To work or not to work - a complicated question

A fellow minister elsewhere in the country has written about her experience of returning to work after depression and the challenge of 'Are you better now?' greetings

Sally's Journey

That is part of the package of having time 'on the sick' when you are in a community role, it is noticed when you are not upfront as expected on Sunday - and so lots of sincere but unhelpful greetings as Sally explains.

Edit to add link - other thoughts on those tricky how are you conversations from Suddenly Bipolar

This is a funny type of role being a church minister, lots of things we do is out of sight then the rest is the opposite - right up where they can all see.  It makes work or not when unwell a complicated question.  A day under the duvet with the snuffles can be made up if things just need to be done, and some times of the year are more hectic than others which have more breathing spaces.

I have been crashed low since the start of November, to the very bottom - I have had weeks of officially being in work but doing the minimum for what has to be now and has to be me;  now I have a few weeks officially on a sick note - but the psychiatrist thinks good for me to be doing bits of work.

So from in work but barely; to off work but dabbling - it may look similar but the difference is that now I have no pressure of deadlines or fixed times to pull it out of the hat and fronting up to the world on a day I'm a mess.  On the other hand it is 'out there', public knowledge, so cue reactions as my colleague Sally discussed in her blog.

It is a tricky choice at times - to be officially in work or officially not - but I am grateful to be in a role that allows me the flexibility within either.   For many people mental illness and work is much more complicated - push on till collapse under the weight, then returning afterwards can be hard to gently edge back in.  Not to mention the stigma about the cause of the absence.

All reasons to challenge the stigma, educate that it isn't a sudden fix if back in action, but that will have to wait for one of those getting up days, and gently does it.

Wobbly ministry - a 6 year reflection

The Methodist Church is good at making new verbs, when I was a candidate for ordained ministry I was candidating. Now when planning to move to a new appointment, or station, I am in the stationing process.   It has been quite involving and between finding my way through the process and dealing with med changes and autumn's annual accounts and paperwork, it is only as my next move is settled that I have the space to reflect on it.

Last week I visited the place I will go to as minister from next Sept - it was a long tiring day, in the midst of a very depressed week when I wasn't feeling up to being basically human let alone a minister, someone with a role and responsibilities. So it is not surprising that I struggled with the idea of picturing myself living and working there. But beyond those emotions is a really good match, and a circuit of churches where there will be support.  I was advised by powers that be not to discuss issues of my mental health, not on the first visit, but for me that was crucial - to be honest with them and to know that it didn't freak them out.  They were really positive and keen to have me - and I have confirmed my acceptance of the match.

However in talking with friends about my feelings around the visit and stationing generally I was pointed back over the past years to last time I was on the move.  6 years ago I was in ministry training and retained in college following my breakdown. In the autumn it was decided that I wouldn't just be late to start at my allocated post, but withdrawn from it fully.  I had good reason to doubt that I would ever get to follow my calling to ministry, and months of psychotherapy and remaining in college with no idea what the future held were to follow.

I am grateful that the Methodist Church invested in me during that year when I had no sense of self or future.  And when the following September I came to live here as a student minister, it all seemed overwhelming. And now, despite still dealing with depression or possibly bipolar depression, despite my wobbly ministry, I am a minister and used to that identity and role, a minister with a track record, and people who appreciate what I am and do.

On my watch a church has solar panels, and a refurb'ed hall; another had its defunct small pipe organ sold after listing on ebay; and I have been alongside people in all sorts of situations and struggles in life. What seemed impossible in some of those darkest days, and what I still have times of doubt over, has actually been my life all these years.

So as I consider the next step and find my way through the nerves of moving on - I can look back at a massive journey that came from putting one foot in front of the other day by day, sometimes with energy and vibe, sometimes stumbling from sheer force of will to survive. But all those steps added up.

Meds: 'can't live with them, can't live without them'

Medication is like that saying about men 'can't live with them, can't live without them'.  At the start of Sept I began a new meds plan - and have surfaced in late Oct barely aware of many of the days inbetween.  My mood was doing ok with the quetiapine increase but that may have been because I was too spaced out to feel anything much - 'you'll adjust the sedation will wear off'.  Expect that it was time to start the Mirtazipine which also knocked me out of it.

Intended as an antidepressant, my first week on M left me over active and driven in the short gaps between dopeyness, so I got stroppy and said I had had enough of being so sedated that I was about as useful as a chocolate teapot more days than not.  And worried the M was a problem that was the one agreed to ditch.

I was not going to became a lark against my wiring but it is wonderful to wake up and actually feel awake - even if I still want a lie in and to put off the paperwork.

End result is that I am facing the winter blues kicking in without anti-depressant support until my next appointment, but as I think what I was on the last year and a bit had no benefit to me then I am in the same situation as last year, and somehow survived that. The other result from my stroppyness is that my next appointment has been changed to see the consultant - yes!!  I appreciate the need for juniors in a specialism to learn but 3 in 4 appts and each with different views does not give continuity of care.

So maybe by this side of Christmas we may have an informed plan to see me through the winter.
___________

Oops found this left in drafts...

Depressed vicars/ministers - we are among you

Meds on all change - one up and one down to out to replace with a shiny new one.

Currently I am either dopey or I'm munchy - at least when both together I don't have the omph to act on the munchies so not as bad for my weight. Grumpy and Sleepy are around too.

Anyway too dopey for own post but this is a very meaningful contribution from RidiculousVicar.

Yes people with no reason get depressed, yes Christians get depressed, even vicars.....
'if you prick us do we not bleed?'

Too good at being bad* ??

I live with major depression. I suffer with competence, or at least being able to do a good impression of it. On the outside I look competent, so yes I make meetings, may even be in fresh clothes, but can take hours to psych up for sending basic email, and if you need a phone call...

I feel needy, or wrong, or just demanding. And if I didn't get your reply to my query I feel even worse about nagging.

But I can't do ill well enough either. I sound too together to the psych team, and if in work then...  But that doesn't quite mean as they may think. Not neat office hours of coping, more spurts along the way.

So a new person to see, the plan from last one shelved, new plan, see you in 3 or 4 months. If it is still you not the next rotation, what will the next one say?

Meanwhile I muddle on, will have a month of staged withdrawal from one of my current meds - that is known to be tough so if cranky a month from now you know why (let alone the nausea etc). Then start on the 2nd drug that increases weight - from the munchies I think, for a month on starter and then up to full - so guard your cakes in Harvest Festival season and beyond

* Bad is Wenglish (South Wales speak) for being 'poorly', as in the clichéd "she's been bad in bed under d'doctor"

Back home. Now where were we?

I had planned lots of deep and insightful blogs from a whole range of my experiences in North Carolina, but day to day plodding and still having ups and down to manage meant I didn't get around to that.

Now I am home, have been for a couple of weeks, and just about getting used to that - suddenly it is September and the season of frantic activity begins again.  End of year accounts for churches are being compiled, new plans being made, team meetings etc.  And this year the planning for ministers moving, including me.

What do we say about the churches and communities I serve as the profiles are put together, where we are, where we would like to be, what skills and gifts will help us on that journey? I put my profile together before I left for America, slept on for 6 weeks and then submitted.

It all concentrates the mind on what ministry is about - what I will be leaving and how someone with different gifts could take things onwards. And what is it that I will take with me to the next appointment next September.

My time in North Carolina was very affirming, I got to know the church folk fairly well with seeing them several times a week, and I left with compliments in my ears and in cards to read again.  Yet I still feel overwhelmed and doubt that I have the abilities and gifts to meet the needs, or even to cope.

This week I have been involved in confirming arrangements for the district synod with workshops around mental health issues - I have been in denial that I am down to lead one of them.  I also had a reminder/update email for a 10 min slot telling the story of one of my churches in a conference on rural churches.  It sounds like I have something to say, to offer - but all it has been has been me muddling through. I have grand ideas but wouldn't know how to cope if they came to be.

I know partly it is normal and partly it is the depression, but I feel so inadequate, and as I face the process of deciding where next, and with a frustrating appointment with (another) new junior psychiatrist leaving me wondering if there will be improvement over the next hill after all, it all feels so hard.   I can do what I did in America, but that was free from all the other expectations, and practicalities.

For now time to walk Gabi - having not had enough time out with her over last couple of days. Feel that I am not even good enough for that. Then get guilty for moaning when others face so much more. Ho hum, well settle for a walk on the common - hoping that Gabi can run free without embarrassing me in front of the other dog walkers with very obedient pets.

Birds of a feather or a menagerie?

I am out of synch as lots of things to blog on  - but this one is fresh.

Today I was taken for a visit to Indian country by a church member and her sister and brother in law - who is a retired Methodist minister here in North Carolina.  The Indian stuff can come later, but we had some chats about Methodist ways and jurisdiction here in America.  I have also been reflecting on the Bible studies I have been leading here each Wed - on key topics rather than specific passages, including how we view the Bible and last night on marriage across the Bible, and since.

In the UK I can in theory be stationed anywhere in the country, I trained with people from a range of backgrounds and theological positions, in Methodism and other denominations. Here I would be based in a Conference that may cover only a state, or in NC only half a state, and yes the geography in the US is vast so that still is a significant area.  But it seems that crossovers between different Conferences of the United Methodist Church whilst possible are very rare.

This means that the Bible belt is served by those who grew up in it; and the liberal New Yorkers only meet their own type too.  When you read of a denomination tearing itself apart over issues I am left wondering if being too vast to have a mix between different views of scripture and the world leaves a weakened church less able to work out the tensions of living with its differences.

As we in the UK wrestle with similar matters, I think we have a strength in that we mix and mingle enough to be exposed to a range of theological positions, so do we stand a better chance of living with and working out our differences?

It will still be a challenge, but when we have to meet and live with one another, we stand a better chance.

A touch of heaven - pt 3, the churchy bit

Part 1
Part 2

So what does worship in a community of the vulnerable look like?

Well the pipe organ was still there - with an impressive musician enjoying it as we gathered and waited for 12.30. The seats filled up until the old balcony was in use too. Some were from a group visiting the project as part of a mission week, but they could be spotted by the uniform teeshirts. Most would have been local, some had been waiting on tables earlier, some eating at them.

There was no reverent silence before the service began (or at any time within it come to that). The organist came out to teach us the opening hymn which was a spiritual, and then it was greetings and notices - anyone could raise a hand to add one. Two solos followed - and if you are not sure about clapping contributions in worship, how about a standing ovation?

Prayers of the people were next - and this including a novel response, around the pews were homemade shakers which we were invited to make noise with in agreement with a prayer offered.  A noisy Amen to the prayers offered by various people (raise your hand and when acknowledged you speak up).  Giving the offering was a walk to the front to place in the bowl - though they missed out on the African tradition of dancing it up that I remember from Zambia.


The Bible reading was Matt 14 - Jesus walking on the water and Peter getting out of the boat, it was printed on the service sheet and read dramatically with voices around the room.  Then for the first time since the welcome the Pastor was on.  Sermon time, but this was a conversation, collecting in thoughts from the congregation.  This was when people spoke of what happened on the way to the jail and another about how rich he felt as someone with Jesus even if he stayed in a tent.

But this was not a dumbed down sermon - the pastor went on to quote Bonhoeffer - and the challenge that sinking is not a lack of faith, staying in the boat and not getting wet is. Faith is getting wet. Also that they had been in a storm and thought away from Jesus but he was closer than they realised.

The new part-time minister lead the communion prayer, and we lined up to take the bread and juice in the way that United Methodists do here - tear your own bread and intinct.  The organist played classic hymn tunes and people chattered - this could have felt very wrong and irreverent and somewhere else probably would, but it felt a natural part of the worship here.

We closed singing along to a recorded song - not a churchy one but not one I recognised from anywhere else either, but then that would cover a lot of popular, well known songs!

tSo a traditional order for UMC worship, bit different for prayers and sermon - but not in ways that haven't been tried in Wesley Church, Somewhere St.   The sense of a foretaste of heaven is not from some tweak to the pattern of worship, it came from the people who took part - those planned to share, those who brought their thoughts and prayers.  It came from being a place where community happened, where those who are so often relegated to the recipients of Christian charity were those giving, and teaching.   And yes I know that I am guilty of labelling in this description even though I am trying to explain an hour where it didn't seem to exist - the limits of trying to describe an indescribable sense of God's presence in that place and time.

A touch of heaven - pt 2, breaking bread

Part 1

I have been to a number of shared meals here, some shared by church folk after church, one after a funeral, and some inviting the community to share.  All of them have been on disposable plates, and either buffet or queue past the servers.  All very practical and utilitarian, and it seems America has not really grasped the eco message in a disposable world.

But here at the Wednesday Welcome Table serving nearly 500 people in 4 sittings - practical things have been laid aside for dignity.  We queue to get in, but then sit at laid tables with cloths,  real plates, cloth napkins, and servers come to the table. The salad and rolls are already on the table and we pass it around, conversation begins with Howard next to me, in the midst of the busy noise of the hall's echoes.

Today it is stroganoff  and the servers greet us as if they haven't done this for two sittings already, and with another to follow.   It is not unusual for churches here to have Welcome Table meals one day or other a week to which anyone can come and no-one charges a fee (though a box may discretely loiter for those who can afford to contribute), and being in the city centre it is not surprising to find the numbers higher.  But the higher the number of people the more likely we are to revert to more practical serving patterns, queuing past a hatch etc.

The decision to treat the meal as restaurant style, the rarity of real crockery in a disposable culture, the 100s of napkins that need someone to put them through a washing machine every week, these lift it beyond providing people's food need, to something that greets individuals as valuable people - whether they sleep on the street, have a home and a hard time, or are a visitor who can afford to be on a trip from abroad.

There was communion in the service that I went to later but as the pastor leading this adventure said in his welcome and notices, they have church upstairs and downstairs.  And there was for me a real sense of


communion in the breaking of bread, serving of salad and enjoyment of stroganoff.

PS. Dogs were welcome too, to come in and sit under the tables at one end of the hall.  (Across my visit I got a variety of substitute doggy cuddles)

Part 3

A touch of heaven - pt 1, Welcome to Hayward St

Before I came to North Carolina I did some web searches to see what I wanted to visit whilst here. I discovered a church in the city centre, a place where the homeless and troubled are served and welcomed, not just giving to those in need but building a worshipping community.

Today I made my first visit to an adventure that started 4 years ago. A church building that had once been at the heart of a residential community to the edge of a town centre, the centre extended, the interstate highway came through cutting the community off from the church.  In time (as I understand it, I have a formal meeting with the minister next week) the congregation declined, then the other city centre Methodist congregation adopted the site - hemmed in on 3 sides by freeway and entry roads - and a minister with a vision given space to dream a dream.


Hayward Street Congregation

This is a congregation, supported by christians from across the city yes, but a local congregation - a worshipping community where someone can say ' last week when I was being taken to jail...' and another declare that they are 'the richest poor person in the county because they know Jesus'.  A place that provides for the needs of the most vulnerable, not just in body but in meeting them as precious people.

part 2
part 3

Dying differently.

Ok so the title is inaccurate, this post is actually about how different the saying goodbye is, but didn't want to waste a good alliterative heading.

Today is Saturday and I have come home from the funeral of a church member who died of heart failure on Tuesday afternoon - yes I do mean this Tuesday, just 4 days ago.  That is the first difference, how quickly funerals go ahead.  A glance at the obituary page of the Asheville Citizen Times shows the short timescale as normal here. I presume it is linked to the pre-refrigeration era and the hot climate - but it does feel very rushed for the family.  Our slower pace allows for the fact of death to begin to sink in before the funeral.

Visitation - this took place yesterday at the funeral home chapel, a whole new concept to me.  As well as the funeral service, the obituaries announce when visitation will be.  This is a designated couple of hours when the family are available and anyone can call by and offer their thoughts and condolences. I think there is a good side to this - having an agreed time and space for such greetings may lessen the onslaught of supportive visits at home that could be overwhelming if family need space.

In practice though I am less sure, imagine the family line at a formal wedding do - where you queue to pass and greet everyone in line. Place that family line next to the coffin - an open casket - and ask them to stand there for several hours, only a few days from the loved one's death, and smile politely at all comers. It is an intense expectation.

And so to the funeral itself - there is lots I could reflect on the service, but I understand that this is very dependent on the minister leading it - in this case more Biblical quotes than references to the deceased and the life lived, and some self indulgent focus from the retired pastor.  So off to the cemetery, a full procession of everyone - cars having been parked up in formation before the service ready to be led out, with the full right of the road, through red lights, whatever, up to the graveside.

A web image 

And there the casket is set on a strange contraption above the excavated grave, last post and the flag for a former soldier and the minister's prayer - time to lower the casket? No, apparently it is the family's choice but very rarely do they stay to see the coffin lowered these days.  But surely that is the point of the graveside prayers, and the final committal - ashes to ashes, dust to dust?  I can see my liturgy tutor in full flow on the need to mark 'liminal moments' such as the final farewell.

And I missed seeing the contraption in action - designed to lower the casket into the lined vault (required for all burials in NC) and then to move the heavy lid into place to seal it before backfilling the grave.  It seems that there is a desire to avoid the inevitable decomposition - shutting out the earth, the world etc, alongside maintaining the surface neat and level for the groundskeepers.  

An advertising introduction to burial vaults

It all seems a long way from our wooden coffins and the occasional funeral where the rainwater needs pumping out of he gravesite, But then we avoid any sight of the deceased.  How much do we all dodge the reality of death in this day and age.  We can celebrate reduced mortality rates in our communities at least, but one effect has been to distance ourselves from the one certainty in life.

Riding the buses

Tuesday I had to be at Sardis church for breakfast and planned to get the only bus that comes out this part of town, and stops near the church, to head into 'downtown' Asheville.  In the end someone drove me in via an errand at the bank (we went in but they have drive thru banking facilities here!)

I pottered around the downtown, it felt abandoned by day to day shoppers - great for arty types and quirky restaurants but lacking the things that would draw locals in regularly, so understand when my lift giver had said she hadn't been in the town centre for several years.

I found my way to the bus station and with my bus so long to wait for another plan emerged, and that led to several bus changes and riding the bus the long way out in the opposite direction (rather than a long wait out in the sun) before actually reaching the place where the locals shop at a retail park.

Buses are levellers - we wait together at the stop and we have to share the same space on the journey - no  hiding away in our own tin cans.  The services here are very limited but do serve some of the more vulnerable communities, as I rode the buses around a full lap the pattern of ethnicity of those riding with me changed. As did the view of the housing, the areas we travelled through.

There is something important in being able to explore a community with eyes open to the world around us, something that concentrating on driving I wouldn't have been able to take in. What do we need to take time to notice in our own communities, but familiarity or busyness distract us from? It might not need a bus ride, but maybe we need to take eyes off the road we are travelling and onto the people we travel amongst.

Oh and though Asheville routes are few enough and infrequent, their buses do have a cyclists dream - a fold down frame on the front that can hold up to 3 bikes...

'It's church Jim but not as you know it....'

So its Monday evening, and my first week here in North Carolina is drawing to a close. Yesterday was church - 9.30 at Reeves Chapel, and Sardis at 11am  before a shared lunch back with the folk at Reeves.

People are the same interesting mix of characters where ever you are, but the experience of church can feel like another planet. The service patterns here may not be typical of all American Methodists, but it was certainly different to church as I know it back in our British Methodism.

There was opening music by the choir, and a set piece in the midst of worship, but only 2 congregational hymns in one church and 3 in the other. Other aspects of the service would be familiar to the liturgical traditions and the UMC does have its roots in the Wesleyan higher church patterns so that might be expected.

It is the lack of hymns and the poor singing of those that were there that really seemed strange to me as one who was brought up with the concept of Methodism being 'born in song'. Apart from the Quakers, I have been used to the concept of church services and singing together being natural partners, even our more liturgical friends get 4 hymns a week.

My efforts were well received at both places, but need to be wary of my jokes - a comment about not taking to the local food 'grits' let to a special pot being conjured up in time for my return to Reeves Chapel for  lunch!

Culture Gaps

The famous quote (debatable tough who said it according to various websites) that Britain  and USA are 'two nations divided by a common language'.  How very true, but there are culture gaps way beyond what words we use.

I arrived at my temporary home in Asheville, North Carolina almost midnight on July 1st, the 2nd was unpacking, a walk about the area (shocking the natives and discovering that sidewalks are considered optional on the edge of the city) then collected, taken for lunch and to visit the churches.

So Thursday it was time to get deeper into the culture - a trip to the local Bi-Lo supermarket that I had located in my wanderings the day before.  I am not home alone as my exchange partner's family are still here, and the grown daughters will be most of my stay, though they are busy with work.  So I am not shopping for full food, so for the needed exercise, and leaving the car adapting for a day with company, I set out with my back pack for the less than a mile hike along the verges.

I looked closely up and down all the aisles - found that here Jif is something to eat not a cleaning brand and 'dirty rice' is a good thing - and lots of differences as well as similarities. One thing I was hunting for was the equivalent to squash - the drink not the vegetable.  At lunch the previous day it came up in chat after I said I didn't drink tea etc. I thought that knowing it was called cordial in Australia (and they had Americanisms there) this 'bilingualism' would be the key. But still no comprehension.

Have you ever tried to explain something so basic and day to day to someone with absolutely no concept of what you are talking about, and you have no tangible example to offer?  It is incredibly hard, and it strikes me that this is what we encounter as we speak of our faith experiences - even to other Christians half the time, let alone the rest of people.

It is also the same with health experiences that you are living with and others can only look on - they may think they understand the words you are using but the concept is beyond them, not out of their failure to try, but just beyond their reach.  For example in mental health issues we use words that others recognise as sadness, bad days, low times - but mean something so much deeper, longer and tougher.

It seems to me that we don't need to cross the pond to find ourselves 'divided by a common language'.
_____________

PS - in case you were wondered, the shop search showed nothing like our squash,  the nearest thing, tucked in a corner of an aisle, being a powder to add to water, but means making up a full 2 quart batch at a time.  Otherwise you drag home big bottles of ready to drink stuff.

Being heard

Forgive me, it is far to long since my last confession, sorry I mean blog!

Whistle stop tour - Easter, horrible lows, week off on leave, 4 weeks off on sick, June back in action and lots of catch up, in just a few days go to states on minister exchange, with minister from North Carolina coming here in my place. The exchange is for 6 weeks - July and half of August. 

Meanwhile ten days ago I had a return visit to the psychiatry dept. I didn't have great expectations after my last appt at the start of April. Then the junior psychiatrist I was assigned just dismissed aspects of my mood diary that I considered important, and only upped the dose of an antidepressant that I didn't think then, or now, has any impact on me.  She had told me that she would be moving onto another role in her specialist training and that the next time I would see another junior.  

And so I did, but this one was somebody who considered me as a person who knows something about my own experiences and moods. He listened fully, asked the relevant questions, and then came up with a plan.  I have formally been given a tentative diagnosis of Bipolar 2, and a plan for introducing a mod stabiliser. The plan is not to treat the lows or even the highs when they arrive, but to treat the swing between the two and so in time to avoid both.

So how do I feel - relieved, grateful to have been listened to, positive about a new treatment regime that offers something different to what is clearly not working.  Validated that my insight when reading about this last Oct and recognising myself in it is acknowledged by someone whose view is recognised.

The path ahead is not any more certain, but at least someone has a map showing a variety of routes to try and willing to help me work out one that finds a balance between the easiest to travel and the on with the best views of life.  But that is all to come...

Suicide and the church

Today was sent the link to  this blog which asks for prayer for pastors/ministers/ revs etc reminding us and others of our own humanity and frailty.  I decided to google for the story that had prompted it.  A story of a North Carolina pastor's suicide - some of the links were plain news reports whilst others like this one have a comments thread that both saddens and appals me.

This was a big church setup with multiple pastors, the dead man being the senior. It came as a shock to everyone but a scan through the comments remind why it would have been hard for him within a certain theological culture to admit to struggles.  I am sure a diagnosis of cancer would have had sympathy and others covering his work whilst off sick - but despair that can reach suicidal levels is not as 'safe' to admit to.

I am grateful to be in the place I am, with those who care and recognise my problems as illness not a sign of faithlessness or that I am hellbound. But reminded how important it is for the churches to talk about mental health, to deal with it as an issue.

I will be spending the summer in North Carolina - maybe I will have something to give to debate there, or I maybe with those who already get it, American church life is varied not always fitting the images we sometimes get.

An Easter journey - no sudden joy

It's Good Friday, well so my diary tells me. I have felt nothing in the Holy Week journey, well nothing holy and religious anyway. I have felt low, hiding away from the world, yet needing to not be totally alone - so busy on forums of people who understand.

What I do feel is like the old joke of someone being woken up to go to school and saying they don't want to - only to be told the have to, they are the teacher!  Yes I am the one who is supposed to stand up the front and lead others but have no sense of caring or meaning.

__________

Well now it is the day after the empty tomb, and I preached on the confusion of the disciples and the loss of their hopes with the crucifixion, and deliberately chose the original ending of Mark's gospel which stopped with the women, finding the tomb empty and an angel telling them 'he is risen',  flee telling no-one. A realistic first response I think, even if later they did say something, we humans don't like ending a story like that though and a new ending to the gospel added early on, with Jesus appearing and telling them to go make disciples etc.

It was not a straightforward Sunday's here and he's alive, so that's ok then - all the trauma and stress of the previous week is forgotten and all is wonderful.  Don't get me wrong, it is full of hope and new life, but it took the people around Jesus time to get their heads around, so its ok not to feel joyful on Easter Day itself - we are all on journeys.

Thanks Simon M for pointing me to this from a vicar not far away -

'But Easter is NOT a 'happy ending'. Jesus still has the scars of crucifixion, still remembers the betrayal and denial, the torture and the agonising death. Everything has changed, even when it appears to be the same. He is back with his friends and they still love each other, but there is a space in their loving that will forever be a scar; a beautiful scar that speaks of love, but a scar nonetheless. Even though Mary has her Jesus back after the agony of losing him, she can't hold onto him forever. Even though Peter is given the chance to put things right after denying him, he will spend the rest of his life making sure he never lets him down again.

It's no more of a happy ending than any story of a marriage begun again after infidelity, or the painful new life after bereavement.  But in this story that has come to be called The Easter Story, is a great truth; that it is only when we become lost that we can be found, when we know real fear that we are truly brave and when our hearts have been broken, that we can really love.

When the story of Easter meets our own stories, nothing is ever the same again, but we carry on living; wounded but whole, lost but found, broken-hearted but lovers.'

Trigger points

It was nothing much, my poorly worded email prompted a stroppy response from a stressed person. But despite my gracious (I hope) reply the effect on me was huge.   First was batting away the tears, then came the anger, and boy did that come.  The long drive passed quickly though as the emotions pulsed through my whole body.

Of course the depth of emotion was nothing to do with the minor matter that triggered it, it was like digging it the garden and hitting a huge oil geyser that shoots up to the skies.  It was tapping into some old wounds that have been stirred up by looking back to a difficult time a few years ago. Anger that had no outlet to those who had caused the wounds, so it bubbles up against those I can react to.

Realising the roots of the big emotions I felt anger at myself for still having that vulnerability, yet does that mark my humanity? That I am still capable of caring enough to hurt. Sunday was Mothering Sunday - a tricky day to preach, either we get over sentimental and risk ignoring those for whom it is a difficult day, or brush over and dodge the topic.  I spoke on the 1 Cor 13 passage about love  - an image of perfect love. Then I talked about how we mess up our attempts of love, and others mess up in loving us before offering my own version -

'Love is messy, love is raw, it does not come with a guide book, it does not control. It is vulnerable, it is tough, it keeps no record of ‘the answers’ because they change with every person. It holds safe and it lets go. It always hurts, it always struggles, but mostly love simply is.'

Life is messy when vulnerable to triggers, and especially when it overlaps and not all that person's fault, but I would rather risk hurt to know love and all the messiness of human relationships than let the hurts make me shut myself away from it all.

Identity and dis-ease - part 1

Been a while since I last wrote - my mind being on some unbloggable matters in the meantime.  Now then where was I? 

__________

I often get what others consider to be odd trains of thought – although to me they are fascinating insights to life!  One of these that came when I was learning Welsh has been particularly relevant to my recent thoughts.

The grammatical construction in Welsh for certain illnesses is ‘there is a cold on me’.  It struck me as feeling less permanent than ‘I have a cold’ in English merely something that is on me but we can brush off again. Yes it is just grammar not a mindset, your car is ‘with you’ rather than something you ‘have’, but it set off a pattern of thought about how we think about illnesses.

Those thoughts are being chewed over again now. There can be 3 types of health issues we face –

1. Accidents – breaks, tears, etc  things that have happened to us and often can be fixed with a bit of time, the broken leg, the bruising.
2.  Illnesses that come ‘on us’ – they are not part of us, but something we fight to get rid of, to remove from our bodies and lives.
3.  Dis-ease that is part of us – plumbed or wired in they are somehow integral to us, we live with them as a permanent thing, maybe all our life or the rest of our life.

The tree has embraced the fence as part of  itself...

Okay there may be other types, but my point is that for 1 and 2, even when the situation is incredibly serious, to the extent of life threatening, it is a situation that is to be fixed, challenged and fought.  When it is a part of who you are like 3 then it is a more complicated relationship – what does that mean to who I am?

This experience includes a wide range of situations from those whose lives revolve around the dis-ease or impairment to people who are impacted in a much lesser way. It covers what is very obvious to onlookers and things unseen.

How do I reconcile that that which is at the same time a problem to be addressed, managed, treated etc is at the same time part of me, to the extent that it has shaped and formed who I am, my personality, relationships and view of the world? 

I hope to reflect on all this in future blogs around my sense of self in relation to depression and possible bipolar aspects to my personality.  

In the psychiatrist's chair

So what would it be like, at the mental health centre, for an appointment with a psychiatrist?  Well standard NHS waiting room and then into a room with a desk for her to use writing notes and a few chairs.

It shows the stigma that mental health has in that in every physical medical speciality being referred to the specialist, a consultant and their team, is seen as a positive step forward in getting advanced focussed treatment. A referral to Ear Nose & Throat, or to the Oncologist or....   but try saying in general conversation that you are off to the Psychiatry Dept.   I have tried to be open about mental health in my life and did tell friends I was due to see a psychiatrist - but then found myself referring just to a hospital appt, or that GP had sent me to a specialist.

I was counting down and hopeful - since the autumn and before my referral I came across information on Bipolar 2 where the highs are not as high but the rest is much the same as Bipolar 1. The definition was a close fit and explained various points in my life, including at college before my grand crash down.  I have been on a peer support web forum and listening to others to see if it still felt a fit, it would explain why the anti-depressants have not had the level of effect hoped for over these years.

Ready for the day, with notes of my history of depressed times over the years, a mood diary from Jan 1st with the chart numbers put on a pretty graph, and hopeful.  It has been a long hard winter of depression, I would have gone to the GP to plead for something else, or a change in dose or... but no point when the psych appt on the doorstep - they will be able to offer something, a new approach, new hope.....

And?

A sensible, take it slowly, possibly bipolar stuff going on, too soon for labels, you are coping with life so no meds yet, carry on as before - come back in 6 weeks with more mood diary.  Disappointed.  Although, whether placebo effect of hope anticipated or the pendulum due to swing, I had headed up in mood a day or so before and that is still with me - so will cope for six weeks. Now where did I put that diary and mood chart?

Gabi writes....

Hi Gabi here,

Just borrowing the laptop whilst she is hiding under the duvet, again.  She has been doing a lot of that lately - I don't think she likes outdoors much this time of year and it is very hard to get her out for a walk in the rain.

I try not to be too much bother, and I don't nag all the time, but I do remind her its dinner time, and she has done cooking with lots of pans a couple of times, though often its just waiting for the ping beep box.

And it may take until nearly dark some days but I do get her out for a walk - I just keep going back and questioning with my head on one side and an encouraging look in my eyes, wagging my tail to show it would be fun.

I know a walk does her good because when we get back she usually stays out of bed doing things for a while, even all evening sometimes. But she doesn't smile, only the fake ones when she hugs me and scratches behind my ears - pretending its all okay.

I do miss my happy miss, hope she's back soon.

Bye for now,

Gabi

Growing up

It has been good to meet up with various friends recently.  We have had a lot to catch up on, but end up looking back at the times when we lived in the same place - and whether that was 5 or 15 years ago it is a reminder how much time passes when you are not looking.

My friends seem to have grown up, dealing with teenagers, settling down, having families and that is just those around my age.  They all seem so grown up and responsible whilst I am having duvet days and not managing to feed myself properly without reminders on my phone. I don't feel very grown up a lot of the time.  And yet if I were to look at my life from the outside I would think differently - I have a role as a church minister, and even if I say so myself I have done more than tread water in that role.  I may do that around my duvet times, and too often relying on winging things than hours of deep study, but what is needed gets done.  The other week someone even called me an inspiration!

Home alone you don't notice time passing as much as when there are children around growing through clothes and school years. After a fairly peripatetic life from 18 until I landed here I got used to dating events by where I was living at the time - it must have been in 2006 that X happened because I was in North Wales then....

The years that I have been here in one place and one role all merge together in my appalling memory, so I have not really noticed how much time has passed. But soon it will be time to go through the process to prepare to move on. I am also looking back at patterns of my depressions and other moods since the Big Crash at minister training college and even before - I have an appointment with a psychiatrist in a few weeks in a search for something that will tackle the resistant lows.

It all reminds me that I am in my 5th yr here and am 6 and half yrs since the Crash - and whether fully grown up or not I have certainly done a lot of growing in that time.

Now where's that passport?

Actually I will be due a new one, didn't bother to renew it when it ran out a couple of years ago - not until I knew I would need it, and now I do.  I will be spending the summer in North Carolina in the US of A!

I had thought about applying to the Methodist exchange programme a year or so ago, then shelved the idea when I adopted Gabi - no way would I put her in kennels for 6 weeks when the last time she was in them she was being sent away for good from her last home.  But back in Sept the plan bounced back, and I realised there were other options for dogcare, and so I got the permissions and applied to swap my home and churches with those of a Methodist minister elsewhere.  Then it all went quiet... until this week when I heard about my match.

So for the summer I will be temporary minister to  2 churches on the edge of the town of Asheville at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains in Western North Carolina, its a hard gig but someone has to do it eh?  Meanwhile their minister and his wife will live here and look after my 6 little chapels - not too tough a gig for him either in this beautiful corner of Britain.

Reeves Chapel, Ashville NC

It is good to have something new and interesting to focus on as the winter blues are bad this year and I am having a lot of duvet time.  But in other news I have had the letter from my referral so Monday morning I will ring them and get an appointment date, I'm ready for new ideas having worn out the GPs options.

For now, the rain has paused so time for Gabi and I to head out for a bit.

New Year resolution - first big decision of 2014

I didn't intend to make any new year resolutions, but then I had to face a decision - and the resolution has come from that.  Three years ago I began a research degree, part-time and at a distance, to look at depression and faith.  Some said I shouldn't and couldn't, I felt and I could and I should.

I still feel the subject is vitally important, and that academically respected voices and findings have a valuable clout.  I also know and have had others confirm that I have the intellectual potential to wrestle with this.  But my depression has been less stable than I imagined and whether from that or the meds that keep it in check my concentration span and energy is simply not up to it, even when I set aside chunks of dedicated time.

So I have decided to withdraw.


Time to shelve the books for a bit


And the resolution?  

That 2014 be the year when I learn to say 'no' to my stubborn pride that doesn't like the idea of losing face or have others say 'we were right'.  Not that either of these is guaranteed except in my own mind.

I  have been helped in this by people in the ecommunity  managed by BPUK (Bipolar UK) - whether or not I have bipolar elements in my depression the people there have shown me that you don't have to stick with the things you decided when you were feeling up and able to conquer the world, and being able to walk away is a sign of strength.

After all the only place where 'I've started so I'll finish' is a rule is on Mastermind, not in real life.