(No big deal, just a really too large photo of me being a total weirdo in a bathroom, because what's a blog post without a self-indulgent photo of oneself?)
I am far beyond an open book, ask me anything and I will
give you the most honest answer, probably more honest than you want. So this
means as my story unfolds, I have shared it openly and honestly, not with the
intention of asking for pity or for pats on the back, but out of the sheer fact
that when searching for stories similar to mine, I couldn’t find anyone talking
about any of this – it was as if I was completely alone in my struggles.
I’ve told my story many times, but the beautiful thing about
life is that as long as I’m alive; my story is still being written. My story
will keep getting longer; there will always be more to share, more to learn,
more to give. So I’m going to share again – although, an abbreviated version as
not to bore anyone who has heard it many times. ;)
I have, for as long as I can recall, struggled with severe
anxiety and depression. I had my first run-in with anxiety at age 10, experimented
with self-mutilation between the ages of 13-16, once ridding myself of
self-harm, I moved onto dating every guy that would look at me (I think I had
probably 7 “boyfriends” just during my junior year of high school) and I kept
it all under wraps until I was around 24, or so.
During my high school years and my early twenties, my
anxiety and depression stayed fairly dormant. I had great friends, a great
family, a super active social life – I was one of those girls that on the
outside, had it all, but on the inside was so desperately unhappy with herself.
I was told once that my depression was from a lack of faith.
So I started going to church more regularly than I ever had in my life, praying
as hard as I could, begging God to make it all go away – not just the
unhappiness, but the self-loathing I felt, the voices inside my head that told
me I was never going to be good enough, the fear that consumed me daily. While
it was all still there, lying under the surface, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it
used to be, so I chalked it up to my more regular church attendance.
And then, the fun part.
I got married too young to the wrong person. But things were
great! For two years! As my contentment with life became greater, my anxiety
slowly got worse, quietly rising to the surface, but just slowly enough that it
went unnoticed for years. But, still, I was happy, everything was fine, I had a
great life.
I got divorced just shy of being married for 3 years. I
tried so hard to keep it all together for the sake of appearances. As someone
who shares my life daily with the internet – with complete strangers – I didn’t
tell a soul outside of my inner circle about my divorce for over two months. I
completely stopped sharing anything personal. I would post these pretty little
photos with empty captions on Instagram, and would quote the hilarious things
the kiddos would say for Facebook, yet no one knew I cried myself to sleep
every single night for three months – and this wasn’t like soft little pretty
tears, this was loud sobbing to the point where I couldn’t breathe. My life had
absolutely fallen apart, despite doing everything “right” in terms of my faith,
society, my own standards, and like hell I was going to tell anyone about my
failures. I kept everything so hidden, not wanting to show that I had failed so
horribly at something I fought so hard to keep in tact.
Here’s the problem with what I did – we are not meant to do
life alone. We aren’t meant to struggle alone.
While I didn’t owe anyone answers, I didn’t need to tell the
whole world what I was going through, I didn’t need to share every detail of my
life -- the fact that I struggled with even confiding in my friends for fear of
being judged is so incredibly sad.
It started making me angry that I had fallen into the trap
of posting things on the internet that simply weren’t true. I remember posting
about a Disney trip and that I was living my best life and having the greatest
time and everything was so perfect and as it should be – but in all reality, my
soon to be ex mother in law had just texted me “happy anniversary” knowing that
my marriage wasn’t going to be salvaged.
Things got way worse before they got better, but they didn't start to get better until I started sharing what was going on with those I was close to, stopped faking happy and started being honest.
Why do we do these things? Why do we keep up appearances
when we are falling apart on the inside? Sure, no one is interested in hearing
the stuff that makes life hard, the world is so full of negativity as it is,
why add to it?
But why sugarcoat when things are hard? Why cover up what
you are going through when your words might help someone more than you could’ve
ever known?
So I started being honest. No one was talking about being
divorced at 25 years old. No one was talking about having it all, but falling
apart when everyone leaves at the end of the day. No one was talking about
losing 30 pounds in less than 2 months because you’ve lost the will to do
anything when you are that sad. I started saying the things that I wanted to read
when I was hurting most. I wanted others to know they weren’t alone. I wanted
people to know that there was zero shame in admitting you need help sometimes.
And people responded to it so well. I received countless
messages of women telling me their stories, confiding in me, seeing me as a
friend. These are stories that I am so grateful to hear and be trusted with.
A few nights ago I went to an Underoath concert. They didn’t say
much in between the songs, but before playing one of their newer songs, Spencer
said something that I immediately typed up in the notes section of my phone –
“I think it’s lame that we can’t talk about our problems and look at our
friends and ask for help.”
I just want you to know that you aren’t alone and we aren’t
MEANT to do any of this alone. I know how hard it is to admit that something is
wrong, but people love you and care about you and would bend over backwards to
help you. But sometimes we get so good at covering up how we are feeling on the
inside that no one knows how much we are hurting. If you can, reach out and ask for help. And if
you don’t feel like you have anyone, you always have me. I’m always here and I
want to help you.
And if you’re on the other side, and you know a friend is
hurting, just be there. Lend a shoulder to cry on or listening ear. Don’t judge
what you may not understand, don’t give advice unless they ask for it;
sometimes they just need someone to vent to. Just be there, be present and let
them know that without a doubt, they are so loved.
I prayed so hard while writing this, asking God to give me
the correct words to reach whoever needed to hear this. That someone who is sugar coating their struggles, hiding their problems from their loved ones, living in grief alone - that they would find this poorly written blog and know they aren't alone and that life isn't meant to be lived that way.
I know that my struggles, the cards I have
been dealt in life, the things I deal with on a daily basis, are not all in
vain, but for the glory of God and for the use of His kingdom. I am nothing
without Jesus’ love and I’m here today because He has fulfilled and continues
to fulfill His promises to me. While I don’t believe that I can pray away my
depression and anxiety, I do believe that my faith keeps me grounded in truth
that I have been given a purpose in this life, and you have a purpose, too –
even if you don’t know what it is yet. If you ever wanna talk about Jesus and the
love He has for you, I’m always here to talk. <3
"Clean me up, show me how to live. Tear me down, let me start again."
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