Last fall, I was called to be Relief Society President in my BYU ward. For those who may not be familiar with this calling, as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, a Relief Society President has stewardship over a portion of the spiritual and physical welfare of members of her congregation, in particular the sisters (although her welfare responsibilities typically extend to the whole ward, as she acts in partnership with the Bishop of the ward). I cannot describe the feelings of inadequacy that began to flood into my being. Rather than strength and enlightenment, which I was blessed with on quite a few occasions, of course, most of my days were filled with a deep sadness that penetrated my very soul. I woke up consumed by darkness every morning, plagued with insecurities, hating the person I had become, worried that I wasn't doing enough, worried that I was inherently falling short of the calling extended to me, and worried that I could never be who God wanted me to be. I had messed up too many times to count, and I was not who everyone thought I was. These thoughts, exacerbated by scars from my past that I had never let heal, made me adamant that I wasn't the bright, sociable girl everyone seemed to tell me I was. They didn't know that I was really a dark creature filled with hatred that I couldn't cut out of myself. I knew I was slipping yet again into a recurrent episode of clinical depression.
I can only think of one way to even begin to explain the depression that I've intermittently fallen back into--at least the way that I and a few others I have talked to have experienced it. I would imagine getting stuck in quicksand is a similar feeling. You get so trapped in your own dark thoughts that the harder you try to fight, the deeper you sink, and the more hopeless you feel. It hurts so much you can't breathe. It often comes to the point to where death seems like the only possible solution, even though I told myself I was too rational to truly consider suicide. Still, walking across a bridge or crossing the street in traffic was always a surreal experience. I could just jump and splat. Over. Relief! I couldn't even step out my door without beginning to cry and wanting to crawl back into bed and die. No matter how hard I tried to reason myself out of what I was feeling, I was fighting a losing battle against intense self-hatred. I haven't struggled with continual depression, but the fight against self-hatred, just like for a lot of people, is a daily battle.
I texted my sister one day, who has also struggled with depression, and said something to the effect of, "I don't know what to do. I just don't want to live anymore."
What I'm about to say may not seem like a big deal, but it saved my life.
My sister invited me to stay with her and her husband for Thanksgiving.
I'll just leave it at this--my sister and I have had a complicated history, and I was at a point where I was thinking, "But I don't deserve that. I can't let myself be welcomed into her home with the way that I've treated her in the past, the pain that she's gone through, the things that she's dealt with. I don't deserve it." Nevertheless, she lovingly welcomed me into their home. That compassion changed me.
A similar event saved my life yet again.
I had begun to confide in my parents in a way that I never had before. They likewise took me back into their home over Christmas break. They cried with me, planned with me, problem-solved with me, and gave me money (I was at the point where I almost wasn't working anymore because I was in bed if I wasn't in classes). Until that point, I had lived by a Lorelai Gilmore policy: Do everything on your own so that no strings are attached. I didn't want help from anyone, especially family.
But here I was, broken down to what I felt was a completely hopeless, helpless mess, being nursed back to spiritual and physical health by my parents. It was at this point that my dad shared the following quote by Joseph B. Wirthlin with me:
"We see ourselves in terms of yesterday and today. Our Heavenly Father sees us in terms of forever. Although we might settle for less, Heavenly Father won’t, for He sees us as the glorious beings we are capable of becoming. The gospel of Jesus Christ is a gospel of transformation. It takes us as men and women of the earth and refines us into men and women for the eternities."
For the billionth time, I broke down and just cried and cried. I had faith. I still felt stuck in quicksand, but I had stopped fighting so much. I could feel someone's hand starting to pull me to safety. I knew I could change, but I also knew it was going to take some really hard work. The important thing was that I could feel this transformation taking place. I could feel something happening, and I've finally started to grasp what was going on.
Knowing that someone loves you regardless of what you're like feels safe. It feels warm, calming, and soothing. It empowers you to be all you can for them because you love them with all your heart for loving you despite your faults, in fact even because of your faults! My parents and my sister offered me this kind of love--they calmed me enough to stop fighting the quicksand so hard. Their love began to transform me. Magnify this effect by infinity, and that's what the love of the Savior does for us--the love that is always there for us.
Knowing that someone loves you regardless of what you're like feels safe. It feels warm, calming, and soothing. It empowers you to be all you can for them because you love them with all your heart for loving you despite your faults, in fact even because of your faults! My parents and my sister offered me this kind of love--they calmed me enough to stop fighting the quicksand so hard. Their love began to transform me. Magnify this effect by infinity, and that's what the love of the Savior does for us--the love that is always there for us.
That fall, I started a series of sessions with a psychiatrist, and I believe what she told me. I was experiencing some chemical imbalances that I could start to control with diet and sleep and some more concrete, possibly temporary options, and I would feel a lot better when I started to form different habits. I have a testimony of the connection between body and spirit, and I knew this was true. But I also knew that these physical manifestations were steeped in a dark spiritual struggle with the Master of all lies, who tells us we are nothing, that we are unworthy, disgusting creatures who are undeserving of love, kindness, and forgiveness.
He tells us our pasts define us, that they are always a part of us.
Can the Atonement really change our pasts? President Lorenzo Snow teaches us that "As man now is, God once was; as God now is, man may be." If we truly have the potential to become like our Heavenly Father, and He was once a learner in mortality as we are now, does He not understand what it is like to overcome sin and weakness? Doesn't that tell us that He once underwent a similar experience to our lives in mortality? Doesn't that tell us that our pasts do not condemn us? In fact, can't you see that the Atonement contains the power to release the chains that Satan would have our past put on us?
If God became exalted in the same way that we are currently pursuing, then His mortal struggle was an important element of His exaltation, but everything He is and has become transcends those fallen components of mortality.
I once was given a Priesthood blessing by my Bishop, in which He told me that the mistakes and sins that I have made in this life were a part of the plan that the Lord has for my life because they have allowed me to become a less judgmental, more compassionate person. Don't you see? Through sincere repentance, through turning to Christ, He has made those fallen, dark things into something beautiful, something that testifies of Christ. The fact that I can use my sins to create beauty and kindness, through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, transcends the sinning.
The pure love of Jesus Christ, enacted through the Atonement and Resurrection, is the transcendent, transformative power that takes broken things, sins, anything fallen...and exalts them into something divine. His love, the love of God, the is the most sacred, enabling force that exists.
A wise woman once told me, "To be loved by someone is very healing. To be loved by God is incredible." I think I'm just starting to understand what she meant.
He tells us our pasts define us, that they are always a part of us.
Can the Atonement really change our pasts? President Lorenzo Snow teaches us that "As man now is, God once was; as God now is, man may be." If we truly have the potential to become like our Heavenly Father, and He was once a learner in mortality as we are now, does He not understand what it is like to overcome sin and weakness? Doesn't that tell us that He once underwent a similar experience to our lives in mortality? Doesn't that tell us that our pasts do not condemn us? In fact, can't you see that the Atonement contains the power to release the chains that Satan would have our past put on us?
If God became exalted in the same way that we are currently pursuing, then His mortal struggle was an important element of His exaltation, but everything He is and has become transcends those fallen components of mortality.
I once was given a Priesthood blessing by my Bishop, in which He told me that the mistakes and sins that I have made in this life were a part of the plan that the Lord has for my life because they have allowed me to become a less judgmental, more compassionate person. Don't you see? Through sincere repentance, through turning to Christ, He has made those fallen, dark things into something beautiful, something that testifies of Christ. The fact that I can use my sins to create beauty and kindness, through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, transcends the sinning.
The pure love of Jesus Christ, enacted through the Atonement and Resurrection, is the transcendent, transformative power that takes broken things, sins, anything fallen...and exalts them into something divine. His love, the love of God, the is the most sacred, enabling force that exists.
A wise woman once told me, "To be loved by someone is very healing. To be loved by God is incredible." I think I'm just starting to understand what she meant.
I can't say it better than President Uchtdorf:
"He is not waiting to love you until you have overcome your weaknesses and bad habits. He loves you today with a full understanding of your struggles. He is aware that you reach up to Him in heartfelt and hopeful prayer. He knows of the times you have held onto the fading light and believed—even in the midst of growing darkness. He knows of your sufferings. He knows of your remorse for the times you have fallen short or failed. And still He loves you."
