Three weeks ago I stepped off the plane in Amman, Jordan. “Welcome,” the immigration officer nodded as he snapped my picture and passed me back my freshly stamped passport.

If there was any one word I would come to hear a thousand times in 10 days it was welcome. In fact, it is the word I think of first when I think of Jordan. I guess I remember it because other than being printed on doormats or hotel signs, welcome isn’t really a word we use much other than in the context of “You’re welcome, ” our semi-conscious auto-pilot response to “Thank you.”

While it was certainly explicit in conversations, it was also so apparent in people’s actions.  It was everywhere, from the father and grandfather who offered to share tea with me during their child’s surgery,  or the mother who brought gifts of prayer beads and the Koran as thanks for our help. It was the little girl who slipped her ring onto my finger while we played in the playroom, and the many compliments and “mashallah”s of  of the mothers as they saw the pictures of my own children as we talked before their children’s surgeries. It was the in the “What can I do to help you?” and ”Anything else you need?” I heard from dozens of volunteers each day.  It was even evident in the waiter who brought me an extra half a kilo of ice cream (in addition to the 1 kilo I ordered—which was already an outrageous amount) just to be hospitable. Not to mention, the invitations for dinner from parents or the medical students who treated us to dinner and gave us a tour of Amman. The spirit of welcomeness seemed to saturate the week and a half; it also permeated our communal meals of endless courses and generous portions.

I think what makes the lesson even more interesting is that I knew these people could have looked at me—a tall, blond, American—and made lots of assumptions about me based on the atrocious and trashy examples of American women in Western media.  Or judged me based on my appearance or evident religious differences. While quite modest by American standards, I would not be considered as modest by middle-Eastern standards, and I don’t wear a headscarf. Even women fully veiled did not treat me with any hint of disapproval. If they had any preconceptions or  judgments about me there was no evidence of this. Instead, I was only greeted with many smiles, compliments, and gestures of kindness.

Every place I travel I look for lessons, to let myself be changed by the experience. I certainly learned something in Jordan. In an ever cynical and sarcastic world, it was refreshing to be somewhere more genuine. To embrace this concept of hospitality, something that is not such a big part of our culture. We tend to be reserved, we often just expect everyone to conform to our casualness, and we don’t often go out of our way to be welcoming, especially when people are different or unfamiliar.

Ten days later, as I presented my passport upon exit, a different man smiled back and most sincerely said, “You are always welcome in Jordan.” I stepped back on a plane to New York with the taste of  fresh lemon(ade) with mint still in my mouth and the spirit of welcomeness in my heart.

Is American hospitality dead?  What have you learned from the hospitality of others? What meaningful experiences with hospitality have you had? How do you create a culture of hospitality in your home?

Related posts:

1. Saying Goodbye
2. Worldwide Roll Call
3. Sonnet Contest!

Farland tells the story of the Willie Handcart company from the perspectives of Captain Willie; Eliza Gadd, a non-Mormon traveling with her Mormon husband and family; and Baline Mortensen, a young girl sent from Denmark to travel in the company without her parents.

I love the way that David Farland embraces the moral complexities inherent in Willie handcart story. Good leaders make foolish choices, other good people follow them anyway, and many good people die as a result. Farland doesn’t whitewash any of the players in this story, but he is merciful in his characterization as well. I came away with a greater appreciation of their strengths because I was allowed to see their weaknesses too. For example, Captain Willie tells the pioneers that if they have faith, God will protect them from the elements and preserve their lives. But because I know the ending, his hopeful words are laced with irony and pain. As the story progresses he serves the people of his company selflessly, and comes to realize and weep over his share of responsibility for their suffering.

I am still thinking about this book. I’m wondering about why miracles happen, and when they happen. The handcart pioneers were promised miracles by Captain Willie and by Franklin D. Richards, and some of them happened. Not enough to prevent horrific suffering, though. Not enough to keep many from dying. And yet most of them emerged on the other side not bitter about the bad counsel that led them to journey, or resentful of their own faith, but grateful for the miracles they did see: the arrival of the rescue party just in time, the angels who kept them going at the very end, through the wintery Wyoming mountains.

I don’t believe that God wanted this to happen. I don’t think He desired so many of His saints to suffer. In the Book of Mormon the Ammonites are willing to be massacred again, and yet the Lord tells Ammon, “Get this people out of the land, that they perish not.” While He allows suffering, and honors it, I don’t think He delights in it. I think the tragedy was a result of eager, naive human error, not divine design.

But He has consecrated the sacrifice of these handcart pioneers to great good, because we still remember and honor their journey. Farland’s book is a powerful, honest account. It is exactly the kind of story that overcomes my pioneer story fatigue and makes me feel grateful that the handcart pioneers are part of our Mormon heritage.

In the Company of Angels is available through Farland’s website. There’s a Kindle edition at Amazon as well. I have also requested it at the Orem library, which has been great at getting many other Whitney finalists, so I hope it arrives there soon. Sensitivity rating: a very little mild swearing, a couple of gory descriptions, reference to rape. Nothing that felt gratuitous to me.

Related posts:

1. Whitney 2010 Nominees and Almost-Nominees
2. Whitney Award Predictions
3. Mother in Me on Whitney Awards Auction

This week, our band of scriptural sisters share how they’ve successfully managed their clinical depression. These personal experiences are being shared for general information purposes only and do not constitute advice, medical or otherwise. Please consult a health care professional with questions about specific measures of treatment.

Euodias: Taking medication with my first bout of depression really helped a lot. I took it for about 6 months. Right now medication has been a lifesaver, and I plan on taking it for at least 1 year this time. I would have taken medication more regularly in the past, but have felt uncomfortable doing so during pregnancy and breastfeeding.

Other things that have helped are making sure I get enough sleep, regular rigorous exercise, especially if is outdoors. Running really helps keep the anxiety at bay for me. I really like yoga and meditation. I have been amazed at how much they have helped.

Doing something fun with my family even though a lot needs to be done really helps too. After the birth of one of my children I was feeling overwhelmed with all there was to do and the depression was setting in. Going to the mountains with the kids and my husband and staying there all day with them, enjoying the sunshine was much better than trying to clean the house that day.

When I am depressed I don’t want to be around others, but forcing myself to be social helps. I know it will only get worse if I am not around people, so I really try to take those opportunities.

Being grateful for the little things helps me. I recently started writing in my journal each night the smallest of things that went right that day. It helps. One such moment came not long ago on a day I was particularly depressed. My brother called out of the blue to see how I was. I also read to my daughter for an hour. Those little things were big deals to me, things I wrote in my journal. I know my brother’s phone call was a tender mercy that day.

I’m a fan of therapy, but I couldn’t spend years in therapy, or even months on end. The first time my mom took me and I went a few times and that was it. Another time I tried to go consistently every week, but I found it tiring. I ended up sitting there trying to think of something to talk about. It was silly. I’ve realized if I feel like I need to talk to someone the best thing for me to do is make an appointment and go until I feel satisfied, and then move on.

I’ve only ever done cognitive therapy, changing my thought patterns, catching myself when I am thinking in ways that would cause me to feel more anxious and depressed. I’ve found it really helpful. It’s nice to get another perspective and then mull things over for weeks, months-or longer on my own. Through meaningful prayer, therapy, and patience, I’ve grown a lot.

Deborah: For me, for mild depression, many things help: good food, exercise, music, conversation, prayer, yoga, meditation, spiritual gatherings (church, temple, etc.), structured activity, time alone, sunlight and fresh air, vitamins, and many other “feel good” things that are obvious enough. In the past I’ve gone for considerable stretches of time (months) functioning just fine, with these measures as the only treatment for my low mood.

I know my depression is worsening when these things help less. I start to feel unreachable, untouchable. I still do as many of these feel-good things as I can, and they do help somewhat. But my capacity to function normally is increasingly compromised, and there’s a lot of mental and emotional pain. I require medication to avoid these spells at length. Even with medication they still come, but they are short (a few days instead of months) and I recover pretty quickly. Therapy helps quite a bit in conjunction with medication, and helps to a lesser degree without it–therapy without meds during moderate depression is certainly better than nothing, but there are diminishing returns.

When my depression is very bad, I do not have the capacity to pursue feel-good measures. All of my strength and energy is devoted to breathing, moving when I need to move, speaking when I need to speak. I sincerely wish I could cease to exist. Therapy is helpful only as an emergency release valve. I can’t engage in any productive mental or emotional effort in a therapeutic situation–all I can do is release toxicity by crying and talking in an incoherent, stream-of-consciousness way. Again, it’s better than nothing.

So far, having adequate dosage of the right medication has enabled me to avoid this suicidal-level depression. I will likely need medication for the rest of my life. There was a time that I strenuously resisted this possibility, but now that my depression is advancing (each episode is worse than the one before), I’m just grateful to have options.

Journalist Chris Rose wrote movingly about his experience with depression following hurricane Katrina. The whole article is excellent, and I love this quote in particular: “I hate being dependent on a drug. Hate it more than I can say. But if the alternative is a proud stoicism in the face of sorrow accompanied by prolonged and unspeakable despair–well, I’ll take dependency.”

Indeed.

Eve: Amen, Deborah, Amen.  Well said.  This latest of your responses captures it all–the “all” I’ve experienced.  It is disheartening, and a dr. told me common–that each dip, the serious ones get deeper and deeper over time–and thus those who fall, tend to fall faster and deeper with the intense bouts of depression.  All the more reason to do all one can to avoid them.  I appreciate reading your description.

The first time I went to a Dr. for depression–after two children and one on the way, I told him about the sadness I felt as a child, although there was no real reason I should have felt sadness then.  No abuse, did have a stable home life, etc.  I felt relief when he told me there’s actually a name for this childhood depression.

Even though I was finally convinced that I should see a dr. and address the concerns, I still felt for a long time that I would wake up and be “cured” one day.  I  kept thinking this was the last time I’d be depressed.  If I would just eat right–tried vegetarian, tried vegan, tried avoiding all refined sugars–I was sure I could cure the problem.  Now, while I know that healthy habits can sometimes keep the depression in check, it’s also a game of Russian Roulette to some extent.  Although I’ve tried, I cannot always pinpoint the start, determine the cause, or deflect every bout of depression.  That’s OK.  There will be days spent in sadness. There will be frustration.  There will be days with precious little energy–but we will all survive. Happiness will return.

Pacifying myself when times are hard, I tell myself that everything will be OK.  This feeling will not last forever.  It’s extremely difficult, because when depression hits me hardest I am very unhappy with myself, my spouse, and everything, and feel that all my choices have been poor ones.  I try to remember that these feelings are not authentic, but are skewed by the depression, and patiently, sometimes impatiently, wait for them to pass.

Priscilla: Sometimes I wonder if I ought to give drugs a longer go. But I think I will play out this homeopathic remedy, since I see other benefits, as well. It is a holistic approach, so other “ailments” are alleviated along with the depression. It’s supposed to take 3-7 years, and then you’re cured forever. I can tell it’s time for a visit to the doctor, though. When it’s a monumental effort to get out of bed, it’s time to change it up.

Eve: Priscilla, I would really like to hear more about your homeopathic remedy–what is it exactly?

I was extremely reluctant to take meds for many years.  What made it even more unappealing to me was that I would just mention to the dr. that I was feeling down and she’d have a prescription scribbled out before she’d even ask me any questions about my lifestyle.  So, it had to get to a point of deep desperation before I’d try meds.  I remember sitting in the corner in my basement bedroom talking on the phone to a dr. asking her in utter darkness, whispering, hoping the children wouldn’t hear, “what if I never feel better?”  There’s no way to describe how scary and dark that place, feeling, and question was for me.  I did get better. I did take meds.  Still don’t know if there’s a right or wrong regarding this.  I guess I don’t think there is.  I am open to other options, but continual suffering in unstable living (without meds or counseling), as I’ve observed in my own mother is not an appealing option to me.

Priscilla: There is absolutely no right or wrong way to treat depression. We do what we can for ourselves, what we think is best for the time. Thank God there are drugs that work! My primary care doctor is a naturopath, so when my depression got so bad I knew I was in trouble 2 years ago, she sent me to an osteopath because she can’t prescribe antidepressants. The osteopath prescribed Wellbutrin, which pulled me right up quickly and wonderfully, at least for two months. Oh, I should say that the main reason I use these kinds of doctors is because they take all the time it requires to figure out what is going on. My first appointment with the osteopath lasted about 1.5 hours as he made me talk and talk. He kept asking “What else?” and I kept telling him everything that was bugging me — the depression, my shoulder, stress incontinence, my skin, heart palpitations, on and on. I was getting frustrated, but his relentless probing finally pushed me into revealing the root situational cause (besides the chemistry) of the depression. So it felt like a really good therapy session, which in itself was helpful.

Anyway, do some reading on homeopathy. I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s basically treating like for like, sort of like you treat allergies or vaccinating, by injecting the offending thing into the body and letting the body heal or protect itself. I like it for 2 main reasons: there are no side effects, because it’s not a drug therapy. It either works or it doesn’t. I am still afraid of drugs, primarily because of what we DON’T know about their effects on us. And I like homeopathy because it’s a holistic treatment. Not only has my depression stabilized, but the heart palpitations are gone, and most of the other things that were bugging me. Each remedy is custom made for the patient, based on your individual needs. Plus, it’s cheap and easy to take: a couple of little tiny sweet balls every morning.

I still have to do all the things I know to do to help myself: eat well, exercise, pray, socialize, etc. I can still get caught in the delusions of depression. I still have good days and bad days.
I have to watch myself to know when it’s time to adjust my remedy. I just made the appointment today, because I can tell it’s time.

Talking with you all is empowering, too. Thanks, my sisters.

Eve: My sister is a rock for me when I’ve had my deepest depressions.  She listens.  She listens.  She listens some more.  She is patient.  She shows love, but also speaks honestly to me.  Sisters in my ward were helpful by writing me notes expressing their love and concern, even if they didn’t know me well.  Friends were ready and willing to listen.

Abigail: I agree that listening and loving is key. What is difficult is when people (as in, my husband) offer solutions or try to fix things–and husbands typically want to fix things. Thankfully, my husband is getting better at listening and trying to understand my feelings without coming up with solutions. Even though my feelings might not make sense to an outsider and I might even be acting like a madwoman, having someone listen to me pour out my feelings and then validate those feelings (“That must be so frustrating,” “I see why you’re feeling sad,” “I can tell that this is so painful for you,” etc) is such a relief. Depression tends to isolate you in your own despondent and self-critical thoughts, so just having someone listen to you, validate your feelings, and love you helps so much. Feeling validated and listened to is part of why counseling helps.

Others who are not in my immediate circle have also helped by just being loving, kind, and sensitive. An offer to babysit, an invitation to lunch, a phone call to check in, a squeeze of the hand, a sincere compliment–any genuine kind and nonjudgmental interaction helps. When I was going through my depression in college–and I’m sure it showed in my face–one day someone left me a note on my desk that said I had a lovely smile and wished me a happy day. I never found out who wrote it, but I still remember how much that note affected me, how it brought me to tears and lifted my spirits that day. Someone had noticed me and had gone out of their way to be kind. I was worthy of attention. It’s these little thoughtful, loving attentions that let you know someone cares about and is thinking about you that can pierce the darkness.

I think most of us would agree that the worst thing someone can do is to tell you to pull yourself together. A depressed person already feels guilty and weak for not being able to function as they would like, so feeling criticized and being told to just buck up–as if you are choosing to be depressed–only fuels the “I’m a loser” mentality and feeds the depression. Also, if I’m severely depressed, being reminded that I have much to be grateful for, being told to look on the bright side, having my feelings discounted in an attempt to cheer me up–well, that doesn’t help, either. I already know that I am greatly blessed so I *shouldn’t* be depressed, yet I am, and therein lies the guilt. No one tells a diabetic person to just buck up, yet we do that to clinically depressed people all the time.

Lydia: Amen to all of the above.  Being loved, listened to, and validated in my feelings is so healing, especially if they can help me honestly face those feelings and accept them myself.  That’s the paradox of negative emotion–it only starts to heal when you give it your honest attention.  Why does that sound like a paradox?  We wouldn’t expect cancer or diabetes (or even the flu) to go away if we ignore it.

That’s why “count your blessings” doesn’t work.  Neither does “at least it isn’t like [fill in the pioneers, sister So-and-So who has MS and two autistic children, sister So-and-So who lost three husbands and a son].”  Comments like these try to tell me why I shouldn’t feel that bad, distracting me from being honest about how I am feeling.  Having my feelings validated gives me power, frees me to start making choices to live healthily with my depression.

Diabetes may be a good parallel here.  It requires constant attention and monitoring, combined with appropriate choices to help manage it and live a healthy life.  Anything that distracts you from recognizing and attending to the disease is harmful.  Anything that supports you in taking proper care of yourself is helpful.

My husband’s support in this is extremely important.  He doesn’t get frustrated by things I don’t get done.  He encourages me to take care of myself–like yesterday, when I read all day, he brought dinner (which he made) in to me.   He never bugs me if dinner is late or nonexistent or lame.  He’s generous with compliments when I make a delicious meal or have a good mommy moment.  He picks up the slack, does the dishes every night, gets the kids going on big whole-house clean-ups.  He asks how I’m feeling.  He accepts me exactly as I am.  This is probably the single most helpful thing any friend could do.

Feeling like there are people who not only will listen, but will even take care of me, also helps a lot.  Friends who stop by with food or a treat or to help around the house.  My mom calling just to see how I’m doing.  My husband shouldering his load in the house and being willing to shoulder some of mine.  Somebody taking me out to lunch.  Moms do so much caring for others, it’s good to sometimes feel taken care of.

Euodias: My family is supportive when they understand I am not able to function as I usually do-the house won’t be as clean, dinner won’t be ready when my husband gets home. Sometimes I really just need to retreat to my room. It is nice to be able to talk to my siblings about my depression, as they are very understanding. Is is helpful to me when my husband just listens as I describe to him the pit I feel in my stomach–or the heightened sense of fear I feel when I am anxious. Just knowing that he knows how I am feeling is helpful.

As for what others (not family) can do to help, I really would like people to simply leave me alone about it. I don’t like to tell everyone about the details of my life. I had a kind YW leader who stopped by once to take me to lunch.  I hadn’t even showered-remember I was sitting in the darkness of the basement. I wasn’t feeling great and going to lunch at the park with her kids and talking to her sure didn’t sound fun. We weren’t close, and we weren’t about to suddenly become close. I know sometimes people feel they are helping, but if you aren’t family, or my best friend who has been through it, I don’t want to talk to you about it! (Unless you’re my Segullah sisters who have been there–or to the entire world anonymously on a blog-oh the irony!) Maybe it’s the pressure I feel, that people will then make suggestions of what I should do-or try and fix me.

Lydia: Treatment is certainly a complicated, ongoing journey.

Light therapy has been my first line of defense, because my depression is largely seasonal.  My “winter” lasts Sept-May.  I use a blue light by Apollo, now Philips I think, available seasonally (and greatly discounted) at Costco.  Somehow scientists have been able to isolate which portion of the light spectrum is most responsible for telling our brains to suppress melatonin (the sleepy hormone) and release serotonin (the happy and awake hormone).  This focused spectrum provides very efficient therapy.

Just thirty minutes of light every morning pulls me up out of the depths, as long as I keep a very regular sleep-wake schedule.  It’s a challenge, now that I have teenagers, to get myself to bed on time.   And it’s often hard to convince myself that sleeping in on Sat. morning will make me feel worse, not better.  Other than that, it’s a very easy treatment.  The light box is completely portable, so I’ve been able to use it while making and eating breakfast, doing my hair and makeup, and even driving kids to school.

For me, though, light therapy hasn’t been a complete treatment.  It takes away the crushing fatigue.  I can shower, eat, feed my family, do my church callings, take care of all my basic responsibilities, with just light therapy.  But nothing’s fun or enjoyable.  I don’t actually feel happy.

I’ve tried a bunch of different things to fill that gap.  I felt fabulous on Yaz (birth control), until I started getting blood clots.  I tried Zoloft for just one day and felt so completely disoriented that I never took it again.

Oddly, I’ve never tried the most basic mental health drug, Prozac.  For several years we were trying to get pregnant, so Prozac was out.  By the time that era ended, we were applying and paying for our own health insurance.  With my husband and son already taking Prozac (depression runs thick in our family on both sides), some insurances were rejecting us and all increased our premium.  So I kept looking for non-traditional alternatives, including supplements and lifestyle changes.

For a supplement I’ve settled on 5-HTP, an amino acid that increases serotonin production.  Most formulas require you to take it on a completely empty stomach–meaning 3-6 hours after eating anything.  That’s tough to do, but luckily I found one (at Costco again!) that you can take with food.  It’s a higher dose than I need, so I take it every other day.  It adds that extra boost of good cheer that I was looking for, with no side effects except for vivid dreams.

To feel really good, though, I also need daily exercise and meditation (for me, yoga-like stretching and breathing), as well as close friends who I can talk really openly with.  Really being listened to–by someone who clearly remembers who I really am, and isn’t distracted by whatever I might say, who loves me exactly as I am–is one of the best treatments around.

I also do much better when I’m realistic about what I can do in a given day, when I say “no” and don’t allow a day to become overscheduled, when I’m gentle with myself about how much housework and cooking I’ll do.  I do better when I set aside time every day, kind of like an appointment with myself, to do things I really enjoy, to rest and relax.

Recently I’ve also been learning about noticing, and allowing myself to experience, emotions as they come.  So instead of trying to talk myself out of being angry or afraid or sad, I let the feeling wash over me right when it comes (if possible).  When I first learned about this, I couldn’t imagine what it even meant.  But with a little practice, I’m beginning to understand.

For example, a few weeks ago I felt a sudden rush of fear over our shaky finances.  I was alone in the car.  Instead of deep breathing it away, or turning it into anger, or trying to ignore it, I paid attention to the feeling.  I let it wash through me, carry me.  It felt like the terror of falling, not fearing the crash at the end, but just falling forever without stopping.  It was extremely frightening and overwhelming, almost more than I could take.  But then it was over, and I could think clearly again.  Turning my mind to our finances I found that, though the situation hadn’t changed and I still felt concerned, I was free of the overwhelming fear.

Beginning to learn how to be present in my emotions–so that they don’t become bottled up, saved as future, ongoing anxiety and fatigue–has been a powerful tool for me.  It doesn’t mean I have to rage and yell if I’m angry with someone.  I don’t have to do anything but accept the feeling and feel it.  This is very new for me–I’m still practicing.

So in addition to light therapy and 5-HTP, lifestyle management is very important in my “treatment” regimen.  This includes daily exercise and meditation, talking openly with friends and really being listened to, keeping my self-expectations realistic, making time each day for enjoyment and rest, and allowing myself to experience emotions as they come.

(It occurs to me just now that giving my full attention to positive emotions, letting them wash over me in the same way, could also be great.)

I have to give credit to the Lord throughout this journey.  Most of these ideas came my way–whether through spouse, friends, books, or the internet–as direct results of prayer.  The Lord has been my companion, helping me know what to pray for, putting me in the path of just the right people or information as I need it and am ready for it.  He has truly lightened my burdens even while I was still in bondage, just as he did the people of Alma.

It’s been very slow and step-by-step, with lots of slipping backwards (and I’m sure there will be more of that to come), but I’m at a spot right now where I can look back and see how each piece of the healing puzzle fell into it’s place at just the right time.  Writing for this forum has been one of the things that helped get me in that place where I can see more clearly.

I’ve become very aware of His hand in my life over the last few weeks.  Remember in an earlier post when I said I wanted to understand how turning it over to Him works, wanted to feel Him succoring me personally in just the ways that I need?  I think I’m beginning to be able to see it–not that He wasn’t helping me all along; I just didn’t know how to see it.

Abigail: Lydia, I love everything you just said. I’ve never heard of the supplement you mentioned, and I definitely want to check it out.

When I was first diagnosed with depression and referred to a therapist, my therapist suggested I take an antidepressant. He explained that the work required for successful therapy requires energy, and the antidepressant would help me have the energy I needed to do that work. l resisted taking medication, however–I was thinking of trying to get pregnant one more time. So I did counseling only. And the counseling was very helpful. I noticed that my moods always improved after a therapy session, and my dark days gradually became a little less dark and a little less frequent. I realize now that had I taken medication as well, I probably would have surfaced a lot more quickly. But I did eventually pull out of the depression.

While I was going to counseling I also read Feeling Good by David Burns, and it helped me recognize and work on negative thought patterns that were affecting my moods. My counselor helped me to see that my thoughts in large measure dictated my moods, so by changing my thought patterns, I could change my feelings. This worked sometimes, but it was often very difficult to control or change my thoughts. It wasn’t until several years later, after I had stopped going to counseling but was starting to feel depressed again, that I finally consulted a doctor and started on Lexapro. And within just a week or two I noticed a change in my thought patterns, a lessening of my anxiety, and an overall feeling of increased well being–and I wasn’t in counseling at the time. I’ve realized that, for me, there’s definitely a chemical/biological component, and antidepressants help me.

I’m still taking Lexapro but recently increased my dosage, because I’ve been struggling with depression for months now and my original dosage just wasn’t cutting it. Since increasing my dosage I’ve noticed a marked improvement in my moods–just a general sense of feeling lighter, overall, and feeling better able to cope with my current challenges. So I know medication makes a difference.

I think, then, that the most effective therapy for me would be medication and talk therapy at the same time, so I really should try that! Other things that help me are exercise, taking long walks, talking things through with my husband and talking to–and laughing with–my sister, and doing something I enjoy–like Lydia said, scheduling in some downtime. I tend to overschedule myself, so I have to give myself permission to say no when I’m feeling frazzled. In other words, taking care of and nurturing myself are key to helping me feel emotionally healthy. When I don’t take care of myself, I suffer and my family suffers, so I am learning that it’s not selfish to nurture myself.

And, like Lydia, I’ve found relief and help through prayer, scripture study, priesthood blessings, and visits to the temple. These things have not magically cured my depression, but they’ve given me strength and comfort along the way–glimpses of light–and helped ease my burdens. I do feel that the Lord is mindful of me and my struggles, and I’ve seen blessings come from trying to establish righteous patterns in my life–even though I’m not perfect. I know that He understands my pain, and that He is succoring me.

Anna: This is more on last week’s topic, but interesting nonetheless. Apparently at least some research suggests low serotonin=greater spirituality. Here’s a quick read article summarizing findings, and the actual study.

Deborah: That’s fascinating, Anna. Thanks so much for the links. Just read the easy article. When I’m medicated enough to not have pronounced depression, I really struggle with spiritual sensitivity. That bugs me. I expect that when I’m very depressed, but when I’m feeling good I don’t expect to feel cut off from God. I’ve spent plenty of time in an in-between place where I feel quite spiritual and my depression is present but not debilitating. But as I’ve gotten older and my depression has worsened, that more balanced place has been more and more elusive. I tank really quickly. And so I’m opting to stay safely on the “not depressed” side of the line, but that definitely comes at a cost.

Lydia: While we’re on the subject of treatment, I want to mention a little pet peeve of mine.  People often quote the statistics about the number of Mormon women who take anti-depressants as if it means that Mormon women are (tragically) more depressed than average. First, that has not been my experience.  We spent seven years in grad school at UC Berkeley, surrounded by dear friends who were not Mormon.  If there is a difference between our non-LDS and our LDS friends, it is that proverbial “glow”–that sense of purpose and light the gospel brings into lives and countenances.  That is not to say that our non-LDS friends were downtrodden–they were mostly happily married with beautiful children and purposeful, education-centered homes much like ours.

Anyway, I think there are many alternative explanations for the anti-depressant statistic.  It may be that Mormon women seek treatment more often because they are surrounded by a strong support structure–both family and community–that helps them see their own needs more clearly and get help.  It may be that, because our gospel teaches us that God intends us to have joy in this life, we have higher expectations of how positive, energetic, and clear-minded we should be able to feel, so when we don’t, we’re more inclined to do something about it.  These expectations may be unrealistic, but that doesn’t mean we’re actually more depressed than the most people.

I think it can be very damaging to assume that there is something about the church that makes people depressed.  Yes, the church asks a lot of us; yes, it often feels impossible to keep up with those expectations; yes, we do have a culture of hard work, self-improvement, and sacrifice; certainly, as a culture, we haven’t emphasized the role of the atonement enough–though I think that in the last decade or so we’ve made huge strides in that direction.  But this same gospel, and the church that puts it into action, are also the source of our greatest comfort and joy, relief and peace.  I strongly believe that, whatever weaknesses our church culture has, they are far outweighed by the direct benefits to my daily life.  I do not believe that, in sum, the church adds to my depression; quite the reverse.  I am supported and sustained not only by the teachings of the gospel but also by the organizations and support-structures of the church.  Let’s remember that more people taking anti-depressants could actually be not an indicator of tragic cultural baggage, but instead a good sign of our strong support and care for each other and a positive desire to find more joy in our lives.

Priscilla: Thanks, Lydia! I’d never thought about it, but I like your positive spin on the stats of depression among Mormon women. Well said.

Deborah: Lydia, I don’t want to blame the church for relatively high levels of depression in the LDS population, either. I believe one reason why surveys show a higher incidence of antidepressant use in areas with lots of Mormons is because Mormons don’t self-medicate with drugs and alcohol. (Food is another story, though.) In my experience, church culture has made it significantly harder to seek treatment for depression, but looking at the big picture, there’s no question: being a member of the church blesses my life enormously. If I wasn’t confident that I come out way ahead living as an active LDS, I would’ve chosen a different path by now.

Euodias: I agree with both Lydia and Deborah, I don’t think at all the church is to blame for women and anti-depressent use (except for as mentioned–feeling we need to be cheery)

Deborah: I’m really grateful for what my ward family has done to support me during my low times. In fact, my RS president stopped by just yesterday (she called first, which I appreciated) to see how I was doing. She knows winters can be particularly hard for me, and she’s been keeping tabs since the fall, in a non-intrusive way–a sincere “I’m just thinking about you and wondering how you are” phone call about once a month, max. I’ve told my VTs about my condition and they check in with me too, from time to time. It’s been a really wonderful experience because even just a few years ago, I deeply resented anyone who tried to poke their nose in my business–I didn’t consider myself clinically depressed, I wasn’t receiving treatment, I didn’t want anyone to worry about me or (even worse) feel sorry for me when I struggled. At the times I really needed help and support, I wouldn’t let anyone know how I felt. I was too ashamed. But things are much different now. During my most recent major episode I was frank with a few sisters that I knew genuinely cared about me, and they were very kind and supportive–letting me know they were there for me even if I couldn’t think of any way that anyone could help. (That question–what can I do to help?–feels like a terrible burden when I’m significantly depressed.) Just knowing that people were out there, sending good vibes my way, was comforting. It didn’t lessen my symptoms, but it was appreciated nonetheless.

One afternoon last year, in the midst of a serious episode, I was very, very low. I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it through the afternoon. I was doing these tiny loads of laundry just so I would have something to distract me every 30 minutes. It was reassuring to know that I was going to put the wet clothes in the dryer in just a little while, and that then I could put the dry clothes away–it killed some of the interminable time. The clock just crawled. This might sound weird, because housekeeping is generally the last thing I want to do when I’m depressed. It takes a monumental effort to clear the table and load the dishwasher and gather the dirty underwear. But this most recent episode was different.  It was a terrible burden to exist, and I was very frightened. I wasn’t able to do any of the usual things I do to distract myself (read, write, eat, talk, watch TV). I was in this eternal void and I was so scared. The laundry was all I could hold on to.

Anyway, this afternoon the phone rang, and it was a sister from the ward, a woman I knew pretty well because I’d been her VT for a few years in a past time. We weren’t close friends, but we’d gotten behind each others’ Sunday masks. I almost didn’t answer the phone because I could barely speak in full sentences those days. But I was so scared, I was desperate to hear a human voice other than my kids’. So I answered the phone. She said, “I’m just calling because I’ve been concerned about you. I saw you on Sunday and you looked really sad, and I just wanted you to know that you’re on my mind.” And of course I started sobbing. I was so relieved to have this lifeline to another human being, even if only for a few minutes. I wasn’t able to talk to her–I managed to choke out “I’m really depressed” and that was it. And it was kind of hard for her to know what to say in response, because again, we weren’t super close, and what can you do when someone’s unraveling on the phone? But she expressed her sincere sympathy and didn’t try to cheer me up and just acknowledged how awful it must be. And that helped. Nobody could do anything to make it better, and I was so grateful for people who didn’t try to be the friend-who-makes-it-all-better. When someone is in that much pain, it’s arrogant to think that you can magically take it away, although it’s sweet of you to wish you could.

Another time, a week or so later, a ward member called to ask me to take a small assignment, and I simply said I couldn’t. There was a bit of an awkward pause, and I briefly explained my situation, and she was very kind and gracious. Likewise, when another ward member called to remind me about an assignment my young-ish daughter needed to complete, I completely lost my nerve on the phone and just started sobbing, and she asked me if I was depressed and I said I was. And she volunteered to help my daughter finish her assignment, and I was extremely grateful.

My close friends did a lot to help me. They checked in with me by phone every few days, briefly and sensitively. They bought me groceries that made meal preparation easier (and put the groceries away for me, too). I avoided actual company as often as I could, but one time when I tried to help myself feel better by visiting with a couple of friends at one of their homes, and after 5 minutes of staring at the floor began to sob uncontrollably, my friends cried with me, and put their arms around me, and listened to over an hour of incoherent, despairing babble. And they spoke to me gently and firmly about what was real and what was distortion. I will never forget that afternoon. They didn’t try to fix anything, they just sat in the middle of the awfulness with me.

Abigail: Deborah, I don’t have much to add except to say that this is just heartwrenching and beautiful. You capture so well what that isolation and desperation feels like. I agree that it is so difficult to open yourself up to those who aren’t in your immediate close circle and accept or ask for help–you feel too ashamed. Yet others do want to help. Maybe the best they can do is check in, let you know that they care, and leave it up to you to decide whether you want any other assistance (but of course, you won’t ask for it, if you are like me!). When others are understanding and nonjudgmental when you do have the courage to say that you are struggling and can’t fulfill a certain assignment, that helps immensely. Small, kind acts of service–leaving a note, dropping off a loaf of bread, etc,–can help counteract those feelings of isolation and loneliness. And having a close, trusted friend who is just willing to listen to and cry with you–I think that is the best panacea for an aching heart, and loving evidence of loyal, true friendship.

Lydia: Thank you for sharing with such descriptive detail, Deborah.  Being willing to be so real illuminates the topic better than any amount of talking around it.  Sorry you’ve had to go through this in order to be able to write so beautifully about it.  I’m grateful you had people who knew how to be there for you.

Deborah: Thanks for the love, friends. I want to add some thoughts on the other hand, though, particularly after revisiting Euodias’s remarks about wanting privacy. I totally understand that desire and that need.

In times past, it made my life harder, not easier, to include ward members in my inner circle of trusted individuals. So I didn’t. That has changed over the past 5 years or so, though. I don’t have any family within 800 miles, and even if I did, my relationships with my siblings are even more complicated than my relationships with my RS sisters. So as my depression has worsened, I’ve really needed to lean on ward members. I wouldn’t do so if it didn’t result in a net gain–not for the kingdom of God, but for me personally. When I’m in crisis mode, I don’t want to hear about how I need to allow people to serve me so that they can have spiritual experiences. The last thing I need when my life is falling apart is guilt over not welcoming acquaintances into my very personal struggles. I don’t care if it means my VTs lose an opportunity to learn about service and charity.

Seriously–that may sound harsh, but when I’m unraveling, I’m not willing to push myself even farther over the edge in order to serve some greater good for others or for the community. People who are in a lot of pain need to do what works for them, even if that means locking their doors and not answering the phone until they feel better, thereby depriving others of chances to learn Important Lessons. In LDS circles we often cast a desire for privacy as a bad thing, a prideful thing. Certainly, pride has intensified my desire for privacy at times, but that’s not the only reason why I may choose to be circumspect in what I share with ward members.

I do believe there are many LDS women out there who would benefit greatly from being more upfront about their struggles. I am a huge advocate for more candor in RS, for example. Heck, one of the main reasons why we created Segullah was to encourage and allow LDS women to “get real” with each other. But I advocate for that change only insomuch as it benefits individual women themselves.

All of this is to say, to Euodias and anyone else to whom it may apply:  If you’re truly better off keeping the curtains shut at certain times, keep them shut and ignore anyone who tries to make you feel bad about it.

Lydia: This is such a great conversation, because of the way we, collectively, look at the issues from some many different perspectives.

Euodias: In my own self absorption I forgot completely about a tender mercy last week, which was a terrible, terrible week. Last Wed I thought my one saving grace I could at least look forward to therapy. I dropped my toddler off at the babysitter and went, only to find out I had the wrong week. I was devastated. Later that day I went VT. I haven’t had a partner for awhile. I was finally assigned one but she couldn’t go with me. That was a blessing. The month before this sister I visited had told me a little about her own struggle with depression. I didn’t really open up then. But last week she could tell something was really, really wrong–despite my tries to hide it. Our sisterly talk lasted an hour and a half as we shared our different struggles with medication, side effects, feelings of despair. I left feeling grateful for her, feeling like Heavenly Father knew I needed her, and knew I needed to be alone with her. It just really is hard for me to open up to people about my depression. But with this sister it isn’t.

Anna: The friends who have been the most helpful to me are the ones who recognize when I’m struggling and just quietly become more present in my life. They give hugs, they offer me healthy food or little surprises that will brighten my day, they create time for me to take off from my family responsibilities, they remind me that my life is worthwhile and my contributions are meaningful, they listen. My husband’s face is like sunshine to me when I’m depressed. He is always optimistic. He reminds me that he loves me and that things are going to get better.

With mild depression I can manage through exercise, prayer, sunlight, and so forth. For severe depression it has taken medication. There are many supplements that I have either used or seen used. Amino acids like tryptophan, theanine, and sam-e, also Vitamin B6 off the top of my head. There are many more that help with anxiety. The thing about these is that they are potent in impacting neurotransmitter activity–its not like taking a multivitamin–so you do need to do your homework and coordinate with your doctor. They can interact with prescription medications in some cases. And depression is such a dangerous illness anyway, so it is always good to have some objective help when your moods and thinking are off enough to require medication.

I also have to watch my thinking, because I find that depression triggers negative thought patterns and irrational thoughts, and then when I allow that to continue it feeds the depression, creating a downward cycle. That’s why cognitive behavioral therapy is helpful for lots of people with depression.

Priscilla: Deborah, thanks so much for permission to sit in solitude for as long as I need to. Of all the things I’ve tried over the years in working with my depresion, solitude has been the most helpful, with the most long-lasting results.

About 15 years ago, I was feeling desperately depressed, so I took desperate measures. I left my family of husband and 4 kids at home for a month and went and holed up in my aunt and uncle’s empty house in Florida. I instructed that no one call me. I was isolated from everyone but God. I lived very strictly that month, trying to regain control over my inner life and find my balance and purpose, trying to find a way to go on. I put myself on a detailed daily schedule, which included a strict diet, faith practices such as scriptures and journaling, outdoor walks, lots of prayer, reading. I learned to meditate, sitting for hours looking out the glass doors at the river, focusing inward and upward. I allowed myself no noise, no TV. I went to church each Sunday in a local ward where no one knew me and that was the only contact I had with people for that entire month. Once or twice, I went and sat silently on the beach and stared at the waves. The experience of simply stopping for a period of time was very healing. I came home with revealed purpose and renewed faith.

I do wonder if I would have the discipline to do that now, to regiment my time so strictly. But I do have the guts to leave temporarily, to save myself.  I feel no guilt about it, then or ever. I should say, too, that I have a husband who never objects to anything I want to do. He’s not a good therapist for me, not a good talker, but he does support me in taking care of myself and he knows that I require lots of solitude. This is not ever easy to arrange, but possible, and for me mandatory to my mental health.

I go away a lot, alone. There is a Cistercian monastery nearby (there is one in Huntsville, Utah, too) and I sometimes go there for a few days of silence with the monks. They have spartan guestrooms for just this purpose, because they understand how crucial it is to get quiet and reconnect to God and to yourself.

Sometimes I go to a beach house. Last month, I took a two-week driving trip through California by myself, which included visiting family, but also incorporated plenty of solitude. It’s better if I do this regularly, as prevention of depression, rather than letting it build to desperation.

Why does solitude work so well? Because of what happens between me and my Jesus when I am alone with Him. Certainly, the biological sources of depression have to be addressed, through drugs or homeopathy or some other means. And solitude is not always the answer; sometimes I need to party or make music or talk to my best friends (i.e., my best therapists.) But to really get real with myself, to get quiet enough to hear His voice and feel His love, I need solitude.

I don’t know how to explain the connection I feel with Jesus. But it is my lifesaver. I know Him. I know He knows me. I am saved, in every sense of the word, by His grace. Depression is the cross I bear. It doesn’t mean He doesn’t love me or that I am somehow living wrong. It is simply my opportunity to learn to be like Him. I do not resent depression. I do not like it, but I see its potential as a divine gift in my life. It humbles me, and sends me straight into the arms of Jesus. I rely wholly on His merits and mercy. Sometimes I wonder if the root of my depression is just this awful separation from my Savior. I long to be Home. It hurts and befuddles me to live in this world, in this chemically unbalanced body. In solitude, I can more easily recall how it feels to be home. It doesn’t really make this life easier, but it does bring comfort.

Lydia: Priscilla, I’m only just beginning to envision how Jesus truly can make our burdens feel light to us.  Thanks for inspiring us to earnestly seek to know Him.

Part IV of this series will focus on how depression impacts family relationships. We’ll be hearing from several women whose close loved ones (spouses, parents) suffer from depression. Look for this post a week from today, Sunday March 21.

Part V, our final post in this series, will focus on parenting children with depression. It will be published the last Sunday in March.

Related posts:

1. Crazy Club
2. UP CLOSE: Depression Roundtable Series Overview
3. Depression Roundtable, Part II: Depression and Spirituality

Monday, March 22, 7 p.m.: Claremont Graduate University
Featuring Susan Scott, Lisa Van Orman Hadley, Joanna Brooks, Holly Welker, Elisa Pulido

Tuesday, March 23, 7 p.m.: Arizona State University
Featuring Judith Curtis, Whitney Mower, Whitney Nelson, Danielle Dubrasky, Joanna Brooks, Susan Scott, Lisa Van Orman Hadley, Holly Welker

Thursday, March 25, 5 p.m.: Southern Utah University
Featuring Zoe Murdock, Judith Curtis, Whitney Mower, Whitney Nelson, Danielle Dubrasky, Joanna Brooks, Susan Scott, Lisa Van Orman Hadley, Holly Welker

Friday, March 26, 12 noon: Utah Valley University
Featuring Julie Nichols, Lee Mortenson, Terisa Humiston, Whitney Nelson, Whitney Mower, Judith Curtis, Elizabeth Pinborough, Kathryn Lynard Soper, Cassandra Eddington, Joanna Brooks, Zoe Murdock, Lisa Van Orman Hadley, Susan Scott, Danielle Dubrasky, Laura Nielson Baxter

Saturday, March 27, 7 p.m.: University of Utah
Featuring Holly Welker, Elizabeth Pinborough, Lisa Van Hadley, Victoria Burgess, Kathryn Lynard Soper, Joanna Brooks, Zoe Murdock, Cassie Eddington, Susan Scott, Judith Curtis, Whitney Nelson, Whitney Mower, Terisa Humiston, Danielle Dubrasky, Laura Nielson Baxter

Some Segullah readers may be surprised to see writers from other Mormon denominations in this line-up. Others might wonder they’d feel at home amongst the scholars, feminists, and professional writers in this company. I asked Joanna to describe what this event has to offer a mainstream, average-Jane Relief Society sister, and this is her reply:

It’s really important to us that Segullah readers know that this event is about celebrating the beauty and richness of the Mormon tradition.  We want Segullah readers to come and share their own thoughts and responses and contribute their writings to the “Our Voices, Our Visions” archive we’ll be building and donating to the University of Utah library.   Whatever differences there are between Mormon women–whether we think of ourselves as plain Janes or scholars, professional writers or amateurs, feminists or conservatives (or some combination of these!)–are far outweighed by the strength of our common experiences and heritage.

Maybe we do ourselves a disservice if we let the differences between us get in the way of positive shared experiences.  Just speaking from my own experience, I am a scholar, feminist, and writer, but I am also deeply connected to Mormon women who are stay at home moms and have more conservative outlooks on life.  They do a great job at loving and accepting me, and I value and love them tremendously as well. When I write, I write to express my love for the whole of our tradition and community.

We hope all Mormon women who attend this event will come away feeling a new sense of joy and pride in being a Mormon woman in the twenty-first century.

Indeed. This is a groundbreaking opportunity to build community and celebrate achievements amongst a colorful variety of Mormon women, and I’m honored to be included.  If you’d like more information, read my interview with Joanna at BCC and check out the group’s website, which includes bios of all participants. Then mark your calendars and get ready for an awesome literary experience–I’d love to see you there!

Related posts:

1. FREE Literary Conference
2. AML acknowledges Segullah for its contribution to Mormon Lit
3. Terryl Givens speaking at AML Conference. And it’s free!

It’s birthday season in our family—nine in the next seven weeks, beginning with my husband’s this Tuesday. In preparation, I added scotch tape and wrapping paper to the running Walmart list on the fridge and I bought extra butter and powdered sugar at the grocery store last week. All the better to keep the birthday cake supply constant, you know. After the next seven weeks, I anticipate that we will all be fatter, poorer, and, well, older.

I must admit that, although my own birthday is a fun excuse for demanding my favorite foods and a reprieve from dinner dishes, in actuality, it doesn’t mean much. Like many of you, I’m sure, I don’t really keep track of my age all that well. Maybe it’s a purposeful oversight on my part, given that my husband is two years younger than me. Or maybe it’s just that it doesn’t matter what the number is, but what the feeling is. I’ve always loved Sandra Cisneros’s short story “Eleven” in her book Woman Hollering Creek. The narrator sums up birthdays and age for me perfectly:

“What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And you are–underneath the year that makes you eleven.

Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five. And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.”

Today, I anticipate feeling 20 after I complete my morning run (unless my knees start hurting again, in which case, I’ll probably feel 35). And when I reach for another cookie this afternoon, I may feel 9 and subconsciously look over my shoulder for my mother, who always had a third eye for which of her seven children were inhaling the fruits of her labors.

What about you? What age do you feel best fits you right now?

Related posts:

1. Stuff, Stuff, Stuff
2. Goodbye Old Ward!
3. A Sense of Who They Are Missing

Poetry represents my first concrete, unpleasant realisation that language could be mean.  My teacher opened my mind to the beauty of poetry, so readily created in six little lines of rhyme, in something called (so delightfully to a besotted seven year old) a “lim-er-ick”. The giddiness lasted 10 minutes, until Mrs Sumpton told the whole class to make up a limerick about someone – and all but two of my classmates wrote a limerick about me. Kellie. Jelly. Telly. Belly. Oh, the inhumanity.

and in my bumbling fearful heartbreak I
find myself as useless in consolation as
I imagine; no more, no less … I loathe this
mortal question

Years passed, and I still wrote poetry (though not limericks if I could avoid it). I even took a poetry class at university and enjoyed every angst hounded syllable of it. I have several favourite Australian poems memorised, and songs that I classify as poetry with music. Nowadays, I read poems if they happens to be included in what I’m reading – generally through my Segullah journal subscription. But I worry that I just “don’t get it”, that the greater meaning is slipping past me, that I’m too dumb or trying too hard. Are poems (and all their lyrical layers) actually simple to understand?

in easy silence, tucking corners easily and
smoothing out the years of complication.

I love words. I love the way that some people can string them together just so to sear a picture in my imagination;

and someday you will run to me with
muddy hands and
pull on my shirt and
lay your head in that warm place between
my neck and my shoulder and

or share a relationship;

Rippling syllables, staccato-like words,
round his soft ears as he pretends to bend
around my life and understand. He sees me,

or a thought;

The quality exceeds the sum total of addends.
Add you up again—
and consider multiplication.

or a question;

Did she walk reluctant or
Grasp with arms open
To have her name forever
Braided with tragedy?

or pull my thoughts to the deeper in everyday

Silver lines snake up my belly
and my daughter claims them
with childlike pride and I’ve

I’m not a poet, and I know it. Like envying people who can sing in tune and on stage, I wish that I could create the music, the cascade of phrase and emotion into such precise, stunningly packaged morsels. But I can’t.

O that I were an angel, and could have the wish of mine heart…
…But behold, I… do sin in my wish; for I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted unto me.

But Lord, for the effort, and beauty, and connection that such talented women put into their poetry, I’m glad that somehow, somewhere, they are creating something that simply takes my breath away in connection and admiration.

Alleluia.

Do you like poetry? What do/don’t you like about poetry? Do you understand poems easily? Do you write poetry? Do you count song lyrics as poetry? What is poetry to you? What are some of your favourite poems, poets or poetesses?

Related posts:

1. Haiku Away!
2. To Hope For That Which Is Not Seen
3. Now Accepting Entries

I was talking with a friend who has been undergoing treatment for cancer.  She commented that it’s been hard to reconcile the polarity that everything has changed and yet nothing has changed. Everything–her perspective, her sense of herself, of security, the new focus on healing–has changed.  Yet she looks out her window and kids are still going to school, the seasons change as always, life goes on. Living with both realities, she said, is difficult but comforting.

She said it reminded her of a rabbinic story she heard in her childhood,  an old midrash about a sage who always kept two notes–both quotes from scripture–on his person, one in each of his coat pockets. The first one reminded him that “the world was created for you.” God set this glorious table of creation, all the wonders of the world, just for humans to experience and enjoy.

The second one reminded him that “from dust you came, and to dust you will return.” Individuals are so terribly impermanent, inconsequential…they come and go in an instant of history.

I love the thought of these folded up, tattered, contradictory notes keeping the wise man both inspired and grounded. I’ve been thinking about that story ever since. About contradictions. And choosing between polarities.

Or not choosing between.

Sometimes I feel like a walking contradiction: Shy/friendly. Adventurous/homebody. Confident/insecure. Serious/silly. Worrier/laid back. Planner/procrastinator. Hopeful/pessimistic. Wishy/washy.  Mother/student. Seeking/content. Reverent/raucous. To name a few.

In brisk self-improvement mode, it is tempting to try to weed out some of those opposites. Yet choosing one or the other of the pair feels like I’ve left a little, important other part of me behind. Nature’s lessons seem to insist that life is not often an either/or proposition but a swing between contradictions: the quiet and waiting winter, the bright raucous summer; the rush of high tide and the tender, exposing low tide; the expansion and contraction of hands, eyes, hearts.

True, some contradictions certainly require choices (the Garden of Eden comes to mind, for one. Choices between good and evil, another). But my friend’s midrash memory makes me wonder if there is a kind of power in the combinations of some polarities. Maybe some of my contradictions each deserve a place in a pocket.

Are you a linear person or a cyclical one? Or…both?

Related posts:

1. I’m not a detail person (except when I am)
2. How Do We Know?
3. What have you tasted?

How did I end up introducing Wayne Bergeron, you ask? Because I have a son, Shane, who plays trumpet in the Crescent Super Band and, wanting to be a supportive mother, I’d signed up as a parent volunteer to help run the Peaks Jazz Festival, where my son’s band was performing. So I spent a whole afternoon at the festival, introducing Wayne and sitting in on his trumpet clinic, then escorting a high school jazz band through its adjudication round (and no, I didn’t know what “adjudication” meant until that day). And all the while I found myself marveling at how our children’s passions take us places we never dreamed of going.

When my children were small, I wanted to give them every opportunity to develop their talents, but I wasn’t sure how they’d discover those talents unless I exposed them to lots of different interests. So I spent most of my children’s childhoods in the car, taking occasional breaks for showering and eating. Here is a partial list of activities we’ve explored: soccer, karate, skiing, gymnastics, tumbling, dance (ballet, tap, and jazz), clogging, basketball, tennis, golf, swimming, art, drawing, drama, chess, sewing, choir, voice lessons, piano, violin, clarinet, flute, trumpet, and futsal (a type of indoor soccer—who knew?). And I still felt mean when I told my daughter she couldn’t take fencing, guitar lessons, or horseback riding.

But I eventually realized that sometimes, in my uncertainty as a young mother and my quest to be the perfect mom who had perfectly well-rounded children, I was pushing my kids to do activities they didn’t really want or need to do (I still marvel that I ever thought my oldest daughter might want to be a cheerleader—lol). And we became so busy and our lives were so structured that we never ate dinner together, or had downtime just to play, or daydream. So I learned to relinquish some of my expectations and to set limits. My youngest daughter still asks to do every activity that comes along, but I’m wiser now, remembering the times when she begged and begged to go to [insert desired activity of the moment] and I signed her up and paid the entire semester’s nonrefundable fees and then after the first two lessons she said, “Um I don’t think I want to go anymore.” (That’s never happened to any of you, right?)

What I have discovered is that despite my own often misguided attempts to help them along, my children will eventually find their passions on their own, even if it’s through a series of twists and turns and false starts. My oldest daughter is just discovering a love for post-colonial African and Caribbean literature in her third year of college. My fourteen-year-old currently loves to ski, with little encouragement from me. My youngest daughter is a natural thespian, about to star in a Shakespeare play at school, and a talented soccer player. And Shane—he became a trumpet player in the sixth grade after years of hating the piano, when I got tired of him stomping down the hall every time he had to practice piano and I told him he could quit if he found another instrument to play. Little did I know that out of that default decision and the screechy, tentative beginnings of brass music that followed would emerge a passionate and gifted trumpet player who eats, sleeps, and breathes band and jazz and who now belongs to the most renowned professional high school jazz band in the world. Or that, even though I knew next to nothing about jazz and can’t play a musical instrument to save my life, I would one day introduce Wayne Bergeron in a crowded auditorium—and enjoy it.

How do you determine what extracurricular activities your children do? Do you struggle to keep a healthy balance between extracurricular activities and family time, homework, and free time? How do you foster your children’s interests without imposing your own expectations on them? Have your children’s talents and passions surprised you? How have those passions enriched your life?

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Okay, so here I’m thinking to myself . . .it’s not exactly written down in any standard works nor has it been said by any of the general authorities that Jesus created the dinosaurs, but I think he probably did, fuzzy creation time periods aside, I mean, who else could have created them?

Me-Okay, we’ll read from your book and talk about how Jesus created the earth.
Cole-Okay.

After dinner my husband asked him what the lesson was about. He smiled, “How Jesus created dinosaurs.”

His big sister piped in, “How did he do that?”
Cole, “I don’t know! We’re gonna’ read about it from my book.” (Semantics, tee hee)

So we changed some of the lyrics in the opening song, “Whenever I hear the song of a bird, or see a picture of a dinosaur” (as opposed to “or look at the blue blue sky”). Cole giggled through that, and I hoped the next time he was in charge of the lesson he’d have good memories of this night. After reading several pages of the book, Dinosaurs Everywhere! which had simply outlined the history of dinosaurs and informed us that what we know about dinosaurs has been learned through the study of fossils, my husband stopped and asked, “So, how do we know that dinosaurs lived on the earth?” I’m pretty sure it was a follow-up question and he was expecting the kids to say something about finding fossils, yadda, yadda. But instead Cole said, “Because we have brains!”

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Also, I don’t like to deceive my kids. At least that’s what I tell myself. In fact, as a mom, I tend to overshare. Case in point: last night the whole family watched the Oscars. If you watched, you probably saw the ad with a girl searching through an enchanted castle and finding a bottle labeled “cervical cancer.” My eight-year-old wanted to know what cervical cancer was, which required that I give her an entire anatomy lesson, and by the end of it, she was covering her ears, writhing on the floor, and begging me to just stop talking.

Last fall, my three-year-old was in a phase where she only wanted to wear dresses, because pants weren’t pretty enough. As I was buying winter clothes, I bought her a whole bunch of tights, a pair in each color, to keep her legs warm underneath all of those dresses. I pulled the first pair out, and my normally mild-mannered preschooler turned into a little she-wolf, kicking and wiggling and steadfastly refusing the tights. Every other kid showed up for her first ballet class with their legs clad in pink Danskin. Only Maren sported Hanes ankle socks.I’ve tried several times since then to get her to put on the tights, but she’d start to hyperventilate as soon as the T-word passed my lips.

Eventually I got smart and bought a handful of pairs of footless leggings that she could wear under the dresses, with the ballet leotard. But they were leggings, not the dreaded tights. This morning, I pulled out a pair of brand-new tights from the back of her underwear drawer (another battle there, but one you don’t want to hear about, I assure you), and came downstairs with “leggings with feet in them” for her to wear under her dress. She put them on. She didn’t scream. She didn’t whine about the seams in the toes. She’s been prancing around the house in her cute “leggings” ever since. And I’m left wondering why I wasn’t smart enough to trick her back in September.

Maybe deception isn’t always a bad thing.

When have you tricked your kids into doing what you wanted? When has it worked well? How has it backfired? Do you feel guilt or just a sense of triumph when you succeed?

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