I’m going to just jump in and let you know about part of the crazy in my life I am slowly learning to embrace. Please be gentle with me.

This pic was taken on our anniversary trip to St. Augustine last Fall. I look so happy. It really was a delightful trip. But that face doesn’t tell the whole story.

For the past 18 months, I have been battling through depression. Even this day had a heaviness on it.

When we found out we were moving back to the States, it was like the rug was pulled out from under me. I knew it was the right decision, but I wanted the ” right” decision to be different. I wanted to stay in the country, the city, the apartment that had brought me so much life. I couldn’t fathom leaving–it was like someone was removing my skin.

When we made the decision to return, we had only ten weeks to pack up our lives. I don’t do well under stress. And I’m a planner. We had not been planning on making an international move at a moment’s notice. It was all just too much for me. The stress was incredible. But it was even harder emotionally.

By the time the day arrived for us to finally fly home, I was a mess. I literally had to force myself to put one foot in front of the other to get on a plane that would take me away from the place my heart was firmly planted. It was hard for our kids too–on the airplane Gavin and I sat next to each other and just cried and cried.

We arrived in Orlando, and I wanted to be anywhere else. Knowing we were in the right place didn’t make the pain and hurt of leaving any less. I found myself unable to do almost anything. I wanted to hide in my bed all day. The kids wanted to go to Disney, I couldn’t fathom ever having the energy to take them. I found joy in nothing I had usually loved. I was overwhelmed with everything. Even deciding what cereal to have in the morning seemed to send me to tears.

The crazy thing about depression is that as much as you need help, the mere energy needed to pursue it seems beyond grasp. I couldn’t even make the phone call to get a doctor’s appointment. All I could do was ask Cody to please help me to get help. He picked up the phone, he drove me to the doctor, he filled my prescription.

Yes, I was a missionary taking an anti-depressant. And I’m not the only one.

I know there are those reading this now that can intimately relate. I know there are those who are experiencing the same overwhelming feeling of not being able to fathom how to make it through the next hour.

I want to share my journey so you know you aren’t alone. You aren’t the only one. Putting my journey into words will be an ongoing topic. My desire is they bring the comfort of understanding.

Thanks for listening today.