The Ugly D-Word

Confession: I have dealt with depression and anxiety since I was in high school. Only recently have I accepted it and become a bit more open about it.

High school. For me it was 4 years that were slightly better than the 2 spent in middle school. Those were rough. I spent my elementary school years in a small town in south Louisiana in class with the same kids each year. We all knew each other and mostly got along…as well as kids do. I was not really a very cute or petite kid but that was ok there. And then in 6^th grade (you know, the year aliens inhabit a person’s body?) my family moved to a new city. There, you went to middle school, complete with a 7 class schedule, formal PE with uniforms, lockers, and popular kids. I tried very hard to make friends and to be kind. But kids can be cruel. I was different for many reasons and they let me know it. 

It didn’t take long in high school to realize everything was going to change. You get a fresh start and some may even get a chance to be popular. I didn’t. Though I made friends and connections in band and church (which I truly loved and am thankful for), I was still different, maybe even more so. My faith grew significantly over the summer before high school and I knew God called me to do ministry. I felt different and a bit weird (not one of my favorite combinations). But I learned that God would always be present, would always be my friend, and I would never be alone. Yet I felt overwhelmed with loneliness most days. I would go through long periods where I lacked motivation and joy. I went through the motions though I constantly felt sad. But because no one ever talked about it, I always thought there was something wrong with me. I still wasn’t very cute or petite. I was never enough. And I couldn’t perfect this whole faith and friendship with God thing. I was a big ball of a mess.

Fast forward to adulthood, where there have been points in life where those feelings I have had about myself continued and the seasons of loneliness and sadness still overwhelmed me…and when I still didn’t realize what was going on. I still wasn't very cute or petite. I still felt like I didn’t quite measure up. And I hit my 30's still single. My career and ministry seem to have taken a path of placing me in churches where there is either great struggle or big transitions. The pressure to perform and be as perfect as possible smothered me. A pastor once told me, “You think you can talk to church members, but you can’t, so don’t share things with them.” I had frustrations and no one to talk to. I had sadness and I had to hide it. I truly felt completely isolated. Then I reached the point where I couldn’t take it anymore. There was no more trudging through. I realized I wasn’t struggling with sadness anymore because I had allowed it to take over. The tears were constantly sitting on my bottom lids and I was struggling to function. Coping was a skill that I had left behind. The anxiety was affecting me physically as well so I knew it was time to see a doctor.

In that visit, I told him about some breathing issues I was having because that was my reason for going. While we talked, I made this statement (while in tears), “I am sad all the time. I cry daily. I will not say I’m depressed because I think that word is overused. I am just sad and struggling to function.” He looked at me and simply said, “Alanna, you are depressed. And that’s ok. I can help.” He proceeded to listen as I talked. He took time to validate my feelings and tell me that it’s ok for a Christian to deal with depression…and I wasn’t alone. He also helped me to deal with the fact that medication might indeed help. And it truly, truly has. But there have been a few things I have learned along the way.

First, sometimes you need to simply put on your big girl (or boy) pants and deal with life. But sometimes you might need help. You can only fake it ‘til you make it for so long. When the struggle with the sadness ends and you allow it to take over because you can no longer deal, it can get dangerous.  We weren’t meant to do life alone. We need others. Sometimes that may come in the form of a counselor, trusted friend, or wise doctor.

Second, know yourself. I still have periods of sadness and anxiety. But in my time on medication, I have learned to cope. I have become aware of certain times that are more difficult for me. And at those times when lies start to creep in, I am aware enough to remind myself of what I know to be true about me and about life. I choose to listen to what is true.

Third, my Christian faith isn’t about being perfect. I mess up all too often. I let it get me down. The pressure of being in ministry closes in on me some days. But I have worked to be intentional in building relationships where I can be honest. I live my life with people who allow me to confess my weaknesses and failures and look at me to say, “Do you want me to fuss or be sympathetic?” But then they push me to grow and to work through the things. And they never leave me alone.

Finally, a change in my circumstances isn’t going to fix everything. My biggest depression trigger is my singleness. I never dreamed life would be the way it is now. I never wanted to be a “career woman.” I wanted to be a mom with a large SUV driving my kids to soccer games and dance practice. I was going to cook for my family and vacuum while wearing pumps and pearls. We were going to go on fantastic family vacations and enjoy each other’s company and build wonderful Norman Rockwell painting memories. But this hasn’t been God’s plan for me. As I have dated more over the last few years, I have come to realize men and relationships don’t take my sadness away. Being wanted doesn’t remove all of the loneliness. Affection doesn’t fill the longing and empty places in me the way I thought it would. Instead, a change in circumstance often brings about a new set of pressures and anxiety! Instead, I wake up each day, get out of bed, and strive to remember that God’s mercies are new every morning. That is what is going to get me through the circumstances.

Can we hold on together? And can we hold on to this: God does have a plan. He is at work on things that we can’t even begin to fathom. But can we also promise to be real and do what it takes to work through this, struggling daily with our sadness and depression and anxiety instead of allowing them to win? Don’t give up the fight, my friends.

My Terrible Parents

Confession: My parents are the two most influential people in my life. In many ways, they have shaped me into the woman I am today. And it’s all because they did everything “wrong.” 

Last weekend, I had the privilege of having my youngest niece, Caroline (affectionately known as my Itty Bitty Best Girl), with me while her daddy went to a wedding. She is a dainty bundle of ten week old goodness that I simply adore. Brett and I met up for lunch and the return swap at the end of the weekend and had some great conversation. At some point it turned to discussions about parenting and our own parents. We had some laughs and fond reminiscence, and at some point he asked a question that has come up before: “We all turned out well. What did Mom and Dad do to make that happen?” My answer to that question is that they were terrible parents.

I have a list of reasons for what made them such bad parents: 

• My siblings and I weren’t their number one priority or their “world.” There has never been a question as to who the most important person in my dad’s world is. It is my mother. And for my mother, it’s my dad. If you’ve spent any amount of time with them, you know this. They were always on the same page and united in their decisions. We, as children, never outranked a parent. We could not pit one against the other. And deep down I always knew, if forced to choose, they would pick one another over anyone else, including us. While that may sound harsh, I also believe it is biblical. There was also great security for me in their relationship. Because they love one another so deeply and unconditionally, I know they also love us, the result of this love and commitment.
• They didn’t read the latest parenting books or magazines for direction and guidance.
  My parents started their family young. In fact, today we would probably say they were just babies (my mom had 2 babies before she turned 22). Money was tight so there wasn’t a shelf full of books or magazines telling them what foods to feed their babies, how to get them to sleep, 427 practices to ensure healthy brain, emotional, intellectual, and psychological development, or anything else. They didn’t have social media to ask all of their friends at once what they should do (only to receive 17 responses that completely contradict one another). While those resources aren’t bad, they aren’t always the best, either. My sweet mom had 4 things she counted on: her own intuition, the pediatrician, my dad, and her God. Those are what she used to determine what was best for each of us as individuals. 
• They didn’t reward us for appropriate behavior in public.
  While our behavior was a choice we had, the expectations my parents had were clear. There were times and places for us to be loud and active. There were appropriate ways to show anger and irritation. After all, we were kids. These expectations were spoken and clear. They were taught and they were expected. I don’t recall ever being told I would receive a toy or a candy of my choosing if I would just behave. My parents didn’t bargain or bribe. Sometimes we got a treat at the store but it was just because. It didn’t happen every time we went to the store…no matter how well behaved we were. Special treats, purchases, toys, or activities were gifts that were given unconditionally, not based on our behavior. Now, as an adult, my parents are two of the most giving people I know. I won’t share all of the ways they so generously bless us but I will share that I know none of what they give or do for us has strings attached. I learned as a child that they give because they love not because of anything I do or don’t do. I also know that there are some things I am just expected to do, whether or not I am rewarded. 
• Our teachers were always right until proven otherwise.
  That’s right, my parents believed our teachers (the educated grown-ups) before they believed us. If there was a problem at school and we were reprimanded, we were reprimanded at home too. If we had grades that didn’t reflect our capability, it was our responsibility, not our teacher’s. But they always found out what was true by going directly to the teacher. They never simply took our word for it. But, I can also remember a situation where it was the teacher in the wrong, not me. But she wouldn’t budge. And I learned a great lesson that day.
  In fourth grade, if we didn’t return our signed papers on the day they were due, we had to write an extensive paragraph detailing our responsibility to return them timely manner. And it had to be written 25 times. I don’t remember the entire paragraph she had but it began like this: “It is my responsibility as a fourth grade student to…” followed by many words that basically said “to return my papers on time.” There was a week when my dad was out of town and missed seeing my papers. My mom told me to tell my teacher that she was going to keep them until he was home so he could see them. I did and that was unacceptable to her so I had to do the punish work. After talking to her and learning she wasn’t going to change her mind, my dad did something most parents wouldn’t. He didn’t go to the principle or to the school board. He also took responsibility. Since we didn’t follow her rules, we did the punish work. He and I sat together at the table and he wrote the paragraph 15 times and I wrote it 10. In that moment I learned the importance of taking responsibility for my actions by example. 
• They made us go to church.
  Until we were in college, we attended church together as a family on Sundays. We also rode together in one vehicle. You didn’t choose on a Sunday morning if you were going to go or not. This was a value of our family and wasn't open for discussion. But faith wasn’t just for Sunday mornings in our house. My dad spent the beginning of every day in the living room in his red terry cloth robe, kneeling at his recliner in prayer after reading his devotion. Over time, he moved to the kitchen table with his Bible and journal. The only reason I know this is the physical evidence I saw with my own eyes. It was not something he announced. It was simply what he did. My mom never hesitated to speak of her faith in everyday conversation. It was obvious to me that their faith filled their lives, influencing their actions, relationships, and parenting.
• They made us eat dinner together at the table…but what’s more, they made us turn off the TV!
  We ate dinner together almost every night. My mom cooked and served our plates (always serving herself last). We each sat in the same place every night. We held hands and said our blessing and always ended it by squeezing the hands you were holding. This was the time we talked about life and what happened at school or work that day. Following trips, it was when we gave our reports. We talked and laughed but we did not sing (that was one of mom’s no-no’s). There was no TV and even today, cell phones are highly discouraged! It was tradition and it was routine. And to this day, it is still my favorite place to be with my family. We have our best times around the dinner table. 
• And here’s the kicker: they disciplined us. And, yes, that sometimes included spanking.
  But it also might have been handled with a discussion, loss of privileges, or even being put on your knees in the corner when you are a preteen (yep, that was me…though I was 12, not 15 like my brother would like to have you believe). In the eyes of some, our punishments didn’t always fit our "crimes."  But my parents didn’t care what other people thought. When my parents gave instructions, they also gave 2 choices: obey or disobey. Disobedience always had consequences. Though some parents overlook “minor” disobedience or wait until it becomes a pattern or bigger issue before dealing with it, this was NOT the method my parents used. My dad believed you deal with disobedience early and clearly. His theory was to “nip it in the bud” early. My parents taught us early the role of authority in our lives and how we are to respond. 

If you’ve read all of this, I hope you see that I don’t at all believe my parents are terrible. In fact, the opposite is true. Though their parenting may be contrary to what some would say is the “right” way to parent, quite frankly, I don’t care. They were successful parents. I believe they have raised 3 well rounded, productive, and hard working adults. If you were to ask them what they did right, they would honestly tell you they don’t know. And what I’ve told you is only the tip of the iceberg. God did a really good thing when He made my family and I am forever grateful.