A Weeble's wonderings

Digital too far??

2012-03-01T15:50:00.000-08:00

Currently on my drive is a shiny, scary, hire car. (My own car is off at the garage having 'kissed' another in the country lanes). It is scary because it is bigger than I have driven before, but mostly because it has so many more buttons, and even the handbrake is replaced by a digital button - and that feels like a button too far.

I love that I work in the computer age, the easy access to resources and being able to contact friends far off, sharing photos and stories. I can rustle up posters and displays easily, and I don't need to have neat writing or to touch type in order to send a tidy letter.

On the other hand I am a long way from being a digital native, and I can be a bit of a Luddite. With digital things you cannot see how they work and I did have a habit as a child of dismantling things to see how they fitted together or worked. That curiosity hasn't ever left me and sometimes I think the security of being able to see something working is reassuring. And a button handbrake just doesn't do it for me!

I like the physicality of lifting the manual one, you can see from its position whether it is on or off, you know you have done it, it feels definite. A button with a light on the dash feels less certain, did it work when I pressed it or not? Can I trust it?

So yes, my Luddite tendency is confirmed - I value the hands-on, the real book even though ebooks can be good for travelling lighter. Or maybe it is a control thing - if I can see how it works I feel better able to trust it. But life is not straightforward, and I can't control everything, or even most things - so must trust the unseen.

Maybe that is a lesson in faith - 'blessed are those who believe without seeing'. Still I think I will be sticking with the hand brake rather than the digital parking button, and hope my car is back soon!

Barred from court - for being depressed

2012-02-25T14:01:00.000-08:00

I had a jury summons the other day. I duly filled it in and returned it, requesting a deferral on the grounds that as a minister the two weeks before Easter were too busy to be away. I also answered the medical question admitting to depression. Today I had a letter telling me that I am excused because I am ineligible to serve.

The guidance form has two lists of those ruled out of jury service essentially the bad and the mad - those with a conviction in the last 10 years, or for longer than 5 years; whilst the other list covers 'mental disorders'. This list covers disorders and disabilities, those with limited capacity, those in hospital and those under the doctor for mental health issues. Reading that again I should perhaps have realised, but when sending off the form I was naive enough to think that it would take more than an antidepressant medication to be excluded.

Afterall there are others whose illness doesn't automatically exclude them but if too unwell to serve can apply to be excused. There is a difference between times when I have been too depressed to function and times when we are fully functioning - but just because we are on meds we are ruled out. Full stop.

I have served before, in a former pre-collared life, back then clergy were ruled out of jury service so I didn't expect to serve again anyway. But it feels very different to be ruled out on your job than because of your illness. It feels as if I have been labelled as incapable of the role because the condition I am managing is a mental rather than a physical one, it is an assumption not based on my current health but a blanket rejection of a group of society.

Giving up......gaining control

2012-02-22T12:08:00.000-08:00

It is Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent, the formal start of the journey towards Easter. What does it mean to you? For my diary it means special Bible studies groups to plan for, soup lunches for Christian Aid fundraising, and a need to find time to plan all the special services. And somewhere in all that I hope to find time for my own spiritual reflections - indeed I must if I am to have anything to share with others.

Lent for many people is a time of giving up something - to fast or go without. Sometimes that can drift into a formal rule but the intent is one of sacrifice, of a commitment that costs - which is why going without coffee would be meaningless for me as I never drink the ghastly, nasty smelling stuff anyway. Others choose to make that commitment by taking something on. Either way it is about a change in the rythym of life that shows a priority to God in some manner.

I have friends who will be away from facebook for Lent, or giving up other time consuming temptations. I have chosen to give up alcohol. Along with chocolate, drinking is one of the common lenten fasts but I have my own reasons why I want to do this. I have become concerned that a glass of red wine after a busy day has become more than one and nearly every night. I drink alone because I live alone but the warning sign is that I would be embarrassed if anyone knew, even fellow wine drinkers.

I am not claiming the title but this week's Panaroma looked at 'Hidden Alcoholics' and towards the end (26.40) one of the group commented that it was not the drunk but could be just two glasses a night if that is a need, and the challenge is whether you can do without it. Lent seems a perfect time to take that challenge and try and break a habit that I have been increasingly worried about. I'll let you know how it goes on the other side of Easter.

Doh, re, mi....

2012-02-14T14:00:00.000-08:00

Today I had my first singing lesson.

A professional singing teacher and friend through the local Am Dram group (we were in a play together in the autumn) has taken me under her wing and offered to help me find my singing voice. Apparently from today's session I have a big voice, which is a Good Thing but needs discipline. (Or maybe I am just a noisy bossy type!)

I remember going with a group of us to sign up for the school choir which had just lost a lot of people leaving school and so weren't being fussy about who they took on. After a couple of times I was asked to mime - I was bad, but worse than that I was enthusiastic and loud enough to drag those around me off piste too.

Yep, you did read that right - I wasn't asked to leave, they were keen enough to have bodies on stage, so I could stay if I mimed! Didn't see the point of that and left of my own accord. Since then I have believed that I can't sing. Not the greatest problem in the world - I can't catch a ball either - but it does have an impact in this job. I have had funeral hymn solo moments, and it would be good to share new music with congregations but that takes enough confidence to lead it from the front.

So having some faith in my voice would be helpful for work - but more than that it attacks the ideas I have which focus on all the things I can't do. As a child/teen I was told by the bullies that I was ugly, and no-one would ever fancy me; I had been bulllied at first in primary school because of my speech therapy, and then told my attempts to sing were a distraction and to mime. Is it any wonder that my confidence and self esteem were low!

We can go through adult life in a trimmed down version of ourselves - wings clipped by those ideas others put on us in our early days. Or we can gradually spread our wings and find that the bullied ugly duckling is actually a swan.

I stood in the music room today struggling to believe that I could have a trainable, useable singing voice - but if I dare to believe and work at it who knows what is possible? Okay so I might be a bit too busy for X factor or Pop/Opera Idol, but if I can reach the point of believing in myself and singing with confidence in church that will suit me fine.

So I will be practising my suppressed yawn (to get the 'open throat') and my posture, and if you hear a scream or shout it is just me finding my full volume and range!

The power of honesty

2012-02-09T10:42:00.001-08:00

Whilst I was off sick the deadline came for my community newsletter article. It was work but I decided to do it – 200 words in which I was open about my depression and discussed how common it was but little mentioned. I sent it off with the usual service dates etc and rolled back under my duvet. It came out at the start of February and I have had the greatest response ever to a piece I have written. I had worried if it was a bit self-indulgent, but at the village coffee morning today I had several conversations with people about themselves or family experiences, others have phoned me to thank me for what I had written. When one person is willing to speak it gives others permission to talk if they need to.

And I have benefited from similar honesty at a meeting of a group of ministers this week, discussing stresses, loneliness, spiritual struggles (as well as the joys). The opening devotions started with a list of the official criteria for being a minister and how wonderful we must be to tick all those boxes, followed by a clip from the first series of Rev where Adam is ready to lose it in frustration at the job. Being real is part of the chaos of life, and each of us has our own variation of stresses, mine don’t look so bad in comparison – or at least they are familiar and I am used to their quirks.

So all in all I feel affirmed in my wobbliness – we all wobble in our own way and this is mine. And I feel loved and cared for by the people I know and work with. Nothing is technically different about any of these things today compared to last time I wrote but today I have been very aware of the good stuff, and enjoying that. Days like today are the life jacket for when the waves crash over and to be savoured.

Learning to swim and breathe

2012-02-06T13:34:00.000-08:00

So just over a week back in work – and it has been the proverbial curate’s egg, good in parts bad in parts. (Makes tangential visit to google to find out where the phrase came from)

It was really good to be back in action on the first Sunday, and though I was underwhelmed by my efforts at Monday’s funeral the congregation was all very positive, and I even fitted in a trip to the gym afterwards. Elsewhere in the week I had meetings, coffee morning, visits and catching up with youth club admin.

The start of the week was a high point, I was glad to be back and coming at things fresh, I really felt better than I have in a long time. By Wednesday eve I was emotionally flagging, and on Thursday when an early call let me know that the only thing on the agenda was cancelled, I was ready to call it my day off and spent most of it under the duvet. I did go out to do some errands as a force of will by teatime, but it was hard going. Friday was a slow start until the gas check engineer arrived when I got myself more organised for a day of admin and achieved a lot before facing my first day back at youth club.

Saturday was a write off – a pyjama day again, whilst fighting a computer infection and thinking about sermons – or mostly not. Sunday was good again – a cosy communion with those who braved the icy pavements at my nearest church and a sermon that somehow came together on the day. It was another of the ‘world is my oyster’ days with an afternoon trip to the gym followed by facing up to the youth club finances for the weeks I had missed, and with the evening service cancelled for fear of ice in the dark I had enough time to finish the job. Then this morning another crash day – and as the only day clear of diary commitments (since I am in meetings on my usual day off) decided to roll over and stay there.

It is still early days on the new antidepressants, and at first it can feel like being brought up from the depths to that sudden gasp of air and bright light. I remember from last time as well – it can kick in so suddenly that it is like a diver at risk of bends.

But just because I have been dragged from the depths to the surface doesn’t mean I am fully ready to swim or surf the waves. Just as to a drowning person that first rush of oxygen is almost overwhelming and intoxicating – but it is just the start of the process. It can feel very threatening to feel the release and then have the waves come back over and catch you off guard. When you are underwater you are not trying to breathe, even the tiniest baby has the instinct to hold their breath in water. On the surface your mouth is open and when the wave comes you end up swallowing water. At first that seems worse than before but that is the stage I am at now and these swings are part of it.

Don’t be under any illusions – I can be rational about it now on here but earlier today I felt totally beaten down and overwhelmed, even forcing myself to the gym to ‘do something’ didn’t get my happy chemicals up, I was pushing myself to avoid weeping at one point. Just one of those swallowing and spluttering moments.

To hope or not to hope - that is the question

2012-01-31T16:13:00.000-08:00

You sometimes see them on lampposts, sad, faded, weatherbeaten pleas for help finding a lost pet. Posters from months ago, are they still searching? If not when did they stop, and how do you decide when to let go of hope?

And what about when it is not a pet but a runaway teen, or a missing pensioner...?

In one of the villages I work in the searches have gone on – crowds of volunteers turning out day after day. But when everywhere has been searched, every stone turned, every shed checked, when the regular rhythms of life call out – then the searchers go home. What happens next?

Logic may say hope is gone, but that kind of grief seems wrong, like giving up on someone before it is absolutely certain. Yet it has to be faced, and somehow life for everyone else has to go on, but how? And the community effectively has to ask if it is okay to smile or laugh at things again, whilst living a life that still looks over its shoulder, alert to any clues to the mystery.

But according to the charity Missing People an estimated 250,000 people go missing in the UK each year. Some are like our local experience – where confusion or vulnerability appear to be a cause. Many of them are by choice, getting out of difficult situations or as a result of family tensions, but they become vulnerable by setting out without any resources or support. Often the wider community aren’t involved, family and friends have to deal with it themselves. You hear of parents staying in a house and keeping the missing teen’s room as it was, waiting for them to come home one day. But the prodigal son returning home isn’t that common - is it better to wait in endless, wishful hope, or to move on? Are there times when hope is not good for you?

Now back at work, on Monday I led a funeral, this is both a privilege and a responsibility of my role as a minister. The ritual of a formal goodbye and a time of remembering and celebrating a loved one’s life is important whether done religiously or not. Moving on without these psychological markers, moving on when nothing is definite, is incredibly difficult.

And so I will go to the village hall coffee morning tomorrow, with no answers, no promises of hope, but to sit with them as we ask our questions together.

Community search for neighbour

2012-01-25T07:08:00.000-08:00

You hear about it, see things on the TV, but this morning I saw it face to face – a community facing a crisis together.

One of the villages I serve has been turned upside down by the disappearance of one of the villagers. Not having been listening to local news, and the chapel folk guarding me on sick leave so not telling me – today was the first I knew of it.

I had arrived at the village hall to hand over the library file to the volunteers at coffee morning – and found the place heaving with walkers dressed for muddy fields complete with walking staffs, a couple of police vehicles and a sign announcing search times. The woman concerned has been missing since last Thursday and good numbers of villagers, and folk from further afield have been making up daily search parties all co-ordinated with the police from the village hall – with non-walkers manning the sandwiches and teapots.

This is a community drawn together to do whatever needs doing for one of their own, people with troubles of their own, people who don’t get as involved in village life, those who know her, those who don’t – all coming to do what they can. Emotions are raw and complicated, people are not sleeping, normal life has to be fitted around this upside down and unsettling event.

In the light of all that I feel apologetic about discussing my own feelings, but then the focus of this blog is my wobbly life...

I felt awful walking in not knowing and, whilst it was known that I have been off sick, I felt as if I had neglected them, by not being there. I felt guilty that I hadn’t known although it had been on the local TV news. My first instinct was ‘I’m not dressed for this but have wellies in my car boot’ but I caught up more by staying at base and talking to people there.

The vicar has been on hand, the retired minister has been there, the professional searchers and a community who have plenty of resources to care for themselves – yet I still feel I should have been there. What could I have done? Probably nothing to add to what happened without me.

It may be the very human response to the situation – the desire to ‘do something’ – but equally there are elements of my expectations on myself because of my role, and a sense that I have in some way failed in that role. Which is of course totally untrue, and sitting to write it out in black and white helps me to see that, and put the emotions back into context.

The hunt goes on – please pray for all involved

After the retreat...

2012-01-21T15:45:00.000-08:00

I have shared a couple of things that hit me during the retreat but what about the experience of being there?

It is intended as a step apart from the day to day, a change, a rest, a place of refreshment, but at the same time it was a coming together of people with something in common – in this case people who are fairly new to being ministers and those who help us settle into the role.

Last year most people were new to me, this year there was a good clump of people from my old college who I knew or knew of, so there was a lot of catching up and comparing experiences – in other words a lot of talking about the day to day that had been left behind!

For me, having been off work and talking more online than face to face, it was quite intense to be suddenly with a whole group of people, and with set times for meals and gatherings. I got social overload at first, despite enjoying meeting with friends. Retreats come in various forms – some offer minimum of input and lots of chewing over time, others have a lot of structure to the sessions. This was one of the minimum types which suited where I am right now, but normally I struggle with long undefined times. For me a long silent retreat would be punishment not something to recharge batteries.

Strangely for a few days designed to give us a rest I found it a step towards work mode. And I coped. I did flashback to some tough emotions of the past when talking to someone having a tough time, and that floored me for a day, surprised at the intensity of old pains. But I was not consumed by the fire, I walked through waters and did not drown.

The retreat worked in that it gave me things to think about, and people around to encourage and support me, even when facing struggles. After sleeping off the late nights, I can reflect that I am confident in my ministry – despite my wobbliness; confident in my strength as a person – despite old ‘war wounds’; and looking forward to the future.

Retreat: Giving thanks...

2012-01-19T04:13:00.000-08:00

I am thankful for having lovely churches to work full of caring supportive people.

I am thankful for the support of colleagues, but who also give me room to grow and develop as a minister.

I am thankful to serve in interesting communities that really suit who I am.

What has brought on this counting of blessings? This retreat is for those who are fairly new to being ministers and the experienced ones whose job it is to see us through this stage. This involves us sharing stories over lunch and in the lounge, some who were at college together catching up, but also getting to know new people. Some have more challenging churches or work in difficult contexts, others I know here and elsewhere are facing serious personal or family issues. And so I stop and give thanks for all the wonderful things I have in my life, and wonder how I would even begin to have the strength to face some of the things others live with.

I love being in the place I am, I love working with the people there, no rose tints – we all have our moments – but I can’t imagine being anywhere else at the moment. The job I do gives the flexibility that allows me to work to my strengths and work around my weaknesses, the small town communities where day to day needs are on the doorstep, the space for me to be.

Such reflections could lead to my traditional guilt about ‘making a fuss’ about my struggles when others have it so much worse - right from being bullied in school when it was ‘only words’ not as bad as being beaten up, and then depression when so much is good in my life. But I have joined a gym, and the other day I noticed something important.

In the gym the machines are in rows, a couple of treadmills in the front facing the walls with the TVs, behind them are the cross trainers – scary looking things, and behind that are the bikes. When on the treadmill you are in your own world, not really aware of others in the gym behind you. On the bikes you can see them, see the ones who are running fast, and making your brisk walk that felt like an achievement seem minor. It is so easy to be distracted by others or feel what you are doing is insignificant in comparison – but thinking that and watching them can get you out of rhythm on your own exercise, and my achievements are no less then when I couldn't see the others.

I have had to learn over the years that my wobbles and struggles are equally valid as those others face. They may be different in size but it is not a competition, as in the gym it is about me facing my challenges, as others face theirs. Yes on a wider scale others face greater struggles, but that doesn’t make mine unimportant in my little corner of the world, and it is ok for me to acknowledge my needs and celebrate the improvements. A lesson still in the learning, and some times I remember it more easily than others.

But in the midst of my own battles I can still give thanks for that which is good.

Retreat: 'You hem me in'

2012-01-18T13:05:00.000-08:00

It turns out this retreat place has wifi, so here I am, retreating for a while from the people I am on retreat with – suffering social overload. It was great to have a lift and not to have to drive, with concentration or navigation to worry about but the flip side of that is 3 hours of conversation – which is a big jump from just the occasional interaction once or perhaps twice a day which has become the norm for me at the moment.

Tonight we were asked to listen to a section of Psalm 139, the one full of images of God knowing us, holding us, creating us. We heard the opening verses and in silence encouraged to reflect on a word or phrase that jumped out at us.

For me it was the phrase ‘you hem me in behind and before’ – I have always seen this as part of a sense of security, along with later lines about God’s hand holding us safe. But taken alone the phrase sounds negative, containing, restraining, smothering perhaps. But then I wandered off on the word hem – tidy edges to clothing, and began to think in terms of boundaries. Boundaries are essentially neutral as a concept – but can be seen positively or negatively, definitively negative if you are a teenager pushing at them.

On the positive side boundaries create safe spaces, and define edges – in ministry we live with a lot of fuzzy boundaries, and they do get frayed at times, so maybe we need a neat bit of hemming in our lives?

Linking that with my desire to be seen to be capable (= trying to be more than) maybe God is hinting at my need to accept his hemming me in. Not to stifle me but to protect me – from myself!

Looking forward by looking back - considering wobbly triggers

2012-01-16T14:01:00.000-08:00

It has been a good weekend, no stress, no wobbles, lots of flop time but also enough concentration to read a book – nothing worthy, but a good sign. And today the new larger trainers came – and the fancy running socks that I ordered in the sale as well. All is well and a trip to the gym added no new blisters, so the expansion space theory works.

As well as the gym the doctor recommended MoodGym – an online version of CBT. It would be quite useful as new material but I am that annoying person – an informed patient. So none of it is new to me however it did remind me of questions worth revisiting.

Before my counselling my major issues were around not being accepted and not being loveable. These were lived out in different directions, when it came to my personal identity I more or less gave up, I wasn’t loveable, likable, and a misfit socially. I dressed as if I didn’t care because why bother etc. On the other hand we all need to feel we belong somehow and because I didn’t as a person, then I had to find acceptance through achievement – at first this came through praise from teachers at school because book work suited me and I could succeed. However the flip side of this was a fear that if achievement slipped then I would no longer belong.

We covered a lot of ground that year of my full crash – I learned to love myself and believe I am loveable, able to finally hear what some people had been saying all along; I invested in getting my ‘colours done’ (because I was worth it) and said hello to a confident me. That rise in self esteem reduced the need to gain the acceptance through achievement, but you cannot easily undo decades of thinking.

Whilst therapy was looking at feeling accepted regardless of achievement at the same time I was in college being continually assessed to see if I would be up to being a minister or not, and I lived in fear that they would decide I couldn’t and reject me after years of working towards this single thing. And even as I began to work with my churches a report came with me that queried whether full time was appropriate for me with my health situation (not just the depression).

So I came into ministry with things that still needed to be proved, and the very real questions echoed and perhaps reinforced my childhood fears. So here I am, on my first sick note since college and the guilt and fear rose up to bite me – hard. And as I look over the last year or so I see a new minister doing lots of exciting things but also feeling the need to have lots of Good Things to go down on the record – in other words not just to be/become a good minister but to prove it somehow, even though no longer on the radar of those to whom I might want to prove the point.

On one level all new ministers come excited and with lots of energy to do what they have waited for all that time and in my case my personality is ideas and possibilities – so I probably would still have done all I have done over the past couple of years. Yet I have to stop and consider my inner voices, and whether now I am away from a time of ‘proving’ I need to tackle them, because sooner or later I am going to have to face failure full on – and my wiring right now will not be up to it.

Just as well a retreat coming up – not that I am short of reflection time on sick leave, but there is something about a retreat venue (and the fact I can’t fill the time with TV) that offers the climate of expectation.

Learning from blisters

2012-01-14T13:14:00.000-08:00

First exercising injuries – blisters from new trainers! And a lesson learned for life and ministry – the need to build in expansion space.

On my first solo visit to the gym after induction my ancient trainers showed they were not up for the job so on arriving home I contemplated my options for buying new but cheaply. Being in a rural area with petrol costs and big trip out to shop around I decided to go for the online option where I was able to order a pair in my size for just over a tenner. They very promptly arrived next day and appeared to fit fine, cosy but comfortable, and I wore them all afternoon to break them in without problems.

So today I happily headed for the gym in them. Felt a bit uncomfortable during the session, more so towards the end, and came home to find big blisters. Having the time and being a curious sort I searched the web for tips and ended up finding out that you should consider running shoes etc that are perhaps half a size bigger than your normal because feet swell with exercise.

So the trainers that fitted at home were too small during the effort of the workout, and, bingo – blisters! So accepting that it was not just a matter of breaking them in, it was back online to order my size and a half, plus some running socks that are supposed to help avoid blisters.

The current ones will be okay for walking my non-existent dog and such like, but even so I am glad to have learned the lesson on a ten pound sale pair. It is not too expensive a lesson to learn – especially when applied to the rest of life.

Remember the expansion space!

We can think that our life is a cosy fit, but even under the normal stresses of the treadmill we find the friction rubbing until it hurts. And that is before any of the unexpected extras. To cope we need the extra bit of space, the bit that allows us to handle the stresses without being overwhelmed.

Consider this - If our lives are full then they are actually too full.

And maybe I should think of this sick leave as my blister recovery time, and consider ways to reduce the friction.

Learning to take the scenic route...

2012-01-13T14:03:00.000-08:00

School went fine this morning, it was the basic class, it wasn’t appropriate yet for anything pastoral though that may come later. It was odd to put on the collar for the first time since Christmas day, particularly since officially on the sick, though I did come clean to my supervisor beforehand. I was late because my usual route is blocked for works (and will be for months!) and I got lost in the backroads as well as behind the slowest driver in the county. The positive thing is that I didn’t get over flustered, or over whelmed as I did at something less last week (which was what made me realise I was not ready for work).

I called in to see friends after that whilst in the area for a brief chat before the return journey – started better but still somehow found a more scenic route. I will have to study the maps before I am back to work full time as to get to half my churches I will need the diversion.

It was an exercise rest day, but the morning’s trip gave me enough activity for the day, and I slept the afternoon. It shows that I still am not up to full time but then I am only a week into my 3 weeks of leave, and on the meds handover as well.

I have prescribed myself some reading for whenever I feel awkward or guilty about this time off. It is a book I brought before Christmas when getting some other seasonal ones. It claims to be a children’s book but I think it should be compulsory reading for many adults. Jesus' day off by Nicholas Allen

Basically Jesus is losing his touch, he needs a break, and he takes one at doctor’s orders but then gets guilty about what he could have been doing instead. Then when he goes to talk to his Dad, he is pointed to lots of good things happening because of his day off.

A week since...

2012-01-12T14:09:00.000-08:00

... I realised that I needed to seriously consider time off, that I was not ready to go back to work after my holiday leave.

In that week I have -
1) crossed wires with my boss who was disappointed that I hadn't told him that I was struggling before Christmas. His role is one of care for colleagues - it is different to say your manager in the office, although even there they are supposed to be able to respond to personal issues, but probably only when it gets to affect your actual work. I had shared with colleagues nearer to me after all.
2) had a really useful doctor's review, changed meds and received orders to go to the gym
3) officially signed off work for 3 weeks
4) signed up for the gym, and been back since!
5) slept lots but not always at night
6) begun to face up to being not the superwoman who can still do stuff despite depressive waves, but being fragile in my wobbles. Only begun though, lots more to do there.

So quite a full week considering.

And today? Well a call last night from the tenant of my flat (well the bank's flat) that the electric shower has died, so I thought I would face a day of chasing things up, but in the end one phonecall to the local electrical firm and now I sit and wait for them to visit and send me a quote. So the morning was in bed with iplayer type telly rather than dashing arond which was good. My legs were also feeling tired from the gym yesterday, and it was according to The Plan a salsa DVD day which I finally got to before tea. Useless, I can't co-ordinate to follow it! I didn't have to think with the treadmill yesterday, just keep going.

I am also planning to break my leave tomorrow - an opportunity to speak to a high school RE class, this is a new thing and true to my need to be in control I couldn't find it in me to cancel this bit of my diary. I had the plan for what I was doing so no big prep stress, although I have just had an email from the teacher to say the school are dealing with a tragedy, so I may well offer to stay around if that is any use to them. (A bit of a Rev moment when a routine school assembly becames more profound - though unfortunately not watchable at the moment)

In part I would say that it may turn out to be very timely that I - as someone not a staff member - can be around if people need to talk. Or is that another symptom alongside not being willing to cancel the class visit, that shows my need to be a fixer and a doer, and letting my projects and opportunities become my special babies I am not good at letting go of.

But those are deep thoughts for another day, for today the fact is that it is 10pm and no sign of the queasiness, enough tiredness to sleep when I go to bed, and I didn't have the new shower stress I feared, so a good day.

On the treadmill...

2012-01-11T15:30:00.000-08:00

Ok so today started slowly, grumpily, and still a tad peaky. I went as planned to a lunch with colleague-friends, there was work related chat – in the sharing stories and moans – but essentially social. I was still on the fringe of queasy but ok for a baked potato. There were four of us and the most social I had been since my post Christmas visit to family. It was good in some ways but I was also ‘there but not there’ for a lot of it. Next week I have 3 days at a retreat which I am still going to but will need to be sociable around large meal tables.

I really didn’t want to go for my first solo gym session as per The Plan, and had to wait until after lunch settled anyway. What motivated me to finally get there was a weight loss aim, it got me there and through the treadmill programme – and 600 calories!

The doctor wants me to exercise for the nice brain chemicals that get released, well I can’t say I am noticing that as such, but there is the psychological boost of having achieved something. I also think that I ought to sleep better from it.

So all in all a day that was a bit of a mix but had some positive – a great step up from last night, however since tea my stomach has been niggly again, and a heavy headache. So whilst the junk yesterday was not good – maybe it was not solely to blame and some side effects are kicking in now, it is only about day 5 of these pills.

Anyway my head would prefer a darkened room so I will post this and lights out...

Who needs roundabouts?

2012-01-10T16:35:00.000-08:00

'How has your day been?'
'Well swings and roundabouts...'

Why do we need roundabouts? - the swing alone conveys the variation of high and low!

And I have no intention of adding the roundabout to my swing day. Started ok, if typically slowly, I had actually slept soundly. Nervously but with a sense of righteousness I went to by gym induction. The instructor was good, gentle and encouraging, even when pushing me, she has given me a programme for the next few weeks and we will review it.

I left reasonably proud and feeling okay about going back. Time for a shower and a flop on the sofa, but as evening came so did the munchies - and between them and a couple of glasses of wine (yes I know that the meds say no booze but I got away with it on the last lot no problem and the bottle was already open) well lets say my belly is not happy.

So there comes the swing low sweet chariot - poorly tummy, bad head, feeling stupid as self-inflicted, and generally useless.

This too will pass - the swing goes up as well as down, but doesn't move much in the middle of night when you can't sleep for nausea.

Maybe there is a place for the roundabout afterall - when progress turns out to be going round in circles

Less sick leave, more like convalescent leave

2012-01-09T13:36:00.000-08:00

It feels very stange to be on sick leave now when in many ways I am better than I was in the weeks leading up to Christmas when I was managing to work. It is part of the feeling awkward about not working when there are things I would be up to doing.
(Covenant prayer line 'let me be employed for you or laid aside for you' comes to mind)

Afterall I am here blogging, I go out to the bank, I even went to sign up at the local gym – on doctor’s orders, not my own volition. On sick leave and off to the gym everyday – people get spied on by benefits checks for such things.

But then Depression isn’t a physical thing as such –although it does have physical effects, and according to those who have been in touch with me this physical exercise wil be a Good Thing.

But back to feelings about being on sick now rather than at the start of my crash. As well as the reassaurance of others that I am doing the right thing, and knowing it in my sensible bit of brain, I find this image helpful -

Imagine you are cycling along (I have to imagine as I can’t stay up on 2 wheels) and you reach a downhill slope, on the way down you have momentum, you are still on the bike, and steering like mad, although aware that gravity is in more control than you are. As it plateaus out at the bottom, you heave a sigh of relief that you made it in one piece. There is no hurry there although it’s a grim place to loiter. You think that the worst is over when out of the fog you see the path ahead is an uphill climb, the quick route is far too steep, but the steadier climb might take a bit longer, and still need you to get off the bike and push for a while.

So just because momentum and gravity enabled me to stay on the ministry bike on the way down doesn’t take away the need to get off it in order to climb gently up.

See I understand the logic and need, just that when I read of others facing bigger challenges I feel guilty of making a fuss over something much less.

Anyway I have a couple of weeks with permission to do nothing but climb up a bit, rest a bit and climb some more, rest some more, whilst others collect the bike and dust it off ready for me to get back on again. And with the new meds and push to exercise maybe I may be better off at the end than before the downhill ride.

On the sick...

2012-01-08T05:16:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I went to the doctors’ on Friday, and being a drop in appointment I got whoever was available, which a doctor I had not seen before (and relatively new to the team). When I arrived in the area and signed up with the practice I had already been on Citalopram for a year, and other than when they upped my dose in the early months of the job there has been no review of my condition. I went myself at various times to review and it was just a case of ‘I’m managing ok but still have wobbly days’, ‘ok so carry on’.

So it was a shock to find – having dragged myself there and waited – that I was being asked for details about my condition, about possible triggers for the downturn etc. Initially I felt defensive and wished he would just give me the sick note and let me go home. But the truth is that for the first time in years I feel I have a doctor who is interested in my condition. He has changed my meds to Fluoxetine (Prozac) after saying that my higher dose citalopram should be giving me a better base line than I was describing, so if it wasn’t then it can’t be working as hoped.

He signed me off for 3 weeks, and ordered me to exercise everyday – enough to get heart pumping. Hmm less sure on that one, but as I have to go back in 3 weeks and am not good at missing homework excuses (always was a compliant swot) I will probably try.

Rest of Friday was taken up with looking at the diary and confirming what needs cover and who needs to be told I won’t be at events/meetings. A visit from a colleague to see how I am, and to pass on work info then flop to bed where I stayed all through Saturday.

So its Sunday, and pushed myself to get up and walk over to the leisure centre to find out about costs etc. I went during service time so I wouldn’t bump into any church folk – turns out that for all I have said about being happy to be open about having depression, that only applies when I can be seen to be successfully managing it. Being on sick leave feels like a failure of sorts – yet rationally I know that acknowledging my need for it is a positive thing. Emotions are such complicated things.

Analyse that.....

2012-01-05T15:57:00.000-08:00

With Christmas still drifting in our ears, Iam reminded that 'Mary pondered these things in her heart'. Well I do more than ponder them, I analyse things, read into them, read out of them, all looking for the terrible worst case options.

With the therapy that came with my breakdown a number of years ago we discussed this level of paranoia, and the need to analyse for fear of something awful. I thought I had it largely under control, but when I am low - up it pops with full force.

Today for example - it is the end of my official holiday leave, and I have had to face up to the fact that I am not ready to go back to work. If it were not for the holiday I would have faced this a couple of weeks ago. So I contacted some of the relevant people by email and since then it has all gone haywire.

Ok so the end result is that I will drag myself from my bed to go to the doctors for a note tomorrow and everyone is fine about me taking a couple of weeks off despite the hassle for others covering my sunday appointments at short notice.

But the way there was via some misunderstandings, and my huge emotional reaction to what I thought was being said. And it is scary to find how active some of those old buttons I thought we had disarmed can be. They have been triggered with such force that I couldn't see anything but those fears in what I read. I read not concern for me but a worry that I am not coping with the job as a whole. In college when the breakdown hit there was reason to think that 'they' would never let me be a minister, and suddenly I find that after a couple of years with no crises either in the job or in my depression, and objectively no reason to question my long term capability, the fear of being shut down is still so acute.

It is scary to find that in low times I am really as fragile as ever. Perhaps the point is that we are never made less fragile in our core - but when well we have more layers of bubble wrap to absorb the knocks of life. And the past few weeks burst my last few bubbles and I just have limp plastic around my weaknesses.

So right now I am dealing with the shock of how vulnerable I am at the moment, whilst tying myself in knots about how I reacted to emails and phone conversations today, where it all went wrong, and what people will think of me etc.

And I need to be more real about myself - I talk the talk of openness about my life with depression and fighting the stigma, but to need to actually take time off work, that feels like failure. But failure of what? Failure to be the superhero who can manage life and ministry with depression. Hello reality!

Murder suicides - One killer but how many victims?

2012-01-04T13:13:00.000-08:00

It has happened again – several bodies found in a house and police ‘not looking for anyone else in connection with the incident’. Code for one of the deceased attacked the others and then killed themselves. The latest case is in a small community in Northern England.

Horror; outrage; how can they have done this? - usually to their close family or friends; why did he have a gun?; why did she set the place on fire? ; how could we have stopped this?

Just a few of the thoughts and debates that emerge as days go on. The killer is a monster, different to us, evil, twisted and escapes our justice by executing themselves.

But...

In an online community I am linked to we had news of something similar. Far off in a distant land someone not known to me but known to many as a kind sensitive but emotionally and mentally struggling woman, had died in one of these situations, she had shot and wounded family members before killing herself.

The community conversations have been full of confusion, pain, anger and grief. One commented that they wished they could go back to the world before the news, a world where people who did this were sick monsters and not people like us – but it is too late for that, all sorts of grey shades everywhere.

There is no excuse, no allowance, no justification for the shooting and taking lives of others as happened here, or even the wounding in the far off case.

And yet when someone does something that far out of character, someone who is known to struggle with mental distress, can we dare to call them monster?

What might we do if internal agony takes away our ‘right mind’ and possibly our inhibitions moral and otherwise? How many of us have known deep anger, rage, pain – but have had the resources to control it, express it less harmfully, even to suppress it in the moment?

Very rarely are the mentally troubled a risk to anyone’s lives but themselves – though those around us are affected by our illness. In times like this where the effects are so tragic let us not judge the killer solely by this one act in their life.

In the case currently in the news the family of Michael Atherton have commented briefly on their shock, grief and lack of understanding how the man they knew could have done such a thing.

It is easy to point out 3 victims and a killer – but the family have 4 people to mourn, not 3 as the newspapers do, and it is the 4^th victim that will be the hardest, most complicated, to grieve.

Let us pray for them, and for those whose pain takes them to the extreme.

NOTE: In both cases mentioned I have no direct insight nor claim it, media stories are only ever part of any truth, and my thoughts are more generic than specific

Christmas - a season survived!

2012-01-03T05:32:00.000-08:00

The week before Christmas I was dragging myself through each day. If I hadn’t arranged – and advertised – for the church to be open each day, and being too stubborn to force my mad ideas on the already over busy members, I wouldn’t have got out of bed at all. As it was making it into clothes for the 5 min walk around the corner to open up for 11 o’clock was a massive daily achievement. And once upright and moving I was able to get some other important things done – the Christmas home communions.

I would have beaten myself up if I had not done them, but that one-on-one being with people and keeping the professional face on cost me all the resources I had left. Christmas Eve services were on auto pilot, and Christmas morning having not been able to sleep, I finally did waking only minutes before I was due to be at church!

I spent the remainder of the day with some church folk, but where I could be me, not the minister. It was great to just slot into their day and so different from the stressed version I would have at home. I was occupied enough to be distracted from my pain without any expectations or eggshells, and emotionally overwhelmed to be included in presents not just from hosts but other guests, ok so the alcohol helped too.

Then a week with family, it is hard to be fully open about my feelings with them. They either don’t get it or over react. Their normal rhythm is hard work for me, in lots of little ways I can’t explain, and would offend them if I tried, life there grates at me and when this low... I suppose a lot of my coping with life is linked to having control of my own space – what I eat and when, not facing disapproval if I don’t get dressed and stay in PJs, not having to defend having one glass of wine at a celebration dinner when rest are on Shloer.

And when I do let on that I am so fragile the fuss is that I am ‘working too hard’ as if depression is directly related to working hours. I accept that stress affects it but it is not that simple. And if they can’t help then there is little to gain by sharing the pain, I am worried about them, worn down physically, emotionally and mentally themselves caring for my Nan who has Alzheimer’s. There again I have nothing to offer them either, so it was a case of retreating earlier than planned back to my own domain. A couple of rest days here has been very good for me – as long as I have blinkers to the chaos of abandoned Christmas service props. I may even get those cards and letters written...well, only maybe.

When I look back at what I wrote a few days ago at my parents –

I have a black dog. His name is depression.

Over the years we have got used to each other, adjusting to life together. At first he seemed in control of my life, dragging me this way and that. But with help I got him under control, we both learned that I was the boss in this house. And most of the time that is true, he may bark and make a nuisance of himself for a while but I can get him by the collar and send him to his bed.

But every so often he fights back and is on the brink of overwhelming me. Now is one of those times. For the first time in a long time I can feel the depression reaching into my mind as well as my emotions. I have learned that despite the reality of the ache I feel it is the illness talking, it is depression distorting my perceptions, like a fuzzy image that blocks out the positive and sees double of anything vaguely negative. That awareness is the dog’s collar, the means by which I keep control when he tries to drag me where I don’t want to go.

But the last week or so I have had moments where my mind is missing the grip on that collar, where I start to believe what depression tells me. I am sure that this too will pass, but begin to wonder what damage will be done on its way.

I am glad to say things have moved on from that – I have a grip on myself, tired, numb, in neutral, yes. But in agony, no. Not today.

A new year? Yes, but as always it is made up of lots of New Days. And Tomorrow is always one of these.

Merry Humbug or Bah Christmas?

2011-12-21T14:57:00.000-08:00

Ever since Dickens’ A Christmas Carol was published there has been a name for all those who lack the seasonal goodwill – Scrooges. Characterised as grumpy, miserly, criers of ‘bah humbug’ who are anti-Christmas a Scrooge is poor company for most of the year but especially during such a happy jolly time.

But what about those who are humbug without being a Scrooge? Those for whom Christmas is a tough time because of a missing loved one – to death or feud or .... Those who have to face the stresses of keeping the peace across an extended family whilst producing the perfect lunch. Or those of us with depressive moods.

‘So here it is Merry Christmas, everybody’s having fun’ so goes Slade’s famous song, but as many songs it is wishful thinking. There will be plenty of people not having fun – and not because we are Scrooges, but just because life gets in the way.

Even then it is not an either/or situation, as with the rest of the year we are a mix of conflicting emotions – hence my title of Merry Humbug or Bah Christmas, most of us will have a bit of both in us.

I have found this a hard Advent, not because anything is objectively more challenging or tough in my life but from the seasonal ebbs and flows of depression. Shorter days and insufficient sunlight can bring on Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). Even those without depressive tendencies recognise the drift towards lethargy, hibernation and low moods at this time of year – it is not for nothing that so many cultures and religions have their celebrations of light in the depth of winter, that is when we most need reminding of hope.

As I said, this year I have had no sense of ‘Christmas Spirit’ (whatever that actually is) and no interest in planning for it, presents, cards, carol singing – it all feels a chore to be faced, and bed seems permanently attractive. However chores are there to be faced and for me that includes leading others in the church celebrations leading to Christmas.

Last Sunday was Carol services, and for one church the culmination of a project with the wider community. I was involved in 3 services of very different styles and approaches, but with one thing in common – my awareness of God’s presence. God is never absent, but often things get in the way of us sensing his presence in that immediate way. On Sunday, after so many days of growing depressive clouds, the air was cleared, the light shone in and it was moment of such assurance, love and positivity. My Christmas had arrived, the light had come in the darkness and it was wonderful.

A couple of days later and I have descended from that high, well and truly. I am still keener on hibernation than celebration in my SAD fogginess. But....BUT...and super but...moments like Sunday are memories that hold the flame alight even in the dark times, and more powerful that the memories of good times these moments of light glimpsed in the dark are more poignant, more hope-filled, because even there, even here, ‘the light shines in the darkness and the darkness will not overcome it’.

So I may be more humbug than merry this year, but Christmas is still Christmas.

Confidence Flashback

2011-12-13T06:52:00.000-08:00

I am a driver. It is vital in this job in a rural area. I don’t drive for fun – apart from anything else who can afford that? But I am confident in my driving, and can do it without thinking much about the process (though I do try to think about the road ahead!)

At least that was the case until yesterday. I changed my car, my first car, after many years together. The replacement is a little bigger, a grown up car with back doors – much better for giving lifts to folk , and power steering which is new to me.

It was delivered yesterday, 6 years old but looking pristine. I took it out cautiously, off the drive, round the corner of the close and onto the next corner –where I braked but the brake wasn’t there and the car rolled across to the garden wall opposite and scratched the car below the bumper.

The car is bigger, the pedals didn’t align with where my feet instinctively went, I’ve made my mark on the car – and have lost my confidence. When I sit at the wheel the fears and doubts of learning to drive are back, without the reassuring presence of the instructor and dual controls. Now I know that I am not back there, I know that I have years of driving experience – but it doesn’t feel like that.

I feel like a little girl in a grown up world and not able to cope with the responsibility. All because it is new to me, because I am not in my comfort zone, because it is not the safety blanket of the familiar. Ok so the scary moment happened, no harm – apart from a scratch or two which can be dealt with, and I will get used to the lights and the wipers being the other way around and the feel of a bigger, different car. In fact I went out after midnight when the roads were almost deserted for a 30 mile drive and feel a bit better, though still with the learner’s insecurity.

How vulnerable we are to confidence flashbacks. Or at least I am.

Even when things are going well the stress of a change can link back to the emotions of the last time, in this case the last time I had to get to know a new car as a driver.

Or staying with parents, how easily we slip back into the routines and identities of a past stage in the relationship.

Looking back at past places I can see and celebrate the huge emotional journey I have been on to find the self confidence and self esteem I have now. Are times like this, and the weeks to come as i work through this driving wobble, a step backwards? A sliding down a deep dangerous slope? It felt like that, but I am asserting to myself that it is just the twinges of an old war wound, a reminder of those times but not a return. And I guess many of us will have these twinges from time to time, and though painful may just be normal.

Meanwhile if you see me coming and the wipers go, that means I’m turning!

Mind your attitude!!

2011-12-07T10:12:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning to the Today programme (about 1hr 13min) discussing the latest Social Attitudes Survey and it has been on my mind all day.

The key points discussed were that people are concerned about the inequalities and yet are increasingly tough on others. Self interest is prevailing, eg we need housing but not near me, and especially so if I personally don't need it. And sympathy for those in need seems at a low ebb - people would cut benefits and reduce the taxes. Child poverty is blamed on the parents, unemployment is seen as a choice.

Are we becoming more selfish? In this time of recession and tightened belts it is natural that people's thoughts are inward - dealing with our own difficulties or the instability of worries takes up time and energy therefore we may have less sympathy left over to spare for others.

But to actually harden attitudes to those in need is worrying for our society, we need each other, interdependent. And if we are supposed to be developing Big Society thinking whilst at the same time society attitudes are narrowing more than ever before - then the loss of the wider picture is going to be a major problem.

I do wonder if there is another dimension going on. Is the need to blame people for their own misfortune a pyschological safety net? In an insecure climate acknowledging that sudden change, such as redundancy followed by home repossession, could happen to anyone is a scary thing to live with. If you can put a reason on why it happens, and that reason is someone else's lack of effort and commitment, then you can reassure yourself that with all your effort it won't happen to you.

A similar dynamic may happen with depression and mental distress - the desire, or need perhaps, to separate out from the person affected, to find a reason why it is them and not you.

On the radio discussion it was noted that as people have those close to them affected by unemployment, and trying to live on benefits then attitudes may well shift again, and as people deal with mental health issues in those close to them, they come to understand more - if never perfectly!

In the meantime, and as many struggle, lets all try to mind our attitudes, and when it comes to those who are different, mind the gap!

Getting active locally

2011-12-04T15:14:00.000-08:00

In the last 2 weeks I have been at 2 events about local communities. One was a churchy discussion that included an attempt to explain the legislation about Big Society and the Localism Act – brain aching stuff, an attempt by government to involve the local communities in decision processes but I couldn’t see how the practicalities will add up.

Last Friday I was at a Village SOS day event in the area. Yes them of the TV shows about dramatic projects in a few communities, it was a posh conference centre do – free to delegates. As far as I gather Village SOS is a project funded by the Big Lottery Fund to promote social enterprise in communities.

It was a good day in many ways, we heard about the development of a community run shop in a church building, had workshops about practical matters and the chance to connect with other people. Frankly they were talking about projects that left me feeling way out of my depth – community businesses, for the benefit of the community but still needing a profit to exist, and a heap of legal info.

There were 4-5 of us there explicitly representing parts of the church and the place of churches as venues in communities was mentioned from the front and not only in the case of the shop in the church. However I felt that the church was part of the conversation about community resources as a building not as a congregation - as a group of active people. Yet scratch the surface and churchgoing people are active in all sorts of community initiatives.

The church as a community of faith has a part to play in the future of rural communities, but is that acknowledged formally, or is it happening more subtly individually – and does the difference matter? On one hand not, but equally the church as a group of people has a role, if we can find our voice. But it needs to be the voice of the local congregation – with increasing numbers of communities to work with the clergy can’t invest the leadership time in vast ventures, but what we can do is encourage and support those who live in the village to find their place.

Mind you I am conflicted about the demands of community action – will it add to the multi tier hierarchy of village life, where those who do have power in so many areas and those who don’t get active are seen as hangers on regardless of personal circumstances? Will localism be democratic or feudal? Either way people of faith are in the midst of these places living out their values and beliefs in many different ways and on various sides of any debate.

Who am I? What Am I?

2011-11-27T11:55:00.000-08:00

I haven't posted for what seems like ages and ages, it has been one of those manic times when if I do get to draw breath then I'm sorry blogging is way down the priority list after sleeping, eating and yes a glass or few of wine.

But this busyness has highlighted some of the weirdness of being a minister. I have had a huge range of roles since I last wrote - from solar panel arranger, through community librarian to taking RE classes in school and helping at youth club....and somewhere along the line sunday services, a funeral and other minister type stuff.

I have joked with people about this constant shift of identity between different jobs - most of which the training to be a minister doesn't cover - and pointed out that at least life is never boring when each day is so different. However stability is an important thing in life too, and predictability and routine help structure our lives. Emotionally and in terms of mental energy it is good not to have to make all the day's decisions anew every day. Just pause and consider all the potential choices from the time you wake up until you go to sleep - if you didn't have habits from your usual breakfast cereal onwards it would be exhausting. Whilst lack of variation would be mind-numbingly boring, constant change is not the answer - like most things in life it is all a matter of balance.

Of course I am in a crowded corner living with this constant mix of identities - any parent knows this too, or if you are balancing your life and caring for an older relative, or someone else. So many people juggle complex expectations that are emotionally, physically and mentally exhausting, and the effort involved in the gear shifts between roles can take an enormous toll on people's wellbeing.

What is the answer? It would be nice to simplify life, but reality means that is not going to happen. So the question is how do we protect ourselves from the strains of a complex life? I don't have an answer for you, you will have to find your own, for me it involves a pyjama day with out guilt, or space to be creative. Each person has their own recharge buttons - but if we don't force ourselves to build them into our crazy lives somewhere then we are likely to go pop sooner rather than later.

Having lived through a breakdown I do not want to face another experience that dark - and if you can be motivated to care for yourself without that direct experience then do it. But even with it I find I have manic times where piles of 'things that have to be done right now' all crash into the same week or month. Is it out of my control? or do I simply allow them to have control? Either way - 'Hello Pot, I'm Kettle'!!

I started with the title 'Who am I? What am I?' - when we can no longer answer these about ourselves, rather than just in relation to other people or roles, then it is a sign we need to find respite, and to find ourselves again.

People Watching

2011-10-30T10:57:00.000-07:00

I haven’t been on a bus for a very long time – the journeys I need to make in this rural area not having that as an option. However I do remember the way buses fill up, each person going to an empty seat unless already with someone they know. No-one attempts to sit up cosy with a stranger until it becomes necessary, and even then in the brief seconds of looking down the aisle people are consciously or not sussing out the least threatening space. The seat next to the smart commuter being preferable to the scruffy teen or the old lady with arms full of bags and liable to chat to you whether you want to or not! On the other side the early boarders will have their own space protection plans – from the bags on the chair (forcing someone to dare to speak to you before they can claim a seat) to staring out of the window in denial of what is happening inside the bus.

In churches there is that same tendency – unless already planning to sit by someone a new arrival will head for an empty space where they don’t have to go too close to others. This is very normal behaviour – at least for us Brits – we have a pretty large invisible ‘my space’ around us. So many churches with smaller congregations than they were built for have this scattered look when you stand and view from the front. Even when trying to get people to gather round in a circle or the like there will be those who resist the preacher’s requests.

Yet this morning it was different.

The church was laid out with 4 tables surrounded by a circle of chairs, 2 either side of the aisle. This wasn’t cafe church as such but creating usable size groups for a traditional Methodist Love Feast (another Moravian idea Wesley liked and nicked). This is a space for people to share tea and cake whilst sharing stories of encouragement of God in their lives. This was the first go at this and I had no idea how it would go, given people are not being used to speaking out at church unless you are the one at the front!

It went down well but it was the people watching as they arrived that surprised me. People were choosing to fill up the gaps around a table rather than be the first at a new table. Some who usually sit in glorious separation were cwtched up close to each other. This has intrigued me.

Is there is something about the table that changes the dynamic?

The expectation is that of being a group, and so it is important to be included. It is a community moment, and the layout says that. But surely all corporate worship is meant to be a community event – it is why we turn up at church at the same time, isn’t it?

Actually it is much more complicated, some arrive at church on Sunday and long for that community, others come and want to be individual and it just happens that they are in a room with others being individual too. Some of those people will have stayed away today following the information given out in advance. Those who crave community in worship loved today.

But how to serve congregations that are so varied in how they connect to God in worship?

A lifetime of rejection... for being ill

2011-10-16T13:31:00.000-07:00

Today was one of those full of surprises, and one of the surprises was a conversation with someone I already knew but hadn't spoken to for a long time.

It was in theory about something else but she felt the need to begin by stating that she wasn't mad, unstable, bipolar etc. We then proceeded to share stories, she spoke of being ill and in hospital - but only 'for assessment' - and I admitted my own breakdown and use of antidepressants.

Last Monday was World Mental Health day - one of the aims of which is to encourage conversation and overcome stigma. Today's conversation highlights for me how fortunate I have been in my own experience, I have not suffered unduly from the level of stigma. Partly that is a shift in attitudes, but also partly that I am now functioning well with the support of meds and have never been an inpatient.

Had I had my breakdown 50 years ago, as this person did, then things would probably have been very different. And it may be that I wouldn't have been able to take up a job in ministry. Today's conversation is only one I have had about the experiences of people over many years with mental health services and the stigma of being ill with your 'nerves'.

Treatment was very different then, medication much more addictive than current drugs, electroconvulsive therapy was widely used, and insulin comas. And that was before facing the conspiracy of silence and dismissal by the community.

Today's conversation let me into a lifetime of being pushed aside because of mental health issues, and the defensive reaction is understandable. It felt very powerful to be able to refer to my own depression and breakdown - not to claim to understand her experience, but to show that I don't see it as something to be embarrassed about, and not something I will judge others for.

I can be be strong because times have shifted, but if I can offer a belated sense of acceptance to those who have only known rejection, even if only in a tiny way, then that is a huge privilege.

Poisoned!!

2011-10-10T14:56:00.000-07:00

I am laid out in bed as I write this, feeling weak and washed out after a dramatic bout of food poisoning that ended up in A&E some 40 mins away. When the drugs kicked in and the pain eased I was left contemplating the foolishness of eating the dodgy leftovers with which I had poisoned myself, put myself through agony and called on medical resources.

I have joked that at least it wasn’t the Sunday before when I was hosting the Chair of District for lunch, but reality is that I wouldn’t have chanced suspicious food on anyone else, be they a big boss or not. Yet home alone I take the risks myself, I don’t care to the same level as I would for others. This also applies to being bothered to cook properly or eat at the right times, no-one else is affected by my eating routines so no outside forces to keep me in order – just my own commitment to myself, or not.

Self –esteem can be expressed in many ways, but deeply imbedded is the level of care we show ourselves. We are affected by society pressure to put others first, feed the family before yourself, give your time and energy to those around you – it is not just us home alones who fail to look after ourselves. And that’s before any effect of depression which when fully active sucks out interest in self care.

So was my trip in the ambulance because I was just careless on a busy weekend, because it is too easy to cut corners for myself, or because deep down I don’t care enough for myself to make the effort?

And then there is the question of being ill home alone – at what stage do you call in help whether professional or friends to give an outside view of whether it is serious or to mop your brow? I left it quite late, don’t make a fuss etc. But it is probably more common to make a molehill of a mountain than a mountain out of a molehill.

But that is enough of my musings from last night’s drug induced contemplation alone in A&E.

I’ll just end by noting this is World Mental Health day – and good mental health includes caring for yourself body, mind and spirit.

When Depression and Hope collide

2011-10-08T15:13:00.001-07:00

Today I led a review day for 3 of my churches, we had a similar conversation with my other churches a couple of weeks ago. We are a year into a new structure and still trying it on for size, just as it takes time to break in new shoes that fill awkward and stiff after the old comfortable ones that have been shed, so we have a lot to learn and change not least me as the minister who is supposed to guide them through this. We also have issues of declining, aging congregations increasing bills and decreasing resources. All of which adds up to an uncomfortable conversation.

There are signs of hope and life, but they are small and need nurturing, and hard for people to see. And when they do see them it seems they see the work not the hope. It is strange that I, on antidepressants and knowing the struggle to find the positive in my own life, am the one who sees the possibilities and signs of hope in the church – or rather in the church living out its faith in the community.

I feel like the keen gardener nursing seeds and tiny shoots when others see only a pile of effort with no expectations that even if a hint of green is seen that it will survive let alone thrive, and there is just so much housework to do that all that time in the greenhouse just seems beyond them, and quite frankly natural growth can take a lot of work!

As the non gardener myself when not in metaphor I can see their point of view – acutely. And I see their tired eyes devoid of hope if not of longing. But sometimes longing for preservation of the familiar, not being able to glimpse anything that is different – and the seeds that grow today are very different to the plants that released them for the soil and conditions are so different.

And so here I am, the one part of my life that I live with hope and enthusiasm – boxed in by other people showing the depressive symptoms that I know so well in my personal life. I have an empathy from my own life but still want to bash heads together and say ‘don’t you get it?’ even though I know that doesn’t help. So understanding and yet still frustrated, and wondering if I have the inner strength to continue to proclaim hope to the hopeless, and freedom for the oppressed.

I will survive, but for tonight I will lick my wounds and have a glass of red wine.

Celebrating the changes...

2011-09-29T09:40:00.000-07:00

Over the last few weeks I have been helping at the local village youth club - taking over from an Anglican colleague who has moved on to pastures new.

Let me state that again so you realise the significance -
I - me who was bullied and terrified of teens for years - am helping to run - by choice! - the local youth club - not the ordered school classes but ad hoc 'hanging out' teens - and learning to enjoy it

It was the bullying that set me on the road to depression and to be a suicidal teenager who avoided other teens then and for years after that. At the end of last term I faced a school year of 14/15 yr olds which was a huge hurdle and terrifying - and they had their teachers to keep them in order!

So coming home one day in August to a phone call asking if I would get involved in the youth club was a step further. I agreed to go on the committee, and of course needed to go along to know what we were dealing with - but I wasn't signing up to all Friday nights, no way, not for me. Yet 3 sessions later and I am committed, the other leaders are weary and need fresh blood, the teens have potential, and through the advice of an expert friend who visited us last week I have ideas and am encouraged that even I could do something meaningful.

I find my own way of relating - I took some craft along and chatted over the doing, it is not me to just 'hang with the gang' but over a bit of woodburning I get over the gap and fear and it is just sharing an interest together then without trying general chat happens.

This job brings me face to face with challenges that my instinct is to hide from and I find that either I am able to survive it, or do okay, or sometime to actually learn to enjoy what I previously feared. Only with an assurance of God with me do I dare to confront things, and sometimes survival is the highest goal available.

But I want to say that the cords that bind us can be broken, they do not need to define our whole life, even if they have shaped our past.

Does that mean I live a life of total victory and joy - no. Life is too complex for that, but I can celebrate the gains, rejoice in the upward shifts and pat my own back even as I thank God.

Re-writing the parables

2011-09-18T13:27:00.000-07:00

I didn't preach a sermon today - instead I offered an alternative version of the reading from Matthew 20 v 1-16. My version reflects the experience of churches where generations have been missing and new recruits can't be found where they used to be. Culture has shifted and those looking for answers to the spiritual questions of life don't look to the church, so we have to meet them where they are. But I am positive about the future - if we can face the changes.

The parable of the workers in the vineyard reimagined –

For the kingdom of church is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire workers for his vineyard. He agreed with them a wage for the day and sent them into his vineyard.

About nine in the morning he went out and saw others standing in the marketplace doing nothing. He told them, ‘You also go and work in my vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.’ So they went.

He went out again about noon and did the same thing. The workers in the vineyard welcomed the arrivals and shared the work together, those who had worked since dawn could ease and rest in the heat of the sun whilst guiding the newcomers.

About three in the afternoon the landowner went out again to the market place, but found no waiting for him. All around were people busy in their lives, whether rushing along or loitering they didn’t lift their eyes to see him.

He returned to the vineyard alone, the workers wearied by the sun sigh and work on, weaker and slower.

About five in the afternoon he went out again to the market place, this time he sat in the cafe, he chatted in the post office. He returned to the vineyard, others with him.

The new people were enthusiastically welcomed, but they didn’t work in the same way as the others.

At the end of the day they were gathered together and those that had worked longer commented to the landowner that things were not being done as they were taught and had tried to teach.

The landowner gently smiled, ‘The vineyard is a place of change, from the pruned barren looking vines to times of greenery and times of grapes. Each season comes with losses, gains and most of all change, those who work the longest shift see the most change.’

The last will be first and the first will be last, seasons of dryness and seasons of fruit

Me, myself and I

2011-09-12T14:12:00.000-07:00

Last week was particularly hectic both physically and emotionally so reaching the pause button today It has all ganged up on me. I still have the poster I used to have up at my desk in the office job several versions of me ago 'I try to take one day at a tine but several have attacked me at once'. Pretty well sums up today most of which was spent in bed with tired body and tired brain. Mostly that is my chronic fatigue reminding me that I need rest, but it does things emotionally too - as does a few glasses of wine after a stressful week. On one hand it relaxes me to sleep but also have a depressive effect of its own.

Today my limbs have been leaden and brain cotton wool. It was due to be a study day so only one thing on the agenda and I knew they could cope without me - didn't fancy my reactions speed on the road. But as night draws in I feel the loneliness. Part of that is reality - being home alone when feeling poorly sucks, and this job can feel lonely too; but part of it is the depression whispering. But what ever the cause it is real for the time it lasts, and if that time is when friends are busy at work it isn't great.

But I hold onto what I always hold onto - 'This too shall pass' maybe by morning, maybe not for a week, or even longer, but it will pass. I regularly drive across a high common with views into the valley where I live. Sometimes on that upper road you can see the mist and fog settled in the valley, down there I can't see my hand in front of my face, up here I see that the sun still shines. So I remember that in the valley - out there beyond this temporary fog the sun still shines.

And now I lay myself to sleep
I pray O Lord my soul to keep
Whatever I face when I awake
Guide me through for your name's sake

Days that change the world...

2011-09-12T02:50:00.000-07:00

That was the focus of my sermon yesterday on the 10th anniversary of 9/11 alongside lectionary readings of the crossing of the red sea, and the Gospel passage on forgiveness. Before discussing the nature of forgiveness not being a denial of anger or of justice, and maybe needing a lifetime to work on I thought about the days that change our world.

There are moments that are such hinges that our lives divide into before and after, when things will never be the same again. Sometimes that happens on a world scale such as 9/11, when whatever we may think of the political decisions that followed we cannot deny that great shift from before to after. But more often it happens within our local world, our personal world - when it is turned upside down. I quoted from the Radio 4 Book of the Week slot which had different authors responding to 9/11, Thursday's was entitled Prepositions and opened with 'Your husband died in 9/11; my husband died on 9/11'. It highlighted that lives changed that day for other reasons too, as they do every day.

Prepositions

On the evening of 11 Sept 2011 I came home to facebook news of the death of Rev Dr Angela Shier-Jones. She was a significant voice in Methodist theology, a deep thinker, and always a friendly face. But for me she was one of our local preachers in my home circuit when I was growing up, and I remember her going to Bristol to train as a minister. Searching the web this morning for more information to pass back to my family about the news I found the blog she began when diagnosed with incurable cancer a year ago. In its heading she wrote -

Suffering Grace

Discovering that I have incurable cancer shattered my world. It showed me that at the most pivotal moments in our lives the Church fails us by being afraid to speak of God’s grace in pain and suffering and death. I am not. This is an unashamed, unafraid narrative of the work of God's grace in my life. It is not an apology for my suffering, or a religious excuse for my pain and death, it is my story of the joyous redemption of all that is needed to be fully human.

http://sufferinggrace.blogspot.com/

____________________________________________________

This spoke so much to my own desire that we are able to be honest in church life about the painful stuff, the angry stuff, the 'why me' and the 'why them'. When we can be honest about the pain then we can begin to look in it and through it to glimpse God's grace.

My school English teacher used to criticise us for using the word 'nice' - it wasn't a proper word she said, it doesn't have a true meaning, it is an excuse for not deciding what to say. And 'niceness' invades so much of our church life, a mixture of British politeness and a worry perhaps that honesty with all its rawness might somehow offend God, or if not certainly scare our neighbour in the pew.

So in memory of all whose lives are turned upside down (don't think that leaves anyone out!) lets stop being nice and start being real.

Rest well in his arms Angela.

Tainted money?

2011-09-09T15:25:00.000-07:00

There are occasions when a gift is offered to the church from a controversial source - today I had one of those calls. It has triggered a lot of thoughts - beyond the details of this case.

What is 'tainted money' - is there such a thing? Perhaps the proceeds of crime, but what about extending that to the proceeds of sweat shop labour, or the arms trade, or a banker's bonus.

From my reflections through the day I have drawn a distinction between money generated through actions we consider dubious and money given by dubious sources but acquired through undisputed means.

Accepting a gift from the first could be seen as profiting from whatever dubious actions, and encouraging that action. There are very good reasons to step back from money in this context. Although on the other hand Salvation Army founder William Booth was often challenged about recieving inappropriate donations such as from a major brewery (being active temperance campaigners) or big business and is reported at various times to have commented 'Tainted money? 'T ain't enough money' and that he would 'wash it in the tears of widows and orphans'. In contrast the Sally Army of today refused the charity funds from the final edition of News of the World.

As for the second situation - and my dilemma today - it becomes a question as to whether money is tainted by whose hands it passes. No dubious process was involved in gaining the money, no-one hurt or demeaned or worse. I am being asked to judge the giver not the money - and who of us should cast the first stone. I don't vet who may slip a note onto the collection plate on a sunday, nor question how they came across that money. Yet I am required to seek advice on accepting this gift - knowing the source creates the responsibilty, a need to make an assessment, to consider what being associated with you would mean, the ethical position, the conclusions drawn, the statement it would make.

But you offered it with no strings, we don't have to agree with you, or do anything for you in return. Just as we are called to offer welcome to any and all without judgement, surely we should we willing to accept the gifts offered to us without labelling the givers as good, bad or ugly. Are any of us worthy or pure enough to bring a gift to God? And yet he welcomes us whoever we are, whatever we have done, and whatever we have to offer. Surely we are called to echo that welcome and love - and rejecting a freely given gift because we don't agree with you doesn't seem to fit.

In the end it will not be my decision, but that of the church leadership together, and with advice from my boss. But for today it has been the pondering.

Accepting the wounded ones... wounds and all

2011-09-05T13:50:00.000-07:00

Have you noticed how some people want to fix everything and everybody? Sometimes you just want them to listen to your gripe of the day so you can get it out of the system, not for them to tell you how to solve the problem.

Amongst Christians this tendency to fix things/people can get spiritualised. Today I have had one of those encounters where acknowledging that I am still affected by my depression and other conditions led to the suggestion I should recieve prayer for healing.

Why do you think I need fixing? When I have been at my worst and in pain then yes, please pray for me in my pain, but I don't feel in need of fixing right now. Yes depression is still part of my life, but it is managed and although I have my moments my life is not generally impaired by it. Removing something that has been part of my whole adult life would be like trying to take away part of my personality, part of what makes me who I am.

I realise that this is hard for you to understand, you care and want me to be free of trouble - but we don't live protected from the strains of life, we all have vulnerabilities. Depression is one of mine, and I have come to accept myself as I am, your desire that I be fixed suggests that you don't accept me as I am, or that my vulnerability is somehow a failure. Does my ongoing situation challenge your neat faith that God brings us through all struggles so that we can sing of victory and joy, that bad times happen but get fixed. Sorry that this chipped plate is likely to stay chipped, it still works fine.

I know you would reach out in love to the wounded ones, offer love and care, but we need to be accepted wounds and all. Even after his resurrection, with a changed and restored body, Jesus still had his wounds. He was not ashamed of them, and we should not be ashamed of ours either.

(Now I believe that God has an interest in our lives, and I believe that at times this can be expressed in ways that defy explanation (the definition of a miracle) but I also live with the tension that these times are rare and we are left wrestling with the question of suffering in this world. It may be neater to either deny that God can/will do anything personal or to believe that he will always intervene to fix things, if we can work out the right way to ask. But the experience of people as I have observed it over the years doesn't allow for either of these, so the unknowing of the middle option is the only place left for me despite its discomfort.)

New year's resolutions

2011-09-01T10:50:00.000-07:00

Happy New Year!

As well as schools and colleges Sept is the start of a new Methodist church year too. This year I am starting out with a few resolutions -

1. To be organised and pro-active with the admin. Since I started I have been on the back foot, and the study disappearing under piles because I didn't have a system. At first in a new job you are not sure what system to set up to suit your way of working, and after that I was too busy fire fighting admin to get organised.

Therefore I set aside time in August to fight the paper acculmulation, separate out the important and set up a system ready for the new outslaught. And I am ready!!

2. To get a more healthy eating pattern. I tend to bundle through the day on snacks then realise I haven't eaten properly and end up eating a huge portion because I can't judge how much pasta etc and am hungry anyway. I have put on nearly 2 stone in 2 years in this job, so the healthy eating includes a diet....

3. To lose enough weight to fit back into clothes. (No list of new year's resolutions is complete without this one) Being a person who likes to see quick results I am half way through a month on a meal replacement scheme (Weight to go). It is making me eat at proper times during the day, and with pre-prepped meals it is easy and lazy to get that habit established. And very yummy meals too. So far I have already lost a few pounds and realising how much I need to change my portion sizes.

4. To get to bed earlier. Just because I am an owl not a lark doesn't mean 2 am is ok for me, Time to shift that body clock forward and rediscover how to function in the mornings. Not doing so well on this one, last night was in bed by 11pm but still 1am before asleep.

Basically all my resoultions are about control - being the one who is in charge of bits of my life rather than simply reacting to things around me, or the impact of lazy or bad habits. We all need to feel that at some level, having control over our lives is an aspect of freedom, and to be able to control your own inclinations and inner chaos is important for self esteem.

When my depression was at my worst I had no sense of control, emotions were just there whether I wanted to avoid crying or not, I had - or took - no control over the world around me. Stuff happens but you are not part of it or feel unable to stop the chaos, it is all so overwhelming. Like a study full of scattered papers - your life is in there but its too hard to face finding it amid the chaff.

Small successes, moments of control, are to be celebrated, resolutions made are often quickly broken, but daring to try is a huge achievement in itself.

Will my new resolutions help me through the year to come - yes I am sure they will, but that doesn't mean that the study will stay tidy.

So Happy New Year; Happy New Day.

Honesty about depression

2011-08-26T07:12:00.000-07:00

I had the privilege that comes with this job whereby this week I was invited to speak to a group in the next town about my life and faith. Naturally this cannot be done without the story of my depression, and the other lumps and bumps in my life.

There is such power in naming the often un-nameable, it asserts that depression is just the same as any other illness we suffer, that it happens to people of faith as much as anyone else.

After the talk one person came up and said that I had described their life, parallels with depression. It is amazing to be able to have such conversations.

In a couple of weeks time there will be the first session of a group I am establishing based at one of my churches 'living with depression'. I don't know how many will come but it seemed important to offer that place of support, in reality it is about setting up what I would have valued in my darker moments and still feel to be important now. A place to be honest about the chaos and pain, and even the lighter moments - with others who 'get it' and instead of boring family and friends yet again.

Okay so not everyone wants to air their souls in front of others, and mostly the rest of us are glad about that, but there are two needs - a) that everyone has a place to air it if they need to - be it close to home or far away and anonymous; b) that some of us bare all to show others they are not alone, and to help the unaffected understand.

I feel called to be part of both of these, and have the privelege of a role that allows that to happen.

It's always other people...

2011-08-15T16:47:00.000-07:00

I wasn't going to blog on the riots - this isn't a social commentary or political blog, just about life with the wobbles and doing the job I do, besides there is enough cyber space taken up with all sorts of theories and opinions.

But...

I am continually being hit by the the sense that it always has to be someone else, a different type of person, not us or our folk.

Today the government talk about an anti-gang strategy, previously suggestions that offenders should have their benefits taken away, or be cast out of council housing, before that it was a race issue. Yet my understanding was that rioters came from all walks of life. There were those who had plenty at home but still looted in the buzz of those nights, there were those with jobs, at university, with prospects, there were older and younger, there are those egged on by family and those turned in by aghast family.

Yes some may fit the young jobless gang thugs profile but what about the rest? Ah but we don't want to think that 'people like us' could get out of control like that, it stops us feeling safe in our own little corners. Just as the drug problem is something for the inner city estates - not the cosy suburbs, but it is there too just because net curtains can be drawn discretely over it doesn't take it away.

It is scary to see stuff and think that people we know, people that we pass on the street and nod a greeting to could be a part of that - easy to blame it on the distant stereotype, on those who are different, those who are the problem. No need to consider the problems on the doorstep.

Mental health is another stigma - the manic, the schizophrenic, they all live somewhere else and are a problem, maybe even a danger. But they are also serving you coffee, queuing up at the cash point behind you, they don't have 3 heads or foaming mouths. And those of us who live with depression, who sometimes you avoid in case we infect you, we are everywhere - one day, though I wish it wouldn't, it could be you.

But if you sleep easier by believing that the scary things in life, the bad things in life, the ability to do wrong things is always somewhere else and about somebody else - well sweet dreams, you may be one of the few whose dreams do not end up shattered. If though you are ready to face reality - then welcome to the world of the wobbly ones, who know we will be knocked down but that 'weebles wobble but they don't fall down.

And to go back to the riots - lets not just look at the communities on the news, but dare to ask about our own community, what are the issues here and now and what does that mean to us. And making a difference is not always for other people either.

The power of the finish line

2011-08-05T16:35:00.000-07:00

Tonight my mood has lifted - a project has crossed the finish line, one of my church halls has had new flooring fitted. The planning is over, the fundraising done, and debates about the details drift into history. Yet just a few days ago when the 'oops' episodes of the planning left me in a flap the same project pressed my insecurity buttons - I had messed up some bits therefore I was a failure at this and maybe life too. But tonight we crossed the finish line, the carpet fitters left and we moved the chairs back in, stand back, take a photo, admire the end product - and feel the pride of achievement.

When I was preparing to be trained as a minister I was advised to find a hobby that had a clear end result - a finish line - because this is a job that has fuzzy edges and not a lot of clear visible results. It was good advice - and not just for ministers. So much of life has no end point - from housework to parenting, from mowing the lawn or weeding to the never ending flow of paperwork - and so we never reach that moment of stepping back to mark an achievement.

I am coming to believe in the vital importance of the finish line, the crossing off of an item on the To Do List, the milestone markers... Pyschologically we need the opportunity to celebrate what we have done, or how far we have travelled in life. When all the attention is on the things yet to be done we can be overwhelmed, we feel small and weak compared to the demands that are being made and the challenges ahead. That can apply to normal life, and can be felt acutely in depression.

We are climbing great mountians and are so busy struggling along or daunted by the path ahead that we don't pause to look behind and see all we have already achieved to get to here, the obstacles we have survived. The finish line may be a way off but there are staging posts, like the Tour de France - a single race and yet also a series of daily races.

What can you celebrate at the end of a day, week, month, year? It might be something with a fancy, glossy edge to it, or it might be the power and strength of surviving. (I nearly said 'merely surviving' but the truth is there is no 'merely' about it in the tough times, it is a huge achievement).

So I will smile at the nice shiny new church hall floor and for now, for tonight, set aside the list of the unfinished. Celebrating this finish line will give me new hope and strength to face the next, believing that I can.

Depression - biochemistry or pyschology?

2011-08-01T15:11:00.000-07:00

What is it that makes me depressed? Is it my brain chemistry or complicated pyschology or both.

When I was at my deepest darkest places I went to counselling, I was also on medication. The counselling was very important and we explored a lot of very profound things linked to my self esteem, poor self identity etc. This was complicated and painful stuff about how coping strategies from the past and emotional damage from bullying had shaped who I had become as an adult, and limited my ability to thrive.

The journey through counselling and rebuilding an alternative view of myself was a healing journey, and the person I am now is due to the release of that time. To use a Biblical image it felt like the story of Lazarus who was raised from the dead and coming out from the cave tomb was still wrapped in the graveclothes, he had to be unwrapped to be free to move and live.

So does that mean my depression was essentially pyschological? The significance of pyschological treatment suggests this might be the case, yet medication was also important in stabilising my moods enough to go into to those dark places.

Now 3 years from that crisis point I am emotionally pretty stable, yes I live with the wobbles, and insecurities can still creep up on me but generally I can separate the emotions from the reality. The difference between what is and what isn't my personal failure etc. However I am still on medication, and need to be. Despite the 'renewing of my mind' (more Biblical bits) through addressing my internal or 'self-talk' I still feel the deep pain of the depressive moods when they ebb and flow although I have perspective and life is going fine. Hormonal shifts add to this - the PMT effect.

Actually people around me seem to find this a hard thing to comprehend, that I can be depressed in the sense of the pain but not have the distorted self-image element of it. It does feel odd to me at times too - but this is my experience. So if the pyschology has been addressed and still the pains come and go... support for the biochemistry view?

But life is not black or white, rather it is shades of grey. Depression is the same. As a condition it plays off emotional vulnerabilities - but not all the pyschologically wounded experience depression; it does have a physical element, brian chemistry is affected and medication responds to that - but tablets alone are not enough.

For many years I coped with depression - limted by it but plodding on, assuming that was all life could.
In my crash I suffered depression - no sort of normality made sense and gettiing through a day was the greatest achievement.
These days I live with depression - I still know the shadows and soul aches it brings, but it doesn't define me or limit me.

The Black Dog is part of the family but has matured into a plodding canine who most of the time sleeps in front of the metaphorical fire, no longer the crazy puppy that was everywhere and chewing at all the precious things in life..

Working together - but how?

2011-07-28T13:07:00.000-07:00

Rural churches are small and - as discussed before - the intrastructure costs of spread out provision for all sorts of things are greater per head, the church is no different. Increasingly less clergy are more and more thinly spread. On one level it must be stressed that the church is not the clergy and have great potential without us. On the other hand the resource of people set aside and trained - not to mention called - is important.

As we are spread across wider areas, and congregations see less of us than they used to it, is easy for people to feel demoralised. At the very point there is need of their skills and confidence, there is a lack of support and encouragment time to invest in them.

Drawing churches to work together is a way to combine talents and resources - but what is the best approach? We have two competing pulls - working with those like us, as in the Methodist circuit; or working with the other denominations in the same villlage. There are distinct advantages for me to draw the various chapels I work with together for planning and development etc. But what when geography doesn't put them naturally together? Working with the parish church in the village allows us to have a shared community focus - but my 6 chapels overlap with 4 different Anglican ministry teams, and their clergy have 7-8 churches of their own, so it is not easy for us to find time to meet and plan together despite the desire.

Some may say that the small churches should close and people can travel into the town to church as they do for so many other things. There is a logic to that - but Christianity is not about logic, it is about incarnation. We are church where we are - at home, at work, at the shop.....etc

Too often closures are linked to resources and finance - and become a retreat from a context. The starting question is how do we best support a Christian presence and witness in a community. There can be models where that is based in the town such as the 'minster model' - the central point resourcing believers across a wider area. But that should not be assumed. Likewise we cannot pretend the status quo watered down is going to be viable.

So is it possible to go back to the drawing board? What would faith in that community look like if we weren't starting from the structures we currently have? And how does that relate to the realities we do have?

Staffing changes - reduction - in one of the Anglican teams I work with has triggered these thoughts. There will be a significant impact on working together as the remaining team members take on the extra work, and there are the pyschological effects of the loss on the local congregations. In the same area I am aware of the aging congregation in the chapel. We cannot put off the questions of future 'faith presence' in that village, the answers need time to emerge before we do find ourselves in a form of retreat.

'Make us Lord dreamers for your kingdom' - inspire us and grant us courage.

Endings and beginnings

2011-07-24T15:01:00.000-07:00

This week I went to the leavers service for the CofE village school I visit for assemblies. In this 2 class school (infants in one room, juniors in the other) only one pupil was in year 6 and leaving to progress onto high school. So the end of year service for 'leavers' left him the star of the show, just as well he has acting ambitions and not daunted by the experience as classmates said what they thought of him and why he would be missed. For his turn he stood to speak about those he will miss until they too move up next year.

Later that day I was chatting to a parent of a boy leaving the high school post GSCE - they have no 6th form provision - and the debates about options and practicalities for college, what courses and how are they going to get there. School leavers here scatter to a range of post 16 courses, but although transport costs can be applied for it struck me that the difference between the school bus winding between villages and needing to reach the routes of the regular buses is a big practical jump.

Both prompted me to look back at myself at various ages - I was on my way to university interviews when I first got the train by myself, and as for 6th form although we had a different status we were still at school, still the familiar environment. But maybe if you have been getting the minibus to school since you were 5 and stood to give your own formal farewell at 10/11 then the 16+ shift is not such a big thing.

Then the beginnings - today was the first session of the Family Story Cafe at one of my churches. For those who know about these things it is a cross between cafe church, Godly play and messy church. Basically parents/adults come for a coffee and space whilst children get a story and then craft time. I had in my head a target that if 3 adult/child combos came it would be a success, and that's how many came. It would have felt good to be rushed off our feet but in reality the mixed team from different churches needed a bit of time to work together and also to get a picture of something that made sense in my head but they were still trying to grasp at a 'how will this work' level.

As always there is the nerve-wracking 'will anyone come?' moment. As a wobbly one I am very vulnerable to past angst at these times. I guess for various reasons a lot of us are there - the fear of failure but also, for me, the potential for rejection that I tend to take personally and reaches down into childhood. Being in a leadership role in the church I still find it strange to be the initiator calling on others to come and volunteer to make things happen. This can add to the burden of 'what if they don't come' because I feel responsible for their time and commitment as well as my own disappointment.

Before my breakdown a few years ago (that long?) this wobble would be paralysing, because that led me into support and counselling now it doesn't have the same effect, it doesn't stop me taking the risks - that doesn't mean I don't wobble, I guess I always will, but this weeble wobbles but won't stay down.

And some people came, and they liked it, and they are likely to come again, and others may join them... I feel boosted by that, and so will the church who feel they have lost all contact with children and their parents.

Getting past that moment of 'will anyone come' is the end of the beginning...

All endings are new beginnings - but crossing that boundary between the two is daunting, whether for the year 6 pupil travelling on to high school or us weebles facing anything new.

Weary

2011-07-18T08:45:00.000-07:00

Blogs are like buses - two come together!

Today I am admitting my wobbles over the past couple of weeks. I live with the shadow of chronic fatigue as well as depression. Generally I do well on activity levels, as long as I also rest a lot. Lately though I have got more and more fatigued. Despite a few days off I am still needed rest as much as possible through the day. Today I am up and dressed but other days I have dealt with emails, and planned sermons whilst still in bed. And yet I am still awake at 1am - not a good sign.

But then there is the depression - it has not come on me heavily but the 2 conditions feed off each other and I can feel the greyness and wonder how much of the inertia is depression and how much is fatigue. Sometimes it feels very clear which is which - the difference between when my body wants to but can't and when it can but doesn't want to.

I can do quite a few tasks when in this mixture of fidgety mind and weary body - but not the ones that have been piling up on the intray since this patch started. I have studies to do as part of my role as a probationer minister, I have chosen the subject, and I am positive about getting it done, yet can't get my mind around the actual work.

Do I need to face it down with stubborness? Today I have spent in the room with my books and notes and started to think, but then had brain flop and now feel more frustated than if I had tried - I guess before I could pretend it was just tiredness, but now I know that it is the depressive kind of brain fog.

I am also finding people hard work - not good in a job that is about people! And I have been glad when people haven't been in when I called on them. The social energy is just not there at the moment, not for one to one, or if I need to lead the conversation.

Depression isn't just about those acute days, or the big breakdowns, it can be the invisible lead weight in the midst of otherwise normal life, where it looks fine to others and things are done, but they don't know how much more it cost you. The same goes for those living with constant pain or other invisible 'limps' in life.

And that's all for now, need to rest before a meeting tonight.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

2011-07-17T06:28:00.000-07:00

...or the goose, the sheep, the rabbits and the pheasants?

You meet quite a bit of animal life on the roads around here - and I don't mean the other drivers! Though on a single track lane you have to be ready to find anyone and anything just around the next bend, from animal to a full sized combine in harvest time.

However it still makes for low stress driving compared to my time in the city, a recent trip into urban life reminded me of that. There may be greater distances in the country but we can travel 10 miles much easier than our city friends, usully quicker - unless behind the tractor. But there are downsides too. In that urban trip I saw that in the densely populated area, with competition and plenty of customers, petrol was 5p a litre cheaper. Out here where we use more we also pay more, the same is often true with other provisons.

Village schools are important and those I have been involved with offer great education and support, they are are the heart of communities. Although now one school will serve a cluster of villages, it is still more expensive per pupil than big town primaries. One school is closing this summer, for the others survival is based on the vaguaries of the intake each year. Already many children experience the school bus from age of 4 or 5. Without the local schools the journeys would be much longer.

Later in life long distances are travelled for hospital services, a particular struggle when regular treatment like dialysis is required. Again the cottage hospitals in smalll towns are a vital part of the community, their range may be limited but they allow people to be closer to home where friends and family can visit more easily.

Rural life is not the romantic idyll, it has as many challenges as urban life - just different. I have been here nearly 2 years, now, a choice made for me when the church posted me here. And yes you may find a chicken - or more - crossing the road, or be slowed down by a tractor ahead but as someone who grew up in the shadow of a motorway, I know which I prefer.

Time and timelords...

2011-07-08T14:33:00.000-07:00

Yes there are big world issues that I could be blogging about but cyberspace is already overfull of the muses from both those who are wiser and those more foolish than I.

No, today my wonderings are about time... I have had a couple of days off and one of the things I have been indulging in is online episodes of the original Doctor Who series. I am following Tom Baker's Doctor and K9 through various adventures, and have the luxury of watching the 2hr stories straight through.

One day though I read a novel from start to end, and it struck me how we view supposedly 'good' and 'bad' use of time, even free time. To say to someone that you spent your day off sat in the garden reading feels acceptable, to say that you were in your dressing gown in front of the TV or equivalent conveys a totally different image - but why? Surely both are valid forms of entertainment and relaxation, yet there seems to be a moral distinction being drawn deep in our social psyche.

And are larks really better than owls? We grow up amid echoes of 'the early bird catches the worm' and the 'early to rise early to bed' mantra, this pattern is reinforced through the patterns of schooling and most jobs. But we are not all larks. In my job I have a high level of flexibility about when a lot of things are done, especially admin and service preparation. I am often up and working past midnight, but when in compensation I am still in bed at 10am it is perceived as lazy although I am still doing the same hours as someone who is tucked up well before Radio 4's Book at Bedtime. This social expectation means I feel the need to open the living room curtains as I go to bed so that people don't know that I am getting up late.

We all have our own body clocks, need varying levels of rest and sleep and have different times when we are most alert and effective. Of course in a shared society we have to get used to working at set times, and fitting in with other people's needs and rhythms, but surely in our time off we could be free of the holier than thou view that rates larks above owls, readers above watchers, the busy above the restful?

But I will still open the curtains as I go to bed tonight (or should I say tomorrow morning) - still playing to the culture of expectation. The revolution waits.

A wobbly church...

2011-07-03T05:53:00.000-07:00

So this morning I did it.

I had been wrestling for weeks about how to respond to one of my churches who appear to be suffering from a kind of group depression. Today the set reading (Matt 11 16-19, 25-30) opened the door for honesty about our weariness and burdens.

This congregation has declined significantly over the past couple of years - partly from deaths, partly from moving out of the area - whilst those that are left are feeling their age more. All of my churches are small and in small communities, this one is in a town of just 3-4000 and an area that has higher than average levels of over 60's in the population.

The congregation as a group shows the symptoms of depression - no energy or motivation, feelings of helplessness and hopelessness about the situation, constant sadness and negative emotions. All this despite new opportunities for mission and recent experience of God's provison over a property issue. 'We played the flute for you and you did not dance'. Classic depression, a lowness so intense that the light cannot be grasped or understood.

From my own experience I know that 'cheer up look at all the good stuff' is meaningless at that stage, yet often that is what we are encouraged to do as leaders and preachers - talk up God and try to get them focussed on a project etc. But to be honest about where they are at takes a different approach, one that gives permission to air their feelings as a church.

And so I found myself standing there sermonless, just talking about the griefs we have faced, acknowledging practical issues like finance but stating that the greater concern is our congregational mood, our depression, and that the first stage is to name it and to talk honestly about our dreams and fears. I didn't pretend to have answers, but did say I believed in the possibilities. I said that for now it was enough to say it is tough and that is the beginning of our journey.

My wobbles shaped my response, and gave an authenticity to my talking - was it the right thing to do? It's not in the books, but after weeks of wrestling I felt I should. And so I did. What now? I have no idea, but open to God.

Before the lions...

2011-06-25T16:54:00.000-07:00

Well I survived the time with all those teens. It was part of a pilgrimage day and I had asked to walk with them rather than just arrive at the venue - I needed to warm up to the idea of being with them, and begin to have some understanding of the people I would be talking to.

Despite lots of mental practicing - including in my sleep - I was a useless ramble at the start but then got into a flow. I explained that talking to them was hard as had a tough time when a teenager, that sure some of them find things hard too. I took the phrase 'schooldays are the best days of your life' and unmasked it as a lie. For some they may be the worst of times, and even for those having a good time it makes it sound as if it is downhill from then when actually a whole life ahead of them.

I said that it had taken me years to get over the bullying and learn to be okay with who I am and encouraged them to use the idea of a pilgrimage space to think about who they are - not who others wish they were or they dream they could be, but who they actually are.

I explained that in all the difficulties of my journey I have had a sense of God holding me through it all. I ended with a prayer and used the Open the Book assembly wording 'I'm going to pray and if you would like to make it your prayer as well just say Amen after me' - but being teens added 'silently in your mind'!

I hadn't realised how much the teen fright would hit me in the moment - standing there with all of them, teachers, and the head! Some were giggling but I kept going. Afterwards as they were filing out I lifted my hand and it was really shaking.

The organising teacher said that when I started she thought 'this woman hasn't a clue what she is doing' but that as I went on she felt I was spot on for the mood and the point they needed to hear. Another teacher commented about how attentive they had been, I said some had been giggly, and her response was that some of those were the ones who were listening but couldn't be seen to be.

So raw edges, not an oratorial success but relevant and good for me to have faced and survived the hurdle. Walking and talking with them gave me the chance to meet them as individuals, and eavesdropping on some of the conversations reminded me how tough it is at that age - even when not bullied. In my teen years I was so busy surviving I didn't have time to notice how complicated a time it was for everyone else. I wouldn't want to go back to that time and don't envy those going through it.

Back to teen angst.

2011-06-22T11:04:00.000-07:00

Being a minister is a strange job - every day is different, this week I will be talking to a large group of yr 10 pupils of one of the local schools. It is part of their RE class and I am to talk about the spiritual life. I could do a profound presentation on the christian spiritual tradition, but instead I am going to talk about the spiritual life of the Weeble!

Basically I have very few positive memories of being their age, I was a misfit, bullied through primary and comp. As a teenager I tried to rush into being an adult, and I am grateful for the coping strategies I developed in sealing me off. The alternative route - trying anything to be accepted - could have led me into some seriously damaging paths.

Not that my own survival plan didn't leave scars - I left the barriers up for so many years that I failed to learn how to be me or to be with others. It is only during counselling following a full depressive breakdown a few years ago that I had to dig myself out from behind the then collapsed walls.

Since then I have been a woman with a mission - to let people know it is ok to be one of the wobbly ones. We all are in some way or another at some stage in life, but because society and stigma discourage us from talking about problems that are emotional or relational we often carry things alone when we could be helping each other along.

So back to the 14/15 yr olds - my spiritual life has been shaped like the rest of me by the tough stuff in life, my faith had its ups and downs in that but at the depths I found God was there too. So that's what I want to tell them about spiritual journeys.

Welcome to a weeble's world

2011-06-21T12:57:00.000-07:00

As my first blog entry I guess I can get away with saying almost anything because no-one knows I am here!

Why a weeble?
I had these egg shaped characters as childhood toys, specially weighted they can not fall over - or at least they don't stay down. I remember the slogan 'Weebles wobble but they don't fall down'. I live with depression which ebbs and flows in it's own peculiar seasons, and have other wobbles too. The weeble is a positive image of survival, but an honest one too - we do wobble, and sometimes we will fall down, but that doesn't mean we always stay down.

Why 'wonderings'?
I was a curious child, always looking for the why or what behind the surface view, I was a wonderer and this blog will be a home for some of my wonderings.

So who is this weeble?
I am a 30 something female church minister working with rural British churches, I enjoy crafts and creative things, I dislike housework, lawn mowing and gardening in general. That will do for now - more will emerge as time goes on, and as I said I don't expect anyone to be listening yet!