In my distress, I called to the LORD

Today had all the ingredients to be a very bad day.

After tossing and turning with a cough all night, I slept through my alarm. Emma was uncooperative from the get-go. I was buried in e-mails, and my phone just wouldn't stop ringing. One of those calls was from my boss, with whom I had an impossibly frustrating conversation. Then to top it all off, I couldn't (and still can't) seem to kick this ridicules cold. Argh!

Yes, it was a rotten day, but it did not consume me. Then again, I'm not the same woman I was just a few short months ago.

I'm not completely sure why I'm sharing this, except that over the past few days and weeks I've felt compelled to make sure other women (or men, for that matter) in similar circumstances know they are not alone. Perhaps the biggest lie the devil tells people in the midst of depression is that no one will understand, that no one could possibly look at you the same if they only knew the truth.

That's how I felt. That's why it took me months before I could even tell my husband. And that's why when I finally worked up the courage to see a doctor, I silently handed him a typed up list of symptoms because I was too ashamed and emotional to even voice them out loud.

It's not that I really had the much to be sad about. But that's the thing with depression; even the small things appear to be insurmountable at the time.

Most people would have never guessed I struggled with depression, because it wasn't that bad during the day. But by the time I got home, I was sapped. All I wanted to do was sleep, and I would zonk out on the couch at the drop of a hat. However, if I actually went to bed, I'd lay awake all night worrying about nonsense. It was a vicious cycle.

The things that kept me up at night were trivial and mostly out of my control. I'd find myself replaying conversations from as far back as my teennage years, and I obsessed about the situations of other people that had little or nothing to do with me.

It was my daydreams that ultimately led me to ask for help. It's hard to describe, but I felt like I was enveloped in darkness. Sometimes I'd picture myself going into a bar and drinking until I was left feeling nothing. (Honestly, I never followed through with so much as a drop of alcohol for fear of being "caught".) In the worst moments, I'd curl up in bed and visualize going to sleep and never waking up. Or I'd think about laying in the bathtup and simply slipping under the water without coming up for air. That's when I knew I had a problem.

All this to say, I asked for help, and I got it. It took me months to come to grips with the fact that it was a medical issue and there was no shame in letting a doctor help me come up with a plan for getting better. In my case, it was probably lingering post-partum, amplified by several life changes that happened all at once. My doctor was able to put me on a low dose medication for a few months and then slowly took me off them to live a "normal," happy life.

The funny thing is, once I finally got the courage to tell a few close friends what was going on, three of them told me they had recently been through the exact same thing. Guess I wasn't alone afterall.

In some ways, it's hard to write about what it was like to deal with depression. Is it still a little embarrassing? Maybe that's a small part of it. But more so, it's hard to remember what it was like because I feel like that was a completely different person. Things just don't get to me like they did before.

My pastor recently preached from the Book of Jonah, and a verse jumped out from the page like never before. It said, "In my distress, I cried to the LORD and he heard my cry." What a perfect synopsis of my testimony!

I thought the verse sounded familiar, and sure enough, that same phrase (or very similar) appears in the Bible three other times ... in Psalms 18, Psalm 120, and 2 Samuel 22.

If you feel like you might be struggling with depression, don't be ashamed to talk to someone about it. You are not alone, and don't let the devil fool you into believing that you are.

It's comforting for me to know that in our times of distress, we can be confident that the Lord will always hear -- and answer -- our cries for help.

Success is a relative thing

For those of you who have been reading my blog (have I hit 10 readers yet???), you may recall my original posting which proclaimed my intentions to go from couch to 5K runner in 9 weeks.

I'm one week shy of the 9 week mark, and at this point in the "game" (as if running could EVER be considered a game), I should be running a cool 2.75 miles in just under 30 minutes -- all while sporting a florescent pink sports bra, matching track pants, and sparkly white tennis shoes. (That's how I picture the accomplished runner.)

Alas, I find myself coming up a bit short.

I was keeping up until about week 5, when suddenly my years of inactivity caught up with me. My knees were killing me, my legs burned like they were on fire, and I think I bordered on hyperventilating on more than one occasion.

I blamed it on my crappy $50 treadmill. I blamed it on running in a stinky garage filled with lawn mower fumes. I blamed it on the summer heat. Then when I ran ... er .. shuffled, out of excuses, I realized I had nothing left to blame but myself.

In an embarrassing display of being a girl, I walked inside from my jog, sobbing at my inadequacies.

Robert, in an embarrassing display of being a guy, asked me, "what's your problem?"

I explained I was a failure, and he asked how I had possibly come to that conclusion. I retorted I couldn't keep up with the 5K plan. He asked me, "who cares?"

I reminded him I'd told everyone in the world about my plan, and it was embarrassing to go back on that.

Then in one of those shining husband moments, Robert hugged me, sweat and all, and explained that he was proud of me for working my butt off -- regardless of what "that stupid plan" says.

That was a few weeks ago. With Robert's encouragement and a 12-step program, I threw the 5K plan out the window. Instead, I'm jogging/walking for 30 minutes, 3 times a week, trying to outdo myself in distance each time.

I won't reveal my latest record, because by the world's standards, it's ridiculously slow.

Then again, I'm still jogging after 8 weeks. And tonight, when Emma didn't go to bed until after 9:30, and all I wanted to do was crash, I dragged my butt out to the garage and outdid my personal best.

For that, I'm pretty darn proud of myself.

Reasons I love the Midwest

Okay, so I'm back in Illinois, and to be honest, the beach is still beckoning.

What a fantastic week I had doing absolutely nothing but lounging by the ocean and splashing around with Robert and Emma in the pool!

Sigh....

Actually, Robert and I ALMOST spent an extra 24 hours in Florida. We found out that our condo was rented through Sunday, and we daydreamed about how we could make the most of our "bonus" day. Then I called Delta and found out it would cost $300 to change our plane tickets. Needless to say, we stuck to our original plans.

Some may have seen my Facebook status a few days ago that said I was moving to the Sunshine State. Let me alleviate any worries by publicly declaring that was a joke.

And since that is NOT an option, I've decided to remind myself of the reasons of why I love the Midwest. So here goes, in no particular order:

• Family. Okay, actually, that IS at the top of the list. On those days when I can almost hear the waves crashing on the sand, I remind myself how wonderful it is to live near my mom, dad, sisters and brother. Even Stephanie's only a half-day's drive away.


• My job. Yes - it frustrates me at times, but doesn't that come with the territory? I believe in the mission of ONU, and I work with the greatest group of co-workers EVER. On one particular afternoon, I had two separate people ask me why the marketing team is always laughing so much. I think that's a pretty good sign that we enjoy what we do. : )


• Fall. Nothing beats sipping hot apple cider and carving pumpkins while wearing your favorite sweater, just when the weather starts to turn cold.


• Less racism. I know it exists up north, but not like it does in the south. I can't count how often I've cringed at the use of the "n" word and derogatory statements about minorities while visiting the former Confederate states. It's hard to believe people are still so ignorant.


• Snow days. Those unexpected days when you can't get out of your driveway, before the "mush" appears. Great days for playing games with family or sledding down a snow drift. One of Robert's friends from Jacksonville, at 30 years old, has never seen snow in person!


• Grass. Yes, grass. It doesn't grow well in Florida because of all the sand. And when people do sod their yards, it's with this rigid, grass imposter that doesn't feel good under bare feet.


• Lack of sand. Ironic, because I love laying in it by the ocean. But I hate how once you've been to the beach, sand permeates your bathing suit and everything you took with you (not to mention all the odd places you find it in the shower). Little granules of Floridian sand are still all throughout my luggage and Emma's toys.

So there you go. I'm glad to be in Illinois. Putting this list together, I realize that Florida actually sucks.

Ok, not really. But at least it makes returning from vacation that much easier.