“I don’t know who I am,” Kevin said softly to himself. It was as if he had amnesia, except he realized he hadn’t forgotten his past; he had just never really known who he was. Kevin thought about his childhood and teenage years and realized he had never felt fully present or actively engaged. It seemed to him that he was always moving on the edges of life.

When Kevin was a small child, he was just Danny’s younger brother.

Danny was older and smarter and stronger. Danny was larger than life — at least larger than Kevin’s life. When he was in junior high, he’d relished his intentional ability to seem invisible — it had been an excruciatingly awkward time when anonymity was often a blessing.

In high school, Kevin blended in as one of a group of guys, unremarkable individually, but who found solidity in numbers. Adrift after high school, he never finished college and instead found his identify in managing a fast-food restaurant. Adulthood meant recognition as a uniform and a nametag not as an individual.

When Kevin got married, he became Sheryl’s husband, she being much more outgoing than he. It was the same after the kids came. His identity expanded to Heidi and Steven’s father. But the older they got, the less they seemed to need him.

As he thought about it, Kevin realized his sense of self always came as a corollary to someone else.

“If  I’m going to get over this,” he said, “I’ve got to learn who I am.”

LEARNED INVISIBILITY

When Kevin came to us, it wasn’t because of any major trauma in his life. Yes, his kids were teenagers, but they were doing fairly well with the adolescent transition. He’d settled into a comfortable relationship with Sheryl and his job was stable. Yet Kevin was battling a profound depression. He didn’t understand why and couldn’t see any way out of it.

What began as a couple of sessions of counseling through his employee assistance program at work became a yearlong journey through his young adulthood, into early middle age. Through this journey, Kevin became acquainted with someone he’d never really taken time to know before — Kevin.

In Kevin’s household there was only room for one dominant personality — his mother. She ran the household, her husband, and her children. Opinionated and vocal, her personality permeated the entire house. She did not allow others to express strong feelings, either positive or negative. She was the conductor of all thoughts, feelings, and opinions in the house. Others could attempt to express themselves but only at her direction. Kevin’s older brother, Danny, waged a constant battle, chafing against these restrictions. As he watched the fallout between this clash of wills, Kevin determined never to be put in that position.

Unlike Danny, Kevin was afraid of his mother.

Over the years Kevin developed a pattern of withdrawing into himself, of becoming “invisible” around his mother, forcing himself to merge his identity and personality into hers. What she liked, he liked. What she didn’t, he didn’t. If he had a different feeling or reaction, he did not express it. He came to understand that this was the tactic used by his father, who seemed to “click” himself off whenever Kevin’s mother entered the room, retreating to the television or the newspaper.

Kevin continued this pattern by aligning himself with other, more dominant, personalities. He allowed himself to take his sense of identity from other people in his life. It seemed safer that way.

This pattern produced a perception that Kevin was unremarkable, that he had few thoughts and opinions, that he was a follower and not a leader. He became the type who would be chosen by a leader, but not chosen to lead. By the time he reached middle age, Kevin was no longer content to be considered unremarkable. He longed for others to see him as a person of value and worth. But he was afraid it was too late. Kevin was afraid he would spend his whole life hiding in the shadows.

In order to overcome depression, Kevin needed to understand that it was safe to come out of hiding.

Are you depressed? Though no replacement for a formal diagnosis,  this survey can help you recognize the signs.

SOURCE: Chapter 5, “Family Dynamics,” in Moving Beyond Depression by Gregory L. Jantz, PhD., founder of The Center for Counseling and Health Resources Inc.

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In a fallen world, the path to healing can be long. Therefore, perseverance and stamina are essential. Because anger, fear, guilt, blame, and shame drain us and make our life seem dark, exhausting, and fraught with problems, it is vital for us to remember that while we are on the path to healing, our minds show us the way, but our spirit energizes us, and our bodies get us there.

Negative emotions sap us of our mental and physical strength, but the opposite is also true: Positive emotions invigorate us, giving us the boost we need to continue on through difficult stretches.

PAM’S STORY

Grief crept up on Pam in the middle of a sunny afternoon, with flowers all around. Staying inside just wasn’t an option on such a beautiful day, so she’d gone out in the backyard to weed.

As she worked her way through the warm, damp garden beds, she came upon the calla lilies. Peeking up through the broad green leaves was the first blossom. Grief slammed down hard as Pam remembered this was her father’s plant. He’d painstakingly transported it from family home to family home across three states. When she’d moved into her first house, her father’s calla lily went with her.

Pam sat back on her heels, tears springing to her eyes. It wasn’t fair that her father was dead; he was too young. It wasn’t his time to go. He should have taken better care of himself. Look at all she and her family missed because of his death. Her children would grow up without knowing their grandfather. No more holiday celebrations. No more vacations to see grandma and grandpa. No high school graduations. No sharing college plans. No weddings. No great-grandchildren. The only interaction left for her children was with a memory, fast fading as they grew up, and pictures in frames on the piano in the living room. Not a living, breathing, laughing, loving grandfather.

Anger welled up inside her, causing even more tears. It just wasn’t right. It just wasn’t fair.

“Stop,” she told herself firmly. “It’s not his fault he’s dead. It’s not God’s fault either.” Pam’s father had died of congestive heart failure after a series of heart attacks, beginning when she’d still been in school and living at home. He’d done what he could to moderate the damage — he lost weight, quit smoking, and became more active. The damage was done, though, and it eventually caught up with him.

“Don’t dwell on this death,” she told herself, gently working the weeds away from the base of the plant. “Concentrate on his life!” As soon as her daughter got home from school, Pam took her out in the yard, showed her the beautiful new blossom coming up, and reminded her about her grandfather.

SOURCE: Chapter 5: “Transformation,” God Can Help You Heal by Gregory L. Jantz, PhD., founder of The Center for Counseling and Health Resources Inc.

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