Mental Illness Self Care

Last time I offered my thoughts for people who don't struggle with mental illness, but who want to know how to better treat those who do. This time I thought I'd speak to my people. Anyone who is dealing with depression and anxiety - this is for you.

Managing depression and anxiety is like an intense workout at the gym - and not just because they are both exhausting. They both require self-awareness and all the strength you've got.

At the gym some people can lift 200 pounds, some only 50, some only 25. Whether you're the one who can lift 200 or 25 doesn't matter. What does matter is that you know which one you are. A person will never get stronger at the gym by insisting they can only lift 25 pounds, when in reality she can pretty easily lift 200. She isn't doing her best, and that's not productive or admirable. On the other hand, a person who can only lift 25 pounds SHOULD NOT try to lift 200 - not even with help. It will almost certainly cause an injury, perhaps one that means not lifting anything for a long time. Overexertion isn't productive or admirable either, no matter what society says.

I say this for two reasons:

First, because the advice below will not work for everyone. Some people are so deep in a depression pit that the simplest thing is challenging. I understand that - I've been there before too. I've been given "easy" things to try by friends and therapists that I simply couldn't manage. For a long time I was drowning. I had to get to solid ground and breathe fresh air before I could try and take steps forward - even little ones. If you look at this list and think I can't even do that - that's ok. Please try first, but if the advice someone gives you is too heavy for you at the moment, put it down until you're stronger. Survive. Then try again.

Second, if these things DO work for you, you have a responsibility to do them. Just like in the gym - if you can lift 200, you better not quit at 25. I try to be really honest with myself about what I can and cannot handle. Sometimes I want to just wallow on the floor, but most of the time these days I know that I can manage more than that. If I know that I can do more, I must do more. 

Here are some things that help me:

1. TAKE CARE OF YOUR PHYSICAL BODY

Having depression and anxiety often means that you have trouble sleeping, don't want to eat (or only want to eat garbage), don't feel like taking a shower, and wouldn't get up to exercise unless someone got after you with a cattle prod. While it may seem like it couldn't possibly make that big of a difference, taking care of your physical body really can help. If you have clinical depression, going for a walk or drinking water will not "fix" you. However, regularly keeping up with self-care can make the difference between a catatonic day and a manageable one.

When my depression was really bad last year, I always noticed a huge difference when I didn't get enough sleep the night before. Not only was I too tired to function, but sleep deprivation makes me feel sick to my stomach, so I couldn't eat or drink. Every day was tough, but those days were TOUGH. I actually had a day where I was too catatonic to drive myself home. I stared blankly into space while someone helped me into the car like a toddler. I really do believe that if I'd gotten enough sleep, I would have fared better. You can't always control this - but try.

Drink water. Go outside and get some vitamin D. If you live where I do and it's cold and rainy for 8 months out of the year, take a vitamin D pill. Exercise in whatever form is manageable for you. Set an alarm so you don't forget your medication. Stay away from sugar, which causes a brain crash and can be addicting. On that note - DON'T DRINK ALCOHOL. It's an addicting depressant made of sugar. BAD IDEA.

Like I said, none of these things will "fix" it - especially not on their own - but making several tiny healthy choices can really add up to feeling a bit more like yourself. 

2. TAKE CARE OF YOUR MIND

Mental illness means that some percentage of your mind is acting beyond your control. Practice honest self-awareness to find out what your percentage is. It may be 80%, it may be 5%. Whatever percentage of your mind is within your control, you have a responsibility to manage properly. A panic attack set off by something you can't even identify falls into the percentage of things you cannot control. Your only choice is to try to recover as best you can. A recurring thought that you know you really should not dwell on because it deeply upsets you falls into the percentage of things you can control. Tell yourself This thought does not serve me in any helpful way. I should not let it linger here. I will think about something else now. A person with anxiety may have to do this on repeat every 30 seconds all day long. It's difficult and exhausting, but if it falls within your control, control it.

Maintaining control over your percentage, sometimes requires diligent self care. It is rare for me to go through a day with complete control over my percentage without establishing boundaries and taking precautions. Taking this route to work upsets me. In order to maintain control it is best that I choose a different route. This topic of conversation makes me anxious. In order to maintain control it is best that I leave the room and go find something pleasant to do. Seeing this person is harmful to me. In order to maintain control it is best that I skip this upcoming event. Practice self-awareness and make the choices that set you up for success in controlling your percentage. Take inventory of your relationships. Are any of them consistently setting you up for failure in this? If the relationship poisons your mind or reduces your percentage, it's not worth it. Say goodbye. 

3. TAKE TIME TO BE PRESENT

I, like most people, tend to do several things at one time. I've often found myself eating dinner while watching a tv show, holding a conversation with two people via text message, and panicking about my future. I wasn't enjoying my food. I was just mindlessly eating it, not paying close attention to flavors or appreciating the process. I would then find myself dissatisfied and seek more food, not properly feeling like I'd already eaten. I wasn't enjoying the tv show. I missed anything nonverbal, which is often the best part of the experience. I didn't even realize at the time that I wasn't actually enjoying any of it. 

I now try to make a habit of spending most of my day doing one thing at a time. I know, some of you are freaking out because that would be such a "waste" to not be doing as much as possible as often as possible. It doesn't feel like a waste, because the things I'm doing actually amount to something rather than leaving me feeling empty. I read a lot now. Part of this is because I found a book that I love that happens to be 1400 pages, but mostly it's because reading requires you to put all thoughts and other activities aside. It's been years since I've watched tv without also doing something meaningless on my phone, or allowing my mind to drift to something concerning me. No more. I put my phone down, and I put my thoughts to the side and experience what's in front of me.

It seems like a little thing, but being present for your life makes a big difference in how much you enjoy it. 

4. TAKE TIME TO CREATE

Something that has really helped me boost my happiness is creating. I think it is innate in us to want to make things, whether it be food, crafts, or even new relationships. Depression can make you feel like a destroyer. I've spent so much of the last year feeling like a hurricane that tore through the lives of everyone I love. Now I get to pick up broken pieces, patch up holes, and hope that the foundations were sturdy enough to allow for rebuilding. After so much time spent breaking, it has been so refreshing to create.

I recently started sewing, which is another one of my one-thing-at-a-time activities. It uses both of my hands, it requires my full attention, and it's too loud to do while "watching" tv. I'm satisfied and happy when the task is complete, having dedicated myself fully to a project. Sewing, crafting, writing, and baking have all been "creation activities" for me lately.

Projects give us purpose. If you are struggling with depression and anxiety, try to find a project. It could give you a reason to get out of bed, and something to look forward to at the end of a long day. It's something to do with your hands and mind that isn't destructive, and something to prove that this day being alive wasn't a waste. Share your project with others by creating something to give to someone else or inviting someone over to enjoy the fruits of your labor.

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All of these suggestions are only relevant if you are in a place where you can manage them. The first and most important step is getting help if you need it. If you are in danger of hurting yourself, please seek help immediately. Friends and family are often a great source of support and comfort, but do not be afraid to seek out a professional. Therapy and medicine can make all the difference. Don't be ashamed of using them if you need to.

Awareness Month

May is Mental Health Awareness Month. I know - it seems like there is a month or a day dedicated to almost everything now, but I really am glad that there's a month dedicated to this. As woke as many of us are in 2018, there's still a huge stigma surrounding mental illness. I believe this is mostly due to a lack of understanding. I am lucky that I am predominately surrounded by people who are supportive, loving, and helpful to me in dealing with my depression and anxiety. However, in the last year and a half of having severe mental health problems, I have faced some people and situations that make it very clear that there is still so much ignorance about this topic. I certainly don't claim to know everything about how to deal with mental illness. I can, however, use my experiences to try and educate people. 

As with anything that we don't personally experience, mental illness can be difficult to fathom if it isn't happening to you. It's not always easy to know what to say or how to treat someone. I guess I can't speak for everyone with a mental illness, but here are some things that really bother me. 

1. PLEASE DON'T ASSUME WE ARE DANGEROUS

Especially with hyper-stigmatized mental illnesses like Schozophrenia, people have a tendency to become afraid upon finding out that someone they know has a mental illness. While it is entirely true that people who bomb buildings and shoot up post offices are sometimes mentally ill, most mentally ill people DO NOT spend their time planning mass murder. I, and many others, have faced hurtful assumptions at school, work, and church. I have never threatened to hurt anyone, and while I have often thought of hurting myself, I have never brought a weapon of any kind to a public place or threatened to hurt myself or others. The insinuation that someone feared that kind of behavior from me was very painful, and it made me feel even crazier than I actually am. If someone you know appears to be a danger to others, please do something about that - but don't ostracize your totally normal coworker who sometimes cries in the bathroom. She will not bite. 

2. PLEASE DON'T APPROPRIATE OUR LANGUAGE TO BE FUNNY OR DRAMATIC

Raise your hand if you've ever heard something like this:

If the ice cream machine at McDonald's is broken again I will just slit my wrists.

That exam was so hard I literally wanted to kill myself.

I just can't have clutter on my desk. I'm, like, super OCD. 

STOP SAYING THESE THINGS. Self-harm and suicidal thoughts are very legitimate problems, and people throwing that language around like confetti desensitizes everyone to hearing those words. Hearing, "I want to kill myself" should have an impact on the listener and result in immediate assistance. If the listener thinks it is a joke or an over-dramatization, that is less likely to happen. Every time you use language about shooting yourself in the face because you spilled your coffee, you minimize the legitimacy of the issue by making it commonplace and funny. Often during my darkest times I felt like people thought I was kidding or exaggerating when I said I felt like harming myself, like it was some sort of morbid figure of speech. 

Also, apparently saying "trigger" or "trigger warning" is a thing now? Stop this. It is not cute. Triggers are entirely real for people with depression, anxiety, OCD, PTSD, and other illnesses. There are places, people, smells, sounds, and phrases that can quickly result in a panic attack if I'm not careful. For people with PTSD, triggers can actually be life threatening. When I hear people talk like this, it sounds like they are making fun of not only the concept of being triggered, but also the people who react to triggers. Trust me, if we could stop being triggered we would. I don't enjoy feeling like I'm going to throw up when I see a certain type of car.

I don't even have OCD, but this one really bothers me. OCD is so deeply misunderstood that some people legitimately believe that if they like to-do lists, vacuum every day, and hate having sticky hands that they have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. YOU DO NOT. True OCD can render people completely unable to hold jobs or leave their homes. People with OCD don't just wash their hands a lot - that's a stereotype. It can manifest itself in so many other ways, and sometimes it has nothing to do with cleanliness. I have a friend whose OCD manifests itself as the compulsive and intrusive thought that she has run over a person with her car and killed them, which makes it really difficult to drive places. Please stop using OCD as a description of yourself or others who don't like clutter. 

3. PLEASE STOP PILL SHAMING

Pill shaming comes in many forms. Some people believe that taking medicine for mental health issues is for snowflakes who just don't want to have to work on their problems or don't realize that life is hard and everyone else has to deal with it too. Some people think it's fine that you take medicine, but say things like "I would just never do that. I try to handle my depression on my own." Uh, yeah, so did the people who ended up on medicine. They tried - it just didn't work. Some people make what they think are encouraging statements about how someday I won't need medicine or therapy. This is entirely possible; however, I don't like the implication that if I never reach that stage, it means I didn't try hard enough or that where I am now is only going to be tolerated by them for a certain period of time. All of this is pill shaming.

What should you do instead? Just encourage people to get healthy - whatever that means for them. Some people manage to get healthy without medicine - encourage them to keep doing what they're doing. Some people try for months or years to feel better without medicine and simply can't - encourage them to get the help they need and stop being stubborn or scared. Some people can just tell that they need back up to help with what's happening to them - encourage them to do what's right for them. What's right for you might look completely different, and that's ok too.

4. PLEASE STOP MAKING IT A FAITH ISSUE

Several months ago I was sitting in a coffee shop where a group of men were gathered for a men's leadership Bible study associated with a local church. Before they got started, one of them said that they needed to discuss "the depression problem". He went on to explain that what he viewed as "the depression problem" was women consistently claiming to be afflicted with depression because it garnered attention. His exact words at the end of his statement were, "I'm surprised every woman we know hasn't come forward claiming to have depression, seeing how much attention it gets them."

Incorrect and misogynistic.

I prayed for wisdom, and then I went over and interrupted their Bible study. I explained that I'd overheard them and wanted to talk to them. I admitted that I didn't know the women they were referring to, and that it's entirely possible that these women are making false claims for attention, but that they should be very careful making that assumption. For people of faith, often the first resource they utilize when dealing with mental health problems is the leaders of their respective faith communities. In this way preachers, elders, and youth ministers have a lot of power to influence the people they shepherd who have these problems, and must be wise and discerning in the way they handle such situations. If handled incorrectly, horrible things can happen. I know that personally. I simply asked that they use caution when making such pronouncements and tried to walk away.

The man I'd overheard speaking began to hound me. When did you discover you were depressed? When I was 17. Were you saved when that happened to you? Yes. How do you know you were saved when that happened to you? I had been baptized. How long ago had you been baptized? About ten years. How were you saved and yet thought your life was meaningless? I don't know. It happened in spite of my faith. Why did you think you had the right to harm what God had created, if you were a person of faith? I didn't think I had the right. Why did you think medicine was the only answer? I would never claim it's the only answer. In the end it was the right answer for me at the time. What do you think people did about depression before society propagated the idea that it should be healed with medicine? They... probably died... When did you stop believing in God? What? No, I never have! Then how did this happen to you?

Then how did this happen to me?

I think the people who know me well know that I have a deep and active faith. Throughout even my most major depressive episodes, I've never lost my faith. I've sometimes wondered what God was up to, but never thought him absent or non-existent. In fact, my faith has been strengthened and deeply rooted because of those major depressive episodes, not in spite of them. I think my faith is what it is now because it has been refined by fire and thoroughly tested. 

Anxiety and depression didn't happen to me because I didn't have enough faith in God. In fact, perhaps God allowed these things to plague me because my faith could withstand it where another person's could not. I honestly don't know - it's tough to understand how God works sometimes. 

It is true that scripture encourages us not to worry and to be full of joy, even in times of trial. To a point, there is something to be said for managing mental illness with faith, prayer, and a community of believers - I don't mean to discredit that possibility at all. However, as people of faith - and especially leaders of faith - we must be responsible with what we tell people who are struggling with mental illness. We should absolutely encourage people to seek God, to trust God, and to find joy in God. We also should acknowledge that for some people they have biology, or trauma, or deep rooted cognitive patterns working against them that must be dealt with further. These people should not be shamed. They are not shamed by their God, and therefore should never be shamed by his people.

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I would be very interested to hear feedback about this post. If you struggle with mental illness, do you have something else that you wish the people around you knew? If you know someone with mental illness, is there something you've learned along the way that you wish you'd known sooner? 

Here I Raise My Ebenezer

Ebenezer is one of my favorite words. I love it because it's weird and rare. It's fun to say, and fun to spell, and fun to see if people actually know what it means. It's not every day you hear that word thrown around, and when you do it's often in reference to a Charles Dickens character. Even in the Bible it's only used in one book. In 1 Samuel 7 the Israelites achieve victory over the Philistines. At the end of the battle Samuel takes a stone and sets it up as a monument to the victory. He called the monument Ebenezer, which means stone of help. As he placed the stone he declared, "Thus far the Lord has helped us."

I love that. Thus far the Lord has helped us.

My favorite story of an ebenezer doesn't actually include the word anywhere, but that's what it is nonetheless. The dictionary definition of the word is commemoration of divine assistance. In the book of Joshua, the tribe of Israel needs to cross the Jordan river with the ark of the covenant. In the story God cuts off the flow of water from both sides, and the people walk safely on dry land in the midst of a river that is normally overflowing. Before they leave the banks of the river, God tells the leaders of the nation to take 12 stones from out of the middle of the riverbed, from the place where their feet stood firmly against all odds. The leaders gathered the 12 stones and stacked them up into a monument. God told them, "This will be a sign among you. When your children ask in time to come, 'What do those stones mean to you?' then you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. So these stones shall be to the people of Israel a memorial forever."

During my high school depression I discovered To Write Love On Her Arms. If you don't know about TWLOHA, you should look into it. It's a nonprofit organization built around helping people who struggle with depression, self harm, and suicide. Many who feel connected to this movement have gotten tattoos on their arms, most of which say "Love" in some form or fashion. The tattoos are meant to serve as a reminder, before you choose to harm yourself, that you are loved.

When I stopped cutting and had dealt with my anorexia, I decided that I would get a TWLOHA tattoo. I chose the Greek word for unconditional love, agape. I preferred it to the English word for love since in English you can love God, love skiing, and love tacos, and never need a different word. I knew that if I was to truly overcome my desire to harm myself, I would need to love myself the way God loves me - unconditionally. The way I love tacos just wasn't going to be enough. 

By the time my 18th birthday rolled around and I could legally get a tattoo, I had gone six months without cutting and I was closer to God than ever before. I felt rescued, finally pulled out of the mire. I wanted to honor the blessing of the peace I had finally been afforded by walking away from the experience changed. The mark on my skin was to serve as an ebenezer, a reminder for for the rest of my life of the deep waters God had carried me through, how I had survived, how pain always comes to an end, and how I could make choices moving forward that honored the life God has given me. I wanted to make a promise in permanent ink. My tattoo was my promise to myself and to God that I would never harm my own body again.

I kept that promise for 8 years, 4 months, and 2 days.

Seconds after I broke my promise I hated myself for it. I felt like an idiot with a meaningless symbol on my wrist. Actually, not a meaningless symbol, a symbol of the promise I failed to keep. My agape morphed into a black reminder of my shortcomings and how in a split second I managed to trash 8 years of sobriety. I was ashamed that I hadn't remembered what I swore I would remember forever. Somehow, in spite of all of the evidence, I had forgotten about the deep waters God had previously carried me through, how I was a survivor, and how pain eventually does come to an end. I had ignored the fact that I had committed to making different choices. Instead, almost every day for over a month I made the same destructive choice, sometimes using the hand that I wear my promise on. For a while I thought that there was no point in making a new promise. A person incabable of keeping the first surely can't keep the second. The whole point of an ebenezer, or a tattoo, is that it's FOREVER, not for eight years.

Then I remembered where I got the idea of an ebenezer in the first place - God's people.

The Israelites are notoriously bad at remembering previous cases of divine assistance. It's interesting that in the story from Joshua the leaders of Israel don't decide to commemorate God's help - God commands them to. He tells them to build a monument. He tells them what the monument means. He tells them what they are supposed to say to future generations that inquire about the strange stack of stones. God knows they are going to forget! He knows this because he knows our nature. He knows this because the Jordan river isn't the first or largest body of water He's helped this group of people cross! Almost immediately after God parts the Red Sea and millions of people cross over on dry land, the people start to feel unprovided for. It's easy for us to read the stories and say, "Israel! Are you joking?" but I think those stories exist to remind us of just how alike we are to God's people of the past. The entire history of God's people can be summed up in this: God provides, God's people celebrate and commemorate, God's people forget, God provides. Repeat for several thousands of years.

Enter me.

I was ashamed for forgetting, but it's honestly not surprising at all that I did. I'm human, just like Abraham, and Job, and Peter, who all forgot. Depression and Anxiety also have a truly remarkable way of doing a memory wipe. With these afflictions I sometimes can't remember the good from 30 seconds ago. Every single moment is a battle to remember. God has helped me through deep waters. I have survived. Pain ends.

Since I'm afflicted with the same humanity of the people of Israel, I've decided to raise another ebenezer. Sometimes you have to do that. 

I decided a long time ago that if I was ever "ok again" I would get another tattoo. I wanted a new one to represent a new promise, a new before and after. I've been waiting until I finally felt absolved of my guilt, and no longer had any desire to hurt myself. I didn't want to enter into a promise that I wasn't prepared to keep. You can't create your stack of stones until you're out of the riverbed and on the shore. 

This is my new tattoo. My new memorial. My new ebenezer. 

Though I've known I wanted a new tattoo for a while, I had no idea at all what I wanted it to be. I designed this after randomly turning to the book of Joshua several months ago. There I read the wonderful story of people in need, treacherous waters, God's providence, and a stack of stones. I decided I wanted my new tattoo to represent a stack of stones and include the words "Here by Thy great help I've come". I've always been against the idea of a tattoo on my back because I wouldn't be able to see it well, but suddenly I loved the idea. Part of the trouble with the ebenezer raised in Joshua is that the Israelites walked away from it. Far away from it. The farther they got from that moment, and from that sacred space, the more the memory faded. My ebenezer will follow RIGHT behind me. Every step I take is only one step in front of the monument I've erected. Each step is a reminder that I can walk away from this place better than I was before. Each step is a testament to exactly how far God has carried me.

Thus far the Lord has helped me.

Thus far the Lord has helped me.

Thus far the Lord has helped me.

When asked, "What does that mean to you?" I will tell of the dangerous journey made safe by a God who parts waters. This is my commemoration of divine assistance. This is my ebenezer.

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If you are interested in reading other blog posts about my journey with mental health, you can find them here. 

The Raging Wind and Tempest

Congratulations! You're Mentally Ill

Why Is Everything So Heavy

The Greatest Commandment

Me, Too.

Me, too.

Sexual harassment. It's the conversation we're finally having ever since the recent allegations came out against Harvey Weinstein. Since all this started I've seen amazing women coming forward to tell their stories, big and small. I've witnessed conversations about the consequences of victim blaming, the prevalence and normalization of workplace harassment, and just general wishes to overthrow the patriarchy. I didn't plan to do a blog post focused on this topic, but there's an important element of this discussion that I feel is missing. Unfortunately, it's an element I can personally speak to: sexual harassment and depression.

At age 17 I had recently dropped a bunch of weight and was the skinniest I'd ever been. Eating disorders will do that to you. Being skinny was everything I always hoped it would be. I could finally borrow my friends clothes, and wear shorts without being embarrassed. I finally fit into the stereotypical idea of beauty. My hip bones jutted out. I was also finally attracting the attention of guys. Lots of attention.

I was at a work event that brought together all of the regional branches of the clothing store I worked for. I met a guy. He got my phone number. He asked me on a date. 

He told me we were going to eat dinner and watch a movie. I thought he meant we would eat dinner at a restaurant and watch a movie in a theatre. We'd been driving for almost an hour when I finally asked where we were headed. He said we were going to his house. This struck me as cheap, but not sinister. Inconvenient, but not problematic. During our time in the car I found out that he wasn't 19, like I thought, but 21. This struck me as confusing, but not alarming. We arrived at his house, which was a trailer off a gravel country road in the middle of nowhere. This struck me as unimpressive, but not dangerous. To the pure all things are pure.

We went inside. He turned on the tv. The movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith was playing. He didn't even kiss me before putting his hand up my skirt. No one had ever had their hand up my skirt. I told him I didn't want to. He told me he would change my mind. I told him that was unlikely. He laughed and put his hand under my shirt. Then under my bra. No one had ever had their hand under my bra. I told him no. I moved his hands. I feigned interest in Mr. and Mrs. Smith. My unwillingness to participate in what he was doing did not deter him. I asked if we could grab dinner somewhere, but he wasn't hungry. I said I wanted to go home, but he didn't want to leave yet. I left to use the bathroom. I checked my cell phone. I had no service. I waited as long as was plausible and then went back out.

The rest of the evening was a balancing act. Be agreeable enough that he doesn't get angry. Agreeable enough that he doesn't decide to hurt you, or feel the need to hold you down. Be disagreeable enough that you leave this place without all of your "firsts" crossed off the list, only most. He touched me everywhere. I never touched him back. I always moved his hands. I never said yes. Eventually I just stopped saying anything. That. Is. Not. The. Same. Thing. 

He took me home. We didn't speak. He texted me later to ask when I wanted to "hook up again". I said never. He called me a bitch.

That same night I gently broached the subject with someone I trusted. I didn't give vivid detail, but a general impression of how the evening had gone. Her response: That's just how boys are. You shouldn't let them do things like that.

I found someone at church who I thought could advise me. His response: Why were you in that situation in the first place? Why were you wearing such a short skirt? Why didn't you stop him?

I told a friend at school. Her response: My boyfriend touches me like that all the time. What's the big deal? You're such a prude. 

Eventually I just stopped saying anything.

I started cutting again. I'd been clean for six months. I'd started medication. I was doing fine. Suddenly I became reclusive, angry, ashamed, and more depressed than before. I felt guilty for allowing something to happen to me that made me feel so dirty and look so naive. I was angry with myself for not seeing all of the warning signs before it was too late to change my circumstances. I was embarrassed for being so upset over something that no one else in my life seemed to think was that big of a deal. I thought God hated me for being a slut. I knew the guy hated me for not being cooperative. I was disheartened, believing that the only two options I had moving forward were to let guys touch me whether I enjoyed it or not, or be single and alone forever no matter how hard I worked to make my hip bones jut out. I felt like I deserved what happened. I had wanted to be skinny. I had wanted guys to like me. I had wanted attention. I asked for this. This was the first time I punished myself with cutting for something that someone else did. 

Over the course of the year between losing weight and leaving for college I experienced behavior from men that was absolutely abhorrent. I received filthy texts and instant messages that described in detail what men wanted to do to me, or what they wished I would do to them. These came from boys at school, boys in the youth group, and even from a man at church in his late twenties. I was propositioned in grocery stores and learned not to turn my head when men started talking to me. I was hugged abnormally often and learned how to wiggle out of a hug that's lasted too long with a man who's hands wandered. I felt disgusting, used, unsafe, and wholly responsible. I hated myself for being whatever I was being that made men act this way toward me. 

I eventually decided to protect myself by gaining back some of the weight. I wanted to blend into my surroundings and go back to being the girl no one noticed because she wasn't attractive enough. I protected myself from the outside world with a layer of fat. I stopped wearing make up and started wearing sweat pants. I needed to be plain. Frumpy. Unharassable. It worked. Then I hated myself for being unremarkable, unattractive, unable to keep the weight off. 

I don't tell this story to garner any sort of sympathy over what happened. My story is mild compared to some. I have healed. I tell this story to remind men and women who don't think sexual harassment is "that big of a deal" that the consequences of sexual harassment on a person's mind are destructive, long-lasting, and sometimes life-changing. I tell this story to try and show people who aren't angry about sexual harassment why they should be. I tell this story to try and remind us all that the "little things" add up. Every look, every text, every boob-graze, every cat call, every crude joke, every "honey", every time a victim is blamed for an offender's actions, adds up to being made to feel less than human. Being made to feel less than human DOES AFFECT someone's mental state. It often leads to depression. Sometimes to self harm. Sometimes to suicide. 

If you think women are up in arms about being whistled at, you've misunderstood. We're up in arms about what the whistling means, where it comes from, what it implies, and how it makes us feel. We hate the whistling and the boob-grazing because of how it whittles away at us over time, every day making us feel less human, less valuable, and demanding that WE be smaller in order to prevent behavior from others. 

Well, I am human. I am valuable. I will not make myself small. 

The Greatest Commandment

The story starts with the Sadducees. They were eager to find a reason to condemn Jesus, so they approached him and tried to trick him into saying something blasphemous or heretical. They asked him questions about the law that they thought would stump him. None of them did. A man, seeing that Jesus had a perfect answer to all of their tricky questions, decided to pose one of his own. He asked Jesus, "Out of all the commandments, which one is the most important?" His response is one of the most commonly known passages of scripture. 

The most important one is this... Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and with all your strength. The second is this: Love your neighbor as yourself. There is no commandment greater than these.

The Sadducees were troubled by the answer. Honestly, so am I.

The choice of words is so specific. Jesus doesn't simply command me to love my neighbor in general, or to love my neighbor as God loves them. Instead he says to love my neighbor as I love myself.

And that's going to be a problem.

To love my neighbor as I love myself would be to hate her first thing in the morning and think about killing her at night. It would come with criticism of her body, her skin, her hair, her mind, and her sense of humor. It would be hold her to standards of perfection in all aspects of life and physically punish her when she fell short. My words to her would be mean. You're a terrible wife, a terrible friend, a weak person, unloved and unworthy. I would spend time in conversation telling her how much I dislike her, and convincing her that others felt the same way. In short, to love my neighbor as myself just sounds like really terrible news for my neighbor. 

I've never particularly liked myself. Actually, for good portion of my life I have ardently hated myself. I always knew that the situation wasn't ideal, but it never struck me as a problem as far as loving my neighbor is concerned. What does it matter if I treat myself terribly as long as I don't treat others terribly? Hating myself only affects me, so I'm not hurting anyone. I would never treat anyone but me this poorly. 

Well, yes and no. 

It's true, in many ways I would never treat others as poorly as I treat myself. I would never walk up to one of my friends and say, "Those ten extra pounds make you look disgusting. You should be ashamed. I bet your husband wants nothing to do with you anymore." I would never accuse a dinner companion of being mentally inadequate for calculating the tip incorrectly. I can't fathom running a razor blade over another person - even someone who I REALLY don't like. I especially can't fathom doing that because of something as inconsequential as forgetting to pick up something from the grocery store, or eating ice cream. I just couldn't. I'm not a complete monster.

However, I have noticed the way I interact with myself impacting the way I interact with others. During my Great Depression I hated myself with all of my energy all of the time, and everything in my life passed through that filter. I felt disgusting and burdensome. I didn't believe that my life was meaningful or worth protecting. In turn, I didn't think my marriage - a partnership that is fifty percent me - was meaningful or worth protecting either. You can imagine how that went. The more I said hateful things to myself, the easier it became to say hateful things to others. When I could see that my words or actions were hurting someone I cared about I was relatively unaffected. I would think to myself, I have no intention of being here tomorrow, so what I say to this person today isn't going to matter. I won't have to clean up this mess, I'll be long gone.

I began to hate people for being what I interpreted as superior to me. I hated people for earning more money than me, being thinner than me, having a better job than me, and for having a normal brain that wasn't riddled with demons. I belittled the accomplishments of acquaintances and scoffed at the happiness I saw others experiencing. I simultaneously began to hate people for being just like me. I began to think the things about them that I constantly thought about myself. I hated people for being depressed and anxious. We all have bad days. You could handle this if you weren't so weak minded. I hated people for struggling with self control. You know the right choice, why don't you just DO it? I hated people for talking about their problems. No one wants to hear about your feelings. Suck it up and deal. I was perfectly summed up in this line from a movie, "I hate myself, but I'm better than everyone."

The more I dehumanized and stripped myself of value, the easier it was to dehumanize and strip others of their value. The less respect, care, and mercy I gave myself, the less respect, care, and mercy I gave others. It caused problems. 

So, how do you love your neighbor when you hate yourself? As it turns out - not very well.

This makes me think about the specific choice of words in Jesus' response to the Sadducees. I think either of the examples I mentioned earlier would have been a perfectly acceptable way of phrasing this commandment. Love God with everything you have. Also, love your neighbor. Period. Or, even better, love your neighbor as God loves them - or as God loves you. Why not just say that?

I like to believe that Jesus said things a certain way for a reason. To me his words here sound like both a commandment and an explanation. I'm commanded to love my neighbor as myself, with the understanding that I have value and deserve respect. Therefore, so does my neighbor. I also think he's telling us that there will inevitably be a correlation between our relationship with ourselves and our relationships with others. Jesus knew our human limitations and understood that we wouldn't be very good at manifesting unconditional love for others if we couldn't even master tolerating ourselves. He says, "love your neighbor as yourself" not because it's the best way we can, but because it's the only way we can. And if that's true, we ought to be very mindful about loving ourselves.

Sorry - this is not the part where I give you all the answers about how to love yourself, repair your broken self esteem, and become a confidence factory. I spent most of the last year believing I wasn't worth keeping alive, so I definitely don't have this one all figured out. However, I am more determined than ever to work on my relationship with myself. Not only because it will be healthy and beneficial to me, but because I now believe that loving myself is an essential part of properly loving my neighbor. Loving my neighbor is the second half of what we call The Greatest Commandment, so this seems worth mastering.

I'm making progress. I'm working on being forgiving and offering myself a fraction of the grace that Christ has already given me. I'm trying to be merciful and value myself even when I don't "deserve" it. I think this process will be difficult, because I'm confident that no one dislikes me quite as much as I do. I'm definitely my own worst enemy, and sometimes I don't even think I'm worth the hassle of figuring this all out. Then I hear more words from Jesus in the back of my mind.

You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.

To quote Kahlil Gibran: “God said 'Love Your Enemy,' so I obeyed him and loved myself.”