If you opened our guestroom door, this is what you would see.
Am I lazy? Maybe.
A terrible housewife? Possibly.
Putting off the inevitable? Definitely.
Sometimes our lives are messier than we want anyone to know about. We'd rather be seen as happy, (almost) perfect people, parents, Christians, employees, whatever. And then there are our messes.
I have other problems I could confess to, but this is the one on my heart. After a big project, like the conclusion of a production or the release of a book, I suffer with discouragement and depression. I don't know why. It doesn't have anything to do with the project's outcome. The play could have been perfect, the book can have great reviews, and yet I'm plagued with a gut-awful feeling. I'm like the kid who throws a tantrum because she doesn't want the day at Disneyland to end.
After twenty-seven full stage productions and the release of five books, I've come to realize a few things about myself. I thrive on the high energy leading up to a production. Opening Night is the greatest rush ever. The launch of a book is exposing dreams I've carried in my heart. It's scary, yet thrilling. I'm cautious, yet exhilarated. I want to live on that mountaintop forever, where I feel needed and useful and alive. But I can't stay there. Honestly, I would wear out entirely.
In the weeks leading up to the show or book release, I stay up until one or two every morning, working to reach my deadline. My to-do list is humongous. I'm tense and giddy. But there's nothing like the passion and joy I'm experiencing.
Then it's over.
In one fell swoop, my emotions plummet.
I don't like that place.
Can you relate? If you don't, imagine that time when someone you love gets on the jet to return home and you're left feeling sad and empty. Then multiply those emotions.
A year ago, after a great finale of A Taste of Joy, the high school production I'd written and directed about joy, I had the worst bout of depression--quite the opposite of joy! It was bad enough I seriously considered retiring from theater. The pain didn't seem worth the pleasure. Then, last October, when I released Summer's Dream, I had a similar reaction, although not as intense.
Since my heart's desire is to continue writing and directing--without the emotional struggle--I decided I had to try something different. Without going to a psychologist or turning to medicine, I needed a healthy plan that would work for me.
In my shed, I have over thirty, eighteen-gallon tubs filled with costumes: medieval, '20s, '50s, western. After each show, one of the biggest struggles I have is packing away costumes. I've likened the process to filling a coffin. Now, the costumes are only one aspect of a show, but it's one of the visual steps in helping young people become their character. I've made a lot of the clothes--or else searched many thrift stores for that perfect match--and I have a strong emotional attachment to them.
This year, I talked to my husband and let him know I wasn't going to pack up the costumes right away. In fact, I wouldn't do it until I was sure I could handle it. The day after the final curtain, he and I carried armloads of costumes into the guestroom and shut the door! Thus the picture at the top of this blog. A month past the show our guestroom looked like that. Good thing no guests showed up unexpectedly!
In the evenings I started setting the timer for fifteen minutes, and I'd go in and fold costumes in increments. I made sure to do this when Jason was home, so I wouldn't be facing it alone. I must confess, I haven't packed any tubs yet. It's the next thing on my agenda. Hopefully, I'm far enough removed from the emotions of the show that I can pack things without falling apart. Fortunately, my husband was understanding about the mess. At least I wasn't the mess this time! :)
The other thing I did differently was I planned things to do following the cast party. Before my production week, Jason and I talked about taking Monday off and going for a long drive. Starting early that day, we drove into Montana. It was a great time of coming down from the high emotions and talking a lot and seeing new things. We ate breakfast in Sandpoint, Idaho, lunch south of Kalispell, Montana, and dinner back home.
Also, I had another project to look forward to in the following weeks--finishing the editing and formatting for Autumn's Break. Both of those things took my full concentration and helped recapture my dreams.
I'm happy to say, my plan worked. I've had some letdown, but it's been minor. In the past I would never have admitted to being depressed. As a Christian, I like being joyful. But in truth, I was depressed, for a time. Putting off the hardest emotional part has helped me coast. As did making plans in advance of how I would spend the next weeks.
Our lives certainly have messy parts, don't they? But God is our healer. Our restorer. He gives wisdom and grace to help us through the most difficult tasks.
When you're facing something that seems too hard, what helps you get through?