Christianity / healing / hope / mental health / Prozac and Faith

Something is Better than Nothing

Dear Child,

11401284_10206879520492451_6434210001978288953_n                                                                                                                                                                              You don’t know this yet, but one day, you’ll have a therapist who’s a Christian. And one day that therapist will say to you, “I’m so thankful we can mix spirituality and mental health skills because I think that’s what you need.”

You also don’t know this yet, but one day, in the same session that he says the above, you’ll confess that you haven’t eaten much in the last few days–purposefully restricting because it’s the one thing you can control in your life that seems to be spinning out of control. Just like you did in High school.

You don’t know this yet but he’ll say to you: “Something is better than nothing. At least you’re eating {doing} something.”

Right now, you sing Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so, as you get pushed through the grocery store. One day, that song will be ringing in your head as you lie on the bathroom floor–once being raped; the second time after you just purged from your stomach the Advil you took to try to die.

Right now, you don’t know how to ask for help; you just wait and wait until someone offers. One day, you’ll be sitting in your therapist’s office, and you’ll whisper–afraid he’ll hear–“Sometimes I regret asking for help because now I’m here; and being here is hard, healing is hard.”

One day, you’ll be sitting in your therapist’s office talking about your doubt in God; how there’s a disconnect between what you know to be true from growing up and what you now feel. And somewhere in that disconnect lies the faith and trust you once had in abundance.

One day you’ll be wondering, how the hell did I get this far? How the hell did I let myself get so far from God? And there really is no answer, at least no easy one. Because as much as you think God didn’t protect you, the truth is: He did. One day, your therapist says, you’ll see that.

But that day isn’t today.

That day lies on the other side of self-sabotage. Of ruining the good things in your life because you don’t feel worthy of them. Of holding yourself hostage to your past, gun to head, wishing you were dead.

One day, that day will come. And with it, will come lots of soul-searching, mind-boggling, brain-numbing, faith-testing questions. And I don’t know when that day will be for you. I don’t. I wish I had the answers.

Why does God. . . ?

Why can’t God. . . ?

Why did God. . . ?

One day, one day, one day… things will make sense. One day, you’ll be sitting on your parent’s couch (because you can’t go to your apartment because the church that once felt like home is no longer home and that’s messing with your sense of security) typing this blog post. And you’ll start to cry because you feel too broken, abandoned by God.

One day you’ll wonder, how the hell did I survive? Why do I still feel this way? Shouldn’t I be grateful for surviving, one, two, three suicide attempts? Why does it still hurt this much?

One day, you’ll be applauded for your honesty.

One day, you’ll whisper to your therapist, “I sometimes regret asking for help.”

To which he’ll reply, “I’m glad you did. You’re doing something, and something is better than nothing.”


I'm a music lover, reader, writer, lover of words, and hopeless romantic.I believe in magic.I wish my life were a Jane Austen novel.

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