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

Can Christian’s Suffer From Depression?

It seems that my corner of the interwebs is all lit up with mental health awareness messages this week. It’s possibly because of ‘RUOK? Day’ that just passed in Australia, possibly because its Mental Health Awareness Month in the United States, and possibly because I follow a lot of people on Twitter who are grieving the death of Jarrid Wilson. He was a pastor and mental health advocate who tragically lost his battle with depression, even more tragically it was on the day he officiated the funeral of another Christian who lost her battle with depression. In amongst the outpouring of grief, the voice of ignorance seems to have raised itself in the form of people who assert that Christians can’t have mental illnesses, or that suffering from a mental illness disqualifies them from the ministry. This is a dangerous belief; one that is unbiblical and unhelpful at best, and flat out dangerous at worst. In a time when mental illness is thought to affect up to 25% of us, its not good enough to turn a deaf ear to such rubbish. So let’s talk about it.

First cab off the rank: Can Christians Suffer from Mental Illness? Short answer? Yes, they can. But of course, there is more to it than that. For some, this question stems from the NAR/Bethel-Esque belief that total healing from all conditions is guaranteed at the point of salvation. Thus, if someone is born again in Christ, they won’t suffer from mental illness, or indeed any other illness (!!! More on that later). For others, it comes from an antiquated and even subconscious belief that mental illness is demonic or spiritual in origin. Now, thankfully most Christian’s will at least acknowledge that some depression can have neurological or physiological origins. But others hold to the idea that depression is a spiritual, demonic or sin-related malady.

*sigh*

The latter is not helpful. And it’s not true.

Let me switch out my “Christian blogger” hat for my “Research blogger” hat for a second. Here’s what research tells us about depression: it is neurological. Every time. It is physiological. Every time. Why? Because thoughts, feelings, ruminations and such all take place in the brain which is a physical and neurological thing, and having stressors (whether they are physical, chemical or emotional) often factor into the etiology of depressive disorders. The research is a little fuzzy on why serotonin reuptake inhibitors help in a lot of cases, but it seems to have something to do with the neurotransmitters that help signals jump from one neuron to another (i.e. that lovely serotonin in your brain and gut that bathes your neurocircuitry).

There is also emerging research that indicates depression is an inflammation issue, and there are well-established links between mental health and gut health (with the gut being home to the enteric nervous system which houses billions of neurons and communicates to the brain via the vagus nerve and the gut-brain axis. I.e. Many depression sufferers have gut problems, too.

Depression is physical. Read that again. Depression is a physical issue. It’s time we stopped treating mental health as some ethereal, intangible thing. Its time we stopped saying “Oh its all in your head.” Guess what: your head is a tangible thing. Your brain is a tangible thing. If its all in your head, it exists. The thoughts of the mind (with the mind being the brain in action) can be seen on brain scans in the form of neuronal pathways lighting up on the screen. The activity of the limbic system (which governs our emotions) is something that can be measured. We can also measure sympathetic function (the sympathetic nervous system is the part of the nervous system that fires up under stress, and kicks our survival mechanisms into play). Thus, mental illness is tangible in many ways. (Research blogger hat now removed, FYI)

So when you ask yourself if a Christian can have depression, you are really asking whether a Christian can experience physical illness, inflammation, chronic or acute stress, or gut problems. If you can have diarrhea after you eat something you shouldn’t, your Christian brother or sister can have depression. One is no more demonic than the other. Yes, one is more short term than the other (hopefully!) but the point still stands.

Have you ever taken a panadol/Tylenol or aspirin for a headache? Have you ever put an icepack on a sprained ankle or knee? Have you ever gone to the doctor for an upset tummy or other condition? It might have been easy to say that it’s okay for you to suffer from those ailments because its just life, yet turn to depression and related illnesses and say “but that’s not.”

That, right there, is hypocritical. I’m coming out of the gate firing on this one because it matters. If we apply shame is to physical, neurological, chemical conditions that manifest as depression or other mental illnesses we may inadvertently create a situation in which someone may feel shame in getting help. This is the danger of bad theology. It can, quite literally, put a life at risk. People! Let’s not do this! Let’s make churches a safe place for someone to say “I think I’m depressed” and receive support in getting help – not shame or demotions.

It is my belief that depression should not be treated as a spiritual issue. It should be treated as a very real, very serious condition that requires a holistic approach for treatment. That approach should include professional (qualified) help such as counselling and medication. It should include diet and exercise (which is often prescribed as part of the action plan). The place where church should come into a Christian’s action plan is that it should provide community, pastoral support, an opportunity to connect in a positive environment, receive peace and encouragement through scripture (etc), and receive prayer for encouragement or healing if if IF the depression sufferer asks for it. *The latter should never be administered as the sole approach to recovery.* I say this as a person who has been ashamed to admit that attempts at faith healing had failed. In my case it was shoulder and elbow damage after an accident. It was obvious my conditions hadn’t been healed and I felt shame. The hidden shame when a mental illness isn’t healed by faith could be dangerous.

I do believe in prayer. I do believe that when we turn to God, He can perform miracles. I don’t believe that should be the only approach with mental illness. To limit “treatment” to faith healing could be deadly because it could cause a person to feel shame or failure if it doesn’t work. Worse still, it could cause them to feel pressure to act like all is well, or discontinue other treatment. I sweat at the thought.

A particularly concerning doctrine regarding and all healing is an increasingly prevalent belief in some NAR churches that healing from all maladies is guaranteed at the point of salvation. I mentioned it at the top of this piece and I’ll mention it again here: it’s not true and it’s not helpful. We can’t measure the quality of our salvation on whether or not our cancerous tumours disappeared when we said the prayer. Nor can we measure it on whether or not our depression, anxiety, schizophrenia, bipolar, (etc. etc. etc.) disappeared when we said the prayer. Some people may get healed when they invite Jesus into their hearts. GOOD for them. Some people may take years to heal. Good for them. Others may be healed in eternity. Good for them. The fact is every walk with God is different and none should be judged against another.

Paul had a “thorn in his side.” Jacob had a limp. No one would look at them and say “disqualified.” God certainly wouldn’t. We shouldn’t do this to people who suffer mental illness.

Now to the question of whether or not someone should be in the ministry if they suffer from depression or another mental illness. I’d like to turn your attention to King David. As the author of many of the Psalms, it has often been questioned whether his natural artistry and melancholy crossed the line into depression or bipolar disorder. It’s possible! Some of those Psalms are dark! But he was called ‘a man after God’s own heart,’ depression or not. Then there is Elijah the prophet: perhaps the clearest example of burnout or depression in ministry, when the burdens of the call proved too much to bear and he felt the need to hide in a cave for three years and not look after himself (thank God for sending the birds as a catering service). Jeremiah was called the weeping prophet. King Saul had moments of extreme darkness (not that he was a pillar of godliness, I know). All these illustrate the point that the personal struggles or mental illnesses of some of the greatest Bible heroes did not disqualify them from serving God.

Nor should it disqualify our modern ministers from serving God. What it should mean is better support around them, and medical help if required. It should mean that their occupational oversight makes sure they take their holidays every year to recharge the batteries and that stress or complexity is well-managed within the context of their role. It shouldn’t mean they feel shame over their condition or hide it from those around them while wondering why God hasn’t cured them yet.

In a secular workplace, you might feel the need to take extended leave if you were suffering to the point where it was affecting your job. A pastor may need that from time to time if his or her condition is serious or worrying, or that sharing other peoples burdens (as they so often do) is proving too much. That should be okay. I see it as the duty of care the denomination or oversight owes to their pastor. (If a church is independent, this would be difficult. Yet another reason I’m cautious of independent churches – but that’s another topic for another day).

So if you are a minister or a Christian feeling shame about mental illness – please don’t. We didn’t see God shaming Elijah, David, Noah, or many others for their walks with the black dog. You are loved as you are, valued as you are, and precious to God as you are – but don’t mess around with this illness. Please. You deserve care and the best chance at recovery.

“Now Kit, you’ve taken a very unspiritual look at this problem,” I hear you say. “Where does spiritual stuff fit in?” I know many people still believe there is potential spiritual involvement in illnesses including mental illnesses. I have heard of people doing prayer counselling to remove generational curses and such. I’m going to do another piece on this because it’s a loaded topic so come back next week for that one. But here’s the scoop: there are three forms of deliverance. The first happens at the point of salvation. The second happens more gradually, as we consume and internalise the word of God. The third is so rare and problematic I’d almost call it needless in a modern setting where the consent issue can push it over into spiritual abuse.

While it is obvious that Jesus cast out spirits in some extreme cases in the New Testament (the one with Legion and the herd of pigs in Mark 5/Luke 8 for example), He had the benefit of one thing: He was God and had perfect insight into the situation. He was yet to give His life for the redemption of humanity. He was yet to send the Holy Spirit as our helper, counsellor and guide. These are benefits that we now have. To invoke power-deliverance ministries and ignore the health-related fields dedicated to a more gentle and therapeutic approach to mental illness is, in my opinion, needless and dangerous. As Christians, as the living representation of Christ on earth, it is our duty to tread very carefully with the most vulnerable of people. But more on that next week.

I hope you’re intrigued. See you again soon

Peace
Kit K

R U O K? Some Thoughts

TRIGGER WARNING: This post deals with mental illness and suicide. I’m being kind. I’m advocating care and not just awareness, but if you are feeling fragile – then the place to be is calling your local hospital or GP and getting in fast. If you can’t fathom doing that, then call a friend, demand they drop everything and come over to make you herbal tea until you can fathom it. If you ARE okay – read on.

Cruelly, ironically, today is “R U OK?” day. This week, I’ve read that a minister and mental health advocate died by suicide the day he buried a Christian woman who died by suicide. The news headlines in Australia are still covering the death of Danny Frawley, a football personality who had been open about his mental health struggles before dying tragically in a single-car collision this week. The first thing I did when I woke this morning, after wrangling two moody toddlers out of their dirty nappies, was check in on a dear friend who is going through a hard time. I can’t tell you the profound relief I felt when they sent me a snapchat that clearly depicted chairs in a doctors waiting room.

I’m all for awareness. But I hate it too. Because too often it stops at awareness not action. We all know about breast cancer. How many of us know how to do a breast check, or what the signs are when something is abnormal? We all know about prostate cancer and Movember that raises money and awareness for men’s health issues like depression and that very cancer. But how many men skip that part of the check-up because it’s awkward to ask a doc to, well, you know. R U OK? Day is a great initiative that encourages people to notice any changes and ask “R U OK?” but my big heart-break is this: How many of us actually went to the website and got any tips on what to do if someone wasn’t okay? How many of us are prepared if the answer is “No.”?

People with depression, anxiety, and other mental illnesses do need our support. They do need us to be aware. But they also need us to know what to do. Bowling up to them in the lunchroom and asking “Are you okay?” because its the day for it isn’t the response they need.

Here is what they do need:

• Go to the website first. The R U OK website shows what to look for that might prompt you to ask if someone is okay. It notes things like any changes in routine, changes in mood stability, sleep patterns, concentration, engagement with activities they love, and things like work relational or financial stress. There’s more. Go to the website and have a look. Once you know what to look for, its a little easier to spot when something is going wrong for someone. Mind you, sometimes we don’t spot it. That’s why it matters to keep checking in on your loved ones all year round. Not just today.

• Listen and take time to hear whats going on, but don’t rush to chime in with advice. Pro-tip: Do not, I repeat DO NOT, send someone motivational memes if you think they are at risk. That is not likely to help the situation. Do something practical instead – something that makes them feel safe, cared for, and like they are not alone. It might be dropping around with coffee and a chat. It might be making dinner, dropping it over and hanging around to ask if everything is okay. If they start to open up, don’t rush in with your advice. This is a time to hear what is going on, empathize, and help them consider getting professional help. Because let me tell you, from someone who knows, advice like “Oh you just need to…” or “This meme always helps me” has (in the past) just made me want to rage-cry or swing punches. Imagine feeling like you are a 90 on the subjective units of distress scale and someone hits you with that. I know you mean well. But if someone is in real mental health distress and you aren’t a professional, then leave the advice to them. Your job is to love, listen, bring calm, and get help.

• Know the phone numbers for your local mental health triage service (usually a hospital near you).  If you don’t know that, then phoning the persons GP and saying “I need an emergency mental health assessment for X” will get you in the door ASAP. If it doesn’t, insist. If it still doesn’t, just go to the emergency room. Don’t take no for an answer if you believe a person to be at risk. If you can’t get someone to get in the car and go, then Beyond Blue has a hotline you can call to get immediate assistance. (If you are in another country, you might have to find out what your local mental health support hotline are. They are there, and they are usually free.

• Don’t just listen and run. You might need to be the one who gets the ball rolling and gets this person physically in the door with the help they need. You might need to alert next of kin, or arrange a group of supportive friends to continue to love and care for this person until they are back on sure footing. If they are in crisis, then nothing is simple for them. Call their mother, or best friend, or doctor, or whoever they would normally call. Do it for them if that is what they need.

• Never treat mental illness as a weakness or as something that’s “in their head.” Its a life-threatening illness in many cases. So treat it seriously, with care, empathy, dignity and respect.

• If you are Australian, I’d strongly recommend doing a Mental Health First Aid course. I did this one a few years ago and it is wonderful. Highly recommend.

Don’t assume that your Christian friends, or your strong friends, or your funny friends are not going to struggle. If you notice any of the warning signs (listed on the R U OK website I linked above) then check-in with them. Adhering to faith doesn’t protect you from mental illness. It can just cover up deep feelings of darkness without ever addressing them. Worse still, it can make someone feel shame for suffering a mental illness. It shouldn’t. It absolutely shouldn’t. Strength of personality can often mean that a person doesn’t know how to reach out because they perceive that they are the strong ones everyone else turns to. Humour can deflect away from dark thoughts.

Hey – I’m a funny, strong, Christian woman. I’ve felt all of these things. It is a double-edged sword, let me tell you. So if you are reading this and you are okay, check on your people.

If you are reading this and you are not okay, call your people. If I am one of your people, call me. Even if we have already spoken today. You aren’t a pest. You are valuable. You aren’t weak. You aren’t faulty. You aren’t hopeless (even if it feels like it right now). Let the right people get you through this thing. Call your doctor and your best friend in whichever order you need to.

Peace (which is always a throw-away sign off but today I mean it)
Kit K

What’s Your Number?

I’m usually that person who blogs on theology, culture, news, politics and current affairs through the lens of Christianity. I do it because I’m neck-deep in the grapple over what it truly means to be a follower of Jesus Christ, and I’m just not able to trust that the type of faith/theology we’ve inherited from generations of dogma, changing cultural norms and retranslated translations of the Bible is the legit picture of Christ! Because let’s face it, the ever-searching light of truth is highlighting the dirty underbelly of Institutional Religion right now. Millennials are leaving Church in droves even though they aren’t necessarily quitting their belief in God. My queer brothers, sisters, and others are taking hold of their moment in history to say, “Hey church, you don’t have the market corner on God. We are beloved, too!” It’s beautiful. It’s uplifting. It’s challenging, life-giving and hard. So I’m taking a break from my norm to ask you a question: What’s your number?

The number in question is something called the “Subjective Units of Distress” scale. I just wanted to take a minute to share it because when it was introduced to me, it was a game-changer. We talk about self-care. We talk about mindfulness. We talk about how we need to look after ourselves when we are engaged in a fight – be it for mental health, physical health, social justice, equality or anything worth fighting for. But for the longest time, no one taught me how to recognize the moment when I need it.

For those of you who need a little framework to recognise your threshold for distress and your need for a little “you time”, I bring you the SUD scale.

The SUD scale (as it is called in psych circles) is a measurement out of 100 as to where you feel like you are sitting at any given moment in terms of ease and distress. Here’s an example of how it might work:

0 – If you were any more relaxed you would be asleep in a deep, dreamless, completely-at-ease sleep on a private resort in the tropics. Blissed out. Completely.

10 – No anxiety about anything. If you thought really really hard you *might* be able to find something to worry about, but there’s really nothing unpleasant rattling around in your brain.

20 – You might feel a little unpleasant, but not quite realize what it’s about unless you really took time to think hard and listen to your brain and body.

30 – Okay, you are mildly upset or annoyed. You notice it now. You can ignore it if you choose though.

40  – You are upset. You can’t ignore it, but you can handle it without too much trouble.

50 – You are uncomfortable and upset. Your feelings are still manageable but it takes some effort to do that.

60 – Okay. You have to do something about the way you feel, because it isn’t good. It takes a little more effort to manage your distress though.

70 – Yep. Starting to freak, feeling some big and unmanageable feelings around the corner. You can maintain control but its hard.

80 – The freak out has well and truly begun.

90 – Feeling desperate, extremely anxious and like you are losing control. You feel very, very bad.

100 –  “Feels unbearably bad, beside yourself, out of control as in a nervous breakdown, overwhelmed, at the end of your rope. You may feel so upset that you don’t want to talk because you can’t imagine how anyone could possibly understand your agitation.” (This last one was taken from Wiki because I really can’t explain it better.)

It’s called a subjective scale because it’s different for everyone. But the rule of thumb for me is this: stay under 50 if you can. If you are over a 50, then it is a time for self-care and calming down. It is not a time to start or continue big conversations that might bring distress, or to keep fighting a battle that makes you feel scared, scarred or vulnerable. There is a place for risk and leaving your comfort zone. There is a time for repairing your armor and bringing yourself back to a place of mental clarity and emotional ease and readiness.

What it feels like is different for everyone.  Some people are quite in touch with how they feel in terms of ease vs distress. For others, its an art learned over time. I’ve had to do a little bit of work in understanding how I work. I’m far better at recognising acute distress than I am at recognising chronic or underlying distress. But hey, I’m a work in progress like all of us.  I’ve learned to look for things like quickened pulse or respiratory rate, or the taste of metal in my mouth (adrenaline) when it comes to acute stress (or the sudden, daily stressors we all experience). I’ve learned to look for things like being unable to shift from my to-do list  when it comes to recognising chronic distress. My husband is far better at calling me on this than I am.

It’s different for everyone. And self-care after a long hard day is different to self-care during a long hard fight.
I’m a mother to two pre-schoolers. Oh. Em. Gee. There are days my husband walks in the door, gets mobbed by kids, and I tell him “I’m going out to the trampoline to say swearwords by myself and no one is following me or I’m going to go nuclear.” That is what I call an acute 85. Its short term. But good grief, I need a wine, a hot bath and some quiet.

Chronic 50-90’s are so hard. Because sometimes you don’t know what’s bothering you, and the self-care required is different.

I seem to be spending a lot of time these days connecting with warriors. Warriors might not look like they used to: they don’t have blood on their face, and weapons in their hands. They aren’t in physical trenches firing at a tangible enemy. They are armed with care, and compassion, and vulnerability, and an inability to give up on the good, noble, desirable things that matter to them and the ones they love. But oh that takes its toll. There have been times in my life when I have been so engaged in fighting for the good that I haven’t felt safe in my own home (like that one time someone stole my underwear, built an altar and sacrificed a bird on it in my front yard. The bird had its mouth tied shut. The cop that took the report swore. That was totally weird. But not the most distress-inducing time I’ve been “blessed” to have on record!). There have been times for so many people I’ve listened to, when they haven’t felt safe stepping outside their home either. My warrior friends have had to fend off attackers that visit them in dreams, text messages, media reports and so much more. They are no less real and no less distressing.

Chronic distress is when we don’t know this or recognise it,  we might even think we are coping but we feel in our bodies the results of it. We are tired. We don’t sleep well. Our immune system tanks because our fight-or-flight mechanisms are constantly firing. We aren’t meant to live our whole lives like this. But how can we put it right unless we know how to recognise our threshold for “enough.”

Hey friend, what’s your number? Ask yourself this question as many times a day as you like. Ask it when you are feeling great, so you can celebrate it. Ask it when you don’t know and think about the answer. But whatever you do, ask yourself knowing you are worthy of safety, care, and a bubble bath when you need one.

Hope that helps! Look after yourself. Because you are precious, beloved and on this planet for a good reason.

Peace 
Kit K

PSA: Feelings Don’t Lie. Thoughts Do.

Hola! So the other day, I popped a post up about Mental Health Awareness Day – a day I was unaware of. #irony! (It was on my Facebook and Insta pages, so if you haven’t followed them – do that!) But in response to this, I’ve had some lovely contact and it got me thinking – there’s something we need to clear up.

I don’t know about anyone else, but something I’ve heard preached a lot is that you can’t trust your feelings – that they lie. But that’s not exactly true.

Its an important topic, because in my opinion modern Christianity can have a bit of a mixed-up relationship with human emotion. We can try to suppress so-called negative emotions and only focus on the good ones like ‘faith, hope and love’. Feelings like sadness, unease, grief or anger can be swept under the rug with a big broom called “Just trust God and move on.”

But is God really asking that of us? Everything God made was made for a reason. Even things I don’t like (like spiders, for example. They are actually there as an important part of a balanced ecosystem, even if they are a part of the ecosystem that makes me want to KILL IT WITH FIRE. *Sigh*)

Case in point: God made the limbic system and the other structures in the brain that govern human emotion.Therefore its good. It helps us manage life and interact with it. Shutting off emotion can shut off pleasure, stop us from processing pain, and even dull us to things we should feel strongly about. We can’t choose to shut of some emotion and not others. Thats unhealthy…(and maybe a bit weird if our emotional range is either “happy” or “disconnected.”)

All through scripture, we see human emotion. God never shied away from it or tried to shut it down.

• In Ephesians 4, we are told to be angry but sin not. This tells us there are some things we should feel righteous anger towards, and that anger is a completely normal part of a Christian’s range of emotion. Jesus himself showed anger when the temple had been turned into “a den of thieves” in His words.

• Jesus was moved with compassion multiple times in scripture. Compassion comes from sympathy, empathy and the desire to alleviate someone else’s suffering. But before we feel compassion we have to acknowledge suffering. We have to feel something about it.

• King David, prolific Psalmist, felt all the feels – anger, sadness, fear, grief, love, joy, etc etc etc. None of them were wrong. In fact, they got a pretty big chunk of the Bible dedicated to them. David was called “a man after God’s own heart.” That’s something. An emotional guy captured the heart of God in a unique way, a way that endeared him.

• Song of Solomon deals with another emotion – sexual desire, and erotic love. So thats an emotion too – one the church can be scared of, but not one God ever wanted us to shut down – keep in check, sure. But not shut down.

Here’s what I’ve learned from listening to and reading up on psychology and how the brain works: feelings don’t lie. Thoughts can be distorted, but feelings are feelings. They are what they are. They’re not lying. What matters is how (or that) we process them.

What do I mean? If you are feeling sad, then you are feeling sad. That’s not a lie. You aren’t actually feeling happy. That is true. It’s the same for whichever emotion you are feeling: anger, pride, joy, happiness, grief, whatever. Emotions don’t lie. They can look like other emotions within reason (ie. Grief can look like anger, or rather anger is part of grief) but for the most part, emotions are what they are.

The place where things can go awry is in the area of what we think. If we make decisions based on emotions, that is called emotional reasoning. If we see the world through the lens of emotion, that is emotional reasoning and that can be faulty. I.e. “I’m feeling like an outcast, so that person must hate me.” It might not be true. But its not the feeling that’s wrong, its the thought that’s distorted.

The other problem is when we feel an emotion but sweep it under the rug and don’t process it. Emotion is there for a reason, its there to help us interact with life and heal if something happens to us or a loved one that was unpleasant. If you don’t feel it, you can’t process it.

I’m so tired of the narrative that feelings are lying and can’t be trusted. No! Friend! Your feelings are there for a reason. Listen to them. Lean in to them. The only way out of grief/anger/sadness is through it. Avoiding it doesn’t help. It just bottles up and ferments until its ready to explode, or worse, cause you to self-destruct. Just feel the feels, friend.

Our thoughts are where we sometimes need help and there is no shame in that. Faulty thinking (cognitive distortion if you like the technical term) is a thing . But emotions never lie. They are what they are. There’s no harm in giving them the space they need. If you get stuck in a rut of sadness or grief that you can’t move out of, you might need a little help. But that is completely okay. Sometimes life is tough and we need to share that load. Sometimes life is great and we should be able to share that joy. Again – emotion – a good thing.

Here’s my approach these days: feel the feels then think the thoughts and make decisions. Emotions, thoughts and decisions are all part of the process of life and all equally as important. But don’t ignore your gut instinct. Not even if someone tells you to. Your gut instinct is often, so very often, right on the money.

But thats a whole other topic thats a whole lot more scientific than this blog will ever be!

JUUUUST saying.

Anyway! Thats todays thought bubble. If you want to read more on the brain, emotions and limbic system, check this out 

If not, check back in next time to read my next piece that I’m a bit excited about.

Over and out

Kit K

Solitude vs. Isolation: Where is the Healthy Place to Land?

I have this lovely friend. She's been through a lot in her life, a lot that could make her bitter, introspective, and a touch soul-destroyed. But she's more than a survivor. Her's is a life that is now devoted to supporting other people who have survived horrendous damage - be it psychological, spiritual, physical, or sexual abuse - and to finding her own way to thrive again. She never claims to be perfect. She's upfront about the ways in which she's not. But she is getting on with life and helping other people while she helps herself. Because "perfection" is not a prerequisite of "contribution." I love that.

Side note, before I get to the main topic: how come there isn't a cosmic quota for how much hardship a person can go through in their life before its all lottery wins and lucky breaks? Because I think that would be an amazing idea.

Anyway. She sent me a picture of Jim Carrey captioned with a quote of his. It said "Solitude is dangerous. It's very addictive. It becomes a habit after you realise how peaceful and calm it is. It's like you don't want to deal with people anymore because they drain your energy." Apparently old Jim -- AKA the mask, Ace Ventura pet detective, the guy with the stretchy, plasticky, comedic face - has undergone a spiritual awakening of sorts and is now all deep-thinking and wise. He just returned from weeks of solitude in the bush or something like that  (I'm not sure here. Don't quote me).

My friend asked me my thoughts on the quote. I have to say, its an interesting one. I like that Jim is so out there with his reinvention, and I'm not sure whether he was being poetic, or sarcastic. But here's what I think about solitude:

There's a difference between solitude and isolation. Loving solitude is a beautiful, healthy, regenerative thing. Needing isolation can be dangerous. 

There was a time where I couldn't do solitude. I didn't feel safe alone with my thoughts. I hid in plain sight - busy running a business, writing a book, being at every event, working crazy hours, maintaining a nuts kind of a social life, and so on. What would happen if I stopped? What would happen if one of the juggling balls dropped? Would I drop them all? Would I be completely out of control? Then I confronted the things I was afraid of. One by one, I took them down out of the "too hard" cloud that was hanging over my head. It was terrifying. It was empowering. It was painful.

It was beautiful.

Life has been reinvented somewhat. It looks barely anything like it did three years ago. Jobs, social circles, expressions of faith, hobbies, houses, daily routines, approaches to wellness - so much has changed. I thought about the things that were too hard to think about. I discarded the things that weren't healthy, even if those unhealthy things had become a crutch for me and it scared me to do so. I grew. I changed.

On the other side of the reinvention, I love solitude. Taking time away from the grind of daily life to sit on my back deck and watch my kids play without checking my phone or working. I love sitting outside and listening to the sounds of breeze and birdsong. I love sitting by the crackling fire with a glass of wine and nothing big on my mind. I've released myself from the evangelical tendency to think there are eternal consequences for my every action or inaction (Because like, God is pretty big. I don't have to be).  I'm not trying to solve the worlds problems or think my way through complex big ideas. There's time for that, but not during my wine and crackling fire time. Coz a girl has to recharge!

Solitude is not something I could ever do before.  But now I love it.

The thing is, its very different from isolation. If solitude is regenerative, isolation is the very opposite. 

Even in my raging workaholic days, I could do isolation. You can be isolated in a pile of work, too busy to connect with people who care about you. You can be too busy to be alone with your thoughts. You can pull away from the world and hope no one notices. That is isolation. It's a form of hiding. Where solitude says "I'm here. I'm me. I don't need to be anything else," isolation says "Don't come near me. Leave me alone. I don't want to be around anyone.. I can't be around anyone."

Isolation doesn't mean you are spending time with yourself and you are happy about it. Isolation can be damaging. Because isolation, to me, is fruit of fear, or of poor mental health. That can make you judge yourself far too harshly.  It can make it very hard to rejoin society when you feel better, because that choice makes you confront the fear what people thought of you during your absence, or what they will think of you when you rejoin. (Side note: I've also found that most people don't think about you nearly as much as you think about yourself!)

Getting out of an isolation loop can be tricky. There are so many reasons you got to that point. Getting back isn't always as easy as just turning up to an event and announcing your return to the land of the living. Isolation doesn't improve silence. It compounds it. The silence of isolation isn't comfortable. Its heavy with all sorts of bad.

Knowing your own personality type, your comfort zone, and your type of "healthy" is an important skill in maintaining the balance between solitude and isolation. 

My friend pointed out that abusive people will often shame you for needing solitude, recharge time or ever saying "no." Their demands take precedence over your own health. It's taken her a while to reclaim her need for solitude.

Now - a need for solitude is different from isolation. If you are an introvert, then quiet time matters. So don't feel pressured to fill every diary spot. A person who knows you and cares about you will either know the difference, or they'll listen when you say "this is what I need."

If it crosses over into isolation, then the friend stays important. They may gently challenge you and say "Hey I don't think this kind of isolation is healthy." An abuser will say the same thing, about solitude or isolation, but they make  it all about them-self or their expectations. If someone comes and presses on your self-protection bubble, then ask yourself which one it is. If its the caring friend, let them in even if you are feeling pretty crappy about life. Their love and care will make it easier to come out of the isolation bubble, even if the conversations that requires aren't easy. If it is the demanding, selfish person who is making it all about them, then you are free to choose solitude, and you should - for the sake of your health.

Because Jim Carrey is right about one thing. Sometimes people drain your energy. Solitude can be a little addictive like that. These days I have an "emotional coinage" budget. I don't spend more than I've got in the bank. Some people will take all you've got. Other's will help you recharge. Sometimes you give when there will be no return on investment, because you love that emotional vampire. Sometimes, the person you've got to spend your emotional coinage on is yourself. Know yourself. Know your needs. Know the difference. Sure, challenge yourself in certain areas. That is healthy. But a healthy person sets their own terms, and recognises their limits.

So there you go! My thoughts on Jim Carrey's quote.

Solitude can be great. Isolation, not so much. Know the difference and revel in the healthy one!

Happy Friday ya'll

Kit K

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