I picked the wrong weekend to return to Facebook. It’s no secret, I have a small capacity for the constant churning machine that social media often is. Most days, it’s loud enough in my own head without adding voices of dissent and dissatisfaction muddying up my synapses. I suppose this is one right of the mentally ill. The removal of oneself from the entanglements of being ever present, ever vigilant, and ever available is self-care at it’s highest form. Maybe that’s true for everyone but …
Bipolar is a Riptide: Breathing Lessons
I’ve written before that ~I write like a woman drowning. I write with a desperation to know and be known, to understand God, to see glory. I write to breathe again.~ I’ve been breathless lately. Mental illness is a riptide on otherwise calm shores. It is the pull of deep waters lulling you further and further from safe and sturdy ground, all at once weightless and buoyant, caressed by the lapping tides. It invites you to surrender, to be carried away in the vastness of the sea. To be small and …
Uncomfortable Love and the Cost of Community
The Past few Sundays I’ve watched my family pile into the car and pull out of our driveway on the way to church. I’ve chosen to stay behind. First it was because we got a new puppy, and he couldn’t last that long alone. Then it was because I was having severe back pain, and I could’t sit up that long. But then it was because I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to be around people. I chose to listen to a sermon podcast instead. I cleaned up the house, lay in bed, and watched the sky turn milky …
