It started at the restaurant. I felt it swell within me. The hostess sat us at a table in a dimly lit corner of the bar area. Neon signs filled the room, my eyes winced at them, and I closed my eyes tight to shut out the visual noise. I abruptly opened them when the little one, newly using panties, grabbed for me, and yelled for the potty. I rushed her in, found the mess, and I felt it rising inside of me as I cleaned her. I was a woman in a new town, no one knew me, and then this happened, and I sunk deep. I endured the rest of the meal in silence, trying to keep it to myself, not letting the kids see.
As we drove home, it broke through, and I could not contain it any longer, and the tears dripped long, and my voice gasped, and my husband saw. He saw me staring out the window; he saw the anguish, and he tried to talk me down, and then he realized this was something only the Almighty could heal. He pulled the car to a parking lot, and he spoke to the Lord for me. All I could do was weep and gasp and try to cling to his words leaving our car headed to the throne room of my Father.
Sleep came hard and long, and I woke the next morning to find the tears just as real and the feeling of drowning just as overwhelming. I got in the car for the drive to church, and I drove slowly, not ready to encounter the faces, but I knew I needed to hear truth. I sat, I listened, and I couldn’t speak or sing any words because I knew a waterfall of tears would accompany them. I prayed silently and hoped no one would talk to me or notice me so I could just be with my God in that moment.
The next morning, after another long night of struggled rest, I started to emerge from the suffocation of depression. I will never fully understand how I pulled out of it, but I emerged with a new understanding of the struggle. I spoke to the Lord and thanked Him for pulling me up from the depths that had engulfed me. I called a dear friend and I told her, confessing the pain, the anguish that held me, and hoped she would hear and not judge me. Then she confessed and told me of the deep, dark days following the birth of a child, and how it pulled her down, and she couldn’t come up for air. She told me how she was afraid to ever tell anyone when she was living in it and didn’t know how to come out of it.
There in that moment on the phone, we made a pact to call each other if it ever tried to take hold again because depression is real, and it can sneak up, and it wants to live in the dark places. It tells you to hide, don’t let others know, or they will judge you, think less of you, and stomp you down harder. I only had a small, short glimpse of deep, hard, and real depression, but I now have a new understanding. I now see with fresh eyes. I was drowning, and no one could pull me out. I prayed, and God let me dwell there for a moment so my eyes would open. He let me experience and fully understand that some people live like that, mine was for a moment, and theirs is for days, weeks, or months.
Sisters, let’s be brave enough to hold hands and confess the dark times to our dearest warrior-friends. Let’s go to battle together against an enemy who wants us to fight alone. We are stronger together, so let’s stand up, fight for our sister when she falls, and hold her hand when she gets up, always pushing forward. When depression sinks its ugly teeth in and grabs a warrior-friend, pulling her down to the depths, let us commit to hold on tight to her, listen to her, speak the words she cannot muster to an Almighty God for her, and never judge her.
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