"Look for evidence of how well you are doing." I remember finding this quote on Pinterest some time ago and it's one that's stuck with me the past six months. Most of you know about my struggle with depression and how difficult it has been. While my life has drastically improved for the better since 2016, I still get visits from my Shadows. However, I am very glad to say that, despite their sporadic appearances, their visits are just that: much more temporary and short lived.
The past few years may have been a bit of a, uh, "birch," (Thanks auto correct; I'm forever using that from here on.) but it's toughened me up in ways that comfy conditions couldn't have. One of the lowest epochs of my life taught my ever independent self to reach out for help. I found solace and strength in friends and family when I felt I was sinking or couldn't go on; I sought out my Godsend of a counselor when I had questions or needed to work through another knot of issues. I don't know how much of my life I've spent trying not to be a burden to people, but it feels it has been a sizable chunk; it's been a process of unlearning this habit of aloofness while recognizing I need people. Hell, they even need my support and loyalty, too.
While I'm still learning the importance of seeking out help, my Shadows have taught me to figure out where my boundaries begin. When is my "yes" fueled by my toxic people pleasing habits? Unfortunately, though, saying "no" sometimes comes with a heaping side of anxiety that I've upset someone, even if I'm trying to protect myself from doing too much and, thus, harboring resentment. Nothing is worth doing if I'm going to be exhausted and angry about it. Still I have relapses when I toss out a shaky "Yes" when I should give a firm "No" but, like most things, it's a learning process. I have to learn to recognize when I've gone overboard, try to fix the situation as peacefully as I can, learn from it, and move on without kicking myself for making a mistake.
Speaking of kicking myself for a mistake, my cat had a vet appointment scheduled for today. I had a reminder card sitting out, the appointment note jotted down in my phone's calendar, and my mental note from this morning of where I needed to be at what time. Still, somehow I lost track of the time and only realized what had happened when my phone started to ring at 3:15. Needless to say, I had to speak grace to myself all the way to the appointment just to keep myself from spiraling into a deep spell of self-loathing. It feels odd to say it's a life-giving practice to recognize my own toxic behavior, but it allows me to try my best to change accordingly.
Regarding the matters of my faith crisis, my bouts with depression have been teaching me resiliency. Initially I don't think I would have connected the two, but in hindsight it makes sense. My current struggle with faith is a bit like my depression pit: I see how low I am or have been, I know I want to get out somehow, and there are many continued attempts to formulate plans to get me to where I want to be. When a plan doesn't work, I backpedal, rework my steps, and try again. It's been about finding the ability to get back up after sliding back to where I was. Going to church is still a matter that is very painful and awkward, but slowly I'm trying to find a place to get involved in again. Despite my last unsuccessful attempt, I'm going to try to remain relatively optimistic. So my last churchgoing attempt didn't work? Okay, so I'll try another location that won't shove service down my throat on a weekly basis. (Service is still a very sore spot for me, so any attempt to "push" me to go outside my comfort zone in that respect might end up with my fist down your throat... or potentially the seat under me being thrown in your general direction.) And prayer and habitual reading of my Bible? Also a struggle that is a work in progress. Concerning those two, the best solution I have right now is a small prayer that God will heal my broken soul and that I will entrust all the shards to him. So far, day by day, I feel crumbs of bitterness disappear. My trust in God still isn't intact -- a large part of my scarred theology still sees God as that slave driver with a whip in hand -- but in time I'm hoping that will be transformed into a sound theology of grace, forgiveness, and unconditional love.
I still have a lot of work to do. While I'm not gonna leap to far flung conclusions and say this is the best I've ever been, I've measured my evidence and found this: I suppose I'm doing alright.
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