Have you ever been so low in the darkest place? One of my lowest points in my life I found myself pregnant with my fourth child, nine hours away from my family, and living in the northern tip of Idaho. By some miracle and by God’s grace someone came to rescue me. God inspired my neighbor and friend to lift me and to love me through serving me.

“I got called into the Bishop’s office for a calling today.” I say with a hint of a tone in my voice. My husband replies, “what did they call….?” I cut him off, “They had the flipping nerve to call me to be the teacher of the three year olds! I am seven months pregnant! I don’t want to sit with those rambunctious kids every Sunday. My gag reflex is stronger when I am pregnant and what if one of them has a snotty nose? I can’t take it! Do they expect me to get on the ground with them? I am NOT doing it! They gag on their graham crackers and spit runs down their mouth. Disgusting! Just talking about it makes me want to dry heave. I can’t take it right now. I can’t stand their little faces and their poopy diaper smells! The combination of poop and wet crackers together will send me to the ER with an early delivery. This is so inconsiderate of the primary to do this to me? The smell of the sunbeam room leaves me faint and their toys are covered in snot and all kinds of diseases. I h-a-t-e them!” My husband looks at me with concern and slightly wondering if I recently contracted the rabies virus. He calmly says, “Dari, it’s just the Sunbeam class. You’re going to be okay. I can come in and help you if you need me to.” I sit in our computer chair surrendering myself to my hateful thoughts. I am having a hard time controlling my temper and my feelings right now. My husband slides the keyboard over and clicks down the keys on the keyboard. Instantly the song, “I am a child of God” softly sings through the speakers. I take a few breaths in and out and I am able to relinquish my dark thoughts.   

The following Sunday, feelings of hatred hit me full force. I can’t pin down why I am feeling these strong emotions towards certain people and I notice the emotions are also moving inward. A friend stops me in the hallway and says, “Dari, don’t you know that stripes and pregnancy don’t go together? I am aware I look like a walking whale at seven months pregnant. I have a very strong desire to rip her hair out and push her to the ground while I have a fake smile pasted on my face. I walk outside and breathe in the cool spring air. I walk back in the glass doors and decide to linger in the foyer because I am struggling with the mere sight of other people. I prop myself on the turquoise flowered couch. My green and white striped dress stretches over my swelling abdomen and the extra fabric falls to the floor. As I sit here I imagine targets drawn on a white sheet of paper pinned to the backs of collared shirts and flowery dresses. I see myself as a pregnant heroine holding a large bow and arrow sitting in the back row of the chapel. If you look at me wrong, you speak the wrong words, or you smell funny, I am willing and able to take you out of this world. I sit and seethe as I compile the list of members who are on my hit list.  

Church is over and we make the quick drive around the corner and up the hill to our home. I move unsteadily from side to side as I work my way up our purple painted steps and move onto the weathered wood of the front porch. The large white boxy columns stand straight and tall as the red hammocks swing from side to side. The spring wind tunnels through the covered porch and I hurry to grab the old screen door. I walk through the door without a care for my children’s needs. I plop myself on our couch that sits right below the old front windows that are painted shut. Dinner can wait. I don’t care today. I sit and I think about swallowing a bottle of pills. I want to cry out for help but this unseen vice has got me so filled with malice that I can’t cry or speak. I only have one emotion lately and that is ‘hatred’. I desperately want this feeling to go away. I lay here and I close my eyes attempting to feel something other than abhorrence for myself. The hours tick by and Alan touches my shoulder, “Dari, what did you want to fix for dinner? Did you have a plan?” I pretend not to hear him as I lay quietly on the couch. He asks again, “Dari, what did you have planned for dinner?” I brush his hand away from me and say, “I don’t care. Do whatever you want to do.” I lay here as a solitary tear falls from my face. I can’t get this feeling of distaste for myself to go away. I ache inside of me and I want to slip away and never come back.

The following morning I have a little more bounce in my step and the sun is shining a little brighter through my metaphorical clouds. I don’t know why today is any different than any other day. I just feel better today. Maybe today is the day that the darkness will be gone for good.   

Unfortunately, I realize I am suffering from Perinatal Depression. I wrestled with this in my second pregnancy. The ugly claws of depression are digging into me again with this pregnancy. It sits differently with me this time. Before it was a boxed in feeling. I would sit on the couch for hours and not want to leave my house for fear of something, nothing, just plain old fear. Talking became a burden and my personality moved inward. I became somewhat of an emotional mute. I was a robot mom only functioning on autopilot. This time the angle of depression hits differently. I am often filled with rage. I breathe hatred for others and for myself. I have never had thoughts of suicide in my life. Now I struggle to want to live. Day after day and night after night I ache to die. It is not just a solitary thought about death. It is an actual pain I have in my body and it constantly whispers about death in my ears. I want to run from it but I know it will follow me. I want to sleep it off but I know it will show up in my dreams. I want to journal happy thoughts but my raw feelings are mimicked in my writing. Everywhere I turn there is no escaping myself.         

I feel without a doubt the days are shorter in Northern Idaho than in any other part of the United States. The light seeps out of my windows and darkness creeps in way too early in the afternoon. I abhor the long dark filled nights. I struggle with the rainy cloudy days and the long nights are especially difficult. Maybe this feeling is a foreshadowing of what’s to come. 

Finally I made it to Tuesday and it is a particularly dark day. Yuck, who loves a Tuesday? I sit at the table and write out a grocery list and a meal plan for the week. My desire to have a ‘meal plan’ has walked out on me. I sit at my kitchen table and try to think of different varieties of food that will bring me some happiness. I decide on a few items and I gather the children to go to the store. 

We arrive back at home just in time to see Alan before he goes to work at his night job. I look to my left and see a kitchen full of dishes and grocery bags. I look to my right and I watch the one dependable adult person in my life just walk out the door. I start to feed on the negativity building in my head and I start to shout at my children to put the groceries away. They look at me like I am a sick monster. My oldest daughter was born with a sixth sense and she has the ability to perceive when I am struggling. She quickly organizes the other children and each of them start helping with the chores. She stands by my side and carefully listens to the instructions of making dinner. She pulls out the cutting board and slices the bread for sandwiches. She plops the canned chicken into a bowl and mixes it with mayo, chopped grapes and apples. She adds a few more ingredients under my instructions. My body is aching with dread again. I watch the mess in my kitchen get moved around. I stand in the corner as darkness engulfs me. I hear muted noises as the grocery bags are emptied and the sink is filled with soapy water. My back touches the corner wall in my kitchen. I want to leave this dark mess and never come back. The mundane of my life is constant and sickening. I have hit an all time low. I start to slide down the wall to the floor and then I hear a faint knocking sound. Almost like it is coming from another place in my head. The irritating sound is coming from the front of my house. The sound bangs again. I look up and I see ‘hope’ standing on my front porch. 

I motion my neighbor to come in. I am afraid she can see inside my scrambled head and she will discover my inner torment. She looks at me standing shamelessly in the corner. She assesses the disheveled kitchen with the crumb filled cutting board teetering on the edge of the counter top. She doesn’t ask how I am doing because I get the impression that she knows I need help. She says to me directly, “Come to my house in thirty minutes. I am feeding you and your children dinner.” I soberly decline while my inner thoughts are beating me up and screaming at me, GO..GO!  She pauses only for a moment, “I am not taking no for an answer. We are feeding you tonight and we have a movie and popcorn after dinner. We will have fun together.” “I can’t.” I declare, “I already have dinner being prepped.” She looks me in the eye, “Put it in the fridge and eat it tomorrow. I will see you in thirty minutes.” She smiles at me and turns and walks out my door leaving me no choice but to join her family. 

The door closes and I fall to my knees and tears cascade down my face. I pray to Heavenly Father, “You saved me tonight. You brought me a friend that knew how to help me. Thank you, Thank you.” 

We walk in the dark crossing the road and down the gravel driveway. I am filled with guilt and shame because she is a witness to my struggles. Showing my vulnerabilities leaves me feeling uncomfortable and defenseless. A part of me wants to send my kids to dinner as I sprint across her yard and hide in the dark shadows of my own home. I pretend to be the responsible one in my little group and I knock on her door. 

What is it about baked chicken that just heals the soul? The dinner table is set and the aromas of rosemary chicken fill the house. Her moms mismatched chairs and old wooden table adds to the warmth of the kitchen. The kids run upstairs to play and I am left to make small talk with my neighbors. Dread immediately lifts from my body and I find myself feeling loved and at home. I look past the table and I see an adjacent room that is illuminated in light. The light carpet is freshly vacuumed, the couches are covered in beautiful white duvets and the walls are a brilliant white batten board. The small comfortable round table in the corner has a small pot of white flowers sitting beautifully in the center. The polished windows are tall and wide and my eyes wander into their charming eclectic mix of gardens. 

Dinner and company is exactly what I need tonight to help bring a little bit of happiness back into my souless life. My eyes are drawn to the white room and I long to be in light. I yearn to sit on her couch and let the whiteness of the room envelop my soul. I don’t dare ask to go into such a manicured area. My friend suddenly says after the dinner is cleaned up, “Kids come downstairs, it’s time to watch a movie.” I look around to see where she is directing everyone. I look at her with questioning eyes and she motions us to the ‘white room’. I ask, “Are you sure? You want me and my kids to go in there and watch a movie?” “Yes!” She says emphatically. “There are a few rules but we want to share this with you.” My tears were ready to salt my popcorn as I sat carefully on the charming white couch. I sit here with my friends surrounding me on a white couch in a white room with my feet touching her elegant floors. I think I am as close to heaven as I can possibly get.

As we get ready to leave I try to convey my appreciation as best as I can. I felt so much better and the ache inside of my body left me the moment when I inhaled the smell of baked chicken. Being around my friend and her family, eating dinner, and spending time with my wonderful neighbors gives me courage to go home and fight my own inner conflict. I breathe in the cool night air and I walk confidently across the road to the two story green house with the boxy white columns standing tall in the darkness.       

Without a doubt my friend was a beacon in my dark night. She was inspired by God to help lift me and love me. She came to my family’s rescue when I had no fight left in me. Even Though she had her own challenges she reached out to me and served me. 

Here are a few ideas that you can try when others are serving you

1. Accept others small acts of kindness because it can be healing. You never really know the impact you will have on another person’s life (unless they write about it! haha). 

2. Be open to someone who wants to help you (a ministering sister, a neighbor, or a family member). God uses each of us to bless his children. I was blessed and gained courage to fight my own battles because someone cared enough to check on me. 

3. ‘Love thy neighbor as thyself’: The second great commandment. I probably wouldn’t have gone into some stranger’s house and devoured their chicken okay? My friend loved me first and then she was able to help lift me in my circumstance. 

Resources: 

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/compassion-matters/202110/how-let-people-help-you

How to Accept Help

https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/publications/perinatal-depression