I had so many plans for this post series, so it is heavy heart and not a little irony that I have had to cut it short due to two mental health crises in our family which have left me depleted.

I’ve tried to think of what I should say as a final post on this issue, but there are so many things that need to be discussed; there is just no way I can cut it down to one encompassing idea. So, I’ll end with this, even though it’s not enough. Hopefully it can at least be a start.

I enjoy studying physics and occasionally come across theories regarding the possibility of a multiverse, and recently it hit me that this isn’t just theoretical–we absolutely live in a multiverse. Of the billions and billions of people who live now and have ever lived no two have lived in the exact same universe. What I mean is that it’s not just that our experiences and personalities differ–it’s that the universe just works at least a little differently for each human. If we were to enter into the mind of another person, we would undoubtably find similarities between us that surprise us, as well as differences that can only be described as alien. It is not just that we approach things differently, it’s that we see and experience them differently. Our center of gravity is not all the same.

I had an interaction recently when I was hearing someone describe an event at which I had been present, and she described another person’s behavior as being much harsher than I remembered it. My first response was to argue with her over whose memory was correct, but it suddenly hit me that, regardless of the literal event, this is what she had experienced. In that moment I realized our greatest impediment to communicating wasn’t that we didn’t agree on the facts, it was that I didn’t accept her experience as being valid because it didn’t fit in with my own. She had suffered terrible abuse in her life that left her deeply vulnerable, and I realized she was still experiencing all negative emotion from others, no matter how mundane, through the lens of that abuse.

A lot of the struggles around mental illness, in addition to the difficulties they pose on their own, are the questions that sufferers and loved ones can have about their validity. This isn’t just an issue for mental illness, it’s astonishing how often people question the validity of another person’s feelings and experiences. With mental illness this kind of doubt adds significant additional burdens for everyone involved. There are certain benefits that can come from questioning another person’s life. It creates an illusion of control, that we know the “true” person, which is different from the person with mental illness, and by holding onto our belief we can will that person into existence. Accepting the mental illness feels like giving up on the person we care about; like an actual betrayal of them. And it’s not just the loved ones of people with mental illness who can do this, but the sufferers as well who may refuse to accept that mental illness is a part of their life, and that by ignoring it it will magically go away because it’s not “really” part of them.

One of the hardest things we may have to do with mental illness is accepting it. Not as something bad to be overcome nor as the center by which we are defined, but that it is just part of our lives, and while it will not always make sense, we can create space for the experience of the sufferer, and for their care givers. We can open our hearts and the spaces we inhabit to their lived experience without the added burden of trying to saddle them with what we think their experience should be. These are complex issues that do not have clear cut solutions. These are some of the sticky, dark places that are messy and difficult and that have no shortcuts and no way out but through. These are the places where our preconceived notions of what makes a successful, well-lived life must be set aside for something that moves slowly, perhaps almost imperceptibly, that is certainly less spectacular than what we tend a gauge a worthwhile life to entail. And yet there are deep and profound and lovely things to be found in these dark places, that can only be seen and held and understood by those who walk there.

I remember reading once that Mother Theresa once said that if she was ever made a saint she would surely be the saint of darkness, and I think I am finally starting to realize a little of what she meant by that. There are so many people living in darkness, who have no immediate way out, for whom the darkness will always be a part of their lives. It is not their fault; it is not because they lack faith; it is not because God is trying to teach them something. It is because humans get sick. And it’s not fair. So, let’s just create space–not a future space for them for when they’re finally healthy. Let’s create space now, for the sick who do not always heal. For the weak whose strength is not always perceptible by the healthy. For the ones who give everything they have, but because it is a mite it goes unseen, unappreciated, even criticized. Sometimes I wonder if, when Isaiah said that Jesus would suffer afflictions of every kind did that include struggles with mental health? Either way, I thank heaven that Christ and our Heavenly Parents are not afraid of or disgusted by the dark places. So we needn’t be, either.