me and my pills...

This weekend as I was about to get my cup of coffee I asked the lady behind me if I could get her a cup as well.

And with the naturalness of breathing she simply shared, "no thanks, caffeine messes with my anxiety so I've learned to avoid it."

Simple, straight forward, nothing awkward, but BAM there it was, a confession, "I have anxiety."

Anyone who knows me knows, I love talking with people. So at this simple sentence we started a conversation. She shared about how she discovered she had anxiety, about talking with the doctors, I shared how anxiety is a part of my family's story, we swapped professionals worth talking to and the annoyance of people who avoid these topics like they're contagious thinking they might "catch Anxiety or depression themselves."

A 2 minute conversation around a coffee pot.... wonderfully refilling.

So the thought that's been with me at the start of this week is, "why are we so hidden with what's happening in us?"

Confession: I take meds for high blood pressure and high cholesterol. Been on pills since I was 23, been on pills when I was 70 pounds over weight, was still on pills when I was lost all that weight. On pills when life was stressful, on pills when life was calm and gentle. My blood's just high strung, nothing I can do about it, well except ignore it and die at the ripe-not-so-old-age of 45. So because I love my family, life, and work I gladly pop 2 pills a morning.

But way is there such a stigma around mental conditions, why do diagnosis like anxiety, depression, Bipolar, panic disorder, phobias, ADHD, and eating disorders carry for many a cloud of shame, isolation, avoidance?

If my leg was broken all could clearly see that my leg was broken, there's nothing to hide, and it might be broken because of my own dumb choices. But why when something inside of me is not right do I hide it? What makes those around me feel like they have to hide it? Especially when it's not even their fault. The broken leg might of happened because you tried jumping off the roof of a moving car, not a smart thing to do, the mental brokenness might of happened simply because of how you were born.

Last night Pearl and I watched, "Mom's night out." Hilarious, but all about how people heap pressure on themselves to appear like their lives are ok, all the while freaking out and quickly going crazy.

We laughed a ton at the comical mishaps of the film, yet I was frustrated by the reality that tons of people I know live the lives of those in the movie. And my heart breaks thinking that many of our homes, families, churches, and communities are not a safe place to be honest (like the lady at the coffee bar) but are actually only adding pressure to appear "normal."

So as the week starts, I'm reminded, there's really no "normal" there's just me; me and my two pills a day. But there's also:

• My non-coffee friend with her anxiety and attention to live beyond it. 
• My family with their compulsions and disciplines to keep them at bay. 
• My young friends with their eating disorders fighting to live beyond the lies of their mirror. 
• My older friends with their fears of bipolar and owning how they will feel today.

There really is no need to be perfect, there's just me and my pills, them with theirs, and the grace to be who we really are, honest, simple and accepted. I love that Jesus said to just come, not to come "perfect," whatever that means.

Happy Monday, and enjoy being you.
Matt