Before beginning my fellowship with International Justice Mission, I was a mental health therapist for seven years. Working with children who had behavior and mental health concerns, my roles included outpatient therapist, mobile therapist, behavior specialist consultant, and meetings facilitator. I had been trained in different evidence-based therapies. I was a professional. 

So you can understand why it was such a humbling experience to also be a patient. I’ve struggled most of my life with varying degrees of anxiety, depression, obsessive compulsive disorder. Since childhood, I had been going off and on to therapy and to various psychiatrists but not recently -- not since completing my master’s in social work, a vocation in which I aimed to become the best mental health professional the world had ever seen! It’s interesting how I could deal with other people’s mental health issues all day, but when it came to my own, it was so hard.  (“Do as I say, not as I do” and all that…) Around 2014, after hitting a particularly rough patch, it took me many months to seek therapy and a psychiatrist for myself.

Making these appointments was hard. It was humbling. A surrender of pride. You see, I was the one who did the assessing, heard the stories and offered support and counsel. I recommended children be evaluated by our psychiatrist for medication. I was not the one who got evaluated. But there I was -- stuck in a never- ending cycle of anxiety and depression, trying so hard, but unable to make sustainable progress. I was praying and crying out to God, but felt nothing. God felt so far away, and I felt so alone and ashamed. Everything in my life was starting to become affected. Spiraling, all my efforts seemed to be actually digging me deeper into the hole I was in. Wheels spinning. No traction. Exhausted. Trying to appear ok, when inside everything was falling apart. I needed support. 

So, I finally made the phone calls and put the appointments on the calendar… and the dread started in earnest. My desperate desire to feel better was the only thing that kept me from canceling. 

Hearing other people’s stories all day could be difficult, but that was not nearly as challenging as having to share my own -- to be open and vulnerable with virtual strangers. The more my clients told me, the better support they received. So I knew the more I shared, the better my therapist and psychiatrist would be able to help me. But all my defense mechanisms, along with my pride, were doing their best to convince me to minimize everything, to shrug it off, to only give the basics. 

Remembering the early days of those appointments is hard. I would sit on the proverbial couch and wish for some of the silly putty I’d give to clients to use when they were feeling anxious or distracted. Meanwhile my legs had a mind of their own -- crossing back and forth, and my foot would shake uncontrollably. I realized this, and that these mental health professionals would note this, as it was something I would note in a session with a client. But I was powerless to stop it. So there I sat, fidgeting with my hands, legs shaking, trying to keep my breathing even and calm, everything in me screaming that this was a mistake, everything was fine, this wasn’t a big deal. RUN! But I stayed. And kept making therapy and doctor appointments. And there were times I hated it, but it was so needed. And it did get easier. I began to accept the process and soon noticed how refreshing it was to be able to talk and not be the one who was supposed to have the answers. To not have to reciprocate with “And how are you?” like one does with friends. I felt heard. I often couldn’t even pray, so they would pray with me, and I’d fight back, determined not to be the stereotypical patient who cried. (This was a losing battle, by the way. Tears are part of healing.)  

When my psychiatrist prayed with me, he always thanked God for the gift of science and how medication can help in the healing process. It was such a good reminder, after often discouraging conversations, that taking medication was not a weakness, it was not giving up or giving in, it was not a ‘crutch’ or the easy way out. It was not that I didn’t have enough faith, or didn’t pray hard enough or wasn’t holy enough. God allowed these medications to be created to help us. Needing therapy did not mean I was ‘less than,’ needy or not enough. God put these people in my life to listen, encourage and help me.

It took me a long time to come to terms with my mental health and what I need to do to stay healthy. To own that and be ok with it. And it’s still something I’m working on. I have made progress but still struggle. And while I know God could heal me, I also recognize that this side of heaven He may not, and I may need the support and resources He’s given to me for the rest of my life. And that’s ok.

Everyone has a different story reaching out for help, but mine ended up being a positive one. I not only took steps forward to improve my own mental health but also got a glimpse into what my clients and their families must often feel and experience. I still would rather be the one giving the counsel, but being on the other side of the desk provided me with invaluable insight and understanding. 

As I reflected on this experience, I couldn’t help but remember that Jesus set an extreme example of ‘being on the other side of the desk.’  Hebrews 4:15 says:

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” 

In humility Jesus came to earth as a human, taking the very nature of a servant and humbled himself to death on the cross. And because of this we have a high priest who understands, who sympathizes and empathizes with our every struggle and pain. I forget what a sacrifice that was for him. To go from heaven to earth. To be a human and experience all that comes with that. So when we find pride, shame, guilt, or fear taking over and hindering our ability to reach out for help because we think we have all the answers, remember how Jesus gave up all control, all his glory, everything and because of this, we can draw near to the throne of grace, just as we are. And He puts people in our lives to help us and point us to Him.

ABOUT THE BLOGGER

Danielle (Dani) Rupp grew up in a small town in Ohio and is a true Buckeye fan, though she tries not to be obnoxious about it. In 2011 she came to Pennsylvania to earn her Master of Social Work degree. Dani returned recently from South Asia, where she volunteered with International Justice Mission, learned to tolerate spicy food and cross the roads without being hit.

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