Reflecting on a Decade

With a decade coming to a close, my mind is filled with experiences. Some good, some great, some astonishingly terrible. And my overwhelming sense is this: “Hard” is not a synonym for “bad”, but most often is a synonym for “good”. Romans 8:28 tells us, “So we are convinced that every detail of our lives is continually woven together to fit into God’s perfect plan of bringing good into our lives, for we are his lovers who have been called to fulfill his designed purpose.”

More than ever, I am convinced that the hard things in this life reveal the goodness of God.

I began this decade as a senior in college, struggling to make plans after graduation. I graduated with my Bachelor’s degree as a first generation college student in May of 2010. By August of that same year I moved from Oshkosh, Wisconsin to Cairo, Illinois and began living as a person who was employed full-time to pray and volunteer. Living in Cairo taught me love. It is the best decision I have ever made, and led to a string of really awesome opportunities and decisions (like meeting my husband, living in community, becoming a part of a covenant family, becoming a Godmother, meeting and loving some of the best people I have ever known that call Cairo home), but living in Cairo was also difficult. I felt forced into community living with 5 other people who were gifted in loving me enough to confront my BS.  My eyes were opened to the reality of generational -poverty and racism, and the seemingly inescapable effects of both. I walked along side young people and came to love them as though they were my family, and consequently experienced unthinkable pain as I watched some experience loss, assault, and horrible, violent death. The most recent of these deaths happened just six months ago and I can’t imagine a day when it will stop hurting.

I moved out of Cairo after three and a half years unexpectedly. A part of me expected to live my whole life there. I was so in love with experiencing the presence of God in that place, and cared so deeply for the people. But my then-fiance and I broke up, and at the time we were both living in Cairo. I thought, upon our breakup, that I would spend a weekend in Paducah with two of my covenant sisters at their house, but I woke up one morning during that weekend to the clear voice of Jesus inviting me to live there. I told him it was a kind invitation but I didn’t want to, but His plans have a way of prevailing.

While living in Paducah (2014) I was given the opportunity to fulfill two dreams in my heart: I got a part-job at The Limited, and also had the opportunity to work at a home where women recently released from prison could come and be integrated back into society.  I had been unemployed for many months prior and also didn’t have a car. These jobs provided me stability and enough money to buy a car, which I  totaled it a few weeks after it was purchased.

During this time my mental health was at an all time low. A recurring eating disorder and undiagnosed OCD left me almost incapable of functioning, and I was a terribly selfish friend.  Grieving the loss of my engagement was, at that time, the most difficult experience I had faced, and I wasn’t sure how to survive it.  Apart from God and really, really good friends turned family, I don’t know how I would have figured that out.

A few months later I was given the opportunity to fulfill another desire of my heart: I was offered a recruiting position at Southern Illinois University!  I called another covenant sister (who I had lived with previously in Cairo) who lived in Carbondale at the time, and told her that I was either going to live with her or by myself with a dog, because my process of grieving was way too much to try to explain to a stranger roommate. My friend was already living with her friend (who also owned the home) in a 2 bedroom home, but we prayed for God to make a way and He did. A couple months later that home-owner answered the call to move far away to become a missionary and I moved into her old room.

The Lord gave me the job in Carbondale as an oasis for my soul. While there, I was a part of a wonderful church family and made incredible friends throughout the region. I was invited into another season of ministry, went through a lot of heart healing, started counseling for OCD and experienced a lot of mind healing, got healthy and began to really enjoy my life after a long season of survival. I worked with an incredible staff and was given the opportunity to start graduate school for free because I was an employee of the university.

In 2015 I met my husband on the steps of a house in Cairo that I once believed would be where I raised foster children…I inquired about the process while I lived in Cairo but couldn’t qualify at that time. A house where I watched D’Erick worship Jesus a few very short years before he was killed. A house where my then-fiancé lived while we were in Cairo. I didn’t know Zeek was my husband when I met him, and would go on to not talk to him again for about a year, but isn’t it like Jesus to have introduced us in a way that He knew would scream much-needed redemption into my bones?

In 2016 I got dumped by a guy I was infatuated with. My roommate got married and moved to another state. I moved in with two strangers, undergraduate students and amazing people, in a single wide trailer, as a 30-year-old woman. I left my church, had very few real friends near me, and had no sense of purpose or direction.

In 2017 I started dating Zeek, and man, did that feel like a train wreck. I started counseling, moved two times, dealt with a load of mental illness, and began attending Cowboy Church.

In 2018 I married my husband. I know I already stated that living in Cairo was my best decision, but so was this. Marrying Zeek is the most fearless decision I’ve made, but marriage has been the hardest thing I’ve ever continued to say “yes” to. Choosing to love a human every single day is HARD, y’all. Forgiving yourself and others is HARD. Selflessness is HARD. Allowing Jesus to show you who people really are apart from their behavior (including yourself) is HARD. Really hard and really good.

In 2019 I left SIU and took a position at a small community college, a great opportunity professionally and personally, as this job placed me back in Cairo on a weekly basis. I also met two incredible mentors and, in part from their wisdom, encouragement and large amount of help, completed my Master’s degree. I didn’t know I could. Graduate school was a dream, a big one, but I wasn’t convinced I was capable. Isn’t it funny that God places dreams in our heart and then we believe the teeny tiny enemy when he tells us we’re incapable, rather than believing God about His capability and goodness? He’s so patient with us. Completing my Master’s was difficult, but Holy Spirit guided me to helpful people, a program that was a good fit for me, and wonderful opportunities. And so I did it.  In June, two months before I completed, D’Erick was killed at the age of 20. D’Erick was like a son or a baby brother to me, and I don’t mean that in some sappy way that people tend to talk about the deceased. I loved him deeply. Losing him doesn’t feel real while also hurting in a way that words, or at least my words, can’t detail. And, to close out the year, Zeek and I ended our two year search for a home by putting in our fourth offer on a house and GETTING IT.

When I look back over the last decade of my life, the only consistencies I see are these: The presence of God, fulfilled dreams, and frequent invitations to do hard things.  Mostly, I see how synonymous “hard” is with “good”.  I see how intertwined my “yes” to hard things is with the fulfillment of dreams. I see how completely incapable I am at doing these hard things apart from the consistent, nurturing and patient goodness of God. I see how it’s impossible for me to exist apart from Him: how in the world could I want to? I see how even the deepest love, as wonderful and precious as it may be, is but a small. burning match in comparison to the all-encompassing, every present, intimate love of God. He is the only real sustenance, the only road map worth following, the best friend I’ve had through every single experience, ensuring that I’m never alone and always cared for, always understood. In the darkest, most hopeless seasons, He was there, weaving together my divine purpose. Creating goodness and creating from goodness. In the seasons of overwhelming happiness, He has been there, reassuring me that He keeps His promises. Continually weaving His perfect, good (and sometimes hard) plan.

As I face a new decade, I notice that I’m carrying much less weight. I lost a large load of fear somewhere along the way. Walking through hard things tends to remove that unnecessary weight, as we see the goodness of God show up in unexpected, undesirable places. We begin to learn that no matter where we find ourselves, we will find Him there, too. And so, I am grateful. I’m grateful for the heartache, for I have watched Him weave goodness out of it. I’m grateful for the unexpected, for I have watched myself learn to trust Him in the midst of it. I’m grateful for the hard because I have learned of His strength through it.  I’m grateful for my weakness, for I have seen that it can’t demolish the perfect plans of God. And so I look to 2020 with anticipation of His goodness, and I rest.

OCD Hates My Puppy

My husband and I brought home a beautiful puppy a little over a week ago. Zola girl is a 10 week old airedoodle and will become my support animal.

My therapist encouraged me that an emotional support animal (ESA) could be good for me when I shared that I’ve wanted a dog for-ev-er, so when we found an affordable rental home with a fenced in backyard that would allow a large dog, and also found a hypoallergenic dream breed dog for a majorly discounted price, it seemed like everything was working out for me to begin experiencing a better quality of life. I have recently made the decision to stop taking Lexapro, and life without medication has been challenging. So, Zola seemed like a good holistic alternative.

Well, this short adventure with Zola has caused OCD to throw a fit in my brain. While other people see a cute puppy, I see an animal that lives in my house. What was I thinking when I decided that sharing a home with an animal would actually help alleviate anxiety, rather than cause it? I see a pup I yearn to bathe every single day because she is unclean, paws that bring dirt and filth throughout my entire house (and are wiped with baby wipes every time she comes in the house from spending time outside), and traces of urine throughout my home that leave me with an absence of rest. I can never clean enough. Regardless of the cleaning products I use, things need to be cleaned again; my house is now unclean.

I have also become obsessed with her health, as she’s showing signs of puppy vaginosis. I google her symptoms again and again throughout my day, convinced I’m missing something and she’ll actually die because I didn’t rush her to the vet. I compulse by calling my husband and my mom over and over, asking for reassurance that we’re doing the right thing by waiting to talk to the vet about her symptoms at her next vaccination appointment (in less than two weeks). I facebook message my vet tech friend about her symptoms, and when I’m not reaching out to someone for reassurance, I’m playing her issues over and over and over in my mind, convinced I’m making the wrong choice.

I’ve begun checking her body for physical symptoms every time she comes near me. And I can no longer have her sit on my lap without a blanket under her (that then gets washed) or crawl up on my neck if we’re in the car (that’s her favorite place to be while we’re in the car) because she’ll get her disgusting germs on me.

I wash blankets and door mats and her toys over and over, checking for smells of urine obsessively.

And then scrupulosity joins the party, as I ask God to please tell me if she needs to go to the vet. Please tell my husband, too, that’ll be my confirmation, because I don’t trust my own brain enough right now with all the crazy birds flying around in it. I’m sure that Zola will die because I’m not taking good care of her, and God is probably trying to tell me to do something about her symptoms and I’m not hearing Him or I’m ignoring Him. And so it will be my fault when she dies.

…And this is what an emotional support animal is like for someone with OCD.

If you’re familiar with OCD, you’re probably familiar with Exposure Response Prevention used in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. If you have OCD, you probably hate Exposure Response Prevention in the short term, but love its long term effects. In short, ERP suggests that exposing yourself to your fears, while choosing not to compulse in order to alleviate the anxiety felt during that exposure, will eventually alleviate the fear/anxiety for good. And boy, does it work. But it is extremely challenging.

Well, Zola is my current ERP. Every single moment I spend with her causes me a great deal of anxiety and OCD’s intrusive thoughts come in waves with only short breaks in between. However, because I’ve been doing ERP for a year and a half now, I am managing and overcoming OCD better than I have before (and if you think my current state sounds bad, you should have seen me a year and a half ago!). Though I am still compulsing, I can sometimes see that I am compulsing and am therefore doing so less than I would have in the past. Also, I am working on getting ahead of the compulsions in order to reduce them to none.

I still choose to get up every morning and take my pup for a walk and spend time with her in the backyard and get dirty, even though it causes me anxiety, even though I notice every time she accidentally steps on my foot with her muddy paw, even though bugs crawl on me and the only place I have to sit is on my dirty back steps. I am choosing to expose myself to the things causing me anxiety and intrusive thoughts, which will lessen those things over time. I still choose to clean up her pee and am not washing things more than twice, which is a small victory I choose to celebrate. And I haven’t given my dog away! Instead, I actually have moments when I choose to snuggle her and laugh and be grateful to have her and those moments are authentic. If you have OCD, you get it. You understand how incredibly hard it can feel to keep moving forward, keep really living your life, when you’re in the midst of an intrusive thoughts episode. It would be easiest for me to curl up in my room, in freshly laundered sheets, with clean socks on my feet so I don’t track any dirt from the house into my bed, and intentionally distance myself from Zola. But every day I’m choosing not to do that, which means every day I’m winning, and I’m getting healed in the process. And someday soon I’ll be consistently really happy that we got a dog.

Keep going, OCD Warriors! There is healing in this process!

 

The Suicide Prevention Hotline Isn’t Enough

National Suicide Prevention Week. To those of us in the mental health community, this week is a mixed bag. Yes, recognition of a struggle associated with  mental illness is validating. However, when dear people, who I know mean well, post a hotline with a phone number that leads to strangers on the other end, I cringe a bit.

In the midst of trouble of any kind, I am not likely to call a stranger to share my fears or to ask for help. I suppose an exception to this rule is a tow truck company when it’s needed, but otherwise I’m most comfortable asking for help from people who love me. Those who have shown me they love me by walking through uncomfortable bits of my life with me are the people I call when my mind wages war against me. And if that war were to ever lead to a battle for my life, I cannot imagine calling for the help of a stranger in the midst of my fight. Asking for help takes a great deal of strength, and asking for help from a stranger can sometimes feel unbearable when your strength is all used up fighting for your life.

I don’t mean this to say the Suicide Hotline isn’t a wonderful thing. It is! Many people are alive today because of the hotline and I’m extremely grateful for their work. But you know what’s even better than a hotline? Community. Getting right into the middle of someone’s mess and setting up camp. Walking with people when they’re healthy and when they’re sick. Seeking out the hurting and loving them because they’re worthy of love, not because they’re a charity case or because you’re a saint. Love is the healing balm we all need. And a life is more likely to be saved when it knows it has value to people around them.

Is there a perfect equation to preventing suicide? Yes, Jesus. And how does Jesus love?

Ultimately, suicide is a choice and only the person making the choice is in control of what their decision will be. They, and only they, are responsible for their choice. However, Jesus saw many healed, and even raised to life after death, through his compassionate love for them. He walked with the hurting and loved them into healing…he didn’t avoid people experiencing pain and anguish. He devoted himself to people daily, in their mess and in their successes. What if we did the same?

You are made in the image of Christ, and therefore you are chocked-full of ways to offer love to someone who is hurting. And who knows the depth of impact of that love? Though love from a stranger on the other end of a hotline phone call is important and needed and Christ-like by nature, community and choosing daily friendship carries value that cannot be overstated. Today, rather than posting a hotline number with a hashtag and moving on with your life, consider posting YOUR number along side the hotline as another option for those friends of yours hurting. Reach out to your friends and ask questions that lead to vulnerable conversation. Take time with people, and show them their value. Being available to love the person in front of you may free up the suicide hotline for someone else, out of your scope of reach, to get the help they need.

Redefining Success in the Face of OCD

I’ve now been in therapy for about a year. I’ve enjoyed it and am not in a hurry to “graduate”, but this week’s session made it clear that the expectations I had for the timeline of my process do not align with reality. Though I didn’t realize it, I had an expectation that I would be “better” by now and moved on with my life, managing depression, anxiety and OCD with little to no effort and waving goodbye to therapy out of the rear view mirror of my life as I zoomed into a more peaceful future.

My therapist (Cris) has begun the process of “graduating” me twice. What is this process like? Rather than weekly appointments, we decrease the number of appointments to every other week or every three weeks. Both times I have attempted to graduate I was rather quickly advised to increase counseling sessions again. Yesterday Cris and I agreed to increase my therapy from every three weeks back to once a week, and I also decided to increase my dosage of Lexapro. Not exactly what I was hoping for, as I thought I was improving for good, recovering and moving on with my dang life.

Cris says treating OCD is like nailing jello to a wall. As you treat one aspect of OCD (scrupulosity, HOCD, ROCD, etc. etc. etc. ), another one, or an associated disorder like depression, pops up out of nowhere. Right now, I’m feeling 85% successful in fighting ROCD thoughts. If I’m convinced my fiance is [fill in the blank with a negative, untrue intrusive thought here, like stupid, unattractive, etc. etc. etc.], I can quickly identify that thought as an ROCD thought and choose not to mentally compulse by following the thought down a black hole of anxiety-filled thoughts, questioning whether or not I love him. I also feel pretty successful over scrupulosity thoughts, though I find another one buried somewhere deep inside of me occasionally. For example (sharing in hopes that those of you who are also fighting this disorder can breathe a sigh of relief), I took a large portion of my tithe in cash to church a couple weeks ago. I stuck the cash in my coat pocket, and forgot to put it in the offering bucket that night. When I realized I had forgotten it, I checked my coat pocket and the money was gone. I had a panic attack, as I was convinced that the Lord was angry at me for mismanaging my money. I questioned if I should replace the money with money from my savings, so the Lord would know I was willing to make the sacrifice and wanted to honor him, and I repeatedly checked the places the money could have been. I was hysterical, and the guilt center in my brain (which is overactive in people with OCD) went a little bonkers. So, though my scrupulosity symptoms have decreased substantially in the last year, they are still capable of popping up out of nowhere. And now that they are more under control (jello nailed to the wall), other issues are becoming prominent.

Most recently for me, OCD has partnered with depression in a big way. I’ve spent the last couple weeks glued to the couch when I’m not working. I feel incapable of cleaning my house or doing laundry, incapable of feeding or dressing myself, incapable of interacting with people. This has been disappointing to me because my depression had previously improved with the addition of Lexapro into my daily life. With all this recent time on the couch it was nearly inevitable that intrusive thoughts would increase, and I’ve spent more time than usual in the last few days feeling distraught and hopeless. I was, once again, afraid to scroll Facebook, for fear I would see a photo of my friends’ children and have thoughts about hurting them. This is the hardest strain of OCD thoughts for me, and I become debilitated quickly. These thoughts, partnered with depression, have now led to increased therapy and increased meds.

…And just three weeks ago we were talking “graduation”.

I don’t have a pretty way to wrap this blog entry up. This is what OCD looks like in the process. In the midst of ERT, CBT, crying on my therapist’s couch and medication, this is what not giving up looks like. And, in my opinion, more people need to talk about it. When I was diagnosed with OCD, I spent hours scanning the internet for blogs and articles written by people who also had “Pure O” (hello, obsession 😉 ), but was disappointed to find very little shared by someone with first-hand experience. There are SO MANY of us in the world, so many fighting “crazy birds” (intrusive thoughts) flying around our brains every single day. And I would have really benefited from knowing that a year into the process of treating my OCD, I could still very much be in the process. So, here I am, sharing what a day in the life, a year into treatment, has looked like for me.

Today, success looks like getting out of bed more than an hour after my alarm went off. But I got out of bed. Success looks like sitting at my desk at work with greasy hair and little makeup, devoting my strength to having shown up and attempting to continue to do my job in the midst of depression. Success looks like sharing what this process is like when I feel weak and disappointed. Because I’m alive, and I’m not giving up. As Heidi Baker says, “If you don’t give up, you win.”

 

 

A Winter’s Hike

I wrote the better part of this blog in September, but never finished it. As I read it this evening, I thought tonight was a nice time to finish it and share. Be encouraged, my friends experiencing a long winter. This is just one season.

Winter is my least favorite time of year. Excluding the first snow fall and the magic of Christmas, winter feels brown to me. Winter is blah, stuck, the season that happens in between all the beauty.

Here I sit in September, beholding the sights of all things late summer. The woods in my backyard are still a rich green, though the early evening sun whispers rumors of the golden shades soon to come. The rose bushes are still lovely in bloom, and I’m often greeted by spotted fawns on my drive home, grazing along the gutters of the country roads. Though it is fleeting, summer is still very much alive and begging for its visual wonders to be beheld. My internal season, though, has been winter for the better part of this year.

I rang in 2017 with a mild amount of excitement. 2016 was full of catastrophic sized transition and it rocked my predictable, introverted life. None of the transition was bad, but most of it was hard. Like, really hard. Therefore, I crossed into 2017 grateful to say goodbye to that most recent year, with little anticipation for the future beyond a timid hope for some rest.

In January, a man I’d become quite fond of confessed his interest in me. Yay! This unexpected but happy development was my golden ticket to excitement for what lay within the new year. In February, though, I began seeing a counselor because of the intrusive thoughts surrounding my new relationship. By March, I’d been diagnosed with OCD and given the gift of naming the chaos happening in my mind. But, seeing as this was the farthest outcome from what I’d imagined counseling would reveal, the peace of knowing often did not outweigh the lack of peace I’ve experienced in the journey of healing.

Have you ever attempted to hike in the snow? I’m originally from Wisconsin, the land of winter (and cheese, thank God. We have to have cheese to balance the six months of brown) and spent countless hours of my childhood attempting to exist and move around in the snow. First, you have to make a conscious decision to go outdoors when you’re dealing with feet of crystal white weighty wetness. Then comes bundling up. A simple hike that may take two minutes to prep for in the summer (tighten sandals on your feet and fill your water bottle), now takes a conscious effort to commit to and prepare for. After 10 minutes of bundling, the real work begins. Each step into and out of the snow requires strength and effort. And though your body adjusts to the extra weight of lifting your legs from and planting them into the snow’s density again and again, it continues to be difficult.

The journey to wellness through mental illness is like a winter hike, if you ask me: hard, intentional, slow, and surprisingly beautiful.  One step forward in cognitive behavioral therapy can take me much effort to accomplish. Choosing to ride the anxiety rocket until it safely lands, rather than jumping off into a compulsion, takes the commitment and time of bundling up into ten layers of long underwear, fuzzy socks and huge, puffy coats, all the while questioning whether being so uncomfortable can actually be good for me. But moments of clarity in the journey, when I’m too far in to turn around and my steps are rhythmic and my unbelievable effort has provided some comfort, allow me to survey the beauty of not being in control. And isn’t winter the season that most teaches us the reality of how little we control?  I can’t control when it snows. I can’t choose whether or not leaves die and the ground freezes and water turns to ice. The only control winter allows me is how to experience it. Will I become complacent? Will I observe the barren beauty? Will I put forth the additional effort of exploring this season, or will I hibernate under it’s heavy weight?

I can’t control this brain disorder. And without effort, I’ll have a low quality of life, void of risk or adventure. If I sit inside my head, listening to intrusive thoughts and trusting anxiety’s voice, I’ll never explore. And some days, that’s what I choose. Of course there are days when the cold gets to me, when I’m tired and weary and angry that it’s not Spring yet. More and more often, however, I’m learning to choose to control what I can: my response to this disorder. I’m choosing to explore who I really am, rather than who intrusive thoughts tell me I am. I’m learning to love people, even though it sometimes stirs up an enormous amount of fear, and I’m learning to allow people to love me, even if I’m convinced I will sabotage their love (because I won’t, that’s just anxiety talking). Instead of reassurance seeking, I’m learning to run through the cold woods alone, breathing deeply of fresh air, until I have decided for myself what I think and feel. It’s not easy, and it’s not comfortable, but it is beautiful. And soon, Spring will come.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

OCD Thoughts

OCD crashed my life, bringing with it’s discovery relief that I identified the thing that was “wrong”. After initial relief passed, however, a lot of real, hard work began. Real, hard work that I still live in the midst of. Identifying OCD thoughts, or “crazy birds”, as my therapist calls them, is a full-time gig all its own.  And after a lack of diagnosis for about 20 years, there’s been a lifetime worth of crazy birds to shoot down. Some days I feel like I’ll never be free, never know my own mind apart from irrational fears, others I can feel the effects of the hard work and believe my mental health is improving.

After almost a year of therapy, re-introducing myself to a loving God through the Bible, rather than an angry, guilt-inflicting God, gallons of essential oils (thank God for Young Living’s Peace & Calming…fa’ real) and a successful addition of Lexapro, intrusive thought episodes and mental compulsions have lessened. Miraculously,  I don’t think about OCD on good days. Anxiety is still more present in my life than I’d like, depression comes and goes, but the “crazy birds” are flying in a much smaller flock.

Then, there are weeks like the one I’m living in right now. Weeks when I feel myself inhabiting the “crazy bird” cage, stuck in an entrapment of intrusive thoughts I have to give my full attention to, thoughts I have to disprove, follow and think through to the end. As anyone with Pure O knows, participating in mental compulsions are an invitation to a super dark corner of Hell. Perhaps the worst part, however, is not knowing you’re walking straight into the dark corner again until you’re already there, encompassed by anxiety and ready to quit your relationship, job, friendships and any and all potential adventures. After all, risk is the devil and needs to either be proven to be pain free, or avoided at any cost.

So I’m writing. Mostly because I’m having a hard time bringing myself out of the compulsions. Reminding myself that OCD thoughts exist inside my brain but are not my thoughts (usually a very effective tool for me) is doing little to remedy my deep felt need to obsess and compulse. I’ve convinced myself that failure is imminent, I no longer love my fiance and my Christmas season is crap because I suck at stewarding my moola. As much as my mind knows this will pass, everything within me is screaming that I’m ignoring how true the crazy birds are, and choosing to wait them out won’t make them any less true. If I stay at my job I’ll eventually get fired, If I marry my fiance I’ll always pine for my ex and won’t be happy, and I’m headed for a life filled with poverty. When OCD seems to be winning, writing has a way of reminding me that I’m still in here somewhere, and that someone out there is also experiencing these malfunctions in their brain.

If you, too, are walking through life with a disorder, if you also happen to be existing in the same mind space as OCD, I want to offer you the same permission I’m trying to give myself today: It’s OK to have a hard day. You have permission to struggle. Call in sick. Binge watch Gilmore Girls. Walk in the woods. Drink a copious amount of coffee. This isn’t a sign that you’re not getting better, it’s just a hard day in the journey; the crazy birds won’t always be circling overhead. But, if they are today, breathe and give yourself permission to not trust the thoughts or claim them as your own. I’m heading to my therapy appointment later today–make yourself an extra appointment if you need it and love yourself a little extra when you think you least deserve it.

Living with Uncertainty

If life is like a sidewalk, then true living is learning to exist comfortably in the cracks. So much of life is uncertainty, occurring in the in-between; spaces where decision making isn’t black and white and weeds spring up from a foundation that seems otherwise strong and balanced.

Living with OCD on this journey of healing has required me to accept that my life often occurs in the sidewalk cracks. As anyone with “Pure O” knows, a gray reality feels impossible to accept. My brain would often malfunction when I’d consider that I may be in a situation that couldn’t be solved in the black and white zone: The guilt center (frontolimbic network) became overactive, producing guilt that left me feeling like, without an obvious right or wrong choice, there was a very high probability that I would make the wrong choice. This, in turn, invited compulsions to reassure me that I was capable of making a wise decision. As you can probably imagine, if the cracks of life left me feeling emotionally disabled, a sprouting weed could keep me from getting out of bed for hours on end. But if I’ve learned anything, it has been that I must consider the weeds.

I’d guess that most all of us have seen and picked many dandelions. Known as the most common weed, these little yellows are often mowed over, sprayed with chemicals or trampled underfoot. Widely seen as a pest, dandelions are actually a powerful plant. They contain vitamins A, B and D as well as iron, potassium and zinc and have been used for centuries to cure many ailments, including liver and kidney disease, heartburn and appendicitis (see my source here). These weeds are not a pest, but rather a powerful medicine, capable of benefiting us if their true purpose was accepted.

And in the in-betweens of our lives, the seasons that so often happen while waiting for the unknown to mature into the known, aren’t our own weeds the same? Medicine that may expose deep cracks in our thinking or beliefs, but medicine none the less.

Shortly before I began to see a therapist, I felt I intrinsically knew something was wrong. I was paralyzed in decision making and existed daily in a tremendous amount of guilt. Everything about my thinking felt heavy, weighed down by imaginary consequences for hypothetical choices I hadn’t even made yet.  I was also in a classic “in-between” season: I felt stuck in a job I was no longer happy with, but I could not muster the motivation to find another. I had wonderful friends, but  they were spread throughout the country and many of them seasonal rather than long-term. Though I’d attempted graduate school for years, I was in an “off again” stage, not enrolled in classes and contemplating changing my major study for about the fifth time. And it was in the midst of these internal murmurs and discontent that I started dating someone, a relationship I often considered defining as a weed sprouting up in a season of great uncertainty.

I couldn’t deny that I was drawn to Zeek, but many things about him felt wrong. I’m analytical and he’s a free spirit who trusts the process. I obsessively manage my money and he doesn’t always know where his goes. I feel behind all the time, never where I should be for my age, and he’s content with being alive. Engaging with this “weed” caused me to question that he may not be a weed at all, but rather a medicine necessary to expose and assist to heal what was happening in my mind. A month into our budding relationship I sought therapy because of my fears and concerns (magnified by a new relationship with Zeek) and OCD was quickly pinpointed in my life, which has led to a landslide of freedom I never knew I could find myself in the midst of. Zeek has not been a nuisance, but rather a gift, a flower, a medicine. And I’m so grateful I chose to take the time to discover and benefit from his purpose in my life.

The way I see it, uncertainty can cause great pain, fear and anxiety or it can be entered into as a gateway to growth, healing and strength. Yes, seasons of life that feel certain (like finally starting a graduate program or doing well at your dream job, finally having a baby you’ve been wanting for years or marrying the person you love) are awesome and I’m not sure how well I’d survive without their intermittent existence. However, it’s the seasons of uncertainty, the cracks in the sidewalk of this life, that often lead to self-discovery and refinement. It’s here that we learn who we are, what we need, what we are capable of and how to trust the process. It’s here that we encounter a garden of medicinal “weeds” planted by the great Gardner for our good, growth and healing. Most of all, it’s here that I’ve learned a piece of the depth of God’s love for me, and developing dependence on Him is the best thing that could have ever happened.

If you find yourself in the midst of uncertainty, you’re invited to consider the weeds sprouting up and collect them as a bouquet of healing and strength on display in the inner caverns of your being.

 

Feeling Stuck

What have I learned about adulting? A big part of this gig is feeling stuck, and learning to build a life in the midst of that feeling.

I should get a promotion at work, God knows I’ve put in the effort. But I’m not getting one and without a Master’s degree or another university near by to work for, I feel stuck.

I’m 30 and society says it’s time to think about kids. Maybe past time. My boyfriend and I aren’t going to have kids until after marriage happens, and that’s not on the horizon. My ovaries are stuck.

My friendships are a lot of work and often less fulfilling than I’d like. I feel stuck in cultivating community.

I live in a basement apartment with mice, toads and insects as usual companions. I can’t afford to find a nicer place because therapy sucks all of my money. I’m stuck. Did I mention I work for a university? How is this my life?

Therapy. Mental disorder diagnosis at 30. Therapy isn’t helping as much as I want it to. My brain is stuck.

And yet, life is happening in this process. My character is being challenged. My work ethic is developing as I have no incentive to work towards but keep going anyway. I’m emerging as a loving initiator in my friendships because I’m determined to become the kind of friend I want. My boyfriend and I are cultivating something deep because I am learning to work through my unrealistic expectations and the disappointment that comes when those expectations are not met. I’m not jumping ship just because this isn’t the fairy tale I envisioned. My apartment…well, I’m not to the point of a solution or stillness there yet, but I’m learning to be present and thankful in the process. I’m not using my savings to pay rent at a nicer place and that’s some hard core adulting. And finally, I am in therapy and I’m going to stay there for as long as it takes. I choose to exist in the process even when it feels like being stuck.

I just want to check in and encourage you adults. If you are saying yes to continuing when you could say no, you are not, in fact, stuck. You are learning to thrive in a season of life that doesn’t come with a road map, and you’re doing a good job.

Experiencing OCD

Three months ago I found myself sitting on a therapist’s couch. It wasn’t my first go round with counseling, but having gone to counseling as a teen, it was my first experience choosing therapy for myself.

I didn’t know what was going on. All I knew was that if I did the opposite of what I believed the Lord was telling me to do, I usually ended up making a wise choice. And, seemingly not connected, I was terrible at dating and plagued by extreme insecurities and fears of my partner anytime I did date. Really, my brand new, month-old relationship was what pushed me to the infamous couch. The broken, confusing and fear-filled thoughts surrounding my new partner were familiar from previous relationships, but I was the common denominator.

About a month into therapy, OCD was given a name. OCD! Ah, my old acquaintance, the (undiagnosed, but frightfully obvious) mental illness I battled as a child. The voice that told me I was unclean, that left me with bandaged, bloodied hands that needed to be washed nearly every five minutes; the enemy that condemned me for wearing the color red because it was impure and signified that I was, in fact, a harlot. OCD, coupled with depression, had been a struggle during my adolescence. But that was not this, surely not! I no longer need to wash my hands unless they are actually dirty, and I only stay away from the color red when I’m sunburned, these days. No, I hadn’t heard from OCD since I was twelve years old.

Unfortunately, OCD has many variations (I share a couple of them below) and can be a crippling force when left unrecognized. I had come to the point of struggling to go to work almost daily. I was exhausted upon waking up nearly every morning, and getting out of bed seemed to take more energy than I could imagine having. I fought to brave friendships or my relationship, determined not to close off to the outside world, community and love. I battled constant guilt that left me feeling depressed and defeated. Many moments of many days I could barely breathe because of the amount of anxiety and fear I experienced. Hysterical, I’d too often find myself crying in bed, sometime for hours, contemplating irrational thoughts until a friend would pull me out and help me decipher my muddled fears. Some people with OCD have been unable to work for years at a time, committed to mental health facilities, and living disabled lives. It isn’t all about color coding your planner (which I do, admittedly, love to do) like we’ve heard and joked about. OCD is a serious, destructive disorder.

Scrupulosity: I don’t think I’ve ever been more relieved than when I learned about the existence of scrupulosity inside my brain. Please hear me: I am not relieved to have a mental illness. I am, instead, relieved to realize the constant guilt I experienced and my perceived voice of God (which was usually condemning, legalistic and heartbreaking and led me to do really weird, nonsensical things) is not reality. Please feel free to read more here: http://ocdla.com/scrupulosity-ocd-religion-faith-belief-2107 And, if you’d like, subscribe to my blog. I suspect I will write much, much more about this in the coming days.

ROCD: Relationship OCD is a thing. And it’s yucky. And it’s a destructive force when it’s left unrecognized and unhealed. Take a look: https://ocdla.com/rocd-relationship-ocd-myth-of-the-one-3665

Being taught that anxiety and intrusive thoughts related to OCD are not, in fact, the voice of God and can carry absolutely zero truth has been the most freeing lesson of my life. For 20 years I’ve walked with a mental illness, believing it was me, my thoughts, God’s voice, and my identity. All the while, it was an illness waiting to be healed, but, unrecognized, running rampant inside my brain in the mean time.

I’ve been a Christian forever. When I was three I was diagnosed with terminal cancer and given three days to live. I met Father God in the hospital: He told me I didn’t have to be afraid to die and showed me a vision of Heaven. He was glorious and He had my heart instantly. He has ever since. I was miraculously healed after more than a year of chemotherapy (my knee was consumed by a tumor and GREW BACK) and I continued to grow up mostly charismatic, which I am grateful for. Somewhere along the way, though, whether through assumptions on my own part, indirect teaching or misinformed opinion, I learned that mental illness is likely a demon and is only a part of you if you allow it to be. One hands-on prayer session and if you’re not set free, it’s your faith that’s sick, not your mind.

Please hear me: I believe God is the healer. He says so in the Bible, and I’ve lived it. First cancer, than scoliosis and a sea of other ailments following have been miraculously removed from my life. Some of my healing came in an instant, some in a process. All my healing came from God.

Mental illness is an illness. It’s not a reason to doubt my theology, my walk with God, or my faith. It’s not a sign that I “have a demon”. During my bout with cancer, I was shown compassion and love. Sometimes I was given gifts, I was often prayed for, and I was always enjoyed by the people who loved me while they made time to intentionally spend with me. Though I wasn’t immediately healed of cancer, my heart was never questioned, I was never accused of being unstable, and neither my faith nor my theology were on trial. However, mental illness holds a different stigma. It seems to beg the question of the Christian, “What are you not understanding about God?” Well, there’s a lot I don’t understand about God. He’s a mystery I’ve been searching out for 27 years and will continue to search out until I’m in Heaven. But, He’s also my closest friend and walking this journey with me hand-in-hand.

Here’s what I’m saying: Though I am far from knowing how to go about sharing about this part of my life, though my words are clearly affected by the level of anxiety I’m experiencing by sharing, and though my thoughts are all over the place at this point in the sharing process,    didn’t want to let Mental Health Month pass by without being honest about the fact that mental illness affects my life. At this moment in time I am #1in4, and I yearn to see the stigma surrounding mental illness change for the better…especially within the beautiful Bride of Christ. Those of us walking through the mental illness healing journey are the perfect change agents, if you ask me. We’re the voice behind the stigma, the experience behind the assumptions and the miraculous testimonies of God’s glorious healing in the process. I’m not suggesting mental illness can’t be healed instantly, of course it can. Any ailment can! But it isn’t always. And I see Him in the healing process; I want to show off my good God and his enduring faithfulness in this process.

I didn’t know I had OCD when I started this blog. I thought I’d write quippy, silly anecdotes about the challenges of being an adult. I still will. But I also intend to write about my reality of healing from a mental illness. You’re invited to join me on this journey and to add to it with your own experiences, questions, stories.

And to the brave beauties fighting an invisible illness, you can do all things through Christ who strengthens you. He is near to the broken hearted, and he has promised to complete the good, healing work he has begun in you. Dig into Psalm 91 and rest in Him.

Word Therapy: Tunneling

In this season of learning

when deepness within me cries out

longing to hear the deepness of my Father

return my cry

As I process the process

moving, while feeling complacent

internally racing, externally waiting

groaning through the pains of growth

 

I will plant a flower

in the Process Tunnel

where I’ve resigned to make my home

This tunnel that’s rumored

to lead to greater freedom

if only one is resolved to go through

 

Claustrophobia comes here to die

pressed up against Truth on every side

in the Process Tunnel

where some will die

Your fears or you

only one

Them or you

 

So, in a moment of bravery

I accepted my fate

here, in the Process

And now, now I’m too far in

living in the belly of this tunnel

to retreat

 

So I wait

And sometimes I push

And most often, I cry

And let the process do its good work

renewing my mind

So I water my flower

and appreciate small growth

and [learn to] cling to my God for dear life