The Illness of Our Age

 

I was recently talking with a friend whose teenage kid struggles with anxiety.

He has major social anxiety that affects his interaction with peers.

She said that he sometimes couldn’t go on a walk with her

Without being on high alert for bears.

I asked if she meant literal or figurative bears.

She said both.

Literal bears could cross their path,

But the figurative bears of peers could cross their path as well.

 

Shortly after talking with her,

I received a text from another friend whose teenage kid struggles with anxiety.

The kid, weary from her struggles, had reached the point where she wanted medical help.

She was afraid, however, that she wouldn’t know how to function

If the medication took away the anxiety that had become her norm.

I told my friend that I completely understood, and

I shared the letter that I had written to my anxiety a few months ago.

 

A few days after that,

I was talking with Amelia The Niece about The Boxcar Children books.

I like listening to The Boxcar Children books because they always end well.

They provide just enough mystery to keep me engaged 

But enough predictability not to cause me major stress. 

That conversation led us to talk about 

Just how much times have changed since the books were written.  

There is an innocence to the books that doesn’t exist today.

Today, we question everything and imagine the worst in everyone and every situation.

Today, we live in a culture of fear. 

 

As I recounted these conversations to Joe The Counselor,

I went from being glad that I could provide Joe with an updated metaphor for anxiety–

A bear instead of a tiger–

To being amused at just how riled up Amelia got when talking about how Henry, the oldest Boxcar child, should have scouted out his grandfather before taking his younger siblings to live in the woods where they might not have been able to find food and water–

To being filled with emotion when talking about someone else being afraid of the void that would be left if anxiety disappeared. 

In fact, I was so full of emotion that I started crying uncontrollably and had to stop talking for a moment.

All of the compassion that had been building in me overflowed and I wept.

 

I wept for all who struggle with debilitating anxiety–

I wept for all who must watch persons struggling with debilitating anxiety–

I wept for all who struggle with fear–

I wept for all who must watch persons struggling with fear–

I wept for helpless–

I wept for overwhelmed–

I wept for sad–

I wept for abused–

I 

Just

Sat

And 

Wept.

 

When I finally caught my breath,

Joe asked how I felt.

I said I felt a little better…

But the anxiety for anxiety was still a weight in my chest.

 

Oh God: Anxiety is the illness of our age. So many of us walk around tense, shoulders up, afraid of bears, yet afraid to live without what we know. But you offer peace. Help us to find that peace, somehow, in the midst of it all. Help us to find rest, strength, and courage. And help us to be grateful for the persons in our lives who provide nourishment, safety, and comfort along the way. Thank you for those people, God. And thank you for therapy and medicine and all the tools you have given us to face the world. Amen. 

Kay

 

It never fails. Whenever there is any type of wintery weather (and sometimes even just the threat of it), I think of Kay.

 

I think of the time when I went against my dad’s wishes and drove two hours in ice and snow to attend Kay’s dad’s funeral.

 

Kay was a pastor. She was a mentor and friend to many. Yet on that day—that nasty winter day—Kay, an only child with no living relatives, was completely alone…until a friend and I got to the funeral.

 

As soon as we got there, Kay came to the foyer of the chapel and hugged us. She then asked if we would sit with her on the family pew and ride with her to the gravesite in the family car. We agreed. We sat with Kay as she cried. We stood with Kay as funeral home workers lowered her dad’s coffin into the ground. We waited for Kay as she retrieved her father’s belongings. And we road alongside Kay as she made her way back to Harnett County. She didn’t have a cell phone or a reliable car. We didn’t want her making the journey alone.

 

Alone.

 

If I’m honest, and an accidental two days without my anxiety medicine will make me completely honest, being alone is one of my biggest fears. I had the fear before Kay, but after Kay the fear grew stronger.

 

Kay dedicated her life to those around her. She gave her money to those in need. She served tirelessly to enrich people’s lives. She was loved by so many people…yet in the end, she died alone.

 

She died on a Sunday night. We found her body on a Tuesday night. We watched as the rescue squad rolled her body away. When it came time to clean out her townhouse, we were there. But no one else was there. None of the people she had dedicated her life to loving and serving were there. A friend and I were left to sort through her belongings—to try to figure out what to do with all that remained. It clearly traumatized and impacted me in a very deep and real way.

 

While I know that there are differences between Kay and me—the largest of which is that I have parents, a brother and sister, nephews and a niece, aunts and an uncle, and cousins—there are also many similarities between Kay and me.

 

And so, on winter weather days, and on days when my brain chemicals are way off balance, I always think of Kay.

 

I celebrate the time when I know I did something right—I grieve her untimely loss—and I face one of my biggest fears, that of living and dying alone.

 

What about you, friend? What is something you know you did right? What is something you grieve? What is one of your biggest fears? Who is someone who has impacted your life in very deep and profound ways?

 

Please share. I’d love to hear.

 

In this season of Lent, may we walk life’s road together.

Put It In Second Place

I just finished my annual benefits meeting—you know, the one where all of your fears are tapped and you are suddenly convinced that you need every type of supplemental insurance possible? What if I get cancer? What if I have a heart attack or stroke? What if I get in a wreck and have to be hospitalized? What if, what if, what if?

The ironic thing? When I got back to my room, the song “Fear is a Liar” was playing.

It’s hard to balance: The fear of “what if” vs. reality of “what is.” Scripture tells us not to worry about tomorrow because tomorrow has enough worries of its own. Yet if we don’t look toward tomorrow, then we will inevitably be unprepared for something that takes advanced planning and preparation.

Scripture tells us not to be anxious about anything but in everything by prayer and supplication present our requests to God. I pray all the time. Almost literally. I say, “Dear God” all day long and I believe every thought that follows to be a prayer. And yet I still struggle with Generalized Anxiety Disorder…and I really don’t believe it’s because my faith isn’t strong enough.

As I was preparing for my upcoming retreat, I read something that addressed this dilemma. In The Interpreter’s Bible, it says:

“Have no anxiety” should not be taken as a counsel of perfection. Spiritual freedom of the inner life will not, for most of us human beings, put an end to all worldly anxiety, but it may put it in second place where it is more readily handled. When given first place, it can be literally the death of us. So long as we have to make a living and keep body and soul together, we have to be more or less anxious about our job and our future, our families, social injustices, and a better future for everybody. There is anxiety in our waiting for future possibilities to show themselves, but when such concern is in second place, it will not dominate our whole life and interfere with what we care most about.” (pg. 112, Philippians Commentary)

I don’t know about you, but I think this is about as good of a solution as any: Put the fear, anxiety, worry, doubt, and all manner of ickiness in second place. All manner of ickiness will always exist, and it must be addressed, and life must be lived, but let the ickiness hold less weight in the balance, for God is with us, working and creating good, existing in and revealing Love…and Love wins.

Semicolon Superfan

I went to see Brooke Simpson at church last Sunday. As I spoke to her after the service, she interjected, “I like your earrings.” I said, “Thank you. There’s more to the story, eh? There’s more to come.” “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes!...”

A few years ago, I became a semicolon superfan. Until that point in my life, the semicolon was just a grammatical tool used to “separate two independent but related clauses or to replace the comma to separate items in a complicated list.” I was a fan of semicolon and used it often in my writing, but it wasn’t until I heard this that I became a semicolon superfan:

“The semicolon is a symbol used as a message against suicide and other mental health issues and represents choosing to start a new chapter in your life…” (Merriam-Webster)

In 2013, a movement called Project Semicolon began as a movement dedicated to presenting hope and love to those who were struggling with depression, anxiety, suicide, addiction, and self-injury. It was started to encourage, love, and inspire.

The movement chose the semicolon as its central icon because a semicolon is used when an author could've chosen to end his sentence, but didn’t.

The message, then, is that the author is the individual and the sentence is his/her life.

When someone has a tattoo or other form of a semicolon on her body, she is saying that she is choosing to finish the sentence with new life rather than letting depression, anxiety, suicide, addiction, or self-injury defeat her.

She is saying that there is more to the story and that she is choosing to write it. She is saying that there is more to come…

A good friend of mine knew that I was a semicolon superfan and gave me my earrings as a result.

Now, whenever someone sees me, they can know that I am choosing not to let my anxiety/depression defeat me; rather, I am choosing the rest of the story.

Likewise, whenever I see someone with a semicolon, I know that they are choosing the same.

God, may we each hold to the rest of the story and know that you are working with us to write it. Help us to be a people of encouragement, love, and inspiration to those who need it most, and help us to accept encouragement, love, and inspiration from those around us. I love you. And I thank you for the semicolon. Amen.

A Puzzle, A Breath, and A Prayer

The holidays have been hard for quite a few of my friends: Friends missing loved ones who passed this year—some suddenly, some expected; friends struggling through anxiety and depression; friends missing kids (and other family members) to divorce; friends missing kids they are struggling to have; friends stuck in abusive homes; friends dealing with the affects of mental illness; friends who are lonely; friends continuing to grieve the loss of loved ones from years past.

It’s hard to know what to do for persons feeling so much hurt. It’s hard to know how to help. And yet I find myself doing one thing constantly—even when I don’t know how it “works”—I find myself praying.

I made a puzzle a prayer. For the three hours that it took to put it together, I prayed. (And I think maybe my mom did, too, because she knew my intentions for the puzzle.) With every piece that I put in, I prayed. I offered prayers for strength, peace, endurance, light, love, and healing for a friend whose husband recently passed away. I will give her this puzzle when I see her next and every-time she sees it, she can know that someone was and is praying for her as she works her way through grief. I may a puzzle a prayer.

My breath is a prayer, too. So often, when I know nothing else to do, when I’m in the midst of deep sorrow and hurt, I breathe my prayers. According to mindfulness practice, I breathe in the dark, stale air and breathe out light, fresh air. I imagine Jesus filtering out all of the junk and leaving only that which is good. According to Conscious Discipline (CD) practice, I breathe in and then I wish well. CD practice has nothing to do with faith, and yet, one of its main practices is, in my estimation, a prayer—a hope for something more than what is seen—a standing in solidarity—a wishing well. Breath is a prayer, too.

And so is “Dear God…” That’s it. Dear God…and then the thoughts flow…right into the very heart of God…

The holidays have been hard for quite a few of my friends. It’s hard to know what to do for persons feeling so much hurt. It’s hard to know how to help. And yet I’ve found myself doing one thing constantly—I’ve found myself praying.

Dear God…*Breathe in. Breathe out. Wish Well*…May this puzzle give strength, peace, endurance, light, love, and healing…*Breathe in. Breathe out. Wish Well*…Amen.

The Power of Naming

4.4.19—The Power of Naming

Kindergarten Student One: “Ms. Deaton. We had you for music today.”
Me: “Yep. You sure did.”
Kindergarten Student Two: “Ms. Deaton! My grandma always looks for you in the car rider line and she misses you when you aren’t here. She says that when you’re here, the line moves faster than it does for everyone else.”
Me: “Well that was nice of her to say.”
And then I walked to my place smiling.

I wasn’t very gracious with myself at the beginning of the year, friends. The transition from Johnsonville to Greenwood was, first, not expected, and, second, much harder than I think it should have been. With all my years of counseling—with all my knowledge of being present, not judging myself too harshly, allowing life to happen as it comes—with all my understanding of transition and grief, letting go and moving on, time and patience—I found myself being incredibly hard on myself and not granting myself patience or grace for not immediately knowing every students’ name or every cars’ driver…which I knew was ridiculous because I know that it takes time to learn the names of 700 students and their cars’ drivers!

Here’s what I’ve realized recently, though: I was doing the best that I could. What I didn’t want to admit was that my brain chemicals were falling out of whack and I needed to adjust my anxiety medication. Some of you may judge me or look down upon me for this next statement, but I have been on anxiety medicine for the past 12 years. I have been diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), and its effects are mentally and emotionally crippling. Everyone has anxiety. Everyone deals with ups and downs in moods and emotions. Anxiety and depression are normal parts of life. But those of us diagnosed with GAD struggle with anxiety to the point that, untreated, it interferes with our ability to properly function in our every day lives. I didn’t want to admit that my body had become used to the dosage of medicine that it had been taking. I didn’t want to admit that I needed something different. And so I struggled my way through months of transition, beating myself up for things I knew weren’t worthy of the time and effort that I was pouring into them…yet I couldn’t stop…

Today, for the first time this year, I did roll call without having to depend on my class list to know the students’ names. Friends: This was huge to me! Finally, after nine months at Greenwood, I have learned an entire class of names! I’ve learned a lot of names. I know more names now than not. But sometimes I still get confused as to who is who, so to have that certainty for even one class is a really good feeling!

What’s more, I’ve almost got the car line memorized! There are just a few cars that trip me up—and then the daily guests. I’ve had a few parents and teachers comment on how efficiently the line is running this year and how impressed they are that I have learned so many names. I must admit—the compliments feel nice—especially knowing how hard I was on myself for not having names memorized at the end of week one!

Needless to say, I’ve come a long way since the beginning of the year, friends. And it’s not just with names. It’s with heart, soul, and mind as well. I have recently adjusted my medication. The crippling, relentless anxiety is subsiding and I am starting to see, feel, and think more clearly again. I am starting to think about hopes and dreams again and renewing my desire to see beyond fear and what if’s and to remember that life truly is a series of todays that God is creating into tomorrows with us, for us, and oftentimes despite us…

Kindergarten Student Three: “I love you, Ms. Deaton.”
Me: “I love you, too.”
“And I know your name,” I thought, “Just as God knows my name.”
And I smiled.

God knows your name, too, friend, and cares for you and your struggles…even those, like mental illness, you think you must hide.