Sunday morning I was in the church nursery with a little body in which the biggest spirit I've ever known resides.
He's a special boy, who has overcome so many developmental barriers in his short life that his mere presence in a room teaches a thousand unspoken lessons. Too often I admire him and his family from a distance because of The Busy Life.
Together, we tentatively, shyly at first, sang that old song, This Little Light of Mine, giggling at the joy he displayed when we hid our little "lights" (index fingers) under "bushels" (our cupped hands) and then ripped them away as we stage shouted our "No's."
This little light of mine
I'm gonna let it shine
Hide it under a bushel?
NO!
I'm gonna let it shine
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine
Sometimes that light is to help guide others to a path that is right. That is the context Matthew 5:16 affords to the two verses preceding it and in which it is often preached.
Other times, that light serves to illuminate the dark within us.
The pain and courage it takes to summon that light, share it, and let the world gaze at all that is wrong within us is one of the greatest paradoxes the lived experience offers us.
The paradox continues in that this brightening process holds the key to our self-perpetuated prisons, offering freedom from shame and heartache.
Yet The Jailer* stands guard, whispering, "You can't tell them - they will never see you the same way again - all they will ever see is your weakness. Attention seeking, pathetic weakness."
That Jailer is a liar, but oh, how we fall hard for that tired old routine.
So...I did a thing today.
Well, really, I did a thing yesterday, the ramifications of which lead to this thing I did today.
I had a bit of a melt down at work yesterday.
I was the woman who cries at the office.
And not because I was telling a sentimental story.
No, this was full-on depressed Heather riding the spiral of disaster ALL THE WAY DOWN because she just couldn't even, heaving sobs in reply to the non-stop barrage of inner self loathing that roared louder than the supportive words of my co-workers.
It was irrational. Completely crazy, if you will.
Which heaped up more shame for The Jailer inside to sling at me.
I had class to get to and begged off finishing the meeting.
A hand reached out.
"Are you ok?" was asked.
Not the Captain Obvious variety of the question, rather, the "Are you ok to end the conversation/move on?" sort.
The kind that implies "You're not going to do anything harmful to yourself, right?"
The kind that makes me feel like a gigantic zero.
A muffled wail of, "No, but I'll be alright," was my response. I was humiliated, and of my own doing.
I fled the building, hot trails of disgrace snaking down my face.
I got to class and avoided eye contact, knowing the tell-tale puffy red look would elicit questions that I didn't want to, couldn't, answer.
Over the course of the next two hours, I re-gained my composure, even managing the nail-hitting commentary of the night.
Home and straight to bed, skipping church.
I woke up this morning and had the same sense of dread wash over me as soon as my feet hit the floor.
Damn, still there.
Got through the motions of getting everyone off to school and arrived at work earlier than normal since Chris had a before school choir practice.
Had an unanticipated "so, about yesterday," conversation with my supervisor that went really, very well.
And yet....
He said, "You're doing amazing."
But I heard The Jailer, five times louder, screaming, "LIES!"
The sobs came to visit again.
My best friend brought me out to lunch, and I fell apart a few times during the conversation.
She said, "You're in the midst of a flare, Heather. It's ok. It happens, and you will recover, just as you have in the past."
The Jailer started up again, squeezing my heart, "This will never end. You're mine."
I silently mustered up the strength to counter, "No, I'm God's and God's alone. You don't own me. I will do my time, and then I'll be free again."
I rode the roller coaster of emotion the next several hours, culminating in a silent drive to FLTI tonight with Kelsey.
Occasionally, the jailer's hurled insults and my recounting of the day resulted in fresh tears. The skin just under my eyes is so damn raw, y'all,
SO. MUCH. SHAME.
We got to FLTI and I sent my supervisor a text.
"Thanks for the talk today. I'm in the midst of a depressive flare and I'm struggling..."
This little light of mine.
I pulled myself together and put a semblance of a mask on. I'm all pro at that. Have had a lifetime of practice.
I felt my heart lift more and more as the evening went on.
Fully doing life and getting outside of your head will do that. Not saying it will replace talk therapy or monitored medication, lest y'all think I'm going all David Avocado Wolfe on you. But it does help.
At the end of the session, we had our closing circle as always.
"Aha's" first.
I raised my hand.
I'm gonna let it shine.
"My aha tonight was what a powerful mood booster you all can be. I've been struggling, really struggling, with a flare of my depression all week, I was crying on the car-ride all the way here tonight, and you all have made me laugh and feel lighter than I have all week."
Let it shine.
It's slightly terrifying to share with people who know you in the community, in a context where this kind of vulnerability could potentially damage your career / reputation.
But, as Sweary Magdalene™ (Kelsey's new name for me, given my last post) would say:
FUCK THAT SHIT.
That kind of thinking blows the light right out, and makes everyone think you're doing Just Fine.
Most of the world isn't doing Just Fine.
Our kids getting shot up at school is not Just Fine.
The deep-seated racism that continues in our country is not Just Fine.
The tremendous lack of access to safe, affordable housing and quality childcare is not Just Fine.
The so common it pains me to think about occurrence of #MeToo events against women in our country is not Just Fine.
And really, so much more.
Bottom line is that we ARE NOT JUST FINE.
And I'm not going to perpetuate the lie that I am anymore.
Am I in a forever state of sadness?
No - God and friends and family and the miracle of Wellbutrin have all gotten me through this before. I will get through this again.
Anyway, back to my point about tonight.
After our circle, I encountered the largest, tightest group hug ever.
The love. The light.
It was shining BRIGHT.
Every body there was the power of Christ (Higher Power) that is laid upon us when we boast about our weaknesses. Because in that power, that fulfillment of humans living in relationship, as God intended, is freedom and life.
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.
*The Jailer is a creative literary device to symbolize depression in this story. I have chronic depression, not psychosis via delusions and hallucinations.
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