Breaking the Silence

The other day, I saw this headline, and it hit me so hard: "Cancer brings casseroles, suicide brings silence."  As it sunk in more and more, I felt so much sorrow about this simple statement, how suicide is such an uncomfortable, unspoken subject, and yet it plagues the lives of so many individuals and their families every single day.  I never thought I would be in the position I am in, someone who knows all too well the depth of sadness that causes persistent, unrelenting thoughts of dying.  It isn't me.  I know that.  And I pray inside my heart that everyone else knows that too.  But either way, it's so very very real... and scary... and shameful... and that leads to silence.

Part of the silence is because it's not something I can just tell people.  When someone asks, "How are you?" I can't reply with, "Well, I actually want to die right now, and I'm scared, and my heart hurts, and I feel all alone, please help me," so instead I say, "Good," and everyone continues on with their day.  They aren't easy words to speak, let alone easy words for someone to know how to respond to, so they stay inside, and only those who have, for one reason or another, been marked as "safe" get to know those most painful parts of my heart.

At this point, I can't count the number of times I have prayed, begged, pleaded that I wouldn't wake up the next morning.  It has probably reached into the hundreds, if not the thousands by now.  I've even asked my husband to pray for it as well, assuming in those moments, that he must want the same thing for me.  I can't count all the times I have been sure that my husband and kids deserve someone better, or the times I have thought day and night about what it would be like to be gone, or the even scarier times when I have thought about how I could make sure that I was gone forever.  Those must be into the thousands as well.  But I can count the very scariest moments, when the shadow of hopelessness has fallen over me, and I have truly thought that it would overcome me.

Until we moved here, those darkest times could all be counted on one hand-- five desperate, terrifying moments that are seared into my brain for the rest of my life.  Each time, there were such beautiful, timely tender mercies that literally saved me from the darkness that threatened to consume me, and at some point later, I was so thankful that my heart had found enough strength to hold on and keep fighting.

But since moving, that number has increased to eight.  There have been three lonely, unspeakably difficult nights, when I was sure that the light would never shine in my life again, as the sickness in my brain continually fed the darkness.  I've contemplated sharing some of my more recent thoughts about suicide, given how real and terrifying these last couple of months have been, but this is how it has gone in my mind:

No one wants to hear about that.
You've been struggling for too long now.  It's time to pull yourself together and finally be okay.
People will judge you.  This isn't something anyone shares.
It will come across as negative and attention-seeking.
You'll just make everyone feel uncomfortable.

But as this internal battle about sharing weighed on my mind one night, I felt this pull to look at the number of people who have read each post on this blog.  As I was scrolling down and looking at the numbers, I was amazed to see that my #1 most-read blog post is THIS ONE, the very most vulnerable post I've ever written, and yet, it must need to be heard if so many people have taken the time to read it.

So here I am, once again sharing the pieces of my heart that need to be heard, and yet are so very difficult to articulate and then give away.  I won't go into all the details, because that's not why I'm writing this, but I do want to paint an honest picture of what took place and why I'm still holding on now.

First, it was an evening after an incredibly difficult week.  I had just attended a meeting for my new church calling, and I was terrified.  The monster inside my brain would not give up on the unrelenting thought that I would NEVER be good enough at this, and I was beyond overwhelmed.  As I left the meeting, some snow had just started falling, and I thought, I could get in an accident on the way home, and no one would know what happened.  It could all be over right now.  But instead, I gripped onto the steering wheel as tight as I could and prayed with all the strength I had inside my heart that I could somehow endure the pain and make it home.  I got home safely and slowly trudged up the steps to my apartment.  Every second there was a new thought about how I should give up, but I used all my strength to push those dark thoughts away.  I walked inside to find that our kitchen was flooded.  This was such a tender mercy, because it forced me to focus on something else for the next couple of hours until it was a more reasonable time to go to bed.  As soon as I could though, I got into bed and pulled the covers over my head as my whole body began to shake in terror.  I didn't know how I would ever overcome this storm, especially on my own, so I texted two people and asked them to pray for me.  Sending a text to some people you've just met and desperately asking them for prayers is terribly uncomfortable, but I felt it was my only choice if I wanted to find even a sliver of comfort for my broken heart.  One of these people texted me for the next hour, and I held on, second by second.

The next morning, I didn't feel better, but I continued to hold on.  There were a few things that I needed to do for our kitchen flood problem, so I tried to stay busy with those as I continually prayed that this pervasive and painful cloud of darkness would pass.  When my husband got home from work, I gave him the baby and took a shower.  I closed my eyes as the burdens on my mind were too heavy for me to bear.  I went to my room and prayed, "Heavenly Father, I can't take even one more step.  I have to give in..."  I didn't even cry.  I just sat there in numb silence, never finishing that urgent prayer.  At this time, I was sure that I would lay down and never be able to find the physical strength to get up again, until I heard someone talking to my husband in our living room.  I came out of my room to find two of our new friends standing in our doorway.  I must have looked confused as I asked what they were doing there, to which they replied that they were there to babysit our kids so that my husband and I could go on a date.  Suddenly, my heart felt wrapped in love.  The darkness did not lift, and my burdens were not relieved, but I felt love, and the tiniest spark of hope ignited in my heart, as I knew that I could hold on just a little longer.

When we got home from our date that evening, I learned about a sweet, beautiful woman who had committed suicide.  I remember laying there after finding out this news and feeling a complex mix of sadness for her to have been feeling so much pain, sadness for her family for the devastation they must have been experiencing, and an odd feeling of almost jealousy that I was still here with my heart in deep pain.  I tried to get it out of my head, but I couldn't stop thinking about this woman.

A few days later, I had another meeting for my new calling, and once again, I came home in heartbreaking tears.  My broken brain could not get past these thoughts of impending failure, and I felt myself crumbling, both physically and emotionally.  As the situation continued to get more and more serious and as my mind felt completely focused on escaping this darkness, I asked my husband if he loved me.  I was positive that he would say that he didn't, and then I would have nothing to hold onto, so I would give up.  To my surprise (I was actually surprised to hear this in that moment), he said that he loves me so much as he wrapped his warm, loving arms around my whole body.  I burst into tears as I knew that I had to hold on, because my husband still loved me, and I couldn't bear to hurt him.  A few minutes later, it seemed in my mind like maybe his love had changed, so I asked him again.  He squeezed me tighter and repeated to me that he loves me.  I continued crying as I wanted so badly to escape, but I had to stay.  I had never felt so much threatening darkness before, but if he could love me, then I could hold on somehow.

The next morning, after very little sleep and hours of crying through the night, I felt no better.  I was so weary and emotionally exhausted, but there was still no peace to be found.  My husband urged me to call someone, anyone, and open up to them and spend time with them that day so that I could be okay.  As uncomfortable as I knew this would be, I also knew that he was right.  I had to open up to someone, because I needed to make it through that day.  I called someone I felt I could trust, and I was immediately invited into her home.  We spent a good portion of the day there, until I knew that I would be safe to go home.  I had made it through another very threatening storm, and I prayed that I would never have to go through something so painful again.

But only a week later, I was back in the same place.  I was getting ready to go to the temple with my husband, when the fear and panic associated with this seemed to overcome me.  I still went as planned, but the anxiety and sorrow did not go away, even hours after we came home.  The gripping pain in my heart seemed to get worse by the hour, and I couldn't find any comfort for the brokenness that I was experiencing.  The next day, we celebrated my husband's birthday.  I let him choose his birthday dinner and dessert, both of which took more extensive preparation than I would normally do for the average dinner or dessert.  I wanted to do this for him.  I wanted to show him all the love that he deserves, but my heart was in so much pain that it seemed impossible.  I prayed with every ingredient that I measured or chopped or stirred in that I would have enough strength to do this.  I was literally only able to comprehend doing one thing at a time, so I tried to focus on just the next step of the recipes as to not get overwhelmed and stop doing it.  I made it through that evening of celebration, and I used all the effort I had in me to hide the terror that was penetrating my heart every moment.

The next day, the storm raging inside of me intensified, and I made a decision that reflected just how much I was hurting.  I decided to stop drinking water.  In my mind, I figured that it would only take a few days to get dehydrated, and then I could be free from this darkness.  Finally free.  It didn't seem like there was anything wrong with that at the time, and I wanted an escape, so I continued to not drink any water for two days.  Two long days that seemed like this was the only option.

The next morning, I did something that I NEVER have done or would have done before, and I'm still not sure why I did it.  I opened up to a friend in my "safety circle" and told her that I was not sure it was worth it to live anymore.  She didn't know at the time the details of what was happening, but she sensed the desperation in my voice, and invited me to come over, so we could talk.  I went to her house, and we talked for a while before she suggested that I really needed to get into the doctor again to get help.  I had been putting this off, because the process of trying to get help can be so long and discouraging and frustrating and sometimes more painful than the original darkness, but when she said that, I agreed.  She helped me find some doctors, and we made some phone calls together in her front room.  For the first time in a very long time, I felt a spark of hope.  I remembered this awfulness wouldn't be there forever if I could just get help.  I didn't need to escape; I could heal.  I went home and drank some water.  I had something to hold onto again.  I didn't tangibly feel that it was worth it yet, but I had the hope that it would feel worth it again soon.

The day after that, I opened up to my husband.  I hadn't told him anything in a long time, because I knew that moving was just as hard and stressful on him at first as it was for me, but I needed him to know.  I will never forget how it felt to be wrapped in his arms as he hugged me the tightest he had ever hugged me before and as he expressed his love.  I was so thankful in that moment that I was still there, that I hadn't let the monster of depression consume me.  Immediately, so much light filled my heart, and I knew that we were going to get through this together.  I didn't have to fight alone.

We are still in the process of trying to get help.  I wish it wasn't so difficult and time-consuming and frustrating.  But I am okay for now.  I feel peace.  My depression hasn't gone away by any means, but it is manageable right now, and for that, I am very thankful.

So why am I writing this?  I don't know honestly.  Maybe someone is battling through this same thing right now and needs to know that it will be okay eventually, that they are not alone, and that someday they will be glad they held on.  Maybe there is someone who loves someone with depression and needs to know what they can do to help.  Maybe we all need the reminder to have compassion, love, kindness, understanding, and grace for each other.  But regardless of the reason, I want to break the silence of depression and suicide.  I won't let these experiences be wasted on me.

How to Become "Safe" to Open up to

For many reasons, depression can be a hard thing to talk about.  Partly because I don't want this to be a label placed on me.  There's so much more to me than this ongoing struggle, and I want people to know me for who I really am.  It's also partly because some people don't understand, and it's devastating and heartbreaking to open up to someone, only to have them tell me that if I had more faith or prayed more that this wouldn't be a problem in my life.  Sometimes it's hard to talk about, because I'm not sure who feels comfortable talking about these things, and I don't want to make anyone feel uncomfortable if they don't know how to respond.  And finally, it can be hard to talk about, because sometimes it gets really bad, and there isn't an easy way to tell someone that I wish I could give up. 

But regardless of the reason that it can be difficult to open up, there are several things that people have done recently and in the far past to mark themselves "safe" in my brain for me to talk to, even when things are at their very worst.  I'm hoping sharing these things could help others know how to help someone they love or care about through the discouraging darkness of depression, because I can guarantee that I wouldn't know without experiencing it for myself. 

1. "I know this is your struggle."  When we first moved here, I was struggling so much emotionally, but I didn't know who to tell.  I knew I needed support, love, and friendship in this new place, but I didn't know how to start opening up.  Finally, I decided to write a couple of blog posts on here and share them.  I was so nervous when I saw that a few people I had just met "liked" the post, but I also felt relieved that this "secret" of sorts was out there, and I didn't have to hide it anymore.  A little while later, a few people at different times said to me, "I know this is your struggle."  Those 6 words lifted such a heavy burden off of me, because I knew that they were aware of this difficulty in my life, but I also knew that they felt comfortable talking about it, because they were the ones that initiated the conversation.  That, in turn, made me feel comfortable going to them, because they were "safe" to talk to and open up to.
2. "How are you really doing?" or "How are you doing emotionally?" or "How are you feeling today?"  People, in general, ask each other every day, "How are you doing?" without always wanting to know the answer.  I know I am guilty of it sometimes.  It's like this thing that we do in passing so that we can check it off our list that we did our friendly duty of asking how someone else was doing, but we only expect the answer of "good" or "fine."  Sometimes, I know we do ask this wanting to know the real answer, but it's hard for me to tell those two apart.  I don't want to be that person who divulges their whole life story, when someone asks a simple question expecting a short answer, so making the question just a little bit more specific allows me to know that someone actually wants to know my sometimes loaded answer.
3. "I struggle with..."  A few posts back, I wrote about vulnerability.  I try so hard to be courageous enough to be vulnerable, but it is so helpful to me, when someone is willing to share their struggle as well, especially if that struggle is mental illness related.  It's like it forms this instant bond and helps me to remember that everyone has struggles, so I'm not alone in needing help or love sometimes.
4. "Do you feel like you want to give up?"  I know this is a hard question to ask, and it doesn't need to be asked often, but I appreciate more than I can express, when someone asks me this straightforward question at the hardest times, because it allows me to explain the extent of the present darkness without feeling like that's too much to share.  Even if things are good at the time, it allows me to know that I can go to that person on the darkest of dark nights, because they care and want to help.

Hopefully this helps some.  I look forward to the day when talking about depression is as comfortable and as easy for everyone as talking about broken bones or the flu.  I've come so far, and yet, it can still be so challenging.  Thankfully there are so many people in my life who have been willing to help me along this journey and have allowed me to be more open and honest about how I'm doing.  I have such a good tribe of people around me who love and care as the Savior does, and that's the best gift anyone could give me.  

My "Worth It" Moment

As I'm sure many people have been able to tell, these last few weeks have been indescribably difficult and have honestly been the most painful weeks I have ever experienced.  I've been working on writing a post about some of these experiences, but I'm still not sure if I'll ever be brave enough to share it. 

One morning this last week, I was in the depths of darkness and truly did not know how I could handle anymore.  The heaviness weighing on my heart felt like it was too much for any one person to bear, and I wondered every second how I could find enough strength to keep fighting, as my heart continued to plunge deeper and deeper into the sorrow of depression.  I didn't know what to do, so I vulnerably sent a friend a message and asked her if it was all worth it, worth it to hold on and fight through so much struggle, only to have such short and fleeting moments of light and happiness.  She reassured me that it is worth it, but I couldn't feel that then.  It didn't seem like anything could ever feel worth it again for how awful I felt in that moment. 

I immediately knew that it would take great amounts of faith to believe in future light this time.  I was so weary, but I put whatever strength I had left in me toward waiting for and trusting in the one beautiful, tender moment when everything would feel worth it again.

I watched all around me for this miraculous moment to come, believing that it would come eventually.  Things didn't improve right away and still nothing felt worth the pain, but there were small moments of joy along the way that strengthened my faith that my "worth it" moment was coming.  There was the moment when my heart felt so broken, and then my baby boy lovingly snuggled his chubby cheeks into mine, and I knew that I had to get through this storm. There were a few moments when I was able to help someone else or make someone smile, and it brought a small feeling of purpose back to my life.  There were the moments when I was supported and wrapped in love by so many wonderful people around me, some not even knowing the challenges I was facing, and I felt little evidences of God's love for me.  There was the moment when I opened up to my husband and finally told him the extent of the darkness I had been facing, and my burden got lighter as I didn't have to carry it alone.  All of these moments were beautiful, but they didn't take away the thought that the darkness was too all-consuming and that I didn't want to fight through it anymore.

And then today, my husband and I left our kids with a babysitter and went on a hike.  The weather was absolutely perfect, the sky was the most beautiful blue, the sun was shining so brightly over the mountains, and we were able to talk and enjoy being together.  We hiked and admired our surroundings and I loved that it was a good day.  But nothing could prepare me for the view when we came around one bend.  It was truly one of the most incredible vistas I had ever seen.  As I looked out and tried to soak up this breathtaking view, my heart felt for the first time in a very long time that it was worth it to be there at that moment.  It really was worth it.  It finally felt worth it. 

There will likely be many more battles of darkness in my life, and I will likely need to rely on the many good people around me who strengthen me when I am at my weakest, but one thing I know for sure-- it will ALWAYS be worth it to live and experience the times of light, no matter how short or fleeting they are.  It will simply always be worth it.

Through My Kids

This weekend has been so emotionally difficult for seemingly no reason. I've tried to make sense of it, but it seems there's not much to understand about something that's just chemically wrong. Every time I've wondered how I'm going to get through the storm this time or how I can find enough strength to hold on until the light comes again, this sweet boy has snuggled his soft, chubby cheeks into mine or looked up at me with his big, blue, hope-filled eyes, and I've felt comfort and love surround the broken pieces of my heart. I'm always amazed at how I can feel God's love and mindfulness of me through my sweet kids.

My Eyes and Ears of Truth

I'm not sure it will ever be less frustrating to me that in my greatest hours of need, I cannot receive the comfort of the Spirit.  I can pray all day and all night, but when I am struggling with depression, I cannot feel Heavenly Father speak peace to my heart, especially about the hundreds of things it seems that I am failing at.  Often, this compounds my emotions as I think that maybe I am not feeling the Spirit, because I am not worthy of that precious gift. 

Over time, I have learned to accept that as hard as it is, my broken eyes and ears cannot see or hear truth on their own, and attempting to handle these episodes of heartbreak on my own only lead me further and further into despair.  So I have to rely on others.  There isn't really another choice. 

It's so hard to ask for help, because my brain feeds me the constant lies that all I do is burden others, that they don't want to help me, that I've asked for help too many times before, or that I am weak for not being able to handle this on my own.  It usually takes hours of struggle before I can find the courage to let someone in, but once I do, I am finally able to receive the truth that Heavenly Father wanted me to know all along-- the truth that I haven't disappointed Him, that He loves me, that He recognizes how hard I am trying even though it doesn't look like much in times of deep struggle, and that He is with me through the darkest of nights. 

My eyes and ears of truth might be broken along with my mind and heart, but Heavenly Father has blessed me with the most incredible people who can help be my eyes and ears, when mine can't give me the comfort I need in the most difficult times.

Vulnerability Begets Vulnerability

One of the greatest blessings about how much I've struggled in the last month and how much I continue to struggle is the way that it has led me to be vulnerable out of necessity.  Things have never been so difficult or threatening before, so as a result, I have needed others more than ever before.  Being in a new place and surrounded by new people has presented an obvious obstacle to this need.  That is, unless I am willing to step far out of my comfort zone to open up and ask for help.  I have definitely grown in this ability in the last few years, but it has become incredibly harder recently knowing that no one here knows the real me yet, so exposing this broken version of myself without that foundation is frightening.  It makes me want to explain everything about my past and my story, but especially how this is not me.  I want to repeat that one truth all day, even though I know that getting to know someone simply takes time.

As I've been forced to be brave for the sake of my own life, I've seen something beautiful happen.  My vulnerability in opening up about my deep struggles has made way for others to feel comfortable sharing their deepest struggles as well.  And not only has this made me feel more comfortable sharing, because I've been reminded once again that everyone has some struggle and that depression is not something to be ashamed of, but it has also given me the feeling of such meaningful relationships, far beyond the surface level where most relationships begin.  I've felt an outpouring of love-- pure, unconditional love-- that has carried me through the darkest of nights recently, and I've felt support and companionship that has allowed me to know that I am not alone.

I'm not sure that it will ever get easier to be vulnerable, but the beauty of these most recent experiences has shown me that being vulnerable is definitely worth the few seconds of courage it takes to reach out for help, because the connection it creates lasts forever.

Relief

For the first time in three weeks, my darkness suddenly lifted today.  We were randomly walking around Goodwill, when it felt as if someone had taken a huge weight of bricks off my heart.  I took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh of relief as I remembered once again that this isn't me.  There's something chemically wrong inside my brain, and it isn't my fault that this terrible darkness encompasses my heart so often.  I also sighed as I celebrated surviving another very dark, very painful storm.  I now have another success to add to my list of all the times I didn't think I could survive but I did.

Of course, I didn't do it alone though.  I am positive that I would never be able to do it on my own.  I feel so incredibly blessed to have earthly angels all around me who are willing to pray, text, talk, and serve me in those darkest hours, when I am in the most need of love and support. 

Sometimes when a storm passes, I feel overwhelmed at how dark the last storm was and how hard it is to imagine that the struggle is going to come back again.  But instead of looking to the future with worry, I have learned to just enjoy the light for as long as it lasts, since it might only last a few hours or days before my night comes again.

Right now, I feel so so thankful!  Thankful that I can breath easily again, thankful that I can feel and see things as they really are for a time, thankful that I get a break from the weeks of struggle that I thought would never lift, thankful that I've been given so many incredible blessings in my life, thankful that I'm even stronger now than I was before this latest storm, and thankful that I didn't give in or give up when all hope and light seemed lost.  I can do hard things, one dark storm at a time!

My Christmas Miracle

These last few weeks have been among some of the darkest and most painful weeks of my entire life.  I have felt as if I have been fighting for my life every single second and constantly needing to remind myself that this will pass eventually.  I've struggled eating and have had several days in a row that I haven't managed to eat more than a few bites all day because of the extreme nausea caused by the unrelenting darkness.  I've woken up several times in the middle of the night and struggled to catch my breath because of the suffocating cloud of depression around me.  I've cried or felt just moments away from crying nearly every second I've been awake every day.  And hundreds of times each day, the unpleasant and unwelcomed thought has come into my mind that I should not continue on.  It has taken all the effort I have in me to push that thought away over and over and over again with little success in keeping it away.  To say that it has been exhausting and discouraging is not the adequate way to describe this experience, but those are the only words I can find to attempt to explain it. 

As Christmas Day came nearer and nearer, I prayed continually for a miracle.  I just wanted some relief for Christmas.  I wanted to enjoy the day with my family and not have to fight this continuous battle.  But on the days leading up to Christmas, the darkness continued, so I tried to focus on the great blessings all around me that were giving me the strength to persist and endure such heartbreaking pain.

• On Sunday in church, several people mentioned light in their messages.  Each of these times brought immediate tears to my eyes as I was sure that what they were saying was exactly for me.  Being surrounded by thick darkness made even the word "light" bring flickers of hope to my broken heart that someday I really would feel and see light again.
• I was asked to give the prayer for the end of our special Christmas service. While I hesitated in my mind to say "yes" because controlling my tears seemed like it could be an impossible feat, it also meant so much to me.  It felt like a special, tender way for Heavenly Father to help my heart know that this isn't my fault and that it doesn't make me any less worthy or valuable and that I still have something to offer even when I feel terrible.
• My husband had a long weekend because of the holiday, which was a blessing in and of itself, because it was so nice to have him around on the days when I seemed to struggle the very most.  But on top of that, he did the dishes, laundry, and cooking while he was off, which took some of the heavy burden off of me, so I could focus on conquering the other burdens that no one could relieve.
• Our family was invited to do some holiday things with other people.  As in years past, this meant so much to me so that I didn't feel like I was ruining my family's holiday celebration with my inability to do the little things that I would love to do if I was feeling well.  They didn't know I needed this, so it was very special.
• Someone said something to me last week that gave me hope and allowed me to feel so capable of fighting this battle.  As I was explaining some of how I felt, they said, "You have been to the lowest point multiple times before, and then you've made it back up again every time.  You can do that again this time as well."  The strength that came from those words became a lifeline that I held onto.  They allowed me to feel courage and to know that I could win.
• I have been given one of the best gifts recently-- the gift of new friendship.  And beyond that, I've been given the gift of understanding friends who care about me and want me to be okay, even though they hardly know me yet.  One person in particular told me that they read my blog, know about this struggle, and are on my side.  That alone has given me indescribable strength to know that I'm not alone here anymore.
• I found a way to get a gym membership soon so that I can start exercising and hopefully start feeling a little better again.  It came about so randomly that I can't help but see God's hand in it.  We were invited over to someone's house and were talking about kids learning musical instruments.  I went to say something about this topic and started it with, "When I used to teach piano..." Immediately, the mom got excited to hear that I have taught before, because she has two kids who want to take lessons.  I agreed that I could probably do that.  Later, I was talking to someone else, and they told me about a wonderful gym in the area. When I looked up how much their memberships cost, I was a little overwhelmed, because it was more than I expected.  I didn't think there was a way we would be able to add that to our budget.  And then I remembered that I will be able to teach a couple of piano lessons, and the money I make from that will be the exact amount I need to get a gym membership!  Another sweet tender mercy that shows me that Heavenly Father is mindful of me and will help me do what I need to do to feel better.

I woke up Christmas morning and did not feel well, but I pushed through it for my family.  I was a little disappointed that I hadn't gotten "my miracle," but I was determined to make it a great day, so I carried on.  After spending the morning with my family and opening presents, I took my kids to the nursing home with some crafts we made to visit and make others smile.  It was all I could think to do to maybe help lift some of the heavy darkness on my heart.  We went to a few different buildings before ending in the biggest building there. It was lunch time, so we walked around talking to all our sweet new friends and giving them small and simple gifts.  When we got to the last table in the back, there was a couple who were obviously not residents but were visiting.  They asked who we were.  We told them that we just moved here and didn't know anyone so we were just visiting everyone.  The woman said something that brought tears to my eyes immediately and continues to do so now.  She said, "We were watching you with your kids going around visiting, and you simply radiated light.  We had to make sure we got to talk to you." I couldn't believe it.  Me, of all people, being in darkness, still shone light, and this wonderful woman took the time to tell me.  I'm not sure she'll ever know how much that meant to me right then.  We visited a while longer and then left.  My heart was beaming, as I was so gently reminded that I can still be a light for others, even when my heart is broken and doesn't know how it can go on.  I can still try to uplift others, and sometimes it uplifts me in the process.

I came home with a big smile on my face and more light in my world.  I got my Christmas miracle after all, just in a different way than I imagined.

My Tribe

Although I often wish that depression wasn't a recurring problem in my life, I'm also thankful that this isn't my first rodeo.  By now I've learned that I need my tribe fighting with me and loving me through the terribly dark and awful times that sometimes accompany this chemical imbalance.  Moving away from my comfortable circle has been incredibly difficult, but in the last day, my new tribe has begun to form, and I'm so so thankful.  I'm thankful for the wonderfully caring people who love as the Savior loves, even when I often feel unlovable or easy to give up on.  I'm thankful that I don't have to do this alone, as I'm not sure that would even be possible.  I'm thankful for this Christmas season, for the beautiful music, the sparkling lights, and the strengthening hope that comes through the Light of the World.  Because of Him, there is no darkness so penetrating that it cannot be overcome.  Even when everything hurts so much and the darkness makes me nauseous and physically sick, I know that it won't win, because I have the Savior, my family, and my tribe here to lift up my weary heart and give comfort, encouragement, and strength when I need it most.

Finding Joy Through Family

"It's a bad time of year to move."  My husband has said this a few times, and I completely agree.  I always struggle with more depression during the winter, so moving to a new place with new people just after I started to experience depression again and during the winter (not to mention also having a baby who has had a terrible adjustment and is not very happy and doesn't sleep) has been very difficult. 

Some people who know me and know about this struggle have asked how I have been doing since moving.  And when they've asked, I've been fine that day or hour or minute, so I haven't thought to tell about the other days and nights filled with tears and prayers and talks with my husband.  That's one of the confusing things about depression.  I can be just fine one minute, thinking that maybe the depression wasn't real or wasn't as bad as I thought it was in the moment, and then crying the next.  And when I'm struggling again, it seems like it's been forever, like I never actually felt well and will never feel well again. 

One thing I've been so thankful for recently is the fact that we may have uprooted our whole lives and experienced so much change in the last month, but we're together as a family doing it.  I don't have to do this alone, and I find so much comfort and joy in having the most important people in my life right here where I need them to be.  I can get through another dark winter knowing that I have my family to love me through it.