Sacred Illness

“A sacred illness is one that educates us and alters us from the inside out, provides experiences and therefore knowledge that we could not possibly achieve in any other way.” – Deena Metzger

I saw this quote last week in an email. It connected with me in a way I didn’t expect. I thought about my depression, in particular, and whether it was a “sacred illness”. Could it be that I could reframe some of my depression experiences in a more positive light?

I realized, according to Ms. Metzger’s definition, my depression likely was a sacred illness. It has educated me in the challenges of mental illness and asking for help. It has most certainly altered my perspective on so much in this world. So in that way, I’m truly not likely to have become the woman I am without the experiences of crippling depression encountered from time to time.

I often look at my depression and associated episodes as failures. If only I were stronger, wiser, more resilient, etc. I wouldn’t be feeling so worthless. Exhausted. Void of feeling or value to myself or others.

But, perhaps, I have been “gifted” with these episodes. Because they have built increasing empathy in me for people experiencing depression, or even other illnesses or disorders which I personally know nothing about. I better understand struggling with your mind and/or body doing something you are unable to control. I’m more likely to believe someone at their word about illnesses, even if they are invisible like anxiety or depression.

I’ve made it five years since my worst depression (so far). I still remember the feeling vividly. It was suffocating. I was trapped in a world void of light, joy, or hope. No one could reach me, and not because, thankfully, no one was trying. My feelings were locked away, and my blinders only allowed me to see my shortcomings, failures, and inabilities. I saw myself as worthless. No one could change my mind.

I think I know what my rock bottom feels like, and it’s unpleasant to say it mildly. But, I learned people do love me. Even when I shoved some close friends away, they stayed. Even when I felt I added no value, they disagreed and cared. They believed in my worth when I believed none could be found. I gained gratitude for those who stood by me at my worst.

So yes, perhaps my depression was a gift or sacred illness. I’m a better person to others struggling because of it. I try to champion mental health causes and strive to end the stigma. I fight for all of you who may struggle at times because I’ve been there … and likely will struggle again myself. Because there is no magic pill or cure. For all of that, I fight. I can’t quite bring myself to be thankful for depression, but I agree the experiences have shaped me over the years, and I wouldn’t be me without them. So maybe, begrudgingly, I am thankful for my sacred illness after all.