Things were very hard for me. I was so depressed and confused. I would spend most of my day closed up in my bedroom crying. I didn’t know what to do to turn my husband’s heart back to me. I remember sitting at the table one day and telling him I would gladly begin wearing a head covering again if this would make him happy. He said something to the effect that he had seen women wearing head coverings that were not the least bit submissive to their authorities and women who didn’t wear one who were. I wasn’t sure if I fit into the former category but I was afraid to ask. I had worn a head covering for about 3 years thinking that it made me more spiritual. It was an outward sign of my submission to God and my husband. My daughter wore one too. I was trying to live by the rules I saw set out for me in the New Testament and the Apostle Paul makes it very clear that a woman is in disgrace if she prays with her head uncovered. He also says elsewhere that we should pray without ceasing. That meant to me that in order to be pleasing to God, I’d better wear the head covering all the time.
I felt badly for my kids at this point because I knew I was barely functional but I was unable to rise above the immense pain and depression I was suffering with. And Dale and I fought. We fought and fought. A discussion would turn into a 3 hour session of me pleading with him, accusing him , yelling at him and crying at him. I know that during that time I was not easy to be around. I am sure he got to the point where he dreaded coming into the room with me to talk, knowing it would turn into a “bash Dale session” as he would refer to it.
In my pain, I tried to make him see that the way he was treating me was wrong. It was wrong for him to ignore me. It was wrong for him to use the verses in the bible about hating your wife as a requirement of following Christ to justify his distance and aloofness toward me. It was wrong for him to spend so very much time reading his bible and praying because he was ignoring his relationship with his wife. He would tell me that he was trying to have feelings for me but it was as if I were a farmer. I was trying to grow some corn. I would plant the seeds and then every third day or so I would dig it up to see if it was growing or not. He seemed to think that his feelings for me were the seed and I kept ruining any possibility for growth by coming at him every few days. As time wore on, my meltdowns with him got farther apart. I remember celebrating the accomplishment that I had not had a melt down in a whole week! I had gone an entire week without expressing to my husband how much I needed him, loved him, wanted things to be better. I had just been meek and quiet and waited for him to notice me. It had no effect…this meek and quiet spirit I was trying to cultivate. I think I was just a time of relief for him that I wasn’t crying all the time and trying to get him to interact with me.
Finally, one day, after another session behind closed doors in our bedroom, I got violent with him as he was leaving the room. I realized at that moment that there was something very wrong and I called my doctor. She had me come in and we talked and then she labeled me. “Laura,” she said so nicely, “you are clinically depressed and I want you to take some medication to help you. Maybe even get into therapy.” In my numb state of mind, I didn’t know what to tell her. She is a wonderful Christian woman who I considered my friend as well as my doctor. I told her I would think about it. She handed me some antidepressant samples and I went home.
I was stunned. I was embarrassed. I was horrified! Here I was, a godly Christian woman with the Holy Spirit of God living inside me. I didn’t need drugs. I didn’t need therapy. I had God for crying out loud! What a massive failure I must be. What a loser to not be able to handle this situation. I mean, didn’t the quote on my keychain say “The will of God will never lead you where the grace of God cannot keep you”? Couldn’t I do all things through Christ who strengthed me? I should be able to handle this…what was wrong with me? I was quite judgmental toward “Christians” who took antidepressants. Or went to therapy. I didn’t know what to do. Dale was gone somewhere and I had to call him and tell him what the doctor had said. I was ashamed and the last thing I wanted to do was take medication. Maybe therapy but NO DRUGS! My body is the temple of the Holy Spirit after all…
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