On Saturday, I shared about our daughter Madison’s journey with anxiety, depression and suicidal ideation. Being a teenager in today’s world isn’t easy. Studies confirm that depression among teens in the U.S. is on the rise. We had two suicides in our small high school already this year. My heart breaks for our kids as they navigate growing up in a post-Christian, media-saturated world. Both of our kids have really struggled with finding their way through it. But, as a mom, my heart also breaks for all the other moms out there. Guiding your kids through it is tough. It can rock your world a bit. So, I have a few thoughts for you too.

Moms of teens, I want you to know that I see you…

• I know it feels lonely. When your kids are struggling, you can’t throw it out there on FB ask for tips like you could when the issues were sleeping through the night and potty training. The physical exhaustion you felt when they were littles is now emotional exhaustion and it’s harder than ever to find times to connect with other moms because everyone is so busy juggling their own schedules and their nearly adult kids’ schedules.
• I know you feel like you’re drowning at times. And that you question every parenting decision you ever made along the way. You wonder if their struggles are your fault. And you wonder if they’ll pop out the other side into adulthood or if they’ll struggle like this their whole lives.
• I know you feel like people are judging you and your kid(s). Honestly, they probably are. Especially if their kids don’t struggle in the same ways. I can’t even post about the HPV vaccine without people getting judgy. Do I really think they’ll understand the decisions we made about something as complicated as mental health, epilepsy, and medications?
• I know you feel bad for even considering your own feelings in the midst of your child’s pain or struggle. You don’t want to make it about you. And, yet, your hair is literally falling out from the stress response… so you have to acknowledge that you are hurting too.
• I know that social media can be a real curse during a time like this because it looks like everyone is living the dream. They’re not. But the façade is there tempting you to despair and feel even more alone. And, don’t even get me started on the comment threads out there if you throw out an article or thought – people are brutal there. [see above comment on the judginess]

As I have reflected on our journey, I can share some of the truisms that I’ve clung to along the way:

Embrace truth. Whether you’re going through something hard like this or just slugging it out in the trenches of life with your kids, you have to reject the lies and believe the truth. I happened to be teaching through the book of Hebrews while our family was in the middle of this crisis and I’m pretty sure God used that more for me than He did for the 300 other women who were coming to the study. I reveled in the fact that God is a covenant-keeper, that Jesus is better than everything, that I can approach the throne of grace with boldness and find mercy, that I can fix my eyes on Jesus and run my race with endurance, that I’ll be joining a great cloud of witnesses in heaven some day when this life passes, and that I can count on the family of God to spur me on toward love and good deeds no matter what. Being in God’s Word regularly was everything. Not just then but for the 30 or so years leading up to it. I was drawing on a deep well to help me combat the doubts, fears, and lies that crept in. Your emotions can be strong during seasons like this. They aren’t always trustworthy. There are lots of lies out there waiting to trip you up or force you off course. Embrace truth.

Cling to your spouse. In our pain, there were moments where it was tempting to turn on each other. I wasn’t sleeping in the same bed with Rick because I needed to stay in Madison’s room. One of us had to be with her 24/7 so we weren’t getting much couple time. And when we did, there were lots of tense conversations as both of us were feeling raw and desperate at times. We could have shifted to blaming each other or disagreeing about the way forward. Instead, we prayed often, tried to stay patient with each other, and moved toward each other. Sometimes, we just wept together on the couch in the living room while she was in the shower. Cling to your spouse.

Keep it real with your tribe. I have written before about how blessed I feel in this regard. We have some of THE BEST people in our lives. Our church elders and staff were money when it came to just holding us up in prayer. We know of at least one example when we were waking up at night because of the weight and anxiety of it all – and God was waking one of elders to pray for us at that same time. We have a circle of friends who would move heaven and earth for us and we could sense that. Have a tribe and be real with them so that it’s not so darn lonely.

Stop trying to be supermom. Realize that you can’t protect your kids from everything. When they are little, we sort of live under the delusion that we can do this. And, in many ways we can keep them fairly insulated from a lot of things for a while. We can direct their paths by putting up literal gates and/or fences and limiting what they are exposed to. But the truth is, even if you can protect them from the rest of the world, they still live with your family and themselves. And, guess what? You are all sinners with your own kinds of baggage living in a broken world – and that means some mess will creep in. And, please, don’t worry about the coulda, shoulda, wouldas that people will want to throw at you. Do your best to be faithful, love your kids, stay humble, pray often, employ wisdom when you have it, seek God’s kingdom above your own, and follow the Spirit’s lead. No more supermom.

Love others. I know this seems counterintuitive. But, if you’re going through the soup and no one really knows about it, you can assume that others have their own quiet, internal battles going on too. They need “seen” and cared for just like you do. I’m not saying that self-care isn’t important – it is vital. But our Lord demonstrated a life of laying your life down and serving others. Trust Him to bring beauty out of your ashes as you do the same.

This is our story. So far. It’s not even over yet. We don’t know all of the story. Not even close. What we do know is that the Author of the story is good, gracious, merciful, loving, just, all-knowing, and all-powerful. So, we can trust Him through it. And that’s what we’re holding on to right now.

“Nothing could have prepared me for the moment when I watched my daughter fall to the floor in convulsions. Helpless dread sweeping over me…”

These are the words I penned a year ago after one of Madison’s seizures. At the time, I thought her seizures were the scariest thing in the world. (Side note: they are pretty darn scary.) What I didn’t know at the time was that six months later we’d be back in the same ER fighting another, more sinister attack on her precious mind. I didn’t know that I’d feel even more helpless and lost and lonely… and afraid.

This time the hospital room was completely stripped. No blankets from the warmer here. I sat beside her bed. Sometimes she would accept my comfort. Others, she recoiled from it. Her wound wasn’t an obvious gash on the back of her head but a gaping hole, hidden under layers of emotion and circumstance. No nurse could come and stitch this one up.

As I searched her face, I could see that she was hanging on by a thread. Desperate. Truly at her wits end and wondering if it would just be easier to call it a day and go home to Jesus.

And so began a journey that I had never, ever envisioned back when we first held our tiny, perfect girl with her shock of dark, porcupine hair. Back when I could swaddle her up and hope that she’d sleep a long enough stretch that I’d get to rest too. Now, I would be the one awake – listening, worrying, praying desperate prayers to the only One who could pierce through the darkness and save my girl. Now, instead of trying to tiptoe out of her room, I was making my bed on the floor in her room and hoping I’d be alert enough to hear her if she tried to get up or hurt herself. Now, instead of babyproofing the house, we were suicide-proofing it – doing our best to hide or confiscate anything that could be used for harm. (Which, by the way, is nearly impossible and in the back of your mind, you know it.)

The whole thing launched us all into an intense, emotionally and physically exhausting time. I look back on the Fall of 2017 and it’s a bit of a surreal fog. I’m still trying to sort through it. Rick was pastoring a large, rapidly growing church. I had just taken a job at the same church and was teaching a woman’s Bible study of 300 women. Our son was in the first semester of his Senior year with all the demands that it brings. Madison’s life was very full between school and her dance company and her involvements at our church.

At some point in the midst of all that, it just became too much for our girl. An introvert, she feels and processes intentionally and deeply. She always has – she doesn’t cry like her mom but she needs space to reflect. At some point during her tween years, that emotional side of her gave way to mild depression and acute anxiety. We chalked it up mostly to childhood angst and life maturity issues. We took it seriously, but we also thought that time and growth would help her learn to cope. We were told as she hit puberty that her epilepsy would augment it. It’s very common for epileptics to deal with anxiety and depression because of the areas of the brain that are affected by the seizures. We tried a few things like counseling and intentional time together. It was tough at times but she seemed like she was managing fairly well given that the teen years are hard to navigate no matter what.

But in the Spring when her seizures shifted from the staring spell kind to gran mals, we had to change her medicine. Our options for a teenage girl were limited to two – one could cause depression and suicidal ideation, the other could cause a life-threatening rash.

Rick had just done a funeral for a young man who had committed suicide while on the medicine that we ultimately chose. We were close to that grief. But, we were told it was more rare. We knew lots of people who used Keppra with few side effects. It was the medicine the neurologist felt most confident with, so we picked it and watched her like a hawk for the summer.

What we didn’t know was that she was hiding the effects it was having on her mind and heart.

When school and dance ramped back up in August, it just pushed her over the edge. Which is how we ended up in the ER in October.

Why am sharing this with you here? Do I need your attention or your sympathy? Am I oversharing? No. We’re good. We’ve been surrounded by an amazing group of elders and staff at our church who prayed for us faithfully during that time. We have extended family and dear friends who walked with us down that hard road. God was (and is) our nearness and our strong tower. I don’t need your attention or sympathy. I’m sharing because I’m following Madison’s lead in letting her story be used as a tool to draw people into closer relationship with Jesus – our great Savior, Redeemer, Healer, and the Lover of our souls.

For most of this ordeal, we have been silent save a close circle who would hold us up through prayer… because Madison is her own person and we wanted to honor her need for privacy. This is only my story by proxy. But, a week ago she shared her story at Porch (our church’s ministry for high schoolers) and gave me permission to share here so that I could encourage other moms.

For now, listen to her story and then come back tomorrow for some of my thoughts as a mom walking through this time…

Madison’s Story (4/22/18) from Porch (Redemption Chapel) on Vimeo.