I’m not okay… but I will be.

I don’t like to write in this sort of headspace. I want to process what I’m feeling and then wrap it up with a bow and present to the world in hopes that maybe I can help someone dig out from whatever feelings they are buried under. I’m not there. I don’t know how this ends. I can’t yet see a light at the end of the tunnel… I just see a lot of pitch black.

I’m not okay. I’m crying pretty much daily. Sometimes hourly. The rest of the time, I’m numb. On the worst days, I wonder why I was ever born. I’ve forgotten who I am. I question every decision I make. I doubt myself, constantly. Before we move forward, yes, I’m in therapy. Yes, I am taking medication. Yes, the people around me know how dark it is. Yes, I’m praying… SCREAMING, begging, pleading, crying out to God on a loop in my head. I am.

And I have assigned myself the following tasks daily:

• Go for a walk.
• Do one creative thing each day, even if it’s just making a latte or doodling.
• Read my Bible.
• Worship.
• Drink plenty of water.
• Eat good food.
• Watch the sunset.

I like to give myself a grade each day. Most days are C’s. Others are D’s and F’s. Basically, I’m failing. I find reasons not to get the walk in. I end up doom scrolling on the couch for far too long. I think about doing some painting or cleaning/reorganizing (yes, this is a weirdo creative thing I love to do), but I’m too numb. So I sit there. And dread the next day.

If we were sitting down to coffee, you might ask, “When did this all start? You were so happy?” And my honest answer would be that I’ve battled depression since I was a child. We didn’t talk about it much in the 80s and 90s, not like we do now. I remember the first time our school got a counselor. I can’t remember her name, but I remember feeling like she was one of the first people who truly saw me. She gave us a life event stress assessment. We circled events that we had experienced so far in our life. I don’t remember my score, but as I finished and glanced at other children’s papers across the room, I noticed mine had considerable more circles than others. As she collected the papers, she paused when she picked mine up. She looked back at me and gave me a smile and moved on down the row of desks.

Later that day, she came and pulled me from class and took me to her office. She started out by just getting to know me. Then she pulled out that stress assessment… “I was looking at your worksheet and wow, you’ve been through a lot. I’m so sorry.” She went on to explain that when we experience a lot of stress, it puts a lot of strain on our bodies and brains. And she encouraged me to talk about how I felt. I didn’t know how I felt. I knew I always felt like a problem. I knew I never was the student that my siblings were in school so I felt dumb and like a failure. I knew I always felt like I was too loud or annoying or took up too much space. But I didn’t know why I felt that way. Or that the sickness I felt in my stomach each morning and not wanting to go to school was actually what anxiety looked like in children.

As I write this, I wonder… what would I score on a life stress assessment now…

I took a quick Stress Assessment on https://www.bemindfulonline.com/. It was asking me questions about my stress level just in the last month. This is my current score:

As I shared in my last post, my summer mostly sucked. MS reminded me it was still around and losing feeling in my right arm and leg for much of June and July left me feeling sub-human. And then August came. And August brought more feelings of self-doubt and hurt feelings and then a critical illness of my sweet mother-in-law. She was in the hospital for a month and then passed away in September. Watching my precious husband and kids, my sisters-in-law and brothers-in-law, my father-in-law, and so many other family members grieve added to my own grief over losing her broke my heart. While we know more than anything in this world that she is in Heaven and we are rejoicing her pain on earth is over, she left a pretty big hole down here.

And the last thing my husband needs in this world is to have to continue to be a caregiver for me and help me navigate this depression I’m feeling. I feel horribly guilty. The feelings of being a failure are back. I don’t feel like I’m helpful in any area of my life. My confidence is shattered. And I just continue to feel like I’m not measuring up.

It feels like my life took a turn in 2020 and I’ve been trying everything in my power to get it back on track ever since. Dozens of doctors visits, thousands of prayers, a much needed job change and hours of therapy. And right now… it feels like I’m back to square one. I don’t know where to go from here.

Early on in therapy, I would tell Amber some horrific story that had happened. When I tell someone the details of abuse I experienced or witnessed as a kid, I can see the pain in their eyes… and it’s uncomfortable for me. And I want to make it okay for them… so I make a joke or say, “But it’s okay!” or “Don’t worry, I’m okay!”… Amber was the first person that pointed that out to me that I do that… And she said, “I want you to stop saying ‘but it’s okay’… It’s not okay… Let’s find a new phrase… maybe ‘It’s not okay… but I got this.’ or ‘It’s not okay… but I will be.'”

So, I’m using her words today to try to find a sliver of light… It’s not okay. Today is not okay. How I feel is not okay… But I will be. I have to believe that. Someday, I will be okay.