What I Do When I Don't Feel Right

I grew up in a community that didn’t put much stock in emotions. Truth and fact were highly valued, and if your emotions matched the truth, lucky you. If they didn’t, you just weren’t trying hard enough. When rage or fear or grief grip you, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart.” When overcome by joy, triumph, or pleasure, be careful! “The heart is deceitful and desperately wicked.” Don’t feel anything too much or for too long. That’s a slippery slope. 

On the one hand I agree. My emotions are tricky little minxes. If I let them boss me, they’ll ruin me. But so might my thoughts, and so might my actions. Any one of the three might turn sour or deceptive, or I might just be plain confused. Humans get that way. I need the perspective of people and Scripture, the comfort of music and prayer, good food, rest, medicine.

While my emotions don’t warrant absolute trust, I don’t feel the need to fear or smother them. I believe God designed us to feel as part of being His image bearers. 

My mom has suffered with depression on and off for her whole life. It was worst when I was small, beginning with severe PPD and then compounded by insomnia that still lingers to this day. Chemical, relentless depression was a new beast for some folks in our sphere. They said things like, “You just gotta cast all your cares on the Lord,” or “Rejoice always and give thanks in every circumstance!” 

These folks were kind. They loved Jesus, and they were true friends to our family. They just didn’t yet know what Mom knew: that a person could trust and cast and offer thanks every minute of the day and still feel helplessly sad, or anxious, or alone.

One day at the age of six or seven, I walked into the kitchen and saw Mom standing at the sink, tears sliding down the end of her nose as she washed dishes. I was concerned and afraid that I’d done something to hurt her. When I asked what was wrong she said, “Nothing, sweetheart—” (Which was no lie—depression doesn’t wait for an invitation) “I just don’t feel right today.”

I suggested maybe she could lie down until she felt better, and I’d finish the dishes. I wasn’t totally sure how I’d do that exactly, but I was determined to help.

“No honey,” she said, not looking at me.

I asked her why, bewildered.

“Just because I don’t feel right doesn’t mean I can’t think right and speak right and do right. So I’m going to keep doing the dishes. Don’t worry. I’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Mom wasn’t shoving down or avoiding, like I tend to do. She had learned to live in the paradox of feeling one thing and choosing another. She named her feelings, to herself and to those around her, but she did not bow to them.

Thus far in life depression hasn’t come for me quite the same way it has for Mom. When it does come, it’s not always dressed like sadness. It looks more like fog, creeping in unnoticed until I feel confused, disconnected, and lost. A low-humming anxiety, a shorter attention span, a heavy weight between my lungs. I get snippy and lazy and quiet.

Since my second child, these hazy days seem to come around more often. That’s okay. I don’t get to pick how I feel, and I don’t have to. There’s no sin or virtue in emotion. They come and go without so much as a “How are you?” When they show up, I try to greet them with Mom’s words.

Think Right

I might feel adrift and purposeless. I might feel like I’ve failed to care for my parents. I might feel like God Himself is against me. But I get to choose what I think about. On the hazy days, it helps to think about what I know is true.

I know baby ducks are taking their first swims five minutes from my apartment.
I know Spring is here, and baby lizards are skittering all over the patio.
I know my husband is on my team.
I know my brother is safe and well.
I know my head is dry and my children have what they need.
I know God sees me.

Speak Right

I might feel like Trevor ignores me and my kids have conspired to make my life a living hell. I might feel like my friends secretly wish that I would leave them alone. I might feel like everything I’ve ever written deserves to be shredded up and trampled with the leftover Mardi Gras beads. But I get to choose the words that come out of my mouth. Often the rightest words I can say on the hazy days are the honest ones. The simple ones.

“I don’t feel right today. I feel sad and lonely and angry, but it’s not because of anything you’ve done. I need extra help and kindness until I feel better.”

“You are my boy. I’m your Mama.”

“I love you.”

Do Right

I might feel like I can’t focus long enough to get anything done. I might feel like it doesn’t matter if I get anything done because the work is futile. I might feel like screaming and slamming doors and throwing dishes. But my feelings don’t get to decide what my hands will do. I make the choice. On the hazy days, I most often need to do physical things that yield quick, visible results.

Clean the bathroom.
Organize the pantry.
Vacuum the car.
Fold the clothes.

I’m told exercise is good for this too, but I’m not there yet. Regardless, choosing tasks that lean heavily on my body pulls me out of my mind and offers a reprieve from the battle. Hazy days are not the days to, say, write a blog post about depression. I need a job that, when it’s done, I can see the impact of my efforts. The result itself testifies against my feelings of worthlessness.

These are my daily grind things. My “how do I get from lunch to nap time” things. Every hazy day, I say this to myself:

You may not feel right. You don’t have to. Think right, speak right, do right.

I don’t believe these are the only things to do when depression hits. I’ve also gone to counseling, called a friend, quit early to binge a favorite show, and eaten enough chocolate to give myself heartburn. I’ve heard that pills can help too (they helped my mom.) But regardless of what you need to do to get yourself through a season, I hope these steps might help you through the next few breaths.