<span style="font-family: Calibri;font-size: small">I</span> know I was supposed to be paying attention to the sermon in church yesterday, but I wasn’t.  I was busy paying attention to the sermon inside me that said, “Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.”  Why not cry?  Because a loved one hadn’t died and I hadn’t broken my arm five minutes earlier and my family adores me.  And I was in public.

OK, so I was having a bad day, right?  Or feel like my life sucks?  Or I’m just a naturally negative person.  No.  What about: I have clinical depression, and depression is my “normal”.  There’s a lot more to living with it than just taking my meds and seeing my doctor and/or therapist on a regular basis.  To keep the disease from taking over my life, I work hard at my job and relationships, and keep active social connections through church, choir, two weekly small groups, yoga class.

But none of those change the fact that I fight going under, cry frequently, feel overwhelmed and alone and afraid almost every day.  Depression is my constant companion, but NOT socially acceptable.  I absolutely hate the almost automatic greeting between two people in our culture:  “How are you?”  You know the response.  “Fine.”  If your brain is engaged at all, you might say, “Pretty good” or “Tired.”  If someone is more than just an acquaintance, you might answer, “Queasy.  I’m still getting over the flu,” because you believe they care enough about you to be interested in such a personal detail.

But “I’m depressed, and am having trouble coping this morning”?  I promise you, not even the people who truly love me want to hear that, even though they may be aware it’s true when they ask.  “Why can’t you just suck it up, quote positive affirmations, help someone else…for God’s sake DO something and make it go away, or at least don’t let it show.”  Even my closest friends try to “fix” me by offering encouragement or prayer, and believe me, those really help.

But nothing makes the depression go away, and nobody struggles to make that happen more than me.  Comparing myself with other people has been a debilitating nemesis lately.  Those who are able to keep their commitment to exercise on a regular basis (or at all).  Authors who vigorously market their book and themselves, and it pays off.  The women with full-time jobs who come home, cook dinner, help this child with homework and take that child to soccer, and still have the mental energy to write tomorrow’s blog before bed.

God says, “Don’t compare yourself to anyone, not even yourself.  Let me help you plan today’s agenda, and give yourself grace.  Do what you can, and if you cry, it’s the way it is.”

I don’t always listen to God, but it’s more helpful than listening to myself.  And you?  If you ask how I am, I’ll guarantee I won’t say “Fine”, and chances are I won’t tell you the truth if I’m in a bad place.  But please don’t pretend I’m invisible if you see pain in my eyes.  I didn’t choose this disease.