Faith and Healing
The heaviness of darkness is so great breathing feels impossible. Hope for anything good is illusive. Day three without a bath and without getting out of bed and having no desire to do either. This is a glimpse into what depression feels like.
Paralyzed by fear, physically and mentally. Frenzied, thinking without a full thought being able to form. Stomach pain and upset creating isolation. This is a window into anxiety.
Terrorizing, familiar images popping into thoughts without warning. Panic, out of the blue, taking air out of the room and alarms going off in the brain and throughout the body. Body trembling, mind racing, and soul aching. This is a snapshot of the effects of trauma.
One experiencing symptoms of depression, anxiety, and/or trauma often develops a belief that life is always going to feel this way. I did. For many years, I experienced a combination of depressive, anxious, and trauma symptoms. I did everything I knew to do. Because I have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, I wrongly believed that if I prayed hard enough, read The Bible and studied it enough, I would be healed of my symptoms. My Heavenly Father is the great physician, so of course He would hear my prayers and reward my pursuit of Him through studying His word. However, this is not how healing came for me.
My journey to healing began when, out of desperation, I reached out to a recently retired Navy Chaplin trained in Psychotherapy. A young wife and mother of two small boys, I was losing periods of time and believed I was “going crazy.” I thought I was going to die. If I did nothing, I was going to go crazy. I was between a rock and a hard, dark place. Preparing to go to my first therapy appointment, fearful thoughts, panic, vomiting, and many more feelings that were great and intense and overwhelming took control. I went to that place inside of my being that I learned to go to hide. I showered, dressed, and put make up on hiding “the crazy.” This was a process I learned to do so that I could survive.
I confidently walked into the therapist's office. He asked why I was pursuing therapy. I began to explain some of the feelings and experiences I had been having. I described the horrible images that flashed in my mind over and over at seemingly random times. I told him of the nightmares that would take turns disturbing my sleep. I could tell by the look on his face that he was not expecting to hear what I was telling him. After I shared my symptoms, matter of factly, my therapist asked me to tell him why I thought I was having the feelings and experiences I was having. Initially I said, “I do not know.” After a brief period of silence, he asked me again why I thought I was having the feelings and experiences I was having. A dam of emotions broke, tears began streaming down my face. The façade of confidence crumbled.
For the first time, I began sharing my story. I cried off and on for the week in between my first and second appointment. Depression overtook anxiety. For the next year more memories and pieces of my childhood and adolescence would surface like bubbles in a carbonated drink. Therapy would crack open what had been sealed up in my soul for many, many years. After three years of intense therapy, my therapist turned to me and asked if I thought about returning to school and earning a degree so that I could help others like he had helped me. Three months later I was in a classroom at North Greenville College studying Psychology. I went to college after high school and studied Accounting, but I did not complete my degree. The day I knew I would not be returning to college, I prayed surrendering my dream of a college education to God. Ten years later God began opening doors for me giving me back the dream I surrender to Him. I graduated with a degree in Psychology from North Greenville University and went on to complete a graduate degree in Marriage and Family Therapy at Converse College.
It’s been more than 25 years since I walked into my therapist’s office for the first time. Now, he comes to visit me at mine. Yes, I still need therapy from time to time. Parts of my story continues to bubble up. Depression rarely visits me. Anxiety and trauma knock me off my feet from time to time, so I lament and surrender them to the Lord. He gives me back the strength to overcome that which tries to overcome me. What I have learned about faith and healing is that my faith and my healing has been and continues to be connected processes. My Heavenly Father continues to open doors and give back to me what I surrender to Him. Healing begins with me daily surrendering my will, my story, my present and my future to Him. I have learned praying and studying His word are good practices that connect me to God. Doing these practices did not and do not earn my healing. God is not a Genie in a bottle that I summons through prayer and Bible reading. Healing has occurred as a function of my faith.
My Heavenly Father is safe, loving, gentle, patient, merciful, and kind. Healing for me includes knowing God and being known by God. Therapy has been a conduit for the Holy Spirit to work, applying the healing salve to my broken mind, body, and soul. Knowing that there is someone greater than I, someone I can totally trust, someone who is able to do all things, has made healing a reality for me. I would willingly go through the hell of what I lived through in my childhood and adolescence to know my Heavenly Father like I know Him today. Through the healing He has done within me, my faith in God, my Heavenly Father, has grown.
Written by Susan Tankersley