Maybe they aren’t.
I experienced a deep sadness. It was unrelentingly dark. It might have been depression. I was definitely prescribed anti-depressants. But I hesitate to call it depression because I could still get out of bed. I operated fine in my daily life, but the sadness was oppressive and constantly there. I couldn’t speak of it or open the door to feel it without crumbling into huge, wet tears that rolled, always replenished, down my face. There wasn’t a cried out relief with those tears. Only a choice to stop crying by closing the door and stop consciously acknowledging the heavy black that hung about me all the time.
I thought it was related to my son out-living my brother, Drew, who had passed away just before his 9th birthday. I stood in mother’s grief. It seemed fine that I grieved through the 26th death anniversary, through my brother Drew’s birthday while we celebrated his twin brother’s 35th birthday, through the holidays and dreary winter. But at the year mark, I thought something must be amiss. I started looking at how I could solve this physically (I had my hormones tested and imbalances mitigated), mentally and emotionally (counseling). Finally, I started pushing into spiritual healing. Maybe this wasn’t an appropriate amount of grieving and I was sick, but I had implemented all the other solutions without remedy. It must be a spiritual wound that needs a salve of the spirit.
I took inventory, cleaned house. I found lies and replaced them with Truth. I learned some things on my road back to wholeness and freedom.
Sometimes it is just hard. I persisted and did the hard things.
Freedom is for everyone. Including me. Including you.
God’s plan for my life includes hard things, but it doesn’t keep me there forever. The Enemy’s plan is to steal, kill and destroy every good things in my life. He would annihilate me if I allowed his plan to run my life. I kick out anything that isn’t lining up with the future and hope God has for me when I become aware I’ve got a conflict.
It turns out my sadness was rooted in a deeply hidden wound from when my brother passed away. My parents were lost in their grief and I felt rejected when they didn’t pay attention to my awkward tweenage junior high self. Didn’t they see me? Wasn’t I good enough for their love? Hey, I’m over here! I’m the one that’s still alive! Maybe you could drive me to a friend’s house or show up to a swim meet….No? That’s too much?
The remedy was acknowledging the wound I didn’t even know was there. Too painful to touch. And then, FORGIVING. That is where my freedom was found. I eventually shared the awareness and forgiveness with my parents too. It was healing for all us of.
Thankfully there are people in town who acted as my sherpa in setting down heavy bags that I had carried most of my life. Setting down heavy bags is for you too.