10 Things About Being Not-Depressed Post-Depression

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For almost two years, this post has been sitting unrevisited and unrevised amongst the drafts of my blog. It's especially interesting to me now to rediscover it and read what it felt like to be no-longer-depressed right on the heels of depression, because I'm currently in a funny combination-state of health and grief and possibility, along with a sense of the changing season and anticipation for all that might mean.

In short, my point-of-view today is vastly different from my perspective while deep in depression but even a little different from when I wrote this list at the end of 2013. And that's why I'd like to share this. Not just to revisit it myself, but to preserve and make visible one more nuance of such an experience. Writers and artists have done well in recent years to show others what depression looks and feels like for them, and I think it's helpful to understand not just the moments during, but also in-between and before and afterward.

I'm revising the writing now for "publishable clarity," but I'm channeling my 2013 self to maintain the dignity and authenticity of the content as though I'm my own ghost writer.

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To quote Joni Mitchell, "you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone" (Big Yellow Taxi).

Living in the state of not-depressed is so unfathomably different after the experience of depression that I can't help but notice the contrast on a visceral level. At this point, I feel like I can identify what depression "was" for me better than I could ever identify what it "is" while still in the midst of it.

But I'd like to take this opportunity of clear-mindedness to describe 10 things I'm experiencing right now, at this stage of "shortly after" - this odd moment of vivid awareness and general wellness.

Of course, this is only my list of 10 things. This may or may not look anything like what others experience.

1. It will happen again.

-This is threefold: sort of fear/dread, sort of resignation, sort of identity crisis. Who am I with/without this illness? How much a part of me is it? When will it strike and what will it disrupt next? With all of these, there's an underlying sense of "when, not if" it will happen again.

-I'm also still trying to differentiate depression and grief and dark night of the soul. I know I've experienced all 3 within the past 3 years, often overlapping, but in some cases, how do I know what was which? What can I expect in the future?

2. Survivor's guilt.

-The ever-constant questions: Why me? Why did it recede for me and not for others?

-The guilt of healing is tightly entwined with the occasional disbelief that healing actually happened at all, or a disbelief that the experience was as damaging and painful as it felt at the time. Knowing the ways that other people suffer in depression, I sometimes look back and minimize my own suffering by thinking things like, "it 'only' compromised my academic career and social life." I know I should know better - that it's possible for it to have been both debilitating for me and different from others' experiences.

3. Control and lack of control.

-I feel mostly grounded and steady again. And yet, despite my consistent efforts toward health and healing, the improvement seems almost as incomprehensible as the depression itself. How did this happen? Why have I reached this point without using any drugs or medications? What ultimately made the difference, or was it just another change in the seasons of life? Will I ever know?

4. Breadth and depth of perspective.

-Despite the survivor's guilt, I have a relatively realistic and holistic perspective on the past. Except in my moments of doubt, I grasp the reality of the pain that I experienced and the kinds of things that happened in the midst of it - grief, shattered world views, injured pride/self-esteem, community transition and communal suffering. All of it makes sense in a way that defies even those doubts and feelings of irrationality which still linger.

5. Awareness of joy.

-Like painting with a full palette of emotion and sensation. Like the world is in color and motion, and I can actually tell. And it's not that I'm suddenly confined to happiness. Having the full range of emotions is liberating, and getting lost in any one emotion at a time does not feel particularly defining of who I am.

-I also now understand that, mid-dark night of the soul, I was still able to experience non-sunshiny forms of joy even if I wasn't always attuned to them or didn't know how to create them myself, so it was not necessarily an absence of joy as it was a matter of redefining and contextualizing it. Hence the "awareness."

6. Appetite and nostalgia.

-I have not only an interest in food again, but even sentimentality for favorites and specifically for nostalgic meals, like a pub's beef stew that made me homesick for the UK. Rarely could I experience any of that while depressed. It makes me look back and wonder, what was I eating? Was I eating? I don't even know.

7. Reading comprehension and memory.

-Words on the page actually register. I'm still a (lifelong) slow reader who doesn't always skim well, especially when I get invested in something... but I can actually get invested in something I read now. And remember it!

-Even if I don't remember all the details, I can generally recall how and where to access information I've recently seen. My work no longer feels like a literal impossibility.

8. Coherence in conversation and writing.

-Even audible words have recognizable meaning in a way that they didn't before, like my vocabulary has been restored. I can comprehend what other people say, express myself, and participate in actual conversation.

-I have a willingness to ask questions again. I didn't realize how much I'd missed it, how much a part of me and my learning style this usually is.

9. Creative arts and hobbies.

-Just recently I've played piano, painted, finished a novel-length draft and several short stories, and composed my first full song with lyrics and music. Mediocre quality as all of these projects may be, I don't even care. It just feels good to create. I had been doing some writing and piano-dabbling during the depression, but not to this extent, and those things were more of a lifeline than a joy.

10. Unconditional love.

-I'm experiencing boundless love and mercy for others' imperfections as well as my own. Right now no one can disappoint me, and I'm slow to see fault where there may only be a matter of unpredictability or circumstance. I want to hear all sides to everything, or even just be present to people when they can't articulate their experience. Obviously I'm in school for ministry, so I've always wanted to do both of these things, but now they have a new urgency and depth to them.

Religion Does Not Own Marriage (Obviously)

This is in response to Rabbi Jeffrey Salkin from Religion News and his piece, "Why A Real Clergy Person Should Perform Your Wedding." You can probably tell from my title that I do not exactly agree with him, but since he offers a few good insights and his intentions seem genuine, I'll keep this friendly. I also wrote this before reading the comments to his post. Most of them are fairly-articulated critiques, so despite the usual wisdom of Thou Shalt Not Read The Comments, checking those out probably won't hurt. Salkin makes a lovely point about respecting the full range of professionalism, experience, and training of a Real Clergy Person (hereafter to be known as Clergy Person Ordained By Rigorous Denomination Process, or CPOBRDP). I appreciate the call to respect the profession for what it is -- all the facets that aren't as obvious as standing up at the altar. Plenty of worshipers truly underestimate what it takes to be a clergy person in general, let alone on this sort of special occasion. And I like the idea of what couples should expect out of their officiant beyond a single ritual.

And full disclosure: I haven't been fond of the methods for instant ordination and have thus far refrained from any such ordination myself. I have the same Master of Divinity degree and as much paid ministerial experience as just about any newly ordained pastor in the United Methodist Church, and after all those years of seminary and a prolonged internship at intern pay, the thought of my being ordained online in a less "real" way always unsettled me. I've imagined it would feel like taking an easier way out after all that preparation. But thank you, Jeffrey Salkin, because you made me realize I was wrong. When it comes down to it, it isn't online ordination that bothers me. And I probably wouldn't have known that without seeing your complaints. For me, the real problem is threefold: the murky lines between government and religion in regards to marriage, a limited number of respectable options for being a nonreligious or interreligious officiant, and an intra-religious lack of respect for lay ministry. Halfway through seminary, I realized how much I struggled with the very concept of ordination and denominational authority -- not as an inherent evil, but an inherent elite. No matter how much you lift up lay people to live into their ministry, no matter how humbly you serve, there is simply no way not to have privilege when ordination is treated as a privilege. Now I remember. This is why I'm a lay person in professional ministry in the first place; professionalism is as much privilege as I'm willing to take on. The Presbyterian Church (USA) where I work hired me because they considered me not only capable but called to the work I do. At least for what I must do right now, that is all the ordination I need.

But back to marriage. I think we can all agree that, no matter how sacred marriage is to us personally or to our own faith culture, religion does not own marriage. Obviously. As long as marriage remains an option (nay, socially and governmentally rewarded) for people regardless of religious affiliation, diminishing non-clergy officiants or non-CPOBRDP officiants as "fake ministers" is unnecessary and unfair. Why assume that a friend or family member, for instance, would not understand their part to be a matter of respecting the Whole Person rather than providing a one-day service? I respect the training and education and professional experience that clergy have to offer. (Seriously, seminary was challenging in just about every sense.) I love that the best of the CPOBRDP will ask strong questions in premarital counseling or remain committed to supporting the couple throughout their marriage. But don't you dare neglect to raise up the goodness of lay ministry, or claim presiding over marriage as solely the work of clergy, or -- need I say it -- suggest that nones who pursue marriage through any means other than yours are doing so only to take an easier or lazier or less legitimate way. (Relatedly, there is possibly no surer way to keep someone from joining your community than insulting their ways of meaning-making.) Look. Some people have a call to be ordained by a religion or denomination based on a rigorous process of training, interviews, and ceremonial rituals which endow authority. And some people have a call to represent and care for the specific people who trust them to do so. That is their ordination. I've been asked to officiate for friends. I have all of the theological and pastoral training that any newly ordained pastor might have, minus the bureaucratic stages. I've recommended secular therapy for premarital counseling, knowing that therapy in general would actually greatly benefit people who want to be not just healthy but optimal, but that it's usually only called upon when personal or relational health is diminished. I've already expressed far more interest in strengthening the marriage and preparing the ceremony which binds it than organizing a party (not my forte, unless they want parachute games -- I sure would). I know I am only one example of a non-CPOBRDP officiant, and maybe not all of them are as thorough as I aim to be, but I cannot believe this is any less of a ministry or a call just because it isn't the church's government that sent me to do it. By the way, when I officiate for nonreligious friends, I'm not doing so by powers vested in me by an instant online ordination. I'm obtaining permission to officiate from the state governor. This is apparently entirely acceptable and legal, and all I need is a statement of my connection to the couple and a letter of reference attesting to my character. Because, for better or for worse, marriage is still regulated by the state. And it's like a bad joke that my religion would want me to be approved by their governing body in an expensive and exhausting multi-year process, and meanwhile, the state government is the one to look directly at the content of my character and honor the agency of the people seeking to be married. I'm suddenly feeling patriotic.

Loving Bodies

Yes. it is beautiful. But not exclusively important,
and that's what took me a regrettably long time to learn.

It has long been an interest of both feminism and religious groups to foster an understanding of human worth that's not just skin-deep.

As a 20th-21st century woman, I consistently learned from guardians, mentors, and no small amount of media (or counter-media) that I should find a mate who would love me not only for my body but also for my mind.

This, I think, has been a good thing. But even good things have their limits.

Part of me may have always known this, but I really began to think about such standards for love in earnest a few years ago when my grandfather was dying.

He had Parkinson's disease, and by the last years of his life the capabilities of both his body and his mind were irreparably diminished. He was a strong, smart man who eventually could not recognize his loved ones or find his way home or feed himself.

It was not a love for his mind (what it was then or what it once had been) that made my grandmother and the rest of my family continue to care for him until his final moments.

This tangible caring may have stemmed from emotional connection, but they understood what we understand when we care deeply for any human being. They tended to him and gave him every dignity they could. Not just because he had done the same for his parents and children, or because he was once a hardworking and self-sufficient intellectual. They did it because they knew and loved a human being, regardless of circumstance.

When I experienced grief and depression around that same time, my partner and friends and family loved me not because they were in love with my mind (as it was then or what it once had been), but because they loved me, the whole me, no matter what changes I faced, and they were determined to show me that as best as they could.

(Circumstances never define the human being we love, just the ways in which we might show love to them.)

And that's when I knew how beautiful it could be to love a body.

So I'm not willing to let measures of beauty - even ostensibly honorable measures like in the image above - strip me of any amount of my humanity. And I'm not willing to privilege emotional love and mental love so consistently over physical love, whether that physicality is sex, or snuggling, or caring for someone when they're ill, or massaging someone's aches and pains.

For those who know that I'm demisexual, someone whose attractions depend almost solely on an emotional connection, this anti-hierarchy of love may come as a surprise. But the commitment to owning our own reality and affirming others' realities, whatever they may be, is marvelously compatible with seeing oneself or someone else as a whole person. In fact, many of us on the asexual spectrum appreciate physical acts of love as part of our own everyday reality, and our personal values will vary as much as in any other group.

For those for whom this is not a matter of innate preferences but of spiritual edification, consider what "loving bodies" looks like at its best in your religion. For Christians, even traditional marriage vows have included "to have and to hold" and "in sickness and in health," and remember how consistently that incarnate Jesus fed bodies, washed bodies, healed bodies. If we disembody our partners and our communities, we risk losing significant portions of what it means to be people of faith in relationship.

I'd like to challenge anyone wrestling with the merits of physical love to take note of it when you see it over the next few days. It could well be platonic or familial or neighborly, but notice some tangible interaction of profound caring between two or more fleshy humans. Notice how some acts are inextricably interwoven with mind and emotion, and how some are the embodiment of love in their own right.

Will you love some-body?

Coloring as Spiritual Practice

This morning the kids shared another Children's Ministry Moment in worship -- a group speech followed by passing around baskets of crayons to everyone in the pews. We also included the image below as an insert in the bulletin with the heading:

MEDITATE. CREATE. LET YOUR SPIRIT PLAY.

This Lent, we tried different spiritual practices.

[Some of the kids] taught us a body prayer that their class does in Sunday school. There's a pose for each line of the prayer.

And Kimberley showed us how to be mindful of our breathing. We breathed in God's goodness and we breathed out fear, sadness, and anger.

But our favorite spiritual practice is the one that came most naturally to us: coloring! Did you know coloring is a spiritual practice for people of all ages?

Coloring can improve focus, reduce stress and anxiety, and provide a means of self-expression beyond words. Mandalas are particularly good for meditation because symmetry and repetition center the mind and spirit.

Many Christians and people of traditions around the world design and color mandalas. Today, there's one in your bulletin for you to color during worship and take home with you.

We've got crayons for everyone, too. So go ahead and color. Not that you need it, but you have our permission!

Black and Blue

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How strange we are when judging color 

so angry
about black or white.
Doesn't matter
if it is a dress or human flesh.

See the dress,
one snapshot.
Decide.
No, you already have.

Is it a trick of the light or years of learning how to see the world?

Over the senseless noise

the voices of wisdom 

with sense of human things

point to the truth,

teach you how you see

(remind you if you knew and just forgot the facts

in the fleeting moment you were asked

to make a color judgment).

To see black and blue, your eyes must filter light 

that is too strong.

Sometimes our color bias is so strong we can't filter the light,

can't see anything but white

and the gold that goes with it.

See the child,

one split-second.

Decide.

No, you already have.

See again with new eyes, new sense of how you see.

Do you filter darkness

through a preference for light?

You insist on innocence. It isn't

that you think darkness doesn't exist,

but like a person pushed aside in haste

you just
didn't see it there.

Or you did see darkness

and even though it was unarmed

somehow it scared you.

You insist until you convince others
to see things your way
not to see the black and blue.

Did you know we can see the world differently?

And if it's possible to teach ourselves to see
the same dress in a new color scheme
then it's possible to teach ourselves to see
the schemes of color bias.
Filter the too-white world through eyes that know better
and see the bruises on colored bodies.
See the black and blue.

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Written by Kimberley Fais on 2/26/15, the 3rd anniversary of Trayvon Martin's death

God Is the Child in the Backseat of the Car

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When I first met Frog Girl, she was old enough to be in Girl Scouts and young enough to need to ride in the backseat of the car.

As we drove, we talked.

At times I lived vicariously through her, seeing the world anew through her eyes as she navigated school and extracurriculars and a family and a social life.

And at times her questions and insights forced me to reflect on my own life - past, present, and future - in a way that I hadn't anticipated. She talked to me like I was Someone Who's Gone Before, like I had wisdom to impart, but so many of her ideas encouraged me, entertained me, and made me appreciate being alive.

While I waited for her to finish gymnastics or swimming, I would sit and muse about whatever wise, witty, funny, wonderful things she had said so far that day.

When I had a pen handy, I wrote them down. I did the best I could to capture her words and the inflections of her voice on a scrap of paper that couldn't do her justice.

Sometimes she'd said so many clever, quotable witticisms that day that I knew I was forgetting some of them.

One day during my time working with this family, I thought back on my experiences of God - and, more specifically, my experiences of the silence of God. I had been struggling to make sense of a dark night of the soul that defied easy explanations. At first I'd known little except that it was somehow part of my journey.

Maybe, I thought, God is not so unlike the child in the backseat of the car who surprises me day after day with her interest in my life and her sense of humor and her thought-provoking lens.

When there are lulls in our conversation, the silence is still companionable. Just another part of our travels. No less real or appreciated.

And besides, it gives me a chance to savor all the gems I want to remember.

Reclaiming the Goodness of Darkness

Each year, First Presbyterian Church of New Haven prints a Lenten Reflection booklet with contributions from the community, one 200-word reflection for each of the forty days of Lent. I agreed to write one and was assigned John 8:12-20.

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¹²Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.” ¹³Then the Pharisees said to him, “You are testifying on your own behalf; your testimony is not valid.” ¹⁴Jesus answered, “Even if I testify on my own behalf, my testimony is valid because I know where I have come from and where I am going, but you do not know where I come from or where I am going. ¹⁵You judge by human standards; I judge no one. ¹⁶Yet even if I do judge, my judgment is valid; for it is not I alone who judge, but I and the Father who sent me. ¹⁷In your law it is written that the testimony of two witnesses is valid. ¹⁸I testify on my own behalf, and the Father who sent me testifies on my behalf.” ¹⁹Then they said to him, “Where is your Father?” Jesus answered, “You know neither me nor my Father. If you knew me, you would know my Father also.” ²⁰He spoke these words while he was teaching in the treasury of the temple, but no one arrested him, because his hour had not yet come. (John 8:12–20)

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With our sights set on Jesus, the Light of the World, have we fallen into a system of light supremacy? Is a language of light as salvific and life-giving as the intentions of Christ?

Bodies and souls cry out to us: It's time to reclaim the goodness of darkness.

To reclaim the good darkness of the body is to affirm that Black lives matter, not only denouncing acts of violence but confronting even prejudices which are so pervasive that they are silent and unconscious. Jesus embodies his rightful authority because divine justice overrules legal privilege. Black bodies are their own living testimonies and God is their witness.

And reclaiming the good darkness of the spirit beckons us to live into a spiritual life of seasons, affirming the dark night of the soul as a time of renewal and transformation in its own right. As you meditate on God's splendor, do you find the eyes of your soul squinting in the light? Find a dark place to rest. Don't be afraid. Splendor may appear inviting, but you are no less safe in the depths of mystery. The God of day is also God of night, and that is good.

Children's Ministry Moment for MLK

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As the kids lined up at the Communion table, I introduced our Children's Ministry Moment to the congregation:

"I believe how we tell history, especially to children, is important. This weekend, as we celebrate our nation's hero, Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., it may be tempting to condense the breadth of his life and work to the famous words, "I have a dream." But when we reduce this great man to a dreamer, we neglect to remember all he did and said for the here and now.  We forget what he challenged not just the nation but the Church to be and do.  Today we'll share part of his Letter from Birmingham Jail -- words that are difficult to hear, but that I hope we will hear with an open mind and a ready spirit."

Then the children presented this speech I adapted from The Year They Walked by Beatrice Siegel and Letter from Birmingham Jail by Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I've shortened just a few sentences from MLK's excerpts; mainly the punctuation has been simplified for the children's ease of reading (fewer quotation marks and no ellipses). In our preparations the previous week, we talked about any vocabulary that was unfamiliar to them and they tackled it all with grace and persistence.

R: As a young minister, Reverend King was patient and cared for the needs of his church. His deep passion for social issues had not yet been tapped, but he knew some things for certain.

A: He wanted freedom and justice for all African-Americans.

M: He also knew that violence was not an answer to their problems.  Violence was not the way of God.

L: But Reverend King’s nonviolence was not passive.  He was patient, but also persistent.  He did not believe in waiting for justice and equality to come in their own time.

I: Some ministers and rabbis said they believed in justice and equality, too, but that Reverend King was going about it the wrong way.  They wanted to wait until a more “convenient” time.  Reverend King wrote a letter to them from jail.

M: You spoke of our activity in Birmingham as extreme. At first I was rather disappointed that fellow clergy would see my nonviolent efforts as those of an extremist.  But as I continued to think about the matter, I gradually gained a bit of satisfaction from being considered an extremist.

L: Was not Jesus an extremist in love? “Love your enemies.  Bless them that curse you.  Pray for them that despitefully use you.”

A: Was not Amos an extremist for justice? “Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

I: So the question is not whether we will be extremist, but what kind of extremists we will be.  Will we be extremists for hate, or will we be extremists for love?  Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice, or will we be extremists for the cause of justice?

R: There was a time when the church was very powerful.  Early Christians suffered and sacrificed for what they believed.  The power structure convicted them for being “disturbers of the peace.”  But they went on with the conviction that they had to obey God.  They were small in number but big in commitment.

L: Things are different now.  The contemporary church is so often a weak, ineffectual voice with an uncertain sound.  It is so often the arch supporter of the status quo.

M: Far from being disturbed by the presence of the church, the power structure of the average community is consoled by the church’s often vocal sanction of things as they are.

I: If the church of today does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its authentic ring, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for [this] century.  I meet young people every day whose disappointment with the church has risen to outright disgust.

A: I hope the church as a whole will meet the challenge of this decisive hour.

The Children's Advent Prayer

Although I wrote this prayer specifically for the Fourth Sunday of Advent in 2014, it can easily be prayed during other seasons with little adjustment.

In our service, a different child prayed each paragraph. The prayer is suitable for most ages, but it's quite moving in elementary and middle school children's voices. Our readers ranged in age from 6 to 17.

Take care to teach children words that may be new to them, like "abiding" and "incarnate," but don't hesitate to have even your youngest readers tackle such phrases, especially if they like to read. It's a wonderful chance for them to feel accomplished and expand their vocabulary at the same time.

You may use this prayer freely in your own worship and nonprofit materials. If you print it or repost online, please cite it to Kimberley Fais (2014).

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Let us pray.  God, even in this season of Advent, waiting for Jesus to be born, we remember that You were a child once.  You know what it is to hunger and thirst. You know what it is to have joy and sorrow.  You know what it’s like to be held in loving arms, to grow up in a community of faith.  So today we pray for the children.

We pray for the children whose voices are not heard.  God of Truth and Patience, sometimes we need Your help to speak up, and sometimes we need Your help to listen.

We pray for the children who are hurt because of the color of their skin.  God of All People, give us the courage to recognize injustice.  Help us to be a community where we don’t hurt each other for the ways that You created us.

We pray for the children who experience violence and fear.  Abiding God, grant us Your peace.  Make us instruments of Your peace to everyone we meet.

We pray for the children who don’t know what tomorrow holds.  Companion God, journey with us.  Guide us when the future seems uncertain and we can’t find our way.

We pray for the children who are waiting.  Waiting for news, for a diagnosis, for a change, for a reason to move forward.  God of Anticipation, prepare us for then, but wait with us for now.

We pray for the children who are sick in body, mind, or spirit.  God of Life, bring healing and strength, hope and relief.

We pray for the children who must grow up too soon.  Playful God, rekindle our wonder and awe.  Even in the face of a troubled world, let us witness Your creativity.

We pray for the children who lead their communities and the world to new horizons.  God of Wisdom, give us the courage to lead and the humility to follow.

We pray for the children who seek forgiveness.  Gracious God, wrap us in Your unconditional love, and empower us to love just as fiercely as You love us.

We pray for the children who hunger and thirst.  Incarnate God, help us to nourish each other’s bodies.

And we pray for the grownups, who are still Your children.  Eternal God, remind us who we are, and whose we are, so that wherever we may go, we can always find ourselves in You.

Now let us pray together the prayer that Jesus taught us to pray…

(Continue with the Lord's Prayer as your denomination knows it.)

Amen.