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Page 1 of 2 Depression and Spiritual Growth
C. THE ROLE OF THE SUPPORT GROUP MEETING
While it is often true that a person's battle against mental illness is solitary, or at most in companionship with his/her therapist, support from the outside can make the struggle easier, and more likely to succeed. During the worst period of my depression in 1986 the Meeting was a sheltering port, all the more valuable because it was available every week. There are probably many roles a Meeting can play in the therapy of someone suffering from depression or bipolar disorder. I will comment on four that were the most important to me.
First (and most important!) is the continued acceptance and encouragement of the depressed person by other Friends in the Meeting. A mere warm handshake, or a hug, or a few words of concern and friendship can have a tremendous value to one who is depressed. These things provide direct evidence that the person is still regarded as a valid and valued member of the Meeting despite his/her present disability; and they serve as promises of the possibility of warm and happy future times even at this bleak moment. Many Friends in our Meeting helped me immensely in these ways.
Second is ministry by other members of the Meeting. This is important to all of us at all times, but may have a particular significance for someone who is depressed because it may provide useful insights or a powerful metaphor. Let me offer two examples. In August 1986 Kenneth Boulding stood one Sunday and said (approximately):
In life there are many forms of baptism:
There is baptism by water,
which cleanses us.
And there is baptism by fire,
which burns away the anger and the grief.
Finally, there is baptism by light,
with which we can become one.
I was still in deep depression at the time, but what he said had a tremendous effect on me (still does!). I instantly realized that I had already experienced his "baptism by water'' many times in my life. But by fire? And then I realized that that's where I was at the moment! His "baptism by fire'' was the perfect metaphor for the misery I was experiencing. It gave me a paradigm for what was happening, and where I was. I also wondered about the outcome he predicted. A few weeks later when the medication had put me back in the normal range, I found myself repeating Kenneth's deep and wonderful words in Meeting one morning, and I remember saying that "In some sense, which I certainly cannot describe, and which I don't pretend to understand, he was exactly right: the anger for past privation, and the grief for past mistakes and losses, are gone. Burned cleanly away. Further, it has burned away all the psychic refuse of a lifetime, which was blocking every door and path to the future. Now that it's gone, I see only openings, possibilities.'' At that time I had not yet experienced the Light as Kenneth described it. But I have now, and I can say again his metaphor was exactly right. Those few words of his made an immense difference to me at the time (and since). Perhaps it was just coincidence; but I don't think so.
The second example comes in the form of a poem describing the events of one Meeting in June 1986, which I wrote much later. I think it speaks for itself.
Sunday Morning, 1986
It is Sunday morning
or, as Quakers have it,
First Day. Quiet.
No one going to work.
Clear, the sun shining brightly.
It is unseasonably cold for June
thanks to the front that passed through last night.
We wolf down a hurried breakfast
because we are late, as usual,
jump into the car
and head downhill to the Meeting.
It's my fault that we're late.
I'm in the jaws of a remorseless depression,
and I'm moving slow.
Maybe (please God, maybe!) going to Meeting
will do me some good.
The road is alternately blasted with blazing sunlight,
or dappled with complexly woven shadows
of trees and bushes that crowd up to its edge.
Tiny purple, white, and yellow flowers
embroider the shoulder.
Amazingly, we arrive on time.
We are greeted by good friends.
Knowing what I'm going through,
some put down their own burdens for a moment
and minister to mine: strong handshakes,
some gentle pats on the back, a warm hug.
These are good people; they seem certain
that they and I together can keep me alive
until the illness runs its course.
I am not so certain.
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