Stopping the Snowball

I love to serve others. I love taking meals around to a friend who’s just had a baby or is ill. I love tidying the house thinking how happy it will make my husband when he gets home (not in a 1950s way, but in a, “I know my husband loves a tidy house so although it doesn’t bother me, I’ll clear as much as I can for his sake”). I love being involved in church activities, whether by holding a house group in our lounge, or teaching in Sunday School, or giving a lift to church on Sunday.

These things bring me joy, especially as I know I am fulfilling the Lord Jesus’ command to love him and others.

But yesterday I hit a wall. It’s been looming for weeks, months even. I’ve been struggling to maintain the level of service that I’m used to. I’m tired all the time, depressed, can’t sleep, cry easily, get angered easily, and yesterday I phoned my mum in desperation because I knew I could not have the kids at home all day. My arms and legs were aching and wobbly, as if I had flu, but I’m not ill. My head ached. I couldn’t talk, couldn’t listen, and got furious when my daughter wouldn’t put her shoes on.

I’ve reached burnout.

I’ve done it before, perhaps not to this extent. Being highly sensitive means I’m generally overloaded just by an ordinary day, but Son#1 has been so awful recently and my daughter has reached the age of 3 (which has always been far harder than 2 in my opinion); my husband has had multiple health issues for two years, and at one point was rendered helpless by a back injury – leaving me to pick up all the child care and housework for a good 2-3 months.

On top of all this we were trying to serve our church, my husband as a deacon and music leader, myself running the creche and just trying to serve individuals who needed help, while hosting a home group, a seekers Bible study for women, and also trying to find help for Son#1.

I’ve been telling people for months that I’m struggling. I found a counsellor, tried to find someone in church who would pray with me or us regularly (failed).

I’ve been trying to give up different things, looking for someone else to take the creche off my hands, but in the end found there was nothing really that could be surrendered.

I’ve been telling myself what I’ve heard from others that actually we struggle when we are depending on ourselves, not Jesus, but when I tried to pray I would just end up sobbing and pleading for help, and telling Jesus all the things that were too hard to carry. Hardly constructive communication.

I felt like I was trying to stop a gigantic snowball that was racing down a hill, gathering up more and more Things To Do as it went.

We’ve agreed, husband and I, to take November off (as far as possible). We’ve arranged it so we’re not on any rotas for two full weeks, and we’re going to worship at other churches for those weeks, so that we can just be together in God’s presence as a family, as a couple. (Normally I’m strongly against ‘church hopping’, but desperate times call for desperate measures).

We’re also intending to take a couple of days together, one to go Christmas shopping – we did it last year and had a really good day together. The other day we want to spend a lot of time praying, stripping ourselves back and rededicating ourselves to Jesus.

Because here’s what I’ve realised. That snowball didn’t start rolling by accident. I packed it heavy at the top of the slope, picking up service here and rotas there. And trying to pry them off again was difficult.

Partly because our church is small, and there are not many local people to serve.

But mostly because I love people to see me serving. I want people in my church to admire me. I want people to hold me up as an example of a Christian woman. I want people to see my heart for God, and know that I love Jesus deeply.

Ugh. I’m very sick of myself right now. Very tired of my sinful heart that hides and sneaks and betrays me, even when I think I’m being ‘good’.

So I’m hoping this month to strip back my pride, my desires for admiration, my desire to be noticed. I want to get back to that pure heart, the one desire, the one thing that matters. I want to put down my serving tray, and with it my heavy, burdensome desire to be noticed, and I’m going to accept the humble service that nobody sees.

I’m going to remember that the only person who matters sees everything, and is made glad. He noticed the widow giving everything she had, when everyone else thought she was being cheap. He noticed Mary sitting at his feet, when Martha thought she was being lazy. He notices me, he knows my physical limitations and my desire to please him. He also knows my desire to please others, but he came to remove burdens and he loves me anyway.

He loves you too. He sees you too. Let it be enough.

Behind the emetophobia

Emetophobia is a fear of vomiting (or someone else vomiting).

I have suffered from it for as long as I can remember. I have encountered many who also suffer from it. A big part of it is shame, and a sense that you are somehow pathetic for not being able to just get on with being sick and then move on, like the rest of the population.

I have had therapy which helped me to overcome some of the fear. But I would still rather almost anything happen to me than catch a sickness bug.

I fear being sick more than anything else. (For some emetophobes the fear is broader – others vomiting near them, watching a vomiting scene on TV, even hearing or seeing the word written).

If you are like me, and fear being sick, it is quite possible that you share another trait with me – being a highly sensitive person.

An HSP has a brain which processes stimuli at a far deeper level than the average person. In real terms this means that experiences will be more intense, whether physical or emotional.

I believe this is why vomiting is something I avoid at all costs. Every single sense is stimulated unpleasantly: taste, smell, sight, hearing and touch. For the HSP it is an absolute bombardment of misery, and utterly out of their control.

No one likes being sick. Most people avoid it if possible. But for the HSP it is overwhelming.

Realising that this is part of who I am has helped. This is not going to go away, and that is discouraging. But the reason I hate it so much is not because I am weaker than everyone else, or just pathetic. It’s not because I did something wrong earlier in my life. It’s not because I suffered a traumatic experience. It’s just because of who I am.

And being highly sensitive, for me, has a massive upside. I am also incredibly sensitive to the many pleasant sensations that this world affords. I feel uplifted just by walking past a garden of beautiful flowers, or a peaceful river. I experience deep joy in watching my children play or holding my husband’s hand. And spiritual joys perhaps are easier to come by … one of the problems that seems to be exhibited by western Christians is a lack of wonder at the character of God. Yet I rarely struggle to find those emotions – perhaps they are closer to the surface than for the average person.2014-06-23 20.53.14

So although sickness is traumatic and awful, it really only lasts a few moments. It is far outweighed by the joys and pleasures that are just as intense and far more lasting. I just need to remember to focus on those, instead of fearing the worst all the time.

Why is life so hard?

“I had such a hard day yesterday. I felt exhausted and out of sorts. In the end I let the older two watch TV and had a bath while the little one played on the floor!”

“I’ve finally started to feel better after the flu, instead of utterly drained by the end of the day.”

Two comments I’ve heard from two friends in the past. And my inner response each time: “But that’s how I feel almost every day!”

I’ve been aware for a long time that I don’t seem able to cope with as much of life as many of my friends. I have put it down to various things … insomnia, post-natal depression, Crohn’s disease.

But I think I have finally found the real reason. I can’t put into words the sense of illumination that I experienced upon discovering the term ‘highly sensitive person‘.

I dislike the term intensely. It brings to mind shrinking violets, hot-house orchids, and people who fuss incessantly because everything isn’t ‘just so’.

But as I read through the list of characteristics, stumbled upon during an innocuous internet search, I could feel my inner self screaming with excitement: This is me!!

I have always reacted more intensely to pain and unpleasant sensations, crying more easily, and tiring more easily than many of my friends. I think deeply and intensely about everything, from which coffee to choose at the cafe, to why I am here and the meaning of suffering.

As I have thought through the implications of this trait, I can see how it has affected every area of my life, from infancy when my poor mother had to put my shoes on six times until there were absolutely no wrinkles in my socks, to my depression in my early twenties, to my current struggles as a mother of three.

I have always felt that unpleasant sense of being somehow less than other people, and perhaps this is because only 15-25% of the population would identify as highly sensitive, and among those there would be a spectrum. I suspect I am on the more extreme end, as I identified with every single trait, many of them strongly.

I think for people who are not very sensitive (which is about 40% of the population according to the research done by Aron), it would be very difficult to understand those who are. And I don’t think the chosen label helps very much with that. All it means is that my brain processes stimuli far more intensely, which means, practically, I will feel sensations and emotions more intensely.

The trait has been likened to autism (though it is not connected), in that the highly sensitive person will struggle to filter out things that the average person can. So an average person can filter out the extraneous noises in a room, while a highly sensitive person will have a harder time doing that.

What does it mean in real terms?

When I was a child, being hit on the head by a stray football in the yard would shake me up for a long time, even as a teenager. I would watch other kids laugh it off and carry on playing, while for me the pain throbbed, and I would be bombarded by emotions: shame and humiliation, especially as tears welled up in my eyes and I experienced fear that others were going to notice and laugh; an overwhelming urge to run away and hide somewhere quiet until my heart stopped pounding and the pain subsided; as well as a profound sense of shock. Netball was a tortuous experience. My instinct was always to duck rather than catch the ball, leading to mockery and disdain from my fellows and even, sometimes, the teachers.

I remember adults expressing extreme irritation and impatience towards me, as I began crying yet again, or failed to throw myself into whichever experience they had decided would be good for me, including running through freezing hail, mud and rain, flinging myself with abandon over a hard and heavy pole, and practicing throwing and catching a hard missile that threatened to slam into the side of my head at any moment.

I can see how, if you are less sensitive, a child who cries easily, startles easily, and is cautious must seem a bit pathetic and fragile.

I feel an intense pity for my child-self, and for any child who is trying to grow up in such an intense world, and a world so intent on admiring and exalting those who are bold and confident.

I’m hoping to write a series of blog entries about this, exploring how it has affected different areas of my life, starting with my emetophobia, in the hope that it will help others affected by the same trait, and also that it will help me process my life and find new reasons for joy in it.

Because although it is easy to see this trait as a negative thing (and believe me, I often wish I could be ‘normal’ and cope more easily with ordinary life), it has a wonderful flip-side. Although unpleasant experiences are felt more intensely and can lead to a life of avoidance, the highly sensitive person will also experience the highs and joys more intensely. They are quicker to appreciate beauty in nature, art and human expression. Sweetness is sweeter, joy is deeper, and pleasure more intense for the highly sensitive person.¬†49 Bute Park

I have often felt different for this reason too – my heart soars at the sight of mountains, oceans, sky, trees, flowers, babies. (Of course, this is not to say that the ordinarily sensitive cannot experience such joy also, just that it may be easier for the HSP to access these pleasures).

So although this trait comes with a hefty dose of negative, I wouldn’t exchange it. The joys are too great for that.