It is January 31

It is January 31.


A very long day for me.


A very long month for me.


Every year.


This year I went on a cruise for 5 days starting the middle of the month. It helped. It helped with the anticipation of the sunshine and the actual sunshine helped, even though they were having a cold spell in the Bahamas.


In two weeks I will again be going south, thanks to my dear man who has lived with me for almost 19 years now - that means almost 19 winters. Only the first couple were without seasonal depression.


As I look back, I find that my toughest times were in February.


I had to delay my second son's first birthday party because I fell apart. That still makes me sad.


This time each year our church has a church leaders retreat - for the pastors and the elders and the deacons.


Tonight is that night.


Last year I made it, but the year before that I didn't.


And the year before that I didn't either.


I don't remember much about those 2 events,
but I remember not wanting to call for help.
I remember trying really, really hard to NOT call for help.
I remember pulling my stationary bike inside and attempting to exercise to chase the darkness away, but none of it worked.


And I called.


He had to tell all those men that he had to go home.


I don't know how that made him feel.


I don't think any of it was good for him or for me - No, I know - none of it was any good.


But he came.        And we sat.        And we did nothing.                
And I felt like a failure.
He ordered pizza and that was it.
(and the men went on without him)


Then the next year that same weekend loomed, and I didn't think it would be so bad.


It really wasn't a big deal - one night of him gone . . . well,
one night at the end of January to be more precise.


The afternoon came and the meeting was close by so he rode with a friend.


It got darker outside and inside, I again, started to fall apart.


I didn't know why, but I knew what I needed was him,


and in tears, I cried, and I called, and in just a few words told him I (again) was a mess.


This time I heard ( or he told me) what happened on the other end.


They had been praying.       A circle of men.            Men that are my dear brothers in Christ.
Praying for their church body, and even praying for me.


He had to interrupt and tell them that he had to leave -
normally, he would have just slipped out and explained later,
but he didn't have his car . . .


He said keys from all around the circle were immediately tossed at him.


And when I heard that, I suddenly realized that my struggle hadn't been about me - maybe it never is. I truly think it was about those men who love me, who love my husband, who love my family learning about what it means to live with depression - for both me and my husband.