Choosing Happiness

Whenever I am depressed/angry/frustrated/overly emotional, my instinct is to sit on the couch, cover myself in a blanket, and watch episode after episode of Gilmore Girls, The Tudors, West Wing, or some other comfort show.  I'm not one of those people who grabs the nearest comfort food and eats; when I am feeling down, I usually forget to eat.  I don't want to leave the couch.  I just want to snuggle with my blanket and my dogs.

Two weeks ago, I was in the midst of one of those moments.  That day, I had met with the ordination committee for a second ordination interview, only to be told for a second time that I wasn't ready, that they would not ordain me.  I was frustrated, angry, and depressed all at the same time.  That afternoon, I'd played Monopoly with Colin and a friend in an attempt to get my mind off of things.  But now I was all alone in the apartment.  Vegging seemed like a fantastic idea.

Vegging was the option I frequently took.  It's easy.  It's comforting.  It allows you to feel better in the moment, to forget whatever it is that's bothering you.  There's nothing wrong with vegging with things are bad.  

But then I looked over to my sewing machine and my most recent project.  It was a peplum blouse that I had eagerly been working on the day before my interview.  I was particularly excited about this blouse, because I'd made it twice before, and was in love with the pattern.  Not only that, but the blouse's fabric was a cute cotton print with bicycles on it.  All that was left was the finishing, my least favorite part.  Buttons, buttonholes, and hems.  Blerg.  

I decided to sew.

It may seem like a small thing, deciding to finish my blouse instead of laying on the couch.   But when you struggle from depression, like I do, and you find yourself feeling down, you have occasionally have a choice.  You can take the comforting route, the easy route, and feel momentarily better.  But I've found that later, I don't feel better at all.  I lecture myself for being lazy.  I think of all the things I could have accomplished.  And all the good feeling I got from snuggling with my dogs and watching Gilmore Girls vanishes.  

Choosing to sew, wasn't simply choosing to do something instead of sitting on the couch.  It was choosing to not let my depression overwhelm me.  It was choosing to push through the bad feelings and not only be productive, but feel productive.  It was choosing happiness.  

Now don't get me wrong - feeling down and being depressed are two different things.  But for someone like me, noticing that moment when you are feeling down and catching it before it becomes something worse can make all the difference.  When you are deep in depression, that decision is not even there.  Sometimes, the depression has already overwhelmed you, and you can't even imagine happiness, even when it is close by.  Choosing to be productive is not an option, because you are drowning in emotions that you cannot control.  But sometimes, occasionally, you are given a gift.  You are given that choice.

And that night, I chose to be happy.  

#1: Mental Health

When I asked friends what topics to write about for my Lenten challenge, the overwealming response was "You already have mental health/depression/anxiety, right?" It does seem like a topic that is on everyone's mind these days. And it wouldn't be fair to say we don't ever talk about mental health. It seems like every few months there's a new push to open up conversation and raise awareness about the rising mental health issues in America.

We talk about the larger issue, yet somehow it isn't okay to talk about our own issues.  According to the National Institute of Mental Health, approximately 26.2 percent of adult Americans "suffer from a diagnosable mental disorder in a given year. That's 1 in 4 adults. A look at the NIMH's information page on depression alone tells a powerful story. College students and depression. Men and depression. Women. Older adults. High school students. Depression and cancer, diabetes, heart disease, Parkinson's, strokes. Every day, millions of us are overcome with the inabilility to get out of bed, to leave the house, to ask for help. Every day, millions of us recall the days when we had those same struggles, yet something stops us from sharing our stories.

It isn't okay to talk about your depression at work. If you post about it on Facebook, you're whining and annoying. If you blog about it, future employers might find it. But if 1 in 4 Americans suffer from a mental illness, then isn't it something we need to be talking about? And not just with our closest friends. Not just with our therapists, ministers, and counselors. But with each other?

We weren't created to exist alone in the world. We weren't created to suffer through our problems alone. When God made Adam, God said that it was not good for him to be alone. God created animals, and then God created Eve. I like to think it wasn't just for the sake of procreation. I like to think that God knew we needed one another not just for physical companionship, but also for emotional friendship.

If we are going to talk about mental health in this country, then we can't just talk about it in the abstract. We have to talk about our own personal experiences. We have to share the stories about the days we couldn't get out of bed...and also the stories of that day we did manage to get up and walk outside. We should tell those stories so we can heal, and so we can help others begin to heal.

I was diagnosed with moderate to severe depression my senior year of college, and it has been a part of my life ever since. Some days are great. Some days are not. I've accepted this as a part of my life, at least for now...so why should it be a secret when telling my story might help others?

Rays of Sunlight

I suffer from depression. 

This is a fact I have come to accept in my life.  It is something I realized after many years of not understanding why I sometimes wanted to curl up under a blanket and escape the world, why I could not bear to talk on the phone, why I found myself crying over things that should not upset me, why I worried so often that I was not good enough and would never be good enough.  I have been through quite a journey of emotions with my depression, and while I am embarrassed by some of my reactions, they are a part of who I am today. 

I know that I am not alone in my depression. A 2011 NPR article says that 11% of Americans are prescribed antidepressants, and that many more Anericans suffer from depression but are unwilling to tell their doctor for fear of being prescribed antidepressants. But the strange thing about depression is that, though there are many of us, we suffer alone.  We feel that we are alone, helplessly so, even when we are surrounded by friends and family and those who suffer as well. 

When I am depressed, I push people away. Friends, family, even my wonderful husband. I push away God, too, unable to form prayers in my mind to a God who allows me to suffer so much. I want to be alone because I feel safer.  I alone understand my own inner pain. It is strange that part of suffering from this disorder is to push away the things that might help me to feel better.  

In my most recent struggle with depression, I found that my social life was not the only thing suffering. My spiritual life, which in the past few years has become an incredibly important part of my life as a whole, was almost completely gone. It wasn't simply that I wasn't praying or talking to God. I was not knitting, not spinning, not creating. In curling up on the couch and watching TV, I was pushing away the practices that help me to connect with my inner self, and with God. I was, again, pushing away the things that would help me to feel better. 

I was recently assigned a paper for my Spirituality class where we had to find a character from the history of Christian spirituality to write about. After some searching, I fell upon Therese of Lisieux.

Therese of Lisieux was a young Carmelite nun who struggled many times throughout her life with what she called "the night of my soul."  Toward the end of her short life of 24 years, she suffered physically as well as spiritually, and at time considered suicide as a way to escape. She wrote of dealing with this struggle in her autobiography, The Story of a Soul. 

"When I sing of the happiness of Heaven and the eternal possession of God, I do not feel any joy therein, for I sing only of what I wish to believe. Sometimes, I confess, a little ray of sunshine illumines my dark night, and I enjoy peace for an instant, but later, the remembrance of this ray of light, instead of consoling me, makes the blackness thicker still."

I have considered this passage many times over the past week.  It is both profound and simple. Act out what you wish to believe so that you might experience a "little ray of sunlight."  Though Therese writes that remembering these moments "makes the blackness thicker still," I strongly believe that we must experience these little bits of light in order to make it through the darkness. It's like walking through a dark hallway. When you use a flashlight, it makes the going easier for a while. But when you turn off the light, the darkness is even darker than before. But eventually your eyes will adjust to the blackness, and you will find your way to the end of the hall. 

Depression is a part of who I am. It will always be a part of who I am, even when I am not directly suffering from it. However, if in those moments of sadness I can find my friends and hold them dear, I will remember that I am appreciated. If in those moments of struggling I can allow myself to hear the struggles of others, I will remember that I am not alone. If in those moments of pain I can bring myself to talk with God, I will remember that I am loved.