10 Ways Catholicism Can Be Harder When You're Depressed

This has not been easy to write.  Talking about depression feels a lot like complaining publicly.  But that is not my purpose. My purpose is to let other people of faith suffering with depression know they're not the only ones, and to help the rest of you to understand us a bit better.

I would like to emphasize as always that what I write is my experience, and may not be universal to all Catholics or Christians struggling with depression. However, I think it is good if others feel they can talk about their own experiences and this is where I know how to start that conversation. 

Without further ado, 10 ways Catholicism can be harder when you're depressed.

1. It's hard to value self-care when you've been taught to value self-sacrifice.

I grew up with the JOY acronym: J, Jesus first, O, others second, Y, yourself last = JOY. Somewhere along my merry vacation-bible-school way, I lost track of the original biblical instruction to "love your neighbor as yourself" and replaced it in my mind with "love your neighbor more than yourself." For someone with depression, that was only one short, easy step away from "you do not matter." Every time I hear a sermon about sacrificing myself for others by doing charitable work or patiently bearing wrongs, I despair a little more on the inside. 

It's not that I don't like helping people. I do. When I have the energy to do it, it's a great distraction from wallowing in self-pity. But I often don't have the energy and feel obligated to overextend myself or else bear an unhealthy burden of guilt. Virtue lies in the middle way between extremes, but that is never easy to find. Instead, I have a hard time acknowledging my own needs or setting boundaries for myself without thinking that God will be disappointed or consider me selfish. Sometimes, my idea of sacrificial love grows so distorted that I believe I must be in pain to be "loving" validly. 

2. It's hard to discern the will of God when your mind can't produce silence.

Another Catholic platitude that has done me more harm than good is the saying "Doing the will of God is always accompanied by a sense of peace."  I don't think I've experienced complete peace in at least 3 years. My anxiety-depression dynamic duo never shuts up. If I do 10 things that please God in a day, my mind will fixate on the one thing I did wrong, or the dozens of things I have yet to do. Of course, on a good day, I can banish these nagging thoughts to a back corner and continue to function appropriately, but muffled nagging isn't what I would call peace.

And if there's no peace, according to the catch phrase, the seal of God's approval is always out of reach. As you can imagine, this does wonders for my self-esteem. Not. 

3. It's hard to love yourself when you think you have a demon instead of an illness. 

Why do people like talking about hell and demons and sin so much? I don't understand it because the people who do this are generally quite pleasant otherwise. In fact, the demon explanation most frequently comes from the most fierce optimists. I think they're genuinely upset that I'm suffering and they want to assure me that God is good and wants good things for me. So my suffering automatically goes in the "bad" category where the demons operate. They encourage me to pray and trust God more because the yucky nasty thoughts obstructing my peace are clearly just the work of the devil. Yes, people literally imply that I have demons in my brain. And since my brain is sick with yucky thoughts and I don't trust it, I sometimes believe them. 

Please think for a moment about how scary it is for a struggling, mentally ill person who desperately wants to make God happy and has spent their whole life trying to be good enough for Him to think that they might be under demonic influence. This is NOT helpful or comforting in any way.

Gorges de la Tour, "The Penitent Magdalene"

4. It's hard to experience reconciliation when you have internalized patterns of self-hatred.

Confession is scary enough for people who DON'T have depression. Nobody likes to go in a dark box to say the things they're most ashamed of to a person who is so holy that they've dedicated their entire life to God and are authorized to represent Him in the sacraments. The sacrament of Reconciliation is supposed to be uncomfortable. We're supposed to be uncomfortable with sin. That's part of how we get better.

But since I'm depressed, I don't always get to feel better, even if I give my best effort toward making a good confession. Remember that muffled nagging I talked about earlier? Examining my conscience triggers it and turns the volume to BLARING. I know that the priest will have no idea I struggle with depression and beating myself up internally all the time, so he might admonish me for something I'm already extremely sensitive about, something that already makes me feel like the slime of the earth. There are some things I do to cope in the middle of depressive episodes, like lashing out at loved ones or at God, that I regret later. I'm not even sure whether I'm culpable for those things or whether they're symptoms of the illness, but I confess them anyway just to be safe. I am always afraid that one unknowing word from a priest I trust will confirm my worst fears about how terrible and unworthy I really am. I then feel guilty for not trusting the priest more since I know he is standing in for Jesus. And when it's over, the self-accusation is still there even though the sin is gone. It takes a lot of faith to confess when confessing doesn't bring relief. It takes a lot of effort to accept God's forgiveness when you still can't quite forgive yourself. 

5. It's hard to cultivate a relationship with God when you're mentally exhausted. 

As painful as confession is for me, thank God I even have the sacraments and other physical structures and rituals in the Catholic Church. It gives me something to work with when I'm too tired to attempt communication with an invisible spiritual being on my own. This is often, since usually I can barely focus enough to interact with the people right in front of me. I feel disconnected from reality on a daily basis; it's called dissociating and it happens to depressed or anxious people a lot. Unfortunately it makes talking to God seem hopeless sometimes. When He and I do talk, a lot of my prayers involve getting angry at Him for allowing me to have depression, or crying and begging Him to make it go away.  It's a start, but it's not nearly as strong as I think it's supposed to be.

6. It's hard to aspire to sainthood when you can't find many role models.

Most of the saints were incredible people who did lots of Things™. You know, running hospitals, writing theology, building orphanages, traveling across the world preaching the gospel to everyone they met. Stuff like that. They had courage, zeal, and energy. I have an illness that makes it hard to even get out of bed in the morning. I don't have much hope of doing any serious Things™ any time soon. I have to reeeallly hunt to find people who served God in a way I am capable of imitating. To be fair, there are some saints who struggled with depression, but most of them lived a good bit before mental illness was understood or diagnosed. This means I often find comfort in reading about them and their mental trials for a while only to stumble upon reference to The Demon Theory and become unnerved again. The literature is improving, but it's improving slowly.

7. It's hard to unite with your faith community when their experience is vastly different from yours.

Faith and community are supposed to go hand in hand, but I often question my place in my parish or among my Catholic friends because I'm just so different. They talk about the presence of God in their lives; I feel alone. They want to go to a Bible study, I probably need to go to therapy or a support group. They want to feed the homeless; I am lucky if I get around to feeding myself. The Christian life ought to be one of joy and service, and I have a very hard time prompting myself to either of those things.  Sometimes I feel so out of place that I wonder whether I belong in the Church at all.

8. It's hard to find relief when you're exposed to condemnation. 

I haven't given up on being the Catholic girl yet, though. Some teachings of the church are stamped so deeply into me at this point in my life that even in my worst moments where I'm in a huge amount of pain, I can't bring myself to use things like drugs, alcohol, sex, or self-harm as escapes. I know that this is a positive, healthy thing in the long run, but it is still difficult because in the moment it leaves me feeling like I don't have an outlet for relief from my depressive episodes. I'm torn between the temptation to instant comfort and the fear of incurring the wrath of God.

Being vulnerable to temptation as a depress-ee also makes me more sympathetic than many of my fellow Catholics are to people who do choose those outlets, and sometimes my sympathy is perceived as failure to uphold my values.  I have little patience for the people in my church I used to look up to who think holiness means protecting yourself from anyone who might carry sin with them, even though I know they mean well. I try not to be angry at their reserved attitude toward the sinful people I love, but I've started to take it more personally as the depression has worn me down.  They don't realize how much they make me doubt myself because they don't realize how close I am to being just like the people they exclude.  Their doctrine of the upright has done some serious damage to my trust in God's mercy. Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.

9. It's hard to forgive yourself for being sick when you worship someone perfect.

When I'm sad and scared and I don't know why, the last shred of control I have is the ability to place blame.  It at least lets me feel that I have somewhere to direct all my overwhelming emotions.  The pain is just a touch less dreadful when you know where it's coming from.  However, if you are a Catholic you know that God is perfect and loving. Sin and its effects, such as suffering, are never God's fault. If I blame God, I know I'm wrong and if I blame the devil I'm afraid that means agreeing with the demons-in-your-brain people, so that leaves little old me as the lucky recipient of all the blame.  I know it's not quite my fault, but I know that my brain is the faulty apparatus and somehow that's enough for me to take on a sense of culpability for my illness.

10. It's hard to get better when you're afraid of the remedy.

When I tell people who know and love me that I am depressed, they often make a referral. They say that they will pray for me and they remind me to rely on God.  And I try.  But because of all the 9 reasons I talked about above, sometimes the thought of God is more panic-inducing than comforting.  No matter how much I wish I could trust him and let go of the dark anxious thoughts, I feel defeated and unworthy because I just don't have the power to make it stop. My own mind is against me, and in a way maybe that's worse than having a demon in your head; demons can be cast out, but I can't cast out myself.  I'm stuck with me whether I like it or not.

Dear Other Depressed Humans,

I am here and this is what I am dealing with. You are not alone.  If you feel that way I encourage you with all my heart to talk to me; it might help us both. Leave me a comment, send me a message, invite me to get coffee. We can watch movies on my couch in silence and take a break from trying to defend our existence to ourselves.  We can catch up without asking each other whether we've been productive or successful enough.  We can feel a little better for once.

Dear Other Catholics or Christians,

Please reassure us that we belong.  Please have the humility to listen to us and try to understand a little better.  Please stop just praying for us and start praying with us, because sometimes we feel like we can't approach God on our own.  We wish that our faith was untouched by our depression, but it's not.  The mental distortions that make other things in life hard for us make Catholicism hard for us, too.  That does not make us bad Catholics.  In the words of one of my readers, "may mental illness one day be seen as the illness it truly is, not flawed character."

love,

Sarah

The Forgiveness Myth

I do not enjoy forgiving people because it makes me feel like a doormat. I would honestly rather get all Carrie Underwood/Miranda Lambert up in their faces flaunting a shotgun or a gossip column or a skilled shade-throwing rapper or some other medium of revenge. Essentially, I don't want to act like nothing is wrong because something is wrong and I would be deceiving the world to pretend there isn't. Honesty matters.

Additionally, people I love and I have been lied to, cheated, manipulated, scandalized, and verbally abused, to our faces and behind our backs. These are unacceptable behaviors that I never want to excuse. Consequences can impede the offender from inflicting further hurt. That's a good thing.
But I also don't want to be accused of "playing the victim" (even if I happen to be one), ruining someone's reputation, or judging someone solely for their mistakes. There are often explanations (not necessarily excuses) for the behavior of others that I may be unaware of. I am a mature and gracious 22-year-old woman who can handle herself. Sometimes.

The dialogue above usually leaves me stuck in a nebulous mess of emotions wondering what to do whenever I am hurt, thinking that forgiving = being a doormat but resisting = being a bitch *ahem* unkind person. I call this the forgiveness myth. So, to alleviate some of that confusion for myself and others, here are a few forgiveness myths that trip me up when I'm processing painful situations, which I have become a bit better at recognizing and refuting. Hopefully you can find some clarity from these reflections, too.

Myth #1: Forgiveness means restoring the relationship to the way it was before. 

100% FALSE. Forgiveness and reconciliation are two separate things. None of my relationships with people who hurt me stay the same after I've truly forgiven them. Keeping things the same is a sign that I'm burying the problem instead of working through the forgiving and healing process. When a friend or family member does something wrong, one of two things needs to happen, depending on the offense and on the degree to which remorse is expressed. 

If the injury was less grave, and/or if the person shows true regret (key word shows, not says) then after an honest discussion and an offer of forgiveness, plus whatever amount of time I need to heal, the relationship will usually grow stronger. This is a result of the increased honesty that comes from confronting a conflict together and the increased trust that comes from seeing that person strive to treat me better. I call that reconciliation and it is obviously the preferred outcome.

Yet in some cases, the person has hurt me so deeply or has shown such a lack of respect or empathy that the relationship will suffer. This is the case especially if someone enacts a pattern of harmful behavior rather than an isolated instance. I will then choose to invest less time and trust, avoid one-on-one encounters, or even cease contact with the person all together. Minimizing or ending a hurtful or abusive relationship does not mean you aren't being forgiving. Forgiveness is not an arbitrary virtue; it has a purpose. The purpose of forgiveness is to treat all human beings with respect and love for their intrinsic value, and to put an end to the cycle of hurting them. If I withheld my forgiveness from someone, that would be reducing them to the sum of the bad thing(s) they did to me instead of treating them like a person with inherent goodness, and in my bitterness I would be wishing for or even instigating further hurt, this time directed at them and not me. I can instead choose to wish for or instigate healing for that person. But I am a person too, so I owe respect to myself as well. Therefore if I have reason to believe that a someone will continue to seriously hurt me by staying in my life, it is in keeping with the value of forgiveness to cut off that relationship. Healing the trauma, vices, and destructive habits of others is not my responsibility in every case.

Myth #2: Forgiveness is a one-and-done deal.

Usually, FALSE. Human existence is about progress, not perfection. I think a large portion of my reader demographic is familiar with the biblical advice of Jesus to forgive people "not seven times but seventy-seven times" (Matthew 18:22). I used to interpret that as Jesus advocating for giving individuals second and seventy-seventh chances. I still think it can and should be read that way (God knows I've messed up more than 77 times in my life and could stand to have Him cut me a little slack,) but I also read it in a new way now. I think sometimes you need to forgive the same incident more than once, that it can take 77 times before the forgiveness really sticks. You have to come back to it and take it a layer deeper each time. I've thought I had reached complete forgiveness before only to grow in an unexpected way later in life and find out that the old wound is radiating a new pain now that I see situations in my past differently. It takes some reflection and self-awareness over the course of multiple growing periods, not a eureka moment of magic and grace, to heal some of the worse hurts in my life.

Myth #3: Forgiveness makes you feel better.

FALSE. (Unfortunately.) Forgiving people is not nearly as satisfying as throwing eggs at their houses. If forgiving someone feels crappy to you, it does not mean you are a terrible person. It means you have a conscience. Consciences come with a desire for justice. You might really want someone to make amends or suffer consequences for their mistakes if they hurt you. That's natural and even justified, and is not incompatible with forgiving someone. The neighborly old man forgives Johnny for breaking his window with a baseball, but Johnny still has to pay up for a new window. It's good for Johnny, even, because in theory it teaches him to be more careful in the future. If a not-so-neighborly old man whacks Johnny with the baseball bat and tells him to go drown in a creek, that's a different story. Wanting justice is one thing, wanting evil or harm for the other person is a whole other ball game.

Note: You may not get to see Taylor Swift and the Justice League show up to dish out a healthy serving of karma, because that's not always your job. You get to impose consequences in some cases. but in others you will feel a disturbing lack of closure. Forgiveness, however, is still your job no matter what. I'm still working on accepting this one. It's hard to love somebody who got away free in your eyes. It's hard to love somebody you aren't speaking to anymore. Personally, I have to ask the man upstairs for help regularly and trust him to sort things out for me. I also have to mind my own business and put my energy into the things I want and need to do instead of into uncooperative people beyond my control.

Myth #4: Forgiveness is selfless. 

FALSE-ISH. This is one of my favorites. This is where the forgiver gets the good end of the deal in spite of the nasty painful stuff we just talked about in #3. Forgiving others is actually a form of self love, because being merciful to others forces you to be merciful to yourself. When you are extremely hard on others, you are likely to feel the need to apply the same severity to yourself when you make a mistake. But avoiding the habit of using mistake-making as a measure of personal worth can reverse some of that unnecessary emotional violence. You are more than your own collateral damage. You are not perfect. You may have done as bad as or worse than the people you are angry with. You will at times be angry with yourself. You deserve forgiveness, too (even for not being good at forgiving). You should be challenging and pushing the limits on your ability to forgive because it is good for others AND because it is healthy for YOU.

Another cool "selfish" thing about forgiveness is that when you are the injured party you get to make the rules. You know the situation and the harm inflicted the best, so you should be the one to choose what will best allow you healing. People will try to tell you that you are not forgiving enough or not forgiving correctly, or will even say you are "too forgiving." These people do not see your injured heart from the inside. Listen carefully to advice from people who know you well and whom you trust, but ultimately only you can know what is right and appropriate as far as the future of a broken relationship goes. You do not need to explain to everyone why you are ending a friendship, or why you are rebuilding one. Those who care about you should follow your lead in caring for yourself after a painful experience.

CHRISTIAN BONUS-- Myth #5: God doesn't forgive you till you forgive others.

First, God is outside of time, you puny human. In all seriousness, God doesn't forgive- he IS forgiveness. He enacted this integral part of his identity by sacrificing himself on the cross and that sacrifice is an eternal umbrella that covers every moment wherein you have screwed up and every moment wherein you have sought his forgiveness. God doesn't change. He exists as a constant source of love and mercy. What changes is our openness to those graces. 

Also, as I said before, forgiveness and reconciliation are two different things. God is always forgiving, but this is only the beginning of who He is. He also longs for reconciliation with us. He wants us to let Him back into our mistakes so He can help us to heal. This is a strong desire, not a condition. God's forgiveness is perfect and ours is human, which means that "forgive us as we forgive" is only half the story. God challenges us to forgive the way He does, but don't put God on hold because you know he expects you to forgive and you can't yet. Let him be a part of the process.

Love to you all,

Sarah