Category: Mental Health

  • The Correlation Between Mood Disorders and Fatherlessness

    When Donald Miller founded The Mentoring Project, I was a fan. He saw a need, figured out a way to help fill in the gap, and went for it.

    The psychology in family dynamics has always been profoundly interesting to me. Just last fall, I wrote a paper for a family sociology class. I researched the correlation between mood disorders (like depression, anxiety, etc.) and fatherlessness*. Surprisingly, there wasn’t much in the way of data (yet) but below is an excerpt from my paper that summarizes what I found very well:

    Maldonado supports the positive correlation between increased mood disorder in children and fatherlessness. Using research from Barlett, he notes “children who have no contact with the nonresidential parent suffer more detriment than children whose parents “openly reject” them, “hurt…[their] feelings,” or “exploit [them] for selfish purposes.” While a father’s death has significant impact on a child, by nature they are more adaptable to the loss. However, when the loss is caused by a father’s personal decision, children often blame themselves when they are rejected or abandoned by living fathers. A child feels less valued if a parent does not make an effort to engage in the child’s life. Using research by Wallerstein and Kelly, Maldonado expresses children at any and all levels of development experience “sadness and even severe depression” when he or she experiences feelings of rejection by the father’s absence. (Maldonado, 957).

    As an interesting sidebar, mood disorders are not only found in children of absent fathers, but also in the fathers who left. Quoting Effects of Divorce on Parents and Children (Lamb, ed. 1982), fathers who “rarely saw their children after divorce felt a great sense of loss and depression.” On the other hand, fathers who stay in close contact with their children post-divorce enjoy “higher self-esteem and significantly lower rates of depression and other mental health problems than fathers who have little or no contact with their children.” (Maldonado, 959).

    I’ve been tracking along with The Mentoring Project for a few years now, and love that they’ve developed this great idea for a Father’s Day campaign, Don’t Buy the Tie!

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    I realize many of you have given up on ties and probably purchase something more in the category of requiring batteries, but the principle holds true. What if – just for this Father’s Day, in honor of your dad or a father figure in your life, you gave that hope to someone else?

    In this case, it may be giving a boy a chance to have a father figure in his life. However, based on some of the research I did for my paper, you may also be giving a father (who for some reason doesn’t have much contact with his child) a great hope as well.

    Tim and I donated to the Don’t Buy the Tie campaign. I encourage you to check it out and do so as well!

    *This is not to dismiss other causes for mood disorders. In fact, most of my research indicates traumatic experiences (absent fathers included) often are the beginning of a psychosomatic responses as the body’s autonomous and nervous systems can’t process trauma at early ages so it is “stored” within those systems which cause chemical imbalances and neuropathological disturbances. There are other factors to consider (hereditary, genetics, etc.).

    As I finally processed my own traumas (sexual abuse, etc.) in my thirties, much of (but not all of) my depressive symptoms went away! Not every person experiences trauma or loss in the same way so each person’s path in their mental health looks different than others. The important thing is to recognize how trauma affects us and to seek professional help and medication when necessary. I am NOT a doctor, just a student of the behavioral sciences, so take that for what it’s worth.

  • Is There Joy in Holding on to Grief?


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    On July 3, 2012, eight days before my friend Jay Williams turned 32 years old, he was buried in Lebanon Cemetery in Plains, Georgia. The air was still and thick with southern humidity, and sweat collected in the small of my back under the layers of my black dress. My friends and I stood on the brittle grass of the cemetery, waiting in line to say goodbye to Jay one last time. We dodged the sun by shuffling in and out of each other’s shadows and swatted at clouds of gnats with paper fans provided by the local funeral home.


    In the summer of 2010, Jay, myself, and 15 other people rode our bicycles from San Diego to Myrtle Beach, raising money and awareness for an organization that empowers people to fight the HIV/AIDS and water crises in Africa. Jay was the first cyclist to arrive at the church that would send us off. As I pulled into the church parking lot in San Diego, I saw a short, skinny guy with a tan wearing a straw cowboy hat riding his red bicycle in circles. Was he one of the team cyclists? Or some vagabond traveler who perhaps illegally acquired a nice road bike? Was he drunk? He looked so happy—too happy.

    DSCN1269Quickly, we learned he was one of our teammates. While the rest of us worried if our gear would hold up or how we’d survive cycling nine hours a day in 110-degree weather, Jay was content to cycle the 3000 miles we traveled cross-country in Teva sandals, occasionally strapping a milk jug of water to the back of his bike so he wouldn’t have to stop. Even without clipping into pedals or using recovery drinks (he preferred chocolate milk), Jay was the strongest on our team. He wasn’t competitive, though; he’d stop and help someone change out a blown tube or, in his South Georgia accent, would cheer up a teammate having an unpleasant day.

    As we got to know Jay, we learned he was in a skiing accident when he was a teenager. After extensive surgery that caused his abdominal muscles to be separated and required him to lose a kidney, he was back on the slopes the next winter. Considering the doctors told him he’d be lucky to walk again, this was only one small miracle in Jay’s life. Jay was brave. Jay was humble. It seemed like Jay was invincible. He quickly and quietly became everybody’s unlikely hero.

    After the tour ended, each cyclist returned to his or her respective hometown. Jay made an effort to stay in touch with each of us, scattered as we were.

    1photoAfter tornadoes ripped through the south in spring 2011, I volunteered at a benefit concert in Birmingham, Alabama. Jay drove four hours from Plains, Georgia, to help me sell T-shirts for two hours. Then he drove four hours back so he could be at his job on time the next morning. This wasn’t atypical. This was Jay. By day, he worked in his father’s peanut factory and by night, secretly repaired friends’ houses when they were on vacation. He loved Jesus, and to everyone who knew him, he never had to say a word to prove it. His actions proved this love beyond any shadow of doubt.

    On June 29, 2012, when the team received the news that Jay fell two stories and was fighting for his life, none of us could believe it. Twenty-four hours later, Jay passed away due to the trauma caused by his fall.

    Sadly, Jay was not the first of my friends to pass last year. Two others have unexpectedly died: one in a tragic hiking accident in Japan and another after an arduous battle with cancer. I began to wonder if, as a 33-year-old, death simply becomes a more frequent notification or if last year has been an anomaly. Thinking on these things, my chest tightens and my breathing becomes shallow and quick. I’m faced with the reality of my own transience now; death has been speaking into my consciousness more repeatedly than usual.

    Most of the cycling team was able to make it to Georgia for Jay’s funeral. We stayed in two guest homes on a farm in the tiny town of Ellaville. None of us knew the family who owned the farm before we arrived. They heard we were coming, and they opened their doors. They loved Jay, and they loved Jesus, and because of this, they loved us.photo

    Alone in one of the houses while waiting for our ride to the visitation, I sat in the living room with the book I was reading. After attempting to understand the same sentence four times, I gave up and stared off into the smoke-stained fireplace in front of me, listening to the sounds that filled the house: water dripping from the kitchen faucet, songs of crickets and the rustle of leaves as squirrels jumped around in the heavy woods. In my hasty packing, I forgot to bring a pen. I searched the cottage and found a pencil and scribbled in the back of my book:

    When someone in our periphery dies, it gives our spirits pause. A moment of silence. But when someone close—a kindred spirit—passes, our reality becomes surreality. We float through a new and different kind of time and space, and our bodies feel the loss of a bright soul that no longer walks with us. The air, the sounds, the light … all is different when someone departs. When they became part of us, they implanted a small piece of their spirit in our own. And when they leave, there is such pain from the empty space that spirit used to fill. This is grief.

    During the days of Jay’s visitation and funeral, grief was loud. It was in the eyes of the 200 people who lined up in the heat to say goodbye to him and console his parents and his girlfriend. It spoke into the quiet moments in conversations as we spoke of Jay’s memory. It was in the tears of his friends as they touched his casket before it was lowered.

    However, as loud as grief was, joy was louder. It seems incredibly trite to write those words; it feels as cliché as saying, “He’s in a better place now” or “God just wanted one of his angels home.” But joy outsang grief, and its notes ring just as beautifully today as they did last year. Joy sings of a life lived bravely and with love. Joy sings of friendships created and renewed. Joy sings of every minute someone spent with Jay. In the moments where grief is raw and bleeding, joy reaches in with peace and hope. It is not intrusive or overpowering. It is constant and gently comforts our sorrow. In the space this mercy offered us, we could mourn and celebrate.

    July 12, 2012 marks the day Jay was buried. New concerns and mundane tasks seem to lessen the time I think of his death. Distractions threaten to numb the sensitivity to life and community and love I experienced so intensely almost a year ago. It’s effortless to let death, grief, and the overwhelming joy it paradoxically brings move away from our hearts. Our culture demands we must get over it—life goes on—but with intentional determination, maybe we have an alternative choice.

    Yes, we must accept life and death, just as we must accept grief and joy. There is a season for all things. But instead of moving on from the things death awakens in us, perhaps we embrace them. Perhaps we choose to keep the mark a life leaves on our heart unhealed and open and, by doing so, we create space for others to experience the legacy of love and joy a departed friend leaves behind.

    Can there, in fact, be joy in holding on to grief?

     

     

     

     

  • Are Forgiveness and Reconciliation the Same?

    I never thought there was much difference between reconciliation and forgiveness. In my heart, it all kind of meant the same thing – letting go of pain that someone had inflicted on me. Usually this involved some type of “making up” process involving apologies, sometimes tears, and a hug to make everything alright.

    Twelve years ago, somebody hurt me in a very painful, inexcusable way. For years, I didn’t allow myself to work through the pain as I needed to. A couple of years ago, circumstances (which were mostly out of my control) caused me to stare at this wound square in the face.

    As strange as it sounds, I’ve never doubted that I forgave this person. I feel fortunate that, for the most part, forgiveness comes easy to me. There are probably only two situations in my life where I know I still need to work on forgiving someone, but this particular hurt isn’t one of them.

    However, as I was processing through healing during this time, I began questioning if i really had forgiven this person. Sure, the scabs had been peeled off and the wounds were fresh – and it hurt…badly, all over again.

    Someone who was helping me through this sent me an email. He encouraged me and said that what I was experiencing wasn’t me being bitter or holding on (which was what I was afraid I was doing) but that I was desiring reconciliation.

    I wanted for this person to own up to the mistake and for everything – painful as it would be – to be okay again.

    And I wanted for the relationship to be harmonized and restored completely.

    Later, I read this in a book:

    Joseph was reconciled with his brothers when they came to Egypt in search of grain. By the time his brothers reached Egypt, he was able to stand before them and confront them because he had no inner feelings that would keep him from having a relationship of unity and peace with them.

    Forgiveness is unilateral. You can forgive even if [someone] never admits [their wrong doing], is never sorry, and never changes. But reconciliation requires both people’s commitment to recovery, honesty, repentance, forgiveness, and communication. Even then, reconciliation is a long and difficult process of breaking down barriers and building trust.

    You may not ever be reconciled with a person that hurt you (or that you hurt).

    That part takes both people to work through.

    Forgiveness is a necessary, but not a sufficient condition for reconciliation.

    However, forgiveness is a decision that you make, and continue to make, regardless of the other person’s choice.

    And through the cross and grace and love, you can.

  • A Candid Interview on Addiction, Confession & Transparency

    A few weeks ago, I was invited to be the guest on the Samson Society podcast with Nate Larkin & David Mullen.

    We talked about everything from cycling across the country, to life as a former preacher’s kid, to women and porn addiction (as well as drug and alcohol abuse), confession, and living a transparent life.

    Most interviews I’ve done in the past don’t dig this deep – an uncomfortable deep – but Nate and David did a fabulous job asking questions and responding with truth and grace.

    You can stream or download the interview here.

  • An Update on Being Bipolar

    It’s been a while since I shared with you my recent “maybe” diagnosis of a form of Bipolar II. “Maybe” because with mental health issues, it’s difficult to pin down exactly what the problem is until you’ve had a few therapy sessions, tried a few medications, and most importantly — given your brain chemicals time to catch up.

    When I blogged before, I mentioned I would be starting a drug called Topamax – an anti-seizure medicine that’s been used for migraine preventative and now mild forms of Bipolar II. It works by affecting your temporal lobe, which is the lobe that most of the symptoms from all these diseases stem from.

    After a little while on the Topamax, I decided it would be best for me to try something else. I felt fortunate in that I didn’t have any major side effects, however, it made me too emotionally stable.

    Isn’t that the point though? To reach a level of stability?

    Let’s just say while I was on it, no. This kind of stability is zombie stability. I didn’t feel the lows of my down days or the racing thoughts of my high days.

    I.

    Didn’t.

    Feel.

    Anything.

    And as someone who is a “9” (super high) “Feeler” on the Myers-Briggs, that says a lot.

    I didn’t laugh at outtakes from The Office or even have an ounce of empathy for another human soul.

    I was completely flat.

    It so happened that about the time I got off the Topamax, I got a phone call from a psychopharmacologist’s office here in Nashville. There aren’t very many psychopharmacologists anywhere, so when I tried to get an appointment four months ago, I was put on a waiting list of hundreds of people. And finally, it was my turn.

    At my appointment, I went through a one-hour indepth intake of previous medication, symptoms, and things in my life that could have triggered a response – my dad’s painful departure from ministry, an abusive relationship, a serious car accident…

    I still have one more intake appointment to go through, which is next week before I leave for Haiti. In the mean time, I’ve been taking a medicine I took several years ago when I went through a very stressful, very painful time in my life. I took it back then for an entirely different reason but remembered that I felt pretty good while I was on it. I talked to my doctor, he changed the dosage a little, and it’s been a month since I’ve been taking it.

    It’s been working pretty well and quite honestly, I hope they keep me on it.

    The last month has been about the best I’ve felt emotionally over the winter. Have I had down days and up days? Absolutely, but I’ve been able to cope with them. The racing thoughts that keep me awake at night have for the most part, been quieted. Sure, it makes me feel a little dizzy and groggy throughout the day, but that’s small price to pay for feeling just a little more “normal” than I’m used to.

    I really do appreciate the emails and tweets over the last couple of months that have asked how the medication has been doing and how I’ve been doing and the prayers that usually accompany them. Knowing there are people out there – some whom I’ve met and others I haven’t – walking through similar journeys helps me feel not so alone.

    So, thank you for saying “me too.”


  • On Sex, Social Media, and Bipolar

    After reading through my Google Reader this week, it appears writing about your ten most clicked on posts for the year is the smart blogger thing to do.

    Anyway, I thought I’d see what my top ten blog posts were of 2009 and interestingly enough, a trend emerged.

    Here they are:

    10. This video I did on porn addiction.

    9. The Stigma of Bipolar Disorder

    8. Results to a survey on modesty and dressing sexy

    7. A video of Mike Foster and I sharing a message about sex at Community Christian Church in Chicago.

    6. The announcement that I was going to fast from social media for Lent

    5. The Death Notice of my personal Facebook Account

    4. An old post about emotional affairs

    3. The question asking “What’s one thing you can’t say in church?”

    2. Can girls be porn addicts too?

    1. Why is being gay a sin?

    Wow.

    We certainly have a lot of questions about sex. And social media. And more sex. And sex. And mental health.

    I went to see what words people would search for that would bring them to this site – to our conversations.

    Sure, I wrote the posts…but you contributed so much value to the message.

    People searched for:

    addicted to porn, questioning God, is being gay a sin, girls addicted to porn, female porn addiction, women addicted to porn, emotional affair, depression

    At first glance, it kind of sounds depressing. And dirty.

    But I don’t think it is.

    What makes me thrilled is that the amount of views just these ten posts and their comments have had over the last year has helped around 50,000 people realize they are not alone.

    They are not alone.

    And neither are you.

    And as we close out this year, I’d place my money on the fact you know someone that might need to read one of these posts.

    So there they are – easy to find, easy to share.

    We.

    Are.

    Not.

    Alone.

  • The Stigma of Bipolar Disorder

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    Over the course of the four years I’ve been blogging, one of the topics that usually emerges is depression and anxiety – both of which I’ve dealt with from time to time.

    You can catch up with some of those posts here.

    At first, they weren’t easy to talk about. And?especially?to bring up the use of medicine, well, many “religious” people don’t like that idea very much.

    Shouldn’t God be enough to heal you? Don’t you have enough faith? What do you have to be depressed about?

    Those are a few of the many emails (and sometimes public comments) that people have left.

    About this time last year, after fighting through a really rough season of depression, I dispelled some myths about it.

    But here’s the thing I’ve learned this year:

    I might not have clinical depression.

    You see, I’ve tried about every class of antidepressants and the one thing that is true to them all?

    They make my depression worse.

    A few months ago, I was having dinner with a psychologist/priest/friend about this dilemma. The moment I told him that antidepressants just make me worse, he replied,

    “Well, that’s because you’re probably?exhibiting?a form of Bipolar II.”

    I’m sorry – WHAT?

    Even though it’s not totally accepted, the stigma of depression and anxiety has become less and less over the last five years, thanks to people speaking out and sharing the honest truth about the diseases.

    But bipolar?

    To me – that means strap me in a white jacket with buckles and throw me in a psych ward. After hearing my friend’s informal diagnosis, I retreated back to my hotel room in denial.

    There’s no WAY I could talk about this.

    (All while writing a book about things we can’t talk about in church…hmmm.)

    It’s been about three months since my friend shared his words with me over dinner, and I’ve researched the type of Bipolar he thinks I may have. I can’t deny it – the symptoms, cycling, everything is spot on. And one of the most defining characteristics of this particular class is that – lo and behold – antidepressants make the depression worse.

    A couple weeks ago, I went to my doctor who drilled me on how I was feeling (eh), how I was sleeping (terribly) and instead of trying a new sleep medicine, went back to his original treatment of treating the underlying problem (depression). I explained to him what my psychologist friend said, and he thoughtfully agreed.

    I understand that doctors can be drug-happy sometimes, but I do trust my doctor. He prescribed me Topamax, which is typically a migraine preventative medicine. There have been several studies though that in lower doses, it actually is a really good mood stabilizer and has fewer side effects than other stabilizers.

    (The side effects it does have are hilarious – it can literally make me stupid while I’m taking it. Like, forgetting words kind of stupid. Words like “pizza” and “cat” and “computer.” As if I weren’t absent-minded enough…)

    And today, Tuesday, December 15, I’m starting treatment.

    (Deep breath)…

    I’m starting treatment for Bipolar II.

    Straight jackets and psych…wait-what’s-that-word?…oh, psych wards aside, I hope it goes well.

    Thanks for listening.

  • Old Woman

    Sometimes I wonder what I?m going to be like as an old woman.

    When I was eighteen, I wondered what I would be like when I was thirty and my imagination then and the current reality are very far apart from each other.

    I think I would like to be the kind of old woman who wears chunky necklaces and has bright white hair and that could tell tales of when I was thirty and forty and people would lean in and be mesmerized by my whimsical stories and the way I uncover timeless truth.

    But then I wonder if I?ll just end up alone in my bed with hairy legs and maybe a slight mustache. And I’d be laying in a sea of cookie crumbs watching marathons of Law & Order (and all the while my cat is licking the back of my hand).

  • My Confession

    Every Monday I sit down to watch Intervention. Sometimes it makes me feel not alone in the daily battles that rage in my head and sometimes it scares me just how much I can still relate to the people on the show.

    I know if it wasn’t for certain people in my life, both past and present, there may have been (or could yet be) an episode with me in it.

    And I’m grateful.

    And I’m hopeful.

    And I’m heartbroken for how lonely I know the 20 million addicts feel they are.