You Will Be Found

The second semester of my Master of Divinity program at Drew Theological School is quickly coming to a close. It is astonishing how fast this journey has started, and I am amazed that I have nearly earned 1/3 of a master's degree.

A master's degree in theology.

Whoa.

I thought if I ever went back to school, I would further study education (as I had intended at various times over the past decade). And yet here I am.

As I think through all that I have experienced - the people and the classes and the mental reframing and the living into who I am and the courage and the fear and the fearful courage and the activism and the community and the humans who push me to do more good things - I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the patience of professors, colleagues, and close friends. I have experienced so much theological change, and yet I am still becoming.

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Near the beginning of the fall semester, I attended a chapel service in which previous plans had fallen through and the plans were changed at the last moment to focus on and sing about breath. I distinctly remember sitting with people who I thought were cool and who I now deeply admire and call friends. I struggled to focus on my breath because I was feeling such anxiety that I didn't have any capacity to control.

At today's chapel service - the penultimate service of this semester - we sang the same song as at  chapel at the beginning of the fall semester about breath. Today was another chapel service in which plans fell through, this time in the form of a broken projector.

In addition to singing about breath today, we sang No Longer Slaves. I have vivid memories of singing this song while playing my guitar with friends from Illinois and feeling that same anxiety. I felt as if I couldn't truly sing the lyrics, "I'm no longer a slave to fear," because I felt captive to that unexplainable and knowingly ridiculous fear manifested through anxiety.

That's kind of a thing with mental health: I know logically that my fears and worries and depression and anxiety are unnecessary and unjustified. In ways in which I wish it wouldn't, the feelings persist.

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For years, I would tell myself that I just needed to pray more and it would go away. If I could "get closer to God," then maybe I would do something right and I would magically have this feeling solved. I find nothing wrong with inspiring pieces from biblical scripture that are anti-fear, but the verses can be misused when scripture is seen as a treatment to humans rather than as symbolically divine words.

We find the following in Deuteronomy 31:6 HCSB: "Be strong and courageous; don’t be terrified or afraid of them. For it is the Lord your God who goes with you; [God] will not leave you or forsake you."

That's genuinely great. Be strong. Be courageous.

That just isn't a medicine for mental health, though.

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Upon moving and changing my entire life and finding new courses in which to follow on this quest through living, I had to confront my anxiety. Rather, my anxiety confronted me with panic attacks in class and anxiety that held me back from speaking in class or speaking my truth with friends.

Nervous, terrified, and filled with more unexplained anxiety, I approached the health center on campus and took the steps to begin receiving counseling. I have been going since October. It certainly hasn't cured me and I don't expect anything to ever completely remove it from my life, but I have processes to go through when anxiety is heightened, and I can determine the signs of depressive behaviors. I have better techniques in having difficult conversations, and I have a place where I spend an hour most weeks to talk about the things that bring unresolved trauma and the things that bring new fears.

I have space to let my mind ramble through the words that come out of my mouth. I have space to share the things that I don't want to say elsewhere or the things that I want to say elsewhere but can't find the courage to say aloud. I have space to just be.

I recognize that these mental health struggles are not bad. I accept that this is a part of who I am, and it is something that I deal with every day. This is me, and it is not something that I beat myself up about; rather, it is only one part of my identity.

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I have tried to be a champion for mental health for the past few years. I would encourage former students and youth group kids to seek counseling or therapy to talk about the personal and interpersonal issues that bother them. I would seek out the kids whose anxiety was physically present to let them know that they are not alone and that it's not all of who they are. I have stood against using the word crazy to mean silly, and I have hated the use of anxious as excited. I would encourage others to seek help, but I wouldn't help myself for so long until I could not ignore the need to confront and accept this one piece of me.

When I finally took the leap to seek out counseling and when I finally felt as if I was in a place in which I could trust people in my new life, I could recognize the good. Counseling has been so good and so hard and so needed. I have much more to work through to get to where I want to be (specifically speaking in class more often, feeling comfortable making music in / with crowds of people, becoming more at ease with the idea of performing again, finding a controlled verbal speed when speaking personally and professionally), but I do see so much progress in the past few months.

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I was talking to a colleague yesterday who said that he was worried about an upcoming appointment. We have struggled to communicate in the past (and I'm not naturally a very pastoral-care-kind-of-person), but I took this as a time to share some tips with him. I offered the suggestion to focus on breathing - funny how that comes back to play, right? - while calling out the feeling.

*Breathe in*
"I'm feeling anxiety."
*Breathe out*
"I'm feeling anxiety."
*Breathe in*
"I'm feeling anxiety."
*Breathe out*
"I'm feeling anxiety."

He told me today that it didn't help him, but at least I tried. The colleague asked if I was a psych major in undergrad, and I said, "No, I just have a jacked up brain." We have opportunities daily to normalize and destigmatize mental health.

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I get that aspects of these mental health things, for me, are just parts of my personality type(s).

I am an Enneagram 3 which means that I am an achiever; I have the basic fear of being worthless and the basic desire to feel valuable and worthwhile. I am motivated to be affirmed, to distinguish myself from others, to be admired, and to impress others. I have the lost message that I am loved for myself. I need someone not to say, "I love you," but instead to truly mean, "You are loved as you are." It's almost sickening how accurate this is which is why I first reacted by hating the Enneagram before moving into more of a place of acceptance.

I am an INTJ for the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator which stands for introverted, intuitive, thinking, and judgment. This means that I am contradictory, I highly value alone time, I am often seen as difficult to understand, I do not heavily rely on emotions, and I am highly perfectionist in nature. These aren't necessarily bad things. They are simply who I am and the traits that I am working with through life. And that's ok.

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My life has certainly been changed. I never expect to not deal with mental health anymore, but I have much more clarity and more strength. I can claim the phrase, "I'm no longer a slave to fear." I have ways out to see past the murkiness and find some clarity.

In my apartment with the coolest set of roommates who anyone could ever find, we have a sign in our living room space which we often quote as a joke. But, it has true meaning. "Speak the truth even if your voice shakes."

My voice is shaking. I'm not fully clear. I have much to work on, but I am closer to speaking the truth than I was before. I take a new step every day to be brave by simply approaching life.

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I believe I have heard it said by many writer friends that one shouldn't tell stories which they are still living. They need to move past The Big Thing before they are ever able to approach it to write about something publicly. I get that, and I so value their wisdom.

I will never be done with this personal work, but I am at a place where sharing it isn't as scary as it was before. I'm speaking my truth. This is my life with mental health struggles, and it's not something to feel sorry for me about. It just is.

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Dear Evan Hansen, a musical that opened on Broadway in 2016, is honest about mental health issues. I have not yet seen the show (dude, tickets are freaking expensive!), and I struggle to get through the cast recording because it's mentally weighty. 

One song - You Will Be Found - particularly stands out to me, though, as one which helps through the weariness.

"Well, let that lonely feeling wash away

Maybe there's a reason to believe you'll be ok

'Cause when you don't feel strong enough to stand

You can reach out your hand

...

There's a place where

We don't have to feel unknown

And every time that you call out

You're a little less alone

...

You are not alone

...

You will be found"

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Let us go out into that difficult place of being uncomfortable but uncovering our truths. Let us help others along the way who need a hand to reach out to them. Let us live in a way that people will feel a little less alone. Let us encourage courage alongside those who we love and those who we strive to love. 

You are not alone.

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Thanks for joining me today on the journey. It's been a few weeks since I've been up on the blog. I never totally wrapped up the Lent series, and I'll eventually (have time to) get more up about that.

There will always be more things to say, and I'm trusting for now that I'll go forth with God by "raising courage when we're shrinking, finding scope for faith begun," as found in Come and Find the Quiet Center.