What’s Your Story?

My dad was in the hospital this week. Thankfully, he is out and his prognosis is good. While I hung out with Dad those two days, I was privy to some sad sights. The most tragic was the man recovering from a suicide attempt in a room close to ours. His parents, wife and tiny children sat vigilantly in the waiting room. A guard waited outside his door.

It broke my heart. Those babies and young wife. The parents, so hopeful in their shock and grief. In light of this and all the talk in society about suicide, depression, and anxiety lately, I decided to repost a blog I wrote in 2015, for incourage.me

 So many of us struggle in the area of mental health or love someone who does. It is a lonely, scary business and sometimes terrifying. A different kind of #metoo is happening, a movement of story sharing. There is a beautiful vulnerability in the telling: Those who have suffered from the blues, nudge the issue out of the dark and into the open where light can shine and hope and help can be found. If we tell our stories, it may compel someone who desperately needs a lifeboat, feels isolated, prideful (like me), or too embarrassed to reach out. A friend, acquaintance or even a stranger waits in the wings. We do not have to suffer alone. 

I do not know this young man’s backstory. Did he reach out for help? Did he feel pride and shame before it was too late? My prayer is that this is the beginning of his journey out of the pit. Please Lord, please.

Dear friend, what’s your story?

My story continues. Here is a small dose:

Needing and Being a Friend

A friend loves at all times. {Proverbs 17:17, NKJV}

“I know you’re depressed; don’t try to deny it. I’ll be praying for you; call me if you need me. Or call someone.”

Tossing the phone, I crumpled to the floor. Crushed by Kathy’s words.

She saw through me. I thought my got-it-all-together act was working. Not with this friend, not anymore. Could anyone else suspect the heartache inside my soul too?

Why did I feel the need to hide this dreary secret? Pride, I suppose. I had presented a picture of my world as a woman, wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, church member, and Christian who had it all going on. Thinking if I revealed my true self, others may see me as weak and view my faith shaky.

After all, sad people came to me for help. I was the burden bearer, not the burden sharer. A church leader for goodness’ sake.

However, this life of mine had become an act. I barely made it through each day. I cried myself to sleep each night. Absurdly denying the truth to myself day after day after day. Depression was taking over as my chemical imbalance gained speed with each passing week.

Kathy’s words pricked at my heart. I sensed Gods nudging: It is time to break down your walls. You need a friend to help you.

Picking myself up off the ground, I inhaled a breath of courage and decided to tell someone about my profound sadness. And there it began.

I chose Kimberly, the right friend for the job. Sitting together at dinner, I experienced immense release in the telling as tears dropped on the table between us.

After this initial step, I took a few more — including seeking medical help.

On this healing road, I learned an unexpected thing: Needing a friend can sometimes mean being a friend.

I found it surprising that Kimberly appeared almost happy to hear my struggles. No, that’s not quite right, she was pleased and touched that I came to her baring my heart. I felt my veneer split, adding depth to our relationship by showing my sweet friend I trusted in her worth, by revealing my true, messed–up self.

My pride survived the telling as God humbled me graciously, yet strengthened me too, all in the course of one citrus-salad dinner.

Holding on to my nerve, I sought more support by reaching out to other real and vulnerable women. Admirable (chocolate loving) gals. Friends possessing deep and authentic faith who desired to be there for me.

I landed in their sweet place of acceptance and unconditional love. In return, they received the real, imperfect, armor-free me.

Sometimes the silly armor begins creeping up around me yet again. As I begin putting on the perfect act, I remember that needing can mean being a friend. So I pick up the phone, reach out to my girls and crush the armor.

And you? Is it time to get real? Are you tired of appearing to have it all going on? Is it time to reach out by bringing your heartache, realness, or weakness to the table?

With God’s help, you too may crush that seemingly perfect but cumbersome armor.  I pray the Lord will prick your heart, dear one, let Him lead you to your own trustworthy, admirable, chocolate-loving friend.