Episode 11 Transcript:
Hi my name is Jared. I’m not a therapist. I’m not a doctor. I’m not sure I could do fractions if my life depended on it. No, I’m just a Christian, who, like many, lives with a mental health challenge. This is Bless This Brain.
People. Can’t live with ‘em…the end. Just kidding.
If you bring up politics to someone, they never hesitate to know what to say. Chances are, they’ve thought about their politics a lot.
If you bring up the nice weather, they know what to say. They’re likely well versed in talking about the weather.
If you tell someone you have the flu, they say “Get better” or “Oh, no. I’m so sorry that’s happening” or “I’m praying for you.”
But, oh boy, you tell someone you have bipolar disorder, and you see the look on their face, the confusion, the fear. They don’t know what to say. But it’s funny, cause they say something anyway.
In 2018, after nearly two decades of dangerous behavior, suicidal depression, paranoia, hallucinations etc…I was diagnosed with bipolar 1.
In the immediate aftermath of that revelation, I disclosed this to my closest friends, and family. Many people hold this information tightly to their chest, but I think I was operating under the assumption that those who I was closest to, many of whom are Christians, would know what to say, would know how to comfort.
But, they didn’t.
When someone discloses a mental illness, they’ll generally encounter 3 different groups of responders who fall into the less than ideal category..
- The denyer. This is usually family, but it can also be friends. These are the folks who really don’t want you to be sick. They’re scared of your diagnosis so they try to convince you that it’s a fluke. They do this because they hate the idea of you being in pain, or they worry that maybe they contributed to that pain in some way. When someone denies the reality of your diagnosis, it makes you feel dismissed, even more dangerously, it makes you feel like you shouldn’t continue pursuing recovery. It must be all in my head, you think. Well, duh.
- The second group is the normalizers. What is bipolar disorder? Well, I tell them, it’s characterized by extreme moods namely, the lows, depression, and the highs, mania. Oh, they say, I think my mom has that. She can be moody. Or, “Oh, that’s perfectly normal for a man. My husband is exactly the same way” Oh, your husband hears demons scratching the walls, puts in 10,000 steps before the sun comes up, and regularly plans his suicide? You should get that looked at.” Normalizing is generally a symptom of lack of interest, or at least maybe being unversed in asking good questions and actively listening to the response.
- The third group are the ones who just have no freaking clue. They’re the ones with that deer in the headlights look. Huh, they say, well dang. Say, this weather’s been nice, huh?” Yeah, those ones are fun.
But there was one person outside of these groups who really took my surprise. I’d been looking for some advice from leaders in the church about a ministry that we were thinking about starting. What would become Bless This Brain about four years later.
One of these leaders was an old man, a deacon. He asked me out to coffee.
We sat down together and he said, “Bipolar Disorder. What has been like for you?” and I told him. And he listened, very intently, which made me share more, which helped me feel better. He asked good questions, not leading questions, or questions filled to the brim with insinuation. He just listened. At the very end, he said “I’m sorry. That sounds like it’s been really hard. Can I pray for you?” and as he prayed, I cried. From relief. That was nearly a year after my diagnosis. A year before someone said, “What has that been like for you?”
Nobody teaches us how to talk about mental illness, and there’s so much grace to cover all the things we get wrong. But I’m telling you, Christian, how to respond in a way that I believe is very much pleasing to Jesus. “Tell me what that has been like for you” Then listen. Then ask clarifying questions, or repeat back to the person a paraphrase of what they’ve shared so they feel understood,, then acknowledge the struggle, the pain, then offer to pray. Afterwards, offer to follow up, to bring them a casserole. Whatever is within your power and capacity.
“What has that been like for you?” that’s really all you gotta say. Look at you, you’re ready now. If you can remember that question, you’ll never be caught off guard by someone sharing their mental health struggle again.
I’m thinking about this because I was reminded of it so recently.
Last week in community group, I shared openly about some recent struggles I had with depression. Actually struggles don’t begin to define. It’s been a rough month. After the night had ended, one member of our group stayed a while after most people had left. He asked, “Thanks for asking about the depression. What has that felt like?” and I told him and he listened. And I just wanted to take a big ol’ gold star sticker and slap it on his forehead. Maybe I’ll start keeping some in my pocket for just such an occasion.
Lord, for our good, and for your glory, Bless This Brain.