Don’t Tell Anyone
In my 24 years of life, no one has ever characterized me as quiet. Myers-Briggs will tell you I'm an extrovert to a tee, and I'm sure my mom would agree. I've never been one to keep to myself, at least I wasn't before my battles started.
The other day I was playing volleyball with a group of friends when suddenly one of my friends fell down and couldn't get back up. She had clearly rolled her ankle and was trying to process what was going on. She looked up at all of us, saw our concern for her, and said something very striking: "Don't look at me."
She was clearly kidding, and we all laughed it off, but to a degree I think there was some truth in what she said. It's very common for people to keep to themselves when it comes to pain. There's a certain shame in our culture that comes with admitting you need help. And for many of us, the cost of embarrassment far outweighs the benefit of getting the help we need.
It's three years ago. I'm a senior at the University of Kentucky, supposedly living my best life. I'm sitting in my house with one of my roommates when he said it:
"You don't seem yourself lately. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm just a little tired, that's all."
When my depression hit, that was my number one way of explaining it. I didn't want to get into all the details, and I didn't want to burden anyone. All semester I felt this loneliness, this vast emptiness in my soul that convinced me I would always feel this way. And even worse, I felt like I couldn't admit that I wasn't okay.
And there was a reason I felt this way that goes beyond the simple sociological reasons. At the time I was the president of a campus ministry at UK. To many people I imagine I was a super Christian who didn't have problems, and if I'm honest, I wanted to keep up that facade. Even "worse," I had just finally surrendered to ministry. I quit a dream job, and God gave me a passion to preach, so I surrendered.
Almost immediately, the depression hit stronger than I've ever felt. When I was a kid, I had short seasons of sadness, but nothing like this hopelessness. I was going to bed at 8pm, only to awake at noon with no desire to live. I would sit in class and not be able to think straight. My own thoughts condemned me. I felt alone, like even if I could muster the courage to talk about it, no one would really understand.
I can't tell you how much I would love for the next part of the story to go something like this: "But that's when I met so-and-so, they told me this-and-that and everything changed from then on." But depression is less of a problem to be fixed and more of a reality to fight. I still go through my seasons, but God is more faithful than I could ever imagine. I realized that depression is not a punishment for something bad I've done, rather, it's a reality that forces me to cling to Christ as my only comfort.
If you're reading this and you feel how I felt, the number one thing I want to tell you is you need to tell someone. They won't run away, I promise. Don't bottle it up in your small group, open up and ask them for prayer. If you try to tackle anxiety and depression on your own, you will fail every time. But when we confide in others, something beautiful happens. They might not have the perfect answer that wraps your situation in a nice, neat bow, but they'll be present, they'll listen, and that will make a huge difference to hear your feelings vocalized.
In conclusion, this should remind us of the gospel. We're all out here trying to do it alone, pretending we’re okay when we’re so clearly not. God reminds us time and time again that on our own we are sinful, depraved people. And it's not until we give up on ourselves and cry out to Jesus for help that we see change. So if I have any advice for you it's this: give up. Swallow your pride. You're not bigger than your depression. You can't overcome it by sheer willpower. Cast your anxieties on the Lord, trusting that He loves you enough to give you comfort in those times of trouble.
When you're in a rough season, don't bottle it up. Let your anxieties out to those you trust, and, in honesty, trust God with your fears. He's big enough to take them on.
In Christian love,
Jonathan Thiede.
