When Church Makes You Crazy: 5 Strategies

We spent a couple of years at a church that literally made me crazy. The church leaders abused my husband and I felt scared every time I went in the building. The stress of that situation caused an episode of clinical depression that persisted until we moved away.

While we were there, I found a few strategies to help me cope with the situation. Mostly I wanted to never go to or think about that church, but I felt that I had a few obligations as the pastor's wife:

1. Attend worship most weeks.
2. Bring my children to Sunday school. (This one had more to do with stability for my children than obligations to the church.)
3. Speak kindly always. Speak of church politics as little as possible.

Given those parameters, I found about five things I could do that helped. I'll tell you about one of them today and describe the others during the rest of the week.

Coping Strategy #1: Worship Elsewhere. I went to our church on Sunday mornings because I believe it can be confusing and discouraging for the congregation if the pastor's wife never attends. I barely considered it "worship" in the true sense. I didn't hear the senior pastor's sermons as messages from God but as reminders of his duplicity. Every hymn and prayer was clouded by my stress and anxiety.

I visited other churches as I was able, usually on a weeknight. It was such a relief to sit in the pew and feel like I had some privacy with God. Even in a happy church I feel self-conscious about being the woman everyone can identify.

Eventually I built a relationship with a nearby church (I'll call it "Bridge Church") where I attended a weekday Bible study and made a few friends. During the months after my husband had left our last church and before he took the call to our current church, we attended Bridge Church. In retrospect, I would say that was an important part of my re-learning how to feel safe at church. I think most of our friends at Bridge Church knew something had gone terribly wrong for us. I never felt judged, no one ever pried into details. We were welcomed, hugged, made to feel loved and valued.

The pastor at Bridge Church advised me to "do nothing." He told me we needed time to heal and to receive love and care with no obligations. He was right about that and it was a precious gift.

Reminders of Grace

I think that Christians who appreciate the gift of grace, no matter what denomination, are always glad for reminders of it. Lutherans see God's grace in baptism. When we remember that we are baptized we are reminded that God has come to us in spite of ourselves.

I happened on an odd little way to remember my baptism recently. My online checking account uses a picture that is associated with my account as a security measure. I see it every time I log on. I had to choose a picture from the credit union's photo library and happened on one of water droplets. I labeled it "baptism".

Now whenever I go to pay bills I am reminded of God's grace. I love it. I don't normally think about God's generosity when I'm paying bills. God has a delightful way of turning things upside down.

Where I'm Reading This Week

It seems Friday-appropriate to share some blog posts I've especially appreciated this week.

At CLUTCHtalk, a blog designed especially for pw's, there is a series in progress on survival tips for the new pw. Today's tip is out of my league (how to be prepared for surprise overnight guests), but tips #10: Be Real and tip #9: Refuse to Gossip are right up my alley.

A facebook friend pointed me to this post at Steadfast Lutherans. It has an excellent list of ways a church can support and encourage the pastor's wife. The writer makes a good point about the church's responsibility to help the pastor balance his vocations of husband, father, and pastor.

I recently found the Pondering Pastor's Wife blog written by a woman who has experience in a very stressful church. She wrote here about how hard it is to unlearn the habits and expectations she developed there. I appreciate knowing that someone else has moved from an abusive congregation to a loving congregation but still expects disaster. It will be good when we learn to expect grace and mercy.

Happy reading!

Praying for the Pastor

I've been thinking of asking someone at church - the elders? the prayer group leader? - to arrange for someone to pray for my husband, with my husband, on Sunday mornings. I feel a little strange about this so I haven't done it yet.

Then I read this post on the blog A Different Story. She explains better than I the seemingly unseen weight on my heart on Sundays.

I know everyone brings grief and joy and sorrow and blessing to the worship service. But if someone else wants to tell the pastor about it, he will listen with the ears of a spiritual guide. If I want to tell the pastor about it, he'll get all wound up and stressed. That is, surely, why clergy families need pastoral care too. We also need all the spiritual care our congregations can provide.

Personal Devotion

I could use some help from you all.

I understand the value of daily, personal study of the Bible and prayer. I understand this as an invitation from God to give Him my burdens, to be encouraged and strengthened through the Holy Spirit.

I do not have a daily practice of doing these things. I want to. The main thing that inhibits me is how exhausting it can be.

Reading the Bible or praying used to be a mechanical, intellectual endeavor. It took some time management and study skills but no emotional engagement. Lately it has become something entirely different. Any time I read even a short passage and ask God to show me what is there for me that day, it turns into a heart-wrenching, tearful conversation. The subject varies - it might be recognizing something about God's character, or a conviction about some failing on my part. It doesn't matter. Everything is tender and tear-prone.

I don't want to have these emotional episodes every day. I appreciate them. I'm glad that God is opening my heart to Him. But I just want to get through the day without drama.

If there have been times in your life that were like this, how did you handle it?

Goodbye Depression!

I am DEEEEElighted to report that my depression seems to have wandered away. The last time I checked - last spring - it was still holding tight. Then life went completely crazy and I stopped checking every day to see if I was better. Now things are settling into a routine in our new home and I notice that the parts of me I've been missing for so long are back.

For example:

I enjoy being with my kids. I cannot remember when I last thought it was fun to be the mom at my house. I have been simply enduring the work of parenting for a couple of years. I could see that they were happy and imagined that could be fun for me, but it wasn't. Now I enjoy their silliness, their creativity, their incomparably adorable little faces. Even their tantrums and sassy attitudes are ok with me. I'm the mom, they're supposed to act that way, and I can handle it.

When I am trapped in bed by the exhaustion that comes with chemotherapy, I think about the things I want to do when I feel better. Some are short-term: on good days, I like to write, to read, to cook, to play with my kids. Others are long-term: when this chemo is over, I want to plan a vacation. I want to paint my bedroom. I want to have new friends over for dinner. We live in a parsonage and I've enjoyed imagining an open house for the congregation this spring. A year ago, such a thought would have overwhelmed me.

My husband is not as perky as I. He has been adapting to or trying to prevent incomprehensible, unpredictable unkindness for two years and it will probably take a while to process and cope with that. I understand that, and I miss him, and I am waiting for him to come back to me. I am sad about that. A year ago, I was desperate to fix it. Now I am comfortable with knowing I cannot fix it. I can be next to him, love him, share myself with him, pray for him. These are my roles in his life. God will heal him. It is good for me to feel safe and content even when my husband does not.

If you've ever been depressed, or desperate to heal the pain of someone you love, you'll recognize how revolutionary that is.

I cannot say how thankful I am to be well. It surprises me every day. When I notice that I am happy, in the moment, free of pervasive fear or anxiety, I marvel at what God has done. In the midst of depression, I really thought this would never happen.

Here We Are

The move is done. We're in a new home, getting acquainted with a new congregation, trying to remember where we packed our toothbrushes and underwear.

In the last week, we have been given:

chocolate chip cookies

brownies

zucchini bread

tomatoes

a french silk pie

a pan of chicken enchiladas

banana bread

bundt cake

Today someone rang my doorbell at a very reasonable mid-morning hour and I was still in pajamas. (Life is just like that around here sometimes.) It was a woman of my mother's age holding a loaf of bread. That I was not in streetclothes was only briefly awkward as we introduced ourselves and shared pleasantries.

Happily, I find I am not skeptical about any of these gifts. I do not accept them wondering at what point the giver will feel disappointed in me and turn away. I accept them as expressions of God's generosity and the congregation's delight in our arrival.

Targeted Encouragement

I was at Target today and a lovely woman from our old church recognized me. She asked after my health, knowing I'd had surgery but not sure why. I gave her the brief update - I have cancer, surgery went well, the prognosis is good, I will have chemo. I don't like telling people I have cancer because it is always startling for the hearer. She was alarmed and concerned and kind.

Then I told her that we're moving soon because Husband took a call. This lady must be more than 80 years old and it was so fun to see her face light up as she bounced a little and clapped with joy. She told me how much she misses Husband, "and I'm not the only one!"

God sends the most unexpected spokespeople to encourage me.

Adrenaline Rush

I have had a surprisingly pleasant week. My life really, absolutely sucks a lot right now. In the (roughly) two years I've been dealing with depression, though, I've found that the adrenaline rush of a crisis alleviates depressive symptoms. For a while.

Going to the hospital, finding out I had a tumor, focusing on coming home, then coming home and enjoying the rush of love, encouragement and support from friends and family buoyed me for several days.

This afternoon I started to sink again and could almost feel the clouds descending. The vague notions I've had this week of chemotherapy, a likely move (still considering that call!), and the weight of all the work and decisions that lie between here and there looks like TOO MUCH. A lot too much.

Comfort

Recently I heard a sermon on this passage from 2 Corinthians:

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows.

I like that command/promise value pack. God comforts us. He has, he does, he will. He expects us to care about other people who are hurting because we know how they feel and have experienced God's care for us. My understanding of the words "compassion" and "sympathy" is that they involve shared experience. I have compassion for someone who feels lonely, hopeless, or rejected because I have felt those things, too.

I assumed mature Christians would behave this way toward others.

When the conflict with sr pastor outgrew his relationship with Husband and began to involve our parenting decisions, I decided I should talk directly with sr pastor. I was hurt deeply. I felt like he had judged us and felt insecure about being at church.

I carefully, thoughtfully worked out what I wanted to say to him and how to say it in an relationship-building way. I decided to approach him as my pastor, asking for his help finding my place at the church. My imagined worst-case-scenario was that I'd cry and lose control of myself. I tried to remember that authentic tears generate sympathy and connection and that would certainly be good.

Things started out well. I described my frustrations and asked for his help. He offered brief, practiced answers that I suspect he has given often to similar requests. Then I thought aloud, "The last year has not gone the way I'd expected..." and started to cry. It was a profound understatement of how difficult things had been for my family.

This is the moment when I'd have expected 1 Corinthians to kick in. As a pastor -- in theory, my pastor -- I thought he would comfort me with the comfort he had received through Christ.

He didn't.

Instead he picked up the thought and turned it to himself. "Things haven't gone the way I'd expected either! When your husband came I thought..." and he began listing his frustrations with my husband.

I was speechless. What a crazy mess. This pattern repeated over and over in interactions we had with sr pastor. It is so painful, feels so unkind. It also makes me hurt for him because he seems unable to see beyond himself.

This post was inspired by a recent item from the Church Whisperer. "We are surrounded by pain and sorrow and dysfunction and incapacitation. Without something to offer in opposition to that pain, without a heart that breaks for hurting people, our mission fails."

Recovery Week

I've been quiet this week because I suddenly realized how completely exhausted I am. Husband is done. He is no longer pastor at our former church. It is such a relief.

It is not, however, the finished-your-final-exam kind of relief I'd hoped for. It's more of a bad-guys-finally-stopped-chasing-you relief. Several times I longed for a week's beach vacation where my only responsibilities would be moving from bed to beachtowel and back again. I feel spent.

I went on a women's retreat this weekend. I was with a group of several dozen Christian women who did not know me. It was a lovely group -- diverse ages, warm, caring, and open to new friendships. I felt safe among them and realized it's been years since I felt safe in a church group.

God encouraged me through the Bible study and through several different women I met. I was proud of myself for finding a way to be kind & respectful toward our former congregation while also being honest about my sadness. Today someone even described me as "vulnerable," which is not a word I've ever known anyone to use about me.

I feel hopeful and realistic. We have passed an important landmark but the road is still long.

Keys to the Kingdom

In the worship service this morning we prayed that God would work through pastors to fulfill their vocation so that "the joy of God's people would overflow." It struck me as a beautiful and, right now, sad image of the task God has given to pastors. Pastors seem to have tremendous influence to nurture or to destroy the faith that God gives.

Depression Symptoms: Crying

I am was not a crier. Every once in a while my husband would get a shoulderful when I felt overwhelmed, but mostly I kept my emotions under control.

When husband took medical leave, I cried uncontrollably for a week. I couldn’t do anything because I was crying so much. I didn’t want to go anywhere or talk to anyone because I feared I might burst into tears. Bursting into tears is embarrassing and awkward and, I thought, inappropriate. Even my kids, who are 99% self-centered, were worried about me.

I made it through that week and regained my composure. I thought things were going to get better after that. For a couple of months, they seemed to be. Then some fresh stupidity came about at church and I realized peace was not on the horizon. The crying started again and I couldn’t stop.

The constant crying is what prompted me to see a therapist. It was such a weird feeling. I appreciate a good cry, the kind that relieves stress and afterward I can see clearly things that had seemed foggy. This crying was different. It was like a nosebleed that can’t be stopped. Just when I’d think it was over, I’d start sobbing again. I couldn’t shake it off. I didn’t feel better afterward. I just felt sad.

Taking medication and talking to Therapist both helped this symptom a lot very quickly. Sympathy and perspective were the first two things I got from therapy. I’d closed my world down to a tiny, isolated place where it was hard to not feel desperate.

I’ve learned to talk to some people about how I feel. Writing this blog is a tremendous help in dealing with feelings I don’t understand and feeling like I’m part of a community. Just knowing that people close to me understand things are hard relieves a lot of stress.

To read all the posts in the depression symptoms series, go here.

Unexpected Kindness

At church this weekend I was surprised by unsolicited kind comments from a couple of church members. A man I know only a little, and who I would not have assumed to be fond of my husband's ministry style, was chatting with my kids and told them, "Your dad is a good pastor. One of the best!"

So sweet and so poignant. I realized, as I sometimes have before, that the conflict here is localized to just a few people who happen to be very powerful in this congregation. I've heard that major church conflict is usually confined to 7-10 vocal critics. Our experience seems to support that theory.

Encouragement

Some significant relief this week. I posted earlier about making a major transition and praying the senior pastor would manage to be supportive. He has agreed to share some lumber for our bridge. I am so thankful.

I'm also still po'd at him. I thought that this might be the point where his shell would come off and he would finally reveal some awareness of the pain my husband and I have suffered in this situation. No such luck. All business.

A reader wrote to tell me about a resource for clergy wives. I've just browsed a little but it looks great. It's called BethNuah Ministries. I read a devotion posted there about loneliness. It's so good to hear someone else identify so many of the situations that have made me feel so incredibly isolated within our congregation.

Realistic Optimism

Today I celebrate one week of good days. I can't remember the last time I had seven days in a row of feeling reasonably motivated all day and content with 8 hours of sleep. It feels like the balloon is deflating this morning, but I am thankful for the last several days.

Before depression, I found it easy to be optimistic. Life felt good, or if it didn't feel good, I had reason to expect it soon would. If A = happy day and B = sad day, my life before depression was like this-

A A A A B A A A A A A B B A A A

Evidence favored optimism.

Depressed, I have become pessimistic. For the last year or so, life has followed an inversion of the pattern above-

B B B B A B- B B B B A B- B B B

Reent experience has taught me to expect sadness. If I am happy, I expect the happy feeling will soon fade.

Putting several "A" days together is very helpful in revising my expectations. If a good day does not necessarily lead to renewed misery, then I feel like there's a basis for hopefulness.

New Year

I've been fishing around all week for an honest and optimistic new year's greeting. "Happy New Year's" doesn't feel right. There's certainly more to life than happiness, and I'm not counting on "happy" this year. I think I've settled on something more like "God's blessings this year." That's something I count on.

This week I came out of the closet to my Bible study group. I told them about my depression and asked them to pray for me. One person offered this chirpy advice: "Are you taking vitamin B? I take vitamin B every day and boy can I tell if I don't take it!" She told me that she heard on the radio that the mental health facilities would close down if everyone took vitamin B.

Oh my. I'm confident that she wants to be helpful, but that was an awkward moment.

It feels good to have told them, if only so that they see all of me. It's hard to find the right time to announce that I'm clinically depressed, but it is reassuring to me to feel known. Maybe that's a new year's greeting: May You Be Known This Year.

Home

It looks like I'm going to be home tomorrow. I had some plans, but they've been postponed. I am surprised to find that, for tonight at least, a day at home sounds fine. Usually a day at home sounds like a day in solitary confinement.

Good, good.

Friends

Blogger Dark My Road posted recently about the helpfulness of talking/writing/praying to cope with preoccupying thoughts. Last night a friend was over for what has become a pretty regular evening of life-sharing under the guise of studying a book together.

It started out, as many valuable things have, with me making a request that seemed like it might sound odd: I want to read this book, and I want someone who might see it like I do to read it with me. Would you? Apparently it was not odd, and she was interested.

Now, it turns out, our conversations follow a general pattern of -This is what I've been thinking this week. It's got me pretty stressed out. -- Really? You mean I'm not the only one?

I think my friend has said more than once that listening to me is like looking in a mirror, because most of the feelings/anxieties I describe are the same ones she's been having. What a gift! When I remember how incredibly isolated I felt a year ago, like no one would notice if I never left my house again, this sort of camraderie is clearly a miracle. Neither of us can fix anything for the other, but that doesn't even seem to matter. I am refreshed and hopeful today.

Motherhood

“The world is full of women blindsided by the unceasing demands of motherhood, still flabbergasted by how a job can be terrific and torturous.” Anna Quindlen

I was so reassured to read this. Quindlen describes exactly what I feel and promises that I am not the only one.

God has doused me with this kind of encouragement lately. My mom visited recently, for the primary purpose of helping me and giving me a couple of days away from home. The first evening she was here, we took all three kids for a walk after dinner. Said “walk” involved three children using three different modes of transportation and moving at three distinct paces. We went about ¼ mile in 30 minutes, and Mom and I spent most of that time chasing, cajoling, pushing, rescuing, or hollering.

When we got home Mom said the kindest words possible at that moment: “It’s certainly intense being with them. I can see why you need a little time away.”

I’ve also joined a Bible study group for moms. The group is not at my church, which is all the better because there I am not “the pastor’s wife.” One goal of the curriculum seems to be assuring moms that feeling tired or inadequate is to be expected, and sitting in a room full of women who laugh at the same mom-mistakes-I’ve-made jokes is a very effective way to adjust my sense of what’s normal.

It is a constant battle for me to distinguish between personal failure and symptoms of depression. Most of the signs of depression – fatigue, short-sightedness, ineffectiveness, a steady flow of guilt – look to me a lot like irresponsibility.