Save Me From Myself

There’s a big part of my story most people don’t know about. I don’t share it very often and when I do, the response is usually one of surprise. No, I’m not talking about my ten years of playing softball. Though really, why is everyone so dumbfounded that I have a history of athleticism? (Actually, don’t answer that.) I’m talking about depression and social anxiety; demons I faced for years in my early adulthood. “But you’re such an extrovert!” “I’d never have known! You’re so comfortable in a crowd!” “Really? You’re always so confident around people!” These things are all true, though my extroverted tendencies have been dialed back considerably since my recovery. Nowadays, talking openly about mental health is welcomed. Discussing our battles with depression and anxiety has become a cultural norm. But for me, my struggle with social anxiety sent me spiraling into some of the worst decisions of my life and burned some bridges I still haven’t rebuilt. So while I’ve been fully recovered and healed for over ten years, talking about it brings up a great deal of discomfort. I find myself choking back tears even as I type this. Thinking of the people I hurt and the trust I broke, still fills me with remorse. I’m choosing to write about it because there are so many other pieces of my testimony God has used to encourage and reassure others. I’ve found so much healing in sharing the truth, in sharing the real and the hard of other parts of my story. My battle with social anxiety and depression shouldn’t be any different.

My senior year of high school was one of the best years of my life. I had a great group of friends. I was an above-average student. I was active in my church youth group. I attended every dance. I was wearing my boyfriend’s letterman jacket every day. I had been accepted to the college of my choice. When I graduated in June, I kicked off a full summer of mission trips, parties, and vacations with friends. But in the fall, everything changed for me. I had chosen to attend a small, private Christian college just outside of Chicago, a far cry from the East Bay culture of California and a long way from every single one of my friends. It wasn’t the first time I’d been far from home, or even thrown into a situation where I knew no one, (overseas mission trips had exposed me to my fair share of that), but this time felt different.

I had received a small scholarship to play softball for my college and I thought I’d have an immediate “in” with the girls on the team. But a complication with shipping delayed the arrival of my softball gear and I couldn’t participate in team practices for the first couple of weeks. By the time my things arrived, I struggled to join the team, feeling like I’d already missed too much. Where I would normally put on my brightest smile and exude natural confidence, I instead shied away and cowardly quit the team before we even had our first game. I was one of the few out-of-state students and most all my new friends went home on the weekends. I joined my roommate once, thinking it might help, but instead I ended up sitting in her car and crying while she visited her friends and family. I was struck with a profound sense of loneliness. Soon I was taking meals to my room, avoiding the social nightmare that was the campus cafeteria. I got a job at the local mall and started taking extra shifts just to avoid the loneliness of my dorm room. My boyfriend flew out from California to surprise me, but I hardly knew what to do with him, as I had very few friends and I hadn’t ventured out enough to even know what there was to do in the area. By Thanksgiving I’d broken up with him, unsure of who I was or what I wanted anymore. In the second semester, I started sleeping through classes. I coped with my sadness with retail therapy. I overdrafted my bank account multiple times and answered my parents time and time again. I applied to some schools back in California, where I knew I’d have friends, but my grades had slipped so much that I couldn’t get in anywhere. I never did attend a church that year. At the end of the school year, I came back home, tail between my legs. I moved back into my old bedroom and enrolled at the local community college. I had so many opportunities to switch gears, to get on the right path, but I couldn’t bring myself to take them. I saw myself slipping, but I didn’t know how to stop it. Every choice I’d made, every reaction I had to the challenges of that year, were so uncharacteristic of me. I was deep into the uncharted waters of depression and anxiety, I just didn’t know it.

I didn’t last long at the community college. I felt sluggish and unmotivated. I remember walking into an Anthropology class and feeling an overwhelming sense of panic. We had a test that day and I somehow was completely unprepared. Rather than make an attempt, I simply turned and walked out. I sat in my car, paralyzed, for an hour. What had I done? I had just willingly failed a test. I thought maybe I just wasn’t at the right school, so I applied to a local Christian college that was a 30-minute commute from my house. Miraculously, I got in. I moved into an apartment with a friend and began attending classes. I took a job at my home church as a youth ministry intern. I was completely comfortable in that role, unintimidated by students and back in my familiar church social circle. It was easy to pretend I was fine. My circumstances had changed, but my mindset had not. It wasn’t long before my roommate noticed I wasn’t going to classes. I finally threw in the towel and told my parents I was taking time off from school. I couldn’t pinpoint why I was struggling so much, I just knew I couldn’t keep pretending to be a student. I’d lost all my momentum. By then my roommate had moved out and I was living on my own. Anytime I was faced with a new social situation, I fled. I remember at least three bridal showers I missed because I couldn’t muster the courage to get out of my car. One 4th of July weekend I drove three hours to visit my best friend. I walked into her house and saw a crowd of her local friends. She introduced me and ran through all the fun things she had planned for us to do with the group. I politely excused myself, snuck back to my car, and promptly drove three hours back home. I never explained. I didn’t know how to justify my actions, how to explain the mental breakdown I had felt just by seeing a group of new people. Who could understand that? It wasn’t until I started babysitting for a friend of my mom’s, that I learned to put it into words. This mama of two introduced me to her beautiful girls and explained that she’d been battling debilitating depression for a long time. She was finally on good medication and ready to get back out in the world, which is why she needed a babysitter. Over time, she shared more and more of her journey with me. It started to sound a lot like mine. I decided to talk to my doctor.

I was placed on Zoloft to help combat my depression and social anxiety. It would take time to feel the effects, but I was confident I would recover. I decided to go back to school. The local Christian college I’d previously attended relocated two hours north, so I found an apartment nearby and re-enrolled. I found a church I loved. I made a couple of good friends. I found a new job working in retail. I even met my future husband. I was doing okay for a while, turning in assignments and getting good grades. But God forbid we were asked to get in groups or sit at tables; I’d end up in the ladies’ bathroom, avoiding the entire experience. Many days, just the thought of being around students I didn’t know was crippling. I would stay under the covers and let the hours tick by. I would make excuses to my professors, none of them truthful, and tried to skate by with barely passing grades. I didn’t talk to anyone about it. I didn’t admit I was struggling. I didn’t WANT to be struggling. I didn’t know WHY I was having trouble dealing with the most normal of things. I wanted to succeed. I wanted to graduate from college. I wanted to have a real career. I was so embarrassed at how far I’d fallen, at how difficult it was for me to do anything outside of my comfort zone. I used to be up for anything, so adventurous in my endeavors and so good at making new friends. Even though I knew it was a chemical imbalance in my brain, something I couldn’t control, that made it all the more frustrating. I wanted to just snap out of it, to shake it off and be who I used to be. My boyfriend (now my husband), was the only person I confided in. He gently pulled me out of my dark cave and introduced me to his friends, his family, and his church. I loved him enough to try, but I was still so ashamed of my failing grades and my fear of new social situations that I covered up both with lies.

I couldn’t admit to anyone that I had flunked out of my fourth attempt at college. I couldn’t admit that I wasn’t partnering with my new fiance in ministry because I was too anxious to set foot in the door. I coped with my depression by shopping. I maxed out credit cards, overdrafted and misspent funds allotted for school or wedding expenses. I led everyone to believe I had graduated before our wedding. The fear of admitting my failure outweighed even the fear of my anxiety-induced. I risked my marriage for it. I risked my relationship with my parents and family for it. I mistakenly put everything I cared about on the line, just to save face. I can blame a lot of things on my mental health, but the choice to cover it with lies was mine and mine alone.

By the time Zach and I married, my anxiety and depression had gone from periodically paralyzing to a quiet discomfort. It was still there, just below the surface, but I only slipped into what I called “low days,” a couple of days a month. Zach pulled me from the trenches. He gave me a purpose, a reason to engage in life each day. While I felt like my mental battle was finally under control, the spiritual warfare in my heart still raged. I was so much farther from God than I cared to admit. I had saved face well. I had worked at a church, attended a Christian college, and even married a pastor. I have photo albums filled with happy memories from those years, and they aren’t fake, but they don’t reveal everything. Anyone who’s ever struggled with mental health can attest to how easy it is to wear a mask. I hadn’t trusted God with my depression or my anxiety. Instead, I tried to fix it on my own, and when I couldn’t fix it, I tried to cover my tracks. I was a year into my marriage and hadn’t told a soul that I failed college. I lived in constant fear of being found out. I avoided prayer. I refused to give it to God because I knew He would convict me to come forward and admit the truth. I trusted my parents would forgive me, as they always did, but I feared I would lose my husband. He knew I was broken, but he didn’t know what lengths I’d gone through to pretend I was something I wasn’t.

One day I picked up a book called TrueFaced: Trust God and Others With Who You Really Are. Every single word brought me closer to my knees until I couldn’t bear the weight of my sin anymore. I was led to Psalm 40:12-13. I still have it marked in my Bible. “For troubles without number surround me; my sins have overtaken me, and I cannot see. They are more than the hairs of my head, and my heart fails within me. Be pleased to save me, Lord; come quickly, Lord, to help me.” I wrote a simple prayer in the margin that day: Lord save me from myself.

By the grace of God I pulled off the mask and I mustered the courage to confess my lies about my college failure to a trusted friend. She listened, she held my tears, and she empowered me to tell my husband. The next few weeks were terrifying. I came clean with Zach and with my parents. I started seeing a therapist. I got the help I needed and the forgiveness I didn’t deserve. I had to earn trust back with the people I valued most. Over time Zach and I repaid my parents for the college expenses I wasted, every dollar an act of repentance. With my conviction came my healing. More than medicine, what I needed was God. He used books, friends, my family, my husband, and a good therapist to show me how truly dependent I needed to be on Him. I learned to trust Him with every piece of me, even the pieces I was so deeply ashamed of.

It’s been years since I’ve had a “low day,” and even more since I’ve experienced anxiety in any social situation. God has claimed victory over my mental health, but even better, over my fear. To be completely honest, it wasn’t until a couple of years ago I got the guts to admit I never finished college. I hadn’t been lying about it since that month I’d come clean, but I would tactfully dance around it when asked. I’d say what college I went to or what I majored in, but I’d leave it at that. Now I’ll tell people I dropped out, but it still pains me to say it. I turn it into a joke just to make myself feel more comfortable with the idea. If I don’t know the answer to something I’ll quip, “Well I flunked out of college, what’s your excuse?” Inside though, I’m not laughing about it. I struggle big time. It’s a huge source of insecurity for me. I feel inadequate and uneducated in most situations. I doubt myself often. I constantly think about how things could’ve turned out differently for me if I’d only been honest from the beginning. (I’ve taken a few college courses here and there since then and I’ve aced every one of them. I know I’m capable. I know I could’ve achieved a degree and I know I still can. Someday, I will finish what I started.)

I know mental illness is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. It can affect anyone at any time, for any number of reasons. I know the right medicine can be extremely helpful, as can good therapy. I know often one will never be fully cured. I also know holding tightly to our struggle, insisting we keep it in the dark and away from the light of God, is a huge disservice to ourselves. When we refuse to trust God, we give the enemy a foothold. I am living proof of this. I went it alone for years and I did not overcome it. I love what David writes in Psalm 44: “I put no trust in my bow, my sword does not bring me victory; but you give us victory over our enemies, you put our adversaries to shame. In God, we make our boast all day long, and we will praise your name forever,” (v.6-8). We cannot fight it alone. Left to our own devices we will fail. We have no strength to boast of. Only God can defeat the darkness. Only He can bring us to victory. My recovery from anxiety and depression is a testimony to God’s faithfulness, but even more miraculous is His forgiveness of my sin. His willingness to receive a repentant sinner like me is the reason I stand here today, healthy and whole. May my story lead you to drag your demons, whatever they are, into the light of His bright grace.

“I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear the Lord and put their trust in him.” -Psalm 40:1-3