I wish I could say I was writing this from the other side of my depression flare up. I am urgently in the middle of it though. From my bed that I have attempted not to leave for days. Under the blankets and experiencing the kind of exhaustion that runs deeper than sleep.

I have started my Lexapro again. Saying that feels both heavy and holy. Heavy because I wish I did not need it, and holy because it means I am choosing to keep trying.

This is not the first time depression and I have met. It sneaks in quietly, whispering that I am failing, that I am too much, that I should be stronger than this. When you are a person of faith, those whispers come with guilt. Because how can someone who believes in God feel so hopeless?

Something I have learned over the years though is that faith and depression can coexist.

When the Soul Feels Split

Depression feels like living in two realities. One part of me knows that God is good, that He has carried me before and that He will carry me again. The other part feels like I am walking through mud, praying into silence.

There are mornings I wake up and can’t feel God at all. I try to pray, but the words get stuck somewhere between my heart and my lips. My faith says “You are not alone.” My brain says “You’ll never feel better.”

It is hard to hold both truths at once.

I stopped pretending that I am okay. Instead, I whisper prayers that sound more like sighs. I cry in the bath. I am taking my medication.

I remind myself, through trembling faith, that God doesn’t love the happy version of me more than He loves the broken one.

The Stigma Inside the Church

I used to believe that being depressed meant my faith was not strong enough.

People in church don’t always mean to, but sometimes they say things like, “Just pray more” “God wouldn’t give you more than you can handle” or “Count your blessings.”

Depression doesn’t care how many blessings you have, it clouds everything. Telling someone to “just pray it away” only adds shame to the pain.

Prayer helps me to be able to breathe, mediation helps me stabilize. Counseling can help me unpack the weight. God uses all of it to better me.

If I broke my leg, I would go to the doctor. I wouldn’t feel guilty for needing help. So why should I feel guilty for needing help with my mind?

Lexapro isn’t a lack of faith. Therapy isn’t a weakness. They are tools, gifts really, that help me walk through life with a little more light.

When Silence Feels Like Abandonment

Some days I just sit in my car either in the parking lot at work or my driveway in silence. No music. No words. Just silence.

I will say “God I don’t feel you near.” Sometimes in those moments I do begin to feel Him comfort me though. There are also times I still feel abandoned.

Palm 34:18 says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

I have loved that verse lately. Even though I can’t always feel His presence, I am learning that feelings aren’t the proof, His word is.

Maybe that is what faith really is, not always the loud worship or the joyful heart, but the quiet endurance of showing up, again and again, even when we feel empty.

Small Victories Count Too

When I am in the middle of depression, even the smallest things feel monumental.

Making a meal. Washing a load of laundry and putting it away. Cleaning the kitchen. These are all tiny acts of defiance against the darkness.

Lately I have started to celebrate those. I am working on not comparing myself to the version of me who used to juggle work, family, and have endless energy. Right now in this season of life victory looks like washing my hair, getting the house cleaned, even getting out of the house.

I am learning that God doesn’t measure my worth by productivity, He measures it by perseverance. If the only thing I can accomplish some days is breathing, that is still worship, and God knows that.

Letting People In

Depression really makes me want to isolate. It tells me that I am a burden and that no one will understand. The truth is though, the people who love me want to show up for me, they just need to know how.

I have started being honest with the people closest to me. When my husband asks how I am I don’t lie. I tell him “I’m struggling but I am trying.” I feel that every time I choose honesty over pretending, the darkness loses a little bit of power over me.

God created us for community. He never meant for us to fight these battles alone. Sometimes His comfort comes through scripture and sometimes it comes through a friend who shows up with coffee and doesn’t expect you to talk.

Grace to Try Again

I felt defeated when my husband mentioned the thought of me needing to take my Lexapro again. I felt like I was failing and couldn’t handle life on my own. But faith is not about handling it on our own.

God never asked me to carry everything by myself. He simply asked me to trust Him. I have realized that trusting Him means using the resources He has provided me.

Hope Doesn’t Always Look Like Happiness

I always thought healing meant I would wake up one day happy and full of energy again. I am realizing that sometimes healing is slow. There are days where I feel more “normal” and getting so much done, then the next day I am fighting myself to even get out of bed. I am learning that I have to live with depression instead of being consumed by it.

Hope isn’t always a burst of light, sometimes it is a flicker I have to protect. I don’t always feel hopeful, but I always focus on small glimmers that give me hope, like my child’s laughter. Moments like those are proof that the light hasn’t left, it was just dimmed for a while.

Faith in the Fog

Faith right now doesn’t look like shouting praise. It currently looks like me reading one verse and sitting on it all day. It looks like me believing and trusting in Gods plan even when my brain is trying to tell me otherwise.

I used to think depression meant distance from God. Now though I believe depression is where He can meet people more closely, not in the mountaintop moments, but in the quiet dark, sitting beside me when I feel like I can’t move.

He isn’t disappointed in my sadness. He isn’t waiting for me to get it together. He is just here with me being patient and gentle, loving me through every wave.

A Reminder for Anyone Else in This Place

If you are in the same place I am in right now, I want you to know this. You are not failing.

God is not asking you to be cheerful. He is asking you to keep trusting him. He is not demanding perfect faith, He is offering us His perfect grace.

The same God who camped the storm still commands the waves inside you. Even when we can’t see Him or feel Him, He is steadying the boat.

Completing Thoughs

Depression and faith don’t cancel each other out. They collide sometimes but in that collision something beautiful can happen. A deeper faith begins to grow, one that knows what it means to cling to God when you can’t feel Him.

Resting isn’t lazy. It is saying “I trust God enough to stop fighting just for this moment.” Crying doesn’t mean you are weak. It means your heart is still soft enough to feel.

One day, hopefully soon, this heaviness will lift again. Even if it does take time though God hasn’t left me.

So for now, I will keep praying and taking my medication.