dear christian,

you do know that you can love the Lord and still struggle? have faith in God and still feel (and admit) pain? that it's okay to feel sad? or weary? angry? anxious? confused? scared or crushed?

if not, this blog is for you.

why would the bible tell us to cast all of our anxiety on Him (for he cares for us) if we never felt anxious? or tell us that He's close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit if we never had to nurse a broken heart or deal with a crushed spirit? why would He invite us to come to Him when we're weary if we never grew tired or to lift our eyes to the hills (because that's where our help comes from) if we never needed help?

the good thing is, if you look close enough, you'll notice that our remedy is found in each of these verses; his help and care. His closeness. an invitation.

our remedy is found in Christ, but that doesn't mean that we can't admit when we're in pain.

i've received countless texts and emails over the past month thanking me for 'being vulnerable', which just goes to show me that one, people find vulnerability refreshing, and two, people long for a safe place where they can be vulnerable, too.

so friends, can we do what we can to lead the way in being real this week? that doesn't mean you have to write a blog for the whole world to see or call a family meeting. for you, it may look like texting a friend or being brave enough to answer a "how are you?" honestly and that's (more than) okay. and you know something? whatever you're wrestling with and feeling is okay, too. life can be scary and hard; what do you say we take off our masks, start letting people in, and run to the greatest remedy of all together?

i saw a post the other day that said that canada has four seasons: spring, dollar drink days, fall (pumpkin spice lattes what up!) and roll up the rim (HA), while others say that canada only has two: winter and construction.

i'd have to agree with the latter. at least every time i'm bussing down eglinton and my normal 20 minute route turns into a whopping 35.

but here's the thing, though construction can be messy and annoying, it has its benefits - building things that need to be built and fixing things that need to be fixed.

kind of like my heart.

i'm going to get really vulnerable here.

i wrote a blog the other day about my anger problem, or my hot-headedness, if you will, and how i had planned on working through it, starting with what i've stored up in my heart.

i'll have you know, i was serious about putting in the work.

in fact, that very day i asked the Lord why i was so angry, and i believe he answered me using four words/phrases: unforgiveness, unfulfilled desires, unmet expectations, and unprocessed grief.

one, unforgiveness.

i began to write a list of people who i believe i need to forgive, all of which are related to (my perception of) being abandoned, neglected and/or backstabbed. truthfully, i didn't get any further than this. i wrote down names and closed my journal. i mean, how does one forgive such deep hurt any way? by praying? releasing the hurt aloud? reminding myself of what Christ did on the cross for me and the grace that has been extended to me since (and still is)? i don't know. all i know is that he is working in me and propelling me to forgive. construction.

two, unfulfilled desires.

no matter how much i try and convince you, i've always wanted a family of my own. a hot husband. at least three little paulas running around (scary). a mother-in-law. (perhaps even scarier.) (please note: i also want peace and quiet, the ability to go to a coffee shop and read a book whenever the heck i feel like it and the freedom to travel as i see fit.) but in all seriousness, no matter how indifferent i act all of the time, i feel really angry that i don't have a family of my own, and have a hard time trusting that i ever will. construction.

three, unmet expectations.

this will always be a killer for me relationally, and i believe is somewhat tied to the season i am in and the void i feel due to the above. i have a hard time navigating through my expectations of people sometimes, figuring out what is realistic, what i can or can't ask of my friends, whether i'm putting unnecessary pressure on them to be something that they can't, and how and where the community we are called to in scripture comes into play here. the conflict i feel in regards to this is hands down my biggest frustration in life, but like i said the other day, what we've always known doesn't have to be what we always know. i'm under construction.

and lastly, unprocessed grief.

i don't even know what this means, really. i thought i was doing okay at processing the death of my parents, but then again, how can one measure success in this area? loss is without a timeline, grief knows no bounds, and well, i'm at a loss of how to do this 'properly'. (i have an appointment with my counsellor next week to try and figure this out.) all i know is that while i am super happy for all of my friends who still have their parents, i'm really pissed that i don't have either one. (how's that for honesty?) con-freakin-struction.

but, like i said at the beginning of this blog, temporary construction benefits the permanent, and i'm working on fixing and building my way to a smoother road.

under construction? take heart. "he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus" (philippians 1:6)

there are three different ways to wake up: on the wrong side of the bed (depression), in the middle of it (numbness/indifference), or my favourite, on the right side of the bed (full of joy.)

one, depression.

i open my eyes and wonder if this is my reality. i find it hard to breathe. the air suffocates me and a thick darkness envelops me. i close my eyes in hopes to numb the pain, but i wake again only to find out that it's still there, sometimes even stronger. it's completely life-sucking, but i do what i can to make it through to what i call stage two, indifference.

although i feel pretty indifferent while depressed, this particular type of indifference isn’t constant; this kind can be (temporarily) avoided with some good company, a beautiful hike, by catching a ball game or diving into a good book. essentially anything that brings me life. and this is where i am today. i'm not suffocating, i don't feel completely hopeless and energy-less, but i do feel indifferent, and at this stage, i find myself fighting to find my joy again.

when i find it, i'm at my best. it's where you'll see and experience the part of me that's full of life. contagious and fun to be around. encouraging. life-giving. happy.

of course, being happy all the time isn't anyone's reality, and although i will never say (or believe) that depression is a necessary part of life, i do believe that low-times are; they keep you grounded and thankful, give you something to fight for, and if you allow them to, help you become more compassionate and understanding.

truth be told, i prefer waking up on the right side of the bed, but the more i live, the more i realize that life requires some form of balance and shouldn't be lived on one side of the bed alone. that is, unless you prefer sleeping on an extremely uncomfortable, lopsided mattress.

i walked into his office angry. after all, he told me that he specialized in helping people with their anger.

only, he couldn't help me. i just got finished telling him that i felt 'destructively angry', and he, well, wanted to show me the anger thermometer that he drew using fifty shades of red. (bet you thought i was going to say grey, didn't you?)

"this is when you are feeling angry", he said as he pointed to a lighter shade of red. "and this", he said pointing to a deeper red, "is when you're really mad. see the difference?"

i stared at him blankly. which part of your thermometer would one be on when they felt like punching someone in the face, i thought.

needless to say, i wasn't impressed with his colour wheel; i handed him my money and left even more angry.

i made really dumb decisions that week, to no fault of my own. the truth is, i didn't know how to process all of the anger that i was feeling that day, nor did i know the root of it, and truthfully, i sit here just as angry years later.

the castrucci way is to stuff everything, blow up, and stuff again. that's all i've ever known. but thankfully, with a lot of work, patterns can change; all we have ever known doesn't have to be all that we ever know.

not sure who i am writing this for today. maybe for me. maybe for you. but whether you're wrestling through deep rooted anger or shame (i feel that at times, too), or working through an addiction or an unhealthy thought pattern, today is a new day. today, you can make a change. today, you can heal (or at the very least, make a step towards healing.)

that's what i will be doing today, starting with searching my heart (out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks - luke 6:45), and practicing biting my tongue (fools vent their anger, but the wise quietly hold it back - proverbs 29:11.) wish me luck.

introducing a (hopefully) helpful guide on how to walk someone through grief and/or mental illness (please note: this is simply my opinion based on years of walking through it myself, and walking others through it, too.)

first, the don'ts:

don't say "call me if you need anything". while the person who is depressed or grieving may pick up the phone to make a call once in a while, this is highly unlikely. the one in deep pain (especially in regards to grief) shouldn't be in charge of reaching out. pick up the phone. if they want to talk, they'll answer, and if they don't, they know you care.

don't expect a response right away (and sometimes, ever). i'm weird in the sense that i will (eventually) reply to every single message i receive, but not everyone has the energy to. either way, the person you send texts/emails/mail to reads all of them, and appreciates your sentiment. being thought about is most helpful.

grief: don't say things like "God must have wanted another angel" or "she is with Jesus in heaven now". while the latter may be true, and comforting at times, the person grieving knows this, and would rather their mother/husband/child be with them now. selfishly, eternity (or whatever) can wait. it's eternity.

depression: don't say things like "snap out of it" or "you need to pray more". both are inaccurate and often harmful. snapping out of it isn't an option (don't you think we would if we could?), and chances are, they are praying (if they in fact, pray.)

and lastly, check in when you can. grief exceeds the funeral (in fact, this is when they'll need you the most), mental illness is a process, and checking in when you can is key. (disclaimer: you can't do all the 'fighting' for your friends, either. they, too, need to put in the work, but there are times when we need to carry each other and help one another heal and succeed. know the difference.)

secondly, the do's:

let the wounded lead. ask questions. see where they're at. don't assume that they want to talk. they may just need a break from thinking or an excuse to leave their room.

example: my friend adriana was the perfect person to greet me at the airport the day after my mom passed away. she hugged me, asked me how i was in that moment, and then asked me what i felt like doing. in that particular moment, i felt like being normal. we went out for lunch and caught up on life, hung out with her dog, watched suits [staring at harvey spector is healing], and then when i needed to, i processed what happened the morning before and cried. she didn't assume how i was feeling and act accordingly; she asked me how i was feeling, and let me lead.

enter into their pain. we tend to distance ourselves from our loved one's pain because we feel uncomfortable, and/or avoid the elephant in the room because we feel awkward. but here's the thing (and i have to remind myself of this when the tables are turned) - we're called to "rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn" (romans 12:15), and your friend's struggle with grief (or mental illness) isn't about your comfort level.

and lastly, be practical, and show up.

i'll never forget how great my friends were when my mom died. i received countless hugs, had cards and flowers mailed to my house, had meals cooked for me, money given to me to cover my bills, and the list goes on, all of which helped a great deal and kept me going during moments i didn't think i could, or had no desire to.

in times like these, my mind often goes back to the story of job. this dude knew pain. he had everything (ten kids, thousands of animals, a ton of servants, and good health), and lost everything just like that.

"when job’s three friends, eliphaz the temanite, bildad the shuhite and zophar the naamathite, (i would totally give them nicknames) heard about all the troubles that had come upon him, they set out from their homes and met together by agreement to go and sympathize with him and comfort him. when they saw him from a distance, they could hardly recognize him; they began to weep aloud, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads. then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights. no one said a word to him, because they saw how great his suffering was" [job 2:11-13]

but then, in chapters four, eight and eleven, job's friends open their mouths, and, in an attempt to find a solution to his pain, start blaming him and his sin for his loss (which, as you'll notice from reading chapter one, isn't the case at all).

take it from their example, don't try and figure life (or death) out, make excuses as to why something is happening to one of your friends, or feel the need to come up with a solution. though job's friend's fell into that trap the second time, they had it right the first; they showed up, felt his pain, and sat with him in it.

and that's all most of us need when we're struggling, too.