the one about suicide.

September is National Suicide Prevention month and I have some things I need to say.

I am not a clinician. I do not specialize in suicide prevention. I am not presenting research based information.

But I would like to share my experience. 

I am someone who suffers from

ideation on a daily basis. Sometimes it is quiet in the back of my mind. Frustrating, but not consuming. Sometimes it is so loud it is all I can hear. 

This looks often looks like: 

rapid fire repetitive thoughts, rumination, and an ongoing, screaming argument inside my brain. 

Most of the time it is passive, meaning I don’t agree with the thoughts in my head and I am not planning to act on them. There have been other times it has been active, and I have made plans, collected methods, and chosen when and where I would take my life. 

I have made 5 suicide attempts throughout my adult life. Several of them were planned. I had been in crisis for an extended period of time and thought it through over the course of weeks or months. Some of them were impulsive, meaning I had an acute mental health crisis and acted quickly without premeditation. 

The truth is, suicide is on my mind often. 

I’ve had seasons where I kept a suicide note in my phone, just in case.

I expend a lot of energy surviving. Literally. 

Many people have shared that most individuals who are contemplating suicide or suffering from SI don’t actually want to die, they just want the pain to end. This resonates with me.

When I am struggling, the appeal of death is that it feels like a relief from overwhelming pain. There is a part of me that has become very attached to this strategy as a solution to overwhelming experiences. I have only recently discovered compassion for this Part for trying to protect my system when there doesn’t seem to be a solution to what I am going through. That Part is real, and it is trying to do its job to keep me “safe” in its own way. 

I have several mental health diagnosis that all seem in some way connected to C-PTSD and PTSD. I have struggled with anorexia for over half of my life. Suicide is the second leading cause of death for individuals with eating disorders.

My experiences of crisis have varied in their presentation. Sometimes I am high functioning. I make myself busy to escape my thoughts. I become very social. I am physically active. I am ambitious at work or school. I attend and plan various events. I reach out to others to offer support, finding solace in focusing on someone else’s problems to avoid my own. Sometimes I can’t get out of bed. I don’t shower. Simple tasks are excruciating and overwhelming. I cannot function. For me, being suicidal doesn’t actually have a “look.”

But there are some consistent warning signs  I have identified over the years:

I feel like my brain is on fire. I feel numb. I feel stuck. I feel like what I am facing or feeling does not have a solution or “other side.” I don’t feel like myself. I am struggling to stay present or stay in my body. I am dissociated, or feeling detached from reality.  I don’t feel like I can trust myself. I start considering or researching methods. I withdraw or isolate when I am unable to conceal how much I am hurting. 

It’s National Suicide Prevention month and I’m seeing messages everywhere encouraging people to talk to someone if they’re struggling. It’s a nice sentiment. This seems like a simple step to get help. But I REALLY want you to hear this: the reality of having those conversations is risky. 

It isn’t simple. 

You risk involuntary hospitalization, which may seem to providers and loved ones to be a solution. But my experiences in psychiatric hospitals have been mediocre at best and traumatic and dehumanizing at worst. Yes, there are times where going to a hospital has provided me with physical safety in a crisis. There is value in that. But all my experiences in the hospital have been, for the most part, therapeutically negative. 

You risk disruption and destabilization in your life caused by hospitalization or going into intensive treatment. Loss of routine and the everyday things that might provide comfort. Missing loved ones, pets, personal belongings, the safety of your home or bed.

You risk financial loss and insecurity for medical bills, loss of employment, or time off work. 

You risk harmful reactions from those you confide in. I have been told I have a demon, or hidden sin that is manifesting as SI. I have been told that I am “just trying to get attention.” I have been told that I “don’t want to get better.” I have lost friendships entirely as a result of reaching out for help. 

You risk the impact of your SI on your loved ones. Worry and fear for your safety. Frustration for years of being in and out of crisis. When I am struggling intensely with thoughts of suicide, I am unlikely to reach out to my loved ones. I do not want to cause pain. I am concerned about their emotional reaction, feeling the weight of that on top of the heaviness I am already carrying. I am naturally very sensitive to other’s emotions, and when my feelings are screaming, adding someone else’s feelings only turns up the volume. 

Everyone seems to want to support those with mental illness. Until it gets messy. Until it costs money. Until God doesn’t fix it. Until it makes you uncomfortable. Until someone has been struggling for years and still isn’t “better.” Until it doesn’t make sense to you. Until that person doesn’t want your “solution” to the problem. Until mental illness gets in the way of family gatherings, and doing dishes, and showering, and paying bills. 

I don’t have a solution. 

But I have my experience. 

So I want to share what has felt supportive to me when I am severely struggling. 

Be there. Hold space for an experience that you may not understand. Sit in your own discomfort of listening to someone else’s pain. Try not to react with big emotions. Be regulated. That helps the other person to find regulation, and helps them feel like you are a safe person to confide in. Listen. Listen. Listen. Ask about the pain. What does it feel like? What’s the heaviest part? Are you planning? Be curious instead of swooping in with answers.

Help in practical ways. Provide meals. Provide financial support if needed. Remove barriers to help and care. Offer to drive someone to the hospital if that is what they need. Do some dishes. Pick up medication.

Do life. Invite them to go for a walk, share a cup of coffee, read a book on the same sofa. Watch a movie, go to stand up comedy, send funny videos. Don’t just show up when there is a crisis. Do life with them. Set a place at your table. Send a text when something makes you think of them.

Be honest. If you are not in a place to offer support, communicate that. Set clear boundaries. But own it as your own experience instead of blaming someone for struggling. Don’t just withdraw. If I ask for support and you stop responding to me and interacting with me, the conclusion my brain offers is that asking for support is not a safe option. I am too much. My pain is too big to share. 

I also want to share personal strategies that I do to keep myself safe. Nobody shared these with me, this is how I help my brain cope:

“Not yet.” I want to kill myself, but I’m not going to do it yet. “I’ll do it tomorrow.” This is something I tell myself a lot. It reassures my brain that I only have to survive Today. And the trick here, is that tomorrow never comes. This helps in an acute crisis when there is desperation and urgency to die “right now.” 

“Small” things to live for. This is key for me. If I try to think of “big” reasons to stay alive, it.does.not.help. Sometimes, it makes it worse. Loved ones, a dream career, finishing school, having a family, etc. Absolutely not. This is very overwhelming to me and adds to the pressure of “being ok” when I am anything but. These things feel impossible and unattainable in a moment of crisis. I believed for a long time that there was something wrong with me because I was not motivated by these things to stay alive. It might work for some people, but it doesn’t work for me. Instead, I focus on small things that provide comfort. My feet on a sandy beach, drinking a cup of tea or coffee, snuggling with my dog, cute videos of kids doing silly things, my favorite music. These are low stakes things to stay alive for. I remind myself I want to experience them again. 

Writing. Especially poetry. Finding words and images that express what’s going on inside me. Describing the pain. Giving it a shape, depth, edges, texture. And then sharing it with those close to me so that I feel seen. 

Taking myself to a public place. Being around people without the pressure to talk or socialize. A park, a store, a library. A setting where I know I won’t hurt myself because there are people around. Being around people who are doing everyday things can be regulating, and help me feel a little more human. 

Staying in bed. Now this one is tricky. It’s not always helpful, but sometimes it is what is accessible. Staying in bed and watching a TV show until my brain calms down can be crisis management. I tell myself “don’t move” and wait it out. Sometimes a nap helps me feel a bit better. The trick with this one is that when I am in a state of “freeze” as a result of panic, staying in bed is NOT effective. Getting up and moving my body is more helpful. 

Moving my body. I used to run, but I can’t anymore so I have turned to walking. Walking outside in a beautiful place, running an errand, walking to a coffee shop. Being in motion. Engaging my body. Getting the panic or depression or trauma moving through my body instead of stuck in my chest. 

I don’t have a solution for how to “get rid of” SI. I have explored countless options. I have tried so many medications, modalities, and therapies. I used to believe that God would heal me, had healed me, or was in the process of healing me. I sought answers in many directions, trying to get to the roots of why I can’t “get better.” In my journey I have gained bits and pieces along the way. I continue to learn how to show love to the different parts that make me “me.” Parts that have worked so hard to help me survive. I have come, and am still coming, to a place of acceptance that SI is a chronic condition for me. Maybe someday that will change. But I’m not hanging my hat on that anymore.

When someone loses their life to suicide, the response is often shock. Anger. Confusion. That makes sense. But I feel a significant sense of compassion. I have been to the edge. I know what the pit looks like. 

Everyone’s experience is unique. And as I mentioned before, I am not an expert. My hope in sharing all of this is that it will give you a glimpse into an experience you may not understand. And maybe it will help cultivate some compassion for the experiences of those around you. Everyone is carrying their own version of pain. So be kind. And don’t assume you understand. Listen. Listen. Listen. 

And if you are reading this and you have lived experience with SI or other forms of mental illness, I hope you know you are not alone. Keep fighting. Keep staying. 

All my love,

Jo

the pain.

It started out small

With a little bit of kindling

The light hurt my eyes

My face began to thaw

I recoiled from the pain

Longing to stay numb

But it was too late

The feeling woke me up

I held my fingers out

Passed my hand through the flame

But only for a moment

To avoid the searing pain

I know it's what I need 

To turn my back toward the chill

But there's comfort in the cold

Lullabies me til I'm still

I used to feel the ache

Felt the shiver in my bones

But I learned to love the ice
I made it my home

Without the heat I'll die

Too much and I will burn

Can I learn to love the blaze

And toward the warmth, turn

The fire purifies my past
The ice preserves my wounds

Pain going forward and back

And I get to choose

Like a hand on a hot stove
I'll touch it for a moment

The heat surrounds me

The sting begins to fade

So I'll gather my courage

Take a step towards the flames

I'd rather feel alive

Than forever freeze the pain

grow up.

 "grow up"
I muttered it
under my breath
the pressure suffocating
as I took another step

"grow up"
they told me
"you should know better by now"
but the voices in my head
they couldn't tell me how

"grow up"
I said
as I looked to my left
saw the person standing there
so immature, so bereft

"grow up"
I scoffed
examining the hand we'd been dealt
"an impossible task"
shame demanding to be felt

"grow up"
I whispered
as I fell to the floor
wrapped my arms around myself
"I can't do this anymore"

to "grow up"
had turned into
a neverending task
the target kept moving
the achievement didn't last

"grow up"
I tried to do
but the growing didn't stop
the box was never checked
on and on ticked the clock

exasperated
"I quit!"
angry and confused
"I'm never going to make it"
feeling disillusioned and used

"grow up"
He finally spoke
"meant to be like the One
whose perfection outshines
whose race already run"

"grow up"
He said
with a twinkle in His eye
His voice in me healing
made my soul feel alive

"the burden to grow up
was never yours to bear
but to trust, to rely
to Come, and to share"

so I gave Him my heart
the wreckage inside
and I wept
as I exposed
what I worked so hard to hide

I put my hand in His
I swallowed my pride
I'll let Him do the work
in His way
in His time

then I turned to my neighbor
the one I'd judged before
I saw a child
"growing up"
flawed and messy and unsure

for"grow up"
we will
but until that day comes
you'll find us incomplete
children loved by the One

"...speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love."

Ephesians 4:15-16

"And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ."

Philippians 1:6

"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

Matthew 11:28-30

"The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him."

Romans 8:16-17

"Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving."

Colossians 2:6-7

the most beautiful thing.

When one comes to the absolute end of themselves there is an unspeakable impact on one's soul.

It leaves a mark. A permanent, deep, profound, and often painful mark.

This is the place where in one single moment, darkness seeps in while the light brings blinding clarity. I have come to know this place over the years. It's become a familiar stop along the path as I make my journey towards wholeness.

I have been made aware, again, that I am not the person that I want to be.

No amount of wrestling, pushing, and grasping at my "perfect" image of self will gain me a single inch toward my goal. 

The truth is, I have spent my entire life running from this place of clarity. Running from the reality of who I am. The parts of me that hide in the shadows. The parts of me that nobody knows because they are buried in a facade of self-sufficiency. The parts of me that I never want you to see because if you saw – truly saw, you would (rightfully) turn and walk away in either disgust or fear.

During the past several years, I have come to realize new depths to my brokenness. I have come to the end of myself in ways I never dreamed possible. God only knows my desperate capacity to fall apart. And not to just fall apart, but to stay shattered in that hopeless place. To set up camp and to dwell there indefinitely. To sit in the ashes and dust unable to think, feel, or move. 

Sometimes I feel like a broken record to those around me when I share about my inadequacy. This isn’t the first time I have tried to put words to my flawed experience. But I’m not sharing this in an attempt for reassurance, pity, or judgment.

Here is what I want you to hear when I tell you my story:

At the end of myself, I discover the most beautiful thing. Something so wonderful, so brilliant, so breathtaking, that I struggle to assign words to it.

In the depths of this desperate state, there is Someone that sees me completely and loves me unconditionally.

In my shame, I find myself pursued and ultimately rescued by a furious, limitless, life-changing love.

God meets me.

Again and again and again.

I don’t need to be reassured that I am a good person. I don’t need to be told that my flaws are “not that bad.” I don’t need to be convinced that those broken parts of me do not exist. It doesn’t help. It only fuels my efforts to cover up and hide the complete picture of who I am.

Do you know what I need? I need to know that there is an infinitely good Being that is intimately aware of everything about me. Every detail. Every crack. Every festering wound. Every lie I believe about myself and the world around me.

To be known. Truly and deeply known AND loved.

This. This is what I need.

God never intended for me to live my life in the shadows of shame and despair. I was designed with incredible intentionality and purpose. I am not an accident or a mistake. I was created to be a masterpiece. But I am flawed.

God’s intention for humanity was not to condemn us in our imperfect (and often ugly) states. God’s intention has always been to bring us into the fullness of His incredible image, for His great glory.

He would not be a good God if He chose to look the other way in the face of depravity. He cannot and should not ignore the ugliness that humanity brings to the table again and again and again. In His justice, He must address what is wrong with us. And so, He did what we could never do. He became intimately acquainted with our humanity to solve our impossible dilemma.

Jesus paid the ultimate price that we accrued in our brokenness and sin.

So when I say that I am known intimately and loved unconditionally, it is not because the weight of my brokenness (intentional and unintentional sin) doesn’t matter. It is because Jesus already carried the burden that was too heavy for me.

I am free from Shame.

I cannot change the love that God has for me. He will never love me more or less than He does right now. When He looks at me, He sees the perfection of Jesus. He sees me as His beloved child.

No other human will ever fully know me, it’s impossible. But there will always be a God who fully knows me. And the most beautiful thing is that He loves me beyond what I can imagine.

There is a freedom, a peace, a joy, a safety (and so much more) found in the arms of Jesus.

And so, I discover again that the end of myself is not at all a hopeless place. It is where my desperate soul is met with the power of unconditional love. And I will become whole. Not because I have all the missing pieces, but because God meets my inadequacies with the fullness of Himself. I could never be the best version of myself without Him because I was designed to be enveloped in His incredible, perfect, life-giving reality.

I can let go of the fight to be good enough and rest in love - free from the shame, the despair, and the shadows.

Isn’t that the most beautiful thing?

It takes my breath away.

 Maybe you too know what it feels like to come face to face with your desperate capacity to fall apart. To miss the mark. To fail to be the person you want to be. 
Maybe you have never "hit rock bottom" or "come to the end" of yourself.
Either way, if you live with a nagging sense of shame and despair because of the parts of yourself you keep hidden in the shadows, I want you to know that there is an antidote. 

Lose the shame, it's killing you.
Be met by unconditional love and grace.
Come running into the arms of Jesus. 

To be found in this place, at the end of oneself, fully known and loved.

...It really is the most beautiful thing. 

"The One who knows me best

Is the One who loves me most"

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"For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him".

John 3:16-17

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.

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God saved you by his grace when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it. For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.

Ephesians 2:8-10

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.

.

 "Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.

Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think. Glory to him in the church and in Christ Jesus through all generations forever and ever! Amen."

Ephesians 3:17-21

the unwanted story.

 It's no secret that my year has been full of difficulty physically, mentally, and emotionally. Grief has become a familiar friend. The past several months have been full of processing as I have tried to make sense of my life through a haze of anger and tears. 

This week I found my heart practically screaming at God, "This isn't the story I wanted!"

I sat in the silence for a moment before I heard the soft reply:

This isn't your story, Joanna. 

I felt a mixture of overwhelm and relief. I was reminded that my purpose involves a much bigger story than just myself. 

I think pain often gives us tunnel vision. For example, when I broke my leg this summer I was unable to think about a single thing other than how much the pain was excruciating. I have found that this is also true emotionally. When we are wounded, our world shrinks. The purpose of this phenomenon is to bring our attention to something that needs tending, healing, and repairing. Unfortunately, it can cause us to lose sight of all the other complexities of life. 

Maybe you find yourself in a similar season. Is the pain all-consuming? Has grief tainted your life? Are you drowning in your own experience, struggle, or wound? You are not alone.

Several truths have become my anthem recently:

1) This is not my story. 

     I am part of God's story. That doesn't mean I dismiss my experience or feelings, it means that I was never designed to be alone. I was designed to live my life intertwined with the Holy Spirit and His plans for me. (Which....newsflash: are often NOT what I would have planned for myself). My soul thirsts for something greater than what I can produce on my own. I long to be part of something bigger. I am assigned specific gifts meant to advance God's redemptive story of love, kindness, justice, peace, and healing. That's the story that I want. 

2) When my faith is weak, I lean into the faith of others. 

     I am not an island. I need community to survive a season of intense struggle. When all I can see and feel is my pain, I need to allow those around me to remind me that there is more. I need to receive your prayers and reminders of truth. When I can't access trust in the goodness of God, I am desperate for you to believe it for me. When I don't feel like God loves me anymore, I can rest in His love residing in you. 

3) The content of my story does not decrease my value. 

     This is a hard truth for me to accept. I base so much of my value on my performance in life. When I am struggling or hurting or weak - I feel worthless. God has been reminding me that I am loved and valued regardless of my actions or experiences. It's true, this isn't the story I wanted. This year I have felt less valuable because of my wounds and needs. I keep having to return to the truth of my unconditional worth over and over again. If you can relate, I want you to know that regardless of what you have done or experienced or suffered, God loves you infinitely and you cannot change His mind. 

4) Life often requires a fight.

     In broken-leg-recovery-land, I am pushing my limits. It hurts and it's uncomfortable and my body doesn't want to do it. But this is a necessary stage in healing. The muscles around my ankle and leg have atrophied during the past few months and now I am demanding them to work again. In a way, I am fighting to regain strength - often gritting my teeth in frustration. I believe this is true in other areas too. Treating my depression requires me to get out of bed each day and choose activities that will help my brain. One of the ways I have engaged in the fight for my spiritual health is to speak the truth over myself even when I feel like collapsing into the lies. Sometimes I feel like I'm fighting tooth and nail to hold onto what matters most to me. 

5) There is healing found in worship.

     Offering worship to God while I am in pain feels like a sacrifice, but it's exactly what my soul needs. Reminding my soul of who God is is a powerful antidote and weapon against doubt, fear, and discouragement. Praise can be challenging, but we do it because He is worthy and we are bringing our soul into alignment with His glory. In a season of pain, it often feels like breaking up scar tissue in physical therapy. It's necessary, but it's not comfortable. 

6) There is authentic hope for the story's ending.

     Pain is an indicator that something is wrong...and there are a lot of things wrong with this world. Pain is a reminder that we were meant for something better. Something whole. Something perfect. As a Christian, I cling to the hope that there will be a day when all things are made right. All wounds will be healed. All pain and grief will cease. This truth is a comfort to me on the days that it feels like the darkness will last forever. 

I want to conclude by saying that it is okay to grieve the story that you wanted. It's okay
to feel disappointed, hurt, and even angry. The journey I am on is not one I ever would have chosen. I'm not thankful for my mental health struggles. I'm not thankful for my broken leg. I'm not thankful for pain in relationships. I'm not thankful to be missing work.

But I am thankful that I am not alone in this story. I can rest in the truth that my life is part of something bigger and more beautiful than I could ever produce on my own. And I can rest in the all-consuming love of God. 

And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ. - Philippians 1:6

For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. - Romans 8:38-39

For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them. - Ephesians 2:10

...we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us. We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever after the order of Melchizedek. Hebrews 6:18-20

waking up.

 I've been chipping away at writing this for several weeks. I've questioned whether or not I should share the following, but I was reminded this week of how important it is to know that we are not alone. So that's why I'm writing... in the hopes that this will encourage someone who can relate to the journey I have been on. Much love, Jo

As many of you already know, I am recovering from a broken leg. I had an appointment with my doctor and we discussed my pain level. It's been hurting more the past several days and I wanted to know why. "I feel like my leg is waking up. I'm feeling more." The doctor explained that it may be that I am experiencing the healing of the nerves in my leg, which were damaged in the break and the surgery. "When those nerve endings start to heal it can actually become more painful as they "wake up, even though it's a good thing."

I haven't been able to stop thinking about this since the appointment. It seems to be a picture of my life this year. I feel like I am waking up from so much that has fractured. 

I started the year preparing for a series of Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT} to address my longstanding struggle with my mental health. I put a lot of expectations on that treatment and how it was going to help me. Unfortunately, ECT was not effective for me and the side effects left me with serious short-term memory loss and cognitive dysfunction. I don't remember most of the months of February, March, and April. My struggle with cognitive functioning only made my depression worse and I had multiple hospitalizations in the following months. 

On top of that, for a while, I was overmedicated and prescribed meds that had significant negative side effects. 

I feel like someone scrambled my brain. In the past several months I have not felt like myself. I have not acted like myself. I look at my text messages, pictures, and emails and I don't recognize conversations I had. I don't recognize people that I met or hung out with during the past few months. 

It's such an unnerving feeling and difficult to explain. 

Some of the side effects of one medication were tremors, muscle weakness, and loss of balance. As a result of these, I was falling often. During my most recent fall, I dislocated and fractured my ankle and broke my leg in multiple places. I had to have surgery and it's been a tough recovery.

As I regain my mental coordination, I have to heal from my physical injury, which means I can't do anything weight-bearing for eight weeks.

So here I am, trying to pick up the pieces from this year as my cognition returns and my body heals. 

My life is suddenly very simple, as most of my time is spent in bed and I'm surviving mainly off of protein shakes and fruit snacks, oh - and pain meds. I haven't worn makeup in weeks, and my hair is so greasy I think it could stand up straight on its own. Sometimes my biggest accomplishment from the day is brushing my teeth. 

It's given me a lot of time to think. 

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And to ask "Where is God in all of this?" 

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I felt as if He is a million miles away for a long time. I have questioned what's my fault and what's His. I know much of what has happened was a natural consequence of my choices, or simply from having a body and brain that need healing. Why? I didn't ask for this. And I have fought so hard to gain freedom from my struggle with depression. I keep asking myself Why did everything happen the way that it did? It's not fair. This was going to be the year for healing! I was going to start running again, celebrate recovery, and find renewed purpose to love and be loved by the people I am privileged to have in my life. 

This year has challenged me more than I have ever experienced.

I wish I could say that I have endured with hope, courage, and faithfulness. But it's really only been about 50/50. Half the time I have been fighting for my healing and half the time I have been fighting to throw the towel in. 

I'm on crutches now. I graduated from the wheelchair. My arms are getting stronger as I rely on them for my mobility. I've always had better lower body strength. And this year I had plans for my legs to get stronger. But instead, it's my upper body that is gaining muscle. It feels like another picture of what is happening in my life and in my heart. I'm getting stronger, but not in the ways I had intended.

I have spent a lot of time with my family and it has been a gift. (Shout out to them for being my caregivers and feeding me and carrying my pillows from the bed to the couch every day)! Words can't express how thankful I am. 

I've been forced to slow down and appreciate the mundane, like a restful night, a shower, and a card game with friends. 

I'm thankful to have my cognition back and to be able to remember things again. To feel like myself.

To be "waking up" in my heart and in my relationship with a good God that has been faithful through all of it. Even though it's messy and uncomfortable and emotional. 

I didn't choose this journey. I didn't choose to struggle with my mental health or to break my leg fantastically. I didn't choose to feel distant in my relationship with God this year. But I am learning to accept that this is part of my story - His story. I know that there will be people that don't understand. That's ok. 

I'm writing this for those of you that have found yourself on a journey you didn't choose, or in a season you didn't want. Maybe you thought you would become strong in one way, and find yourself strengthening muscles you didn't know you had. Maybe the battle has stolen so much from you that you no longer feel like yourself. I see you. I'm here for you. You are not alone. 

Breaking my leg has been a terrible experience. But I'm also thankful for it because it's been restoring my soul. While I did not see God at work at the moment, looking back I see how He carried, cherished, and protected me. And as I lay in bed, elevating my leg, He is here with me now. 

Maybe this is the year for healing. Maybe it's just not what I expected (or how I expected). 

Maybe your healing isn't what you expected either.

Hang in there. It's still beautiful, friend.

believe (imago dei).

I'm going to endeavor to put words to some of the thoughts and feelings that have been swirling in my mind and heart for the past several years. 

Wish me luck.

As many of you know, I grew up in a very conservative and sheltered Christian environment. My dad was the faithful pastor of the small community church I routinely attended, along with all of my siblings. I lived and breathed ministry life; volunteering for the worship team, children's activities, and even mowing the lawn. I went on mission trips and volunteered at Bible camp nearly e
very summer. I was homeschooled and had little to no exposure to peers or adults that were not Christian until my late teens. 

Like most of you, there are elements of my childhood that I cherish and elements that I wish had been different. I love my family fiercely and deeply respect and value my parents and the choices they made, even though I may make some different choices if I have a family in the future. 

My journey as a young adult has been messy. There have been seasons where I wanted nothing to do with my family, nothing to do with God, and nothing to do with life. As I have been exposed to so many environments and people outside my original belief system I have wrestled with serious doubts, skepticism, bitterness, and honest questions regarding what I was taught about God, the world, humanity, and so much more. 

My struggle with a life threatening eating disorder and the ups and downs of misdiagnosed mental health issues have called into question so much of the "happy clappy" image of faith and the world that I internalized as a child. As a sensitive soul I have always cared deeply about all things alive and beautiful and hoped for the best and brightest outcomes. The transition to adulthood has left me grappling with the weight of pain, evil, hatred, trauma, and brokenness in "the real world." My heart has been so heavy as I have absorbed and processed the events of the past few years. 

I feel my soul has only recently found a reprieve, and I am savoring a newfound passion and hope for this complicated adult life. I am sharing my thoughts with you from a position of openness, love, and deep respect. I request that you would extend the same to me.

In my wrestling through what I believe (not my parents, not my churches, not my friends, not my colleagues, not my mentors) I have gained these understandings...

#1...that this is a process that we all face at some point in our lives. For many, it happens in early adulthood as one separates from family and place of origin. For most, the process is not a "one and done" experience. In fact, I believe that a healthy individual will continue to evaluate, challenge, and grow in their beliefs many times in a lifetime. 

#2 ...our perspectives will vary largely based on our past personal experiences, especially our knowledge and our resources. For example, some of the issues/topics I am passionate about include my faith, a healthy relationship with food/body, mental illness, sexual trauma, feminism, and foster care/adoption. I have formed/changed opinions and beliefs around these topics because I experienced something that challenged and/or impassioned me. 

#3... that challenging and reevaluating long-held beliefs and opinions takes great bravery and humility. Learning to listen with intentional openness and kindness towards someone or something you disagree with is not for the faint of heart. This process invites you to make the vulnerable statements of "I was wrong," "I don't know," and "I'm sorry."

We are living in a season of polarity and hostility among so many people groups and ideals. Social media feels like a minefield to me as I navigate relationships with family, friends, and acquaintances all across the spectrum of beliefs (politically, religiously, environmentally, relationally, etc). Humans are complicated. Even in the most tight knit groups and cultures you will find variance, small and large. One may agree with someone passionately regarding one issue and disagree vehemently regarding a different issue. 

Our multitude of opinions are based on our core beliefs including (but not limited to):

the world (organisms, history, science) 

religion (afterlife, deity, morals)

our humanity (value, purpose, relationships). 

The way you vote and take action politically, pursue a career, interact with other living beings (humans, animals plants), respond to emotions, and build your unique life will mirror what you believe to be true. I recommend taking time out of your busy (or stagnant) schedule to ponder, question, and name your core beliefs. Then ask yourself, "What do my actions and opinions say about my core beliefs? Do I need to make some changes to realign with what I actually believe to be true?"

Here's the thing. 

I'm a Christian. My faith is very important to me. I have wrestled with what I believe through the lens of my personal experiences and my core beliefs. I am still questioning, still challenging, still working out the details of what I believe in the complexity of life. I do not claim to have all the answers. I acknowledge that I could be wrong in many areas. After all, I am just one human in a world of billions attempting to work out what I believe. Who's to say that I nailed it? When I die I may find out that I have been wrong all along. Or maybe I won't find out anything because I will simply cease to exist. I honestly don't know with 100% certainty. But I do know what I believe given the hand I have been dealt and the information I have evaluated. Just like you. 

I know that we don't agree on everything. That's ok. In fact, it's healthy. We need a world of diversity in thoughts, experiences, and passions. Even if I believe your perspective is wrong, it can be healthy for both of us to rub shoulders as we wrestle it out for ourselves. We challenge and sharpen each other. If we are open, we can become wiser, kinder, and better informed. There is potential for great beauty within disagreement. 

There is also potential for great harm. When we approach each other from a place of pride, bitterness, and hostility the only thing we fuel is hate. We dehumanize each other. We replace dignity with violence. We do not learn or grow or mature, we harden our hearts and limit our ability to love. Now, I am not saying that there is never a time to break ties or set boundaries with someone (or a group of someone's) in order to maintain your integrity. Many issues do require us to take action, speak up, and sometimes fight for what we believe to be true. But the reason that we choose to engage in the fight or cut ties with someone are significant. For example, are we coming from a place of integrity and love, or are we desiring control and power?

As I pondered all of this during the past year I found myself drawn again and again to consider my beliefs surrounding humanity. Who are we? What is our purpose? What drives us to do the things we do? What is our value? What is our function? ...Is it all meaningless?

I look at the world around me and I feel the gravity of evil and pain. I see humans with no regard for kindness and love. I see senseless trauma. I see arrogance and immaturity. I see physical and emotional damage. I see (what I believe to be) a world horrifically broken by what Christians call "sin" or, what I also call "the choice to separate ourselves from God." I am deeply grieved by the reality of those who have given themselves over to evil, hatred, and harm. I am also horrified to discover these tendencies within myself. 

Under the weight of all of this I have found myself collapsing into the belief that humans (all humans) carry imago dei, the Image of God. That in all our complexity; our beauty and brokenness, our loving and fighting, we reflect fragments of a good God. The glory of our original design peeks through the cracks of our messy lives. Regardless of your origin or your culture or your family or your beliefs, I believe you have the imprint of a creative, intelligent, relational, loving being. I believe the concepts of morals, justice, virtue, selflessness, loyalty, kindness, order, and art are evidence of something greater than a theory of chaos and luck. 

As I hold this belief with open hands, I find myself growing in my capacity for love. I am humbled. I am slower to speak and eager to listen. While we may not agree on issues of importance, I still believe that you have immense dignity and value and that you are worthy of love and belonging.  This core belief has fueled my purpose and hope during a heavy and painful season. I have begun to shift my attention from what is wrong with humanity to cherishing the beauty I see in others. To recognizing the goodness, the joy, the creativity, and the unconditional value. 

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe there is no good God and no imago dei. But I believe that there is, and as a result of that belief I am discovering new levels of joy, freedom, life, hope, and purpose. I treasure the people in my life more. I cherish moments of connection, laughter, and love. 

I encourage you to ponder what you believe and the results of those beliefs in your own life. I'm not asking you to believe like I do or to change your opinions. I am asking if you would be willing to join me in considering this complex life we have been given, in the hopes that you too will find solace in the chaos and hostility swirling around you. 

With open hands and all my love,

Jo