Tag: darkness

Time for…rest

Reflections based on Psalm 23:1–4.

In all honesty, these last few weeks have been incredibly difficult. As I’ve said before, life in lockdown has been so much busier than usual, there have been some huge challenges with people and particular situations, and I have also had my first birthday without my mum. All of that has meant that I have reached way beyond my capacity – emotionally but also physically. Last week my body started fighting back, with a notable upsurge in the degree of pain my head and neck have been in and regular nosebleeds (frustratingly often when I was trying to get to bed).

As well as taking the emotional difficulties to God to work through daily, I started trying to get to bed early. But, even when I did, I couldn’t sleep. It was a very frustrating week! Thankfully, although emotionally quite painful, my birthday also included some lovely times of celebration with friends and family. It was so wonderful to host my family again for the first time in a number of years (although I said to my husband afterwards that I’d forgotten what hard work hosting is! Lockdown has obviously gone on for far too long!).

When this week started, I could sense something had shifted. I realised that I had become engulfed in swirling waves of depression and darkness: my responses to things were not usual and I was becoming very negative. But, on Monday, that fog began to lift. Yesterday, I even felt a bit of relief from the head and neck ache – although that was short-lived. However, the sense of hope was quickening within me again.

As I started pondering a short message I will be sending to a women’s group that I should have been speaking to in person next weekend, I was drawn to a couple of verses in Psalm 23. But, after he had given me what he wanted me to say to them, God then reminded me of what it says at the start of the Psalm. That he ‘makes me lie down’ and ‘leads me’. I was struck afresh by how active those descriptions are – the first sounds a tad aggressive even (well, authoritative is perhaps a better word). But then that may be in response to my own actions…

I know I started lockdown with all the best intentions – helping my husband with the huge learning curve of getting church online and producing content each week, supporting our kids not only with online learning but also their spiritual health, keeping the groups I’m involved with in church connected via different online meetings and special events and being in daily contact with my family as we had just lost our mum/wife, as well as dealing with a heavier (but enjoyable) workload (which included finishing the book on marriage my husband and I have written).

It wasn’t really a surprise that there was a physical and emotional cost to what I was doing. I should have read the warning signs earlier but, even when I had, there was little I could suddenly drop.

I did enjoy a wonderful online retreat, led by the amazing Sharon Brown, in which I had space to process grief but also hear from God about my need for rest. But, as sometimes happens, directly after that, there seemed to be a kick back – life was suddenly more challenging and I found my journal littered with questions for God about why he would tell me to rest, when he knew what was going to happen!

I know that all I need is found in God, and he is always with me, but there are times when circumstances can seem completely overwhelming, even when we are doing all the ‘right’ things, connecting with him regularly and looking to him for direction and guidance day by day.

Fast forward to this week. When I can actively see his hand at work. Many of the evening activities that we had planned got cancelled and, just yesterday, I turned to my husband and said: “Maybe we are supposed to just rest in the evenings this week.”

It certainly feels like God has suddenly stepped in and said: “Enough is enough. Just rest.” It doesn’t mean that everything has stopped; I still have lots of work to attend to, and my husband is planning a new preaching series, plus writing his own preach for this weekend. We are also constantly discussing the next steps for the church, now that lockdown is beginning to ease. But, in the midst of all that, it does feel like God is beckoning us to lie down in the green pastures he has prepared for us. That he has refreshment for our souls.

I am reminded that Jesus was busy, but never harassed. He had found those “unforced rhythms of grace” that I long for at times (Matthew 11:28–30, The Message). He could sleep in peace on a boat in the midst of a raging storm (Matthew 8:23–27). The outer circumstances that can so often cause stress did not faze him. He also knew how important it was to take time away with his Father to be refreshed.

These are all things I know, and try to practise purposefully in my own life. But I am glad to know that, when my own efforts fall short, I can rely on the Lord my shepherd to step in to look after me; to make me lie down in order to rest.

Reflection: What about you? Does this resonate with where you are at? Is God leading you beside quiet waters today? Make sure to follow wherever he leads…

Post-natal depression unmasked

Wow. I am constantly being overwhelmed by the honesty and vulnerability shown by those who have agreed to guest blog for my Unmasked: stories of authenticity series. Today, Helen Hodgson bravely shares about the horror of experiencing postnatal depression. Having experienced it myself I resonate with the power and truth behind her words. Thank you Helen for sharing so openly. I’m sure Helen joins me in praying that her post helps anyone reading who is suffering from postnatal depression. Please know that you are not alone…

‘Can’t you just smile and put your worries to the back of your mind?’

‘Maybe you should just drag yourself out of bed and you will feel better.’

‘You just need to enjoy them while they’re young – the time flies by so fast!’

‘You’re just tired. Everything will be better when you have some sleep.’

‘Just pray more. That should do the trick.’

‘Haven’t you got enough faith?’

‘It’s a choice, surely?’

Post-natal depression is still so misunderstood and such a taboo, particularly in church circles. My unmasking involves not simply writing about my experiences, but including some photographs that now send shivers down my spine. Pictures explain more than words ever could. My memories from this time are patchy at best and raw at their worse.

Just over 16 years ago, my beautiful boy was born after a traumatic emergency Caesarean and my first words on seeing him were ‘is that mine?’ This baby was like an alien to me and I was already a disappointment. I’d wanted a water birth. Instead, I had a general anaesthetic while they tore this child from my body. I didn’t meet him until I had come round from surgery. I’d had expectations of being the kind of mother that you read about in Enid Blyton books. This wasn’t part of my plan.

No amount of antenatal classes or well-meaning advice could have prepared me for the weeks and months of utter darkness that followed.

Post-natal depression took over as irrational and scarily angry thoughts swirled through my mind. I resented the intrusion of this screaming baby who never slept. I cared for his daily needs but I didn’t feel this mythical surge of love for him I was meant to feel. I watched other new mums cooing over their babies and felt jealous. Instead of nursery rhymes, I sung songs of destruction over him and thought about how to escape. I was so very lonely. I couldn’t connect with my baby and I couldn’t connect with other new mums who seemed so in love with their little ones.

Popping to the shops became a nightmare.

‘Isn’t he just a joy!’ An older lady cooed over him

I was horrified. I couldn’t understand how someone could even feel that way.

‘No.’ I replied. ‘He’s a monster.’

She quickly moved away from me as all I could think about was how this child had ruined my life.

Some days I raged and cried. Some days I numbly got on with the tasks in hand. I knew I had already failed and he was only months old. I was never going to be the mum he needed, so what was the point in trying? Actually, he would be better off without me.

Being part of a church only intensified my feelings of isolation and guilt. Well-meaning people gave me platitudes and I stood by as other mothers seemed to do a far better job than me. I watched them smiling and laughing and wondered why I couldn’t feel any connection with my child. I didn’t know where God was. I knew that I believed He was good and that He loved me. But I was failing Him too. He’d given me this son but I wasn’t able to nurture him the way I knew I was supposed to.

Support came from my health visitor and a few friends, but cups of tea and putting on brave smiles never removed the emptiness, anger, guilt and sense of failure I felt.

It was only after a dramatic sleepless night where my anger spilled over onto my precious baby that my kind and patient husband marched me to the GP. I was prescribed anti-depressants and counselling. By that point I was so numb and so desperate that I followed like a sheep.

And slowly, slowly, over time, the days began to be less dark. I discovered I could find joy in small things again. I could sing songs of hope and faith over him. I began to fall in love with my little boy. And, instead of finding me rocking in a dark corner after his return from work, my faithful husband would see I had made the tea or hung the washing out.

I began to heal.

Post-natal depression was my illness.

It wasn’t a choice.

It wasn’t simply tiredness (although sleep deprivation certainly didn’t help).

It wasn’t difficulty adjusting.

It wasn’t a lack of faith.

It wasn’t laziness.

It wasn’t failure.

And there is hope.

My boy, now 16, stands taller than me. His grin makes my heart melt inside. He sleeps – for too long sometimes! We share ‘in jokes’ and laugh together a lot. We talk about the deep stuff. He hugs me with his long gangly arms and buys me chocolate at just the right moments. Despite my feelings of failure and regret over his first few years, our ever-growing relationship is one of joy and trust. I’m so glad to be his mum.

And that surge of love isn’t mythical anymore. It happens everyday.

Helen is Co-Founder of Hope at Home, a freelance writer and youth worker.  She’s wife to one active husband and mum to three even more active young men.  She also loves running, squelching through mud in her wellies and reading her book in front of a fire.