Tag: Anxiety

Giving Ourselves Some Grace

As someone with anxiety and depression, I know how difficult it is to cope with quarantine; it’s a drastic shift from attending school daily and seeing friends to a life of monotony cooped up in the home. Not only that, but the fear of disease and the unknowns about the future can be crippling, paralyzing even, during these difficult times. Due to the lack of stimuli in comparison to what I’m accustomed to during the school year, it has been easy for my mind to wander places better left hidden in the past. One matter in particular that I’ve revisited is past mistakes and behavior and in doing so, I’ve uncovered newfound criticisms of myself that only lead to trouble.

I’m not going to lie – it can be incredibly tempting to wallow in this pain and shame for my past actions and decisions. However, a memory came to mind to combat these dark thoughts that I think could be a great comfort and important message to many.

A few months ago, I was shredding papers and organizing documents at my father’s workplace when I took a break to converse with my aunt, who also works there. I was telling her about my fear of never being good enough or of always making mistakes when she said something that has stuck with me ever since – “You give grace to others when they mess up, right? So, it’s time you give some grace to yourself, allow yourself to make mistakes and learn from it, but don’t dwell on it forever.”

I reminded myself of this today, actually, upon the realization that I was beating myself up over an error I’ve recently made. I’ve had to realize that it’s a part of the human condition that we blunder and falter in our steps – it’s an undeniable part of life. However, another part of the human condition is living on after we err and changing our ways in accordance with what we’ve learned from our mistakes. After all, that’s why God gave us the atonement. He wants us to progress, rather than remain grounded in the past, and live with Him someday as perfected beings. Pain is all a part of the journey and once we repent and reconcile with Him, we can be truly happy. Our mistakes don’t define us, only what we choose to do after the fact does.

The lesson to learn in all of this is, of course, to offer ourselves some grace. We shouldn’t condemn ourselves to live miserably forever, all because of one misstep. Rather, we should seek true happiness and forgiveness in Christ, as He can bring us peace even in the deepest internal and external turmoil.

My Story: Part One

When I was little, I vividly remember the commercials on the television that proposed a variety of medications that claimed to ease anxiety and dull the effects of depression on everyday life. At that time, I wondered how anybody could possibly be so glum to the point of suicide. It seemed to be a foreign, faraway concept that couldn’t possibly encroach its way into my life.

How wrong I was– by the time I was in the seventh grade, I became acutely aware of a sadness and pervasive anxiety that weighed on my chest and tinted my perception of reality with grays and blacks. I was filled with a deep sense of guilt and shame at the mere suggestion of depression or anxiety; I told myself it was merely a gimmick that I would surely grow out of over time, as I had no justifiable reason to feel such desolation. After all, I contended, I was blessed enough to enjoy the benefits of the typical middle class lifestyle and I had a supportive family that loved me deeply. For this reason, I waited it out with the hope in my heart that the feelings of sadness and the anxiety that constantly pestered me would fade away.

Unfortunately, that time never came. A few months passed by me and when I realized that the despair had settled in for the long haul, I confessed my troubles to my parents. My mother set up an appointment with a local psychiatrist; after discussing several options with the psychiatrist, I was prescribed a plethora of medications and advised to go to therapy. Eager to escape from my dilemma, I did just as I was told and for a time, I felt as though things were looking up. It certainly did not last long, though– my freshman year of high school began and my well-being declined at a lightning fast pace. I was at the brink of suicide, wavering unsteadily between the choice of life or death, and I had devised several methods of ending my life. As a result, I was placed on a seventy-two hour hold in the adolescent unit of the psychiatric ward at a nearby hospital. Unlike the majority of the teens there, I enjoyed my stay. The staff members were kind yet firm and by the time I left, I was equipped with a substantial set of coping skills. It truly was a reprieve from the cruelty in the world outside the hospital doors. After hours of combing through my background and questioning from mental health professionals, I was given a diagnosis of major depressive disorder and anxiety, with the possibility of bipolar disorder. Five days after being admitted to the hospital, I returned home to my loving parents and siblings, with hope in my chest that the future was bright and all would be okay from then on.