At my first therapy session of the new semester, I had to admit that I had little to talk about. Christmas had gone better than expected. Some of the things that had been weighing on me had been confronted and put away. I felt good.
My therapist asked how I would scale my depressive symptoms against how I felt when I first started therapy. "I was probably a seven in the fall. Now...I think I'm a two."
"A two?" she said. "That's really low. That's great. What do you think changed?"
I didn't know. But the more I think about it, I realized that I have purpose this semester. My depression is almost always wound around feelings of hopelessness and purposelessness. Now that I am starting to see clients, my life has meaning. I am doing the thing for which I came to Dallas and entered graduate school. All these things I've been cramming into my brain are coming out. Instead of talking about stepping into people's pain and wondering what that will be like in the nebulous future, I'm experiencing it right now.
It's terrifying, counseling people. But the good sort of terror, the kind when you see a person and you think, "You're going to change my life," or when the camel you're on lurches to its feet or when you stare at the clouds and feel so small and so massive. It's terrifying, but it is mine. It is what I am made to do, I have not one shred of doubt.
God crafted me into a sensitive, empathetic person. With every book I devoured, I learned to place myself in someone else's shoes. With every person who ignored me, I burned with a passion to give voice to the voiceless. With my heightened sense of disunity, I cried against the separation of heart and head before I ever had a place where I could sit with someone and say, "It's okay to feel things."
So although this first step into the next leg of my journey is stupid scary, I am so excited. And that excitement that I have found from doing what I was made to do--that is what has healed me.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Monday, January 20, 2014
Ministry of Singleness
When most people talk about a "ministry of singleness," they usually mean nuns or missionaries. And that's if singleness is even discussed as a positive lifestage at all. As someone who loves to travel and entertained the idea of being a missionary, this was not a wholly unappealing topic. To be honest, one of my very favorite things about being single is that I can, within the space of a day, decide I want to go somewhere and make travel arrangements to get there. The freedom to pack up and wander the world is a great joy.
But it's statistically unusual.
Let's say I travel one week in the summer and five weekends throughout the rest of the year. That is less than 5% of my year spent in a "ministry of singleness." I refuse to believe that God essentially skips over me during the routine of daily life until I pack my suitcases and head to Mongolia. That's not true. I do believe that, a lot of the time, and this sense of uselessness is what fuels the majority of my depressive symptoms.
Things are changing, however. I think I mentioned that last fall, I decided to invest more heavily in a couple in my small group. At the time, they had a toddler and a soon-to-be-baby, so I wanted to give them as many date nights as possible before their parental load doubled. The enormity of their gratitude floored me. I literally sat on their couch, ate their food, and watched their TV while their child slept, yet they acted as though I were doing something actually sacrificial.
It struck me that I was in a unique position. Other married people or parents can't afford to take care of someone else's children. Not for long, anyway. The burnout rate is significantly higher. Hiring a babysitter is fine, but they are teenagers and you have to pay them. But a friend who is perfectly fine getting her alone time in your house or hers, who cares? That's an asset. I'm an asset!
This is my ministry of singleness, and I'm looking to expand. I have freedom to travel, yes. But I also have emotional freedom, and the ability to pour myself into others because I'm not yet run dry. I'm sure there is more, and I'm so excited to realize that using my singleness to bless others might affect 100% of my life rather than 5.
But it's statistically unusual.
Let's say I travel one week in the summer and five weekends throughout the rest of the year. That is less than 5% of my year spent in a "ministry of singleness." I refuse to believe that God essentially skips over me during the routine of daily life until I pack my suitcases and head to Mongolia. That's not true. I do believe that, a lot of the time, and this sense of uselessness is what fuels the majority of my depressive symptoms.
Things are changing, however. I think I mentioned that last fall, I decided to invest more heavily in a couple in my small group. At the time, they had a toddler and a soon-to-be-baby, so I wanted to give them as many date nights as possible before their parental load doubled. The enormity of their gratitude floored me. I literally sat on their couch, ate their food, and watched their TV while their child slept, yet they acted as though I were doing something actually sacrificial.
It struck me that I was in a unique position. Other married people or parents can't afford to take care of someone else's children. Not for long, anyway. The burnout rate is significantly higher. Hiring a babysitter is fine, but they are teenagers and you have to pay them. But a friend who is perfectly fine getting her alone time in your house or hers, who cares? That's an asset. I'm an asset!
This is my ministry of singleness, and I'm looking to expand. I have freedom to travel, yes. But I also have emotional freedom, and the ability to pour myself into others because I'm not yet run dry. I'm sure there is more, and I'm so excited to realize that using my singleness to bless others might affect 100% of my life rather than 5.
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