Learning to Love Myself

Her: "People without jobs are losers."
Me: "I don't have a job. Am I a loser?"
Her: "Yes."
Me: "So you're saying that even though I just had a temp job and worked my ass off but was laid off because they don't need me anymore, I'm a loser because I don't have a job today?"
Her: "That's right."

It was a conversation that started with her griping about the new haircut that I had gotten per her request and ended with me telling her that we were done. I'm sure my mom could hear the tension and disbelief in my voice through the wall as her worship minister son and his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend exchanged colorful language at an escalating volume over the phone. The things that she had been saying to me were so far beyond belief, so far into the realm of absolute insanity, I was right to end this. My greatest efforts to empathize with her hurts were thwarted by reactions so absurd, I could have sworn I was dreaming.

There was one gap in my armor and it had everything to do with my sense of worthlessness at being unable to get a job. I'm not even talking about a decent job. I would have taken an indecent job and I was turned away from those too! Nothing else she said that day meant anything to me because they were ridiculous.  But I was 25, unemployed, and living with my parents after being homeless for a few months: deep in my heart, I already felt like a loser. So when I heard her tell me that I was a loser, even though nothing else she said held any credibility anymore, it destroyed me.

The invisible struggle

Over the course of a few months, I recovered from being called a "loser" on account of my unemployed status. I can be called a loser and not be bothered but the context made something so seemingly small extremely painful. In time, I slowly regained my confidence. I soon became employed and miraculously have hung onto the job for more than a year-and-a-half, far exceeding my expectations. It's not a great job, but it's a valuable one and I'm thankful for it. I'm proud that I have managed to cope with my ADD and the depression and anxiety that often accompany it in maintaining a regular job. But in taking steps toward regaining my independence, I'm finding roadblocks I expected to be gone by now.

I'm gonna be honest. Life's tough for me, right now. When the entirety of your illness resides in your head, it's hard to have compassion on yourself. As a culture, we've been known the celebrate the merits of positive psychology to help us "walk it off" when we've been wounded. You don't have to explain to anyone that you can't "walk off" a shattered femur; but those of us who have sustained equally debilitating injuries to the psyche are familiar with the ignorant advice of the people who just don't get how real our suffering is. It's silent and my bruises are completely invisible. At least it must be because I can't remember ever hearing someone tell a wheelchair-bound paraplegic to get off his lazy ass and take the stairs.

One of the toughest things about mental illness is admitting that you're sick. It's easier to peg myself as lazy or immature than to accept what has been brutally stigmatized by society. We easily sympathize with those who are trapped by broken bodies but we often judge and condemn those who are trapped in their own broken minds. People have a hard time understanding that just because my legs aren't missing doesn't mean that I can do everything they can. They have no idea what it's like to reach for your goals under the constant threat of collapse.

I'm mentally ill

What a horrible stigma that phrase carries! I hate how it sounds. I actually wrestled with my decision to put this statement in my post. The dilemma isn't about its truthfulness: it's about how people might interpret it. Like physical ailments, mental illness comes in endless varieties. Mine doesn't cause me to do dangerous things or hurt people. I don't yell at snails or hallucinate... or do I? I appear well, but inside, I know I'm not. There are obstacles in my mind that are impeding the pursuit of my goals.

And being in my mind doesn't make my struggles frivolous, made up, or fake. This is a misconception I need to clear up now. We don't tell soldiers with PTSD to stop having flashbacks. I hope we're not telling the brain-damaged to "go back to being normal." I'm sure that if it were a voluntary action, nobody would have the problem in the first place.

I also hope you don't think that I'm saying that ADD is itself a mental illness. For every thing that I find difficult that most others find easy, I could name something that I find easy that most others find extremely difficult. It can be handy to be differently-abled and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Taking baby steps

The date is approaching when I'll meet with a specialist to find answers for these debilitating changes in my ability to cope with life outside of work. I've always struggled, but the recent changes have not been positive. What makes this road tough is the patience it requires. Making the decision to neither hate myself nor feel sorry for myself is necessary, but rarely simple. I love me and I believe in me and for that reason, I need to treat me with grace, respect, and understanding - because me is a person I really want to see succeed at his dreams.

What do I want to do? I want to make this world a better place! I love music and I love using it as a means to connect with people and help people connect with God. I think that's an important tool but I want even more than that. People cannot be led to the Cross if they are merely called from a distance. I'm learning these trenches so I can help others through them. I didn't choose this path, but I know there are many others struggling just like I am and I just don't think we all need to feel ashamed.

I could be angry about this, but I see this as a golden opportunity. I've stopped asking how hardship can be used for my good because it completely misses the point of worship. God works all things out for his own good. We're just fortunate that God is glorified by his love for us. But part of what that means is that my comfort and plans are not God's first priority. No amount of bitching and complaining is going to make me the center of God's universe. God has given me many great gifts, some might be extraordinary, but my deepest wish is that I would not be so corrupted that my gifts are used against the will of God.

Suffering is not a pleasant process, but I can think about all the times that what I go through today can help someone pull through tomorrow. It can save lives. What could be better than my journey helping people understand the love of Christ?