In September 2022, Steve and I made the 8-hour trek from Manteo to Charlotte with our moving truck and all our belongings.
It was late in the evening when I got out of the vehicle, walked into the main bedroom of our new home–and immediately burst into tears.
Wait. I take that back. I did not burst into tears.
What I actually did was put my face against the wall and wail. I wailed to the extent that Steve started worrying if I was going to pull out of it.
I was exhausted in every way. We had just closed the door for the last time on the home we had lived in for thirteen years. We’d had a grueling final month in Manteo, packing up a large house and saying goodbye to many dear people, and saying goodbye to the ministry life we’d had for four decades.
And so, when I walked into the unkempt bedroom of our Charlotte home, all I could picture was the lovely bedroom we had left behind. I was too exhausted to even think straight. The only thing my emotions and body could manage was to wail out all the fatigue and grief and change from the preceding moments leading up to the change.
I wasn’t the only one who was struggling.
Not many people knew Steve had been dealing with major depressive disorder, anxiety, and a fatigue with life that went all the way into his bones. We had both said goodbye to our mothers just a few months before his retirement. The year before, we had been through the heart-rending experience of thinking Sarah’s cancer had returned, just weeks before her wedding. Our hearts were still raw from her illness (hospitalization and the diagnosis of a desmoid tumor) even over a year after it happened.
And then came retirement, leaving our church and community, selling our lovely home, and moving to a place with no friends. We had to settle his parents’ estate and then start the process of finding a new place to belong.
It was a long journey for us both, but especially for Steve as he entered into a stressful transition season carrying the weight of his depression. Retirement isn’t easy under the best of circumstances. There are so many adjustments to be made, especially going overnight from being needed all the time by everyone (in a pastorate) to suddenly being needed by many fewer people. The community and connections were gone, and we were left with an old (but dear) home filled with his parents’ belongings and greatly in need of renovation and repair.
There were months and months of chaos that followed our move-in, packing their things up, unpacking our own things, and having remodeling done, all at the same time. Since we were entering the winter season, we experienced gloomy short days, longer nights, and a rising sense of being adrift and losing the anchor of who we used to be.
For two reasons.
First, because we are approaching the fourth anniversary of our retirement and our move to Charlotte. The sun is shining in our lives again, even though depression still makes an appearance from time to time–for both of us. If you’ve ever struggled with depression, you know there is no silver bullet or easy fix. It involves a daily trusting in and reliance on God’s new mercies every morning and, if needed, taking advantage of the gifts of therapy and medication.
I’m also writing about this because I want our story to encourage you and remind you that you are not alone. Steve and I want to make people feel comfortable with being able to say, “I am depressed” without feeling ashamed or feeling like a failure.
If you’ve struggled with depression, weariness deeper than words, anxiety, loss of a loved one, a difficult transition, or finding your way in a new place, we’ve been there. We all struggle with silent pain and grief–Steve, me, you, and the people we love. None of us is immune.
Steve and I are living life quietly right now, maybe so quietly that some people may not understand. But it’s what we’ve needed to find our own road to healing and health. We are content with the horizon outside our front door, the feeling of coming home, the peace that comes from the sun that shines on this old house once again.
What about you?
Does any of this post resonate with you?
I’ll close with a song I wrote and recorded a long time ago. I have posted it before, but its message just seems to go well with what I’ve written today. I took the title of this post from the song.
Like A Blanket
1. There’s no way to escape it, and no words to explain
The turbulence inside this hurricane
The wind blows without mercy, the rain is pounding down
I’m huddled underneath the sky with nobody else around
Then I hear Your voice inside the wind, and I am suddenly
Safe and warm and sheltered by Your presence over me
CHORUS Like a blanket, cover me
Clothe my soul, Lord, in Your peace
Hold my heart, tenderly
And like a blanket, cover me
2. The nights are growing longer, the rain has turned to snow
It’s been too cold to cry, too hard to hope
I’m shivering in the silence, frozen by my fear
Wishing for a way that I could be far away from here
Then I hear Your voice inside the wind, and I am suddenly
Safe and warm and sheltered by Your presence over me
BRIDGE So many seasons of the soul, so many changes yet to be
And yet through it all I know You will be there to shelter me
I’ve suffered from anxiety for several years, but am able to keep it mostly controlled through medication. While never clinically depressed, I’ve certainly had my down moments and had to remind myself of God’s mercies and remember that there are always blessing in my life. Thank you for being so vulnerable and sharing your & Steve’s journey. I can’t imagine how hard it would be to leave such a beautiful place as the OBX, let alone to a place where you knew practically no one. It warms my heart that now you have both children and their families close by after so many years of being apart. And I enjoy “watching” as y’all continue to turn your home into a peaceful haven. Hope you all have a wonderful week.
Thank you so much for sharing this. You are such a blessing.
So glad to hear that song once again, so calm and soothing. Thank you for speaking about mental illness. It still carries such a stigma, which is ironic considering such a large percentage of the population is affected by it, as well as their families. It can be all encompassing. I am so glad Steve has turned the corner.
My family happens to have Bipolar running through it and Depression/anxiety. We do our best to recognize the signs early and encourage each person to reach out for psychiatrist/therapy/medication as appropriate. Overcoming the stigma is harder for some than others. We will teach the upcoming generation about it as they reach the early teen years, since they will be high risk. But its been very very hard on all of us as the amount of worry is hard to hold.
Some speak up quickly, seek a diagnosis and treatment and they do very well going forward. A full life is being had, yes there are bumps in the road but they call their doctor, discuss actions, things settle down and they are on their way once again.
Then we have the deniers. They cannot accept the fact that everything is not ‘fine’. They try to ignore it and just ride the wave. The illness gets worse. It then actually prevents them from seeking help. If they are over 18, there is nothing anyone can do to force them to accept help. And so we watch the fall. It is very frustrating and very sad.
Some people are in the middle and family support is so helpful to get them going, brainstorm different options, listen to their concerns and cheer them on. There is much hope. It doesn’t matter how fast it goes, it only matters that its going in the right direction.
So YAY for talking about it Becky, we need to normalize mental health issues. Thank you and thank you to Steve for allowing her to share your story. It matters.
I have been blessed not to suffer with depression, but I have close family members who do and it is a tough thing to deal with. I absolutely love your song. What a peaceful thing to vision, God covering us with a blanket which is a comforting vision in itself. Thank you for sharing with us. Wendy
How deeply this resonates with me, and what a gift your words are. The crushing weight of depression and anxiety, and the stigma that surrounds them (especially in the Christian community) have visited me as well. I had an accident a decade ago that resulted in a traumatic brain injury, and it seemed to trigger a serious mental health crisis. I spent months in psychiatric hospitals, trialed over 20 medications, and was out of work for much of a year. I have stabilized into a high level of functioning but don’t expect to ever feel like I did before my accident. In my experience, what is most isolating is not the symptoms themselves, but the feeling of needing to keep them hidden under layers of “normality” with most people. Isn’t it odd how various illnesses have different levels of “appropriateness” in terms of public discussion? You have a broken wrist and everyone asks you how it is healing every time you see them. You have depression and you paste on the smile while out of the house, even as you lose the ability to function. I don’t personally believe that “everything happens for a reason” or that tragedy is “God’s will for my life,” but I deeply believe that there is nothing so terrible that you can’t find a way to use it to bring healing into the world. I have become a mental health resource in my community of friends and family. When someone has questions about therapy or medication or how to get help for a loved one, I offer everything I can from my experience.
Depression is so scary. I’m glad you’re both aware that it’s not a shameful disease. I have relatives who were finally properly diagnosed and treated, and it literally saved them.
Having that much upheaval in a short period of time is so stressful, and I recall that you had a struggle with finding a church home, which was so very important to you both.
Too much, too much.
You’ve turned this retirement journey and house-fixing into a story worth telling. I’m looking at retirement in two years (I hope!) and have already begun to plan things to do, to keep myself busy! I like being needed.
One of my all time favorite songs that you have written and sung. It’s like a hug for my heart every time I hear it. ❤️
Your post reminds me anew of all you and Steve endured during the time frame you described. They were surely times that tried your souls. And proof that God does indeed guide His dear children along and give them the grace and strength needed to survive. Otherwise you would not be here to tell the story, still in your right mind with faith, good humor and marriage intact!
Thank you for sharing so transparently. It is encouraging to read your story and be reminded that we all struggle, we all have seasons of fiery trials, we all question and doubt and decide if we’re going to keep fighting and believing. It’s good to know others are traveling besides us. Sending so much love and appreciation to you both, my dear traveling companions!
Love, Deb
While retirement is a great opportunity to slow down, sleep a little longer, volunteer a little more, it is an adjustment. I felt needed, I knew what was going on. I don’t have that anymore but I am blessed to have a great family and friends to keep my spirits up. Prayers for Steve and all who struggle with depression and mental illness.
Love you Becky! I don’t know how to put it in words but I see so much of where I am at in my life right now with your post. You speak to my soul and your song is beautiful. All the years I have followed you I never heard it. I am having health issues and my father is 94 and I know what I have instore will be overwhelming. But I have faith and believe I will get thru it with the love from my family. I always say one step at a time, one issue at a time. I know you and Steve have each other and got this whole new chapter in your life, along with the love of your wonderful family. Bless you and appreciate your post to show me I am not alone with my feelings.
Beautifully written. We also are living life quietly in retirement. I love where we live, but still have my depressed moments where I want the life I left behind when we moved 16 years ago. I do have friends, but they don’t know my past like the friends I left behind. I try to look out into our yard to calm my thoughts and hold my memories.
Your comment: ‘living life quietly right now, maybe so quietly that some people may not understand.’ resonates 100% with me. 8 years navigating the loss of my husband has profoundly changed me, and I continue to hear the whisper of a quiet life!
Thank you, for always sharing so openly and authentically..