A tough few years

I’ve been treated for depression for 15 years, since just after college. In grad school it was bad enough to attend intensive outpatient program, and years later anxiety and depression affected my GI system to where I lost 25-30 lbs. But nothing has compared to the last two years. It became impossible to concentrate on my studies. I received a PTSD diagnosis related to the pandemic, got treatment for that, was diagnosed with ADHD after a ton of tests, have been seeing a great psychologist, and then last year started experiencing intense negative emotions that I couldn’t control that deeply affected my life and the lives of those close to me. I went to another intensive outpatient treatment program and have learned different coping skills from different psychological schools and struggled to stay in the saddle as psychiatrists adjusted my medications.

At the moment - and I mean, just this past week - after a retreat where I feel most safe, a catharsis of tears and a ritual of prayer and hope - and a new med adjustment - I feel more calm. I don’t know if it will stick, but I am grateful for the respite.

I would like to blog more on here. But I see that it’s really only something I do when I have the presence of mind and soul to reflect. At least I am still taking pictures. They’re just on my iPhone due to a camera too costly to fix, but I do look forward to sharing them here. For now, this picture of a cloudy day on the Knife’s Edge portion of the PCT in the Goat Rocks area feels right. It shows my friend looking up and to her right, where behind a rock the viewer can see the desolate looking trail behind her. That’s where I am — the past few years have been difficult. I can’t see ahead, but I’m grateful for the chance to stop and reflect.

a final ordination anniversary

11 years ago today I was ordained as a Minister of Word and Sacrament in the Presbyterian Church (USA). Every year on this anniversary I reflected with gratitude and amazement at how sacred the work was that I was able to perform and experience in this role as a hospital chaplain.

But after several years of discernment and planning and studying bioethics — and the pandemic to boot — about 10 months ago I started working on unofficial loan to the ethics department. I was still a chaplain and still a member of my department and still, once in a while, for an extreme emergency, I would don my chaplain cloak (metaphorically - chaplain comes from the word for cloak) and perform the role.

At first I felt guilty, when I realized I wanted to leave. I felt like I was letting people down, like I was not fulfilling the call I had responded to.

But the lovely thing about Presbyterian theology of ordination is that it’s the work that is sacred, not the person. And you don’t sign on for life, or make vows of obedience, or a vow to stay for any specific amount of time.

I served as an ordained minister for over ten years, and I served as a chaplain for more than 12. It was a very good run. I am very, very grateful for the opportunity to do the work I did, the people I did it with, and the people who supported me along the way.

This year is likely the last year I’ll mark my ordination anniversary, and only as a way to note that it comes at a time when I’m officially beginning my work as a Clinical Ethicist.

Last summer, my friend and I took a chilly dip in an alpine lake as I was preparing for one chapter of my life to draw to a close and another to begin. This is a picture my friend took as I came up out of the water and took in the stunning mountain view.

I’m sharing that picture here. It’s with gratitude that I close this chapter, and with gratitude that I begin a new one.