Friday, July 10, 2015

Blame it on my Crazy! Church Service and Mental Illness

That is right folks!  I am crazy. 

If you've read any of my other blog posts, this probably doesn't come as a surprise to you.  I have always been pretty honest about my difficulties surrounding mental illness.  I come by it naturally, as it occurs frequently on both sides of my family.  It has taken me a long time to accept the fact that I struggle daily, but I have FINALLY given myself permission to give myself a break. 






Ever since I can remember, I've been fighting crippling anxiety and depression.  As a child, these illnesses led to many actions that I am not proud of.  All of them attempts to heal myself, to understand myself, or to get some help; though I may not have realized it at the time. 

As an adult, the problems compounded.  Along with children came the worst depression of my life, also known as Postpartum Depression.  This, along with other aspects, led to my divorce.  Eventually, I got myself on medication and into therapy.  These helped, but certainly didn't cure it.  Mental illness cannot be "cured."  It is often for life. 

Because we as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints have such an intertwined relationship with church and personal life, many of us struggle to contain our crazy in church.  Often, we stop going to church all together because of some aspect within church culture.  For example:  A previous ward of mine was the largest ward in the world at the time.  I couldn't step into the building without feeling like I was about to have a panic attack.  I eventually told the Bishop of the ward I couldn't go anymore.  I heard people mention they thought that was a cop-out, but that is merely ignorance at its finest.


Yep, society is great at hiding "crazy" under an umbrella of "everything is great!"  As members of the LDS church, we are probably the very best at pretending everything is fine.  THIS HAS GOT TO CHANGE!  I'm all for being cheerful and optimistic.  In fact, I am by nature a very positive person, despite my mental illness.  But pretending to be fine when you are considering suicide is NOT OKAY.  I've been there.



So how does this tie into church callings?  Easily. 

I once had a calling that stressed me out so much I stopped going to church.  (Are you seeing a pattern here?)  I had such terrible anxiety about it all week.  I believed in revelation, so I felt it was an opportunity to grow and learn, as God would have me do.  So I heaped more anxiety on top of my already budding hysteria.  What would God think if I didn't do it?  He would be so disappointed!  The Bishop and all the ward will think I'm not a reliable member if I can't even do this simple calling!  What is my problem?  Other people aren't freaking out about their callings like I am! 

Can you see the problem? 

Eventually I told my Bishop I couldn't complete the calling.  I felt terrible telling him.  I felt that I was letting him, the ward, and God down.  But it was either live in AGONY each day about my calling, or ask to be released.  Here is where we need to change.

The Church is pretty understanding.  Church culture is a tricky and imperfect beast.  The Church loves all, and is full of charity.  Church culture is chalk full of judgement and condemnation.  We need to work on our culture folks.

Those with mental illness often stop attending church.  Sometimes they will blame it on other things, but it is almost always due to the insecurity of their illness. 


Moral of the story?  Mental illness is real.  You can't get rid of it by thinking positively.  Most people with mental illness have positive outlooks on life.  It is how they made it this far!  It is an illness that can be crippling and incredibly painful.  It is an illness that is judged harshly and unfairly.  And it is time to treat all those who perhaps aren't doing as well as we think they should; be it in callings or at life in general, with a little kindness, love, and understanding.  After all, isn't that what a Saint does?









Wednesday, July 8, 2015

How I Lost Myself by Losing 65lbs.

Not long ago, I looked like this:


Now, wearing the same dress, I am 65 pounds lighter:


Am I happy about my weight loss?  Sure.  Is my self esteem better?  No.  Do I feel better?  Not necessarily.  I had expected great energy and stamina.  That never did come with weight loss.  Neither did the happiness that so many people seem to think will come when they lose weight.


Truth is, I'm struggling.  It seems arrogant, or silly to say that losing weight has unearthed some things about myself I don't love, and perhaps buried some of my better qualities under layers of new clothes and budding vanity.  A year ago, if someone had complained that they felt unhappy after losing weight, I may have spit in their measly salad.  Because of course I would LOVE to be thinner!  What kind of terrorist would complain about having lost weight?!  It is UNAMERICAN I tell you!  But then I became that sad sack; that first world problems person; that UNAMERICAN terrorist; by trying to explain why I'm more unhappy now than I was 65 pounds ago.  Let me explain.


Many moons ago, I weighed a lot more than I should.  I was 19 years old, and had been in the "Obese" category for many years.  I posted briefly about this in an earlier article.  Well, I finally got fed up with snide comments and the fat shaming that goes along with being heavy and did something about it.  What did I do?  I developed an eating disorder!  Now, mind you, it was under the very clever guise of going to the gym and eating in moderation.  What the general public (or anyone) didn't know, was that I was at the gym ALL DAY, and ate only three apples a day.  Now that is what I call moderation and self control!  The compliments and the body centered comments I got felt disturbingly good to someone who had spent her life up to that point trying to get people to find her attractive.  Even if their compliments always sounded vaguely like insults to my pre weight loss body.






Eventually, I decided I wasn't happy being OBSESSED with weight, and I let go of my choke-hold on "health".  Unfortunately, I gained it all back after several years, a traumatic injury, and a few kids.  But I also gained back a healthier perspective on life, love, and human dignity.  I loved my body for the fact that it kept me alive.  I ignored my sexuality and focused on my personality and spirituality.  I can honestly say I LOVED the person I was.  I felt okay in my skin.  I loved my life as a wife and mother (most of the time) and focused on the things that really mattered to me.





I became that fun loving non judgmental gal I always was before.  I stopped hating myself for what the scale said and started focusing on how I felt.  I was free!

So you are wondering, "If you were so happy, why lose weight again?"  Don't deny it, I know you are.  And frankly, I wonder it too occasionally.  Honestly, I started a weight loss program to see if I could stick with it.  It was hard on me.  I was grumpy a lot, hungry even more, and stressed to the max.  But I stuck with it.  I lost weight, pound at a time, and continually made trips to Goodwill to donate old clothes and buy new sizes.  Eventually, I lost more weight than I ever had, and at this moment, am the smallest I've ever been in my adult life.  (Really not all that small).  I lost that weight, and along with it went my peace of mind.


I know, I know.  I'm not making much sense here.  Because we still haven't established how losing weight makes one unhappy.  Here it is:  it is not the weight lost, but the person lost.  Dropping pounds also somehow began to morph me into a person I don't want to be.  Someone who spends too much time thinking about not eating, or kicking myself if I do.  Someone who judges (while attempting not to) others on their figures.  Someone who is consistently complimented and insulted at the same time.  Someone who doesn't know what I should value more: my body or my personality?  And what they say is true.  Losing weight doesn't solve the old emotional and psychological scars that you carry with you from the past. 


I miss me.  The old me.  The me who loved me no matter what size.  The me who didn't stress out about eating and having fun.  The me who didn't look at other people and wonder what they do/don't do to stay the size they are.  The me who just didn't notice people for their looks, but their personality.  This girl.


Not skinny but happy.  Not all that confident that I had a great body, but 100% positive I was worth loving.  No matter what I looked like.

I wish I could tell you now that I am over it.  That I've snapped back into my old self.  That I've come up with an amazing plan to stay at a healthy weight but gain back what I have lost of myself.  I haven't.  I'm open for suggestions.  But for now I'll just keep hoping and praying for a way to find that elusive and happy middle ground.  Until then: