Eight years ago I found myself – after 10 years in fulltime ministry – under alot of pressure. As a result I dealt with what the psychiatrist told me was an ‘episode of anxiety and depression’. I recieved some help from a doctor, a pastoral professor, a few friends and ultimately a psychiatrist. There have been very few times in the last seven years when I have struggled with what Churchhill called the ‘Black Dog’, but the Black Dog does still pay a visit from time to time. Even this week he popped in for a short visit.
When you have struggled with depression you learn a few things; a few things about what it means to be human; a few things about your own frailty and the limits of your capacity. You learn to pay attention to these things and to put in place mechanisms for keeping yourself healthy. To not do so is to risk the chance of the Black Dog biting you: something that is anything but enjoyable.
For me, the depressive episode happend after a long season of hard work. But more than that, it was a season where I had begun to wrestle with questions; questions which put me at odds with the environment I was working in. The tension between what I began to believe and the narrow frame that I was seeking to minister in was suffocating. The choice was to try to create space within the narrow frame or to part company and explore my questions. I probably hung on for too long. I also probably wasn’t able to articulate the tension well enough to those around me which eventually led to the tearing of my emotional fabric. I have had to think and pray through this over the years.
There were many times during the lead up to this ‘episode’ where I held back the workings of my mind or the discomfort I felt because I was worried what people would think if certain things were said. This wasn’t good for me or those with whom I worked. Ultimately the convictions that I began to hold about scripture, theology and a particular way of being in the world, were so deeply at odds with my work that I had to walk a different path. For a few years I tried to hold the tension. I mean, I didn’t want to lose friends, family, and, dare I say it: my position in the church. The thought of doing so was very painful. When I finally made the decision to move on it was as painful, if not more painful than I expected.
The experiences of life shape you. They leave marks on you for good and for ill. I am not different than anyone else in this regard. I suppose one of the things that has framed my life for good or for ill, is that I am resolved to speak my mind now. If we are friends on FaceBook, or if we are work colleagues, you probably already know this. But it stems from self knowledge, that if I hold back too much, if I cower for fear of men (and yes, they are usually men), that it is not good for my soul in the long run.
What emerged for me out of the other side of a depressive episode was a commitment to authenticity; a commitment to take people on their terms, and to be honest and vocal enough that people know my terms. (Its been surprising how this has contributed to some deeply healthy relationships!)
This posture causes me all kinds of problems. I end up saying things, sometimes, that make me unpopular; or things that are just down right stupid, things I would like to retract. It has caused me a bit of pain, but if I was to be honest, its much less painful than not speaking. When I go to sleep at night, there are very few times when I say to myself, “I wish I would have been a bit more honest in that situation”. I also don’t wonder very often if I have presented a real self to the world. Yes, there are parts of me that I hide, like we all do, but much less than what used to be the case.
The Black Dog helped me see that I need to speak; that I need stick close to my convictions. This is tricky business, and I am prone to mistakes if I don’t surround myself with wiser people than I, but its reality for me.
One of the gifts of living in community has been the reality of living closely with people that are not my immediate family. Its hard to live two lives when people see you in every possible situation: parenting your children, morning breath, stinky, angsty, and a host of other things. Community life has given me the gift of continuity – continuty between private and public. For some, this might not be healthy, but for me, its a gift. Its helped me on the journey of authenticity; something I need for my own wellbeing.
I would never deliberately take the Black Dog for a walk, or deliberately spend time with him, but it may be that he has given me a gift. The gift of being honest about myself, not hiding; the gift of knowing my own boundaries, what I can and cannot handle; the gift of continuity between action and conviction. There are so many down-sides to this ‘gift’ but I have often wondered if my inability to remain silent, and the need to act on my convictions for the sake of my own health, might not be a peculiar gift from God? Does the Black Dog really give gifts? I dunno, I guess we will see.
(I know how fragile this makes me sound: not sure that I care too much! Thanks for reading.)
