Me On My Soap Box

 Disclaimer: This post is not a cry for help or a thinly veiled attempt to get anyone to reach out to me. I am fortunate enough to have many mental health and wellness outlets. I know what is going on, why, and how to get the care I need when I need it. I hope that I can rely on you to help correct what is now happening with the rise in COVID-related mental health issues. I hope that we, the people of God, will begin to be uncomfortable enough to get out of the box - church - and start actively and tangibly living our faith.

"Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him."

Colossians 2:6

 

"Now faith, hope, and love remain, and the greatest of these is love."

1 Corinthians 13:13

I am currently participating in a virtual women's Story Circle through my seminary (Nazarene Theological Seminary). At the beginning of each session, we introduce ourselves and describe our current day/emotion with one word. Last night, my word was lonely. There is a ton packed into that word, but the most significant reason centers around the theme of isolation, akin to what a soldier returning from war experiences. It is difficult to discuss something that happened with people who have no clue. It is not that they could not or would not be sympathetic. It is simply too tumultuous to effectively communicate what only a handful of people witnessed and experienced. 

Folks, I am talking about the aftermath of COVID on frontline workers. I am talking about PTSD. 

The "world" may be getting back to normal, but we here in the hospitals are not. For one, we are still seeing COVID patients. Although the numbers have significantly declined, they are still coming, still getting sick, still dying. In the words of one of my favorite fictional characters, Cassie Nightingale, "they are more than just bodies, you know?" 

Today I learned that my little ole' hospital treated over 3,000 COVID patients. I forget how many died. Each one of them were/are more than just bodies, more than your political agendas or personal rights. Each person had a name, a family, a life worth living, a heart worth loving. 

"Post-COVID" hospitals are seeing a dramatic increase of psychiatric patients coming for treatment - suicide attempts are on the rise. We believe this is correlated with COVID isolation - overwhelming loneliness, death of loved ones, loss of employment/income/stability. Whatever trials they lived before were exacerbated because of COVID. They have lost hope. 

Front line workers everywhere are experiencing PTSD in record numbers. They lived and worked through something they never imagined when they entered their chosen field. Not only did they do it and do it well, but they had to do it while dealing with the uninformed social and media hurtful and hate-filled propaganda.

YES! It is hatred when you speak so blatantly harsh about someone and something you know nothing about. (Sorry - not sorry. This is one topic which makes my blood boil.)

I have been thinking a lot about this issue this past week. 

One - my church hosted a special podcast about mental health (Mental Health and the Church). It got me reflecting on my own mental health as well as on what I am seeing and hearing here at the hospital about the mental health of patients and staff. 

Two - my hospital hosted a memorial for COVID victims, families, and staff this past Wednesday. Watching it live on Facebook (especially Dr. Stupka's remarks) stirred up several emotions. I cried with the memories and grew angry thinking of all those inconsiderate social media posts over the past year+.

After my story group last night, I decided I had something I needed to get off my chest - a plea I want to make from anyone who knows me and has the slightest respect for me; please watch this video and consider my requests.

Dr. Stupka is one of my favorites. He is a great doctor and man of God. He is the kind of doctor I would want if I had COVID. I learned the most from him about COVID, what it does and how it is best treated. I also learned the mental toll this disease was taking on the staff as well. 

In this video (around 6:40), he shares a little of what we experienced during the worst of COVID. 

Methodist Hospital Northeast Virtual COVID-19 Memorial Service

Request 1:

Please reconsider posting negative commentary about COVID. Whether you think this is a hoax, political ploy, whatever. Stop. Just stop. Please. Just because you did not see or experience this for yourself does not mean it isn't real. Think about the holocaust. Think about Vietnam. Both were very much politicalized, but both were just as real and traumatizing for those involved. Is it disrespectful and hurtful for survivors to undermine their experiences by reducing COVID to politics or agendas? Of course! SO, PLEASE, STOP IT. 

Request 2: 

Adopt a frontline worker. Do you know someone who worked directly with COVID patients? More than just doctors and nurses worked directly with them. Housekeepers still had to go into the rooms to clean and sanitize the rooms. Food services still had to deliver meals to those who could eat. Maintenance still had to go into rooms for repairs. They, too, put their lives on the line for the sake of the overall goal  - because they, too, believe in our mission - serving humanity to honor God. 

If someone worked directly with COVID patients, chances are, they could be dealing with PTSD. Worse still, they may not even realize this could be what is causing their shift in mood, health, and/or behavior. 

If they do not have anyone to talk with, they need someone. Be that someone. 

Be bold and brave enough to ask them about their experience. 

If they want to dismiss it because they were not nurses or doctors, don't let them. They mattered. They still put their lives on the line. Their experience - their thoughts and emotions matter. Tell them as much. 

If they want to talk, let them. Do not correct or interject. Simply LISTEN. We often ignore the greatest gift of love we can give someone - time and attention - the ministry of presence. 

If they do not want to talk, respect that. Let them know you are there should they change their mind. 

(FYI, if you post political or personal rights stuff on social media as it relates to COVID, chances are, that person will not open up to you because you have already broken their trust. Chances are, they are angry with you no matter how much they love you. They are angry and hurt because you indirectly injured them.)

You may encourage them to seek therapy or join a support group. The hospitals have support groups for frontline workers who worked during COVID. Volunteer to go with them if they are scared. Show them how to be brave by being brave yourself. 

Request 2:

If you know anyone who is alone, lonely, who has lost a loved one this past year (whether to COVID or not), lost a job, or is hurting in any way, reach out. Invite them into your lives, especially if they are single, with no family, or estranged from family. 

Invite them to dinner at your house with your family. 

Take them on an outing with your family. 

Do your kids have a ball game or dance recital? Invite them. Make them a part of your family. 

Ask them to share their joys, hurts, and fears. AND LISTEN - no agenda - no judgment. 

You have no idea how great of an impact such simple acts of love, compassion, and kindness can make in someone's life.

 You may very well be saving a life. 

This song truly fits the post-COVID mental illness crisis.

Lonely

"And everything is not the same now

It feels like all our lives have changed

Maybe when I'm older, it'll all calm down

But it's killin' me now.

What if you had it all

But nobody to call?

Maybe then you'd know me."

-Justin Bieber 

Let’s take the time to get to know someone before we decide to judge them. Let's take that statement one step further. How about we let go of judgment altogether and simply love? As my friend, Tracy, once said, Jesus never made His love conditional. Neither should we. 

Angels on my Shoulders

 A few weeks ago, my trainer and I got to talking about the importance of exercise to mental health. I made the comment that I hate it when people say we can choose to be happy. That is a simplistic load of garbage. Anyone who is able to easily choose their moods should consider themselves fortunate. 

Squirrel moment - bear with me. This relates:

On my way into church this morning, I contemplated the high rate of suicide attempt patients in the hospitals. Is it post COVID? The isolation exacerbating what was already lying underneath? 

This train of thought made me think of this time last year and a question a CPR student asked me last week about my experience. This time last year, I was taking a six week hiatus after Brad's death. Before I left, the hospital was functioning just as they planned. COVID patients coming to our hospital would be immediately transported to Main Methodist or the special MASH unit set up for COVID. Sure, we had to wear a mask, but it was still relatively controlled. When I returned to work, every hospital in town, including our small hospital, was overrun with COVID patients. We were now required to wear three layers of protection just to be inside the hospital. COVID took over the rest of our lives for the better part of a year. There was no escape for any hospital employee. 

So, why do people still insist that COVID was not real? A government conspiracy? Fake? 

I assume it is for the same reason people deny the holocaust was real or that racism still exists. These people were fortunate enough to never be touched by the evils which led to the holocaust, slavery, or modern day racism. In 100 years, I'm sure people will deny 9/11 ever happened. "Where were you when the world stopped turning?" (Alan Jackson)

However, just because we have never experienced something does not mean it isn't true or that it does not or never existed. It just means you are lucky - or unlucky as the case may be - Christ exists and to know Him is to be blessed beyond measure. We cannot see God, but, oh, is He real!

Which brings me back to my point - the rise in mental health cases in the hospital.

I described for my trainer what it is like for me to live with a mental illness. Happiness is something I cannot simply turn on or off. It is a constant struggle. I really want to slap anyone who claims it is as simple as choosing to be happy. 

I described it like this: you know the cartoons of the good and bad angels on your shoulder trying to coax you into doing either the right or wrong thing? Well, it is as if I have an anxiety angel on one shoulder and a depression angel on the other fighting for control. How I respond to my day truly depends on which angel is winning.

The anxiety angel causes my insides to feel like they are going to burst. My shoulders tense and I cannot relax. Working out is a necessity to help me get that negative energy out, even temporarily, so that I can go about my day. On highly anxious days, getting out of bed to work out is quite easy. 

On high anxiety evenings, however, I struggle to wind down to go to sleep. My brain and my body will not stop. I watch too much television, read until I feel like I can sleep, then end up turning the television back on because I am too tired to read, but not tired enough to sleep. When I do fall asleep, I sleep well, but usually not enough, between 5-7 hours. However, I usually have little trouble getting up in the morning to start my day. On days like this, I lay off the caffeine and take my medication before bed.  

The depression angel causes me to feel overtly lethargic, as if I have not slept in days. It takes every ounce to find the motivation to accomplish anything. I have little desire to be around anyone. 

During days like this, working out is next to impossible. I force myself by constantly reminding myself of how good I will feel, however briefly, after a good workout. I remind myself that I will feel even worse, hating on myself, if I fail to accomplish this simple task. 

Sleep, on the other hand, comes easily. I tire easily and am able to go to bed and fall asleep early. I get my 8 hours of sleep. I will not let myself sleep much past 8 hours, but, depending on the day's activities, I may sleep up to 10 hours. I rarely allow myself this luxury. 

On depression days, I am anal about my lists. I make lists of tasks that must be completed. On good days, I can knock out a lot of my to-do items early and even get ahead. On depression days, it takes a lot longer to accomplish the same goals. I may read five pages of a text then watch a show on Netflix and repeat the process. I love puzzles anytime, but they are especially therapeutic during seasons of depression. I get angry with myself a lot and have to constantly remind myself that this feeling is temporary. I am not as stupid or incompetent or unlovable or as worthless as I feel in the moment. Puzzles help to table these negative thoughts and emotions. 

Most of the time, I live right in the middle between the anxiety and depression angel. They are both there, but neither one has full control. That, for me, is my happy place. 

Anxiety usually takes over when an activity disrupts my routine (whether as infrequent and nerve-wracking as knowing I have to prepare to deliver a sermon or as common as working a couple extra hours on my usual day off). That is why I will rarely accept a last-minute invitation. My brain and body do not have ample time to process the request and respond.

Depression strikes less often and comes when emotions disrupt my routine (such as the one year anniversary of Brad's death).

This brings me back, yet again, to the rise in suicide attempts. 

Work is one place where anxiety and depression flee. For whatever reason, I am someone else completely while at work - or maybe I am my  most authentic self at work. My attention is on the patients and not on myself. I am happy at work. I have come to realize that one of the things I love most about my job is that it gives me purpose - a reason for the situations and emotions I have been through. 

Yesterday, I visited with a patient who told me I was a God-send. She said she had been crying just before I walked in, feeling depressed. She had asked God for help and there I appear. The more we talk, the more she begins to smile and laugh. Apparently, I spoke directly to what she was feeling and asking from God. I told her that is my prayer before every shift - for God to send me where I need to go, to do what He needs me to do. On days when I'm feeling my worst, I thank Him that He can still use me and speak through me even though I'm not feeling my best. It is moments like this that remind me why I do what I do and thank God for allowing me to know what that person is feeling and to be able to speak truth from a place of experience. 

Toward the end of my shift, I walked by a room. The door was open. The patient had a sitter (patients who cannot safely be left alone - whether physically or mentally - have a staff member sit with them). The patient stared at me and something told me to go inside. 

I went inside and introduced myself. She said she needed to talk to me. I sat down and she poured out her heart, telling me about her suicide attempt and what led up to it. We talked for quite some time. I shared with her just enough of my story to make a point that life sucks sometimes, we don't know why things happen, but none of us can get through these tough times alone. We need help - all of us - at some point, and we need to allow others to help us. There is no shame in getting the help we need.

- And - we need hope. Without hope, life is not worth living. 

- And - the only true hope - the only reliable and constant and unchanging thing in this life is God and His love for us. 

I left her room knowing that visit had been as much for me as it was for her. I needed the reminder that there is purpose to the pain. I have purpose. There is no way I could have been what those two patients truly needed in that moment if I had not experienced it and survived to tell about it. 

Some people are fortunate enough to have birds and sunshine on their shoulders. They, too, have a purpose - a glorious and sacred purpose. 

The angels on my shoulders are not so bright and bubbly, but they, too, have a glorious and sacred purpose. I may not be able to choose happiness as easily as social media posts tout, but I can and do choose blessings - to receive it and to be it - in this life, and with this personality God has chosen to give to me. 

My stories may not be all warm and fuzzy, but I guarantee, they will always have a happy ending.

We all need purpose. We all need hope. 

If you need help finding yours, reach out to someone today - right now.

Integral Care National 24/7 Hotline: 512-472-HELP (4357) or 844-398-8252 

Crisis Care Center San Antonio 24/7 Hotline: 210-223-SAFE (7233) or 800-316-9241

Waiting to Exhale

This past Sunday, my paternal grandfather died. He was 98 and in the hospital. Although not a surprise, his passing still saddened me – the last of my grandparents – an entire generation gone. I was struck by the finality of it all.

One of my readings for a class in evangelism discusses how we cannot expect our nonChristian friends to go to our events if we are not willing to go to theirs. Evangelism is not the fire and brimstone, scare people into making an instantaneous decision for Christ in order to avoid hell as many of us grew up believing. Rather, effective evangelism takes time and happens in relationship. That struck me for two reasons. One, I rarely socialize. I am a lone turtle who spends most of my time happily tucked away in my shell. On the rare occasions that I do venture out, it is with like-minded people. Strike one and strike two. 

This is LGBTQ pride month. Pre-pandemic, I wanted to immerse myself more in the LGBTQ community. Perhaps that is why I find myself drawn to LGBTQ-themed shows and movies. Maybe this is like athletes watching the pre-game tapes.

I wasn’t always this much of a recluse. When I was married to Brad, I would go out by myself all the time while he was on the road. It never bothered me to go to a movie or to dinner alone. Why does it now?

Anyway, this past weekend, after completing the AJ and the Queen Netflix series, I watched Love, Simon on television. That led to Love, Victor which led to another Netflix show, Tales of the City. There are countless ways I can go with this conversation – the appropriateness of a pastor watching such shows: is it right or wrong, etc. However, for my purpose here, I want to focus on a scene from Love, Simon.

After Simon’s secret is broadcast unceremoniously on his school’s social media page, he tells his parents. Simon and his mom talk. She tells him that she knew he had a secret. She could tell that something had changed. For the past few years, it was as if he had been holding is breath. She assured him that she still loved him, that he is still the same kid, and that he can now exhale.

It was as if he had been holding his breath.

I realize that is how I have been feeling since Brad died. Before his death, as I have mentioned many times, three other family members died. There’s that rule of three, right? I have no idea where that “rule” came from, but I was banking on it.

“Okay, three have died. It’s over. Done. I can breathe easy for a while now.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled with relief.

Then Brad died.

A sucker punch to the gut, a finger poke to the throat. I held my breath and have yet to exhale.

It is as if I am afraid to exhale. If I do, what – or who – will be next? Grandpa is 98. I love him, but 98 – that is expected. What if it had been dad? Or my mom? Or my sister? Or, God forbid, one of my nephews? It could happen. It happens to people every single day. I witness it often.

I cannot exhale because the fragility of life is real now. What is it all for?

I did not include myself in the list of what-ifs. I dealt with my own mortality back when I had cancer. That, I can handle. I know where I am going. No fear of my own death.

What I cannot now grasp is why I am still here?

Life – it was always temporary, but it used to be theoretical. Now, it is real. So, what is the purpose?

I know the good, Christian answer, but the question of why still remains.

What is the point?

No. I am not suicidal. That is not what I mean by this question.

My question is existential, the age-old meaning of life. I mean, really. Why?

Oh, mirror in the sky

What is love?

Can the child within my heart rise above?

Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Fleetwood Mac. Those first two lines swim through my head. Then, I hear Heidi Newfield instead of Stevie Nicks and I am transported to that dive near Houston watching Brad on stage with them (Trick Pony) just after they started touring, playing this song, my family and I in the audience; me, so full of self-confidence and pride, not a care in the world, feeling on top of the world - it was us against the world and we were unstoppable.

Well, I've been afraid of changin'

'Cause I've built my life around you

But time makes you bolder

Even children get older

And I'm getting older too.

My therapist says I took my vows seriously – ‘til death do us part. I really did build my life, even after divorce, around Brad. What do I do now? Does it even matter? Does anything matter?

I know it does. It must. But how?

Simon’s mom tells him he can exhale.

I do not consider myself to be depressed. I knew depression as a kid and this is not the same. There is so much of my life that I absolutely love – my job, school, the few friends I do have.

But I am still holding my breath. I wonder if I will ever smile again and mean it. Laugh again and feel it.

I know I will – someday – even without an answer to my why – I know I can never fully know – and I know not knowing is okay because of my relationship with Christ. It is – I am – and will be okay. I am on a solid foundation no matter how fragile the earth beneath me momentarily feels.

Still, I cannot help but I wonder when I will exhale and breathe again.

One week from today is the one-year anniversary of Brad’s death. I have plans to mark this occasion. Maybe, if the psychological-grief rule of three works for me in this situation, I will be one step closer to breathing again.

Maybe then I will get to exhale. Maybe I will get to be more me than I have been in a very long time.

Love, Simon YouTube Clip