4 Lessons I’m Learning from the Hardest Season of My Life

If you’ve followed my blog for a bit, you know about my struggle with Multiple Chemical Sensitivities, and the 5 lessons I’m learning about walking with people in pain. This post is from a different angle–it’s about what pain is teaching me about life. I think the lessons here apply to anyone. I first wrote this a number of months ago for another context, and then ended up not publishing it. But it feels too significant not to share, so I’m posting it here. Let me know what you would add . . .

I curled into a fetal position, slamming my head over and over into the couch, like a drunken war vet who just wants to forget. The hot tears steamed down my face and dripped off the end of my nose, as the air turned a metaphorical blue from the swear words pouring from my lips. I coiled my hand into my mouth and bit down, trying to stifle the screams of frustration, anger, and hopelessness. Then I bit harder, so that I could taste the pain, because somehow I wanted my body to really feel the haunting emptiness and desperate loneliness I felt inside. I had never, ever, felt so alone.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Four years earlier, I had graduated from university at the top of my class. A couple of months later, I married my high-school sweetheart. Six weeks after our wedding, I started as Director of Student Ministries at a large church. I was 22, happily married, full of vision, and doing my dream job. For a couple of years, life was mostly good.

Then the depression hit. Full-scale, I’m-out-of-control, clinical depression. Uncontrollable anger. Desperate sadness. 20lbs of weight gain. Foggy thinking. Total lack of energy.

It was awful. After months of negativity and bad communication, my wife was emotionally beat up and spent. I felt exhausted at work and even more exhausted at home. Perhaps most frighteningly, in many ways, I didn’t even know my own self anymore. Where was the high-energy, straight A’s, idealistic college student of just a few years before? Where was the never-give-up, we-can-do-this, full-of-vision person that I was used to being? My wife said over and over, “I’d do anything to get the real you back.” Me too, I’d think, if only I knew how.

I tried everything to get that person back. Anti-depressants. Counseling. Rest. Light therapy. Vitamins. Exercise. But nothing seemed to help. For three years I lived life with the shadow of death in the passenger seat.

And I told almost no one. [Read more…]

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