Lessons Learned So Far: Teaching, Year 2, Entry 2

What a classroom looks like when you move classrooms entirely on a Thursday night. Blurry vision intentionally incorporated into photo.

39. Talk less. Designate the task, give the directions, assign the roles, and turn them loose. It works a lot better than lecture lessons.

40. Use fewer tones. Have a happy tone, have a directions tone, have a last warning tone, but leave the drama tones to the theater. Kids are easy panic triggers. If your tone becomes higher, faster and frustrated, you lose them to panic before the message is transferred. In discipline, keep the matter of fact tone, go lower, not higher, pace words evenly.

41. Blame the system. You don't have to do it because I say so, you need to do it because this is the way the classroom works, and I don't want to send you out, but if you break the classroom system, I have to... Suddenly, it's just the machine works of the classroom and school, no longer an evil teacher being mean and unreasonable. It never seems to phase them that the system you blame is the system you created...

42. Sometimes, clearly spelled out mercy works better than harsh punishments.

43. End the class every period by telling them to, "Get out... and have a good day!" and eventually, whenever they leave your classroom or presence, they'll make sure to wish you a good day before they leave every time. It's nice. Say it a minimum of 6 times a day, and get wished it a minimum of 100 times a day.

44. Students are entirely different people when in entirely different teachers' classrooms. 'Nuff sed.

45. Narrow in on one classroom management area at a time. If you feel you need to improve the class exit procedure, do that, but make that your baby. If you try to fix 7 different management issues, you'll be scattered and frustrated, and so will the students. If you focus harshly on training one item for a week, and then make a new focus next week, while maintaining last week, the students will learn what is expected better than trying to demand two new procedures at once.

46. The teacher needs as much classroom routine practice as the students do.  Making sure that the students push their chairs under the tables every time they get up takes as much out of you to remember to enforce regularly, as it does for them to remember to do it regularly. (Hence lesson #45)

47. Blame yourself. True, there are things that you cannot take credit for (Some kids will never study or do homework), however if the thing is, "This class just won't be quiet."or something of the like, blaming the students only gives you the excuse to quit trying, blaming the yourself makes you start looking for sources of the issue, and strategies that can curb the problem before is starts.

What happens when you listen to student ideas for the door decoration.

48. If a student in your class has good study habits, a strong understanding of how to behave appropriately in a classroom, how to talk to peers, how to treat teachers, or any sort of thing that would make a person want to say, "He's such a good student!" then you probably need to thank their teacher in the grade level before yours, because no person is naturally a good student, it's a vocation that must be taught. (Parents deserve a lot of credit too, but even "good parents" have kids who act out in a classroom because mommy's not looking right now)

49. Teach some of your students how to run your classroom technology! You never know when you're going to have sub whose highest technological skill is using a touch-tone phone, and will be completely incapable of running the slides you left for class, let alone be able to turn on a projector or unlock the computer when it falls asleep.

50. Hinging on #49, whenever possible, grab your squirreliest kid and throw him onto running the slides for the day, or queuing up the videos. He'll pay better attention, feel important and necessary, learn technology, and maybe actually remember what happened in class that day! (And, you'll know exactly when he's goofing off, because that's when the slides on the projector screen will start fritzing out... :-/ )

51. If you work on a subject for a really long time, so long that you as a teacher want to vomit if you have to hear or speak the word "inertia" again, and work on it in several different ways, making the students work the concept out in writing, lab practice, reasoning, discussions... you'll be relieved when the unit is over. The zinger is, you'll fall out of your seat in shock when 3 months later, you explain how satellites stay in orbit, and the students raise their hands and say, "Isn't that just using Newton's 1st law of motion?" Suddenly, hearing the word "inertia" will make you want to kiss someone.

52. Really, really, really invest in the classroom relationship. Own up to your mistakes when you make them, or they'll never stop holding them against you. Don't burn bridges by losing your cool. Don't insult the way a student is doing something, because then you have insulted the way their brains and hearts work, which is who they are.

53. Appeal to the ideal side of the student, even if you only see it every once in a while. Point out the good attributes that you catch sight of in them and tell them that's who they really are, because, at this stage in their life, they really have no clue who they are. Take advantage of their confusion and nudge them towards their best sides.

54. Let them cry. They do that. Especially during adolescent years. Acknowledge that they feel hurt. Expecting them to suck it up and soldier soullessly through their trials is unreasonable. Allowing them to take a moment to cry it out, and then jump back into life, lets them acknowledge the issue, and then acknowledge that there is life outside of that issue.

55. They know when you're just trying to pass the time. They sense when you're unprepared. They may never say anything (though often they will), but they know. Every time. You can see it in their eyes.

56. They can be really, really sweet and helpful. And that's nice. Even though, sometimes you'll spend an hour outside of class time trying to undo something they good spiritedly "helped" you with, the good spirit is still rewarding to see.

57. They break your heart. The thing that makes you reevaluate whether or not you can keep doing this vocation is not the piles of paperwork, hassles from coworkers, the long hours, the parents, the piles of homework, or the adolescent behavior... the thing that makes you really wonder if you can keep doing the job is the heartbreak. With over a hundred little souls, every day, laying claim to some small portion of your heart, the odds are high that a few of them will fall down so hard that they shatter that portion of heart that they were clinging to. Odds are at some point you will have to find some alone time to overcome the heartbreak.

The Letter: We.

I had a rough day today. I've had worse. But, my goodness, I have had so many better days, too.

This made picking up the mail and finding this envelope that much sweeter.

I have received correspondence from a combination of 5 Compassion students since 2008. That's a lot of letters! Off the top of my head, I can think of 3-4 letters that have truly threatened to make me cry for one reason or another. And it has been a while since those times.

So it surprised me, when I read through 9 year old Alex's brief letter-penned for him by his older brother-when my lower lip trembled a little at the end of it.

 

You see, Alex lives with his Grandmother and his 6 siblings in Haiti. He is the youngest, and every letter, one of his older siblings does the writing for him. 

So, for the first time in my Compassion experience, sponsorship has been an extremely strong family affair.

The rest of his letter is phrased, "He greets you"  "He thanks you" "He..."  He.

And then...

We love you so much.

We. 

All 8 of them.

 

That's a lot of love to feel rain down on a soul, especially at the end of a rough day.

 Especially from people I have never met. I don't even know what his family looks like.

I could tell you about all the good I can do for someone living in poverty, how easy and inexpensive  it is to help someone who needs it. I could tell you that you should consider reaching into someone else's life to help make it better.

But not today. 

Today, I am going to be selfish.

 Today, I am telling you about a little boy and his family, who wrote a letter to someone who needed it. About a little boy who reached into someone's else's life and helped make it better without even realizing it. A little boy whose Christmas money was spent on a pair of shoes, but could still afford to to improve my life.

Sponsorship shouldn't be about what I get out of it, 

but today I am going to share a little truth: 

sometimes they're the ones sponsoring me.

Today's smile was brought to you by "The Letter: We."

 

The Nativity.

I was in Target a few nights ago, picking up some last minute lab supplies for my students.

Having found my items, I wandered through the holiday supplies, just to see what was there.

As I paused to read a stocking stuffer label more closely, two women near my age conversed casually, and the topic caught my attention, so I pretended to read a while longer.

"You know those little holiday displays some people keep in their homes? Like, under the tree, or next to it? You know, the wooden ones. I think they are really cute. I was thinking I might want to get one this year..." Seeing her friend still wasn't following her topic yet, the woman went on, "They're, like, in a little barn, with an angel or a star over it."

I wanted to help, but then I would have to admit I had been listening.

"Well," The first woman continued, "I found one I like, it's really expensive, but I like it better because you can take the baby out of its cradle."

The women rounded to the next aisle, and I didn't feel like being creepy enough to find something to "read" on the next aisle, too. I needed to stop dawdling, anyway. I checked out.

I drove home, a little entertained by the description I had overheard.

Nativity. How strange that something dearer and more Christmas to me than Santa and the tree, something I played with during childhood was so novel, so unfamiliar to these women of a similar age. At first, I pondered the contradiction. They knew the scene, but not the story. It seemed absurd. I wanted to know what she thought the display represented.

Then, as I drove home, another thought struck me.

That was how it went the first time.

There was a cute baby, cradled by a manger, possibly in something like a little barn. What an odd display. And like the women that I shamelessly eavesdropped upon, most of the world didn't register the significance of the absurd little event.

The shepherds that were guided to the manger did not know to call it "The Nativity" either. They too sought out a savior that they didn't understand.

How did they describe the view they came upon?

It is tempting for those of us who know the story by heart to scoff at the obvious ignorance of the unindoctrinated about the nativity... We want to get caught up in our Christmas snobbery.

but wasn't that the point of the nativity?

Like these women in the store, there was an unnatural draw to this baby in a humbled situation.

Wasn't Jesus born for those who did not yet know him? The unindoctrinated, too?

Jesus pursued those who knew little, leaving the well studied to their own snobbery.

We like to focus really hard on a baby in a manger at Christmas time. Too hard, at times. I think it is because it is safe. What an innocent, nonthreatening picture: a sleeping baby. We want to focus on shiny stars, and pretty carols, hushed tones, and lullabies, cuddling, and cuteness. What an oversimplification of Christian life.

And perhaps, the woman at the store unknowingly tapped on some wisdom: We need a nativity display that allows us to take the baby out of the manger. Jesus doesn't belong in the manger.

There were many at the time who would have been perfectly happy to let that baby lie in the manger permanently. Unfortunately for them, the baby moved, escaped, grew up, overturned tax tables, talked to prostitutes, defended women, fed multitudes, provided wine for the party, demanded people walk on water, crawled willingly to his death, and rose effortlessly to come back for us. To put it shortly, he didn't stay cute and containable for long. The baby that left the manger set the bar for living faithfully much higher than crooning praises and gazing adoringly upon his sweet, sleeping face.

And maybe, sometimes, that's why we like to leave the baby in the barn.

When it comes right down to it, Christ didn't come to fulfill the ideologies built up by the deeply religious, those who knew all the stories. He didn't come to fulfill the ideologies of those who revere the glittery, shiny, fragile version of the Nativity. Christ was born in a humble place, to fulfill the longing of the unstudied, the aching, the unclean-those who could only describe him as "That baby in the barn." Those who dearly wanted to be able to take the baby out of the manger and hold him close.

That baby could have been born in a palace, or temple, in the Most Holy of Holies within the temple, had God willed the story to go that way. If he had, multitudes would have been happier with the story of the birth of the savior. God likes to crush our preformed ideas of "how it should go" because our ideas cannot compare, or even remotely encompass the amazing story that happens when God shows us how the story really goes.

Christmas was just the beginning of another chapter of God's fantastic story...and in the beginning of any story, no one really knows what is going on besides the author. We need to remember that it is alright for people not to understand. Just like the first Christmas, there were lots of people who didn't understand what the the fuss was about. And it's important that we don't shut people out or shoot them down, just because they don't have the all the Sunday school answers. Thankfully, God doesn't do that to us! Interest starts with curiosity, and curiosity has to be rewarded.

I'm glad I had to make that one more stop that night.

There were 3 things I needed to take with me out Target that night:

1. The reminder that it's okay for us to allow Christmas to be humble. More than just okay, it's beautiful.

2. Christmas would be worthless if the baby never left the manger, just like Easter wouldn't matter with the savior never left the cross, and it's important to think of Christmas as the beginning, rather than the focal point.

3. File folders. Good thing I needed those, because I never had the first two items on my shopping list.

Fortunate

"So, are you out the door at the clock today, or are you hanging around to get work done?"

My coworker asks at lunch the Friday before the school break finally arrives.

 

"Out the door!" I respond, "I have stuff to do!"

"Errands?"

"No, I'm headed to the coast."

"Niiice, the beach!"

"Meh, the beach may happen, but I'm not much for the beach. I told my Grandad I'd visit, and they just happen to live near the beach."

A pause happens. 

I expect to hear something about how cute or quaint it is that I would use vacation time to visit grandparents.

 The pause extends long enough to become thoughtful.

"You're fortunate, you know."

The normally jocular tone has turned completely pensive, 

"Not too many adults still get to visit their grandparents."

 And now it's my turn to take a pensive pause.

It doesn't feel right to go into great detail for my coworker about how fortunate is too brief of a statement.

 Sometimes I get busy, and distracted from this fortune. Even during the times I am careless though, I am still greatly blessed.

But it's nice to be reminded of what I am.

So I nod.

"Yes, very fortunate."

Balance.

When I was in high school, my youth pastor drew a diagram. It was a bulls eye. Relationships are arranged like the target symbol.

The center of the target, the bulls eye, is where you are. It's a tight spot, not a lot of room for many others. The next ring would be your close friends and family. It's still a smaller space, but it can fit a few more people. These are the few who you trust with your most precious cargo and your most morbid confessions. The next ring are your fun friends, the ones who are great to be around, you spend time with them, but you wouldn't necessarily ask them to help you with something too personal, or share too much with them, but it's a larger number of people. These rings go all the way out to acquaintances. His point was, not everyone you know can be on the same level of friendship. There is just not enough room or time to make that work, and it's okay to have the few who you trust more than others. In fact, it is wise. You would not want some of those acquaintances on the outside ring sitting by your side during nerve wracking doctor's appointments or other such sensitive moments. 

Balance.

This simile obviously made sense to me, as it still crosses my mind over 10 years after the illustration.

It was perhaps the first time that I considered balance in life without connecting that balance to equal shares. It was probably the crack in the icy shell that had shielded me from the revelation of balance of time within life.


A few years later, this concept grew again for me. I was spending all of my time studying, attending labs and classes, taking field trips, and studying for tests. I was driving myself insane. I was isolating myself, and sinking into depression because of it. Finally, on a whim of a breaking point, I looked at my textbooks one Sunday morning and said, "I'm done." For the rest of my undergrad career, I did not do school stress on Sundays. Balance. I realized, as long as I allowed it to happen, all of my days would be consumed by stress and fret. Deciding on one day that was off limits meant that I had to make better use of the time that was not off limits, work harder on Saturdays, and in between classes on weekdays. It meant no longer having to face "study guilt" on Sundays when I failed to get around to studying, because I no longer had any intention of studying. It meant peace. Reviewing priorities. Liking myself. Enjoying life. It meant balance.

Through the years I have worked in different areas. As an adult out of school, work is addicting. It is a place with structure and ritual, much like school once was. It can eat a person alive. It tried to eat me alive. In each new environment, I again had to relearn to set boundaries that created balance. It's okay to take overtime, but there has to be a limit. There is no shame in saying no when that early morning phone call comes. Balance. It means deciding to make better lunch decisions a few times a week so as to not be physically torn down. It means learning which conversations to take part in and which ones to fall silent in, to prevent from being emotionally torn down. It means remembering that there are relationships in my life that are more important than the ones I try to establish with my colleagues, and that just because I am socially worn out from working with people all day does not mean that my need for meaningful social time with the real relationships in my life has been met. It means actively insuring that I don't get so distracted and filled up by work fluff, that I forget to lay the foundations of life. Making sure I don't attend the company Christmas party and then forget to actually celebrate Christmas with those I love. It means instigating balance, sometimes by force.

And now, stepping into a career, I find a new level of balance must be learned. In a job, I can clock out and go home, leave the issues next to the clock and pick them up on my way back in. In a career, I have a harder time finding the border between home and work. In a job, if you get fired, you move on to the next job and learn a new skill set. In a career, you have laid down so much official training, that to moving to another career would require pausing for more education before being able to apply to be a rookie in another field. When I worked jobs, there was never any point in time that I found cause to stay behind unpaid and work a little longer. In a career, it comes down to my reputation, which has often mean staying 3-5 hours late on a regular basis to make sure everything runs smoothly every day.  Combine that with having been in school last year, and I can easily admit: there was no balance last year, only survival.

So here I am, learning a new level of balance. It makes sense to me. In school, with every grade, in gymnastics, with every level, in karate, with every belt, in band, with every music piece mastered, there was always another challenge to overtake, another improvement to make. It is the same thing with learning to apply balance to life, there is always a new level to learn. Whether it is balance within family, school, friendships, activities, finances, jobs, careers, every new situation requires new balancing skills.

This year, I am actively focusing on some areas to improve my balance. I want to read books for fun again. Leave work before the sun sets more often. Go for walks and bike rides. Spend time with people who will still care about me in a couple of years. Write more often. Take naps with my cat. Take better care of my garden. Travel more. Eat better. Play a lot more games, and crack a lot more jokes around kitchen tables. I want to intentionally invest in the parts of my life that matter most to me.

This year, I want to balance better.

The time change is today. You have an extra hour. How's your balance?

Lessons Learned So Far: Teaching-Year 2, Entry 1

1. You're never fully dressed without a smile.........Unless they are seriously in trouble.  If you're always good humored and smiling, then the moment the straight face appears, the fear sets in. Very handy.

2. Don't judge books by covers: Some of your most fantastic textbooks will have gum and poorly rendered drawings of things that the book wasn't originally intended to teach. Some kids present as excellent students, and yet will do no homework, pay very little attention, flunk tests, and put gum in your books. Some students will look like they're in an open-eyed coma, and come out super genius whenever their names get pulled, test scores come back, and homework gets turned in.

3. Never trust the schedule. Never. Not for one minute. Never. Never. Never.

4. No matter how thoroughly you have thought through a plan or system, until you test it on people, you will still never get all the kinks thought out ahead of time.

5. Teaching students sitting in desks is a very different process than teaching students seated at lab tables.

6. It's visibly filthier to have carpet flooring than linoleum.

7. The Promethean board is awesome.

8. Apparently, you can have too many student aides. Never would have dreamed it.

9. 8th graders can break marbles, even at table level. Seriously, it happened.

10. Someone will always attempt to steal the lab equipment. I don't know why, because we only use cheap lab materials. Hopefully, it'll be one of the broken items.

11. When purchasing a skateboard, buy one with metal axles, not plastic. 8th grades can break those, too.

12. 8th graders are capable of more than they let on. They are capable of more than they understand. They are capable of achieving high goals, if they are given the careful framework to get them there, and you refuse to ever doubt your expectations.

13. Whether they have to take the CST or the SBAC- at the end of the year, they still have to know science and how to think. That's a big enough task to worry about.

14. OneDirection is not as cool anymore. This makes using tricks from last year's slides work less. Darn pop culture.

15. Matter of fact works way better than frustration when dealing with discipline moments.

16. Crack down on unwanted behaviors fast.

17. Don't over help. If they need a pencil, remind them that they know where the borrow pencils are. Don't get it for them. Or else they'll just wait for you to do it next time, too.

18. You're part of their transition to adulthood, make sure you're an effective part. Junior high is the beginning of child to adult mutation. They have to learn about appropriate behavior in the work environment. It starts with junior high teachers, if we insist on it.

19. Put a line in the hallway and expect students to be in it before they enter the classroom. Their brains work soooooo much better that way.

20. Require the first five minutes of class to be silent work, and then go to the mat for the silence. It's amazing how much the behavior and focus improves if they have to practice containing themselves for 5 minutes every day (Also, they get their homework copied down much faster).

21. Simple rubrics are the most wonderful things in the world. Make some. Make them broad enough that they apply to multiple assignments, but narrow enough that when someone wants to argue the grade, there is a rule sheet to reference. Teach them how to rubric themselves. Show them to the parents. Quality, performance, attitude and metacognition improve. Arguments, excuses, and grading time decrease.

22. Teaching is more than informational. Teaching requires to see individuals. Teaching requires knowing when to reach out and offer help, and when to allow problems to resolve themselves. Teaching is knowing when to do a student a favor, and when to do them a favor by not doing them a favor. It requires knowing where to draw the lines. Knowing which student needs nothing more than a fist bump and nod in the hallway, and which one needs to hear, "Are you okay?" Teaching is figuring out what each individual defines as respecting them as people. Teaching is hard.

23. The moment you call the tech guy in is the moment the projector will get jostled by a careless kid and magically start working. If you're lucky. Otherwise, the tech guy will actually make there, jostle it himself, and then look at you quizzically, as if you didn't try every useful and useless trick in the book first.

24. Sticky notes are like 20 dollar bills. It's handy to have a stack of them, and they disappear fast.

25. If you like your prep, remember, next year you could easily get moved from 7th period prep to 4th period.

26. Fourth period prep makes for an optimum restroom break.

27. Dang...

28. Love your librarian. You don't realize how valuable she is until she disappears for a few weeks.

29. The food shack across the street sells large fountain drinks with the "good ice" for a dollar. Pepsi products!

30. The second year is leaps and bounds better than the first.

31. BTSA's main reason for existing is to suck the life out of the minimal amount of free time you have.

32. Science fair. It's a love hate relationship. You have to drive the students into their projects by using pitchforks and torches, and then the students chase you down during every single one of your spare moments to talk about the projects non-stop, asking questions you've already given them notes on(and they usually forget to remind you which project they're working on, which can make listening very interesting), but they weren't listening to the directions at that time because they hadn't picked a project yet. But then... they are talking to a teacher about science, during which time they ask questions, and there's a spark in their eyes that says "Sometimes science is really fun!"...and then you think: I love science fair...even though it tries to eat me alive.

33. Don't let that one kid who loves to waste time use the pencil sharpener. Especially if he is also borrowing your pencil. Enough said.

34. The second year can still be really difficult and overwhelming at times.

35. Instruction for English Learners changes severely when their Native language is not Spanish.

36. Sometimes, when school is out, you have to learn to step back and say: No...today I am not a teacher. I am not spending the whole day grading things, or working something out on the computer for Monday. Today I am going for a walk, taking a nap, doing my Bible study, hanging with friends...any thing but teacher stuff.

37. Sometimes you still have to be a teacher, and sometimes you talk above mentioned friends in to grading things with you.

38. When you plan a lab, carefully set it up, plan out all the steps, decide how to divide the students, decide how much of the lab you will guide and how much they will, decide what they will write on their papers, what they will turn in, buy all of the materials necessary, plus extras. That way, on lab day, while you are sitting under a table during a surprise earthquake drill during half a period, you can sit and think about preparation. And you'll wonder why you forget that drills always seem to coincide with lab days...

Darkness

Friendly warning: This post deals with darker emotions. Proceed at your own risk.

It’s like my whole chest has been bound in iron, and no matter how many deep breaths I take, something deep inside me is still asphyxiating. It’s like I’m being held under water, and no matter how hard I kick, how much my lungs burn and muscles ache, I can’t reach the surface; I don’t die, but I’m getting too tired to keep thrashing. It’s like everyone else’s soul is a burlap sack, sometimes empty, and sometimes filled with butterflies, and mine is filled with wet sand. It takes all my energy to get me and my bag of sand moving, let alone participate in life. Even when I get my soul off the ground, I can only pretend to be able to carry it for a short time before collapsing again. It’s as if everything but my brain has been given anesthetic, and all my brain can seem to process are my damages and failures, my insufficiencies. It’s knowing I have important things to do, but being unable to break myself away from staring into nothingness long enough to prevent myself from ruining my own life. It’s the despair of knowing I am ruining my own life. It’s having the desperate need to shriek uncontrollably, and lacking the strength to do so. It’s finding out that even when I muster up the courage and strength to scream, it doesn’t make the feeling go away. It’s feeling like I am rotting from the inside out. And, drawing from an illustration made in Unshaken, it’s feeling as if I’m trapped in a dark elevator shaft alone under the rubble of a collapsed hotel, and knowing that 

no one can come to rescue me.

 It’s all of those things, and then the understanding that these feelings aren’t changing…perhaps they will never end.

So, I try to fake it. I can’t imagine a way to express those feelings, I can’t bear the thought of dealing with people after trying to share those feelings, I don’t want to burden someone I love with my darkness. I force smiles, and avoid eye contact. I deflect questions with distracting humor, or redirecting questions, or flippant responses. I make myself insanely busy. I have moments where I hide in a quiet place. I find secret, harmful ways to deal with the darkness alone.

Depression.

I hate talking about it. I hate admitting to having struggled with it. I hate the stigma the very word carries. I hate how flippantly it is used. I hate how people try to use it interchangeably with trivial words, like “sad,” “disappointed” and “blue.”

Depression is not sadness. It’s not a mood. It’s engulfing, raging, oppressive darkness. It’s sneaky.

People who struggle with depression can often feel like they are the only broken ones. People who bear this omnipresent darkness usually keep it a secret.

I am relieved to say that I am not currently dealing with it myself, but I remember how it felt. I remember feeling like I was the only one who knew this darkness. I also remember well intentioned people mistaking it for the blues, encouraging me to “just cheer up, tomorrow will be a better day.” I remember knowing a despairing feeling as I thought about the fact that tomorrow would not likely be a better day after all: it would likely be the same kind of day that every day has been for the past several months. I remember only partially enjoying the “up moments” in that period of time, because I had learned from pattern that they would only crash down again, and the darkness would hurt more after having almost felt normal for a few hours. I remember feeling like a ghost while being with my friends or family, watching them have a good time, and only being able to watch, not feel it.

Mostly, however, I remember feeling alone. And irreparable. And crazy. Why couldn’t I just buck up? Why couldn’t I conjured enough faith, pray hard enough, repent loudly enough for the darkness to go away?

That’s particularly something Christians have to struggle against. There are many within the faith who would like to point the finger at the faith of the sufferer, shake their heads at the need for psychology, or anti-depressants. Christians who need these things get convinced they should feel ashamed of their lesser faith.

But Jesus knew the feeling. “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” I know I have not been crucified, or felt the burden of all of humanity’s sin upon me, but I also know that I have heard my soul cry out a similar phrase. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest.” (Psalm 22:1-2) Jesus felt a deeper darkness than I ever have. Part of me believes that these phrases were recorded for us: the ones who brush against an inner darkness for a long extent of time, sometimes repeatedly throughout life, the ones who feel isolated by this darkness.

It is ridiculous that anyone can think that people who struggle with depression are of a weaker faith. It takes an enormous faith to dwell in a dark and lonely place for so long and still maintain a belief in a god who is still worth following--to believe in a God who loves you, when you cannot fathom loving yourself. The kind of faith that can stand to “be still and know” through that kind of inner death is the same kind of faith that walks on water. Read through the Bible. Look at the prophets and heroes of faith. A high percentage of them battled with the inner darkness as well. It’s right there, right smack dab in the middle of their amazing life stories. I don’t think it is a coincidence that so many people God used in great ways also struggled with depression.

I have never been more secure in the fact that my God is a great and powerful God than when I had nothing but paralyzing emptiness. That knowledge remains with me even after the darkness faded. 

That’s right: it fades. One way or another, we survive. Sometimes-No-Usually, we need help to survive, whether it is family support, medical support, psychological support, or all of it, and there is no shame in any of it, no matter what some self appointed authorities on faith might say. No matter what that accusing voice in the back of my own mind says.

And after the darkness fades, I am aware that it could come back someday, and I need to be prepared to deal with it again, but I also know that I survived it. There is a certain level of strength that comes from that knowledge. It’s a strength that I never knew before.

I have already confided in you that I hate bringing this topic up in public. So, why, you may ask, did I write such a long confession?  Two reasons. 

One: Perhaps if people who have never experienced the darkness read the brief summary of how the darkness feels, they will be less likely to make themselves a part of the burden for those in the midst of darkness.

Two: People who are in the midst of darkness or may someday be in the midst of it need to know that darkness is not forever. Perhaps if people who have made it through darkness talked about it while they are on the upside of the battle, then people who struggle with it will feel less alone…less crazy, more able to talk about it with someone they can trust. People who are asphyxiating no matter how deeply they breathe need to know. They need to know that it’s not shameful. It does not have to be fatal. 

If you have felt the darkness, are feeling it now, or have family members who deal with it (because it is genetic), you need to know: You are not a burden. You are carrying a burden, but that burden, that darkness, is not who you are. Don’t bear it alone. 

It’s okay to looked a trusted person in the eye and respond, “Broken.” When they ask, “How are you feeling today?” It’s okay to ask someone to hold your hand in the midst of the darkness. 

You would be surprised how many people have brushed against that darkness, too.