I’m often asked what I am passionate about. Without hesitation I answer ‘encouraging people’!
Sincerely speaking life into people in a way that builds them up comes natural to me. I find it instinctive to see as well as to seek something…not just good, but great, in every person I encounter. It’s not a personal choice, I’m just wired to look beyond what’s on the surface, feel beyond what’s implied, and to understand deeply, without limitation or expectation.
I’ve had many hours of self-reflection over the past few years that have caused me to understand myself a lot better; to finally fit the puzzle pieces together to form a picture, and recently, I have begun to share the completed image of what I can now find words to verbalize. Because of the liberty I now stand in, I’m honored to dedicate this inaugural blog to taking the mask off!!
I’m unveiling my very personal and very painful journey with depression. This voyage began so long ago and had become such a regular part of my life, that managing it had also become natural to me. Interestingly enough, while I was dying inside, I was still able to speak and breathe life into others. God’s plan will prevail, won’t it? The problem is, until about a year ago when my Mom died, I didn’t realize I wasn’t managing my depression at all, but instead, for many years, I was masking it. The question is …why?
Before the mask came off, or rather before I was forced to confront the manipulative, controlling, debilitating, draining, effects of depression, I thought depression was the price I paid for being different. I had simply come to accept it, and treated it as my normal. I’d learned to live with it, to manage it…or so I thought.
Some might surmise that I probably never saw a doctor, never was diagnosed as depressed, or refused to take anti-depressant drugs. None of those statements are true. I did all of these things and yet I felt like an outcast, like I had an unacceptable social disease. I felt like it was my fault.
No matter where I went or what I was doing, there was no escaping, no hiding from the sadness, anxiety, gloominess, worry, hurt, isolation, and chest pounding pain. At times it is still indescribable. I found myself on multiple occasions building others up; encouraging them or teaching with such power and clarity, only later recalling how I would arrive home and find myself curled into a ball, in my cave, feeling invisible, and despondent, horribly sad and full of tears. Sometimes I didn’t make it to the car fast enough before the well overflowed. There were so many days I wished there was someone close to me I could share my pain with, but every time I tried to tell someone how I felt or what I needed, I ended up listening to their problems instead.
I went to see a Pastor who told me my problem was that I needed deliverance. I was ashamed to admit my depression initially because I was a minister of the Gospel. I was preaching and teaching the Word of God. How could I be depressed? I felt like I must not really be saved or worse that I had displeased God and was being punished.
Deliverance? Okay, I was willing to try it. I went through a two hour deliverance service. Two weeks later I was ashamed and embarrassed because I still struggled with depression. I questioned whether I was really a Believer? So instead I became a master contortionist. I was a master faker. I could say the words “I’m Fine” in such a way that you believed it, even when I wasn’t.
Depression is not a topic of conversation that gets good press. No one wants to hear about it; no one understands it. I couldn’t tell everybody; I couldn’t tell anybody – anymore, until now. It’s time to be free; it’s time to take the mask off. I did. Will you?
Until next time,
XoXo,
Demetrice
When I was dealing with depression in High School, I used to stay at school until they kicked me out and then I would go to the library. I would stay there until it closed at night. I studied because I figured if I were smart enough, I could use my intellect to mask my depression.
Thanks for sharing. I know what you mean by hiding behind a mask of competency. Who or what can come against that, right? Too bad people never really saw you; they would have loved you!
Intelligence and capability are both good things until they take the place of hope and reality. A mask is designed to do just that, disassociate the truth with circumstantial facts. Our goal is to generate a consistent, open, truthful, global conversation that never ends and invites every illness to take part…not just those deemed acceptable by un-modern society.
I’m glad I am able to discuss this because it has been something I’ve been dealing with. I some days think I should skip my morning dosage of anti depressants. I know that prayers work, but we need a little help until I feel I’m strong enough. I’ve done it because to talk about it and share with others seems like you are a weak person. I felt like people would be like you must not really be a believer in God. So I just go through the motions and deal with the internal thoughts of feeling inadequate or less than or even I’d be better off dead. I’m not stupid enough to say it out loud because the enemy wants me to speak it.
There has been a consistent response from society that mental illness is associated with mental weakness. The ‘church’ has also made a subtle response that mental illness is strictly due to hidden sin. Both of these approaches provide a less than perfect option for those who really need help, but don’t know where to turn. I believe there has to be a balanced approach—a “mental care plan” so the speak, that allows the equal welcoming of therapy, counseling, and theology in a global environment that embraces illness of all kinds, not just those we can see.
When I was dealing with depression, I discovered that I wanted to hide the shame, guilt and hide from people who really loved me. Not knowing that they could have really helped me make it through the season of depression.
Why do you think it was easier to hide what you were feeling, rather than tell them? Often we don’t have the words to express how we feel in a way that ‘makes sense’ to others especially if we don’t fully understand it.
Societal stigma (a mark of disgrace associated with a particular circumstance, quality, or person) often causes us to remain silent and try to handle it ourselves.
The mask I wore was something handed to me and painted over multiple times producing layers of faces, emotions, and various beliefs. I was told to wear the mask because I was black, a woman, and chosen. I colored my mask with: over achievement, my calling and purpose, the label and lie of being an introvert, overtly supporting others, my creativity, grand performances, continuing education, travel, leading women’s groups, starting multiple initiatives to help others, and extensive community service. After all of the beautiful, strong, and varied colorful arrangements my mask displayed, there was a weeping cry for help coming from behind all along.
Wearing an ‘inherited’ mask seems even more trying because it is not one you would have chosen for yourself, yet you made it fit, somehow. Painting over things reminds me of a time I wanted to change my nail color but didn’t have polish remover to take the old color off before adding a new one. I painted several coats of new polish over several coats of old polish and after the polish dried both colors peeled off leaving my nails naked. That’s what happens sometimes when we paint over our masks…soon all color comes of and we feel exposed…naked.