Like asking her to swallow the sun

I'm trying to form a new habit these days, and part of the new habit is breaking the old habit--spending too much time on Facebook. Ugh. Anyway the point is that I want to redirect some of those gossipy pitstops to more interesting and authentic ones. So far I'm reading EVERY article in the paper and wondering how many cute baby picture posts I'm missing.

But this morning I woke up to read a blurb by a local food-writing hero, Molly Wizenberg, and she pointed me in the direction of a TED talk by Elizabeth Gilbert. I admit that I'd heard of TED and knew that all important techy, savvy people liked it, but until two weeks ago when my friend Lacey practically DEMANDED (on Facebook, oh sweet irony!) that we pay more attention, I hadn't even been to the website. I'll go ahead and embed Ms. Gilbert's talk because you know I love to embed videos, but more importantly, I just have to say out loud: I'm so glad to know other creative people get stuck too. And I'm so glad creative people can look at each other and say, We got to stick together. Because the injustice of creative people literally losing their minds? No thanks.

I might be giving myself too much credit here, I don't have an Eat, Pray, Love under my belt, but I do understand the shitty state of depression, so I resonated in about 1,000 ways with the way she describes that tipping point in a creative process where you think you have NO talent and NO potential and, as my mom would say, you're going to end up in the GUTTER. And then the other side of the mountain is where God's spirit (that's how I see it, at least) bubbles up through you and all that magic and creativity gushes on through. That's quite a tightrope.

This is all pretty woo-woo. But you know what? Without the woo, we'd all be engineers.

Booyah

Is booyah technically a term coined by the marines? I remember when I was in high school and my mom would use the word sweet, and it just sounded SO DORKY. I think that's what my kids will experience when I continue to say booyah in 2032.

I'm booyahing because my itch to learn more about graphic design is finally getting scratched. Lucky me! And the best part is that it's freeeeeee. Booyah! A designer at work is giving me one-on-one lessons in Photoshop, InDesign, and hopefully Illustrator. I'm loving every minute, but the best part is that I'll finally have some ability to create a cool layout for this fine blog! Won't that be fun? It might be a reason to click on out of your Google Reader page for once!

There was something else I wanted to blog about and now I've forgotten. Typical. I will tell you that I bought some $2.99 shampoo the other day at Target. This is a big deal because I spent all my nanny money in college developing expensive taste and a love for Bumble and bumble (I really like their font, what can I say). Basically, this is hair-backsliding.

So Dustin asked me yesterday how the poor-woman's shampoo was working. And I launched into a long list of reasons it wasn't going to work out--weighed my hair down, looked kind of dirty, didn't smell as good, etc. Then he asked me where it was... as he stood looking at the Target bag in which the SHAMPOO STILL SAT. Unopened! And I legitimately thought I had a bad hair day from the Tres Semme. That's what anti-depressants do to your brain, folks. They take away your troubles and your frickin' memory. Oolala.

Next to Normal

Just when a hard day seems like it might end with a bucket of Breyer's Vanilla Bean, a long phone call with my mom saves me the heavy cream. Nothing quite like it. Four--one, two, three, four--families connected to Side-by-Side lost their children this week. No words for that. And the regular stuff of life marches on too. Car repairs, tax returns, poorly dyed hair. What a world, eh?

Last night we trekked out to see Next to Normal at the 5th. As much as I love the arts, sometimes I get bored in musicals. Then I follow up the boredom with guilt about not being cultured enough. Blahblahblah.

Not this time! Maybe it's because it felt so familiar, maybe it's because I saw at least ten people I know from my NAMI class, but I was howling with laughter and dripping with tears until the lights went up. All. the. way. to. the. end. It was superb. And there was an UNDERSTUDY playing the lead!

Take a listen and then go see this show.

Soapbox Alert! My Fundraising Letter...

Hello Friends,

Don't be alarmed. I'm writing with a cause. But it's a good one. Many of you know my darling brother Skip, who turned 22 this year. About seven years ago, Skip sunk into a miserable, dark depression. And his journey since then has been long and turbulent. Two years ago he was given a diagnosis of schizophrenia, and while that, ahem, landed our family squarely at the corner of Crappy and Confused, the progress he has made since that diagnosis is phenomenal. I mean, REALLY. He went from agitated, sleepless, haggard, to bright, funny, functioning, and making the best of some wild, wild circumstances. He is himself again, and his symptoms will ebb and flow and will always need treatment. But he's having good days, thanks to the doctors and therapists and teachers and social workers and nurses and friends and family and pastors and pharmacists and YOU.

Because people like you are the ones who can support (drum roll) organizations like the National Alliance on Mental Alliance (NAMI). And NAMI is the glue that helps bring all those other people together, giving consumers (the word we use for folks with mental illness) the hope that it's going to get better. NAMI offers support groups for consumers, family members and friends, generates anti-stigma information to the public (no more Burger King commercials that make us want to cry) and continues to advocate for research on the treatment of mental illness.

Here are some fun facts about schizophrenia!

*Research on mental illness has largely occurred since 1980. That's way later than heart disease, cancer, etc. It's a new frontier!

*Schizophrenia is more common than Multiple Sclerosis. Truth.

*It affects the entire world population equally. It's not in the water, or the money, or the culture, or the religion.

*Schizophrenia affects the ability to think, formulate ideas, reason, remember, and/or concentrate. It's a doozy.

*Side effects of the most effective medications include memory inhibition, weight gain, increased risk for cardio-vascular disorders, bankruptcy! :)

So I'm going on a walk with NAMI to help keep their work trucking along. On May 15th we will stroll along Lake Washington and wave our flags and wear t-shirts in honor of the ones we love, and I would be so happy to send your money in the direction of this good work. Five dollars from each of you would make my d-a-y.

Click here to support me.

Thanks for listening. Happy Spring!

Holly

Revisiting That Soapbox

I ran across this article in the archives of SPU's Response Magazine. Reminded me of why, despite its flaws, my place of worship and community is on the right track. It's long, but read up. It's local! :)

Church In-Reach: Care for the Congregation

“When a person deals with mental illness, sometimes the Christian community says it’s a spiritual problem — that you don’t have enough faith, and if you just read your Bible more, you’d be cured,” says Claudia Grauf-Grounds, chair of Seattle Pacific University’s Marriage and Family Therapy program.

One Seattle congregation is taking radical steps to change such thinking. Twelve years ago, University Presbyterian Church (UPC) Senior Pastor Earl Palmer invited David Zucker to join the staff. Zucker, neither a clergyman nor a clinician, had long worked for Agape Outreach, a home for adults with severe and persistent mental illness. He was a natural fit for a groundbreaking new position at the church: mental health advocate.

“I’ve learned over the years that the biggest part of healing and recovery is how well you’re welcomed back into the community after you’ve been ill,” says Zucker. “Folks that come the farthest have cheerleaders to root them on. I wanted to explore what the church could do to provide that kind of support.”

Zucker initially envisioned his UPC ministry would center on outreach to people in the city who struggled with mental illness. But something amazing happened. “People — church members — started to come to me in droves,” he says. “Many of them came like Nicodemus in the night, knocking on my window and coming up to me after services.”

Zucker describes families in distress; depression-ravaged, high-functioning adults; and everything in between. “I found that UPC was no different than any other congregation in America; members of the church were suffering and struggling with mental illness, and they were afraid to be identified,” he says. “Yet they desperately needed and wanted support.” That’s when Zucker came to an important conclusion, one that would define his next 12 years at the church: “We needed to be doing in-reach, not out-reach.”

It takes a special sensitivity level to manage such a program. “I’m someone who is a survivor of mental illness,” he says candidly. “That’s where my interest and openness come from. I’ve walked through the dark night of the soul myself. After I became a Christian, I got engaged. When she called it off, I became deeply depressed. Folks very quickly got tired of praying for me. I felt like I was a leper — on the periphery. I’ll never forget the pain and brokenness I felt.” He says he saw the importance of community in recovery from illness and crisis. “I became convinced of the healing value of relational ministry — that’s ultimately what we do here.”

Zucker says his work is rooted in a word: compassion. “In Greek, compassion means to suffer with,” he explains. “When you choose to walk alongside someone who’s suffering, you enter into their grief. I’d love to see seminarians have more training to do this.”

UPC’s model for mental health ministry is radical by church standards; it’s also rooted in concepts of collaborative care — specifically, that healing can be maximized by a network of support. “Our focus is to provide a first-class welcome and spiritual discipleship to folks who are hurting,” says Zucker. “No matter how ill a person is, even if they’re delusional, there is still that deep spiritual yearning.”

Beyond that, Zucker serves as an advocate, someone who goes to bat for people who are suffering. He’s there to provide a listening ear, support, and referrals. “I advocate for people, meet their felt needs, and help network for them.” Sometimes that means helping families access social services, dealing head-on with crisis, or making referrals to psychotherapists. “If someone comes in here needing support for life, I’m here,” he says. “I can’t do everything for them, but I can do something.” And Zucker is especially proud of one thing: “In all of the years I have been here, not one person who has attended our fellowship groups has ever taken their own life.”

Aside from managing five church-sponsored support groups attended by nearly 40 people each week, he is in contact with roughly 200 people in any given Monday-through-Sunday interval — some of whom are psychotherapists working collaboratively with him to meet the needs of parishioners and their families. “Twenty-five years ago, churches didn’t know what to do with divorce; now there are ministries and support groups for people going through that,” says Zucker. “I think this [mental illness ministry] is the last frontier in churches — because it impacts so many people.”

He points to 1 Corinthians, where Paul likens the church to the body: “Paul says all the parts of the body are essential, but he reminds us that we need to give greater care to the weaker parts — that’s ultimately what leads to greater unity in the body.”

This Could Get Awkward

Okay. Like I said, this could get awkward. I'm already awkward in this first paragraph. But I need to get this off my chest.

Why does everyone feel so uncomfortable talking about mental illness?

For example, there are entire websites that exist for the sole purpose of following cancer diagnoses. And gobs of people read them. They keep family and friends informed of the good news, the sad news, and how to help in between. And they're an incredible tool, I'm a huge fan. But never do people subscribe to blog updates when brothers and mothers and fathers and friends are delusional, psychotic, dangerous to themselves, falling apart. Nevernevernever does some company put a ribbon on a water bottle to support schizophrenia research.

It makes me really sad to know that someone in my life suffers from this hideous disease and is also subjected to so much judgment and misunderstanding. It is just not fair. I want a Fun Run. I want to hear Bill Gates announce a billion dollars in funding. I want to salute a Peace Prize winner who unlocks the key to relief for my loved one.

One way I'm trying to advocate for the mentally ill is to pay attention to my language. We have gotten really good at using inclusive, respectful language in so many circumstances, but the way people throw around terms like... nutcase, wacko, psycho, lunatic...it's cruel. I have listened to my sweet brother sob because the pain of being ostracized for his illness was infinitely more miserable than his hallucinations, his paranoia. For the record, that was shitty.

As I've learned more about mental illness, and schizophrenia especially, I'm realizing that nobody is going to change attitudes, shift judgment, unless people who have suffered tell their stories. My brother cannot tell his story right now, so I'm here in his place. Telling his story, in all my awkward glory. Without his permission, abandoning my sense of ethical blogging for the sake of following my gut.

I may never write about this again, but I just needed to say, "WE ARE HERE. There are people here who are in pain, who are in pain and who deserve compassion, just like anybody else who is sick and suffering." Thanks for humoring me. And stop calling your neighbors "nut jobs."

More Serendipity

Dustin snapped this picture today on a sidewalk in Seattle. Reminded us to keep praying...

Porkbarrel My Arse

I'm so sick of hearing folks complain about all the frivolous porkbarrel attachments that got lopped onto the bailout bill. First of all, there was no choice, unless Americans decided to suddenly live without Tivo and professional sports and all the other luxuries we mop up on a daily basis. Second of all, politicians are PAID to work (read: manipulate) the system in service of their constituents. Isn't that pretty much the way it works?

But more than anything, has it occurred to the big complainers that this bill passed with some really *important* additions? Like, I don't know, more comprehensive mental health coverage? Or fringe benefits for bike commuters? Or additional funding for rural schools?

I'm not saying that all of the add-ons were legitimate, they're obviously not. But let's not kid ourselves into thinking this doesn't happen ALL THE TIME. HELLO.

Congratulations, America, you're so not smarter than a fifth grader.

antes de salir, yo quiero decir...

Some days are so full of, humanity, I guess you could say, that I imagine I'm actually in a movie, Garden State, perhaps, and that there are Natalie Merchant songs playing as the camera of Life flies high above my head and pans to a view of the wide open road.

Why do I have such fantasies, you ask?

Let me tell you.

Last night my friends Jared and Rachael stopped by with a little happy for me--they had offered to help send me to El Salvador, and LO AND BEHOLD--let's just say their generosity knows no bounds. Two fresh college graduates, pulling their hair out over med school interviews and zany restaurant jobs, and they managed to pay HALF of my remaining costs. A miracle! And a most humbling one for me, when I realize that the steps that have led me to Agros, as much as I detest this kind of Christian-ese, seem providential. I don't mind.


Then this morning I headed to church for my usual dose of preschooler playtime, and in our teacher meeting, the whole crew suddenly wanted to head all about my said trip. And of course people have been interested, willing to listen and all that, but in our short get-together these women were suddenly chomping at the bit to hear about the work, the purpose, the community, the dangers (oh my!) and the team of travelers. I can't tell you how lovely it felt to receive their blessings on our journey. My job as glorified day care provider certainly has its perks.

Sweet baby with huge brown eyes, dramatic curls and exceptional eating habits laid sweet dramatic curls on my shoulder all afternoon. Sighhhhhhhhhhhh.

In midst of sweet baby's nap, I started reading archives on Dooce.com (thank you, Carly), and I must say, I DEFINITELY wish she were my next door neighbor. Not in Utah, of course, but somewhere warm and sunny, but not annoyingly beachy (let me know if you think of the place I'm imagining). Anyway, her blog is thoroughly tagged (you'll notice I'm now inspired to do the same), self-aware (she acknowledges her love of the CAPS LOCK key, and I'm now acknowledging my obsession with parentheses), and contains the story of her very layered life. I was most interested in reading the posts about her journey through postpartum depression and her subsequent treatment in a psychiatric ward. And how she's thriving today. Do read her stories--they are priceless.

And then. I came home to a very full mailbox--February's Martha Stewart, my gift subscription (thanks Son!) to Cooking Light, and this is what made me cry and feel very, very human: a postcard from the City of Seattle about the Aurora Bridge Suicide Prevention Fence.

I know that in many ways, I will always well up and cringe and weep and remember at the thought of suicide, and I appreciate having had the experience to make me understand how shitty it is...but there's something about a community coming together to prevent suicide in this way...I just appreciate it. A lot. I know there's more to be done, hotlines, better mental health resources, less stigma, but this seems like an important part of the solution. No more plastic crosses flicking in the bursts of trafficky breezes. It's a small start, but I'm glad we're taking it. Seattle just gets it, I think. And it makes me proud.