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.
.
.
Friday, 26 August 2011
Tuesday, 16 August 2011
It's always other people...
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.
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.
Saturday, 6 August 2011
The power of the finish line
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.
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.
Monday, 1 August 2011
Depression - biochemistry or pyschology?
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..
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..
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