One Year Better

One year ago, I wrote this post...and closed my eyes as I hit publish, praying I was doing the right thing.

After all, it was my story...and I hard worked hard for so long to keep it a secret.  Or, rather, at denying that it was even my story to begin with.

But I kept feeling this gentle nudge to share my story, to expose the truth, and to make this silent disease known through my own words. 

And something amazing happened when I did.  Women shared their stories.  And told me I wasn't alone.  They were praying for me and loving me despite my mess.

I never expected such an outpouring of support.  I never realized how common this disease is, how many women...and men...this has affected.

My family has grieved over two lives lost by suicide.  And that pain really never goes away.  But my family chose, instead of hiding the pain, to expose it and talk about it and reach out to each other.

My mom recognized all the signs in me.  She was the one who told me "you need to get some help".  Not because she thought I was crazy...but because she loved me enough to realize I wasn't myself. 

"I'm worried about you," my husband said.  He knew I was not myself too.  Truthfully, I had not been myself for over a year.

Asking for help was one of the hardest things I've done...but one of the best decisions I've made.  I am forever grateful to my doctor and my counselor for helping me to heal.

Sometimes I look back on that year and wish I could press restart.  There's a lot I don't remember, because I was really just going through the motions.

I hurt people I loved, because I was hurting so much inside.  I pulled away from friends, because I didn't know how to reach out and tell them what was really going on.  I was ashamed of how much of a mess I was.  I thought I was a complete failure...as a wife, a mom, a sister, a friend. 

It's taken the last year to sort through all my mess, years and years of repressed emotions, buried hurts, and broken hearts.  I found me again, but the work that He began in me is far from finished. 

I'm still not perfect.  I still fall apart sometimes; I still struggle; I still have to fight those anxious thoughts and those dark moments. But they are fewer and farther between...and not nearly as consuming as they once were.

Perhaps the hardest part of this journey has been forgiving myself.  There is a lot of regret and shame that comes with this disease.  Regret that I didn't get help sooner, regret that I fell so deep into the darkness, regret that I wasn't the mom I could have been, regret that I missed out on so much joy in that year.  Shame that I made such a mess of everything, shame that I couldn't figure it out myself, shame that I couldn't just 'snap out of it'.

I've had to learn to look back and forgive myself, to recognize that I couldn't help myself, because this disease broke me.  And it really wasn't my fault.  I didn't do something or act a certain way that made me fall into depression.  It happened and I can't change it.

It's part of my story now...but it doesn't define me anymore.  I look at myself in the mirror now, see the genuine smile on my face and the peace that surpasses understanding that fills my countenance and I can say "look how far I've come!"