The Green-Eyed Monster

It started off simply and innocently enough.  One of my closest friends posted on Facebook an encouraging post to her three children.  It said how proud she was of all of her children for having found meaningful employment and independence as young adults.

But it was like a slap in my face, a kick to the stomach.  It really hurt, and I mean physically as well as emotionally, as I wondered for the bazillionth time if my son will ever achieve independence.  If I will ever be able to sit back in happy contentment and glow with parental pride about my son's accomplishments.

My own downward spiral began, and my jealousy raged out of control. I found myself knotted over any good news where I was not the direct recipient.  A friend's retirement travel plans.  A relative's upcoming wedding.  A friend's husband's new job.  I am ashamed to say that my descent continued for weeks.

I knew my pain and jealousy was rapidly headed down the road to bitterness.  I could feel it in my tightly clenched jaw.

I had a vague recollection of a page in my Bible that grouped and listed "Psalms For When ..."  Sure enough, there was a category for "Psalms For When You are Feeling Jealous."  I started with Psalm 37.

Depending on the translation you prefer, the opening words of Psalm 37 are "Fret not" or "Do not fret."  The ESV and the Amplified Bible say "Fret not yourself."  The word "fret" and the admonition not to do it appears several more times in the same Psalm.  

I've been taught as a general rule in Bible study, that when a word appears more than once, it is worthy to research it. 

Listen to some of the synonyms or alternate meanings for the word "fret" as listed by Strong's:  to glow or grow warm; to blaze up; anger; to burn, be displeased, jealous; self, grieve; kindle.

What a word picture!  Fretting is something I do to myself when I think the same thoughts over and over.  I grieve myself, I kindle my anger and jealousy until it glows and then blazes into anger.  I am doing it to myself.

The fire hose is found in Philippians 4:8 "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things."  (NIV)

Here, I like the NIV, because some years ago I did a Bible study (Conversation Peace by Mary Kassian) where the author made up an acronym for Philippians 4:8 -- albeit out of order -- PRE-PLANT, for my thoughts.  Before allowing some alien invasive species of thought to take root in and over my mind and heart like kudzu, I need to treat the soil of my mind with whatever is Pure, Right, Excellent, Praiseworthy, Lovely, Admirable, Noble, and True.

A most excellent resource for helping me (us) to channel our thoughts in the right direction is Ann Voskamp's book, 1,000 Gifts.  I cannot do justice to her words or her journey to healing, but she writes about a friend daring her to list 1,000 things she was grateful for, and the miraculous transformation she has experienced by focusing on "such things."

I wish I could close today by saying that I've made it; I've mastered my jealousy and am at total peace.  But I can't.  Like my son, I am a work in progress.

Who sinned? This man, or his parents?

I find that one of the most crippling things about my son's depression is the recurrent thought of "what did I do wrong" or "maybe we should have done XX differently" or the ever present "what if we had not moved."

John 9:3 speaks to this.  When the disciples and Jesus encountered the man born blind, the disciples ask, who sinned, that he was born blind.  And Jesus responded that neither this man nor this parents sinned, but that the man was born blind so that God's works, power, glory might be made manifest, displayed.

There is such great comfort in Jesus' words.  It is not my fault.  God is not punishing me for failing as a parent.

I read an article once that said that, with the exception of extreme cases, abuse or neglect, it is never our fault that our loved one suffers from depression.

If only I could remember that on cold dark days when my son hasn't left his bedroom.

But the point is, not all bad things are the result of sin.  Some things God has allowed so that He can display his glory to an unbelieving world.  How would we know that God can heal, if there were not someone and something to be healed from?  How would we know that God performs miracles, if we didn't first need one?  How would we know how great and powerful God is, if we were strong enough to move mountains by ourselves?  How would we know God's comfort, if we didn't know sorrow?

We can extrapolate from there another principle.  If some things were allowed by God for the purpose of showcasing His glory, won't He then, when the time is exactly right, bring the glory to Himself in fulfillment of the plan?  In other words, if God has allowed son's depression for the purpose of showing His glory, can't I trust Him to bring about healing in the perfect time and the perfect scenario to bring glory?

And that means that I don't know when or how or why.  God's ways and times are not mine.

Jesus answered, “It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him.  John 9:3 ESV

“It was not because of his sins or his parents’ sins,” Jesus answered. “This happened so the power of God could be seen in him." John 9:3 NLT

Put On Your Own Oxygen Mask First

If you've ever listened and paid attention to the flight attendant's instructions on what to do in case of emergency, you will know that parents are instructed to first put on their own oxygen mask before attempting to help your child put theirs on.  It does seem selfish somehow, or counterintuitive.  But it is wise advice.  If you lose consciousness, who then is left to help your child?

The same is true for living with a depressed child.  But instead of needing oxygen to breathe, we just need to remove ourself from the radioactive depression fallout.  To breathe fresh air without depression polluting our air.

For me, it is the hardest thing to do.  My son is an adult, quite capable of managing and mostly caring for himself.  But dare I go away for a weekend? What if he forgets to eat, or decides that the effort of going into the kitchen and preparing something and then eating it is overwhelming?  What if he suddenly comes out of his room and needs to talk it out and I'm not there? What if something happens and he plunges down to suicidal depths? 

I stand before you as the parent who did not put her own oxygen mask on first.  After that scary phone call from the mental health facility, I became afraid to leave my son alone.  Which, in hindsight sounds almost comical, given that he never leaves his bedroom and is in there alone with the door always closed.

His depression affects me profoundly and deeply.  Depression fallout, indeed.  It's radioactive.  I began to realize that days would pass and I hadn't showered or left the house, choosing to work quietly in my home office, trying to get my human contact from Facebook.  My weight got out of hand as I would wander in the kitchen and mindlessly find some pleasurable stimulation in a bag of chips or a plate of homemade nachos.  I was staying up later and later watching mind-numbingly stupid television shows, and so I was sleeping later.

What a fun gal I am!  My husband is a saint.

And when son leaves his room?  He sees me, unshowered, sitting in a strange mix of clothing that I affectionately call my "clown suit."  Sweats with a T-shirt that doesn't go, and socks that don't match either the shirt or the sweats, my way-old Birkenstocks.  Dull eyes meet dull eyes, and I assure you, I am not helping him a single bit.

We need lifelines, you and I.  Oxygen masks for us first so we can help our child put theirs on.

I hope you are praying for your depressive.  Begin by praying first for yourself.  That is number one on our list of lifelines.

The non-negotiables:

1.  Pray for yourself.  Ask God to help you trust Him to work in your loved one's life.  Our Heavenly Father is a much better and stronger God than you and I could ever be.   Release your loved one into His hands.  Pray for God's protection over your own mind.

2.  Read your Bible every day.  If you don't know where to start, there are plenty of reading plans and word studies online you can begin with.  Just Google it. I  hope to post later on some helpful hints for personal Bible study, journaling, and prayer time.

3.  Get out of the house every day.   Take the time to breathe air that is not polluted by radioactive depression fallout.  Even if it is to walk the dog, plant flowers in a flower box on your porch, watch the squirrels, go to the gas station to put gas in your car. 

Negotiables, pick and choose:

4. Join something that requires your repeated involvement and attendance.  It could be a weekly Bible study group, a yoga class, a twice-a-month support group, Weight Watchers, a mall-walking club.  Bible study groups are free, support groups are free, walking clubs are free if you cannot afford any kind of group with a membership charge.

5.  Treat yourself from time to time.  Depending on your financial situation, you may have to skim from your grocery list.  Try generic diapers a couple of times and pocket the savings.  Use a coupon and pocket the savings.   Try a meatless dinner or packing your lunch to carry to work so that you have a little splurge money.  Groupon frequently has offers for mani/pedi services.  Go to a coffee shop and get a cup of gourmet coffee and people watch.

6.  Find a support group that specializes in helping families of mental illness.  I was delighted to discover that NAMI has support meetings twice a month that meet right down the street from me.  Hubby does not care to go, but I must.  I can't wait to go to my first meeting.

7.  Find a confidante who is not living under the same roof with you and your depressive.  Fresh perspective is valuable.

8.  Sing! Download praise music with a lively beat and walk around the block.  If you don't have an iPod, most phones now days have the ability to play music.  Or turn up your car radio and go for a drive.

9.  Paint your bedroom.  Or living room.  Or your kitchen counters.

10.Volunteer at an animal shelter or nursing home.

The possibilities are endless.

It's not selfish to care for yourself.   You're no help to your loved one if you're incapacitated. 

Even Paul instructed Timothy to take care of himself:

Stop drinking only water, and use a little wine because of your stomach and your frequent illnesses.  1 Timothy 5:23

Trust Tested: Scary prayers and phone calls

Statistics say that two out of three people suffering from depression never seek treatment. Of those that do, many discontinue treatment for a variety of reasons, including side effects from medication, financial concerns, and so on.

Son quit taking his medication, saying that he could not handle the side effects and besides, it wasn't helping.  Even my Oscar-worthy performance of the toolbox analogy did not sway him.  Because he was legally an adult, I had no option but to pray.  I prayed fervently for several years, despairing as I watched him slip down, down, down.  In constant fear, I truly expected that any day he would take his own life.

That's when my prayer changed from the begging, pleading, heal-him-quick prayer to the scariest prayer I think I've ever prayed.  Because God does His best work when we hit rock bottom, I prayed that God would take my son down to rock bottom so that he would have no choice but to seek treatment.  Following that and overwhelmed with fear of what would happen, I prayed as the father did in Mark 9:24  "Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”

God answered my prayer by allowing my son to hit his rock bottom.  I didn't know it at the time.  And to this day, I do not know what happened. 

But I got a phone call.

It was a mental health care facility.  The lady on the other end of the line told me who she was, and that my son was sitting in her office.  Apparently had been for hours.  The only reason she could talk to me was that my son, an adult, had given his permission.

She said my son was in serious condition.  A high suicide risk.  He had told her that he and his dad liked outdoor sports, hunting, fishing, and that we owned guns.  My son could not come home, she said, until I promised that all guns and weapons would be locked up and stay that way.  Without hesitation, I promised.  Told her of the fireproof gun safe with double combinations plus a key that my husband owns.

And then I broke down and cried, and told her that I had prayed for this moment.  That I had known for years that my son needed help, and how I was so relieved it had come to this point.   I begged her to tell me what I could do to help him.  Anything, I said.  We'll do anything.  She relayed both my relief and my question to my son.  He thought for a moment and replied that he didn't want me crying when he came home.  Again, I promised.  That was easy.  But that was not really the answer I wanted, unfortunately, that was the only answer I got.

When son arrived home a couple hours later, I hugged him tight, as tight as I could.  Told him I loved him.  Told him I was proud of him.  Told him he could count on mom and dad to help him in any way we could.

He went to his room and again, closed the door, shutting me out.

That day changed us all.  Some changes for the better.  Some changes for the worse.

There is hope for your future, declares the Lord, and your children shall come back to their own country.   Jeremiah 31:17

A Toolbox Full of Tools

In an earlier post, I described the epiphany from God that provided me with the knowledge that my son was suffering from depression.  When he realized that he did indeed have depression, at my urging, he went -- mostly willingly, somewhat reluctantly, to our primary care physician.  He returned with prescription, but to my surprise, no referral to a psychologist or counselor.

So I  blessed my son with an Oscar-worthy performance of my "Toolbox Lecture."  I called son into my office one evening and invited him to sit down.  I pointed to my upside-down desk chair and announced dramatically, "My chair is broken!  Woe is me!  Whatever shall I do?"  Suspiciously humoring me, he tentatively suggested, "Fix it?"

"What a great idea!" I exclaimed.  "But where do I start?  If only I had something to use to do that, like a tool maybe?" all as I "accidentally" directed his attention to the toolbox sitting on my desk by casually leaning on it.

Rolling his eyes but still humoring me, he stated the obvious:  "There are tools in the toolbox."

"Really?  There's something in there that will help me fix my chair?"  I feigned stupidity.

"Yes, mom."

Without lifting the lid of the toolbox any further than was required to snake my hand inside, I blindly removed the first tool my hand touched.  I grandly waved a measuring tape at my son.  "Ta-dah!  I have a tool!  Now we can fix my chair!"

"No, mom."

"What?  Is this the wrong tool?"

"Yes, mom."

Meryl Streep got nothing on me.  "Oh, no!  All is lost!  Whatever can I do now?  My chair will never be fixed!"

Raising his eyebrow and wondering where all this is leading, son still plays along for the moment.  "Uh, mom, get another tool?"

I gasp, "You mean I shouldn't give up?  I should try something else?  There's still hope?"

"Yes, mom."

I torture him long enough to repeat this, twice more withdrawing a not-so-helpful tool from the toolbox, until triumphantly my hand emerges with a screwdriver and we both agree that now, after several tries, we have the right tool.

I close the analogy by telling him that fighting depression is like fixing my chair.  We have a huge toolbox filled with wonderful tools:  a plethora of different medications that address a variety of physical issues, counseling, support groups, psychologists, etc.  All the tools are useful, but not all of them are the best for doing what we need done. 

I encourage him that his recovery will be a process.  The first tool we pull out of our toolbox may not be spot-on the perfect tool for the job.  We may need to try a different medication.  Or add individual counseling.  Or support group.   But we will press on.  We will not give up.  We will try everything and anything until he is well.  We shall overcome!  Together we can do anything!

Seriously, I am not clever enough in the flesh to have come up with the toolbox analogy/lecture.  It just happened.  Poof!  It was in my mind, and I believe it was given to me by God Himself.  With that belief, I just knew that in a couple of months, all would  be right again.

As I said before, boy, was I naive.

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, 
and in his word I hope; 
my soul waits for the Lord 
more than watchmen for the morning, 
more than watchmen for the morning. Psalm 130:5-6

Then Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up.  Luke 18:1

But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day.  2 Peter 3:8

He Makes All Things Beautiful In Its Time

He makes all things beautiful in its time.  Ecclesiastes 3:11
   
You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness.  Psalm 30:11
   
I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”  John 16:33


As Christians, we have a most amazing weapon in our arsenal against the battles and wars raging in our lives.  And that is hope.  Jesus told us we would have tribulations in this world, but that He has overcome them.

A friend brought me this heart-shaped souvenir rock from a trip she went on.  My hope always faltering, the rock lives on my desk so that I can see it, pick it up, hold it, remind myself of the hope I have. The stone is cool and polished smooth.  I often trace my fingertips over the letters as if trying to absorb the engraved hope by osmosis into my broken heart.  

It does not take much for the door of my anxiety closet to swing wide open and all the boogeymen to rush out and attack me in weak moments.

Yesterday, it was jealousy, downright sinful envy that washed over me upon receiving a save-the-date card for a friend's daughter's wedding.   The happy couple smile adoringly at each other on the Pinterest-inspired card seem to mock me, and my stomach knots.  The self-flagellation begins as I sternly tell myself that I am beyond happy for my friend and her family at such joy.

But the knot tightens.   I doubt that my son will ever be healed enough to venture forth into the world, find the love of his life and get married.  Bolstering my doubt is his closed bedroom door.  I think I did see him yesterday, after I texted him to remind him to come eat something.

Mentally, I relive the past week.  The Christmas Eve midnight service we went to.  The brief conversation we had where he admitted that he is feeling better after a year and a half of treatment.  He describes his depression and moods as once being like an upside-down mountain range.  There is no up.  Only down and further down.  I imagine a rock-climber clinging to further down trying to climb up higher to simply down.   But now, he explains, it's like right-side up rolling hills.

Much easier to navigate, I had remarked, trying to not press him to go deeper than he is comfortable sharing, and praying fervently that I won't say anything stupid to make him clam up and end our conversation.  His succinct reply darts my heart:  Don't press an analogy too far, mom.

Hubby limps in from work.  He is in severe pain, arthritic knee worsened by cold and damp.  He needs surgery desperately but we can't afford it.  The "economic downturn" was apocalyptic to us.  After losing the job he'd been at for 25 years and bouncing around from job to job for the last five years, he's been at his present job for a year and a half.  Not yet long enough to be out of work for eight weeks during post-op recovery and still have a job.  Not long enough to have made the leap from an hourly employee to a salaried employee and have income during that recovery.

In all this anxiety, a verse pops out of the blue into my mind.  "He makes all things beautiful in its time."  In His time, not mine. 

Discouragement is simply having reached a premature conclusion.

I rub fingertips across my stone.  I can feel hope.

We Suffer From Depression Fallout

In her book "How You Can Survive When They're Depressed," secular author Anne Sheffield coins the term "depression fallout."  She writes,

"Living with a husband, wife, lover, parent, or child who views the world through a prism of despair is a daunting task.  Proximity to them gives rise to many of the same feelings as does the illness itself:  futility, worthlessness, and an inability to enjoy or cope with life .  .  . Depression and depression fallout are mirror images of each other, distinguishable by the fact that the former is a recognized illness and treatable by medication, while the latter is neither.  We have the symptoms but not the illness, and they originate in not in our brain's faulty neurotransmitters, but in the other's behavior and our reaction to it. . . Confronted with the unrelenting despondency and negativism of the other's depression, we match it with a painful gloom of our own.  And when our love, sympathy, and support are rejected or ignored, we slip into irritability and anger that mimic the depressive's"

See, I wasn't kidding when I asked if depression is contagious.  Somehow, there is relief and validation in these words.  I am not alone in my struggle against depression while trying to help my son battle his.

There is a name for what ails me.  Depression fallout.  Is there no balm in Gilead?

Christmas was a mixed bag of hope and despair for me.   Son and I had a brief, but I felt valuable, conversation riding over to a relative's house for Christmas Eve.  That night, son and I went together to midnight candlelight services.  Unfortunately, both were marred by the fact that he had not slept at all the night before.  At our family gathering, he fell asleep in my brother's chair.  Everyone kept asking me if he was okay.  Later on, he could not stay awake during the church service.  I feared he would slump over in the pew or fall into the aisle.  Christmas Day saw longer car ride out of state where the time was pleasant but otherwise unremarkable.

I think he has been in his room for the two full days after Christmas.

Worst of all, to my mind anyway, he procrastinated filling out some paperwork that may have cost him a valuable career opportunity and at least for the moment, feels like I spent and wasted $500 for updating immunizations and obtaining a drug screening for this perhaps now squandered career opportunity.

But see, this is where I need help.  Do I calmly point out that I am upset because he wasted opportunity and money?  I suppose throwing a fit would be counterproductive.   Instead, I asked him to empty the dishwasher and if he would have a job ready for me by Monday morning -- seeing how I gave it to him a week ago.

How is a parent supposed to respond to the daily frustrations and despair of depression fallout?