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.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
My Old Heart
I had a sweet moment with God, but it includes a curseword, so I'll put it under a cut.
Monday, December 9, 2013
Friends and Presents
I have to keep a journal for practicum, so sometimes I forget that this blog exists. And also I sometimes think about not blogging, because someone who craves intimacy but also runs away from it? That person can find an easy out in blogging, and I'm not sure I want an easy out.
But I do want to give an emotional update, because this latest bout of introspective sadness is mostly over, I think. And how? My word, through intimacy, who knew. (My therapist knew.) I've found friends with whom I can be honest, and who even value my honesty, of all things! Learning to let my frustrations and sadnesses and desires exist without constantly pushing them down, down, down has been so freeing! So that's very lovely.
But also I feel better because of gifts. Today Ketan kept giving away what he wants to buy me for Christmas, despite our NUMEROUS talks about how I love surprises and would he please shut up?
Ketan: I know what I'm going to get you!
Me: Good. I don't want to know.
Ketan: But should I get you one? Or two, three, four, five, six, and seven?
Me: KETAN! Now I know!
Ketan: No you don't. What is it?
Me: The new Harry Potter books with the awesome covers.
Ketan: Oh. Yeah.
Ketan: I'm going to get you TOMs for Christmas.
Me: Well, now you can't, because you've told me.
Ketan: What color would you want? Oh, green, right?
Me: Yeah.
Ketan: They don't have green. What about red? Or black?
Me: Sure. But Ketan, TOMs are expensive. They're like, $45.
Ketan: That's not expensive.
Ugh, it's going to be pleasantly mortifying if the kids I nanny spend more on me for Christmas than I spend on them.
But also! I hung out with Libby and Mike Stroh last night. I've been so blessed to have a Married Couple as friends in each city I've lived in. I can be extremely cynical about marriage, and I think God has put people like Lindsay and Nathan, Jennie and Dusty, and Libby and Mike in my life to remind me that marriage can also be silly and warm and encouraging. Hm. That is a whole separate thought to be dissected.
The Great Ice Weekend pushed even my introverted limits, so when I asked if I could hang out at their house and we three could play Risk and they said yes, I happily crashed and ate their desserts and bared my soul about all sorts of things they are gracious enough to ask about.
Mike has started watching Doctor Who, which is the happy result of a month of wheedling on my part.
Libby: You started without me!
Mike: You...wouldn't like it yet.
Me: Yeah, the first few episodes are kind of...awful. Silly and awful.
Mike: In the first episode, a garbage can eats a person and then burps. It's that kind of show.
Mike and I giggle at the memory. Libby grins and rolls her eyes.
Libby: I'm so glad there are at least the two of you in the world to like that sort of stuff.
And we played Risk! I've wanted to play it for FOREVER, but no one acknowledged my subtle hints. Finally, success! Except I lost, only it was fine because Libby and Mike are so fun to play with. AND THEN they gave me a present! Key to my heart, all the time, every time. A Jack Handey book, because they know my twisted sense of humor! AND a book of Mike's short stories, with a handwritten front page saying that some of them are changed for the better because of my editing! Imma frame that and make people look at it once he's a famous author.
The moral of this blog post is: When sad, give me friends and presents. The end.
But I do want to give an emotional update, because this latest bout of introspective sadness is mostly over, I think. And how? My word, through intimacy, who knew. (My therapist knew.) I've found friends with whom I can be honest, and who even value my honesty, of all things! Learning to let my frustrations and sadnesses and desires exist without constantly pushing them down, down, down has been so freeing! So that's very lovely.
But also I feel better because of gifts. Today Ketan kept giving away what he wants to buy me for Christmas, despite our NUMEROUS talks about how I love surprises and would he please shut up?
Ketan: I know what I'm going to get you!
Me: Good. I don't want to know.
Ketan: But should I get you one? Or two, three, four, five, six, and seven?
Me: KETAN! Now I know!
Ketan: No you don't. What is it?
Me: The new Harry Potter books with the awesome covers.
Ketan: Oh. Yeah.
Ketan: I'm going to get you TOMs for Christmas.
Me: Well, now you can't, because you've told me.
Ketan: What color would you want? Oh, green, right?
Me: Yeah.
Ketan: They don't have green. What about red? Or black?
Me: Sure. But Ketan, TOMs are expensive. They're like, $45.
Ketan: That's not expensive.
Ugh, it's going to be pleasantly mortifying if the kids I nanny spend more on me for Christmas than I spend on them.
But also! I hung out with Libby and Mike Stroh last night. I've been so blessed to have a Married Couple as friends in each city I've lived in. I can be extremely cynical about marriage, and I think God has put people like Lindsay and Nathan, Jennie and Dusty, and Libby and Mike in my life to remind me that marriage can also be silly and warm and encouraging. Hm. That is a whole separate thought to be dissected.
The Great Ice Weekend pushed even my introverted limits, so when I asked if I could hang out at their house and we three could play Risk and they said yes, I happily crashed and ate their desserts and bared my soul about all sorts of things they are gracious enough to ask about.
Mike has started watching Doctor Who, which is the happy result of a month of wheedling on my part.
Libby: You started without me!
Mike: You...wouldn't like it yet.
Me: Yeah, the first few episodes are kind of...awful. Silly and awful.
Mike: In the first episode, a garbage can eats a person and then burps. It's that kind of show.
Mike and I giggle at the memory. Libby grins and rolls her eyes.
Libby: I'm so glad there are at least the two of you in the world to like that sort of stuff.
And we played Risk! I've wanted to play it for FOREVER, but no one acknowledged my subtle hints. Finally, success! Except I lost, only it was fine because Libby and Mike are so fun to play with. AND THEN they gave me a present! Key to my heart, all the time, every time. A Jack Handey book, because they know my twisted sense of humor! AND a book of Mike's short stories, with a handwritten front page saying that some of them are changed for the better because of my editing! Imma frame that and make people look at it once he's a famous author.
The moral of this blog post is: When sad, give me friends and presents. The end.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
The Grace of the Church
I had it in my head to put together a sort of Faith Profile of my year with the poems I've been writing. So picked out the ones I was extra proud of and worked on editing them and putting them in some semblance of order. I did this right before bed, which was a problem. For one thing, it got my creative mind racing, and that takes ages to shut off. For another, it opened up memories and feelings and doubts and worries. I've been feeling pretty on top of things lately, and then I read my own words describing myself in my darkest emotions. Not a great idea.
The result was that I skipped church today. My alarm went off, I hit snooze. Then I laid in bed for ten minutes thinking about how I was really tired and anyway I didn't want to go. So I didn't, and I slept until 11:30.
It's funny, the days I skip church sometimes turn into big spiritual epiphanies for me. That happened a little while ago, but it isn't what I want to talk about.
What I've been learning lately is the power of the Church. I think I've always thought of it as God's people, I got that part. I knew it was more than a building, more than a gathering of people who thought and acted the same way. But in the last year or so, I've been deepening my awareness and appreciation of the sacred.
One of the sacred things I've been stepping into is Communion. That's honestly the main thing I miss whenever I'm not at church. I've grown to love the cracker pieces and wine glasses passed down the pew. I love taking strength there, remembering that I am here because of Christ, that it is only through Him that I can do anything. I don't think the bread and wine are literally Jesus's body and blood, but I do think there is something far more sacred going on than I ever realized. I think there is some special grace in taking Communion, some acknowledgment of our humility and dependency, some concrete action of finding purpose and strength in Him.
The other sacred thing I've been stepping into is the Church. I just googled "Is the Church a sacrament?" and turns out the Vatican II said there is a sacramental nature to the Church, so good, I'm not alone in thinking this. The thing is, as I've grown weaker this year, more aware of my sins and the sins of the world, I've found real peace in the Church. Not as in they encourage me, though they have. What I mean is, it's so comforting to know that while I struggle and doubt, there are others in the Church who are strong and faithful. When I skipped church this morning, I took strength in knowing that there were others who went, men and women and children who heard the Word and took Communion and echoed creeds. It's not a get-out-of-jail-free pass. It's a genuine grace, I think, this acknowledgment that I cannot be strong all the time, but that God has me as one small piece of a Body--a Body that is strong, that continues when I am not physically present. There is such comfort in seeing faith as communal rather than individualistic.
I'm turning mystical, I guess, and pretty High Church. I just love it. I love stepping outside of myself and realizing how dependent I am upon God's grace, how I need physical manifestations of His grace to eat and drink, how I need relational manifestations of His grace to serve Him when I cannot. It's all just crazy enough to make sense.
The result was that I skipped church today. My alarm went off, I hit snooze. Then I laid in bed for ten minutes thinking about how I was really tired and anyway I didn't want to go. So I didn't, and I slept until 11:30.
It's funny, the days I skip church sometimes turn into big spiritual epiphanies for me. That happened a little while ago, but it isn't what I want to talk about.
What I've been learning lately is the power of the Church. I think I've always thought of it as God's people, I got that part. I knew it was more than a building, more than a gathering of people who thought and acted the same way. But in the last year or so, I've been deepening my awareness and appreciation of the sacred.
One of the sacred things I've been stepping into is Communion. That's honestly the main thing I miss whenever I'm not at church. I've grown to love the cracker pieces and wine glasses passed down the pew. I love taking strength there, remembering that I am here because of Christ, that it is only through Him that I can do anything. I don't think the bread and wine are literally Jesus's body and blood, but I do think there is something far more sacred going on than I ever realized. I think there is some special grace in taking Communion, some acknowledgment of our humility and dependency, some concrete action of finding purpose and strength in Him.
The other sacred thing I've been stepping into is the Church. I just googled "Is the Church a sacrament?" and turns out the Vatican II said there is a sacramental nature to the Church, so good, I'm not alone in thinking this. The thing is, as I've grown weaker this year, more aware of my sins and the sins of the world, I've found real peace in the Church. Not as in they encourage me, though they have. What I mean is, it's so comforting to know that while I struggle and doubt, there are others in the Church who are strong and faithful. When I skipped church this morning, I took strength in knowing that there were others who went, men and women and children who heard the Word and took Communion and echoed creeds. It's not a get-out-of-jail-free pass. It's a genuine grace, I think, this acknowledgment that I cannot be strong all the time, but that God has me as one small piece of a Body--a Body that is strong, that continues when I am not physically present. There is such comfort in seeing faith as communal rather than individualistic.
I'm turning mystical, I guess, and pretty High Church. I just love it. I love stepping outside of myself and realizing how dependent I am upon God's grace, how I need physical manifestations of His grace to eat and drink, how I need relational manifestations of His grace to serve Him when I cannot. It's all just crazy enough to make sense.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Too Beautiful
I stumbled across this playlist of epically beautiful instrumental music, and I actually had to stop what I was doing to stare open-mouthed at my computer during one song. It was so beautiful I wanted to turn it off, as if it were too much of a good thing, like my ears and my mind wouldn't be able to stand so much purity and clarity.
Beauty is, I think, sadly lacking in everyday life. Efficiency and practicality are useful and good, but when we laud these virtues at the expense of beauty, I wonder if we aren't losing something precious. Beauty is a sign, an arrow that points to the reality of "now and not yet." This ache I feel around something too beautiful makes me all too aware that this is my life--I am meant for something great, and there is joy and peace in eternity. But at the same time, right now life is streaked with selfishness and abuse and despair. Beauty highlights ugliness. It makes us aware of what life should be and in contrast, what life is.
We need those reminders, whether we find them in music, in stories, in forests, in architecture, in mathematical formulas, in gears aligning, in galaxies, in paintings. We need beauty.
(Also I just read Rollo Mays' The Courage to Create, which has greatly influenced my opinion on the universality of creativity. It's quite short and I highly recommend it for those who care about such things.)
Beauty is, I think, sadly lacking in everyday life. Efficiency and practicality are useful and good, but when we laud these virtues at the expense of beauty, I wonder if we aren't losing something precious. Beauty is a sign, an arrow that points to the reality of "now and not yet." This ache I feel around something too beautiful makes me all too aware that this is my life--I am meant for something great, and there is joy and peace in eternity. But at the same time, right now life is streaked with selfishness and abuse and despair. Beauty highlights ugliness. It makes us aware of what life should be and in contrast, what life is.
We need those reminders, whether we find them in music, in stories, in forests, in architecture, in mathematical formulas, in gears aligning, in galaxies, in paintings. We need beauty.
(Also I just read Rollo Mays' The Courage to Create, which has greatly influenced my opinion on the universality of creativity. It's quite short and I highly recommend it for those who care about such things.)
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Iceland
I'm reading The Geography of Bliss, in which a melancholy man travels to ten different countries to discover what makes them happy. It's obviously right up my traveling, studying, melancholy alley. It's also made me decide to move to Iceland.
I mean, not really, although I've long been in love with the name Reykjavik (ever since I learned to pronounce it). Iceland is one of the most consistently top-rated happy countries in the world. This is because, Eric Weiner, suggests, they acknowledge life in all its ups and downs. They celebrate both success and failure. They live through dark winters and bright summers. They embrace paradox.
A man named Hilmar told him he was happy and that "I cherish my melancholia...You nurture your little melancholia, and it's like a buzz that makes you feel alive. You snap yourself a little bit, and you feel this relief of how fragile life is and how tremendously fragile you are."
I love this. I think part of what's made my foray into depressed thoughts so overwhelming is the idea that I need to get rid of them. That these are all unhealthy and therefore bad. The trouble is, there is a lot of truth to my sad thoughts! The world is hard, and people do suffer unnecessarily. I'm not about to abandon truth, and so I was stuck.
I like this Icelandic approach of holding both melancholia and happiness in each hand. Of acknowledging the fragility of life and living it anyway. I don't want to be blindly happy, nor do I want to be smothered in sadness. I thought I had to choose between the two, when I really, I just need to choose to let them both exist side-by-side in my mental space and my experience.
That feels so relieving.
I mean, not really, although I've long been in love with the name Reykjavik (ever since I learned to pronounce it). Iceland is one of the most consistently top-rated happy countries in the world. This is because, Eric Weiner, suggests, they acknowledge life in all its ups and downs. They celebrate both success and failure. They live through dark winters and bright summers. They embrace paradox.
A man named Hilmar told him he was happy and that "I cherish my melancholia...You nurture your little melancholia, and it's like a buzz that makes you feel alive. You snap yourself a little bit, and you feel this relief of how fragile life is and how tremendously fragile you are."
I love this. I think part of what's made my foray into depressed thoughts so overwhelming is the idea that I need to get rid of them. That these are all unhealthy and therefore bad. The trouble is, there is a lot of truth to my sad thoughts! The world is hard, and people do suffer unnecessarily. I'm not about to abandon truth, and so I was stuck.
I like this Icelandic approach of holding both melancholia and happiness in each hand. Of acknowledging the fragility of life and living it anyway. I don't want to be blindly happy, nor do I want to be smothered in sadness. I thought I had to choose between the two, when I really, I just need to choose to let them both exist side-by-side in my mental space and my experience.
That feels so relieving.
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