Watch Your Mouth!

Recently I was telling my hubby about a new friend who’d confided in me that her mother is bipolar. Well, I said it that way, “her mother is bipolar,” but then suddenly remembered that this is not at all what she said. She said: “My mom has bipolar disorder.” Now I’ve always been big on choosing words carefully, especially as it relates to the issue of mental illness, but it never occurred to me until that day that my grammar could be contributing to the stigma surrounding mental illness.

For example, I often catch myself saying “O, I’m so OCD.” I confess, “I used to be anorexic.” I’ve heard others say, “My son is ADD” or “My daughter is bipolar.”

Could you imagine if we talked about other illnesses in this way? Imagine saying, “He is hepatitis,” or “I have a friend who is epilepsy” or even “My daughter is a cough”! I’m sure most people would say I’ve descended to the level of the ridiculous here.

We do use descriptors like “diabetic” or “myopic” with this structure; i.e. “She is diabetic”. Even then however we wouldn’t dream of saying that someone is diabetes. There is no such constraint against using “OCD” as a noun in an equative sentence like “She is OCD.” “Bipolar” is a little bit ambiguous from a linguistic perspective (sorry for getting linguistic-y on you. Well, not too sorry): in a sentence like “She is bipolar,” the word “bipolar” could be either an adjective (descriptor) or a noun, but I’m guessing from the way I’ve heard other mental disorders named in equative sentences, that most people are using it as a noun, like “diabetes” or “influenza”.

Even as an adjective though, using disease words to describe people is only done in very specific circumstances, and very rarely. The idea of saying about a person that “she is cancerous” makes my stomach turn! How do we get away with it with mental illnesses that are just as horrific and terminal?

No matter how we may try to justify ourselves, the way we talk does influence the way we think. No, language does not control or define our worldview. But it has its effect. Let’s not equate persons with diseases.

I’m just sayin’. Watch your mouth. I’ll be watching mine.

(If you want to read more about identity and fighting the person and disease equation, read my first post, here.)

Boastful confessions

I'm working tonight on a longer post about supporting someone with a mental illness (hopefully to be up soon), but there is a jubilant, victorious wind blowing through my mind that I must acknowledge. And actually, this does have a lot to do with support.

Someone dear gave me a wide and generous complement today. It gave me the extra boost to make this evening's challenge less heavy. She told me I was brave. Everyone has fears she said, but most people can ignore them. J faces hers every day. Her words warmed and strengthened me, and then...

...I cooked hamburger for supper! Heh heh. And I did it with no OCD behaviors. Or at least very few. I've been working up to this high bridge-walk for a long time. My psychologist and I decided that this was the week, and I am to cook hamburger every night for four or five nights. Tonight was the first. It was hard, but the shaking and the crying and the paralysis didn't happen this time. Whew. And Jem was proud of me. That felt so good. And Lily-girl DEVOURED the stuff, with obvious pleasure. That felt good too.

I find I am enjoying myself, despite my fear. Another quick little anecdote before I sign off:

Last week I went to a visiting author's lecture at the downtown library. A special treat made possible by Jem, who stayed home and put our girl to bed all by himself. I sat next to a fellow who, I learned, was doing his PhD in English--of all things (imagine sitting next to someone who tells you they own a chocolate-making business). He asked me what I did. I don't think I had been asked that question before, and I don't think my next words had yet passed my lips:

"I'm a mom."

I found I said it with pride, and felt just the same as if I had modestly confessed to being a rocket scientist and a computer programmer in my spare time.

It's no big deal. I'm really good at it. ;-)

Raising Ebenezer

The other day, my husband Jem and I had a celebration. We have much to celebrate: walks outside, fall leaves, haircuts, hollow tree trunks, playgrounds, music, picnics, carpet, grass, garden tools, shoes, grapes, carrot cake, sea food, finger food, a fancy restaurant, grape tomatoes, the library, cuddles on the couch... all things that just a few months ago, OCD had not allowed me to enjoy or do.

We called it our Ebenezer celebration day. You know the old hymn, "Come Thou Fount." The second verse begins with:

"Here I raise my Ebenezer.
Hither by thy help I've come;
And I hope by thy good pleasure
Safely to arrive at home."

Tucked back in 1 Samuel, there is a story of a battle between the Israelites and the Philistines. It was not an absolute victory. It was not to be their final battle with their enemies. But it was significant, and Samuel needed to commemorate it. He set up a rock, a monument, and called it, "Ebenezer," which means "Rock of Help." "So far," he said, "God has helped us" (see 1 Samuel 7:12b). It would stand as a lasting memorial of God's power to help, and evidence that He would help again.

Ebenezer--Rock of Help. I have arrived. I do still fee like I'm still in the battle, like Israel with the Philistines, and I fear fresh outbreak of war each day,...

Yet, God has subdued my enemies. They hold no power over me. Niether the fear, nor the anguish of anxiety, nor the fear of fear is victor. Christ is Victor, and with Him, so am I.

"Looking deeply at our royal lineage, we see that we are of the highest royal line.... We need rush nowhere else to get it. We mainly need to attentively relax and dissolve the amnesia that obscures our true identity" (Tilden H. Edwards, quoted in Benson and Benson, 1989, p. 69).

It takes courage to attentively relax in the midst of what I still experience as a raging battle. It means I let down my guard a bit. It means I celebrate partial advance, and risk being embarrassed later by apparent defeat, retreat. But if I don't celebrate, if I don't commemorate, I miss the grace along the way. I miss the process by which God makes me who I am created to be.

So child of God, don't forget who you are. You are not your fear. He brought this pain into your life to make you "more than conqueror" (Romans 8:37). Embrace the pain--it is your enemy's weapon turned against himself. Pain, the enemy's sharp sword, glittering, raised by Christ in your conquering hand. God raising you up in victory.

Here I raise my Ebenezer. "So far, God has helped me."

J

IT'S ME, NOT OCD

Hi, it's J here. This is my first post for this blog, and I'm really excited about doing this project with my sister. When she asked me to join her in this blog venture, I felt so honored, and so loved. A philosophy professor of mine used to say that "love is a collaborative art project". I am getting to experience that truth-metaphor in so many dimensions with Christie.

I've been thinking a lot about what I should say in my first post. Where do I start? I could start with the birth of my baby, my little lily. I could start with my vow to protect her. I could start with my debt to my husband's tenderness, and firmness. I could start with the sushi we had three days after lily was born that caused me so much anguish. I could start long before her birth, with the paralysis of fear, the panic attacks, the guilt and depression. I could start with the scary stomach bug picked up overseas, being pregnant and frightened and burning up with fever in a foreign country, with no reliable doctor around that I knew of, no pharmacy, no midwife, and no husband. I could start with the false pregnancies and false hopes and false starts. I could start with the possible miscarriage. I could even start over a decade ago, with an eating disorder and long bout with depression. I could start with an uprooted and uncertain childhood.

But no matter where I start, no matter how far back I go, I won't be able to explain how I got where I am, who I am or why, because I am a lot more than the sum of my characteristics and experiences.

I had to discover the depth and complexity of identity in order to get over an eating disorder. I had to realize that I had been looking for my identity in the sum of past experience. I'd always been "the skinny girl," so I had to keep on being it, and be perfect at it: the perfect skinny, which in my mind was a particular number on the scale. I had to realize that was not my identity. I could not be "the skinny girl" any longer, not if I wanted to be the joyful fellowshiper with God I knew I was meant to be.

Perinatal depression, anxiety and OCD were like a bottomless vortex, sucking me in whole. Every aspect of my life and identity narrowed to one swirling point of fear. I am struggling to the surface slowly now, and it's still scary, often agonizingly so. Along with all the pain and fear and questions, there is a dark, confusing undercurrent--the question: "Who will I become now?" I don't know who I am anymore. I'm not the brave, adventurous missionary-type I thought I was--I wanted to be. I'm not the fun-loving, totally cool mom I dreamt of being. I'm not the spicy, spunky wife.

I can't help but wonder, am I a germophobe? Am I a neat freak? Am I OCD?

And I know the answer is the same as it was when the battle was with an eating disorder: NO! That is the illness, the tormentor, the enemy. I must not and will not be branded by it. OCD is not me.

So perhaps, I must again find out who I am NOT in order to find out better who I am--"some glimpse, some revelation, some wisdom, some authority to tell [me my] right name and [my] true destination."*

I'm like Jacob, wrestling and struggling to be blessed by my true name (Gen 32:24-31). The struggle bent and re-shaped his life forever, and it will do the same to me. He became "Israel"--"God-wrestler," limping through life, forever marked and reminded of that night, night of striving, fruitlessly pouring out strength, fruitful only in the final defeat.

Thinking about the story of Jacob in Gen 32, and about my struggles lately, I wrote this prayer in my journal:

"O Lord, You have touched me and thrown my life out of joint. Bless me now, Lord! Bless me by my true name, my true meaning. What do I mean, Lord? Please begin to tell me now, as the sun rises slowly. And not just who I am, but who are You? Who do I wrestle with? What will You do to me? What mark will You leave on me, unmistakably Yours, to forever brand me, forever identify me only in relation to You."

*Emily Griffin, quoted in Disciplines for the Inner Life, by Bob Benson, Sr. and Michael W. Benson, p. 24. (I've been going through this devotional book lately. It is mainly a compilation of readings from well known, and not so well known, Christian writers. I will likely make reference to it in other blog posts).