Instead of a cross of ashes on my forehead, I got this: a bottle of blue pills. Zoloft, an antidepressant. Dust I am, and to dust I shall return.
I spent about four months trying to make my way back again from depression, from anxiety. From feeling like each day was too much, that getting up from bed was too hard. Me, the responsible student. Me, the aspiring pastor. Me, the one who got things done and did things right.
When you are depressed, moment by moment, pieces of you begin to fall off until you feel like you’re in fragments. I’m known as being the funny one, and my humor went. I’m known for being caring, for cooking for people, and I had a hard time even forcing down lunch. I’m known for crafting beautiful sentences, saying insightful things, and I couldn’t even put three words together.
For the next thirty-one days, I’m going to be writing about how I made it to the other side. How I learned to think different, to be different. How, day by day, I shed so much of my old self like a skin.
How I healed. Or better yet: how I was healed. By poems and good songs and good friends. By learning how to give myself grace and giving myself permission to fail. By bacon fried up on Saturday morning and skies full of stars and long embraces from my love. And by the God of grace, who delights in healing more than anything else.
Writing about your life takes some audacity. Presuming to give anyone else advice on theirs takes even more. But I’d like to invite you to come along anyway, in hopes that maybe you will find some kinship in these words, that the things that helped make me a little more whole might do the same for you.
This isn’t a self-help book, a set of prescriptions. This is not a therapy session, though my SuperTherapist (TM) will undoubtedly make an appearance. This is not a religious tract, though since I’m a person of faith, God will undoubtedly make an appearance, too.
The series is just this: one beggar telling another how she found the bread.
So come along, if you will, for thirty-one days of healing.
This post is part of a series, 31 Days of Healing. Check out the other posts in the series:
day two | telling the story: a beginning
day three | permission to fail
day four | telling the story: empty your hands
day five | thank you
day six | telling the story: give it up
day seven | sing
day eight | telling the story: look beside you
day nine | rest
day nine | rest
day ten | fight
day eleven | love, wash over us
day twelve | telling the story: listen
day thirteen | telling the story: humble
day fourteen | not alone: links
day fifteen | telling the story: no denying
day sixteen | telling the story: dance
day seventeen | wrestle with God: a sermon
day eighteen | start again
day nineteen | look
day twenty | the only life you can save
day twenty-one | ask
day twenty-two | three things
day twenty-three | it will come
day twenty-four | lower the stakes
day twenty-five | because
day twenty-six | voice
day twenty-seven | fifty-one minutes
day twenty-eight | quiet
day twenty-nine | waiting
day thirty | happiness