You never want to admit that your mental illnesses affect the most important aspects about yourself. You cover-up, you lie, you bury the sick parts of you and hope theyll just go away one day.
My own mental illness came to affect the part of myself that was trying to heal me.
I was ten when it was first suggested to me that I might have depression, and for a long time it didnt seem to be something about myself that I could help. I was constantly sad and sluggish, with my world sounding muffled and appearing grayed-out and blurry.
It was always a silent, cloudy day.
At the time, I considered myself Christian in name only since I knew of no other path I could walk. But I can recall several times in my life when I isolated myself and prayed as earnestly as I could -- palms pressed so hard that they could fuse, eyes clenched tight, head bowed low in respect -- that this numbing ache that engulfed me and all the problems it caused in my life could just go away. If God saved people, what would it take for Him to save me, to bring happiness and life to my world again? No response could bring me the change I desperately sought.
At fifteen, by chance, I ended up with a book that would slowly introduce me into the world of Paganism. The words and knowledge I drank in ended up nourishing my heart and soul in a way I had been starving for for ages. The magical spirituality called out to me in a language I could finally understand, one Id never heard from other religions I had grown up hearing about. My world opened up that day, blooming like a flower right before my eyes.
What drew me so much to Paganism was the emphasis on personal power and healing. They werent new concepts to me, as they were advertised in countless self-help books my older sister recommended. But the language in those pages seemed too impersonal and clinical, and never clicked with me. Paganism wove my own natural interests of the earth with my need to seek a healing touch for my life. It really struck me, like sparkling white inspiration, that I could become a stronger person on the inside by manifesting my wishes with physical act and spiritual intention. I didnt have to leave it in anyone elses hands, or wait for a miracle; there was a personal power already inside me that could influence my environment and shape my life for the better.
(For the record, I dont dismiss Christianity or professional self-help methods; after all, these both helped the well-being and peace of other members of my family. Neither were simply for me, is all.)
Everything went well for a few years, as I studied and read with enthusiasm. I was in college by the time I could start practicing Paganism with others. Most days went well, and brought a unique happiness to my life. But in practice, I came to some familiar roadblocks.
Sometimes I was too depressed to work enough energy for a spell. My spellwork became sloppy and my meditations were sometimes less-than-fulfilling. During rituals with my group, I often wondered if I was able to draw enough energy to contribute, if my magic was potent enough when I had to dig at the bottom of the barrel.
Then I began to have doubts -- was I enough to even follow the Pagan path, to bring healing and change?
It suddenly seemed daunting and too tiring a wish, all the research and energy I had to expend to learn how to better my world.
I came to learn an important lesson: by no means is my spirituality a magical -- if youll excuse the pun -- cure for my mental illnesses. If it was, then there would be no work put into taking care of myself. This wasnt a path I wanted to give up, simply because of all the love and magic for the earth and the universe and myself.
Nowadays, I realize that the small things are all the difference in the world sometimes. As long as the intention is there, you can make magic; your personal power doesnt have to manifest in mighty, flashy ways.
I cant have in altar in my current living situation, and neither can I do particularly large spellwork. But I still rub lavender oil behind my ears to calm my anxiety through the day. I still make chamomile and mint teas to soothe my depression. I light cinnamon incense or white candles if I feel there is too much negativity clogging up the house or if I simply need a healing touch. Sometimes Ill stare at the flames flicker or the curling wisps of smoke, imagining casting my anxious or depressive thoughts into the blackest part of the flame, and have them evaporate away from me.
These are not flashy pieces of spellwork, and are so mundane that anyone could do them, but tiny tools such as these still provide bits of magic to my life, and surround me in a clean, peaceful aura that makes me feel like I do have the power to heal myself, to bring power to myself.
It takes time. Perhaps a lifetime. But I have the tools to weather through the bad days; Im learning more and more how to channel my energy, how to bring positivity to my environment. Even if I feel the heavy weight that my efforts are fruitless, what matters is that I do them anyway. As I learn more about myself and this path, I discover new ways to heal both others and myself.
And that word is more magical and powerful than others may realize, and its the reason I still do anything that I do:
At the end of the day, I want that to be my personal power.
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Read this article:
Personal Power: My Experience with Spirituality & Depression - HuffPost