It’s Okay to be Okay
Well, it has been a hard year to blog. I’ll say that upfront. I mean there have been literal firestorms, and pandemics and all sorts. They’ve all been external though. Then there has been the internal stuff. Late last year, my husband and I published his story of surviving gay conversion therapy (also known as Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity Change Efforts). I had intended to follow that piece up with a lot of stuff on mixed-orientation marriage, but something didn’t feel right. I’m glad I listened to that gut feeling. Because only a couple of months later, he and I would separate.
Fast forward to today: The ink is barely dry on the announcement of our separation. My best friend and her girlfriend came around to get the kids and take them out for a play because this covid19 lockdown has been hard on parents! Another newly single friend dropped around with coffee because we are allowed to now thank God! She and I sat on the couch with Patrick, who now comfortably inhabits the ‘best friend’ space, and we laughed. Like, belly-laughed. This is our life now: separated, best friends, co-parents, in lockdown until the pandemic passes and then living together by choice afterwards.
I didn’t think this would be how my life went. But it is. And every day I spend a moment in gratitude that this separation didn’t go the way of animosity and loathing.
There has long been a message out there in the ether about mental illness, saying “It’s okay not to be okay,” and it is. It 100% is. But I’m also learning, here on the other side of chronic pain, trauma, post-traumatic stress disorder, repetitive pregnancy loss, losing family-relationships, losing a community of friends who were supposed to be “covenant” and “forever no matter what”, having to leave a church that represented the only life I’d ever known, changing careers, deconstructing faith, reconstructing faith, having a whole town talk about my family’s dirty laundry, having my dad take to the newspaper to discredit us when it came out that we no longer go to his church, supporting my husband through a sexuality crisis and recovery from the horrendous damage of conversion therapy and a lifetime of internalised homophobia, separating from that husband because of his sexuality and reinventing our partnership – it’s okay to be okay, too.
It’s okay to be okay, too.
When I was diagnosed with PTSD nearly a decade ago, following a misdiagnosis of anxiety and depression, I wondered whether I would ever be normal again. I had been diagnosed with a mental illness that seemed to mean I had diminished coping skills. Counselling failed to dull the vivid flashbacks (thanks to an extraordinary ability to recall details in picture format). It seemed I would live a lifetime under the weight of past trauma. I felt the shame of that diagnosis, and within my social circle at the time where everyone knew everyone’s business, I had failed to find a feeling of safety. Instead, I felt exposed, ashamed and on-show every time I had an episode. I was finding it even more difficult to enjoy life. That was the unwanted gift my diagnosis gave me.
I was wearing the weight of stigma that often comes with mental illness. That made it hard to accept that for the most part, I was a strong, smart, worthy person with so much going for her. Sometimes I think we can have such a deep attachment to our trauma or to the diagnosis that explained our difficulty that it is difficult to lean into the beauty, strength and complexity of who we are.
Ironically, after my diagnosis, this made my condition worse: I would fear having a PTS episode, which would increase my ambient anxiety levels, which would mean my tolerance was lower and I was more likely to have an episode. Saturday nights became long, sleepless nights, which meant I would march into Sunday ill-prepared for the stressors I would face. Usually, this meant my body would burn through stress hormones and I’d crash on Monday’s with blinding migraines. My long-suffering (now ex) husband supported me through this beautifully. During this time, we also coped with the loss of four pregnancies before finally, our son was born. On the day I found out I was pregnant for the fifth time, Patrick knew it was time to leave the church. I would fight to stay for another few months before realising leaving was our only choice. We were about to plunge into an incredible time of upheaval. I was about to face more confrontation, stress, grief and loss than I had ever experienced before. But something unexpected happened: I stayed pregnant for the first time, and my PTSD episodes decreased to the point where the coping mechanisms I used to use daily are all but forgotten.
I went from having an episode once a week at least, to forgetting I even had the condition.
Despite all the heartache we faced, the years I spent married to Patrick were wonderful and beautiful too. We have truly walked through fire together, and we’ve laughed, lived, and created a beautiful family that remains and will remain the centre of our hearts and lives. But he is gay, and there’s just no way around that. I’m truly happy for him, and am happy that I reached a point of being whole-heartedly LGBTQIA+ affirming in my theology before our separation. That means I celebrate with him instead of feeling a whole lot of unhelpful, and in my opinion unbiblical, things.
After we made the call, I felt grief and sadness, of course. But the main thing I felt was “What on earth will people say? How will they judge us?” I felt this because I used to be the person who thought divorce was always the wrong thing. I had this naive idea that everything could be prayed away, or ignored away, and that which couldn’t be was a tragedy. Deconstructing my faith disabused me of that idea.
I don’t see divorce as a tragedy anymore. I see abuse as a tragedy, but if someone has walked away from an abusive marriage then the walking isn’t tragic! It is brave and wonderful.
I see mistreatment of a spouse as a tragedy. But I don’t see that spouse standing up for themselves and realising they are worth happiness as a tragic.
I don’t see dissolving a marriage because of sexuality as a tragedy. I see living a lifetime of repression as a tragedy.
I do see growing apart as sad. I do think marriage is to be fought for. I do see “til death do us part” as a beautiful ideal that I hope to experience. That I will experience (lets put that down as #goals here). But I am no longer naive enough to think that misery is noble and kids are better off with married parents even if those parents are miserable, depressed and at eachother’s throats.
Once I realised that this is what I really thought, I came to another realisation: its okay to be okay, even if you are divorced or divorcing, even if you have a mental illness (no matter if it is well-managed or not), even if life didn’t go the way you planned it would go, even if you’ve caught more curveballs than its really fair for life to offer up. You don’t have to feel miserable just because that’s what society expects of you. It is okay to separate and feel genuine love and happiness for your ex-partner, and geniuine optimism about what comes next for us as individuals.
Because I’m a woman and I can totally multitask, it is also okay to have moments of sadness, too. The existance of one doesn’t have to deny the existance of the other.
It’s like my friend Bridget told me: “Don’t let anyone shit in your peace bubble. You get to have the life you want.”
So here we are in the middle of a pandemic, locked down in our homes, feeling a little bit caged and realising the human spirit really isn’t made for captivity. This has been a time of upheaval globally, and mental illness has compounded this difficulty for many of us. I like to say that Patrick and I split “before it was cool” because you bet your butt there will be a spike in divorces post Covid19.
But I want to say this: if joy visits you, let it. If you wake up one day and you don’t feel depressed or anxious or caged or let down or beaten up by life, let yourself feel okay. Sometimes it’s hard to let ourselves be happy when we have been conditioned to another reality. Being happy, experiencing joy, doesn’t deny life’s hardships. It doesn’t mean you no longer have a mental illness, or that your life is suddenly easy. It certainly doesn’t mean you have to stay happy either. It just means that here, in this moment, you are okay. That is something you can lean into with a smile.
Why say all of this? I’ve been looking around at Christian messaging (and I still identify as Christian FYI), and I’ve noticed there is often a lot of emphasis on suffering. “When we suffer God is glorified.” “His strength is made perfect in our weakness.” “God disciplines those he loves.” “Let God heal you from your hurts and your wounds.” Also, pretty much everything about the Lutheran and Billy Grahamesque versions of Christianity. It all seems to tune us into our deficits and low points so that “God can be magnified”. That has been my experience, at least.
Here is my progressive Christian hot-take: we don’t have to hate ourselves, or focus on the bad things in us or around us. God doesn’t have to use every experience of our lives as a glory-grabbing moment, nor do I think miserable people bring all that much glory. You know? Happiness is okay too. Acceptance of ourselves in all our imperfect perfection is wonderful.
Over the last decade, I’ve spent a lot of time doing the hard yards when it comes to my wellbeing. I’m no longer the traumatised girl with the new PTSD diagnosis. Every now and then, once in a blue moon, I experience the taste of metal in my mouth and realise my pulse is racing and my cognition is a little scrambled. But now I know the sky isn’t falling; I’m just having a PTSD episode. I now know that PTSD isn’t shameful. Its a normal reaction to a set of really abnormal circumstances. Having spent a lot of time learning from experts and doing the work, I have built up some pretty amazing skills when it comes to resilience and wellness. I’m proud of that. And I’m going to say something pretty wild here – I’m not giving God the glory for it. He knows I did the work!
I’ve also learned something precious: I can’t control my life. I can live it. I can throw myself into it, make the best of it, and take responsibility for my own decisions and actions, but control is a myth because life is filled with other people and their choices and inner realities.
A couple of years ago, I got the first niggle that “til death do us part”might not happen for Patrick and I. So I did what I had learned to do – enjoyed every moment that I could, knowing I couldn’t change the inevitable but I could enjoy what we had. Those two years have been an absolute gift. We have loved to the best of our ability until we both knew it was time to love platonically instead. Now that time has come, our ability to accept the things we cannot change has meant we navigate our way forward as friends with a truly special bond. He cheers me on as a single woman in her prime. I cheer him on as the most fabulous Dad my kids could ask for, and I can’t wait to see how life unfolds for us in this unconventionally, wholly affirming post-separation family.
Sometimes resilience means fighting for what you know you must fight for. Sometimes it means knowing when something can’t be changed and accepting the outcome so that you can find your way forward.
I get that this is hard for some people to understand. I also get that this blog post is a little more rambly and a little less cerebral than my normal posts, but I just wanted to say: for my friends who caught a curveball and whose lives turned out differently to what they planned, for my friends who are struggling with lockdown, for my friends who have a diagnosed or undiagnosed mental illness – its okay to be okay.
If you feel good, that is a good thing. It doesn’t decrease your hardship. It magnifies your strength.
Be well, fam
Kit K
Coronavirus and End Times Doctrine
Forgive me, Bloggerati for I have sinned. It has been ages since my last blog post. Its been for good reason though, as I’ve just launched “Unchurchable, the podcast.” This has been a dream of mine since around the time I started this blog, but writing was my passion and my comfort zone. However, the project is live and the first cab off the rank was the topic of the End Times Movement.
If you happened to catch the pod but missed the end times stuff in Evangelicalism, then here’s the scoop: the End Times Movement is a doctrine within Christianity that focuses on the book of Revelation as an apocalyptic prophesy. It covers things like the Rapture, the Great Tribulation, the Four Horses of the Apocalypse the the Second Coming of Christ.
Its heavy stuff; so heavy in fact, that following the screening of a rapture movie at my kids church when I was about 8 or 9, I plunged headlong into a life of avoiding the book of Revelation and always wearing clean underwear lest the rapture hit and leave my laundry-day specials in a pile on the ground with the rest of my clothes.
With Covid-19/Coronavirus swirling its way around the globe, there seems to have been a predictable peak in End Times anxiety and that’s certainly not something I take lightly. In my own life, I’ve had to confront some of the fear that certain doctrines had left me with. It is my belief, a scriptural belief, that love casts out fear. That fear shouldn’t be the thing a faith is built upon.
So! Back to coronavirus/end times anxiety. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to dust off my writers hat and do some meaty, doctrinal stuff and if I can, I’d love to help put some end times anxiety to rest. So without further ado, there are a few key things that make up the end times doctrine, and when combined, we can see why they indicate that Coronavirus does not signal the end of the world.
1. The Book of Revelation as Apocalyptic Prophecy: The whole end times doctrine and movement hinges on the book of Revelation being written by the John the Apostle as a prophecy of the apocalypse. This also assumes Biblical literalism – ie. that every word written in the Bible is directly inspired by God and thus infallible. Now, there are some plot holes here, namely:
Biblical literalism is only one way to read the Bible. Some people believe that the original Greek and Hebrew text was directly inspired by God, but that subsequent translations of the Bible have cost us some of that infallibility or even slipped other meanings into or out of the text. There are still others that read the Bible as prose – poetry and storytelling imbued with divine meaning but perhaps not historically accurate in a literal sense. I used to be a hardcore literalist, albeit one who was a bit uncomfortable with the book of Leviticus. These days I probably sit in the second group that believes we have lost meaning and context in thousands of years of rewrites. I also wonder whether gentile assumption of the Torah sits a little further towards cultural appropriation than a key tenet of Christian faith, but that’s another story for another day.
The authorship of the book of Revelation by the apostle John has been questioned by Biblical scholars. One school of thought is that yes, it was the Apostle John. Another is that it was another guy by the same name. I haven’t waded too far into the evidence, but so far I’m sitting on the side that it probably was the John. But if you are bored during Coronavirus lockdown, you are certainly welcome to dive down that rabbit hole!
There is yet another school of thought that the Book of Revelation may be apocalyptic fiction, or even commentary on times past (i.e. Israels poor treatment under the hand of the Roman Empire).
I remember having a conversation with a friend of mine who is of Jewish heritage, and while he was strong in his belief that the Book of Revelation was prophetic and will come to pass, he also remarked that the Jewish understanding of time is slightly different to the gentile understanding of it. In his words, he explained time as like a double helix laid on its side. Instead of being a linear thing, it cycled coiled around bringing certain aspects of prophecy into existence but not all of them as yet. But, he said “In the final days there will be a complete fulfilment of all things.” It was certainly an interesting explanation to this little gentile who understands time as linear. Oh the philosophical arguments we could get into here.
The case in point is that, before you panic over coronavirus being an end times “wipe out 50-75% of the population” event, you really have to consider what the book of Revelation is. On one hand, it could be the infallible word of God delivered to the Apostle John to describe the end of the world. On the other hand, it could be apocalyptic fiction written by a disgruntled guy named John, talking about his beef with the Roman Empire. It could also be anywhere between.
And I’m not going to choose your answer for you. Have fun with that.
Every generation since John, whoever he was, has believed their generation was the last. And we have survived little apocalypses before. This is the second thing to note. I have fond memories of listening to the music of Keith Green, growing up. He was a 1970’s Christian music legend who was sadly taken before his time (in a plane crash that also claimed the lives of two of his kids). His music is littered with references to Jesus coming back again. There seemed to be this fever pitch around that time that society had gotten as bad as it could get and Jesus would have to come again soon.
But a similar thought was evidenced in writings much much earlier. The scripture says that no one can know the day or the hour that Jesus will return for his people. So quite simply, we can’t afford to panic every time there is an event that freaks us out. They have been happening for millennia. The very word “apocalypse” can mean a world ending event like the one described in Revelation, or it can mean “an event describing damage or destruction on a catastrophic scale.”
If we ascribe the latter meaning to the word, then even in my lifetime, there have been apocalyptic events: the 9/11 terrorist attacks, the Rwandan Genocide, climate change, the Covid19 outbreak to name a few. The world is different after such events. We are reborn in a way. Perhaps, this is a little apocalypse, but it isn’t going to mean the end of the world. It is simply going to mean the beginning of a new one. Perhaps that is what the book of Revelation was eluding to.
The Rapture is a key part of the End Times Movement: The Rapture, or the moment when believers (in Jesus) are snatched away to meet Jesus in the air, is described in Thessalonians by the Apostle Paul, and eluded to in Revelation. Most evangelicals subscribe to the Pretribulationist view that all the Christians will disappear from the earth, suddenly and mysteriously, before the Great Tribulation occurs. This will then be followed by a seven year tribulation and then a thousand year Messianic Kingdom. Don’t freak out and think the Handmaids Tale is coming though. I’ll explain more on why later.
If you are a Christian, and you haven’t been raptured or borne witness to the sudden disappearance of most of your friends, then Covid19 isn’t likely to be the Great Tribulation. I would advise though, probably don’t go reading the “Left Behind” series right now. It might not be good for your anxiety. I do have to concede that there are two other schools of thought about the Rapture. Midtribulationists believe that the rapture will occur half way through the big Trib but before the worst of it, and Posttribulationists believe we will all disappear into the sky after it in an event that will coincide with the second coming of Christ. By and large, though, the most popular school of thought at the moment is pretribulationism.
Next up are the Four Horses of the Apocalypse. Revelation chapter 6 describes these four doomy-horses and their riders. The white rider is thought to symbolise pestilence. The red horse is thought to symbolise war. The black horse is thought to symbolise famine and the pale horse to symbolise death. Now, that’s pretty fearsome stuff. It has predictably caused many a Christian to look upon world events with a certain apocalyptic interpretation. And its hard not to. However, again we need to hark back to the arguments made above this point: we don’t know if Revelation is commentary or prophecy, and we haven’t been raptured yet anyway. So either way, there is no reason to panic over coronavirus. I mean apart from observing the obvious hand washing and social isolation procedures, obviously.
Arguably the most popular school of thought today is that The Great Tribulation is supposed to occur after the rapture if the book of Revelation is prophecy. Tribulation is mentioned by Jesus in Luke and by John in Revelation, but has been expounded upon by many end times theorists to include some pretty hectic, doomy conclusions. They include massive death tolls (up to three in four people, depending on who you are reading) and are tied up with those four fearsome horses mentioned above.
But here’s the scoop: there are actually four views of the Great Tribulation. Only one of them holds that the Great Tribulation will occur in the future. The four views are:
Futurist – whereby the Great Tribulation is a relatively short, seven year period of trials and testings for Christians.
Preterism – whereby the Tribulation actually refers to the past event where Roman legions destroyed Jerusalem and especially the temple. It affected the Jewish people and not all mankind. It is thought to have occurred in AD 70, and to be the reason why Jesus mentioned in Matthew 24:34 that “this generation shall not pass away.”
Historicism – which holds that the Tribulation refers to a time of persecution of believers that may have begun when Papal Rome was in power (from the year 538 to the year 1798). Other thinkers in the Historicism camp see prophecy fulfilled down through the centuries rather than in one hit. Some see it beginning with the destruction of the temple and continuing through to the Holocaust.
Idealism – which holds that the Great Tribulation actually refers to Satans fall from Heaven and will conclude when Christ defeats Satan at the second coming.
The Kit K Conclusion: Apocalyptic writings are scary. I have avoided them all my life. But having sat down and spent a bit of time in it of late, I’ve found my fears have dissipated rather than intensified. At this point in time, I believe that, even if the Book of Revelation isn’t fiction or commentary on things past, COVID 19 isn’t the Tribulation. It is a catastrophic event in the checkered history of mankind, no doubt. It is a low point. It is a time when humanity feels locked in and caged and that isn’t good for our collective mental health. But this too shall pass.
People who use this moment as a trumpet call to get people into their churches or tithes into their coffers (I’m looking at you, Kenneth Copeland) should be ignored or called out for putting the physical, mental and financial health of their people at risk.
But perhaps the most poignant truth during Covid involves where we put our attention. If you tune into something and expect it, it increases the likelihood that you will experience it. It’s true for when you are thinking of buying a car and suddenly start seeing it everywhere. It’s true for when you are trying to have a baby, and all you see is expectant mothers. I believe it is also true for things like hardship, persecution and warning signs of the apocalypse. If you tune into it, you will see it. It might have always been there. It may just be life. It may just be that you are noticing what has always been, but it is taking on different meaning for you in the moment. It doesn’t mean there are more signs. It just means we are drawn to the ones that have always been there.
I’m not saying that to be judgemental or to say they’re all in your head. Please hear me right: I’m not. All I’m saying is that when people constantly point to signs that the end is near or that the sky is falling, there can be confirmation bias that tunes us further and further into our own anxieties. Sadly, some of these anxieties have been programmed into us by traumatic doctrines.
The scripture tells us to set our minds on things that are pure, and kind, and good. Perhaps the great key to whether or not a world event is the Great Tribulation is in fact our view of life and God, and the way we experience the event. I see this scripture as a heavenly hint towards intentionally building healthy confirmation bias.
I.e. If we believe we are being persecuted, we will see persecution. If we believe we are being caged and taunted, we will experience the lockdown as a moment of being caged, and we will be taunted by our own minds and the dark possibilities they entertain. If we see ourselves as blessed, our future as bright, and the dawning of a new time after Covid19 when we all get out of our houses and enjoy eachothers company again, then that is what will happen. Our perception matters, because it is either a journey into peace or turmoil; a journey into the Great Tribulation or out of it.
Either way, now is not a time to fear. Fear creates stress which is bad for your immune system. Now is a time to use this lock in to learn a new skill, connect with an old friend, and make peace with the things you have avoided for so long.
I personally don’t believe the rapture is going to be a mass event. I believe it is a singular event that happens to each individual at the end of their time on earth – with all its joys and trials and tribulations – when we pass from this life and are caught up into eternity.
My friend Shari Smith has written a kick arse piece on looking after your mental health during this time. I’d encourage you to go read that, and to tune into the podcast if you missed it.
Until next time, look after yourself, be informed, and let good information bring peace and drown out the bad information that only increases fear. Also, go subscribe to the podcast! Now on iTunes and Spotify.
Love and peace
Kit K