In 1998, I could hardly get out of bed. I didn’t care about my appearance, I couldn’t eat, and though I had just given birth to a precious baby girl, the all-encompassing joy that had accompanied the birth of my previous son, was muted. Something was wrong. Thanks to the attentiveness of my family doctor, I was referred to a psychiatrist where I learned I had depression and generalized anxiety disorder, which began post-partum. Though I have struggled with low grade depression and anxiety for most of my adult life, medication and therapy manage most of it, for which I am so grateful. Add in enough rest, eating well, and exercising, I feel even better.
I am far from alone. Studies show that almost 20% of American adults have a mental health illness and the most recent Ottawa County Youth Assessment Survey reveals that just under 30% of teenagers, grades 8th through 12th , struggle with depression alone. This means that on any given Sunday, we are worshipping with, sharing fellowship coffee with, and making apple pies with multiple people with a mental health struggle, if not ourselves.
What can we do? How can we be a better community? How can we love those struggling (and ourselves) better? I am far from being a mental health professional and while I work hard to educate myself on identifying warning signs, I am not equipped as a pastor to offer the professional care required. But there are two things I can do and I wonder if more of us can do the same. First, I am sharing my own story of depression more. As much as we have evolved as a society, stigma regarding mental health is still very real. Perhaps if those of us whose experiences are not raw spoke more openly about our struggles past or present, those who feel more vulnerable and are fighting hopelessness would feel less isolated. I admit that sharing my story doesn’t always feel natural, as I sometimes worry I will be viewed as broken or unstable, but the payoff is more people let me in on their pain or ask for a mental health professional referral.
This leads me to the second way I try to connect. I offer friendship. Now a word about loving those with a mental health illness. Friendship does not mean trying to solve someone’s problem. It is not ever to replace a therapeutic relationship with a health professional. It is not to offer advice, unless it is requested, or you suspect the person is in a potential emergency situation. Friendship is deciding I will not let my discomfort with mental health be a reason to avoid them. Friendship is being a listening ear when someone is ready to talk. Friendship is checking in on friends on occasion with a phone call, an encouraging card, or even a simple text message. Friendship is offering a hug if your friend wants it. Friendship is offering to help with a meal or household chore. Friendship is holding your friend in prayer and not taking it personally if they cancel on you last minute because today ends up being a bad day. Friendship is keeping confidentiality, but also pulling in a professional if a life-threatening crisis seems imminent. And just like any other illness, friendship can mean visiting them in the hospital, if they desire your presence and the health professionals feel it to be helpful. Essentially, being a friend to one with a mental health struggle looks pretty similar to being a good friend to anyone, perhaps with a bit more intentionality.
And finally, a word to those reading this who feel alone, unlovable, and hopeless. We, the three pastors, love you. We know God is at work in you and through you and we welcome the opportunity to remind you of this when you need it. We don’t want you to feel alone and would love to meet with you to listen and/or to connect you with recovery resources. If you need immediate help, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1(800)273-8255. Thank you for the gift of being your pastors and for allowing Hope Church to be your family.
Peace,
~Pastor Beth