Allie Joyful Community Blog

27. Part 2: What If The Very Thing...

Fri, 04 Sep 2026 13:14:37 GMT

I needed to ask... will you tell me if I become a burden?

When I got to the bottom of the stairs and turned the corner to head towards my kitchen, I was in direct line with my daughter Caroline. She was on her computer – which meant that she was either getting ready to join a meeting or was working on a project. My movement caught her eye and she looked up. I had not had enough time to put on a brave face. She asked if I was okay. I hesitated but knew I couldn't hide. I told her I was really struggling.

She had this look on her face, that beautiful face that reveals so much of her heart. She said, “I know mommy.” In the moment of quiet that followed I thought, “Gosh, she knows me so well.” She just seems to have this intuition and awareness that helps her discern what she believes I need. Sometimes it’s like she knows when to give me the space to come to her when I'm ready. Sometimes she senses that it is the right moment to ask the questions when she doesn't know where the answers will lead. She is just willing to be present. She extends the invitation for conversation and connection but is not motivated by her own need and curiosity. She waits patiently for what I am ready to reveal.

I began to share much of what I included in my previous post. I stopped mid – sentence and blurted out, “Will you tell me if I become too much of a burden?" I didn’t say the next two lines out loud, but I was definitely thinking, “Will you let me know if it gets too hard for you to hear what I have to tell you? Or if it moves beyond this place of knowing that it is helping me process my thoughts to now becoming this weight that you can’t carry because it is bringing you down?”

She looked at me with this kind of confused and sad face and then said, “You're not a burden, mommy.”

In the space of those few seconds the words she spoke aligned with the truth I have known for myself. I don’t think of others as a burden when they tell me their stuff. Why do I have such a hard time believing the same can be true in the reverse?

At that point, it felt like a good place to pause. I was exhausted from talking and realized she had things to get back to. I gave her a kiss, thanked her for listening, and told her I was going to take a drive. As I got by the back door, she came up behind me and said, “If you feel like talking when you come home, I'll be here.” I knew she meant it.

Has it been your experience that you are happy to be there for others but are hesitant to ask the same of others?

#accompaniment #burden #capacity

26. What If The Very Thing That Could Help Me Is A Burden I Fear I Can't Carry?

Mon, 31 Aug 2026 21:21:59 GMT

How do I make sense of these thoughts?

Today is Monday, August 31, 2026. It is mid-afternoon. Normally I would have already posted one of the 38 stories I have previously written. But I have been going back and forth all day and feel as though I need to interrupt my “regularly scheduled program” to talk about what I have been going through these past few weeks.

In full disclosure, I tried to do this on July 27, but was too afraid of where it was taking me. So I posted #16. I understand that for anyone reading my blog, it seems like I just got through the Dark Days of December. But for me that was seven months ago. I want and actually need to share my most recent challenges and discoveries now.

Perhaps it is best to start with the ending, like those movies that give you a glimpse of what is to come and then flashes back to reveal what led up to that point. The truth is that the reality I was pondering was the question, “What if the very thing that could help me is a burden I fear I can’t carry?”

So here goes. The beginning of five weeks ago…

Today is Monday, July 27th. I have the story, “I Don’t Should Myself Anymore”, scheduled to post but I'm lying here on my bed wondering if I need to write in real time. There are many thoughts racing through my mind.

I so want to call my friend Kelly to process all of this stuff but it’s morning here and three hours earlier where she lives. I hesitate partly because of the time difference but also because I don't want to unload on her. Yet I feel like unloading might be the very thing that might help me move beyond this pain. Instead, I am talking out loud so that it is captured by my computer and hope that I can read the words later and make sense of what feels like five lanes trying to merge into one.

One of my thoughts centers on a homily given by Fr. Mike Schmidt. He talks about when people question God about what they are to do with their life; the meaning of it, what direction to go, and what is our purpose? The answer he offered was that we are exactly where God wants us to be at that moment. So whatever my questions, my uncertainties, my wondering – all of what I direct to Him about my state of being – that’s what He wants for me.

I have also been thinking a lot about a post I saw on LinkedIn a couple of weeks ago regarding Dr. Nolan Williams. He was a brilliant neuroscientist who developed a treatment for severe depression, something that he also dealt with personally. He died by suicide in October of 2025. Since reading his story, I have found myself wondering if there really is any hope? I know that the more days that I live with episodes, the more my brain changes. This results in more frequent episodes lasting longer. I am plagued with thoughts of wondering if I will get to that point of despair?

I fear that I will become a burden. I’ve moved beyond being embarrassed about others seeing me in pain. But I can’t rid the thoughts of the sense of worry they will feel because they love me. This adds more weight to an already heavy load.

I think again about what Fr. Mike Schmidt said. Is this where God wants me to be? I feel as though I am supposed to trust that it is. Does He want me to overcome my fear of being a burden to others who love me? Does He want me to do the thing that I believe will help me move through the pain to get to the other side? Does He want me to talk about what I fear I might think about someday?

I need to get out of my head space because I don’t know where these thoughts are taking me and I’m a bit scared to continue. For now, I am going to return to my regularly scheduled program.

(I’m stopping here because it is what I truly did at that moment. I’ll continue in my next post with what I did after I left my bedroom.)

What is a burden you bear?

#fear #reality #TrustinGod

25. It Hurts to Think

Thu, 27 Aug 2026 13:30:04 GMT

It's all I can do to just exist and endure

I know I have people I can talk to about my struggles. I feel blessed that this number has grown as I’ve been more open about these periods of darkness and my mental illness in general. Family and friends have expressed their willingness to be there for me – whether it’s on the other end of the phone or sitting with me. I am profoundly grateful that they want to accompany me in this way.

In February I was talking to my friend Eileen. I was reflecting on some big things that I had learned from my latest episode in December. As is often the case when I process something with a person I trust, I say stuff that I don’t recognize as being important. But they do.

Eileen listened as I likely spoke for 20 minutes uninterrupted. She just gave me the space to say what I needed. After I finished, she expressed something to the effect of, “Just call me when you are in this place, so you’re not alone.”

I absolutely knew what she meant. I didn’t feel any pressure. I didn’t interpret it as a tone of reproach, disapproval, or exacerbation. I understood that she was trying to help – just as others have. But here’s the thing. Before that moment I didn’t know how to articulate that it’s not that I’m not grateful for those offers or that I don't trust them with my story. I truly couldn’t name why I don’t.

But it must've been in my response that caught her attention because there was a pause and she said, “Wait, what? It hurts to think?”

I was not aware that I had even spoken those words, but they did, in fact, reveal the reason. The pain I feel is like what I imagine a migraine might feel like that has spread throughout my entire body. One that goes on and on. I do things to try to mitigate it – Advil, cold wash cloths over my eyes, shades drawn, chocolate, resting my head on gel ice packs, heating blanket, more chocolate, my fan on at the highest level for white noise.

Sometimes I have the TV on as well. It has to be faint enough that I don’t really hear the words but enough of a presence that I don’t feel completely isolated. And even though I can barely hear it, it’s usually a show, like Castle, that I’ve watched many times. My brain can’t tolerate any new material. It would require too much effort to try and follow the plot.

I don’t have the energy to reach for my phone to make a call or send a text. The movement of my mouth or even my fingers is just too much. Heck, just thinking can put me over the edge. It truly hurts to think. It’s all that I can do to just exist and endure.

Sometimes it takes all the energy I can muster just to search for the remote and mute Castle.

How does your depression manifest itself physically, cognitively, emotionally, and/or spiritually?

#debilitating #depression #painful

24. My Sweet Caroline

Mon, 24 Aug 2026 13:02:18 GMT

How my daughter helped me move through the pain of December

My daughter, Caroline, had been back living and working from home for the past several months. She witnessed firsthand the difficulty I was going through. Many days she would ask if I wanted to go for a walk or take a drive to our favorite Goodwill store. When I’m in a good place, I jump at the chance to do these things with her. But not then. I was just not up for it.

When I declined, it was the look on her face, her words, and the way she said them that gave me great comfort. She didn’t give me a pitiful look like, “Mom, really?” Nor was it a look of exacerbation or frustration like, “I’m tired of asking” or, “Can’t you meet me halfway?”

I came to find such solace in her invitations even when I knew I could not oblige. The grace she showed me helped me to feel a little bit closer to when I could say yes. She kept extending the invitation. I didn’t feel pressured.

I’m not sure how much time would pass in between, but each time she did, no matter what my response, I felt calmed. She accepted that I knew what was best for me at that moment. She assured me that she would be there when I was ready. She didn’t even speak those words out loud; it was the way she conveyed those sentiments by the kindness in her eyes and the smile on her face.

I am overwhelmed with feelings of such love and joy – in the way all five of my children, each in their own way, helped me move through the pain of December. Because Caroline was in my home, she had the opportunity to accompany me in a unique way. She gave me something that I had not expected. I have this picture of my sweet Caroline in my mind. I see the look on her face and hear the tone in her voice, and I feel it.

Love. That’s what I want to be to others.

What does it look like when someone accompanies you in the way you need?

#accompaniment #burden #gratitude

23. Extending Grace to Myself

Thu, 20 Aug 2026 14:39:14 GMT

I knew where God was leading me

For several years I served as the coordinator of Project Rachel post-abortion healing ministry offered by the Catholic Church. I was the initial point of contact in my diocese for women and men who called or emailed.

The first call I had was from a woman who had difficulty telling her story because she was crying so hard. She had made that decision twelve years earlier and was still suffering so greatly. I said to her what I truly meant – that God saw her. He loved her. And He forgave her. I was totally sincere, but she questioned how God, or anyone else for that matter, could possibly love her after what she had done.

I wasn’t sure how to respond. I put my head down and prayed, “Holy Spirit, please work through me.” I needed help to find the right words. God took me in a different direction and guided my thoughts away from what I had expected. As if my life was flashing before my eyes, I was above the clouds. They stretched out in vastness. I knew that they represented all the mistakes I’d made. Among them, I saw my children’s faces when I would yell at them, struggling with the pain that I couldn’t put words to. Those sweet little faces and I took it out on them. I was so sorry.

I thought about this woman who had made one devastating decision. I had hurt my children over and over. I had taken out my "stuff" on them. How could God forgive that? I lost track of time but it was only a matter of moments. I understood where God was leading me. If I couldn’t forgive myself for the mistakes that I’d made, then why would this woman or any other person I encounter ever find sincerity in my words? I felt God’s profound mercy. It was a dividing and defining moment in my life.

I found myself in a similar place this past December. Two and a half weeks into this episode – I had never had one last this long – I was sinking lower in despair when I experienced this moment of grace. The Holy Spirit was working through me prompting me to ask myself some hard questions, "If I was sitting in front of a friend who was sharing my story what would I think? What would I say?"

And so in this moment of clarity I said out loud, “God I really don’t like where I am right now, but I know I’m going to get through it. I’m not going to shame myself for all the things I could be doing. I know that they’ll be there on the other side to handle when I can.”

It was the first time I recognized that what I was doing to myself was adding more harm than good. I rejected those thoughts of, "Just pull yourself together" or other such sentiments that did nothing more than make things worse. I was able to see the cycle where I was beating myself in the middle of it and even after, would look back and beat myself up again for the time wasted.

Two and a half weeks into this episode, I did something different. I made the choice to be kind.

I did for myself what I so often do for others in a similar place – I extended grace.

Can you recall a time where you extended grace to yourself and how that helped you heal?

#capacity #forgiveness #TrustInGod

22. I Can't Fake "Fine"

Mon, 17 Aug 2026 15:43:36 GMT

Pretending is just so exhausting

I attended a party the Sunday before Christmas. I really wasn’t feeling up for it but pushed myself to go. There were people I wanted to see. I thought it would be okay. You know those commercials selling anti-depressants where a woman is walking around holding up a paper plate with a drawn-on smiley face? Apparently, I didn’t have the energy to hold up my mine.

I thought that I was doing a pretty good job. I was really trying. I showed up and that took a lot. I was trying to be part of something I would be sorry to miss out on. But later someone told me that I looked so small. I wondered if others noticed the same? Were they all talking about me? Did they comment on how I looked, what I said, or how I acted? My mind was going down “that” path. I wanted to keep on walking until I was out of their sight and mine.

Experiences like this help me consider when it’s good for me to accept an invitation or stay home and to feel okay about that decision. Sometimes being around others or in different settings can lighten my heart and be just what I need to come out of the funk. But other times when what I’m carrying around is just so profound and painful, I can’t simply leave it at home. The challenge is knowing whether I am depressed by something that’s going on in my life or when the depression is me. I read and reread that line. And yes, that’s what I mean. The clinical depression for me cannot be separated when I’m in an episode. I can’t leave it behind.

I’m not a good liar. You might think that would be a good option where social graces are concerned, but I cannot fib and say that I’m “fine” when I’m not. I think it’s one of those peculiar things associated with my OCD. It just doesn’t feel right to lie and faking seems a bit like one. When I’m in one of those places, I can’t step out of my home and try to engage in normal conversation. Heck, I can’t even bring myself to type a text or make a call. I just don’t have the energy. The truth is that I can’t fake fine. It’s so consuming that even when I try to do my “gratitude” list in my head to remind me of all I have, it hurts.

Pretending is so exhausting. Sometimes it’s just easier to stay home and be unseen.

How have you had to pretend when you were hurting so you didn’t have to explain yourself, avoid awkward questions, or something else?

#burden #depression #pretending

21. Mom, Why Are You Watching Those Videos?

Thu, 13 Aug 2026 14:54:38 GMT

I didn't want to fall back into destructive patterns

At one point in the weeks-long depression period, I started watching YouTube videos of police officers arresting drunk drivers and people behaving badly in airports, retail stores, and other various settings. I was a bit obsessed.

One day my youngest daughter passed by my bedroom door likely hearing, “Are you serious? I didn’t do anything!” To be fair this was probably the fourth or fifth day that I had been watching them and at this point it had turned from curiosity to concern for her. She popped her head in and said, “Mom, why are you watching these videos?” Oh, I don’t know… yeah, sure I do. I needed to see myself in others who had crossed a line so I wouldn’t go back.

I’d like to think that I wouldn’t have reacted the way they did in those videos but the truth is that it had only been twelve weeks earlier when I had taken risks to drive with open Bud Light bottles in my car and surely driven under the influence. It was ridiculous and irresponsible. I was reckless. I knew that I wasn’t in a good place and yet I must not have fully recognized how bad it was or I wouldn’t have been doing it. I’m fortunate that I hadn’t gone too far and lucky that I didn’t get caught because there would’ve been serious consequences.

Watching those videos took me back to those moments where I might’ve been discovered for all the things I was hiding. They reminded me that as much as I might have the inclination to drink so that I could be numb and not feel the hurt I was feeling, I didn’t want to fall back into those destructive patterns. This was huge for me because I was in such a hard place. I could’ve easily slipped back into what had given me comfort in the past.

I spent much of the first three weeks of December in my bedroom. I had never had an episode last that long but I didn’t complicate things by adding something else that would’ve made it worse. There were many moments when my kids would check in with me. I told them honestly, “Not so good, but at least I’m not drinking.” That was good.

Have you ever recognized a destructive or unhealthy behavior in yourself when trying to cope with your depression?

#coping #depression #numbing

20. 673 Texts and Mounting

Mon, 10 Aug 2026 13:00:28 GMT

When I'm distant it's not because I don’t care

673 texts and counting, correction mounting. This was the total at one point in December when I finally glanced at my phone. My voice mailbox was also full – that’s why the person left text #673. I didn’t even bother to check emails. Christmas cards remained in the mailbox located at the far end of my attached garage.

This is what it looks like when I’m in “that” place. It would make sense to think that I could avoid getting there if I just didn’t let things pile up. But this isn’t the start or end – it’s the middle.

I think this issue is a combination of my OCD and clinical depression. I think they happen in tandem. This insidiousness of my mental health struggles. I don’t have the energy to keep up and catching up is overwhelming, so I can’t. It’s probably why I hide or refrain from checking the mailbox or letting my phone run down so that it’s dead. I don’t have the mental or physical energy to face the implications of my inability to do something that most others would have no problem accomplishing.

I know I’ve missed out on things. I’ve missed important moments, conversations, opportunities. The truth is that when I’m going through one of these episodes, if I could not open the mail or listen to the message then I wouldn’t have been well enough to attend, comment, or engage.

I totally get people being frustrated. I understand that there’s confusion and hurt when I’m not available to reach and when I’m just not present. When I’m distant it's not because I don’t care. I’m distant because I can’t.

What is going on for you when it is a challenge to maintain connections with others?

#compulsion #hiding #overwhelmed

19. Back on Sertraline

Wed, 05 Aug 2026 12:53:14 GMT

Part of the journey navigating my mental illnesses

I will be the first to admit. This post is b-o-r-i-n-g. I don’t have the foggiest idea how to present this information in a clever way. It’s medicine for goodness sake.

But to get through it, I have the song “Lord, Is It Mine” by Supertramp playing in my mind. It speaks to the reality of my sadness yet also provides hope as I reflect on three decades of my relationship with meds navigating depression and anxiety. Perhaps you can think of a song that fits your mood if you wish to continue reading :)

I was first prescribed Zoloft – a Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors (SSRI) when I was 34 and had to go on bedrest with my third child (but my fourth pregnancy as I had miscarried several months earlier)
I had it filled and then threw out the bottle. I didn’t want to need it. A few months later I knew I needed it
felt a change in one day
worked well for months (remainder of bed-rest pregnancy and post-partum)
then months of feeling no lows but also no real joys
started taking randomly because it did calibrate me when I was really down
four years later and on bedrest again, new doctor changed dosage, not med
once Zoloft’s patent expired, too expensive to take, family doctor had me try six different meds in same class, none worked like Zoloft
family doctor contacted insurance company to get cost reduced
maintained, gradually increased dosage, maintained, increased again
began having anxiety attacks, prescribed another med that did nothing but make me feel nauseated
battled with drug and insurance companies to increase recommended dosage of sertraline
ran out of it two days before Christmas 2024
cried at that Christmas Eve Mass with a depth I had not felt in quite some time
didn’t pursue getting on meds, lived through the lows and appreciated the highs
started back on 50mg sertraline in December of 2025 during the second week of the three-week episode, not the same effect as when I had taken it before, but felt a bit better
reluctant to try anything else because I have already experienced the frustration of feeling worse than better

Oh yes and there’s this little thing about self-medicating with beer sprinkled in throughout a good portion of those years. I mean beer is a depressant, what did I think was going to happen? But I know why. I drank because I was hurting and trying to calm my anxiety. I thought that would help me hurt less. And it did – for a while. Then I realized it was actually making things worse.

What does it all mean? Heck if I know. I’m living it and it doesn't make sense. I just know that it’s hard. And confusing. And frustrating. And I’m going to keep going and recognize, like many things in life, I have to adjust, and then readjust. This is reality. It is mine.

What has been your experience regarding medication for your diagnosis?

#anxiety #depression #reality

18. Dark Days of December

Mon, 03 Aug 2026 13:02:36 GMT

Holding my breath until the days grow longer

The month of December is hard for me. The shorter days of light weigh heavily on me. It’s like I’m on a countdown until the winter solstice. I believe this is part of my OCD. I get anxious about the approaching sundown. It’s harder for me to function and I’m holding my breath until the days start to grow longer. I wake up on December 22nd feeling a little lighter and more hopeful. I’m glad that Christmas comes after this dividing line in my mind.

My husband Joe died in October of 2017. His birthday is November 30th. He loved Christmas. It makes sense to me that this is a difficult time of the year for me. I’m not hard on myself for that.

But this past December, 2025, was the worst yet. Not having a routine was a problem. For as long as I can remember I’ve had one – going to school, teaching, having children and their schedules, overlapped with fifteen years of pastoral work until April of ‘25. This December I had way too much time on my hands. About the only thing that I had to mark my days were the ones when I took my mom to a doctor’s appointments or the hospital. I looked forward to these days because it got me out of bed. It gave me purpose. This experience has shown me that a schedule helps to ground me.

I had anticipated that December would be difficult, as it had been the past nine. But I thought that I’d be in a better place because I didn’t have the added burden of drinking. I was disappointed in myself. I was there for quite a while when I remembered something my friend Mary taught me. When you are going through a hard time ask, “God, what is it that you want me to learn from this?” I sure got some good answers. Details to follow.

What does your “darkness” look like?

#debilitating #depression #grief

17. I Knew When I Knew

Thu, 30 Jul 2026 14:03:43 GMT

I don't say I wish I would have known earlier

My struggle with alcohol has gone on a long time.

It’s not like I didn’t have ongoing conversations with myself about the need to stop drinking. It’s not like I didn’t try. I don’t say I wish I would’ve known earlier because the truth is… I knew when I knew.

There were many days that I believe God was reaching out to me. I actually heard the words, “Choose Me” twice when I was in the garage getting a beer. I turned around to see who was talking to me. I saw no one. But I knew. And I turned away from Him anyway. I guess I just wasn’t ready.

I am Catholic. There’s a prayer called the Confiteor in the opening part of the Mass where we’re called to think about the sins that separate us from God. Without fail, the one I would always whisper was, “I’m sorry God for not choosing You.” I couldn’t even name it but I knew He knew what I couldn’t bring myself to say.

Sometimes when I was in a good place, I would go to Confession. It was a big step. I found peace and I was so determined to stay there. And I would for a while, but eventually I failed. I still confessed that sin every time I attended or watched Mass but the times that I went to receive the sacrament became further apart. It was just too hard to lie – not to the priest because I believed I was being honest in wanting to stop. It was more like I was lying to myself. I wanted God to take away the burden. But He knew there was more I had to do on my part. He was just waiting for me to be ready. Really ready.

I want to be clear that I don’t think drinking is bad, it’s just bad for me.

When I was ready, I took the step that God had been waiting for – the thing I thought I couldn’t possibly do. I threw out the beer and said to myself, “Not tomorrow. Today.” God helped me with the rest.

I have forgiven myself for this. I knew when I knew.

What does forgiveness look like to you? Have you been able to forgive yourself for mistakes made?

#acceptance #bargaining #forgiveness

16. I Don't "Should" Myself Anymore

Mon, 27 Jul 2026 17:20:29 GMT

It feels like shame

I’ve said, “You should…” to others. I’ve said it plenty of times to myself too. I believe it came from a good place.

I was just so sure that what I had to say was absolutely brilliant and would be life changing. Ok, I know that I’m being sarcastic but there’s a bit of truth to what I thought of my opinion – especially if it involved my kids. I reasoned that I was older or had a similar experience or blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Sometimes I didn’t even respect it when they flat out told me they weren’t interested in hearing what I had to say. I just plowed right ahead and told them because I thought I was being helpful. That, and it was my duty. And, because I knew best.

Then I was on the receiving end of someone “shoulding” me. I didn’t quite care for that. But I also admit that there were times when I thought I needed someone to tell me what to do because I felt clueless and trusted their opinion.

Thankfully I learned something very helpful from my friend Mary. Not only did she avoid telling what I “should” do when I asked her, but she would follow it up by saying, “Well what do you think?” It was infuriating at first. I wanted to know what she thought. But Mary knew that giving me her answer wouldn’t really help in the end. She told me that she believed that I had the answer within me.

Mary was not trying to circumvent my question; she was guiding me to trust my instincts. She asked questions based on what I shared that led me to go deeper. She was right. I often did know the answer or was at least further along in figuring it out. Speaking my thoughts out loud allowed me to process them differently than when they were just stuck in my head.

I don’t need to “should” myself or anyone else.

I’ve come to really dislike that word. It feels like shame, so I don’t use it anymore. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t come to mind sometimes. So when it does, I go straight to the song I love by “The Clash” – but I have changed the lyrics. Now what I sing is, “Good I Stay or Good I Go Now?” Afterall, I have a history of getting lyrics wrong and then there’s that little matter of my OCD. I just can’t help myself. And those words – they make perfect sense to me.

How do you feel when someone tells you what you “should” do regarding a struggle you have?

#accompaniment #boundaries #capacity

15. Doubting Myself

Thu, 23 Jul 2026 14:24:22 GMT

Would I still be able to write without drinking?

The day I stopped drinking was a Friday. I'd spent the following day with my brother-in-law at his farm. It was the first time I had ever fished. It helped being in a completely different element as I was trying to navigate this new normal. He knew about the drama that took place the day before and allowed me to just be. My mom and sister listened as I shared more throughout the weekend. I called my friend Kelly. She had known about my secrets. I drove back home with my mom on Monday. I felt a peace I hadn't known for some time.

On Tuesday, I went to my “spot” in my living room and sat down to write. I had no words. I looked down at my screen and just saw an empty space. It was the same as I looked up and across the room. There was just this vastness. I figured I was still unwinding from my trip. The next morning I sat in that same spot, the very place where I'd written ten posts before – before, when I was drinking. Again, nothing. I started panicking a bit.

I texted my friend Meagan and asked if we could talk. She called me right away. I shared with her that I'd quit drinking and felt frozen as I tried to write. She told me that she understood as she knows others who often feel like they need alcohol or drugs to be creative.

I remember quiet. I think she was giving me the space to absorb what she'd said and consider my options. Perhaps we were both contemplating whether I might say that I had to start drinking again because I needed it to write.

I’d faced moments like this before – deciding whether to drink or not. I think God allowed me those few seconds to be sure it was what I wanted. I told Meagan that if I couldn’t write without drinking alcohol then I guess it was the end of the blog. I wasn’t going back there.

Each day I pray that God places people in my path that leads me to Him, and that I do the same for others. Meagan was that person for me that Wednesday. She listened and acknowledged my feelings. This helped me to see how I'd relied on alcohol and had given it credit for some of the things that I thought I couldn’t do without it. That day affirmed that I do have a gift for writing. I have God to thank for this, not alcohol.

If you are using alcohol or drugs to cope, is there something you fear will happen if you stop?

#accompaniment #gratitude #TrustInGod

14. Tomorrows

Mon, 20 Jul 2026 13:19:11 GMT

I had so many so what's one more?

My bulimia started simple enough. I was working at the daycare at Saint Mary’s College the summer before my senior year. We had an open house. I ate too much, too fast, felt awful, and then made myself sick. I probably would have gotten there naturally but I hurried it along because I had three and four year olds counting on me.

It was just so easy. I mean it wasn’t – because I never considered the price I would pay many years later, but it sure seemed simple then. I could eat what I wanted and not gain weight. That was the beginning of almost 8 years – every meal, every day. I got the affirmation I needed to continue as people started commenting on how I looked. Several years into it, I felt this tremendous amount of shame because I was hiding how I was achieving this. There were a lot of days that I would say to myself, “I won’t tomorrow.” But I had so many tomorrows so what’s one more?

I am thankful to the doctor that made it safe for me to name my struggle as I was trying to find out why I couldn’t get pregnant after three years of trying. He looked at me with such kindness and compassion and said, “Maybe God wants you to be healthy so that you can carry your baby safely.” The fear of what I would lose if I stopped my bulimia became less than what I feared if I didn’t do what I needed to have a baby.

What I did made sense to me – the bulimia, I mean. I worried what would happen if I stopped. Wondering what things would look like on the “other” side kept me in this sort of paralyzed state. I might not like where I was at, but at least there was a sort of familiarity.

I’m not sure if I can explain why one day I did and the next day I didn’t. It just became so clear to me at that moment. I was no longer afraid. I did not shame myself and think I “should” have done it sooner. I was finally at my tomorrow.

What are the struggles that you face with your eating disorder?

#bargaining #compulsion #fear

13. The Joy of Al-Anon

Thu, 16 Jul 2026 11:55:41 GMT

Being in a place where others "get" me

I have been attending Al-Anon meetings since May of 2012. It's a 12-step support program for people whose lives have been affected by someone else’s alcoholism or drug addiction. I went there hoping to find the answers that would fix the problem. I had this idea that I could be the one to save this person. It was a big step just to accept that I couldn't do it alone and needed to ask for help. Honestly I thought it was a reflection on my inadequacy if I couldn't figure it out on my own.

So here I was sitting at my first meeting, waiting for the big reveal and instead what I discovered is that there aren't any magic answers. And what’s more – we do not focus on the person struggling with alcohol or drugs but on ourselves. Wait? What?

Attending these meetings have been challenging at times, but so worth the work. I have learned about the disease, about compassion for people suffering from addictions, and compassion for myself and others who are also impacted. And at times, depending on my relationship with alcohol, I’ve known secretly what it’s truly like to be on the other side of this disease.

What I love about Al-Anon is that nobody “shoulds” anyone. We read from these books that are a compilation of stories written by others who are just like us living with this shared experience. Someone volunteers to read a reflection and often comments on how the story resonates with him or her. Everyone is welcome to talk but there's no pressure to do so. We just give one another the space needed to comment if desired before we move on to the next selection from one of the Al-Anon books.

Each time someone shares we respond in the same way – thanking that person and saying his or her name. Period. We don’t ask why he or she didn’t do something different or offer our own opinions on what to do. It's a safe place for people to speak from the heart and their hurt without judgement. And I don’t have to worry if what I say doesn’t make sense to anybody else because it does to me. I am enough.

I have found care. I have a better understanding about the insidiousness of alcoholism and drug addictions. I have found a place where people get me in a way that fills in some of the space and emptiness when I try to articulate my thoughts. As unique as each one of us and our stories are, there is comfort in being with others that will just let you be. There is no fixing, but a lot of wisdom is shared from our own experiences that resonate with one another. And the truth is we leave each meeting taking what we want and leaving behind anything that doesn’t quite fit.

There has definitely been crying. Even in that it’s been a relief to feel comfortable in doing so in front of others who have likely endured a similar experience. Mostly there’s joy. Joy at finding a place where I don’t have to pretend. I can explain if I want but I don’t have to either. I don’t have to worry about people telling me what they think I should do when they only know part of my story. They accept what I give them as I accept theirs. In Al-Anon there is a lot of listening. That and kindness. My connection to it has truly changed my life. It has also provided the framework for this blog.

Where do you find the support you need?

#accompaniment #boundaries #capacity

12. My Rock Bottom

Mon, 13 Jul 2026 13:55:57 GMT

Today God, I am ready today.

It was September 12, 2025. My mom had celebrated her 90th birthday the day before. We had traveled to my sister’s home for the occasion.

I woke up that morning thinking it was 6:30am. I hadn’t slept well and was glad to see that it was light out so I could go downstairs. It was actually 10:30am. I’d missed the opportunity to drive my brother to the airport. I was confused and mad. Why didn’t anyone wake me? Hadn’t I said the night before that I wanted to take him? My sister told me that they had let me sleep in because they thought I needed it. To be fair, I rarely get a good night’s sleep so I know it made sense, but I kept pressing.

My sister made an innocent comment about the beer I had before going to bed and how drinking at night can affect sleep patterns. She had no flipping idea. She’d only seen me drink one and that was about six less than usual. She struck a nerve. I escalated the conversation to the point that I said ridiculous things and stormed out of her house. My intention was to drive to a park, find a spot, and go to the back of my car where I had two tall boys of Bud Light stashed for moments like this.

I pulled out of the driveway and began sobbing. For about an hour I couldn’t stop. I drove around without direction. I was also without my phone but I was too mad and embarrassed to turn back. Part of me knew I wasn’t crying because my sister and I got in a fight or I hadn’t been able to take my brother to the airport. I knew it was something bigger.

I felt this tug from God as I drove by this beautiful Catholic church. Two blocks down the road, I felt the tug again. I turned around and circled the property looking for a spot in front. I wanted as few people as possible to see me as I doubt I was wearing anything all that good. Had I even put on lipstick? I knew I was a hot mess so I figured I’d just sneak in the back. I found a parking spot but the doors were locked. “Gee, God, thanks a lot.” Well, at least for a moment there I’d considered doing something other than drinking.

Eventually I found the park. I stopped twice. Each time it didn’t feel safe to get out of my car to retrieve my beer. Climbing over the seats seemed a little over the top – even to me. I guess it was a good thing I had hidden the beer from my mom. Things might have gone differently that day if they were close by.

I was still sobbing. I decided to have another conversation with God. I think it went something like, “Okay Holy Spirit, I think there’s probably more than just remembering to set an alarm or not being a jerk to my sister that you want me to learn. Am I right? I just can’t quite figure it out, but I know there must be something.” I waited in silence.

The answer came moments later. I knew what I had to do. It’s as if I was propelled out of the park and down the road to find the first gas station. I pulled up to the pump, got out the beers, and threw them in the trash. The old me (well actually in all transparency I did think it at that moment) wondered if I was being quite irresponsible for throwing away two perfectly good cans of beer.

It was a moment of God allowing me to make the choice. I had made different ones so many times before. I had wanted that choice of when I could drink, not if I could drink. Was I really comparing wasting two cans of beer to wasting away my life? When I finally accepted that I couldn’t decide on the “when” because “no” time was the right answer for me, I knew.

Then I said to myself, “Today God, I am ready today.”

What is the hardest part of your struggle with alcohol or drug addiction? If you have found sobriety, what led you to this point?

#acceptance #bargaining #courage #TrustInGod

11. I Feel It In My Knees

Thu, 09 Jul 2026 13:05:16 GMT

The beginning of an anxiety attack

I can be just sitting around and all of the sudden my knees go weak. Even when I can’t connect it to something obvious, I know what is likely to follow. My tongue starts to feel too big for my mouth. It’s hard to form words. It seems like there is this big space in my brain where things aren’t going from one side to the other. If others are around me, I can feel their concern as they strain to make sense of what I’m trying to say. It is terrifying. It is familiar. It is the beginning of an anxiety attack.

I reach for something sweet hoping it will subside my shakiness. There is probably no scientific data that supports my belief that candy is the answer, but I’m convinced it will help. I suspect there is a connection between being offered a sucker when I was little and scraped knees. I use food – specifically sweets for soothing. That’s probably worth exploring in another post.

I expect to feel anxious in certain situations. In those scenarios it generally hits me in my stomach. This is why it is best that I don’t watch my favorite teams play live – Notre Dame, Chicago Cubs, Da Bears. Heck, I’m even nervous watching replays of the games they’ve won. But this is something very different and unsettling. It feels like it comes out of nowhere, but I suspect this isn’t always the case. Even though I might not be thinking or talking about something clearly concerning, it’s likely that something in my subconscious is trying to come to the surface.

Sometimes when the crisis of symptoms has passed, I just want to move on. I mean it’s not a good feeling so I don’t really want to go back there. I wonder if the symptoms will return if I try to figure it out. In those moments it is all I can do to slow my heart, stop the shaking in my hands, and sit down so that my legs don’t buckle under me. Usually I’m too weak, physically and mentally, after it passes to deal with it then. But I know at some point I am going to have to consider the "why."

I picture the scene from “Field of Dreams” when the little girl is sitting on the top of the bleacher eating a hotdog. Her mouth is stuffed with it. Kind of reminds me how my mouth feels during an anxiety attack. She is trying to tell her uncle something as he is shaking her. She manages to get out, “It’s not nothing” before she plummets to the ground.

I can’t always figure out the source of my anxiety, but what I am feeling is real. I know my anxiety attacks aren’t nothing.

How does anxiety manifest itself in physical symptoms for you?

#anxiety #fear #unpredictable

10. The Shelf Across My Brow

Mon, 06 Jul 2026 13:01:53 GMT

It's like a weight that rests there...

I can tell when there is the onset of a depression episode. I can feel it right across my brow. It’s like a weight that rests there. And as the days and sometimes weeks pass while I’m in this place, I pile up things on the shelf that can weigh me down even further. One time this image felt so real, I literally thought, “I sure hope those mollies can hold what I’m piling on.” It’s like I can’t help myself. Even knowing that I am in danger of the shelf pulling away from the wall under the weight, I can’t bring myself to remove the items.

I have an ornate tole wall shelf right by my front door. It’s under a picture of Mary holding Jesus as a baby and above the first few steps leading to the second floor. The shelf holds a statue of the Pieta (Mary holding Jesus after He died), a small glass vessel of Holy Water, a pix for when I take Holy Communion to my mom, and two beautiful rosaries gifted by loved ones. These things are precious to me.

It’s not lost on me that I run the risk of having these items placed in a precarious position. But it’s a place of honor. I chose it specifically so that I could pass by it many times during the day.

That shelf has come off the wall – a couple times when the wind slammed the door shut and once when my neighbor set off a cherry bomb. Nothing has ever broken but it has been startling to say the least. I suppose it kind of reminds me that I have fallen, but I am not broken. I’m not something that needs to be fixed, although surely, I’ve needed mending.

At times, I’ve walked by the shelf and it’s a visual reminder of the balance that I try to achieve. Sometimes I imagine rearranging the items – in reality, the worries. Sometimes I’ve lined them up proportionately or sometimes they’re just random. Most of the time I can manage.

It’s hard to explain the difference between the depression that is from inside and the depression that comes from things that happen in life. Perhaps clinical depression is like dust. I can walk by a shelf and see the dust. I want to do something about it, but I just don’t have the energy. Coming out of one of my episodes is like having the energy to remove the items from the shelf; dusting each one, wiping off the top, and putting them back in place. Sometimes they are arranged differently.

Sometimes when I have transitioned back into a more normal mode, things can also look a little different. There is a lightness now because the dust has been cleared off. But the reality is, at some point, the dust will accumulate again.

What has the weight of depression felt like for you?

#debilitating #depression #overwhelmed

9. I Felt Discarded

Thu, 02 Jul 2026 14:00:16 GMT

It made me question so many things about myself

I have lost people I loved dearly. And I have had other losses that have had a profound impact on me.

My job was eliminated right before Holy Week, 2025. I had been there for over fifteen years. I loved what I did. I didn’t consider it a job, it felt more like a vocation. I was heartbroken.

I still don’t truly understand. I was told it was because of restructuring. I’m sure it made sense to the people making the decision, but I felt completely blindsided. Many months later, I’m still grappling with how it has made me question so many things about myself. What else did I miss? Why wasn’t I enough?

No matter how many times I tell myself that I know I made a difference to others, I’m right back to that same question, “Why?” There is just this ache in me about the emptiness I feel at the loss of purpose and doing something that was so meaningful.

When I told my friend Kathy that it has been the hardest thing that has ever happened to me, she asked, “You mean harder than losing Joe, or your dad or your sister?” It probably seems ridiculous that I would compare losing a job with losing my loved ones, but I told her that it was a different kind of loss. Maybe it's because it’s on top of all the other losses. But I think it is because it’s a reflection on me and that is difficult to face.

I absolutely know that good things can come from hard things. It has happened many times before when I recognized the blessings that I wouldn’t have known if I had not gone through the difficulty. But I know this for sure. No matter any of the good that comes, nothing will diminish the memory of the pain that I feel from this experience. Even when I consider all that I cherished – the people and the work, it still closes with the same ending. There’s no way around it for me. One day things are one way and the next day they aren’t. I am gone. I feel discarded.

I do know that God sees me. And I know that He allowed this to happen. I know all of this, and I trust in His plan for me. But can I just say that I sure don’t like it.

What are the losses in your life that have left you feeling discarded?

#grief #painful #TrustInGod

8. Dreams That Haunt Me

Mon, 29 Jun 2026 18:00:03 GMT

I was afraid of being rejected if they knew my stuff

I have dreams that haunt me. I see friends from long ago and move to greet them. The look on their faces tells me that they aren’t happy to see me. In some of those dreams they turn away. In others they tell me what they think about my disappearing act. When I wake up, I’m in this weird space. Part of me is glad that it wasn’t real and that I didn’t feel their anger but part of me is sad because at least in my dream I had the chance to say I’m sorry that I messed up.

Some of these friends in my dreams are from college or just after. It was during the summer between my junior and senior year at Saint Mary’s when I became bulimic. While I don’t remember feeling depressed, it is likely. That and OCD. I think I’ve had a lot of overlap with these things.

I guess you could say I was already having distorted thinking. I couldn’t name what was going on with me, so how could I explain it to others so that they’d understand? How could I say that I can’t meet up with you because of the way I feel when I look at myself in my clothes? The discord in my mind about my body image took priority over knowing that it would’ve been good to be with them. I felt disgusted with myself, embarrassed and ashamed, because even though I didn’t know there was a word for what I was doing, I was doing it.

I’d like to think that these friends have encountered others who struggle with mental illness but found a way to share the reasons why they canceled plans at the last minute or at least had the decency to call later and explain while they were absent. I hope they think to themselves, “Oh yeah, of course, now I get it, now I see why Allison did that.”

I don’t think I am shaming myself. I know I did the best that I could at the time. It made sense to me that I didn’t want to unload my stuff on others, and my OCD made it hard to lie. But you know what I think may also be the truth? I think I was afraid of being rejected if they knew my stuff and so I rejected them first. And I am so, so sorry I did that.

I so hope they can forgive me because I’m still working on forgiving myself. There is this heaviness that I have carried over 40 years of friends I knew then and after that I hurt because I was hurting. There is this deepness in my heart. Maybe that’s why I drank and tried to fill it up with other things so that the vastness would shrink just a bit.

Maybe that’s why I keep having these dreams — hoping there will be a different ending.

Is there something you are afraid of others finding out about you?

#anxiety #hiding #forgiveness

7. Bud Light Was Like Breathing

Thu, 25 Jun 2026 12:00:16 GMT

Struggling for air, calmness, existing, awareness, struggling for air, repeat

I loved a cold Bud Light in a bottle. It was my go-to. I had a friend in college that referred to me as “two-beer Allison” because that was all I needed to feel silly and charming. Really it was this wave of warmth and calmness that washed over me and helped me relax.

For the better part of my adult years, I knew that I sometimes relied on it too much. Some years I’d give it up for Lent just so I could prove to myself that I could. Sometimes there were years in between a drink, and then sure enough, I could get back into the rhythm of drinking. For a long time, I was trying to bargain with God to just allow me to have fun with my friends and to take away my desire to drink in the dark. This all changed for me in the summer of 2025.

By July I’d been out of a job for about three months. I was applying for ones that I truly thought would be a good fit. Nothing was working out. I felt rejected. I felt forgotten. I felt like a failure. Honestly, I just didn’t want to feel. I started drinking more in the evenings to help me take my mind off things. I thought it would be a good thing.

One night, about 4am, I woke up feeling like I was suffocating. My heart was racing. So I did the thing that made sense to me. I walked out to my garage and grabbed a Bud Light and downed it in about three minutes. My heart slowed and I could breathe. There was that calmness I was looking for. Hey, I think I’m on to something.

Sometimes I’d sleep through the night and wouldn’t wake up before dawn and sometimes my nights were so filled with restlessness that I was too exhausted to get up before mid-morning. Regardless of what time I woke, I headed to my attached garage where I had bottles of Bud Light hiding in boxes with other things piled on top. I'd grab two and then head to my freezer, fill up my insulated cup with crushed ice, pour the beer and quickly draw in comfort through the straw. With the cup pretty full and another Bud Light in hand, I’d head back upstairs and drink those two beers until the calmness washed over me and I could catch my breath.

Sometimes I’d fall back asleep, and it would start again when I woke later. Sometimes it was late enough in the morning that I got up for the day. There were days that were productive. I still applied for jobs and sent requests on LinkedIn. I’ll tell you my grass never looked better because I cut it at least twice a week. I loved seeing the lines in my yard. It gave me order and it gave me purpose.

For the better part of two months, this is how I started each day. If I didn’t start drinking until mid-morning, then I might only have six or seven that day. If I started in the early hours, it was more likely to be 10. I kept repeating the cycle throughout the day; struggling for air, calmness, existing, awareness, struggling for air, repeat.

If you have used alcohol or drugs to cope, why do you choose them and do they help or make things more difficult?

#bargaining #compulsion #numbing

6. Both Sides

Mon, 22 Jun 2026 18:44:55 GMT

It's hard to be the ones with mental illness and the ones watching

I've seen the pain on the faces of people that love me. I feel for them because it reminds me of how I've felt being on the other side of mental illness. I’ve wanted to be the one that would make things better. But I know that I haven’t caused it, I can’t control it, and I can’t cure it. This is something I've learned in Al-Anon. The principles and practices of this program help me as I navigate my own struggles and accompany others.

Mental illness is insidious to me. Both Sides. I'm living it and sometimes I don’t even want to be around myself. I don’t want to burden others, yet I don’t consider people who I'm accompanying to be a burden. Go figure.

There’s a song running through my mind — well actually just a few of the lines — “I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now, hmmm, hmmm, hmmm, hmmm, hmmm, hmmm, hmmm, hmmm. It’s cloud’s illusions, I recall. I really don’t know clouds at all.”

(I rarely know the lyrics to songs. I’m not sure exactly what that says about me. Perhaps it’s a metaphor for the missing parts in my mind. I tend to fill in what I don’t know with something else or I hear what isn't at all written — like when I thought the words to “Just Remember I Love You” by Firefall were, “When the dog goes crazy and the chili’s gone.” When in reality it’s, “When it all goes crazy and the thrill is gone.” I admit that still makes me giggle a bit.)

The song I mentioned above is called “Both Sides Now” by Joni Mitchelle. It was featured in the first episode of “A Million Little Things.” A teenage girl is singing this at her dad’s funeral. I think about my friends who mourn their loved ones who have died by suicide. I think of others trying to support the ones they care about struggling with mental illness. I think it’s hard to be the ones with mental illness and the ones watching. Both sides are suffering.

I googled “Both Sides Now” to look at the lyrics. I was not surprised that I was way off, but I did have a few more words right. My mental health journey feels similar to songs that I like, but don’t know the words to. I replay the same parts over and over in my mind. I think it’s because they don’t feel real and I need them to be. Sometimes I fill in the spaces with words that seem like a good fit based on the title. But I'm just guessing. It may be a bunch of nonsense, but even then, they have their place.

I played the song on YouTube. The unfamiliar lyrics began to fit with the melody. Each time I play it, I recall a few more words and have a better grasp of the theme. It feels a bit like recognizing my symptoms and triggers. The more episodes I have, the more understanding I have of my conditions. Even when I don’t like what I'm going through, it's somewhat familiar and I can assure myself that I will get to the other side.

Like the end of the song, I'm comforted that there will be one for me.

What do you wish someone would understand about your struggles — whether you are the one that has a mental illness or you are a family member or friend who cares about them? .

#burden #grief #reality

5. Storms

Thu, 18 Jun 2026 03:32:59 GMT

I've had the thought, "I just wish it could all be over"

I've never made a plan, but when I have the thought, “I just wish it could all be over,” I know that I am once again in that scary space. Sometimes I think I can trace the onset of a depressive episode to a trigger like a significant date or event, but other times it just seems so random. I’ve wondered if there's a rhythm and cycle to it, but even that often doesn’t ring true. Perhaps it makes sense if I liken it to weather.

I live in the Midwest where we have all four seasons. With that comes the predictability and likelihood of different kinds of weather, depending on what month we are in. But then there’s always these random occurrences like thunder snow. I mean where the heck does that come from? It doesn’t even make any sense and yet it happens.

Sometimes there’s a bit more warning - the dark clouds in the distance, those first few raindrops, and the wind picking up. I wonder if it will pass over quickly or will there be a deluge that includes hail stones that damage my potted plants? My husband, Joe, called me the “weather woman wannabe” as I'm fascinated by it. I love tuning into the Weather Channel as they're tracking a new storm in my area. They say things about the history of the storm. What do they mean by this? How can there be a history of a storm if it hasn’t happened yet? I stay tuned to learn more. I gather from their explanations that there are patterns and predictabilities. They can pinpoint what areas are most vulnerable and when the storm is likely to dissipate.

Knowing when the storm is approaching allows me time to do some things to mitigate the damage. I can take the cushions off my outdoor furniture. I can move my pots under cover. But there’s a part of my yard where I have these two beautiful maple trees that go unprotected. I worry that strong winds will bend them so far over that they pull away from the ground. I’m not kidding that this is a real fear for me. I even have dreams that I am out there trying to hold the trees steady while bracing for the next strong gust.

I think there is a correlation between these storms and my episodes of depression - patterns of ones that pass by rather quickly and storm systems that are stalled overhead and in my head.

Is there a date or event that triggers an episode of depression for you?

#coping #depression #unpredictable

4. I Took a Chance

Thu, 11 Jun 2026 17:36:11 GMT

I took these as a sign to speak up

It was December of 2023. The NFL was in full swing and so were the league sponsored commercials from players encouraging people to reach out for help regarding their mental health. There were also these stirring videos entitled “Awkward Silence” playing on YouTube. Just months after Jacqueline's death, I took these as a sign to speak up.

I was with a group of people I respected. It was in a professional but pastoral setting and our discussion centered on how to support individuals with mental health struggles. I thought I was safe in this setting because of the implications related to our work. I decided to be brave and share my ongoing battle with clinical depression, anxiety disorder, OCD, as well as my eating disorder for the better part of my 20s. What I received was n-o-t-h-i-n-g. No kind of response during the meeting or even afterwards in private settings. I had expected something different.

This post is not about shaming anyone. I've certainly been in situations where I didn’t know how to respond so I either stayed quiet or said the wrong thing to fill the space. And I'm not shaming myself either because I took a chance to reveal something important about myself with people I trusted. I guess it’s just to say that I’m glad I haven’t stopped sharing my story and grateful that there have been people that say things like “Thanks, Allison, for sharing” or even “I'm sorry; I just don’t know what to say or do."

I cannot “fix” anyone and I don’t want anybody to try and fix me. I just want to learn better how to receive what someone is trying to share from their heart and hope that I can find others to do the same for me. I want people to give me second chances when I make mistakes, and I want to extend the same to others.

I did take another chance and spoke up again when that group gathered a month later. I saw a vulnerability in them as I reflected on how I felt. It was worth the risk for me to revisit this so that I could learn to navigate awkward and uncomfortable conversations. I received from them that day what I was looking for the first time I disclosed. There was care and kindness. I felt heard.

Have you ever told someone about your mental health struggle and didn’t feel supported in the way you needed? Or has someone come to with their struggles and you didn’t know how to respond?

#boundaries #forgiveness #vulnerability

3. Why Would I Put Myself Out There Like This?

Mon, 08 Jun 2026 17:26:45 GMT

I'm overcoming my fears and feel worthy of telling my story

I've struggled with mental illnesses for a long time. Even when I didn’t have a name for what I was suffering from, it was there. I didn’t understand why I could feel so “regular” and then I wouldn’t. And I didn't have the internet to type in symptoms or behaviors and get an answer.

When I first started talking about doing this blog, I received mixed reactions. Some worried about what others would think or say to me, or about me. Honestly, it's been a relief to finally come to a place where I don’t want to hide anymore. I was tired of the energy it took to pretend.

And it’s not that I don’t care what people think about me, it’s that I'm okay with it. I doubt that it could be worse than what I've thought about myself all these years. And honestly if they do, that’s okay too because I could be cruel when it came to me. I've also had my share of unkind thoughts towards others. I believe they came from a place of woundedness. If someone says something harsh about me, that’s their truth. I don't have to own their stuff.

I am grateful to family and friends who have asked the questions that have led me to this place. I also want to acknowledge the impact that Brené Brown has had on me.

She doesn’t know me, but she feels like a friend. I first saw her 2019 Netflix special “Call to Courage” in 2022. She spoke of things that resonated with my experiences and helped me make sense of things I didn't understand. I felt seen. I'm drawn to her masterful storytelling and how she weaves and reveals her important research through them.

Even when her stories were challenging and hard to hear, and even when I had to recognize and reconcile some of those things in myself, there was comfort seeing it played out right in front of me. The more times I watched, the more I let go. I love her stories. They have made a difference for me. Often I saw myself in them and I suppose it helped me to feel safe to move. This is probably why I've watched the special twenty-one times and will likely watch again. Each time they help me go a little deeper.

I'm overcoming my fears and feel worthy of telling my story. I'm being brave with my life.

What are your feelings about what others might think of you if they knew about your struggles with mental illness?

#courage #pretending #vulnerability

2. Beginnings

Thu, 04 Jun 2026 16:38:38 GMT

It had exposed a part of my heart and suffering

I wrote the reflection on Jacqueline S. in March 2025. I’d found a template for a sunflower mental health lanyard we had worked on a couple years earlier tucked away in a desk drawer. I missed her.

In an impulse I grabbed my phone and spoke into it. For a moment it felt like she was on the other end and I was just telling her my thoughts. I think the whole thing took about seven minutes. It was so easy to speak those words about her and that ease must have helped me to transition into naming my own mental health struggles.

When I finished talking and looked at the words, I was struck by the rawness and admission. They said something different than what was in my head. It made a kind of sense that I had not accepted before.

I read and reread the words that Jacqueline had said about her mental illness. About them not defining her but being part of how God created her and trying to figure out how He was using her to make a difference for others. I had never intended to share what I wrote about her with anyone. It was just for me. But it had exposed a part of my heart and suffering. It made me wonder if He had a similar plan for me.

I first shared what I wrote with my friend Kelly. She received it with such love and compassion. She got me thinking about starting a blog and suggested submitting my piece to our local newspaper as part of Mental Health Awareness Month. That didn’t go anywhere but it was a step.

I told my children that I felt like sharing my story would be good for me and might help others. I started being braver about the possibilities and talked about my mental health struggles more intentionally. God kept putting people in my path that were willing to use their gifts and skills to make my humble words reach others. My daughter Caroline told her friend and co-worker, Lauren, at their AD agency. She created my logo and branding. Another friend, Jenn, offered to create this website. Caroline has been with me every step of the way, crafting the layout and serving as my editor.

I shared my first writings with another friend, Meagan, who kindly challenged me to go deeper and name the things I initially glossed over. I changed mental “health” to mental “illness." It felt safer to be real. God continued to put people in my path.

I called Jacqueline’s parents to tell them of my intentions and to ask permission to tell her story. They were touched that I wanted to honor their daughter and the impact she had on my life. They cautioned me that people might treat me differently once they knew of my mental illnesses. I felt their deep care and concern for me. They helped me consider the risks I was taking.

Whenever I go across town, I try to take the route that passes by her home. It’s then that I call her parents. Sometimes I'm lucky and they're home to pick up. Other times I leave a voicemail and I hear from them later. Jacqueline had called a week before she died and left a message. I play it sometimes to hear her voice. I treasure it and the memory of other things she shared. Her words made a difference. She kindly challenged me to consider what I was doing in terms of my own struggles. I think she would be pleased that I'm sharing her story and mine.

Is there someone you know personally or a public figure that has shared his or her struggle regarding mental health that made a difference for you?

#accompaniment #capacity #gratitude

1. Jacqueline S.

Mon, 01 Jun 2026 22:30:49 GMT

She inspired me to be open about my own struggles

A few years ago I met a young woman named Jacqueline. At the time, I worked for the Catholic Church in the ministry with persons with disabilities. Jacqueline called looking for a parish that would welcome her. Her first line to me was, “Is there any place that will accept me for just who I am?” When Jacqueline entered my world that day, I could not have known the tremendous impact she would have on my life both professionally and personally.

Jacqueline lived with many physical and mental disabilities — some were more obvious, others were not. The more she shared about her struggles, the more I wanted to know and the deeper we went. Sometimes she would look at me — often I couldn’t tell if she was pleased or incredulous with my questions, as if I should already know, or maybe she was surprised I wanted to know.

She shared how unkind so many had been to her. Jacqueline had Tourette’s and with that came various forms of tics. They could be loud and startling, but when I understood, it just became an expected part of our conversations.

Jacqueline was so funny and vulnerable. She shared things because I believe she trusted me. She invited me into her world, at least some pieces of it, and I treasure what I learned from her. I cannot speak to what happened in those last moments before she couldn’t endure the unkindness and pain any longer. I just knew that I'd no longer experience that beautiful young woman in a way I had grown to love and look forward to engaging.

I would speak of Jacqueline often and would share her story with others through my work. The lessons she taught me impacted how I interacted and advocated. Deep inside was this voice — my own — reaching up to where it would eventually be spoken.

It took almost two years. Two years to be ready to speak my truth and share my ongoing struggles with depression and anxiety, the aftermath of my eating disorder and how these diagnoses manifested themselves in my life.

Jacqueline spoke the words that touched my heart, rocked me to the core, and inspired me to be more open about my own mental health struggles… "My mental illness doesn’t define me, but it is part of how God made me, so what does He want me to do with this?”

Have you ever shared your struggles with someone?

#grief #pretending #vulnerability