A Spouse's Response: Depression

After reading my post last week, Brett wanted to respond, the following post is from him: 

Last week my wife posted a blog about her battle with postpartum depression. Shannon is a miracle in my life who continues to bestow miracles upon me in the forms of transformation, restoration, and these two awesome little people. I feel obligated to write some kind of response or complimentary piece, offering the perspective of the spouse. First of all, I must start by saying how incredibly proud of Shannon I am for having the nerve to write this and the willingness to be so vulnerable and transparent. This piece, I’m convinced, can save lives with it’s gritty, honest take on an issue that has been taboo for far too long. Furthermore, I hope that more than just young mothers and their spouses took time to read this. As someone who battled depression through all of my adolescence, I was blessed by the reading.

When life changing events take place one of the most common phrases to hear is, “everything happens for a reason.” This could not be further from the truth. I see no evidence of such nonsense in my life nor do I see it as a necessity for a life of faith. While this may seem tangential, I bring it up for a purpose; sometimes crap just happens. Sometimes really unbelievably terrible, unimaginable things happen and there is not a single good or logical reason that can be gleaned from it. However, I firmly believe that redemption and re-creation are central to the stories of the people of God throughout history. So, not everything happens for a reason and sometimes bad stuff just happens, but God brings unforeseeable good out of hopeless scenarios unimaginably more often than we want to acknowledge. If we did acknowledge it, we might not share these trite quips when people are hurting or dying inside.

Shannon is a pastor. I’d argue that being a pastor really just means that she is supposed to provide vision, truth, and care for people who choose a specific worshipping community. However, it has come to be something else entirely: the pastor is to be the Christian that their parishioners admire, but can’t be.  I’m new to all of this pastor family stuff, but I didn’t know what to do when Shannon couldn’t get out of bed and clearly needed help. I knew our church would support her, but I also knew that she wouldn’t admit or discuss any of this with them. In case you didn’t know it, no pastors are anywhere near perfect. In fact, I'd bet there’s someone out there for every single pastor who knows something that could ruin them. So, I am still not sure what I should have done in this spot, but I’m positive that we have to find a way to revere the role of the pastor without trying to force deification on them.

What I did (right or wrong) was recognize that my wife was sick and cared for her accordingly. What I mean is that if you live with someone who has a chronic illness you don’t tell them to get over it or to take care of themselves because you have stuff to do. I did my best to help her. However, I absolutely blew it in two obvious places.

      1.  If you know that someone is sick and don’t send them to a doctor, you’re in the wrong. It’s not when someone is on their deathbed that we tell them to go to their family physician and get it looked at. I knew that Shannon was depressed and I waited until I was worried that she might not survive it to ask her to go to the doctor. Are you kidding me? What in the world was I thinking? 

What’s unique about depression is that it’s both physical and emotional. Even when I did
tell her that she needed help, I only told her to find someone to talk to. That’s like asking
someone whose eye is hanging out of its socket how they feel about everyone staring.
They’re going to need to have that discussion at some point, but maybe address the
physical needs that are going on as well.

2.    I tiptoed around subjects that I knew would piss her off because I thought it would be better not to upset her further. Mainly, I wouldn’t ask her if she was depressed, or taking her meds, or anything of the sort. I could have been sacrificing the life of the person I love the most in exchange for a more comfortable conversation. Take a moment to ponder how selfish and short sighted that is. Thank God my wife came through, but I continually imagine if she hadn’t how I would feel about all of those times that I bit my tongue just to make conversation more comfortable.

If your spouse, loved one, or roommate are struggling with depression, please have the uncomfortable conversations. Take your loved one to the doctor and counselor. They might be mad at you for a while and might pick a fight or three, but it might save their life.

What’s incredible is that the moment you realize that their sickness isn’t about you, you can be free to help in an entirely new way. The words they say that aren’t kind aren’t about you; it’s easier to be isolated than it is to be engaged in depression. Their exhaustion and inability to get out of bed isn’t about you. Let that knowledge free you up to care for them in the way they need. This means however (especially if it is your spouse), that your life is going to look different for a while; you won’t have the social life you’re used to or get to do as much stuff. But lose yourself in service to your loved one and allow it to change the essence of who you are. 

Today what Shanny and I deal with is the downside to any epiphany; lost opportunity. My heart breaks for Shannon when she laments missed time with Judah bug. Truly, the only response that I can muster besides just hugs and I’m sorry is that you can’t help what you miss when you’re sick. While that doesn’t make the missed opportunity feel any better, my prayer is that it will help in relinquishing the guilt. I’ve never had a shred of guilt when I failed to make dinner because of a migraine headache. When you’re sick you miss stuff.  It’s heartbreaking, but we can't let guilt steal more time. Recognize depression for what it is and hopefully that will free you from that guilt.

I can honestly say that the last three years I have found joy in places I didn’t know it existed. My wife and I are undoubtedly closer than we ever would have been without her illness. I have grown as a husband and a father because of the necessity of caring for Shannon and Judah. Of course, I wish that Shanny had never gone through this time, but I’d be lying if I said that it hadn’t improved our relationship and ultimately our lives in so many ways. Everything doesn’t happen for a reason, but God can use those hard times for good in ways we couldn’t have imagined.  

#thisisdepression

This is my story of depression and my call to the church to deal with it better. 

I've struggled with depression for most of my life. Probably the first time I was aware of it was when I was a teenager. Along with this, I've been in and out of counseling since I was 16. I'm being honest when I say the darkest time for me was in the last three years. Since not nearly enough people talk about these things, I want to share with you my story. 

I had a hard pregnancy with Judah, not just physically - emotionally too. My hormones went crazy and I was not myself. I was angry and sad and irrational...and it didn't get better with time. When Judah was born (though it breaks my heart to say it) I didn't have those happy thoughts that most moms have. I didn't want to hold him, I didn't even want him in the room with me at the hospital, I would feed him and then send him to the nursery. When it was time to leave I failed the emotional exit questionnaire at the hospital, so they kept me a few extra days and sent in a psychiatrist.  

During Judah's first few months of life I spent a lot of time in bed. I missed Judah's first smiles and a lot of newborn joys. I sobbed when I had to go back to work and I'm sure my sermons (and other ministry) was not great during that period. I convinced myself that all of this was because I was up in the middle of the night nursing and was sleep deprived. A year later Judah started sleeping though the night, but I couldn't change my pattern. It was still so hard to function. I was missing morning play time and fun days blowing bubbles outside and couldn't make myself change. 

I can't explain the darkness of this time adequately. I could tell I was a terrible mom, a terrible wife, a terrible pastor...but I couldn't do anything about it. I was aware that I was angry (with no reason) and sad (with no joy) and irrational, but I couldn't stop functioning that way. I knew I was letting down my child and my husband. As a pastor I felt like a fraud. That's what depression does to you, it's so isolating…and you push people away even though the thing you need the most is for them to come close. I felt crazy, but I couldn't explain why… I felt angry, but couldn't control it. I cried all the time, I struggled to preach, to work, to be a present mother and wife. Brett had Judah so much during that time. I struggle even now with the guilt of that. I mourn the time I lost with my little boy. I was aware enough to know I was being crazy, but I wasn't able to do anything about it. I would cry and Judah would pat my arm and say, "it's ok, mommy." A toddler shouldn't have to comfort his mother. I felt like a failure. 

Brett, my amazing spouse, through all of this, was never angry at me. I was convinced that in my depression, I would push him too far and he'd leave. But he assured me he would never leave, he told me he loved me, that I was beautiful, he gave me way more grace than I deserved. He finally said "I love you, please get help." So, when Judah was just over a year old I started back to counseling. I hated when she told me I was being irrational. I wanted to blame someone besides myself, but I knew deep down that I was the problem. Counseling was helping but not enough, so I went to the doctor and as I cried he told me I had postpartum depression and gave me meds. After a few months, I started to get better. 

After the medicine started working I shared with the congregation about my depression, talked about God's love and grace, and asked them to forgive me for trying to hide it from them (they knew). You wouldn't believe the number of people who came up to me and said, "thank you for sharing, it's good to know I'm not alone." A lot of women told me that they were never diagnosed but were convinced this had happened to them and they wished they had been able to articulate what was going on and get help. 

Soon after that sermon (which was January 2016) I got pregnant with Isaiah (March 2016). I was feeling better than I had in years, but had to stop taking the medicine. I was terrified of sinking back into the black hole that I'd just come out of. Hormones are a crazy thing, and during Isaiah's pregnancy something in my brain changed. The shift was for the good. When Isaiah was born I felt joyful and excited and couldn't wait to hold him. I was immediately aware of the stark difference between the births of my two boys (these pictures tell that story).

(My first picture with Judah)

(First picture with Isaiah)

There are things I missed with Judah that I was not even aware of. Isaiah will do something and I'll tell Brett "I don't remember Judah ever doing that," and he'll remind me gently that Judah did, but I missed it. I missed so much of Judah's early life lying on the couch watching TV, or sleeping, or just not being able to deal. I am painfully aware of how different it is this time. I mourn how much of my little boy's life I missed because of depression. And I'm working on grace for that, because I know there was something not right in my brain. I know depression isn't a choice. But I still mourn that time.

I know this has been long already, but bear with me. I don't want to just tell you my story, I want to talk about depression and the church as well. Why do you think I tried to hide my depression from the church? I can't tell you how many times (over the years) I have been told to pray harder or to just have faith. I can't tell you the number of people who told me that taking medicine for depression is shameful as a Christian.  

I want to be clear, the stigma that the church puts on depression is sinful. It's damaging. The church must stop further harming those who are already broken. Don't tell people you can pray it away. In some cases that maybe true, but in many cases it's not and people need tangible help. Depression is consuming and there is help out there (counseling, medicine, support groups), but the church has said if you need these things you don't have enough faith. And that's a lie...it's bullcrap! Church, we are losing people…and not just from church attendance, but from life itself, and it's because of the stigma we place on depression. Because depression, while in and of itself a terrible thing to deal with, can lead to self harm and suicide. And suicide is no asker of faith, it doesn't discriminate. It takes good, Godly people, who are depressed and don't get help. It takes people who are told to pray harder. It takes people who have been told depression is sinful and they are bad Christians.  

What are we doing church? Damning people when they need us the most? Shaming people for asking for help? Aren't we supposed to be a hospital for the sick and a refuge for the weary? Church, we are failing by expecting people to be able to deal with depression on their own. 

If you're still with me, thank you. 

If you're dealing with depression I want you to know you are not alone. You are not a failure. Getting help (counseling, medicine, etc.) is not a sin and does not demonstrate a lack of faith, in fact pray-it-away is dangerous theology. I want you to know that it's ok (and even necessary) to get help. I want you to know that if you have no one else to talk to, you can talk to me. I want you to know that you are valuable and loved. You know that phrase "trust God but lock your car"? This is kind of the same thing. Pray and rely on God for certain, but get the help you need. Whether it's medicine, a counselor, or something else. You are too important not to. 

And if you don't deal with depression, I guarantee that you have friends who do. Please don't let it go. Please don't tell them to get over it. Ask if they need help, don't ignore warning signs. I told a friend of mine recently, I'd rather be annoying and ask, then not ask and regret it. And if you don't know what depression is like, go on twitter and check out #thisisdepression. You'll get a stark and honest idea of what we deal with. 

Maternity Leave is NOT Vacation

Moments in life that are monumental: having a child

In January we welcomed our second baby, how has it already been two months!?

Isaiah David Spangler
Born: 9lbs 14 oz. and 21.5 inches long.
At two months: 13lbs 8 oz.
He is a BIG little guy, healthy and growing.

(Daddy meets Isaiah)

(Judah meets his baby brother)

(Mommy and Isaiah bonding in the hospital)

The first month of having a new baby is hard. It's full of blessings too, don't get me wrong, but it is HARD. And just like everyone told me, having two is not twice as much work as one...it's like 3 or 4 times as much work. But two months in we are settling into a fluid routine, at least he seems to know when it's night (finally). I think that's as good as it will get for the time being. I am reminded once again that maternity leave is NOT vacation...and yes, I did have several people tell me to have fun on my break. As if healing from major surgery while caring for an infant and a toddler can be classified as "a break" in any way.

(Our family of four)

There are days that just keeping myself and Isaiah alive are all I can do, and I give thanks for Brett who takes care of the rest. There are days when I am overwhelmed with frustration, days when I can't keep the cranky off my face, there are days when I wonder how I managed to keep up with my ministry with all that needs done, and now there are two kids! But there is also so much joy, daily reminders of why it's all worth it, moments full of fun, and looking forward to all that being a family of four will mean.

(Intrigued with each other)

Regarding having a newborn in the house...it's only been two and half years but I've forgotten so much! So I'm learning how to breastfeed again, and relearning that nursing is a choice I've made that is both very hard to do and very hard to stick with. I'm relearning how squirmy newborns are when changing diapers and changing clothes and getting baths, and that little boys pee on you as often as they can. I'm relearning how painfully tired you can be and still have duties to perform. I'm relearning that there are deep sorrowful moments where I think, "I can't do this!" And I'm also relearning that there are deep joyful moments where I can't believe I created this miracle.

(One month pictures)

There are brand new things too: like how sweet Judah is in a totally different way, and how my heart can split and grow in a way I never thought was possible (before Isaiah was born I often thought, "my God, how will I love this one as much?"). And this time I'm mourning moments as they go by, since Isaiah is our last one, and taking mental pictures to remember both the challenge and the joy of these early days.

(Daddy and Isaiah)

So, how is Judah dealing with all of this? Mostly like a champ. He LOVES his brother. When we got home from the hospital he was very disappointed that Isaiah would not be sharing his room. He talks to Isaiah all the time and occasionally will say, "Mommy, he's not talking to me" or "he won't look at me." He gives Isaiah hugs and kisses and brings him toys and other things he thinks his "brudder" will like. He is such a great helper and encourages us in the ways that we can help his baby (yes, HIS baby): "Mommy, I think Isaiah wants a drink from your tummy"..."Daddy, I think my baby needs a toy"...and he comforts Isaiah when he cries (like one day in the car), "Don't worry Isaiah, we'll be home soon."

(Judah "burping" Isaiah like mommy does)

We really haven't had any of that hatred-of-new-baby from him. The only thing that indicates that he notices how much Isaiah has disrupted how we functioned before is his dislike of me on occasion. There was a short time period in those first few weeks when Judah wouldn't have anything to do with me. He wouldn't let me hug him or kiss him or get him things. Why does no one tell you that when you bring home baby #2 that baby #1 will hate you? I sobbed to my parents and Brett and cried myself to sleep several times because of this. As he's gotten used to Isaiah being around and needing mommy though, that has gone away, he's my loving little boy again. And Brett and I try to share the time so that Judah never feels slighted by me, though this does mean that there are times when Isaiah has to wait a few minutes to eat or cries to daddy for a little while, but these are the challenges of having more than one child.

(Our happy little guy)

As might be expected, my emotions have been all over the place. And while I am not dealing with postpartum depression like I did with Judah (I'll talk about that in a later blog), it is still a daily choice to be calm and loving and rational because there are moments when I feel none of those. The reminder to hold on comes from places like when Brett lovingly reminds me how much joy we have - and he's right. I'm married to my best friend, I have two beautiful boys, we have a warm house and food to eat and a supportive family. The reminders also come from things like late night nursing sessions when I become aware of how much I am needed by my newest baby and from grocery store declarations of love from my two year old in the middle of the produce aisle.

(Two month pictures)

Through this, I am reminded once again what a blessing it is that I get to be a mother, not everyone has that ability/chance/opportunity. So even in the midst of sleepless nights, toddler tantrums, crazy emotions and chaos...I give thanks to God for this life and for the opportunity to be called "Mommy."

A Change of Plans

Status: 39 weeks, 2 days
Baby: Huge...probably over 10 pounds and growing daily

(This is what a very pregnant Shannon looks like - even Judah is surprised!) 

Well, here we are several days from the due date. We went to see the doctor on Friday and she told me, "we'd better take that baby."  Even though this baby is enormous, and maybe bigger than they think,  that kind of change of plans this late can really mess with your mind. I pretty much cried all day Friday.

The safest thing for both of us at this point is a C-section, which we have scheduled for tomorrow morning.  To say I'm anxious is an understatement. I know it's more and more common, I know a lot of women who have done childbirth this way, and I remember how physically traumatic my first delivery was (check out this post about it: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly)...but I'm still anxious.

A positive is that it is nice to be able to make plans...today for instance we're doing a last fun day with Judah, one last day as a family of three. From tomorrow on we'll be four.

Let me admit something, I'm excited to meet this little boy, but I'm mourning our little family of three. We know how things work, we've got a rhythm. I'm also freaking out about being able to love this new kid as much. I love Judah so much, what if I don't love this one as much? What if he's not as cool as Judah? What if Judah doesn't like him?

Just sharing some of my many anxieties with you...this is a short one, I just wanted to update you all on what's happening. We would appreciate your prayers tomorrow for safety for baby and for me.

(Our last day as three)

9 months and Merry Christmas!

Status: 36 weeks (9 months)
Baby: (According to my OB) large, 80th percentile

 (Baby Spangler #2 at 34 weeks)

I know I haven't blogged very much with this one, it's been a fairly normal pregnancy. In addition to that, when you have a two-year-old running around with you and a full time job, your time is not your own. I'm doing what I can!

I need to be real honest, when you're nine months pregnant it is hard to focus on or care about anything else. It's hard to care about the things that are going on in the world. It's hard to focus on your job. It's hard to care about what how your house looks. It's hard to care how about you look. 

(Very pregnant Momma and Judah cuddling)

And my gosh I'm so uncomfortable. But, as if I don't already feel enormous, everyone who sees me wants to remind me that I look like I'm about to pop (or asks me if there's more than one baby in there). Sigh...no I'm not about to pop, my due date is still 4 weeks away. But I am cranky and sore and big, so I really appreciate those comments. And I've hit that sweet spot where I'm so emotional that I cry constantly, when I'm sad or when I'm mad or when nothing in particular is happening. So, I'm a delightful ball of crazy right now. My apologies for those who have to deal with me.

For example, I woke up from a nap this week (because I'm nine months pregnant I need a nap in order to be able to function) and cried when my alarm went off. I called Brett and that amazing man gave me a three-minute motivation. I kept saying I can't… I can't…I can't...and he said, "Maybe not, but WE can." I've said it before and I'll say it again, I truly don't know how people without a supportive partner do it.

But enough complaining! I'm excited to meet this little guy and complete our family of four. Our little Judah is super excited about his baby brother too. He talks about him all the time, he's bought him gifts, and he's really thoughtful about what will happen when "my baby" comes (he has taken on the new baby as his own). Judah has chosen toys to share with him and foods he wants him to try. It's pretty adorable. I showed Judah the most recent sonogram and he said, "I can't wait to hug him and kiss him and share my raisins."

As far as Judah goes, he's doing well. He's two and half now and is such a funny, intelligent little guy. We feel truly blessed. There are so many funny stories I could share but let me just give you one example. We were changing clothes for bed and I left him in a diaper to get some jammies and he yelled, "Mommy, I found something on my body!" He seemed genuinely concerned. I looked where he was pointing and I said, "Well Judah that's your nipple. You have two. Everyone has nipples." He looked down at it and said in the saddest voice I've ever heard, "Oh....I don't WANT a nipple!" Too cute.

Well, we are looking forward to sharing our newest edition with you soon. In the meantime, Merry Christmas, friends!

(Judah, Christmas 2016)

It's a Boy! Again!

19 Weeks and 4 days (144 days left!)
Weight: Over half a pound (a big one just like Judah!)
Healthy and active! 

We are having another baby and we could not be more excited! The blog is up and running again so you can keep track along with me if you'd like for baby #2, which could also be called last baby (just to get a jump start on all of those delightful month-after-baby-comes questions: when are you going to have another?? We're not.)

Baby Spangler #2 is a boy! A little man for Judah to play with and brothers to grow together! We are so excited. I also am officially and forever outnumbered, three boys and mama.

Something I can't get enough of this time around is the term "advanced maternal age" which comes up A LOT! The high risk doctor (since I'm SO OLD I had to go), said it about twenty times in the appointment today. I get it bro, I'm old.

I have heard over and over again each pregnancy is different and how true it is! This time, after only six weeks that belly popped right out. Last time I was 4 months when I started showing. I've thrown up a whole lot less this time, which is a plus. Being pregnant with a toddler at home is exhausting though. Last time I could rest if I was tired, this time there is a two year old who wants to play or needs to eat. 

(Only 8 weeks!)

Naming a second baby is hard because you have to follow the same rules as the first one. In our case: Biblical first name, not too popular but not too weird. Second name that honors a loved one. We'll get there eventually, we've got time. Judah has given many good name suggestions, the best of which are Chewbacca, Goofy and Nana. The other ones are a little less acceptable like "baby" and "fall down" (because "I push him"). 

One of the things that we read was that when you have other children at home you should refer to the baby as "our baby" so that the other kids take ownership and feel like they are a part of what is happening. This has worked so well with Judah that he mostly refers to the baby as "my baby." Last night he said, "Mommy, how is my baby? Baby growing in your tummy?" And he talks about being able to play with him and show him the toys downstairs. This is good because Judah's initial response to having a baby brother or sister was "No, no, no thank you, no, no."

As you can probably guess we're both very excited and very terrified, and are anticipating baby #2 at the beginning of the new year. Keep connected here for more info as I grow! 

Twenty Years (A tribute to my dad)

Today is twenty years...twenty years since my dad died. Twenty years is a long time, but not enough time to be past all of the emotions that come with losing a parent (I'm sure that never goes away). Every year it sneaks up on me because I don't prepare for it and then I see the date on a check or in my email and there it is, another year passed, and it makes me catch my breath. 

But that's how death is, isn't it? The memories sneak up when you least expect them and leak out of your eyes. Over the years there have been many moments (big and small) when this happens: my graduation, my sister's wedding, MY wedding, the start of the Olympics this year (of all things). 

(Pastor - Dad in his office)

As I remember my dad this year, let me tell you a story: 

(Important side note to start: Judah calls my biological dad "Papa Candy" because when we showed him pictures and talked about him that's what Judah thought we said instead of "Papa Andy" and it's so cute we didn't correct it.)

My dad's grave is in West Virginia. It's where he grew up and where his mom was when he died and since he was a pastor and we moved around it didn't make sense to bury him somewhere we weren't sure we'd be...so my dad's grave is in West Virginia. What this means is that I've been there three...maybe four times in 20 years. The last time was when grandma died in 2008.

We drove by St. Albans on our way to family vacation a few weeks ago and we decided to go by since it's so rare that we're in that area. On the way I told Brett and Judah some of my favorite stories about my dad and the things he would say and do. 

But how do you explain going to a grave site to a two year old? When we got there we there we decided it was best not to say "this is where Papa Candy is" because he might worry about that or want to see him. So instead we told him that it is a special place where we can go to remember Papa Candy.

As we were walking through looking for the gravestone Judah kept giggling and talking about Papa Candy. After a few minutes he began to get upset, and then he got distraught and started crying and saying "I see Papa Candy!" Even with our caution, he thought he was going to meet Papa Candy. We kept trying to explain to him that Papa Candy wasn't there, but it didn't help. It was heartbreaking for me. 

It's a hard enough thing to deal with my own emotions and loss about not having my dad around, but that day in the cemetery I understood (once again) that the impact of death is far reaching. My dad's death more than just impacts me and my siblings and my mom. 

My husband never got to meet him, and what a shame. How much trouble they would have caused together! How much fun they would have had! How many discussions (arguments) they would have had over politics! 

And my children will never meet him, or hear those stories about me as a kid, or learn guitar (or ukulele, or banjo or harmonica) from him. And at this age, Judah doesn't understand why he doesn't get to meet someone whose picture is up in our house.  

(The year I was born, with Dad and my older sister)

My history is a little less complete for not having his love, his stories, his advice, his wisdom. And while I am truly grateful for the men in my life; for my amazing step-dad, my wonderful father-in-law, for great uncles and siblings and other men who speak into my life...there is always a little missing piece, a dad-shaped hole. 

And so today, I remember my dad. Twenty years...it's a long time, but also it's not that long at all.