I stopped blogging between May 2007 and July 2008. Following is a list of posts explaining my absence:
So in my other post, I promised more details regarding my prolonged blogging absence. Why I make promises like that, I’m not sure, because really, more than a year has gone by and do you know how many details are in a year? Well, there are LOTS of details in a year. And here I sit staring blankly at this darn screen with nary a hint of where to begin.
So I guess I’ll get right to the point. My very worst point. Because isn’t that what you’d really like to know about anyway? I mean, when I’m reading someone’s blog, I’m generally thinking, “OK, that’s nice. But what’s the bottom line here. WHAT’S THE BOTTOM LINE.”
So my bottom (as in rock bottom) was about this time last year. It was probably the day my dad (a seasoned Marriage and Family Therapist who’s seen his share of people with issues) asked me very seriously if I was suicidal. The question alone was enough to take my breath away, but what really frightened me was my answer. I’ve had my share of anxiety and I’m definitely melancholy, but suicide? That was never even on my radar screen until last summer.
I’ve known people who were suicidal and you know what, being on the other side of it was totally different. I figured anyone who was suicidal just wanted to die, to be gone, had no reason to live. I suppose that may be the case for some, but not for me. Actually, I didn’t want to die. To the contrary, I WANTED my children to have a mother and my husband a wife. And I WANTED to be my children’s mother and my husband’s wife. I WANTED to see my children grow up, to grow old with my husband, to enjoy life and to fulfill my life’s purpose. My thoughts of suicide were not out of want to be gone, but simply out of want for <i>relief</i>.
It’s hard to describe, but emotionally, I felt like I was walking along the top of a sharp mountain ridge with steep cliffs on either side. I was desperately trying to keep moving forward but as time went on, I felt like I was losing control. I was terrified that something was going to push me over the edge…make me snap, cause me to have a nervous breakdown, hurt myself or my kids, I didn’t know what. I asked myself on several occasions, “Is this what it feels like to lose your mind?” The energy it took to simply put one foot in front of the other and keep going was totally exhausting. I completely lacked motivation and my daily goals were literally reduced to two things: making sure my kids had three meals a day and making sure they were safe in their beds each night. Anything on top of that, like having fun, connecting with my husband, seeing friends or going to the store was gravy.
Now, I realize there are a lot of people in the world dealing with far worse circumstances than I was. And I think we humans are designed to withstand periods of intense emotional stress. But for me, the thing that made my situation feel so crippling was that it seemed endless, indefinite. I saw no “light at the end of the tunnel.” I couldn’t imagine how things might change. Stuck. Everything seemed immovably stuck. I now have a new understanding of hopelessness. And as tragic as it sounds even now, it’s the hopelessness that made death seem like a relief.
Keep in mind that the whole time this was happening, I really had no box to put it in. The symptoms of depression showed up about the same time I found out I was pregnant and I had never had depression before. But I have had challenging 1st trimesters in every pregnancy so in my effort to make sense of it, I figured I was just having a particularly difficult 1st trimester. And even though the story sounds relatively coherent now, going through it was a different story. It was nothing but blackness.
And then there was the guilt. I cannot tell you how overwhelming the guilt was. I mean, here I was with SO MUCH compared to most. I had a great husband, 3 healthy children & one on the way, all my needs were met, etc. I’d try to will myself out of it–”I just need an attitude adjustment,” or “I need to be grateful for what I have. So many people would love to have what I have,” or “I’ve been pregnant 3 other times, I can handle this,” or “Just pull yourself together and suck it up. Stop being a wimp,” or “I’m sure God called us to this place so stick it out.” I had one close friend tell me our church was not growing because of me. I was plagued with guilt.
And then there was the confusion about what God was doing. To me it seemed like God was showing signs that our time at our church was over. Meanwhile, Brian was sensing the exact opposite. And I’m thinking, “What gives God? We both want desperately to do what You want us to do and we’re asking, so how is it that we seem to be getting totally different answers?” And then we’d get opposite messages from people around us. Some would say they thought we should leave; others said they saw us there long term. I was desperately confused.
I had my moments of anger towards God, but mostly I felt abandoned by Him. I definitely felt abandoned. Surely He saw me in pain; did He overlook me? But as I said, this is how I felt; it wasn’t what I knew the Bible promised. I knew the Bible said He will never, ever forsake me. But was this an exception? Was He really a good God? At this point, I was even questioning whether I still believed the Bible. In the end though, I chose to believe, not because I felt it (CERTAINLY not because I felt it), but because He had proved Himself over and over again before. And believe me, I had to dig deeper than I’ve ever dug in order to hold on to the promise that He never lets go and that He IS good, even when things seem so bad. His goodness is transcendent, even if I can’t see it. So I hung on…and I made it clear to Him that I didn’t know how long I could keep holding on.
Meanwhile, Brian and I were completely missing each other in every way. We argued constantly. We were both dealing with so much stuff (me with my junk and him with the huge responsibility of leading a church that was clearly at a major crossroads). Saying we were on different pages is the understatement of the century. But then, in the course of 2 days, God broke through as if to say, “ENOUGH! The confusion is over.” It was at that point Brian realized how badly I was doing. He immediately resigned from his position…and watched his vision die right before his eyes. I know it was enormously painful for him. As far as I’m concerned, his sacrifice on my behalf is probably the single most healing part of my recovery to date, and a real-life example of Ephesians 5:25 (”Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her…”).
So, we sold our home and many of our possessions, we moved across the country to my parents’ house, Brian found a teaching job, we found a new church home that ministers to our souls, we bought a new home and we’re starting a new chapter. I have no doubt we’ll be in full-time ministry again but I’m grateful for this season of rest and reflection. There is a lot to process after an experience like ours and I expect we’ll be doing so for years. But one thing I already know: I hit bottom…and there was my Rock.
Another answer to a question from this original post.
Amy asks:
Thanks for throwing it wide open. I’d love to know what kind of role you take on yourself as the wife of a pastor. How do you interact with the people in your congregation? How do you stay connected to the congregation without being completely open in areas where you can’t be, i.e. your husband’s ministry and it’s impact on your marriage? Also, how do you maintain boundaries for your family and keep ministry where it should be?
Hey Amy. Cool name.
Wow, tough questions. I’m not exactly sure what you mean when you say “what kind of role you take on yourself as the wife of a pastor” but I’ll just talk about my experience and hopefully will answer your questions.
I have no idea how to be a pastor’s wife. My husband went to seminary where he learned how to be a pastor and for as much is expected of pastors’ wives, it’s rather unfortunate there’s no Pastor’s Wife 101 class for us. The truth is, I totally wing it. (And so does every other PW on the face of the earth. That’s my theory anyway.) In reality, I can do nothing except be myself. Cheesy but true.
I am 100% certain God called my husband to be the pastor of our church. I’m also 100% sure I’m supposed to be my husband’s wife. Therefore, I can safely assume I am supposed to be the pastor’s wife at this church at this time. Scary if you ask me, but who am I to question God.
As for knowing what to share and what not to share, I’m pretty comfortable sharing most things about me and my life. I typically don’t just offer my innermost thoughts unsolicited, but if I feel like my experience is relevant, I generally don’t have a problem “lettin’ it all hang out” as my father would say. Some of the most valuable things I’ve learned in life have been from people who were willing to share openly the not-so-glamorous parts of their lives. If someone can learn a thing or two from my dumb mistakes or if my experience assures them that they are not alone in their own struggle then it’s one more way of experiencing God’s redemption as I see it.
Having said that, there are some things I will not share with the masses. I am blessed to have a small group of women with whom I can share most everything else. It’s great to have a place where I can be myself and know I will be encouraged, supported and prayed for. Beyond that, I have one very close friend not associated with the church at all. I can’t think of one thing I would not share with her. She is a kindred spirit and an absolute gift.
And boundaries. Ministry has a way of creeping into every area of life. Admittedly, I’m not very good at keeping them separate. Nevertheless, I can tell pretty quickly when I need a break from church stuff. For example, when I’m overwhelmed with the urge to run away to the nearest cave and post a sign at the entrance which reads, “WARNING. BEWARE OF PASTOR’S WIFE. ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK. PREPARE TO DIE.”, that’s a pretty good sign.
It’s an older post, but still worth a gander if you haven’t see it already. Death by Ministry by Mark Driscoll is an excellent read.
We (Brian and I) got into a discussion recently with several others about the concept of being “fishers of men” (Luke 5:1-11).
Here’s one of the reasons he is the pastor and I am not:
Brian: We are all called to be “fishers of men” but being a “fisher of men” doesn’t necessarily mean we are all called to be evangelists. Some of us are called to make the fishing pole, some are called to gather the fish, some are called to cast the net…
Me (without thinking of course): And some of us feel called to throw the bad ones back.
Mike recently left the following comment in response to my post, You May Feel Alone, but You’re Not. Given that he asks such an EXCELLENT question (and a question which is so rarely asked—do I hear an “Amen!” PW’s?), I thought his comment deserved a place of higher honor (i.e. a post all to itself as opposed to a comment which runs the risk of getting lost in the bowels of this wacky site).
So PW’s, speak up! Before you lies a golden opportunity to share your thoughts, comments and ideas about this crazy world of pastor’s wifedom.
Here’s Mike’s comment:
So, I found your site today while looking for some perspective on being a pw. I have a calling on my life to pastor and really want to make it easier for my wife. My question is; what could your husbands do to help? I’m thinking of some simple things like always referring to [my wife] by name rather than ‘my lovely wife.’ But what else?
Let ‘er rip, ladies.