Tag: isolation

How long Lord?

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We can sometimes find it hard to know how to relate to Easter Saturday – that day of intense pain, and the crushing loss of hope. And yet the last year has taught us the importance of recognising our emotions – and of giving ourselves space to lament. I wrote the following verses a few weeks ago, when I felt overwhelmed by so much – and before any lockdown restrictions had been lifted. In all my own personal losses, and when faced with the collective loss too, I have felt comforted to know that Jesus truly understands.

I pray that each of you is able to take time to stop…breath…cry…and grieve as our hearts cry out: ‘How long Lord?’ We do rejoice in the knowledge that Jesus has won the final victory, but we also recognise that so much of life currently feels like Easter Saturday.

We each desperately feel the effects of months of isolation and loneliness,
The shutting down not only of shops, churches and schools (for a time)
But homes and other social interactions.
Grasping at connection through a screen,
Fatigued by the constant online interaction,
Yet desperate to experience something of the relationships we are used to, and still crave.

The terrifying burden of seeing a loved one suffer, as the, or a, disease grips them,
And then being separated from them – doors close, and we enter our home again…alone.
Some make it through – others, sadly not – and we don’t all have a chance to say goodbye.
What are we to do with that pain?
As the death toll keeps rising, and the emotional toll on so many grows and grows…
We experience collective grief; 
At times feeling totally and utterly overwhelmed.

We try to cope with the agony of watching loved ones suffer so, so much,
Feeling helpless, while also struggling with our own emotional turmoil.
Exhausted and heartbroken, we drag ourselves around
Trying to support those around us, do our jobs and run our homes, 
While all the while what we simply need to do is…stop…
And breathe
And cry
And grieve.

How long Lord? How long must this go on?

We recognise we have each been affected in some way.
We understand we need to be compassionate to ourselves,
As well as to others.
And yet we are still expected to get up each day, 
Manage our households and our jobs, 
And interact well with those in our churches and our neighbourhoods.

Our hearts break for the level of suffering so many have experienced,
The intensity of situations so many have worked within.
And yet, for some of us based at home, very little has changed – 
Although so much now seems like it will never be the same again.
We come to you for comfort, for care, for strength right deep into our bones.
We were not made for such prolonged pressure, 
And feel like we are buckling underneath it.

God we cry out to you: Have mercy!

Feeling hemmed in?

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Reflections based on Genesis 39:20–23.

What a challenging story! In the most extreme circumstances Joseph surrendered himself totally to God. He spent 13 years altogether in captivity (firstly enslaved, then imprisoned) before he became Pharaoh’s right-hand man.

For some of us, this time of forced isolation may feel like imprisonment. With strict instructions to stay at home, and only make essential journeys for provisions, those who live by themselves may be battling loneliness. Those of us with families may be finding their homes become like pressure cookers, with each person’s stress levels rising as we navigate being with one another 24/7 (we have had moments like that in our house this week!).

Whether we feel like the days are stretching out before us with no end in sight, or we are desperate for a bit of space to ourselves, I think we can learn from Joseph’s attitude to his difficult years. It seems that Joseph didn’t turn against God or blame Him for the unjust circumstances he found himself in. He may have been aware of God’s sustaining presence with Him, for we read: ‘… while Joseph was … in the prison, the LORD was with him; he showed him kindness and granted him favour … (vv.20–21). I pray that, whether you are struggling today or not, you will sense God’s presence with you.

And, whether we have a lot of time on our hands right now, or are having to snatch moments in between working and trying to help our children with their daily school tasks, I also pray that during this lockdown we will each have the opportunity to get to know God more deeply. That will look different for each of us. I have had to learn not to get frustrated by the lack of time I have currently – and my time with God looks different right now. We are each having to adjust; may we remember to include God in the decisions we make and in the changes to our daily lives, asking Him to order our days.

Prayer: Lord I thank You that You are not surprised by the strange circumstances that we find ourselves in currently. I pray that each of us will sense Your presence, and will find new ways of drawing close to You today.

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.