My mental health and me

In 1982 aged 10 my mental health broke for the first time. There is a reason they used to describe episodes or periods of bad mental health as ‘breakdowns’, to my 10yr old self my mind, actually, my whole self just broke one day. It didn’t feel like a gradual decline, something broke and I couldn’t, and more frightening for me, my parents couldn’t fix it. I can identify this episode as debilitating anxiety. My mum took me to our GP who accused her of wrapping me in cotton wool and prescribed adult antidepressants (48 hours later I was in intensive care). I have very vivid memories of those couple of days in hospital, my granny holding my hand and a doctor sitting on my bed telling me that my mum and dad couldn’t make me better I would have to fight this on my own – I remember quietly thinking, “he doesn’t know I’m not on my own me and Jesus will do this together.”

It was a slow heal which I don’t remember much detail of, except I’d talk to an adult who would then explain to my parents what was happening, but no one told me. Dad and Mum where amazing at caring for me and I got stronger.

In my mid teens I would have described myself as melancholic but not depressed. It suited the music I liked and the clothes I wore. I do remember a couple of times were my mood was low for longer periods but I put it down to hormones and teenage angst.

Life hurtled into my twenties and by 2000 I was 28, married and we had 3 children under 3 – a newborn, an 11mth baby and a 2yr 8mth old toddler; and we moved into a brand new home as the littlest was being born. Very soon after Matty and I came home from the hospital my mind broke again. This time as an adult I found it even scarier. I had the life I’d always dreamed of and prayed for yet the dark sadness and despair was suffocating. I remember crying when Jason left for work and counting the hours until mum came at 2pm so I could have a nap for an hour and then counting the time until Jason came home from work and find me crying again. I sat at my kitchen table one day with my mum and aunts and I felt I was outside the patio doors looking in. I have never felt as utterly a failure as I did at that time. I know it was the postnatal depression lying to me but when your mind is broken you it’s so difficult to decipher truth from lies. I found that disorienting, truth had always been my compass and I could no longer read the dial. My health visitor was an angel sent to care for me. I have thanked God for MD many many times. She recognised the depression that was overtaking me and rescued me. She took me into the doctor’s room sat with me as I talked to her, they reassured me about the medication that I should try and MD visited me every week for 6 weeks. Her kindness and support were invaluable.

This time the recovery was even slower – 18mths before I felt like myself again and another year on the medication before I was strong enough to slowly come off it. Jesus was very near this time too, but I had less fight in me and I was quieter with Him. He didn’t seem to mind though. On my many bad days, my prayers consisted of 2; in the morning it was “please help me get up,’, the evening was ‘thank you I made it through today.’ Jason was amazing he’d work all day including a 3hr round trip, come home and bath 3 tiny boys and get them ready for bed and so much more. My mum, dad and aunty Kay would be on hand to help with the boys so I could work part-time, do groceries on my own, grab the odd coffee and the occasional date night.

Church was my sanctuary and the place I couldn’t hide. Numerous Sundays I wheeled the double buggy back and forth and wept, and wept, in a safe place where I was supported, loved and never judged. I’d never known a church like this where I could openly weep, where people leaned into my despair instead of turning away. (Forever grateful A&K and CCV).

My mind and soul were slowly healed and I grew strong again and busy with the business of raising boys and soon planting a church ourselves. My mind was healthy. Sure there was stress and strain from time to time. Yea there were seasons of striving and pushing too hard – but that’s what leaders do. Then in 2015 I felt my wheels starting to wobble. “I just need to stop the whirring hamster wheel” I’d hear myself tell people when they’d ask ” how are you really doing?” Or the tears that were too close to the surface I put down to hormones again. In the autumn I hit a wall. That doesn’t quite describe it, but my mind broke again. This time the anxiety was back, but it had crept in so slowly and gradually that I didn’t even recognise it until I’d fallen apart. Back on medication and with counselling, I began to recover. This time I needed to lean on my very close friends as well as my family. Being that vulnerable was difficult but very necessary, I wouldn’t be well without asking for help. There were times when I was sinking so low and then I’d feel the rock beneath me – you know like when you’re swimming in the sea and you put your foot down and you can’t feel the bottom and you panic (or maybe that’s just me) a wave would come and sweep me out and threaten to pull me under but every single time when I stretched my foot out the ground was there. My Jesus, my rock and hiding place was there. In the darkest moments when fear was gripping me I’d pray, “teach me to sleep in the boat in the middle of the storm Jesus, you say we’re going to the other side so teach me to trust you enough that I can rest in your love rather than listening to the storm feat and anxiety.’

Now here I am in 2019. I’m still on medication. Last summer the anxiety spiked again but I’m learning to tame it rather than fight it all the time. Fighting is exhausting, taming is a regular practice. Taming looks like adding healthy practices to my life that have made such a difference – daily time with Jesus, a weekly Sabbath and regular holidays have become my lifesavers. Unapologetic naps, learning to say no and asking for help are essential too. I used to hear pastors speak about “working from rest instead of resting from work” and I’d honestly want to throw something at them but I’m slowly getting it.

Why am I talking about this now? Because I want to open the conversation for you to talk about your mental health brokenness or to have the conversation with someone you care about who you have concerns for.

First thing please please see a medical professional, take someone with you if it’s too difficult to go alone. I am so very thankful for the medical professionals in my story who have helped me.

Secondly don’t do this on your own. Gather your people. Be vulnerable, honest and ask for help.

Thirdly (and definitely not last) invite Jesus into the centre of it all. He will never look away from pain or brokenness he always leans in.