2020 wrecked us all – didn’t it?

None of us were ready to shelter in place, wear masks 24/7, and be separated from our support systems.

No one could imagine how stress would take a toll on our minds, bodies, and emotions.

Stress has a way of revealing in us things that we had no idea existed. For me, it was diagnosable anxiety and depression.

I have a deep, life-giving relationship with Jesus. While I had often experienced stress, a sense of overwhelm, and consistently vacillating emotional strain, I viewed these as par for the course. Ministry is hard. We’re all tired, aren’t we? Isn’t this normal?

2020 flipped life upside down. Nothing was normal anymore.

My “normal” since graduating high school at 16 was monthly or bi-monthly cycles of stress and exhaustion. After graduating, I got my first job at a fast-food joint, picked up two college classes at the community college, and became heavily involved in my church’s children’s ministry. My community faded as my peers stepped into new seasons of life, and my world revolved around giving, achieving, succeeding. This became the new norm. The girl who anticipated living at home until she got married moved out at 18 to be part of a church plant in Alpharetta, Georgia. Picture this: moving out of your parents’ home into your aunt’s home – and your grandparents are your roommates. (Imagine my feelings when grandma said to me, “We’re roommates: just like in college!”)

I gave up my dream of universities and dorms to follow God’s call and pursue an online degree. My life remained almost unbearably full, pursuing my degree while working part-time at the church and part-time at a local nonprofit while also balancing relationships. Crying every Monday became normal, seemed normal. Aren’t I just tired? Isn’t this just how it has to be?

I’ll never forget some of the moments when I thought I wouldn’t make it: the night I sat outside in my car, screaming because I was hurting from a break-up and overwhelmed by all the output and tired of being alone. I thought it was normal.

When I moved to south Florida, new levels of healing began. In some ways, I was in the healthiest place I had been in my life. But in other ways, nothing had changed. 45-50 hour work weeks – on top of homework, exercise, and grocery shopping – were still the norm. I was keeping my head above water.

Then the promotion came. I was twenty-two when I moved to one of our church’s biggest campuses to lead the children’s ministry there. Less than a year into my leadership, COVID-19 shut down the world. At twenty-three, I was leading a team and 200 families through a global pandemic.

I started to lose it.

Strife and tension among my staff team made work more difficult than before. Over and over I humbled myself, trying to figure out what I was doing wrong. When Christmas hit and my team was quarantined and the tension reached a tipping point and I led it all on my own – I snapped. And this time, I didn’t bounce back.

I’ve always bounced back before. What’s wrong this time?

A friend told me she thought I was depressed, that I sounded like she did when she had post-partum. My pastor helped me find a counselor. I raised my hand and said I needed help. I wanted to die.

My situation was complex, and I transferred mto a different role. The pain of loss I felt almost did me in. Surely I can’t survive this.

I met with pastors and my counselor over the next year, trying to move past the trauma of the betrayal and loss I had experienced. I exercised, researched the best vitamins, did extensive bloodwork, and tried to get enough sleep, enough water, and enough nutrients. But it wasn’t enough.

No one seemed to understand what was going on. If only I could get my emotions together. If only I could stop crying and grieving. If only I could move on. But I couldn’t. I just…couldn’t.

Finally, a dear pastor and sister in Christ told me “it shouldn’t be this hard. You have been working too hard for too long.” It was time to try something new. Despite my personal hesitation to try medicine, I had one more round of bloodwork done (surprise, nothing is wrong) and found a psychiatrist. I started the antidepressant and flew high as a kite only to crash harder than I ever had. Once again, I wanted to die.

That’s when we realized that I was struggling with bipolar disorder. It makes sense. It runs in the family. Do you mean it’s a disease that will progress if we don’t treat it? That all that I’ve been feeling this whole time…isn’t normal?

Do you mean that it doesn’t have to be this way?

Those appointments set me on a path to healing that I am still on today. It hasn’t been a one-and-done fix. The first medications haven’t settled the chemicals in my brain. I still experience swings of depression and of high energy. I’m still learning what is going on in my body, and still pursuing full healing through prayer, medication, and professional help.

But I’ve learned so much along the way. I’ve learned to be gentle with myself – the struggles are not always my fault. I’ve learned to be patient with others – sometimes people don’t understand. I’ve learned to be honest with my pain and to help others understand – I am paving the way for mental health in ministry.

I’ve learned that I can’t do it on my own – and God doesn’t ask me to.

It’s okay not to be okay. I don’t know your story. But whoever you are – I recommend counseling. I recommend taking care of yourself. I recommend frequent conversations with mentors and pastors.

Yes, we are in our twenties. Yes, there is space to figure it out. But I don’t want to walk in bondage any longer than I have to. I refuse to let the enemy rob me of the life God has for me. I refuse to allow my difficulties to be passed down to my future kids.

I hope you choose the same. Do the work, physically, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. And let God lead you to the tools and resources you need.

There’s no shame in healing. There’s no shame in not being enough – in fact, it’s only when we recognise that we are not enough that He has the space He needs to be enough for us.