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I don’t know when God took hold of my heart, but he did, and He placed in me a strength I’ve rarely acknowledged. I was surrounded by people who taught me strength and perseverance. So many times, I wanted to give up, but I’m still here. Still fighting. God has empowered me to face the traumas of life and cherish people who answered my prayers and blessed me. My questions about God all hinged on the idea of the Bible being inerrant. I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea tha

I was first diagnosed with bipolar at 14. I struggled with my mental health for years. My worst manic episode occurred when I was in my early 20’s. No matter how hard I tried to be a good mom, it was never enough. Despite struggling my whole life with mental and emotional illness, it was having children that made me want to get better. I had seen doctors and tried medications, but life was still a challenge. Finally, it all came to a head. I wasn’t taking any medication at th

I don’t know when my insanity set in. I don’t know if I was ever sane. Even as a young child I battled depression and mania. The question was if my “attention getting” behaviors connected to a mental illness or to the chaotic world that I lived in. I was 12 years old when I first tried to kill myself. Twelve. At a time when I should have been out playing with friends and just starting to think about boys, I was thinking about dying. I was in such pain; all I wanted to do was

ECT MEMORY LOSS ECT caused extensive memory loss and stopping ECT didn’t make the memories return. Some memory gaps were significant. One day I was flipping through my calendar and noticed an entry: Bible Study Thursdays, 1:30. It didn’t say where and I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t tell you where it was held or what we were studying, I didn’t know who else was in the group. It was all a blank. I asked my spouse, “am I in a Bible study?” She said, “yes” but she didn’t know de

After only a few days, I was released from the psychiatric ward. It was practically a dream come true. I felt SOOO much better. The new medication, Clozapine, worked wonders. I was more stable and the suicidal thoughts were gone. It was an extremely effective drug with truly serious side effects. It was an older medication, rarely used which is why my psychiatrist hadn’t recommended it before. The new ones were supposed to be better, safer, but they didn’t work for me. Clozap

In 2017, my life imploded and I made the decision to do electroconvulsive therapy (ECT). In the beginning, when I first started ECT, I improved. At last, I was stable. I told myself I didn’t need ECT anymore. I was going to get my life back. The doctor agreed so after phasing off it, I stopped ECT. Big mistake! I had a psychotic break just as the day of the treatment I had cancelled arrived. Had I stopped it too soon? Or was it simply not going to work? My fears grew. I dete

FUNHOUSE As the mental illness took over my world, my life disintegrated. I had few friends who truly understood what I was going through or cared enough to stick with me through it. I had to give up a job I loved because I wasn’t mentally stable enough to do it. I turned to ECT as a last resort. I hoped to reclaim my life. I said “goodbye” to my boss, my job, and my dreams, hoping someday I would get them back. Though I was discouraged and isolated, I knew I had been throu

As I sat in the waiting room, nerves on edge, I stared at my phone, periodically looking up at the double doors ahead of me. I wasn’t alone in the room. There were others reading magazines or looking at their own phones. People would occasionally glance up and look at the screen mounted to the ceiling in the corner of the room. Color coded, it listed the status of loved ones in surgery: pre-operative, operative, recovery, etc. The board meant nothing to me. I would look at it

I recently talked to a special friend who is a recovering alcoholic. She inspires me and I wanted to write about her, but she was afraid of what people might think of her. She seemed ashamed about how low she had sunk in the depths of her addiction. And there were probably feelings she had about those years that I will never understand. So, I’m not going to write ABOUT her. I’m going to write TO her. This is to anyone who feels ashamed of their journey. To anyone who made so

I share a lot. Some might say I overshare. There’s a reason why I do it. I have been through so much: abuse, addiction, abandonment, physical, emotional and mental illness. I live as a minority: LGBTQ and biracial. All of it has shaped me into the person I am today. I could have given into the pain. I could have become angry and bitter – and there are times when I am – but I don’t stay in that head space. I try to see the blessings in my life. I turn to God for healing, not

I just got back from a California trip for my cousin’s daughter’s wedding. It was wonderful to spend time with family. I reconnected with some I’ve loved since I was a child and got to know the next generation I’ve had minimal contact with. I got to meet some family members that I’d never met before. I had long conversations with them. We went sightseeing and spent time just being together. I didn’t feel up to travelling by myself but, fortunately, my aunt and uncle were driv

I have gastroparesis, schizoaffective disorder and cognitive impairment. Too much fun for one person to have for sure! Because of my writing, I’m open about my struggles. I try to help those of us with nonapparent disabilities have a voice. It’s challenging. We are more than our conditions, but the fact is they impact us. We have to overcome the odds just to do the basics. My stomach doesn’t digest food properly, so I have to closely monitor what I eat. I take heavy duty anti

I walked onto the back deck. Surrounded by woods, I could just see the lake between the trees. The view reminded me I was blessed, but I stood there, my mind a blank, unable to remember why I was outside. I waited a minute, but when the memory didn’t return, I walked back into the house. A wave of sadness, frustration and anger washed over me. Going back into the kitchen, I saw the dirty dishes on the counter and realized I was doing the dishes. That’s when I remembered I had

Addiction has consumed my reality since the time I was a child. My father was an alcoholic and a mean one at that. As an adult I watched my daughter be destroyed by meth and heroin. I avoided drugs and alcohol but my addictive personality showed itself in my food choices. I am a compulsive overeater. I could write forever about the pain the addiction caused. I had no relationship with my father until he became sober. I had to kick my daughter out of our home after the lying a

Christianity is under fire. Christian Nationalism and Evangelicals have taken over the conversation, but they aren’t following the teachings of Christ. I heard from more than one friend say that they don’t want to call themselves Christians, so instead they have chosen the term “Follower of Christ” because we believe in the teachings of Christ, not some distortion that supports hate and division. My faith is who I am. It was crushing to learn my daughter doesn’t even want me

It’s been over three years since my mother passed away and I still miss her every day. As I look around my living room, I see the picture of her we used at her memorial. I see the quilt my daughter’s mother-in-law made of my mom’s t-shirts. She had three careers: as a WSU Professor, Director of a non-profit organization, and Licensed Local Pastor. I have t-shirts that capture those stages of her life. I see the pillows made from her nightgown, sweater and grandma sweatshirt.

I’ve attended a Pride festival the last few years. I grew up thinking there was a “right” way to look but, instead, Pride portrays freedom. My favorite part of Pride is people watching. I love the drag queens in their extravagant gowns. I love the vinyl shoes and platform heels. I love the hairy armpits, crop tops and bustiers. I love the man with a full beard wearing a sundress. I love the women who look feminine but use He/Him pronouns. There is no “right” way to look at Pr

It should be wrong to use the term “Radical Christian”. Christianity shouldn’t be radical. It shouldn’t be “radical” to love others. It shouldn’t be “radical” to take care of others. It shouldn’t be “radical” to accept those that don’t look, think or act like us. But, unfortunately, it is. Jesus was clear about His teachings. We have the greatest commandments: Matthew 22:36-40 Love God, love others. Everything hinges on these two commandments. We have the beatitudes: Matthew

There is a famous quote from President John F. Kennedy’s inaugural address on January 20, 1961. “Ask not what your country can do for you — ask what you can do for your country.” As I lay in bed, whining to God, listing what I wanted him to do for me, my family and my friends, He brought these words to mind: “God, what do YOU want ME to do?” This may not be a revelation to anyone else but for me it cut deep. I always approached prayer thinking of the parable of the persistent

I love to write. I also have cognitive impairment. I had dreamed of being a published author and thought my dreams were dead. I thought God was to blame. He COULD heal me. He could take away the schizoaffective disorder, gastroparesis and cognitive impairment. I beg Him every night when I pray that He would. He could make my writing and speaking dreams come true. He could but He hasn’t…yet. I’m in therapy and I have a psychology degree so I keep trying to make sense of my fee