Medically Speaking

When I started this blog, one thing I intended to write about is the medical aspect of my depression. I’ve hesitated a bit to share this, because frankly, I’m not a doctor. I have no medical experience or training. In fact, most medical procedures make me a bit light-headed. When my mom injured her collarbone in a skiing accident, I was in the hospital room when the doctor tried to shove it back into place. I was just standing there watching, not bothered at all, and then suddenly I realized I was kind of woozy and that I might faint – not my finest moment. 😊 I can tell myself all about mind over matter, but at some point my body and my mind separate and I just can’t handle some things. Clearly, the medical world is not the best place for me.

The other reason I’m hesitant to share is that I don’t want to give false hope. Depression comes in many forms and for many reasons. Just because I found answers in the route I took, doesn’t mean that is the route for everyone. I still maintain that healthy coping skills, learned through a trained counselor, can have the biggest impact in your ability to survive depression. A healthy community of friends and family who support you is equally important. And I promise you a deep relationship and dependency on Jesus is what got me through this more than anything.

However, despite my reservations and caveats, I do feel compelled to share a bit of my story, in hopes that it might help someone else who may have a similar source of their depression. I may not be anything close to a medical expert, but I have lived in my body for 41 years, and I had a front-row seat to everything that had an effect on my battle with depression. I studied my symptoms and every attempt at a cure very closely. I balanced the insights and input from multiple doctors with my own careful observations. I am NOT an expert on your situation, but I can definitely tell you what I learned about mine. I hope in some small way that it helps.

Several years ago, when I finally realized that I was truly struggling with depression, my husband gave me some very wise advice. He suggested that I start to keep track of how I was feeling on a day-to-day basis. In a small notebook, I started recording daily how I was feeling. I created a number scale that helped – “1” meant I was extremely happy, “3” meant I felt good and pretty normal, and “10” meant I was suicidal. Between “3” and “10” was a broad range of varying levels of depression. Eventually I also added a similar scale for anxiety, as that became more and more pronounced. Along with the date, I also included the day of my menstrual cycle. This really helped me track and confirm the fact that the severity of my depression had a very direct correlation to the cycle my hormones were undergoing every month. Over the course of time, I had gone from having a few days of PMS-like symptoms each month, to three solid weeks of hard-core depression each month. I had suspected hormonal issues all along, but to see hard evidence was simultaneously daunting and empowering.

Armed with that information, I spent months (and beyond) pursuing a solution. I met with my therapist as well as trusted friends and mentors. I read books and took a personal retreat to Colorado for a time of reflection and rest. Eventually I took a leave of absence from my job, and then quit my job when it was clear that would be best for my mental health. But alongside the spiritual, mental, and emotional healing I sought, I knew there were physical issues that needed to be addressed.

Over these months and years, I saw/spoke to several doctors, received guidance from nurses, tried multiple medications and supplements in varying dosages with all their side effects, had one trip to the ER, and underwent a lot of testing to help determine my underlying issues. None of it was easy. I had to balance advice from multiple doctors, friends who had tried supplements and oils that worked for them, and well-meaning people who advised that if I simply exercised more I’d feel better. There was one day where I saw both my functional medicine doctor and my primary care doctor within an hour of each other – both who are individuals I highly respect – and I had to weigh their separate advice and make the decision for myself what was the next best step forward.

I could detail all of this for you – and to be honest I started to, and then deleted it all – but seriously it’s really long. So here’s something of a (still too long) summary and advice that hopefully will help you understand the physical aspects that may be involved with an individual’s depression.

The first bit of advice is to be persistent and patient when pursing the medication that’s right for you, as it could take awhile to find the right one. I have several friends who had success on a low dose of the first medication they tried. I was not so lucky, but it’s good to know that it can happen. I tried three (maybe four?) different medications at varying dosages over the course of several months. Each had awful side effects for me – the main side effect being extreme tension and anxiety. I was jittery a lot, my legs would shake anytime I was sitting still, and stress sent me into a tailspin. Thankfully, my primary care doctor and his nurse were amazing at helping me walk this road. Eventually I took a DNA test that helped determine the best medication for me. That medication still had those side effects, but I learned to live with them and adjust dosages when the side effects became too pronounced. I am still on that medication now, and it truly does help me to be more stable and to get through the worst days. If you do get on a medication, be sure to read the side effects closely. Some will go away in time, but others are dangerous – serotonin syndrome is a real and scary thing. You have to be the one who cares for yourself and is aware of what you’re feeling… and voices your concerns over and over again to doctors as needed.

The other thing I would say is to look carefully at underlying issues that may not even seem connected to depression. When I hit a point where my medication was working, but I still wanted to figure out what was going on, I decided to see a functional medicine doctor based on the advice of several friends. He used a heavily-scientific approach, testing various systems of the body to see how symptoms might be connected. I really appreciated the scientific approach he had – I was afraid he was just going to tell me to stop eating gluten and call it good (which would be sad, because I really love bread!). Unfortunately, this was an expensive process, but we had health account money that had to be used by the end of the year, so we did it. I’m not saying you have to do this – I certainly don’t have it in the budget anymore, so I know that it’s not realistic for most – but it is wise to look beyond medication as the only physical cure.

Because I had kept track of my depression and my cycle alongside it, I was 99.9% sure that my depression was based on my hormones. More than that, though, testing revealed that it was really gut issues that were the root cause of my hormonal imbalance and my resulting depression. For most of my adult life I had dealt with acid reflux, and had been on acid reflux medication for at least five years just to keep me from a constant upset stomach. I had also taken a stool softener for years on the advice of a nurse practitioner because I had intestinal pain from an over-abundance of gas. That, combined with a diagnosis of SIBO (Small-Intestinal Bacterial Overgrowth) – an intestinal infection – meant that my digestive system was seriously struggling. On top of that, the tests showed that my iron levels were too high, my cortisol levels were tanked (that’s from years of living a ridiculously stress-filled life for too many years), and my liver was inflamed.  All of those things explained many weird and annoying issues I’d had over the years – things that my doctor could never quite figure out.

Interestingly, it was the intestinal infection that proved to be at the root of most of my problems. Research and my experience with medications showed that depression often happens when our body doesn’t produce enough of the hormone serotonin. What I hadn’t realized is that serotonin is primarily created in the gut. And because my gut wasn’t healthy, my brain couldn’t be healthy. Years of antibiotics for various reasons, along with band-aid medications for reflux and gas, had created a very unhealthy balance of bacteria in my digestive system. I had far too much bad bacteria, and not nearly enough good bacteria. In addition to that, reproductive hormones are closely tied with gut health, which may have contributed to my years-long struggles with PCOS, PCBS, PMDD, infertility, heavy periods, and inconsistent menstrual cycles.

So my functional medicine doctor helped me fight my gut infection with supplements, though I imagine my primary care doctor could have done the same thing if he’d realized that he needed to look deeper at my digestive issues and their ties to my depression. I took supplements that fought the infection, while also taking probiotics to replace the bad bacteria with good. I stopped taking my acid reflex meds and stool softener. And then, over the course of the next few months, some remarkable changes happened… that landed me in the ER. I know, I know, that doesn’t sound good, but really, when we sat back and figured it all out, it was actually a sign that my body was healing.

You see, once my digestive system started healing, my body began to create its own serotonin again. Which was amazing! However, the only way we figured that out was when I started having some strange situations where I started passing out/nearly passing out. I got incredibly dizzy, disoriented, couldn’t sit up straight, and it usually happened right after I ate. When it happened pretty severely one time, we decided to go to the ER. Unfortunately, all they did was run a bunch of tests, say I was fine, and look at me like I was crazy for taking supplements.  But when I saw my primary care doctor the next day, he was quickly able to see that the issue was serotonin syndrome—an excess of serotonin in the body. He immediately lowered my very high dosage of anti-depressant. I had been on 225 mg, and I went down to 75 mg within a few days. And suddenly I was back to normal. As we reflected on what happened, and conferred with my functional medicine doctor, it became clear that my body had finally started developing its own serotonin, so it no longer needed such a high boost from my anti-depressant. The combination of my own serotonin, plus the excess from the anti-depressant had flooded my body with too much serotonin, hence the passing out and other weird symptoms.

Over the coming months our money for health expenses ran out, so I stopped seeing my functional medicine doctor. It was a hard decision, but we just couldn’t afford to keep going when insurance didn’t cover any part of it. But I have been able to maintain my gut health through probiotics. It’s actually interesting too the other ways my body changed during this time. I used to be cold ALL THE TIME – now I actually get hot. I also gained ten pounds – not my favorite change, but I think my low weight before hadn’t been healthy in some ways. I also developed seasonal allergies, oddly enough. So my body clearly went through some not-so-great changes, and unfortunately I never was able to ask my functional medicine doctor where all that came from. However, my depression has been manageable, and I even reduced my anti-depressant dosage again. I’ll take ten pounds and some seasonal allergies if it means that my depression is under control.

I have noticed that when I’m on a lower-quality probiotic my depression gets worse, so I have to be careful to buy something that has the right ingredients (note: high quality doesn’t necessarily mean more expensive, but you do need to look for the right things – ask me if you need some help finding something).

In addition to this, on the advice of his therapist, we started to give our son who had struggled with depression a probiotic designed for kids. That small change made a big difference for him too. In hindsight, he had been on antibiotics several times one year because he had recurring sinus infections, and the probiotic helped him build up the good bacteria in his system again. As a result, he became a much happier kid and didn’t have the down moments he’d had for so long.

Trust me when I say, I’m not selling something here. I don’t have a link for a probiotic or supplements that would benefit me or a friend. I buy my probiotics on Amazon, because I like my free two-day shipping. 😊 I just want you to know that although anti-depressants, therapy, Jesus, friends, and family are all VERY important parts of the healing process, there may be some underlying medical issues that are worth looking into. Our culture is not exactly known for healthy eating, and our medical world is very quick to throw a prescription at any symptom that may pop up. In fact, there’s even more to my story than what I’ve already shared, including anti-anxiety meds, a not-so-great neurologist, CT scans, a brain scan, and a recommendation of anti-seizure meds despite inconclusive results. Navigating the medical world was no easy task for me, even when I had a primary care doctor who I respected very much. Despite all that, I’ve learned that the systems of our body are interconnected, and there is wisdom at looking at the whole picture of your health when trying to get to the bottom of mental health issues.

All this being said, I know I still have a lot to learn. I still struggle with PMS and its accompanying depression some months, though usually just for a few days instead of three weeks. I’m still on a low-dose of my anti-depressant, and plan to be on it for the foreseeable future. I’ve had to try out various probiotics and ways of eating when things have seemed a little off. And realistically, I’m a 41-year-old woman. I have years of fluctuating hormones ahead of me and I honestly don’t know what to expect with that. I know I will have to adjust and adapt and keep learning about the systems of my body and how I can keep myself healthy both mentally and physically.

But I’m thankful I have a way forward. And when depression hits hard I have coping skills that I’ve learned to help me fight it. I have Truth I can rely on when the voices of self-hatred start. I have people I can confide in who willingly walk this road with me.

I pray the same for you.

As always, if I can help in any way, or if you want more information, please feel free to contact me. The worst thing you can do is keep quiet when you need help. There is no freedom in silence.

Earthworms, Pools, & Panic Attacks

Embarrassing Story Time! 😊 I have a bit of an embarrassing story to tell, but because it very directly pertains to the subject of mental health, I feel compelled to share it here. Please know that I am NOT making light of what some people struggle with on a daily basis. Instead, my goal is to transparently share my absurd story, in hopes that others can see what my eyes were opened to – that although panic is at times very illogical, it is still very real.

This spring, we decided to buy a pool for our backyard. It became clear that even if the pools do open this summer, we probably won’t want to go hang out with large groups of people who spit, pee, and wipe their runny noses directly into the water. Yuck.

So we scoured the internet for the best deal, ordered our 15-foot Intex pool, forced our children to watch YouTube videos about pool maintenance, found out our order was never going to be delivered because it was damaged in transport, ordered another pool, and finally received the blessed box that promised to contain several summers’ worth of entertainment for our family.

Despite the fact that it was April and barely 70 degrees, we wasted little time in opening that box and setting up the pool. We found the most level spot in our yard, spread the ground cover, and got to work putting it together. Then we turned on the hose and watched in anticipation as it very slowly filled with 3,841 gallons of water.

As it filled, we noticed that maybe our ground wasn’t quite as level as we first thought. In fact, once the pool was full, we could see that one side was about two inches lower than the other. It didn’t seem like too big of a deal, though I was rather nervous in some ways – especially since that one side of the pool seemed to be bulging out quite a bit. And that side of the pool was closest to our house.

However, we pretty much just ignored it and let the kids play in the freezing water for a couple weeks.

Then it rained one day – a lot. We have a pool cover, and by the time the rain was done, the cover was filled with quite a lot of dirty, nasty water. Josh, Micah and I attempted to pull the cover off of the pool while allowing the rain water to be funneled over the edge of the pool. Unfortunately, water is really heavy, and we failed in that attempt. What we did accomplish was to move the cover with all that heavy water to one corner of the pool – the corner that was already strained because it was holding more water pressure than it was designed to.

THANKFULLY, the wall of the pool didn’t collapse. However, the support posts sunk drastically lower in the ground, and it became clear that if we didn’t drain and move the pool, we could have a disaster on our hands.

As we drained the pool and watched all of that precious, perfectly balanced and chlorinated water run out of the hose onto the street, I was quite discouraged. We had wanted to do this really fun thing for our family, and we had pretty much just messed it up. Because it was going to be cold for at least a week, we let the mostly empty pool sit for a while until we could summon the energy required to sufficiently level the ground for Attempt #2.

This past Saturday was finally the day when we were ready to try again. We got started mid-morning. First, we emptied the rest of the water out of the pool, and then moved the pool and the incredibly nasty tarp off the rancid, awful-smelling grass underneath. Then we started the process of adding some dirt to make a level surface.

There’s an area under our treehouse that has long-been considered the “dig area.” This is the place where the kids were allowed to dig when they were little. It’s also the only place the dog is allowed to dig, but he hasn’t quite gotten the memo on that yet, unfortunately. Anyway, this area is where we put excess dirt when we happen to have it from some project, or we also pull dirt from it when we need it for another project. So obviously, since we needed dirt, this is where we dug from.

Apparently, however, some earthworms had been making this area their home for quite some time. As Josh started digging, he remarked on the amazing number of worms, and how we should use them for fishing sometime. Although I don’t really like squirmy things like worms, and I especially hate snakes, I didn’t really think too much of it. I have a garden, and I’m used to coming across the occasional worm. In fact, when I see one I’m usually kind of excited because I know how good they are for the soil.

I wasn’t prepared, though, for the sheer number of worms that were in that dirt. As Josh filled up the wheelbarrow and moved it to the area we were leveling, my task was to break up the dirt clods and spread out the soil with a rake. However, I was quickly revolted by the number of worms. There were so many! Every time I hit a dirt clod with the rake, there was another one (or two or three). And some of them were HUGE! I was trying to be careful because I didn’t want to kill the worms, which almost made it worse. Every time I saw a worm, part of my brain would freak out because it was so disgusting and sneaky. The other part of my brain would say, “But they’re so good for the soil. Be nice to them!” I kept making weird comments and noises, trying to laugh off my extreme aversion to the worms. I tried trading tasks with Josh, thinking that if I did the digging it would be better than breaking up the dirt clods, but it was just as bad. I found myself almost retching, but then laughing at myself and trying to tough it out. I don’t see myself as a squeamish person, and I can generally fight my way through most things. It was an insult to my pride that I was being so dramatic about it, and that I couldn’t just suck it up and push through it.

I kept pushing myself to keep going, and then after one more disgusting dig, I finally gave up, ran to the house with my arms flailing like a windmill, and said, “I can’t do it anymore!” I yelled inside for Micah to come and take my place, walked to the middle of the yard, and then I laughed at myself, and then I couldn’t breathe, and then my legs were shaking, and then I was leaning over with my hands on my knees, and then I was bawling for no apparent reason.

In short, I had a full-on panic attack…over earthworms.

As I said before, I try not to be a dramatic person. I try to tough things out and I’m a really hard worker. I understand the power of mind over matter. But there was something about that particular situation that sent me into a panic attack. It made no sense. It was completely illogical. It wrecked me for a few hours – at first I was shaky and couldn’t walk without help for a while.  I was on edge, completely exhausted, and embarrassed. I kept my sense of humor and was able to laugh at myself, but it continued to have an effect on me. I kept replaying the whole experience in my head, and apologized to Josh multiple times for being so dramatic. His words of comfort were so helpful though. Despite the fact that I felt like I’d had a ridiculous reaction to an absurd situation, his simple response was, “It’s still very real, though.”

And that is the truth. Despite the fact that I had an extreme reaction to a simple stressor, the reality is that my physical and emotional response was very real. It wasn’t something I did for attention. It wasn’t a choice I made to overreact. I wasn’t trying to get out of work. The reality is that my body and my mind had a very extreme reaction to a seemingly benign situation.

As I was sitting on a patio chair, recovering from my first-ever full-fledged panic attack, it struck me how incredibly difficult this must be for those who experience this as a normal occurrence – and especially for those who have traumatic memories that are triggered by small, seemingly harmless situations.

That afternoon I reflected on the fact that this definitely goes in the top five worst experiences in my life. I don’t actually have any such list, but if I did it would probably be on it. It was miserable and it was awful and I never want to experience it again. But I’m thankful in some ways, because I was given a very, very small glimpse of what some struggle with regularly. My sense of compassion and empathy is expanded because of this experience, which is why I chose to share about it here.

If you have a loved one, friend, or even acquaintance who has struggled with a panic disorder, I hope that my sad, slightly humorous story has allowed you a brief glimpse into what a seemingly illogical reaction might feel like for that person. I know it has definitely given me a new perspective. And if this is something that you personally struggle with, I’d love to hear more about your perspective if you’re willing to share.

You’ll be happy to know that our pool is now level and full again, and that my children are currently freezing their butts off in there at this very moment. And although I doubt I’ll ever swim in it without thinking of the large number of worms crawling in the soil beneath it, I’m looking forward to joining my children soon – once the weather gets above 75 degrees. 😊

Ears to Hear

Last week, I was a mess for a few days. I’ve always imagined that in a crisis I would be one who would step up and handle everything with strength and wisdom. Instead, as every day brought worse news and more restrictions, I melted into a mess – short-tempered, anxious, hopeless, tense, easily wounded. At night it was the worst – I felt so hopeless as I cried myself to sleep. I wasn’t sure I could handle this new normal, and I didn’t want to try.

This is NOT the person I want to be.

I want to be strong, bold, helpful, willing to serve, creative, loving, selfless, adaptive – but my anxiety was crippling me and I couldn’t see a way through.

The root of the problem was this: I couldn’t hear God’s voice in the midst of all the other voices I was hearing. I would try to read my Bible, but the other words I’d been reading all day drowned out the peace I was seeking. I would try to pray, but I’d be interrupted by yet another message, another word of advice, another funny-not-funny meme that would come through on my phone.

The thing that muted God’s voice the most though was this: my fear that I was doing it wrong. All day long I was reading articles and recommendations about social distancing, self-quarantine, and how to stop the spread of this virus. Each voice I listened to said something different, and I wanted desperately to know if I was doing it right. At first, I went to the extreme and basically quarantined my family. But then I was afraid that we were making it harder than it had to be and that I was hurting our mental health by not allowing my kids playtime with friends. But then I felt guilt that we had possibly exposed ourselves and others to the virus, so we pulled back again. And then I shared these insecurities with others, and received even more well-intentioned lectures and articles about how we were doing it all wrong. The voices were loud and they were overwhelming, and I couldn’t hear the most important Voice of all.

So, I turned off the voices. For one day, I turned off my phone and allowed myself to experience the freedom of listening to only one Voice. And that simple act helped me to find the peace that had been so elusive. I could hear God for the first time in days. I spent time in Scripture, soaking up the words of wisdom and strength that He spoke to me. I prayed without interruption. I experienced beautiful moments in worship. I began to see the ways He was working in this crisis – our family was growing in ways we never would have otherwise, and He had clearly prepared our kids for this moment in ways I could only see if I looked closely. I found the freedom to stop worrying so much about whether or not I’m doing this right – this is all new and there’s no way I’m going to do it perfectly. I found grace for myself and grace for others; we are all making this up as we go, and none of us will do it perfectly.

As my phone went back on that night, I had renewed peace and an ability to hear God’s voice above the others. It has still been hard, and I’m still second-guessing myself a lot. I’m still trying to figure out when to read the news and laugh at the memes, and when to just set my phone down for a few hours. I still have fears about what the coming months will look like. I’m definitely not that amazing warrior princess who I had imagined myself to be in a crisis.

But I’m at peace, and I know what Voice to listen to. I pray that you can find that peace too.

“I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them.”   – Isaiah 42:16

An Everyday Sabbath

Note: I actually wrote this blog entry a couple weeks ago, before the world changed in many ways, but never had a chance to post it until now. I’d probably change a few things if I were writing it now, but I think the main ideas behind it are still timely – a reminder to rest and trust.

Remember the manna God gave the Israelites when they were in the desert? Let me give a little background for those of you who didn’t get to watch Charlton Heston in The Ten Commandments every Easter as a kid. In the book of Exodus, the Israelites were freed from slavery in Egypt through a series of miraculous events. It was pretty intense (so were the special effects in the movie). 😊 The next part of the plan was for God to lead them to the Promised Land and they would settle there. They eventually made it, but some big mistakes and a lack of trust in God extended their journey. So they wandered around in the desert for quite a long time – 40 years to be exact – as God taught them to trust Him in very tangible ways.

During that time in the desert, the Israelites obviously needed food to eat. Therefore, God sent them manna every morning and quail every evening. As someone who is slightly terrified of large groups of birds, the quail thing kind of freaks me out. However, the manna was really cool – it was a small, flaky type of bread/grain they had never even heard of before. I like to imagine it was kind of like puff pastry, though I’ll admit that’s probably not accurate. The most unique thing about this bread is that it came with a promise – it would show up every morning, and there would be enough for every single person among them. Each Israelite was tasked with gathering enough manna for themselves each day. God told them not to save any for the following day – He promised He would provide it, and He did. Of course, there were those who tested that promise, and they had some maggoty bread (and an annoyed Moses) the next day. The exception to this was on the Sabbath. God told the Israelites that they were to gather twice as much on the sixth day (Friday to those of us who like to give names to our days of the week), and that particular manna would not get moldy or maggoty. You see, God had commanded the Israelites to honor the Sabbath (the seventh day – or Saturday) as a day of rest. Therefore, He didn’t want them out on the Sabbath gathering food – instead He gave it to them early so they could use that day of rest for what it was designed for.

I share this story because it illustrates the idea that I mentioned in my last blog post: REST = TRUST. And for the Israelites, this trust was not required just once a week – it was required every day. Each day they could have gone out and gathered enough food to last them several days. But they quickly learned that the extra work would be in vain – it would all be worthless the next day. They had to go to sleep each night with complete trust that God would provide what they needed the next day. And on Friday night they had to go to sleep knowing manna would not appear the next day, and trusting that what they had gathered that day would get them through until Sunday.

And that’s exactly what happened. Every single day, for 40 years, God provided the Israelites with what they needed. He spent 40 years proving to them over and over again that He had taken them on this journey, and that He would provide for them every step of the way if they would simply rest and trust in Him.

This is where I am now. I have never truly been without any physical thing I’ve needed. I’ve never known hunger or thirst or a lack of basic needs. In fact, I think our family could survive an apocalypse for quite a while just on the excessive amount of peanut butter and cereal that is stocked in our pantry. And yet, I still struggle to rest in God’s provision for me. In this season, however, He is completely reshaping me into a creature who trusts Him implicitly.

During the past couple of years, I’ve learned more about rest than anything else. In our culture, Sundays are often considered to be “The Sabbath,” so when I was a kid Sundays meant going to church and making sure that work and sports activities didn’t take the place of Sunday morning worship. As an adult, it meant making sure we took one day a week to rest our bodies and minds and enjoy time as a family. And although all those things are good and important, I’ve learned that the Sabbath means so much more than that.

I’ve learned that honoring the Sabbath is an everyday act of trust.

An Everyday Sabbath means taking time every day to rest in the simple fact that God has provided for me. It is continual moments throughout the day of resting in God’s provision. And not just His provision of my material needs, but the provision of a Savior. I no longer have to work for my salvation – Christ already did that work on the Cross. I don’t have to strive to be good enough – HE is good enough. I don’t have to be strong and stable – HE is strong and stable. Jesus is the PROVIDER of ultimate rest – because He has done the work I could never do myself. I have nothing to earn, nothing to prove. I can rest in the work He has already done in my life.

So when I feel overwhelmed and burdened by the tasks and the worries of the world – that is a moment for an Everyday Sabbath. When I feel frantic and stressed, I can trust that He is bigger than the task at hand. When I feel hopeless, exhausted, broken, guilty – and the feelings of self-hatred and failure overwhelm me – I can TRUST that God has already paid the price for my sin and my failures, and that I can simply rest in His grace. There is no more striving – He has already paid every price required for my peace.

And just like God used something very practical and simple to teach the Israelites how to rest and trust Him, He has used very practical ways to teach me the same thing.

As the summer of 2018 headed into fall, it became increasingly clear that not only was my depression getting worse, anxiety had also joined forces with it to make an especially fun cocktail of mental illness. Work had clearly become a strong trigger of this anxiety, simply because I was trying to do far more than I should have in my limited work hours. I was working at a frantic, very stressful pace, and it could no longer be maintained. I requested and was granted a leave-of-absence and a few months of reduced hours, which I was incredibly thankful for. However, it quickly became obvious to me that I simply needed to resign. It was no longer a career that I could do part-time – my work habits were not healthy and the position was too large in scope for me to handle. I thought I would get another, more simple job fairly quickly – after all, I hear that money is important when you need to pay your bills.

Instead, God called me to a season of rest. Through prayer and Him providing in other ways that we didn’t anticipate, He made it clear that it was all right for me to take some time to heal and relearn healthy work habits – and healthy rest habits. Yes, I was still raising my kids and volunteering in small ways, but I spent a large part of my time just recovering from the abuse I’d put my mind and body through for years.

I took A LOT of naps, and went on a lot of walks with friends. I baked. I cleaned. I napped again. I met with friends and mentors. I read Scripture and listened to worship music. And napped some more. Ate some puppy chow and some cheesecake. We bought a pop-up camper and went to Yellowstone. I read a lot of fiction books and very few self-help books. I ate breakfast and lunch at normal times. I learned about listening prayer. I took my kids to the pool. I worked in my garden. I was available to help my friend with her baby. I rarely rushed. I yelled a lot less. I was a lot more fun.

Oh, I still had rough days and weeks. At Thanksgiving, I pretty much hid out most of the time because my anxiety was so strong when I was around people – even the people I loved the most in the world. At Christmas we skipped a family gathering that I would have never missed before. When summer came and my kids didn’t have school, it was overwhelming to have to share my space and time with them all day. I still had down moments, days, and weeks. But I had stopped striving, and was learning how to rest in the fact that Jesus had already provided for me.

In those ten months where I did not work an official job, I learned the art of the Everyday Sabbath. I learned that when I’m resting, I am trusting. When working on tasks, my previous habit had always been work before play. I never stopped a task part-way through to even do something simple like eat lunch. I always viewed rest as the reward for my work – not a gift God had given me freely. But in an Everyday Sabbath moment, I learned to slow my frantic “get-it-done” mindset, remind myself that Jesus never rushed, and remember that a task doesn’t have to be completed for me to take a few moments to rest and enjoy the gift of life given to me. I would trust that a task could be done without me, or could be set down and picked up again without the world falling apart. My life began to revolve a lot more around the people I loved than the to-do list and the calendar.  

When I began working a new job last September (one with a lot less stress), I was very deliberate about how I structured my day. I called it my Mr. Rogers schedule. You know how he always did the same things in the same pattern every day? That’s what I have to do right now to maintain the lessons I’ve learned – or I know I will quickly slip back into my old habits. So now I work a few hours in the morning, come home and eat lunch, not allowing myself to do any kind of work at home – just rest. Then I go back to work for a few more hours. I’ve found that when I’ve skipped that hour at home for some reason or another, my stress level shoots up to dangerous levels again, and I feel anxiety start to overwhelm me again.

An Everyday Sabbath moment is any moment when you stop your frantic pace and remind yourself that Jesus is enough. It’s any time you slow down enough to enjoy a worship song or watch the clouds. The Sabbath is about rest and trust – it is a gift freely given, not a reward that is earned. It’s about surrendering your plans and your tasks to Him – acknowledging that He has already paid any price required for what you need. An Everyday Sabbath is choosing Him over something else. It is rest in its simplest, most peaceful form.

One of my favorite scriptures from this time is Psalm 131:

“My heart is not proud, O Lord,
        my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
        or things too wonderful for me.
But I have stilled and quieted my soul;
        like a weaned child with its mother,
        like a weaned child is my soul within me.
O Israel, put your hope in the Lord
        both now and forevermore.”

A weaned child is no longer simply seeking sustenance and basic needs from his mother. The mother has proven that she will provide what he needs – over and over again. Therefore, all he desires now is to rest quietly, enjoying the peace of being with the one who gave him life. He is not proud or expectant – just simply resting and trusting that she will protect and provide for him in every way.

In the same way, may we rest in our Savior – not frantically striving to fulfill our needs or worrying about what comes next. Instead, may we rest in the promises that He has already fulfilled and the faithfulness He has already shown. May we enjoy the peace that He gives us when we truly rest and trust in Him.

Note: I definitely want to credit Dr. Greg Delort with helping me understand this idea of the Everyday Sabbath. Through a conversation with him and one of his sermons, he helped me to see how skewed my idea of rest truly was, and how the Sabbath is meant to be celebrated every day.