by Tracy Fries

Four years ago today marks one of the most significant days in my life’s journey. I became an inpatient at Erlanger’s Behavioral Health Hospital - a hospital for those dealing with mental illness.  

It had been building for a decade, but I had no idea. It was exacerbated when we adopted our son and brought him home. In brief, I think I suffered from an adoptive version of postpartum depression. There were challenges with my expectations and my new reality, and I couldn’t face them daily. Adoption, even when it goes really well - like ours has - is hard and painful for the parent and the child. I was mostly quiet about it, but eventually gave in and saw a doctor after a friend told me, “I think what’s going on is you’re dealing with some depression.” I also began to see a counselor. I was placed on a very low dose of an antidepressant. My goal was to come off. Things got better for me for a while but worsened in August 2019.  I had a lot going on and felt overwhelmed by the biggest weight over me that I couldn’t shake.  

From August until November, things spiraled downward. I reluctantly talked to my doctor about it, and she suggested that the medicine “may not be working anymore” (I didn’t know this was possible!). She increased my dosage and tried new medications. I felt awful having to take medication to “feel okay.” I believed the lie that REAL Jesus followers don’t deal with depression. After all, I was the pastor’s wife of a large church. I felt pressure in my own life to meet a false standard. 

I hid behind a facade that everything was fine and did not want anyone to know what I was dealing with. But I was dealing with scary thoughts. Thoughts like “I can’t be a believer in Jesus - a believer wouldn’t feel this way…” and “I hate going to church; I just feel numb.” I thought, “I’m going to divorce my husband and ruin his successful ministry because I can’t keep feeling fake….” I felt fake. All the while, my doctor was adjusting my medications slowly and carefully. I found myself almost incapacitated. I couldn’t do simple tasks like grocery shopping or fixing a meal, which were second nature to me. I definitely couldn’t read my Bible or pray. I’d drive my kids to school, come home, and sit in my car for 2 hours because I couldn’t figure out what to do when I walked into the house. My thoughts kept getting darker.  

• “I want to see my kids grow up, but I can’t keep living like this.”  

• “Do I want to stay alive or be done with it?” 

I began to focus on how I could end my life. I had a plan. I fixated on it for two weeks.  I went four solid days….96 hours….without sleeping. I had panic attacks in the middle of the night, which led my husband to cancel a work trip he was supposed to be on. He knew something wasn’t right with me. He said I walked around like a zombie. He noted that I often wasn’t able to complete full sentences.

On November 20, 2019, I did what I’d been doing for a few months. I drove the kids to school, came home, and sat in my car in the driveway. Micah, who had started working from home because he was scared to leave me alone, came to check on me. He led me into our room and asked what was happening. I spilled everything I’d been thinking, and then, right there on our bed, I tried to hurt myself. Micah was terrified and got me in to see my doctor that morning. I was in a daze. Three hours later, I found myself in a place that looked like a hospital, but for some reason that I could not understand, they wouldn’t let Micah stay with me there. My mental state was such that I did not fully comprehend where I was or what was happening. They asked questions I found strange, like “whether I wanted them to cut the strings out of my favorite hoodie I was wearing” or “if I wanted to change into a hospital gown?”  They removed the laces from my shoes and wouldn’t let me keep my phone. It took me 48 hours to realize what kind of hospital I was in. I kept telling the nurses, “I think there’s been a mistake. I was supposed to go to the hospital, and they were just going to change my medications….” They assured me I was in the right place. The second day I was there, I received my diagnosis. I had Major Depressive Disorder with Denial. I ended up staying there for eight days. It felt like a prison. 

After I left the hospital, I began a series of group therapy meetings. I can’t begin to tell you everything I learned during that time - things about myself, how I should relate to others, things that helped me understand my kids and my marriage better.  God used that time to reshape and reorient my entire life. I surrendered my life to Jesus when I was 14, but this felt like a Great Awakening. I saw the world in a whole new light. 

Andrew Peterson, one of our favorite artists, has an album called “The Dark Before the Dawn.” I never understood it until the back side of my walk through the valley of the shadow of death.  It features one song after another song about what depression looks like, how to walk through it, how to deal with it, and how much God loves us through it.  Another of my favorite worship songs says, “Oh how fast would he come running if just to shadow us through the night….trace my steps through all my failures and lead me out the other side.”  That’s what God had done for me. In the midst of it, I didn’t even know I was on the edge. I didn’t know I was in the “night,” - but he lovingly guarded my steps to ensure I would come out on the other side. 

Depression is real. It’s not just having a bad day. It’s a weight. It’s dark. It’s cold. It can be lonely if you allow it to be. And I still struggle with it. It is my “thorn in my side….to keep me from becoming proud,” and it is my constant reminder that “His grace is sufficient and his power is made perfect in my weakness.” (2nd Corinthians 12:7-10) And it’s not something to be ashamed of. I’m so thankful for a loving husband and one dear friend who walked beside me through my dark night of the soul.  

I am still on some medication to help control my depression, but I’ve learned to be okay with it. In fact, I thank God for it, as well as for my psychiatrist, my therapists, and the medical staff at the hospital. I go through cycles of feeling good and feeling low, and I’m constantly learning how to live with all of it. Thankfully, because of counseling, medication, hospitalization, group therapy, and, most of all, Jesus, it’s not nearly as challenging as it was four years ago. But it’s still there. 

If you are interested, I wrote a prayer for a friend’s blog that might help you understand what it feels like to deal with clinical depression and how to trust God in the midst of it.  http://cindyrichardson.org/2020/10/14/hope-for-depression

If you are struggling, get help. If you are struggling, run to Jesus. But don’t be afraid of doctors, hospitals, and medicine. It is part of God’s good gift to help care for us. And by all means, if you are struggling, tell someone. Don’t live in isolation. God has better plans for you than the valley of the shadow of death. I’m living proof that it can get better. 

Love to all!

"Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good. His faithful love endures forever. Has the Lord redeemed you?  Then speak out! Tell others he has redeemed you from your enemies.......Some sat in darkness and deepest gloom imprisoned in iron chains of misery.....'Lord help!' they cried in their trouble, and He saved them from their distress.  He led them from the darkness and deepest gloom. He snapped their chains.  Let them praise the Lord for His great love and for the wonderful things He has done for them." Psalm 107:1-2, 10, 13-15