was, at least in part. Surprisingly, if you hold it right, it's really not that heavy. 

Spiritually speaking (and I think Jason would agree) I was always more intuitive and discerning than he was. He specialised in correctness in doctrine and things that could be quantified, whereas I always felt more passionate about relationship. I enjoy talking with God, listening to the Holy Spirit, being whole heartedly in love with Jesus. For me, religion sort of got in the way of the organic loving relationship between my creator and I. Things got a bit skewed with religion when it implies that God views men more importantly than women. I mean could God really look upon me more favourably if I wore a hat in a building self-entitled as 'church?' Does it please Him when I keep quiet, in that place? Perhaps if I fulfilled traditional roles like serve tea or look after the children I would be a more 'Godly woman.' When my experience of religion aligned very little with my experience of the love relationship I had with God, then one has to go. 

So religion, good riddance. I may feel a little wobbly without your familiar borders, but I also see more clearly and move more deliberately towards God without you. 

As far as taking spiritual leadership over my own life and our home, I was very reluctant. I believed what had always been implied, that it was a mans job. I wondered what to do without my husband to fill that gap. However, I am being made whole. I am stronger than anyone gave me credit for - myself included. I am a work in progress and am discovering who I truly am and perhaps more telling, what I am not.

I am no longer a nurse, but a strong mother.

I am not stupid, but becoming wise.

I am not weak, I am a warrior.

I am not passive, but confidently active.

I am not ugly, but have lasting beauty in heart.

I am not a dependent of my husband, but serving alongside him; excelling beyond him in some areas, submitting to him in others. Remaining equals throughout.

I am not Debbie. My name is Deborah.

I am the spiritual leader of this home.

 

No Favourites

Gracie, “Wow, momma! You’re really getting thinner already.”

Me, “Thank you, Gracie. You are now my favourite child!”

She smiles and rolls her eyes, knowing that I’m teasing and then I squeeze her because she recognises aloud, “You don’t have one favourite. We’re ALL your favourites.”

The sweet compliment she paid me has encouraged me today as I reluctantly put one foot in front of the other and invested some time on the treadmill. On my own in the garage, with music playing in my ear and feeling the rhythm of my feet turning minutes into miles is a great place to gather my thoughts or at least attempt to un-muddle them a little.

We have been blessed for the fifth time with an adorable little von Meding. Eli James has been here for ten days now and long anticipated before that. I found it difficult, while pregnant, to accept that we would soon have a new little one in the house. I often struggle with this reality while pregnant, not really believing that it’s happening (even while in labour) until I scan their tiny face, hear them cry and hold their precious fragile body in my arms. I.am.overwhelmed. Overwhelmed, and in awe of the fierce and gentle swell of love for them. I have done nothing to my heart to facilitate this emotion, it just happens. Effortlessly, painlessly my heart expands to love another little one without condition, protect without fear, serve without (much) complaint and sacrifice. Sacrifice to the point of death would not be too costly to me; such is my love for them. My Gracie Boo is correct. I don’t have favourites. Each is as precious to me as the last. Each one in their diversity and with the different challenges they bring us hold their place firmly and independent of merit in my heart.

These thoughts come to me in a jumble of tears and with a quiet voice in my heart that whispers, "How much more does the Father love me?” 

I am loved. You are loved. No favourites.