Chapter 3: The Decision ~ March 2018

 I feel like this is going to be a hard post to write.

I think I've said that on here before, but this post's subject matter has been a huge regret for me for a long time.

March 21st, 2018 was the day that I chose to resign from New Hope Uganda, the place that had been my home for four years.

To be honest, I had to look up the exact date. But the emotions of this anniversary season have been swirling and churning in me pretty hard the past week or so. And that's probably a big part of why I slept little the last two nights.

So, to back up a bit - as I said at the end of my last post, the psychiatrist in town suggested extending my sick leave by two more weeks, into mid-March. Six weeks is more than New Hope usually allowed for sick leave in a year, but they made a special allowance in my case.

Again, I tried going back into the office around the 14th of March ... and it was a real struggle for me. Words like "feeling incapable" and "it's a fight with the enemy" are in the journal pages I looked back on briefly this morning. From the time of my breakdown in the end of January to the middle of March, I tried going back to the office and getting back into my old normal routine three or four times - and every time it resulted in a crash of mood and emotional energy.

Finally, on the 20th, Geoff and Mary, who were walking with me most closely through the whole thing, sat me down and had what I'm sure was a hard conversation for them to initiate.

'Esther, you're not getting any better ... Esther, we can't just keep pushing out your return to work date by two weeks ... Esther, maybe you need to go back to the States where you can have easier access to the professional help you need."

Knowing them, I'm positive they didn't say this lightly or without much prayer.

They had been walking with me through the ups and downs of the roller coaster ride I was on for six weeks. They knew more than anyone else just what I was dealing with.

I have to be careful here, because what they said and what I heard are probably two quite different things. I don't have exact quotes for what words they said, but I'm pretty sure the above paraphrase is accurate.

But what my fragile soul heard was more like "Esther, you're a burden. You're a drain on our ministry, and you need to resign and leave so that we can move on."

The thing that still galls and hurts me is that it felt like nobody fought for me to stay. Not those top leaders who supposedly loved me, not my supervisor, not my mentor, not Geoff and Mary. It's like they were all tired of wrestling with my mental health journey, and wanted me to go be somebody else's problem.

And yes, there's a bitterness there that I haven't found healing from yet. Well - I know what my counselor and I will be talking about in our next session!

I could end this post there, in the midst of the hurt and the tears ... but I don't believe that's the full story. I choose to believe that those brothers and sisters in Christ did/do love me, that they were doing their best to listen to God and advise me in making decisions that would be most helpful to me in the long run.

But oh, my - the short-term effects were painful.

So Geoff and Mary talked to me about it on the 20th, and they asked me to take some time to pray about it. I didn't journal anything about it in my main journal, but I think maybe I did in my quiet time journal (yes, I have lots of journals).

In sharing with a friend this week about what I was dealing with emotionally, I realized that I couldn't remember for sure if the resignation step originated from me or from Geoff and Mary. I think it came from them, but I'm just not positive anymore.

Because that is what has been my #1 regret (other than the whole mental breakdown situation happening at all) - why did I have to resign? Why couldn't I have just come back to the States for a few months of more intensive counseling/psychiatric care and then gone back? Why did it have to be all or nothing?

Mentally, I believe I know the answer to that. January 2018 had just seen me return from my longest furlough (over four months) in the four years (New Hope encouraged singles to go home every Christmas, so I had been back in the States at least six weeks each year). The recently appointed member care person in the States and his wife had met with me in June 2017, and they knew I was stressed. They were the ones advocating for a longer furlough (four+ instead of the three months I originally planned). But, to be honest, the follow through/assistance wasn't great there, even though they very kindly opened their home to me for several days in December 2017.

Realistically, looking back, I can see that probably a quick turnaround wouldn't have worked. Reality is that it took me an entire year from major breakdown to eventual settling.

But emotionally, it's still very hard - that my mental/emotional struggles cost me the family and life in Uganda that I loved!!!

I HATE being a burden to people. And so when my soul heard that in what Geoff and Mary were, I'm sure, trying to say in the most loving way they possibly could, well ... I wrestled with it some, but I was done. The next morning they came over to my place and we talked it over a little more, and then I went into the office and talked to my supervisor and wrote my letter of resignation. Even the writing of it was so hard, I didn't want to do it, even though I knew it's what I needed to do so that I wouldn't be a burden anymore.

As I told my counselor the last time we met, I feel like I ruined my life by what happened in 2018. Even though I know that's not true, even though God has so graciously brought me back into a work-family and job that I LOVE, at this point in my life it feels like I'll always regret resigning from New Hope. Saying goodbye to my home of four years was painful!!

I'm sorry this post is so heavy and negative. But there is a wrestling with the effects of mental illness, and this is the weightiness of that.

This post also wouldn't be complete without saying that I got to see Geoff and Mary again, just recently!!! It was *amazing* to see them again, to give them big hugs, and to just sit and talk in person and catch up. They were in the Dallas area just for a couple days for a wedding, and very kindly took a couple hours to stop and see me at my office :) So no, I'm not debilitated by bitterness towards them. But there are painful questions that I didn't ask ... but that I probably need to.

All that to say ... I didn't know what song I was going to put on this post, but as I wrote this one came to mind. Even if, worst case scenario that I doubt is true, Geoff and Mary and everyone else really did cast me off, there's a greater ONE who will never stop fighting for me. His love is boundless, and He never grows weary. Praise Him!!

Written March 24, 2021

P.S. I'm about to "release" this post on my Facebook page connected with this blog. But I couldn't let it go as is without adding an addendum. Because before I visited Uganda in August, I did have a long Zoom chat with Geoff and Mary - and I did ask those hard questions that I hadn't mustered up the courage to ask in person.

In a way, I didn't get a definitive answer. They couldn't remember either whether they suggested that I resign or whether that was my idea. But they did communicate clearly in that most recent conversation with them that what they did was out of love. And I found healing in that.

I also found so much emotional closure and healing from my visit back to Uganda. But that is the subject of a future blog post; one that I have already written but that will be published here when its chronological turn comes!

Written Oct. 30, 2021

Chapter 2: The Psychiatrist ~ Feb. 2018

 This post picks up right where the last one left off.

On Feb. 1, a couple of the leaders met to discuss my situation. I wasn't there, but as Mary told me later, "I wish you could have been a fly on the wall to know how much those people love you!"

Mary and I called my parents together and filled them in on some things, and told them about the plan moving forward.

The plan that was put in place was for me to go with Uncle Jonnes, the Ugandan founder of NHU, as well as my sister Harriet to Kampala early the next morning to see a psychiatrist friend of Uncle Jonnes'. I don't remember for sure, but I think I slept very little, if at all.

I packed a bag, just because I was feeling unstable enough that I knew hospitalization was a possibility.

But it didn't come to that, thankfully.

I don't remember how long the psychiatrist and I talked, but she diagnosed me with Major Depressive Disorder, with the understanding that it might be Bipolar ... there just wasn't enough evidence yet for the latter diagnosis.

Back up.

Before our early morning departure from New Hope, Uncle Jonnes spoke to me briefly & privately. He said that he felt like the issues I was facing may be stemming from some inner sin. {He and Mary had spent a couple hours talking with me through some things the Sunday before.} My response in that moment was that I was confessing things that came up that I knew about, and so he was like "all right then, let's go."

If I had known then what I know now after years of reflection ... the frustrations and bitternesses towards some of my fellow NHU/M staff members .... I think I would have answered him differently. Come to think of it, I believe that's one of my big regrets and missed opportunities from the whole situation.

So, I left the psychiatrist's office with two prescriptions - an anti-depressant and an anti-psychotic. I would continue taking those two medications until mid-July.

At the psychiatrist's suggestion, I was also given sick leave for the month of February. During those days, I spent most of the time in my room, reading a couple different books that Mary and my mentor had suggested to me.

The anti-psychotic helped me sleep, and the anti-depressant helped stabilize my emotions .... Until I tried to start working half days in the office towards the end of the month. But I still had pretty low motivation, low appetite, and lack of drive in decision making.

Mind you - Kasana, where I lived, is out "in the bush," as they say in Uganda - away from the towns on the main road. To get down to see my psychiatrist every couple of weeks was at least a three-hour trip on public transportation - one way. This was one of the problems with my care plan, which wasn't the fault of anyone ... it was just a fact.

The third time I saw my psychiatrist, after I attempted to start working again and instead spiraled down emotionally once again, she suggested that my sick leave be extended by two weeks again, which would put me in the middle of March.

But March is a story for another day.

I didn't know what song to put on this post. This is the first one that came to mind. Obviously it's been written quite a bit more recently than the month this post is about. And I don't add this song to say it has already been accomplished in me ... But rather that this song is still something I need in this area of my life.

Written March 22, 2021

Chapter 1: The Breakdown ~ Jan. 24, 2018

 As I write this, the date is January 24th. A date I've looked on with regret and disappointment for the past three years.

I don't even know where to begin in talking about January 24th, 2018.

First, I guess, I should set the stage a bit:

• Jan. 9th & 10th, traveled back to Uganda after my longest furlough (4+ months) in the States.
• Jan. 12th, came down with influenza: fever, body aches, headache, coughing & general weakness over the next four days. Barely left my bed during that time.
• Jan. 17th, the New Hope Uganda annual staff conference started, and I attended, even though I still had a lingering cough.
• Jan. 23rd, woke up at 1:30 a.m. and lay tossing in bed the rest of the night. I was worried about getting back into working at the NHU Admin office after being gone. That was the last day of the staff conference.
• I went to bed really early that night, because I was so tired. Slept about two hours, than woke up and didn't sleep again. My mind kept circling around the celebration meal we would be having the next evening - Ateso food (Teso is a region of Uganda). I love my Ateso friends dearly, but my worst digestive issues were from when I visited our Kobwin center in Teso.

Finally the sun rose on Jan. 24th. It was supposed to be my first day back in the office, finally focusing solely on my Communications Coordinator responsibilities. This is what I had been wanting for years!! But, as I said above, I had only slept a couple hours. However, I was determined to have a good start -- meeting peoples' expectations and not falling short or showing weakness. So off to the office I went!

But it didn't take very long at all for my lack of sleep to catch up to me. As I sat at my desk in my new office, trying to write up a blog post about the past week of Envisioning (the staff conference), I instead found myself doubting everything - wondering if I even really believed in God. Looking back, it sounds overdramatic to say something like that. But in those moments and hours, that's how I felt.

Eventually I wondered down the hallway back to my old office in Sponsorship - where my "sister" Christine and my former supervisor Auntie Jill were working. I told them some of what was going on -- in fact, I may have even stopped by their office when I first arrived at the admin block ... the details are growing fuzzier of that day. And Jill, a proper Brit, told me "You're shattered - you can't expect yourself to think straight. GO HOME and get some rest." She walked me home.

I called my mentor, Susan, on the phone - but as often happened, I couldn't get through to her (she lived in a more remote village). I guess I probably sent her a text message. Then I lay down - but my thoughts were not dwelling in helpful or pleasant places. And I couldn't fall asleep, despite being exhausted. Before long, I started pacing my room. I felt trapped, like I couldn't get out of what I was feeling.

A couple hours later, Susan called me back. I think I told her on the phone what was really going on, and she asked permission to call Mary, an American nurse. Susan was waiting for someone to pick her up and bring her to Kasana Children's Centre, where I lived - and Mary was on her way back from somewhere (probably Kampala) and so couldn't come right away.

But she did call the nurses at the clinic, asking them to come check on me. I think my house-sister Harriet arrived home about then. I don't remember anymore what exact order things happened. I was on my bed, face down, groaning. I could hear one of the male nurses at my front door, with the husband of one of my other sisters. And I didn't want to see them.

Finally Mary arrived and I told her that I just wanted to die. At first she was like "let's get a malaria test done" - but then she asked me "Esther, is this physical or spiritual?" And I said "Spiritual!" "All right," she said, "We can deal with that." So she called in four of the Kasana church elders - her husband, Susan's husband, another of the American pastors, and Uncle Jonnes (the co-founder of NHU).

Susan arrived too, and the six of them plus my sister Harriet spent a couple hours praying for me and talking to me, seeking to encourage me. Once the guys left for the Ateso dinner, Susan, Harriet, Mary and I continued talking some more in the living room, and then we sang quite a few different worship songs both in the living room and in my room.

Someone brought us food from the Ateso dinner, and I ate some (and didn't get sick, might I add!!). I was soooooo tired, and eager to get to bed. But that night, I couldn't sleep either. I distinctly felt at peace instead of worrying about something, but I couldn't let go of consciousness for some reason. 

At 3 a.m. I went to Harriet's room, tired of being alone in my own. We lay down in her queen bed, and finally I fell asleep ... only to have a vivid, disturbing dream. I went back to my own room and tried getting in touch with my parents.

The story goes on an on from there ... but that day was, in a way, the beginning of my journey with mental illness.

The next week saw me sleeping only when medicated, either by Mary or a medical doctor in Kampala who I went to go see to make sure there wasn't anything physical-health related (all the tests came back normal). I did not like the medication the doctor put me on - it made me feel totally flat emotionally.

On Jan. 31st, I met with my supervisor who had arrived back in the country. I assumed Mary had apprised her of how I was struggling, both emotionally and with sleep. So I let out some of my inner angst, which caught my supervisor off guard. That set in motion a meeting between Mary, the two NHU head leaders, and my supervisor the next day.

As I thought ahead about this post, and as I was typing it out, I didn't know what song to put with it. It has felt to me like there has been no victory, no redeeming of what happened that day. Like it's just an old raw wound in my heart that has become a big ugly scar. But then as I was nearing the end, the song "Jesus, Lover of My Soul" sung by Michael Card came on my "refocusing" playlist - And somehow it just fit. NOT because I did everything right that day and in the aftermath of it, BUT because Christ IS the Lover of my soul - especially in my brokenness.

Written Jan. 24 & Mar. 22, 2021

Preface C: The Burnout ~ Aug. 2016-Aug. 2017

 It's the middle of the night and I'm awake. This happens from time to time, especially when I'm careless about drinking caffeine too late in the day!!

This preface isn't the easiest to write. I think it's because I still love New Hope Uganda and don't want to reflect poorly on its ministry or staff. But this is part of my story now. Choices were made--by me and by others--that contributed to my burnout and breakdown. Writing is how I best process, and I'm hoping writing this out will help me gain a deeper level of closure.

Before I dive in, know that August 2016 found me juggling two roles/sets of responsibility: I was serving as both the Assistant Sponsorship Coordinator (since Sept. 2014) and as the Communications Coordinator (since July 2015).

The Heartbreak ~ August 2016

Looking back over the years, I think it started in August 2016. It was at our monthly staff meeting that the bombshell dropped ... we were told that one of the department heads had stepped down or resigned. I clearly remember not being able to stop the tears running down my cheeks even in the middle of the meeting. As soon as I could get home afterwards, I collapsed sobbing on my floor.

My heart was broken over why he had to resign, over the emotional pain his wife must be going through, and over the guilt the enemy tried to whisper into my mind and heart.

I had been close to this family ever since returning to Uganda as an NHU staff member in September 2014. I knew that at their home, I was always welcome to drop in for fellowship and dinner. When a creeper pursued me for a time, it was this uncle* who had helped handle the situation. Their baby was the first I ever felt move inside his mother, and the youngest baby I had ever held. My life was intertwined with theirs, they were my Ugandan family.

I am being vague as to the reasons of their leaving New Hope because I'm trying to tell my story, not theirs. But as one of those looked upon as a young up-and-coming pillar in the community, his resignation was a huge disappointment to many, not just me.

The next month, still somewhat reeling from the personal/emotional fallout, I attended my first NHU Foreign Staff retreat where I finally shared in a group setting how it had impacted me. Then, in October, I traveled to South Africa with two fellow staff ladies for a Thrive retreat/conference, where I continued trying to process the loss.

But my disappointment left me tempted to swear off of such close relationships. As I wrote a couple years ago in another blog post, 

"That day I was so tempted to make a vow of sorts—a vow never again to get so close to another family that I would open myself up to that kind of pain. A vow never to trust and admire someone as I had allowed myself to do with him—because such Christian familial love had wounded me deeply.

I thank God that I stopped myself from making that decision. I knew it was the wrong decision—a decision that would let the enemy win. And so I continued to grow in relationship with many other sisters and couples. But that wound still aches when I think of it. I think I allowed that and other things which began developing around the same time to plant a seed of hopelessness in my heart. I did my best to process and forgive….but somehow I think I closed off a little cupboard of bitterness inside my soul."

*All NHU staff members are referred to as "Uncle" or "Auntie".

The Changes ~ Sept. 2016 and beyond

Right about the same time, there were transitions happening in the U.S. office (called New Hope Uganda Ministries to distinguish it from the Ugandan-based ministry of New Hope Uganda). At the same Foreign Staff retreat I mentioned above, the interim president of NHUM came to Uganda for the first time in his new role. 

Without going back through all my old Ugandan Reports or journal entries, recalling all the details now isn't easy. It's also probably not necessary. Let's just say, the U.S. office was wanting to become more actively involved in recruiting sponsors for our NHU kids. At the same time, I was feeling rather out of the loop as the Communications Coordinator. Things would get published and sent out by NHUM about NHU, and only later would I see them at all. {Yes, that's probably just as peevish as it sounds.}

During the same September retreat, I met with the National Director, my supervisor as far as communications and my supervisor's supervisor as far as sponsorship. I told her everything I was doing, and we made the decision that I should stop juggling two roles. I knew I wanted to focus wholly on my responsibilities as Communications Coordinator, because that included writing which is my first love. 

Little did I know then it would take a full year for me to get out of the Sponsorship office!

The Furlough ~ April 2017

No, in this case it was not my furlough, but the Sponsorship Coordinator's - from April to August of 2017. Her absence meant that I was solely responsible for:
    a) running the sponsorship program for 400+ children in the care of NHU; 
    b) producing monthly videos, weekly blog posts, and daily Social Media posts for NHUM communications; 
    c) training my replacement for the Assistant Sponsorship Coordinator position, who had been hired in January 2017;
    d) figuring out my own schedule since the National Director was also on furlough, and her stand-in asked me to manage myself;
    e) daily life in my host culture, including leading weekly devotions in one of the seven family groups, and being involved in leading two Bible studies;
    f) caring for my supervisor's cat (sounds easy, but there was a lot of floor mopping going on).
    g) Oh, and I mustn't forget revamping the sponsorship program, i.e., holding meetings every week with the organization's top leadership ... in the absence of the 15-year veteran Sponsorship Coordinator.

And yes, if this comes across as a little whiney and complaining, you're picking up the right vibe. I was overloaded, and I most definitely felt it. But I had my eyes glued on the end of August 2017, when it would be my turn to go for a furlough!!! I felt like I just had to push through a few more months, and then I could crash and rest back home in the States.

Turns out I couldn't make it.

The Mini-Breakdown ~ May 2017

Not more than six weeks after the Sponsorship Coordinator left on her furlough, I had what I now call my mini-breakdown.

The founder of the organization was leading us in weekly times of prayer and fasting, on Tuesdays. Also on Tuesdays were the meetings with the top ministry leadership about making changes to the sponsorship program. Which sometimes led to stretching discussions with my replacement who wasn't completely familiar with New Hope yet.

Tuesdays were tough days.

Then, add on to that 1) our water tank right outside my bedroom window was leaking almost constantly and 2) the maintenance team wanted to scrape and repaint the ceiling of my bedroom, my only private space since I shared a house with three Ugandan sisters. The latter was supposed to happen on a Monday, so I had prepped everything for them - covered things, pulled things out into the hallway, etc. etc. because I didn't want paint chips/dust in my stuff. My bed was covered with things I had picked up off the floor. It was all ready.

And they forgot to send the painters in.

So that night I slept on a foam couch "cushion" on the cement floor rather than uncovering my bed all over again. And the next day they actually did come!

So Tuesday evening, I was told my room was done.

I remember so well walking through the door of my room, looking at the paint smears on my floor and the trash left behind in the corner, and being instantly angry. So angry.

I forced myself to take a shower to try and clear my mind. I hated myself for how angry I was! And by the end of my shower, I was on the cement floor crying. I couldn't seem to get a hold of myself, to stop crying, to move on.

Eventually, the Holy Spirit dragged me to a friend's compound (yard). I didn't want to go talk to anyone, I didn't want to show my weakness. But I knew that's what I needed. Every step of the way to the Britton's home, I wanted to turn around and go back. Even after I was standing in their yard, I thought I could still sneak back away ... but ... "Hello?" - Geoff had heard or seen me.

So in I went, still on the verge of tears - interrupting the end of a dinner they were having with another couple from elsewhere in Uganda. But Mary graciously took me back to her bedroom, heard my tale of woe, comforted me and prayed for me.

It was a week before I slept in my own room again because of the smell of paint.

And that was the foreshadowing of my emotional/mental troubles which would rear their heads again the following year.

This song fits this post, both because it is in Luganda, but also because even through all the struggles of that year, God is faithful.

Written March 15-16, 2021