Empathy

I have a story to tell.

On August 9th in 1995, I was born.

On August 9th, 2019, I sat with my dear friend Emma in Reza's coffeeshop of Dayton's Oregon district, right around the corner from where 9 people were shot to death less than a week before.

On August 9th, 1942, a woman named Edith Stein died in an Auschwitz-Birkenau gas chamber.

It seems unlikely that these parallel dates are a meaningless coincidence. It turns out that Stein is exactly the role model I need for the kind of life I want to live and the time in history I have to live it in.

Edith was born in Germany in 1891 to a devout Jewish family whom she loved dearly, but she declared herself an atheist in her early teens. She was open minded, inquisitive, and ambitious, and cared deeply about truth and morality.

Edith pursued an education in philosophy, specifically a developing branch called phenomenology (she actually studied under the founder of this discipline, Edmund Husserl, and was his personal assistant for over a year). Phenomenology, to the best of my understanding, is a school of thought that is interested in consciousness and the human experience that stems from it--so, with understanding the world as we the people perceive it.

(I'm currently interested in phenomenology and its more modern counterpart, cognitive science, for some of the same attributes that I think drew Edith to it. Phenomenology, in my opinion, is where the rubber of abstract thought hits the road of reality and lived experience. It seeks to understand humanity without imposing unrealistic ideals upon it.)

Edith, not one to let let idealism and abstraction blind her to her duty of living a good life, took this philosophical lens and ran with it. She decided to get a doctorate degree and chose "Empathy" as the subject for her thesis.

When World War I broke out, she put her empathy into action, put her studies on pause, and did some nursing work in an infectious diseases hospital. This in no way held her back; she finished her thesis and was awarded her doctorate "summa cum laude" in 1916.

Despite her high achievements and her ambitious series of applications, she was unable to secure a university-level position because she was a woman. She studied independently while enduring the grueling application process. During these studies she read the spiritual writings of the female Carmelite mystic Teresa of Avila and was so inspired that in 1922 she was baptized a Catholic, and merged her newfound religious conviction with her already strong network of moral beliefs.

She became a teacher at a women's college, continued to write, and delivered many lectures. Some of her most well-known work is on the subject of women and their essential role in society and in the church. Stein argues that women want to "comprehend not merely with the intellect but with the heart", that their presence in a variety of spheres of the working world and of governing systems is necessary because they have a natural gift for treating problems in an interpersonal, holistic, and empathetic manner instead of being diverted by extremes, abstractions, and impersonal, objective trajectories of thought. (Sound familiar? It's phenomenology, but feminized!)

Edith is very clear that this does not mean men cannot be empathetic or that women cannot think abstractly, but rather that what she sees as men and women's *overall* (there are exceptions of course) natural tendencies to these differences can in fact provide mutual enrichment when men and women interact and treat one another as equals.

I found out yesterday that a unifying trait of many of the perpetrators of mass shootings in recent times (who are almost unilaterally men) is their disdain and disrespect for women. Many of them have histories of sexual aggression or domestic violence. Perhaps it is this quality of women, this insistence upon a holistic and empathetic and nuanced view of the world and the people that live in it, that they abhor. 

It is my belief that hatred springs naturally from extremism. Whenever someone becomes immersed so deeply in a belief or an ideal that it dominates their entire worldview, they are bound to see anything or anyone that deviates from that central belief as a threat. Misogyny, racism, religious fundamentalism- these are all extremes of belief. And these extremes of belief are responsible for the overwhelming majority of hate crimes and wars and other violences throughout human history.

Edith embodied everything that threatens extremists. She was ethnically Jewish. She was educated. She was an educator, and promoted critical thinking and the liberal arts, which are essential to the understanding of the cultural diversities that the Nazi nationalists worked so hard to wipe out. (An essential step in building an empire is robbing those outside the dominant group of their cultural heritage.) She was a woman, and a kind and thoughtful one. She was Catholic not out of a desire for superiority and self-righteousness and defense against other-ness, but out of a desire for relationship with God, service to others, and pursuit of moral truth.

Edith lost her job as a teacher because she didn't have an "Aryan certificate." She joined a Carmelite convent of nuns in part from a desire to serve God but also as a safety measure--nuns don't go out in public much. She still had to wear a Star of David on her nun's habit (robe).

She didn't take well to hiding; that wasn't her style. She continued her academic activism. Her fellow Carmelites encouraged her in a new writing project, a personal narrative about growing up in an ordinary Jewish family, meant to show that Jews were no less human than any other German citizens.

She also wrote a letter to the pope, hoping to compel him to speak out against the Nazi agenda. Here's some of what she said:

"For weeks we have seen deeds perpetrated in Germany which mock any sense of justice and humanity, not to mention love of neighbor. For years the leaders of National Socialism have been preaching hatred of the Jews.... But the responsibility must fall, after all, on those who brought them to this point and it also falls on those who keep silent in the face of such happenings.

Everything that happened and continues to happen on a daily basis originates with a government that calls itself 'Christian'. For weeks not only Jews but also thousands of faithful Catholics in Germany, and, I believe, all over the world, have been waiting and hoping for the Church of Christ to raise its voice to put a stop to this abuse of Christ's name. Is not this idolization of race and governmental power which is being pounded into the public consciousness by the radio open heresy? Isn't the effort to destroy Jewish blood an abuse of the holiest humanity of our Savior, of the most blessed Virgin and the apostles? Is not all this diametrically opposed to the conduct of our Lord and Savior, who, even on the cross, still prayed for his persecutors? And isn't this a black mark on the record of this Holy Year which was intended to be a year of peace and reconciliation? We all, who are faithful children of the Church and who see the conditions in Germany with open eyes, fear the worst for the prestige of the Church, if the silence continues any longer."

There she is, folks. Sharp as a tack, ahead of her time, and not afraid to call out the Holy Father of Rome himself.

I read this and almost immediately realized I could copy and paste some of this and apply it to current events:

For months we have seen deeds perpetrated at the border which mock any sense of justice and humanity, not to mention love of neighbor...

Everything that happened and continues to happen on a daily basis originates with a government that calls itself 'Christian'...Is not this idolization of race and governmental power which is being pounded into the public consciousness by the media open heresy? Isn't the effort to destroy immigrant lives an abuse of the holiest humanity of our Savior, of the Holy Family who themselves fled their country Israel to Egypt to escape violence? ...We all, who are faithful children of the Church and who see the conditions in the United States with open eyes, fear the worst for the already tarnished prestige of the Church, as well as for the safety of the people, the children of God, if the silence continues any longer.

Parallel.

As the anti-Semitism in Germany grew worse, Edith's fellow Carmelites sent her and her sister out of the country in 1939 to a convent in Holland, hoping to protect them. Edith wasn't convinced they could outrun the Nazis for long. She was right. Nazi power and ideology spread to the Netherlands, and the Catholic bishops there publicly denounced it. In retribution, a manhunt for Jewish converts to Catholicism began and Edith and her sister were arrested and deported to a concentration camp.

Edith spent her time at Auschwitz caring for the other frightened inmates, especially the children, until her execution.

This year, on the anniversary of her death and my birth, I was trying to celebrate my life even though I had a lot on my mind, even though I felt overwhelmed by the muddle of politics and policies and pain. I was still reeling in the wake of the shootings in my hometown and in El Paso, Texas, and the news of ICE raids leaving school children without parents to come home to.

There was room for both comfort and concern as Emma and I drank tea and coffee. We talked about compassion. We talked about religion at its best and at its worst, about our hopes for faith as radical love and social justice and our fears for faith as a hiding place and a band-aid and (God-forbid) as a weapon of oppression. We talked about our own lives- the kinds of careers we want to have, her in psychology and me in literature, both of us in the business of opening and healing minds. We talked about the kinds of families we want to raise, ones that live out of empathy rather than extremism. We wondered what more we could do.

I'm not sure I have any answers to that yet, but I thought it was important to let you all know that smart and strong-hearted women like Edith have been working on it for years, and that smart and strong-hearted women like Emma and like me are working on it still. I hope we become the kind of people Edith Stein would be proud of. 

Peace be with you.

~Sarah

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

Ready, Set, Collide

She said, "The dangerous thing about that mindset is that it projects fear onto outside forces, when in reality, the demons are inside us." 

Have you ever heard just one line of poetry, one piece of advice, one song lyric, one aphorism that rearranges the whole system of your thoughts?

The quote above, courtesy of my therapist, did just that for me.

I was going through an excruciating breakup, trying to get a grip on my newly-identified anxiety and depression, and to top it all off, dealing with that phase of growing pains right between adolescence and adulthood.  I wanted to be independent and make my own decisions, but at the same time adult life was already hurting me, and I was afraid of it. I was pretty much ready to hide under my blankets and never come out.

Instead, I was sitting in her office on a red couch that was trying so hard to be comfortable that it almost swallowed me, pouring out my woes as casually as possible and trying not to reach for the very obviously placed box of tissues. I didn't have the right to cry. I was 20, I believed in God, I had a loving family, I shouldn't need to have an emotional breakdown.  My life should be under control.

She was good at noticing all those "shoulds" that have consumed me for years. I absorb them everywhere.  I existed half in a world of cookie-cutter Christians that all went from homeschooling to Catholic colleges (except me) and had strong opinions about what kind of clothes and music were appropriate in churches, and half in a hectic family of eight dealing with the death of a grandfather and two male toddlers who had no low-volume setting. It was a hot mess, so I knew I couldn't be one, too. There was no room for my inconvenient needs or mistakes. The fact that I even had to be here made me a failure; I had messed myself up badly enough to need special treatment.

I explained to her how I had taken the risk of dating someone from outside the "fortress" of the Catholic homeschool community despite their skepticism, and the whole thing had fallen apart, making me doubt my own judgement and feel the need for childlike reliance on my parent's wisdom more than ever. I explained that as frustrating as it was, the most obvious course of action for me was to try to forget my pain ever happened and retreat back into the safe zone under the protection and guidance of other smarter, holier people.

She listened with this intent, almost frowning look on her face, nodding slowly. Then it was her turn.

"I used to homeschool my kids," she started. "And I met some very good people with good intentions, but I couldn't help but feel out of place once I put my kids in public school. Because you're right, that culture tends to be very fear-based and the dangerous thing about that mindset is that it projects fear onto outside sources when in reality the demons are inside us."

She was right. I may be confused about where I'm going. I may not be safe.  I may be messed up. I still deal with a lot of the problems I brought to her on a daily basis, but I refuse to die inside yet. I also refuse to believe that hiding under the blankets will solve it. I learned from Lecrae Moore that "You can't be part of the healing process if you run away at the sight of blood." I learned from Miguel de Unamuno that "una fe que no duda es una fe muerta." (Translation: Faith that does not doubt is dead faith.) I learned from Pope Francis that a church soiled by the mud of the streets is preferable to a church suffocated by staying isolated indoors (Evangelii Gaudium, paraphrase).  I learned from myself that the only way to survive the world and still have a heart at the end is to collide head-on with it. That's why I chose the title of this blog. I write because I am outgrowing my hiding places and I am trying to bring you out into the open with me before I let my demons kill me.

Hiding from imperfection is not avoiding evil; it's avoiding redemption. 

Choosing not to say anything when you know your friend is struggling is hiding from redemption. Giving up on forgiving someone after what they did hits you in the heart for the seventeenth time is hiding from redemption. Shutting down your blog because you feel like you say the same thing over and over and no one gets it (including you yourself) is hiding from redemption. Working your butt off so that you don't have to think about how much pain you're in is hiding from redemption. Holding yourself to an inhuman standard of perfection so that you never have to admit you're afraid God doesn't love you is hiding from redemption. Not allowing yourself to cry in front of people who seem to have it together is hiding from redemption. Spending time exclusively with an elite group of Christians who put up the same facade you do is hiding from redemption. Assuming you already know how God feels about you or about anyone else is hiding from redemption.

What God Actually Wants 101 (Don't get mad this is from the Bible not me okay): 

Person who dresses correctly, follows rules, gives donations, offers knowledge to others, surrounds self with like-minded individuals, is easily offended by sin, makes self useful, reads scripture and proclaims it to others= "brood of vipers."

Person who hurts self and others, doesn't understand rules, is cast out by community, asks for help, feels inconvenient, blames self before others, appears to be wasting time or resources, deserves to be punished, publicly admits shortcomings= literally all the people Jesus had meaningful and healing interactions with. 

This is why I don't understand God.  In fact I think most of us don't, especially the ones who grow up thinking we do-- like me. I am at a point in my life where I'm not really sure I know who God is or what He wants, because I'm finding out it is often the opposite of what I would attribute to him. I still assume I know. I still hurt people. I still don't take care of myself. I still hold grudges and neglect responsibilities and want my own way. And I still hide under my blankets.  I know I said that wasn't the answer, but I still do it.

The Catholic Church celebrates Holy Week this week, which is a week about not hiding from something terrible. This is when Catholics remember that Jesus was convicted of criminal activity, tortured and publicly executed by the Roman Empire at the request of those brood-of-viper-people, and then somehow miraculously was seen alive three days later.  They say that all happened because He thought it was important for you to know He doesn't like those perfect people any better than you. There's even an indication that He still loves you even though He knows about all those things you did and why you did them. But that's not my business or your mother's business or your boyfriend's business or even the Pope's business. That's between you and Him to determine whether it's true.

Honestly you don't need me to tell you why you're hurting or which part of you needs fixing or what the solution is. The real demons aren't out here in the world somewhere for me to pin down and write away. They're the ones you already know really well because you are dealing with them right now as you read. You might call them sins or addictions or bad habits or maybe illnesses or heartbreaks or failures. They're not all your fault, but they are still yours. You probably hate them more than anything in the world, when you slow down enough to feel their presence.

If you can relate to any of this, I'm sorry I can't destroy them for you but I'm here for you. I'm still trying instead of caving to anxiety and doubt and depression because of you, because I want to prove to myself and the world that we misfits are loved. We are the ones who are called the children of God-- whether we like it or not. We are the ones who Redemption is happening for. And it--He--doesn't need you to do this thing properly.

He wants you, ready or not, to collide with His messy, crazy love. That's the only way He ever uses to bring things back to life, and if it breaks you, he is strong enough to pick up the pieces.


That is the God I believe in.

Anxiety and Depression: 7 Things You Can Do To Help

I wish I didn't have to write this post. Unfortunately, I think it is needed.

People with mental illness have been accused of using their illness as a crutch.  They have been blamed for not trying hard enough to get better. We know so many people who think taking a medication for our illness is "unnatural" that we're amazed we ever talked ourselves into going to the doctor for a prescription. We've been told we just need to think more positively and that will fix our attitude. Our doctors make remarks like "everyone gets stressed in college," and we wonder if we're overreacting. We've heard family and friends talk about mental illness as if they are authorities, assuming that we just need to "deal with it."  Some people are willing to offer support to us only on the condition that we are not "using depression/anxiety as an excuse."  And last but absolutely not least, there is the classic religious response that anxiety and depression are a spiritual attack straight from the devil himself and that if we were holy enough we could just shake it off.

 The people who said these sorts of things to me are for the most part people who care about me and mean well. I believe that they intended to help, comfort, or advise me. The problem is that I have tried to believe almost every one of these perspectives and my anxiety has twisted them even further out of reality. I have convinced myself that all the suffering is my fault, that I am the problem and that I could be getting better faster if I wasn't so selfish and lazy and defective and problematic.  These beliefs have had such an unhealthy grip on me (and on others with mental illness) that I am writing this post to explain and defend myself to the world, something no one should really have to do.  I am writing this to convince myself just as much as to convince you.

This is what mental illness stigma looks like.  In fact, this is a really good example to illustrate that mental illness is not rational.  Anxiety and depression are different from stress and sadness and lethargy because they aren't proportionate to the reality of situations and they can't be cured or silenced by factual observations.

But, facts are still important.  For example, it's a fact that depression and anxiety are real chemical imbalances in the brain. It is a fact that people can genetically inherit these illnesses, and that they may need treatment- which for some people may be a medication to restore the chemical balance. It's a fact that even though they are mental illnesses, anxiety and depression have physical symptoms like fatigue, loss of sleep, cold hands, panic attacks, muscle tension, and more.  It is a fact that more than 15 million adults in the United States struggle with depression and more than 40 million struggle with anxiety disorders.  So, by extension, it is also a fact that there is likely someone in your life dealing with one of these illnesses and you don't even know it. It is a fact that that these illnesses are treatable...but there is a difference between "treatable" and"curable."  There is a difference between coping effectively with an illness and not having an illness at all, a difference between finding healthy solutions to a problem and not having a problem to begin with.

Finally, it is a fact that these illnesses are serious and need to be taken seriously.  It is a fact that depression can be lethal.  It is a fact that some people who do not get the help they need die from mental illness. It is not trivial, and it deserves more than a band-aid or a casual anecdote in the way of support.  I hope that if you have read this far, it means you care enough to want to help.  It can be hard to understand mental illness if you have never experienced it, and you may not know where to start.  I am here to help you help us.  My suggestions are not exhaustive and they may not apply universally for every person with a mental illness, but they are a good starting point and will hopefully help you to communicate with your friends and relatives about the support they need.

1. Remind us to take care of ourselves.
If we seem to be overextended or just plain hard to put up with, this is the best place to start.  Did we get enough sleep? Have we eaten anything healthy recently? Have we eaten at all? Do we need a cup of tea or a hot shower? When was the last time we took our medication? My best friend and I both deal with anxiety and depression on a daily basis and check-ups like these are one of the most important things we do for each other. We can easily get so wrapped up or bogged down in our anxiety that simple self-care slips our minds or at least takes a backseat to our raging internal dialogue. Depression especially can drain us of the motivation we need to complete these care routines. This can make us irritable, numb, and unyielding and we will probably not be able to appreciate any of the other help you may have to offer, however wise it may be, when we are in this burnt-out state.  You can show you care by offering that motivational nudge.

2. Be patient with us.
When you know you have a mental illness and you know your thought patterns are not always healthy, it can be very difficult to sort out your thoughts.  If you need us to explain why we are upset, why we are making a certain decision, or why we feel the way we do, try not to put us on the spot.  It takes time and space for us to sift through our thoughts and weed out the ones that don't make sense so that we can communicate what really matters to us about the situation. We want to open up, but it's challenging when we don't get the room we need to do so.

We also appreciate your patience because we know our moods or outbursts are difficult to handle, and we want them to stop just as much as you do.  It's okay to ask us to work on this, but realize we will again need time to develop the strength and the strategies needed for curbing these reactions.

3. When in doubt, ask questions instead of assuming.
It is okay for you to not understand us.  We are not offended that you are still learning about what helps and what doesn't.  We aren't disappointed if you don't have the answer to improving our health right away. But please, try not to assume you know everything about an illness you've never experienced. If you really want to become an expert, you will need to spend more time reading and listening than you do talking.  If you're like the average person and don't have time for that much extensive research, feel free to ask simple questions when you need to care for or understand someone with depression or anxiety.  You can start in the comments on this post if you want!

It's also good to ask questions because this both helps us open up and feel a little more in control.  We don't want to be spoiled or babied through our illness; in fact, we really like those times when we feel strong and capable. If you assume we need you to do things for us that we actually want or like to do on our own, it can seem like an insult to our competence even if it is well-meant. Try to steer clear of assumptions of all kinds and this will help us immensely.

4. If we confide in you, respect our privacy.
I have been very open about my struggles with mental illness, mostly because I know I have a few understanding people backing me up and because I think I can make a small difference by speaking up and educating others.  Not everyone with a mental illness is this comfortable talking about it...honestly, "comfortable" is a strong word even for me. It is very difficult to discuss anything that makes you feel vulnerable. The rushes of thoughts and emotions that come with anxiety and depression are tricky to navigate, and as I mentioned in #2 we don't always understand them ourselves, much less have the ability to explain them to others.  If someone talks to you about their anxiety or depression, you should treat that information carefully and respectfully. Except in cases of emergency, don't share what they told you without their permission. You may simply be looking for better understanding or advice about how to help your loved one when you consult others, but first recognize the courage and trust it took for them to approach you at all. If you still can't decide, see #3.

5. Don't joke about mental illness. Seriously, don't be that guy. 
Hopefully this one is obvious. Making us laugh, even at ourselves, is good.  Very good. Laughter boosts us up against anxiety and depression and we are all for that! Just don't use "humor" that criticizes or misrepresents our illness, even if we're not around.  (As we've already discussed, there is probably someone among your family, friends, or acquaintances that has anxiety or depression and just hasn't told you.) So, telling people to "jump off a cliff" as an affectionate joke? Not okay. Asking sarcastically if someone has taken their meds yet when they seem emotional? Also not okay. I think you get the picture.

6. Don't blame yourself. In fact, don't blame anybody. 
By this time you may be thinking to yourself, "Crap, I've done some or all of these things wrong!" Honestly, in that case, I'm proud of you. You're reading something to educate yourself on how to do better and you're willing to admit your mistakes. Go, you! You should know that it is not your fault that someone close to you is struggling with anxiety or depression. These illnesses often seem to worsen as a direct result of specific experiences or interactions and that makes people feel guilty that something they did or said made the illness worse. This struggle is often especially difficult for parents of individuals with mental illness. They can feel like they failed to recognize the illness soon enough, failed to get their child the right help, failed to prepare their child for certain challenges or to teach them to cope properly. They may even feel that their child is repeating their mistakes. I am here to tell you that taking your loved ones' mental illness personally will not help anyone. You will be a better support if you focus not on whose fault the illness is but on how best to support your loved one through their treatment. (Besides, science points to anxiety and depression being genetic, not just circumstantial.)

7. Let us experience our healing even if it's not what you expected. 

My favorite movie about mental illness is Disney/Pixar's Inside Out.  I highly recommend the movie to anyone interested in learning more, and I'll try not to spoil too much, but in the movie the main character Riley starts to struggle with depression.  At first, this consists of more sadness than usual, but eventually both the characters Joy and Sadness disappear, leaving Anger, Fear, and Disgust behind to hold down the fort (these three emotions are very prevalent in my experience of anxiety). Riley has to get back both Joy and Sadness to move forward. Sometimes, acknowledging sadness is essential to healing. The most common misunderstanding about anxiety and depression that I have encountered is that trying to be positive will fix everything. I think the bigger problem is that I feel obligated to put on a positive front instead of unpacking, understanding, and working through my negative emotions. Perhaps the greatest challenge of having anxiety and depression is finding the right people, places, and opportunities for doing this.
My healing process so far has become very personal, but sometimes I feel as if my solutions and decisions get put under a microscope because all those concerned for my health want to have a say about what I should be doing. It's really hard to heal under a microscope. I want to be able to find the best solutions for me through trial and error and sometimes my own intuition. The more my family and friends allow me to do this while standing by for me to fall back on when I need them, the stronger I will become.  Unconditional love and support as a backdrop to a personalized program of professional help and other remedies or coping mechanisms is the help I need.

I hope these thoughts and tips help you.

love,

Sarah

Heart of Gold

I have anxiety.

I started seeing a therapist this summer because the emotional breakdowns got worse, and I was getting so overwhelmed that I'd just procrastinate on everything, even simple tasks like replying to emails or doing my laundry.  I was brave enough to try therapy because of the influence of a few understanding friends. I've been learning why my hands are always cold (physical symptom of stress) and why I eat so much pasta (craving carbs = imbalance in serotonin levels).  I'm finding some comfort just in the fact that something really is wrong with me and it's not necessarily all my fault.

But I still have to struggle with the three-headed monster that is my mental illness.  The cascade of thoughts churning in my head is a familiar sensation now and I dread it. Some of the worries are rational, some are not.  Some come back over and over while others seem to pop up out of nowhere.  It's like Audrey Assad says: "Just when I think I've reached the center of my heart, I inevitably discover inside myself whole worlds and galaxies that terrify me." That's why I have to write- I am continually learning about myself and I write mostly about not what I have already mastered, but what I am currently learning and struggling against.  There are some nights I read my own words and feel as if a stranger wrote them, someone much smarter, stronger, and better than I am.  But it helps to know I have the power to express myself in a way that lets others relate and learn with me.  It helps to know when my thoughts get ugly that I can still create something beautiful.

The anxiety can be scary and painful, keeping me awake and overly involved trying to juggle the problems, but it doesn't threaten me quite as much as the other two monsters I live with.  In fact, the anxiety is sometimes what prompts me to put on the happy face and helping hands that a lot of people know me for.  It turns me into a sponge, absorbing the emotions and concerns of everyone around me.  And helping people makes me happy when I can manage it.

It's the depression that stops me.  The utter exhaustion after chasing every wild goose of a thought the anxiety throws at me.  The sudden and random surges of loneliness, both when I'm at home in bed in an empty room or when I'm at parties and public functions surrounded by people. The anxiety makes me cry my eyes out sometimes, but the depression makes me feel unable to cry, which is even worse.  To lose your heart, your capacity for emotions, your empathy, can make you feel like the monster.  It is strange to be so lost and isolated that you miss yourself.

Anxiety and depression are in a sense two sides to the same coin, despite how different they are.  I have slowly become suspicious that they are both symptoms of a deeper problem, minions of a more terrible monster.  At least for me, they stem from my perfectionism, which I've written about before both as my blessing and my curse.  I have too fickle an idea of perfection to be a good perfectionist.  I listen whenever my anxiety tells me what things in life to value and what things to cast aside.  It's like being King Midas-- you learn that gold is the ultimate treasure, so you start to fight all the raw, authentic little imperfections that make life and people beautiful, squeezing the life out of things, leaving them glittering cold and hard.  You give up on your desires to fill the mold of the ideal.  And eventually, you turn your own heart and everything you love to gold.

I am trying to learn how to get mine back.

I am trying to allow things to live and breathe in my life.  I am trying to love the fact that I'm human.  I am trying to teach myself that I don't have to be complete or "fixed" before I can be happy.

This probably seems different from my standard blog post.  It's a bit of a downer.  You may very well be wondering why I'm telling you all of this.  I'm not quite sure.  I think different people are meant to read this for different reasons.  I have often been surprised by the response my writing evokes.  I just know that I am supposed to write it because it is an act of defiance toward my fear and because it is dangerously honest.  And if I become more honest, maybe I can stop hiding from my imperfection and pretending to have a heart of gold.

"I will sprinkle clean water over you to make you clean; from all your impurities and from all your idols I will cleanse you. I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh." ~ Ezekiel Chapter 36 verses 25-26

Thank you for reading this.

Love, Sarah

Why I'm Dating That Guy With Green Hair (or Love, the Receiving End)

" I guess it's true that love is all you wanted/ cause you're giving it away like it's extra change/ hoping it'll end up in his pocket/ but he leaves you out like a penny in the rain..." ~Taylor Swift (yes, Taylor Swift is in my philosophical reflective post; sorry not sorry.)

I started dating for the first time this past December.  The best word I can think of to describe it is: surprising. And no, that's not just because my boyfriend does things like dye his hair the color of the ocean or randomly buy me a HUGE bag of Reese's peanut butter eggs (...in the middle of Lent. Luckily I didn't give up chocolate this year. Besides, it's the thought that counts, right?) It's because dating is nothing like I thought it would be. We go on dates sometimes and we love each other, but other than that I can't say it matches my expectations.

Perhaps the biggest surprise is that sometimes dating makes me feel terrible.  Not my boyfriend. Dating.  My boyfriend is a kind and awesome person who tries very hard to make me happy.  That is why sometimes, I feel like a terrible person.  Because often, I am not happy at all and my non-happiness no longer affects only me.

I am grumpy, irrational, and negative. I am irresponsible.  I am impatient.  I am anxious.  I am afraid.

He worries about me.

Kyle wants me to stop being so hard on myself.  He knows I need to take care of myself and he tries to take care of me, too.  And it's honestly confusing for me.  I am still unused to the phone calls where I can talk about and work through my anxieties, the offer of hugs or even a shoulder to cry on after a long day, the amused toleration of my grumpiness, messy hair, and weird food choices (why am I randomly obsessed with applesauce? nobody knows.) Sure, I do nice things for him just like I try to do nice things for everybody, but why would he pick me? 

People tell you often that loving the right person will bring out the best in you, and I think it's true.  My boyfriend doubles my enthusiasm, my goofiness, and my sense of accomplishment.  I also think he brings out the worst in me, which isn't really something people warn you about.  The truth is, trying to communicate and cooperate with another human being on a daily basis pretty much puts all your flaws you might be vaguely aware of (or avoiding completely) under a microscope.  I have a lot of issues.  Sometimes I'm tempted to call things off between us just because I'm so discouraged by my imperfections and worry they will discourage him, too.  I want him to be happy and I feel like I get in the way even if he denies it.

It's in my nature. I take care of people.  I have five younger siblings.  I have a lot of friends who come to me for advice because they're the kind of introverts who don't do the whole "feelings" thing or because they trust my empathy.  I have students now who rely on me to teach them.  There are younger girls at my church who look up to me.  So I take care of people, dang it.  I took the "it is in giving that we receive" part of that Saint Francis prayer to heart and gave away love like extra change, hoping it'd come back in my direction eventually but assuming it was only fair if it didn't. And when I felt I hadn't earned it, I pushed it away because I couldn't love myself enough to accept it.  I feel sometimes like I owe the world the straight A's, the service in my parish, the things that got me labeled "good".  Good example, good girl, good job.  In my mind, my worth depended on these things that I did and how well I did them.

I have become someone I can be proud of, but not always someone I can love.   Pride does not mean loving yourself.  Pride and love are two entirely different things, and pride has me trying to win the world record for perfectionist people pleaser.  I question whether I deserve to be loved, supported, and forgiven so much and so often-- in spite of the fact that I have learned to love, support, and forgive others. I'm uncomfortable with the idea of "deserving" anything, actually.  I didn't even have to exist; my whole life is a gift to me, so my whole life should be a gift back to the world. I do this to such an extreme that I almost threw myself under the bus and didn't date Kyle because I didn't know if my family and friends would like him as much as I do.  I do this to such an extreme that I still feel that it is a challenge for me to believe God loves me.  Unless I'm perfect, and I never am. 

I have tried so hard to give love, that I forgot how to receive it.

Until I started falling for someone who only tried harder after every mistake he made, who forgave himself, who actually believed me when I told him how amazing he was.  He has grown so much in confidence and accomplished so much just in the short amount of time we've been dating.  And I find the way he embraces being human and imperfect so inspiring.  Even better, he loves me whether I think I deserve it or not, just like they always told me God does. He's helping me understand one of the major flaws in the way I imagine God, and helping me heal it. 

God is okay with me being weak and imperfect like a little child.  He is happy when I get it right, and he cries with me when I get it wrong, and he holds me either way.  God doesn't expect me to drain myself giving away love that I don't have.  He's returning his own love to me so that I have a home to come back to when it hurts to love others.  He is teaching me, with the help of an amazing person who cares about me, that love is incomplete until it is returned. 

The scariest, most vulnerable part of love isn't throwing yourself under the bus and letting yourself break for others.  It's letting them come inside your heart to help you put yourself back together when you're a mess.  It requires admitting you are not always the capable person you want to be.  And it requires forgiving yourself and letting yourself be happy anyway.

I've decided it's worth a try.