Tag: Faith

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Faith

Good Friday to Good Friday; It Is Finished

Good Friday, 2016 – I began my first round of chemotherapy.

Good Friday, 2017 – I finished my last round of chemotherapy.

This past Friday I finished my herceptin chemotherapy. I didn’t share much about taking herceptin because it’s a low dose of chemotherapy and quiet frankly doesn’t make me sick. After being on four different, painfully awful chemotherapy drugs, herceptin is a walk in the park.

There are been a mix of emotions with the end of chemotherapy. I am so grateful to be done, but sad to not see my infusion nurses every few weeks. I am so grateful to not have cancer in my body, but sad to not have such a close relationship with my doctors.

Today was even more mixed emotions.

I had my port removed.

PortRemoval

It seems weird, I’m sure, but I have become attached to my port. It’s become a security blanket to me. Something I truly hated, has become something I love. My port means my body is fighting. My port means I am winning. My port means cancer is defeated.

My port has become part of me. This small contraption has signified so much in my life and now it’s gone.

I processed these mixed emotions with some friends yesterday, and today was reminded by a sweet friend to take the time I need to grieve. Grieving over the loss of a port sounds odd when I think about it, but grief isn’t meant to look a certain way. So today I’m going to shed some tears for my port and all that it did for me.

And tomorrow I will celebrate my first day as a new creation – one without a trace of cancer or cancer related relics in my body.

Categories
Depression Faith

Breaking the Silence of Depression

I struggle to recall a time in my life when I didn’t fight with depression. I look back on good times throughout life; first going to college, first being married, the birth of my children, summers spent traveling with our sweet family. Each snapshot has a haze over it. Cherished, bright memories, brushed with grey. Nothing seems as sharp as it should be, as though the lens has a coat of dirt over it.

I can be closed off when it comes to my depression. When in public I tend to put on a cheery face, which leaves people wondering how I could be depressed if I’m always “so happy and smiling.” Honestly, it can get exhausting trying to feel something you don’t feel, trying to act a certain way for other people.

I’ve fought against the storm of depression for a long time. But this past November, the storm overtook me.

I took a knife to my arms then began to cut and scrape away at my flesh.

I want to tell you that I shuddered at the pain, that with marks on my arms I stopped my self mutilation. But, the hard truth is, I relished in it. I felt relief. Relief from the constant war in my head. I felt. Plain and simple, just felt, something, anything, for the first time in a long time.

Thankfully, by God’s grace, I was stopped from causing serious harm. My family and friends came around me. I spent some much needed time in a mental health facility getting help. My medication was changed, my therapist walked me through getting mental stability.

Nearly four months later, I can say that I’m in a mostly stable state. I’m on a good combination of drugs and have a therapist who points me back to Truth. While things aren’t perfect, I am grateful for my circle of friends who reach out to me on those days that are really dark and hard.

Why am I opening up now?

The other night I told Jonathan, “I can’t help but believe that I’m not the only one. I can’t be the only mom/wife/person who suffers with depression, who has wanted to die.”

My story is my story, but perhaps one of you out there isn’t too far away from what I have experienced. Perhaps you’ve reached your breaking point and don’t know what to do.

If that’s you, if you are at a point of pain too great to carry, tell me. Call me. Email me. Stop me on the corner. I’m completely serious. You DO NOT have to walk this alone. You DO NOT need to feel trapped by your own fears and depression. There is so much hope and help waiting for you. Please reach out and let your voice be heard.

You are loved and valued. I am here for you.

 

Categories
Faith

What I really want to say when people ask “How are you doing?”

“How are you doing… really?”

That question sticks itself out there, probing and unavoidable. When you are going through a life-changing experience, people want to know how you’re doing. And not the glossed over “life is still good!” answer. They want the truth.

How am I doing, really?

Well, I’m numb. I feel like I’ve been given this huge cross to carry and no reason to carry it. I feel distant from God. I feel as though everyone around me is seeing their faith grow, their assurance increase, while I’m just waiting.

And I don’t even know what I’m waiting for.

Waiting for the feeling of faith? Waiting for some divine outcome? Waiting to see all the pieces fit together as to why I, of all people, got breast cancer?

All I really know is that I’m waiting for this to be over. I’m waiting for my doctor to say “remission”, for my life to go back to normal, and to no longer feel like I’m fumbling around in the dark.

Call it a testing of my faith. Call it the process of grief. Call it any number of psychological issues you want. All I know is this is how I’m really doing. I’m walking down uncharted territory and I don’t know what is around the next corner. I spend a lot of time praising God to others and questioning Him to myself. I’m afraid to get close to Him because being close means walking a hard walk. I’m afraid that this will get harder and not easier. I’m afraid that other people will see how this journey counted for something and I never will.

Yet, what is crazy to me is that even in the doubt I still know God is God and He is doing big things. I don’t feel it, I don’t see it. But, I believe it. I know He is here walking beside me. I know He is making this journey count. I continue to hold on to that fact. Because even in the darkness of my own emotions, even when I don’t feel Him, don’t see Him, He is still there.

I’m reminded of the man in Mark 9 who asked Jesus to heal his son. Jesus told the father that all things are possible for one who believes. The father, much like myself, cried out “I believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”

Just because I doubt, just because I wrestle doesn’t mean I don’t believe. Even when God feels distant and my path seems utterly dark, my heart still clings to Him and fights against the unbelief that bubbles up.

So, how am I really doing?

I’m struggling. I’m fighting. I’m trying my best to believe.

But I’m trusting that God will prove Himself faithful yet again.