I haven’t shared publicly about my mental health journey. When my friend, Brittany, asked me if I’d consider writing something, I heartily agreed. But then I proceeded to delay the actual writing. It feels particularly vulnerable to share this part of my story. But I know it’s important, so here we are. May is mental health awareness month. I’m simultaneously grieved and grateful that such a thing exists. I’m willing to share because I know I was comforted by others who had faced the darkness of loss, grief, sorrow, overwhelm and found a way forward. And I’m willing to share because I know people who were swallowed by the darkness and didn’t live to share their stories.
By nature, I’m a melancholic person. I think and feel deeply about things. I was also privileged to grow up in a home where I was provided plenty of tools to help me manage this propensity towards weightiness. I had ample opportunities to process and grow and understand the depths of myself. For most of my life, I’ve balanced my internal dialogues and external circumstances well. Then, my friend Emily died.
Emily died suddenly in a car accident five and a half years ago. She left behind a husband and 6 beautiful kids. Em was like a sister to me. We met when we were 18 and in many ways, we grew up together. We were roommates. We stood in each others’ weddings. We started our families around the same time. She was one of my people. And losing her shook me to my core.
Admittedly, prior to losing Emily, I was probably not in peak mental health. A year prior we had moved to a new part of the city and changed churches. We were in process of becoming part of a new community, and also found ourselves working through some changes to our faith and worldview. My kids were 3, 6, and 9 at the time and raising them was exhausting. I love being a mom, but looking back, I realize how draining those young-kid-years were to my introverted and introspective self.
For a few months after saying goodbye to Em, I carried the heaviest part of my burden alone. I had friends and family who loved me and supported me well, but the people around us can only ascertain so much from our words and actions. I was coming undone inside, but was able to hide it for a time. I gritted my way through panic attacks, I felt overwhelmed by the darkness, I napped all the time, I numbed myself with movies, books, and food.
About six months after Emily died, our family took a spring break trip with my brother’s family and my parents. It was the most beautiful trip and there was something about finally experiencing some peace and lightness that cracked me open. I realized I needed some help to find that sense of daily centering in my life. And my family encouraged me to not keep fighting alone.
I returned home from that vacation and scheduled a therapy appointment and an appointment with my physician. I started taking an antidepressant and once a week Brett met me over his lunch break to hang out with the kids while I spent time with a counselor. As cliche as it sounds, I found myself again. I embraced the practice of asking for help as a strength. I took time to honor Emily through writing and through sharing parts of my story with others. And eventually, the darkness began to fade. The depression eased, and the anxiety became manageable.
What I wish people understood about mental health is that there are no bootstraps strong enough to withstand the weight of deep grief and depression. I was intelligent, capable, and self-aware as anyone, but I could not claw my way out of the darkness on my own. My relationship with Jesus was rich and vibrant, and certain circles will tell you that should be enough to bring about healing. I do believe Jesus is singly capable of healing our minds and bodies, but sometimes he uses other people to bring about healing, and there is no shame or weakness in seeking out help.
Mental illness is nondiscriminatory. For years it carried stigmas and assumptions, but the truth is, it touches so many of us regardless of education, financial status, race, religious affiliation, or background. Sadly, we live in a culture that misleads us into believing we ought to do it all…carry all the burdens, be successful in every area, maintain perfection in health, finances, and relationships. And many of us keep everything spinning. Until we don’t.
Brokenness is not all bad. In the midst of my weakness, I discovered beautiful new things about myself. I rekindled my love for writing. I learned to set better boundaries. I explored new depths of my relationship with Jesus. I encountered tender sides of Brett that were new to me. But I could not have done any of these things without help and support from a community of people.
Friends, if you have lost your way, do not wait to ask for help. Reach out to a trusted friend or pastor for a therapist recommendation. Meet with your doctor and start the meds. Simplify your commitments. Take one small step towards health. There is no shame. No condemnation. No burden too great to be shared. And if this hasn’t been your struggle, ready yourself to extend grace, be a light, and offer support to friends who are walking through a dark season. There is beauty and growth and healing to be discovered in all of our stories. I’m grateful to have these lessons as a part of mine.
Thoughts from The Yellow House 