ARTICLES BY COLLEEN CHAO

Category: Depression

anxiety

When Depression comes knocking

He could find his way to my doorstep blindfolded. He always takes the same route—by way of prolonged physical illness, sustained stress, or painful loss. Without fail, he shows up at the most inconvenient times and walks in as if he owns the place. He is that dreaded and unwelcome visitor, Depression. You don’t have to share my 25-year history with Depression to have found him on your own doorstep this year. There have been enough oppressive realities in our 2020 world to bring him knocking on anyone’s door. So if you or a loved one have felt the darkness of his presence settling in on you, I would love to speak a bit of encouragement into your heart today. Below I share a few of the ways I’ve managed Depression’s disruptive presence—and found God’s breathtaking goodness in the process. (Of course, these aren’t meant as a cure-all or substitute for professional care and medication; they are simply my own testimony of a broken but beautiful journey.) ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ When Depression comes knocking, I tell myself these four things: Be gentle with your weakness. In the past, I’ve felt fear at the onset of depression, shame for being prone to it in the first place, and even guilt for not being able to “snap out of it.” But over time I’ve experienced the gentleness of Jesus’ heart toward me in my weakness, and this has taught me to wrap my arms around my human frailty and say, “Okay, here we are again. This depression makes sense considering my circumstances. I know Jesus is with me, and I know this darkness won’t last.” The psalmist David models this acceptance-of-weakness in many of his psalms, such as this one: Although my spirit is weak within me, you know my way. (142:3) And Thomas Watson put it this way: How is a weak Christian able, not only to endure affliction, but to rejoice in it? He is upheld by the arms of the Almighty. ‘My strength is made perfect in weakness.’ (2 Corinthians 12:9) Whatever reveals our need for God and strips us of our arrogant self-reliance is a mercy. We experience more of Christ’s power in us when we are weak, and that is an indescribable gift. These days, instead of bracing myself at the first sign of depression, I gently welcome my frailty as one of the surest ways to experience more of Jesus. Keep a grateful heart. During a bout of depression, I’m prone to dark and gloomy thoughts. The difficult circumstances that summoned depression in the first place, now tempt me to drink deeply of their bitterness—and before I know it, everything about my life looks abysmal. Again, the Psalms beautifully model for me how to move from a place of toxic negativity back to a place of peace and joy. The psalmists were incredibly raw and real about their bitterness, their pain, but they knew how to not get stuck there: they thanked God in the midst of the darkness, and their Godward praise changed their hearts. Look at how this works in Psalm 71— Deliver me, my God, from the power of the wicked,from the grasp of the unjust and oppressive.For you are my hope, Lord God… As my strength fails, do not abandon me.For my enemies talk about me,and those who spy on me plot together…But I will hope continuallyand will praise you more and more. Your righteousness reaches the heights, God,you who have done great things;God, who is like you?You caused me to experiencemany troubles and misfortunes,but you will revive me again.You will bring me up again,even from the depths of the earth. My lips will shout for joywhen I sing praise to youbecause you have redeemed me.Therefore, my tongue will proclaimyour righteousness all day long. The psalmist was oppressed by enemies, his strength was failing, and he had experienced “many troubles and misfortunes,”—but he hoped in God, he praised him (“more and more”!), he recalled the great things God had done for him. His heart was full of gratitude, so instead of nursing a grudge or griping, his lips shouted for joy. Stay connected to your people. During depression, it’s easy for me to withdraw from the people I need the most. I’m mentally and emotionally tapped out, so the thought of making room for meaningful relationships is exhausting. But it’s precisely what I need, so I’ve learned to keep a few friends and family close no matter how I’m feeling—and to stay engaged with my son and husband who are such a source of strength to me. I don’t always do this well (some days of depression find me “checked out” or withdrawn), but my goal is to remain relational with a close circle of friends and family through the duration of my darkness. And let me quickly add the obvious—that in the midst of quarantines and social distancing this year, staying connected has been more difficult than ever. Zoom and Marco Polo apps are poor substitutes for the real thing. It takes far more work to be in relationship and feels far less fulfilling than pre-quarantine. But the dangers of isolation are real, so the effort is always worthwhile. As both King David and the Apostle Paul testified, the people of God are our joy and we need them! “Indeed you are our glory and joy!” (1 Thessalonians 2:20) “As for the holy people who are in the land, they are the excellent ones. All my delight is in them.” (Psalm 16:3) My capacity to remain joyfully resilient during depression is largely dependent upon my connection to the very ones who bring me great joy! Keep going to God. Depression tends to snuff out my desire for prayer and Scripture. Passages of the Bible that typically would make my heart sing, fall flat—and my prayers sound hollow. I don’t have the same experience of God’s presence. At times he feels a million miles away. In the past I’ve

Colleen Elisabeth Chao August 8, 2020

anxiety

God is with me in my panic attack

I was 25 years old when I scored my dream job—working as an editor on the outskirts of Washington, D.C. After growing up in California, I fell head-over-heels in love with the East Coast and decided I’d stay put. Until I landed in the ER at 3:00 a.m. one morning with what I thought was a heart attack. I hadn’t slept in three days and my heart was racing, burning, palpitating. Even when I lay motionless in bed, I felt like I was running a marathon. I gasped for breath. I was exhausted. Docs ran multiple tests and X-rays, but in the absence of anything conclusive they sent me on my way: “This can happen to people with long-and-thin frames like yours.” I left the ER that day with no idea how to slow my body long enough to get a few hours of sleep. Soon I had to quit my job and fly home to California. That was a dark season of my life, to be sure. And it was the beginning of a new reality for me. Eventually my “heart-attack–insomnia” bouts were diagnosed as panic attacks, and for the past sixteen years they have dotted the landscape of my life. Panic attacks have been a source of both grief and grace. Grief, because they are terrifying and painful and disorienting and exhausting. Grace, because through them God has humbled my proud heart and taught me to trust less in myself and more in Him. When Asaph says, “My flesh and my heart may fail me, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever,” I get it. Boy, do I get it. I’ve learned a lot along this broken way. I’ve been able to identify the biggest triggers for my panic attacks. I’ve come to understand the great need I have for healthy life habits. I’ve passionately pursued emotional and relational maturity in areas of my life where I’ve long been deficient. And I’ve learned that we are wholistic creatures—God made us both body and soul. Imagine sharing the gospel with a starving person without first meeting their physical needs. It would be unkind and ineffectual, to say the least. In a similar way, if you’re in the midst of panic and I tell you “Don’t be anxious for anything” before I address your physical symptoms—I ultimately fail to care for you. First let’s deal with the panic, then your heart will be calm enough to hear life-giving truth. Perhaps the most beautiful thing I’ve learned is that God is happy to be with me, even in the most terrifying moments of anxiety. He is here. He has everything I need for this. Some helpful handles God hasn’t given me a shortcut through panic. He cares more for my long-term growth than for quick-fixes that bring momentary relief but leave me unchanged. Along the way He has graciously equipped me with some very helpful handles—that minimize the frequency and severity of my panic attacks. I want to share some of these with you. I’m not a doctor, so I’ll leave issues of medication, exercise, and diet in the hands of the professionals. But these are simple means of turning to God (physically and emotionally) in order to not just survive anxiety, but to also know and love Him better through it. God is bringing much beauty out of my ashes, and if some of that beauty can spill over onto you, this 16-year journey would be well worth it. Life-giving friends Typically when I’m in the throes of panic there are layers of stressful people and circumstances in my life. Avoiding those circumstances and people may not be possible (nor even wise), but I can counterbalance them by spending extra time with joyful, life-giving friends. These are dear ones who are tender to my weaknesses and love me in all my mess. They lower their expectations. They light up when they see me. Time with them reminds me of who I am, who God is, and that there’s life beyond this panic. I notice that my heart rate slows, my shoulders relax, and my obsessive thoughts lose momentum. God has made us for joyful relationship, and the worst thing I can do when I’m navigating extreme anxiety is to isolate myself from those who love me. A thankful heart One of the greatest helps in dealing with panic has been practicing appreciation in three specific ways. I stole these from two must-read books: Joy Starts Here by Jim Wilder, and Transforming Fellowship by Chris Coursey. Appreciation memories. When I’m riddled with anxiety, I recall two specific memories of when I experienced amazing peace and joy (I’ve named them “Panera Bread” and “D.C. Trip”) and I relive them in as much detail as I can: where I was; what I smelled, heard, saw, tasted; who I was with, and so on. Doing this reminds me (1) what it feels like to be calm, (2) that God has been so good to me before, and (3) that this momentary panic is not the end of the story. List of 10. I keep a list of 10 things I’m grateful for. It includes my morning cup of coffee, the beautiful view from my bedroom window, the daily routines I enjoy with my family, and the grace I receive from my husband every day. I rehearse it when my thoughts feel panicky. The goal is to practice gratitude with such frequency (some suggest 5 minutes, 3 times a day) that my brain learns a new normal, and my body can begin to return to an appreciative and calm state more quickly over time, with practice. 3X3X3. When I’m ramped up and just can’t seem to slow down (and I’m dreading a sleepless, anxious night), just before bed I recall aloud 3 things I’m thankful for about that day, 3 things I’m thankful for about my husband, and 3 things I’m thankful for about God. This sounds ridiculously simple, but it has an immediate effect on me. A relaxed body Sometimes a full-body massage can work wonders in the midst of panic. (On a side note, Chinese reflexology offers much more affordable versions of fancy spa

Colleen Elisabeth Chao June 4, 2017

Depression

When darkness seems to hide His face

**This article in no way intends to address the complex matters of mental health nor minimize the importance of modern medicine and psychiatric help that is available to those who suffer. I always encourage those who struggle with depression to seek professional support.** Depression first found me when I was an idealistic 19-year-old with plans to change the world. Panic attacks and obsessive thought patterns soon followed, and the promise and excitement of my 20s was to be often overshadowed by mental and emotional angst. I’d grown up reading the biographies of dead saints: men and women who gave up everything—from worldly comforts to their very lives—in order to love Jesus and love others. My young life was immeasurably shaped by the compelling examples of these courageous believers who accomplished great feats for the Kingdom of God. I had known they were broken too. Many had suffered cyclical depression as I was now experiencing in my 20s, and I clung to their stories of God’s faithfulness in their brokenness. I needed to know that others had walked this path before me and still been fruitful and effective in living out God’s purposes for them. But 17 years after my first depression—now a wife and mother at 36—yet another season of crippling panic attacks, insomnia, and darkness was upon me. The long-awaited joys of marriage and motherhood were finally mine, but I was struggling to string together three rational thoughts. I wrestled with God. Why had I waited 15 years for such joys, simply to watch them snuffed out by this demon depression? It was then that I first laid eyes on an old paperback that would serve as the light at the end of my tunnel: Genius, Grief and Grace. The book boasted 11 case studies of saints, written by widely acclaimed British psychiatrist, Gaius Davies. I opened it with a kind of desperate hopefulness. Many of the saints in these pages were already familiar to me. In fact, I felt as if I’d walked miles upon miles in their shoes through my years of poring over their stories. But these accounts promised a more clinical look at their sufferings, temperaments, and tendencies. Perhaps here I would see that “even the flaws in the prism of personality may demonstrate, in a special way, aspects of God’s grace.” That is what I longed to know—that I wasn’t incurably crazy. That even my tendency to depression and my personality flaws could be used to God’s glory. I believed it to be true, but in these pages I would see it proven as true. Through tears, I read of Martin Luther’s panic attacks and scrupulosity, as well as his chronic illness. I not only resonated with his weaknesses, but I also felt hope at Davies’ commentary: “It is not surprising that . . . he often experienced his inner strength as greater at times of physical weakness.” I could relate to that. Even in this dark season I saw God powerfully at work in and through me. Strangely, my weary heart soared to read that John Bunyan suffered an obsessional disorder (where “the person seems compelled to suffer the presence of thoughts and feelings that he or she would like to disown, but cannot”). This author of The Pilgrim’s Progress and 59 other books—a man of genius and incomparable imaginative powers—was at times riddled with “a perplexed and despairing mind.” By this point, Davies had me captivated. His tender and tactful treatment of both the heroic feats and the intrinsic frailties of these saints was a balm to my own feeble heart. The account of Lord Shaftesbury (the Englishman who helped bring an end to industrial child abuse) made me catch my breath: “He was by all accounts abnormally sensitive, and he was described as being without that extra skin needed to be tough in politics. But his heart drove him on, and his very clever brain and his iron will made him win against heavy odds.” Being too sensitive myself, and often placed in situations where I could have used a thicker skin, I rejoiced at Shaftesbury’s example: press on even when you’re not naturally qualified for the work God has called you to. I wish I had time and space to highlight the stories of Christina Rosetti, C. S. Lewis, Frances Havergal and five other giants of the faith, as sketched by the compassionate and competent hand of Dr. Gaius Davies. Dark seasons can be used as tools in God’s hands. Before modern medicine and diagnoses were available, both psychological and physiological disorders went largely untreated. Yet God was in even these unresolved issues. Illness and angst were tools wielded in his perfect hands, to do his children good and bring himself glory. Even with the unprecedented medical resources available to us today, God sometimes allows us to linger in physical and mental brokenness so that we know and love him more, and fulfill his purposes in our lives. While I will never experience the genius, success, and acclaim of these world-changers, I do have the same great Spirit living powerfully within me—to transform me into his image, “from one degree of glory to another.” As Bunyan said of Luther’s writing, so my heart says of Genius, Grief and Grace: “I found my condition in his experience, so largely and profoundly handled, as if his book had been written out of my own heart…” **This article was originally posted on December 9, 2014, and also appears on ERLC.com.

Colleen Elisabeth Chao December 9, 2014