WHEN I RETIRED FROM LEADING LIVING ROOM, I WAS EXCLUDED

When a group was being formed promising to promote deeper relationships, I wasted no time signing up. I had for a long time waited for such an opportunity.

I played a supportive role in many people’s lives. But I needed a peer with whom I could discuss my faith. I spent long periods with my Bible and in prayer. I studied voraciously and wrote devotionals. But I did not have a friend or small group to share with.

However, two days before the first meeting, I received a call saying I would not be included in the group. I was told that there were already two members with mental health conditions in the group and to have me there would not be healthy. I learned that I would be the only person not included. Told not to let anyone know about the decision.

I was devastated.

Why? After the many good years of work I had done? I had thought this church had responded to the importance of not stigmatizing people with mental health challenges. I myself had promoted it. And now this?

Did they feel there was something so terribly wrong about me? Was I considered that different from others in the group?

Why was I the only one excluded?

I was told not to tell anyone. But how can I possibly live with such a secret?

Don’t they realize what this might do to me? Do my needs and my feelings mean nothing to them? Can’t they see what their actions could mean to a person with mental health problems?

I was a respected leader only a short while ago. Now I’m suddenly an outcast.

This event marked a change in me. It took many years of therapy before I got over the Complex PTSD that developed as a result of this stigma and the many other traumatic events that would follow.

The leader of the group did not treat me like a real person after this. When no one else was around, I was hurt with words and actions. I felt my personhood taken away from me. The gentle person I used to be started being angry. “More than you used to be,” my husband told me. A few months later, a friend told me, “Marja, you never used to be like this.”

The only things that helped me as I tried to cope with the trauma was to write. I wrote reflections on Scripture to encourage myself and my list of readers. But I also needed to tell my story—as I am doing today. The severity of the pain needs to be appreciated by those who might offer support to others who suffer.

The mistreatment went on for a year, but wrongdoing was never admitted. Remorse was never expressed. When I offered forgiveness and asked for forgiveness for any part I might have played, both were refused. Forgiveness was not to have a part in helping me find healing.

Throughout the year’s mistreatment, I was like a child, helpless to defend myself, hurting badly. I was hospitalized for two and a half weeks as I dealt with this and other stigma.

What can you do, Lord, when who you are goes out of control? When, in essence, you lose your sanity? When people have no understanding and judge you? When your emotional pain is so severe you want to die?

A friend recommended Psalm 121:1-2

I lift my eyes up to the mountains—

Where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord,

The Maker of heaven and earth.

I would like to lift my eyes up. Can I adopt this perspective as I go through multiple medication changes? Will I be able to keep my head up through all that’s bound to come?

That same evening, I awoke from a nap with ugly thoughts. I felt unloved. Felt so bad I wanted to die.

marja