Six months ago I wanted to die. Stuck in repetitive counting and cleaning rituals of OCD, drowning in depression, convinced that I was worthless; I began counseling mainly out of love for my family. I wanted to live for my husband and children.
The journey I have been on since then has been painful, surprising, and beautiful. Painful because I have searched the depth of my illness: genetic inheritance, family values, and peer abuse were all contributors; but the main barrier to my wellness was my own reactions and beliefs about myself. I had learned to protect myself from emotional pain by escaping into my OCD rituals, and denied my sensitive, emotional self. I was surprised to learn that I am extremely sensitive, and at first I was not at all pleased with the “new” me that was emerging. Even though one of my goals had been to become more emotionally aware, I had not expected to what degree I would become emotional as I revisited painful memories.
The journey has been beautiful because I have learned and experienced so much more than I thought possible. I have questioned beliefs, searched my soul, and re-evaluated my priorities. I have experienced the breathtaking healing of prayer. I am learning about the needful interdependence of the church. I am beginning to reach beyond my own pain and give to others. I have met my Father in the depth of my pain, and He has been faithful to provide a needed phone call, email, sunrise, or song to remind me of his overwhelming love for me.
I’ve experienced grace like I never knew existed. My therapist's unconditional acceptance of all my behaviors and insistence that I see myself as a beloved daughter of the King has transformed my view of myself. Being able to accept grace instead of hating myself for all my failures is thrilling.
I began this experience with specific goals to achieve, and I have achieved some of them. But I have learned that there are better goals to achieve, and have accepted that I may not be completely healed of my OCD. I fully expect to be on medication for the rest of my life, based on my family history. I am beginning to realize that I have bought into the lie that I am not worth as much as others because I am a woman, a housewife, whatever. I am learning that I can have an opinion, and it is valuable. As I begin to assert myself, I am finding that my husband appreciates my opinions. Letting him know how I feel is beginning to create a more intimate relationship between us.
I have built many “protective” walls in my life, denying how I really feel, and they are coming down. When I wake in the morning, instead of dreading the coming day, I can pray now. Some mornings, I still just pray for strength to get up and make it to the breakfast table. But most mornings, I wake with the potential of the day shining through. I am overwhelmed with the possibilities of each precious day. But whether I wake in joy or sadness, I wake in the loving arms of the One who loves me, no matter how broken I am.
*This is a true story known to blog host, Jeff Williams. Comments and inquiries for the author, a middle-aged, married mother of two, can be posted on this blog, or sent to jeff.gtre@gmail.com who will forward to the author for private response.
