I grew up a Christian. I declared my belief in Jesus as my savior when I was five-years-old. I loved Jesus. I embraced faith so easily when I was little, because the faith of a child is incomparable. Itās absolute. Itās flawless. There is no room for doubt in the heart of a child. Itās only when they get older that doubt creeps in, that they start to believe the hurtful things that people say. That they let themselves believe that maybe theyāre not as worthy of love as they once thought.
This is what you never saw when you looked at me.
Iāve been battling depression since I was thirteen.
It started small. I didnāt even realize what it was at first. It was like a heavy feeling, falling on my shoulders, burdening me. I let people convince me that I was just lazy. That I just needed to get out and do more things. I let people judge me and convince me that there was something wrong with me. And there was. But I couldnāt tell them. Because if I told them I was depressed, then that meant I wasnāt a good Christian.
How did I get this idea about myself? Based on religious views and the comments of others, I came to the conclusion that if someone said they were deeply depressed, it meant that there was something wrong with them SPIRITUALLY. That only made me more depressed, because apparently, there was ALREADY something wrong with me spiritually as I didnāt always agree with what others around me believed. I didnāt feel wrapped up in love, like the love Christ tells us to have for each other. I felt wrapped up in judgment and it was killing me.
Even when I would encourage others who came to me for advice, to be themselves, to believe what was in their hearts and trust it as Godās guidance, I was depressed. I would advise others, but then not take my own advice for myself. Because I had let depression convince me that I couldnāt be rescued from myself. That I was what others said I was. That there was simply something wrong with me and I had to examine myself (over-examine myself), to figure out what it was and fix it. I conformed myself to what others said I should be instead of thinking about who I was.
I thought there was something wrong with me because I wasnāt in a serious relationship by the time I was eighteen. I thought I was ugly. I was body-shamed, but not in the way you think. I was offered diets when I didnāt think I needed them. But I was happy with my bodyā¦until I wasnāt. Until I was convinced I shouldnāt be.
I was treated strangely for the curves God had given me. One moment I was told I was fearfully and wonderfully made by God; the next moment I was made to feel ashamed of the fact that I had a well-developed bust for a teenager. Like I should be ashamed of it and try to hide it. I had people coming up to me all the time, telling me to pull up my shirt. The problem? If Iād pulled up my shirt any more, it wouldāve been up against my chin. I wasnāt even showing cleavage! But I was ashamed of my body. Of something about myself that others (Iāve been told by family and friends alike in more recent years) wish they had.
I remember one time, years ago now, I was sitting outside one night with my dad and a friend. He was a young man, just a couple of years older than me, and he and my dad were talking about serious stuff. I canāt even remember the subject. At some point, my dad got up and went inside, leaving me alone with this friend. I was shy and insecure, unsure of how to approach any subject, but Iād been doing research lately and I was excited to share with someone. Iād just gotten the courage to say something, when the friend stood up and started to walk away, without a word to me. In a moment of pure frustration, even anger, I called after him and said, āYou donāt have to go inside. I have interesting things to say too, yah know!ā In response to this, he laughed and continued on his way, leaving me all alone. He laughed. Like I had made some big joke about my own intelligence. Like it was a joke to think I might have something to contribute to the conversation; something interesting and smart to say. He probably doesnāt even remember doing that to me and most certainly didn’t mean it the way I took it. But I remember. Because it crushed me. It affirmed all my insecurities that I wasnāt interesting; that I wasnāt smart.
The influence of people who arenāt even family on the teenage mind can be damaging. Because while my family reminded me every day that I was beautiful, talented, smart, and a good Christian, it was other people who had my ear. Other people who convinced me that my family and I were wrong about me. I still struggle with these thoughts every day. I was so convinced that there was something wrong with me, that I let those ideas become me. I lost my strength. I lost my fire. I lost all desire to make myself better because I let depression convince me there was nothing I could do to change what Iād become.
Yet with all these feelings roiling inside me, I smiled. I put on a faƧade. I convinced everyone who knew me that I was a happy, faithful person who was trying to be what they thought I should be. My mouth smiled at you; my eyes screamed for help. I laughed with you; my heart was shattering. I sang with you; my soul was crying.
This is what you never saw when you looked at me.
You said I was shy.
I felt WORTHLESS.
You said I was quiet.
I was ASHAMED.
You said I was easy-going.
I was DEPRESSED.
Depression is real. In many people. In all religions. In all aspects of life, depression is real and no oneāNO ONEāshould feel ashamed to say theyāre depressed. No one should be made to feel that there was something WRONG with them, because theyāre depressed. No one should ever feel that they arenāt a good Christian because theyāre suffering from depression. I suffered for years and kept my mouth shut, because I was so afraid of being judged by people who said they cared about me.
Maybe, to some, this sounds harsh. Maybe youāll even take offense; feel defensive. But my thinking, in the depths of depression, was based on things I was being told. On things that people said, sometimes directly to me. So, I kept quiet. I suffered in silence. I endured. But it was painful. I was devastated. I couldnāt drag myself out for a long time. I canāt undo my past, but I can move forward.
Because Iām pulling myself out now. Iām overcoming. Iām conquering and for the first time in my life, Iām happy with myself for WHO I AM.
God is my JUDGE.
The Holy Spirit is my GUIDE.
Jesus Christ is my SAVIOR.
This mighty Trinity is all I need to move forward. To keep going. My story isnāt over. Itās just beginning. So I ask only one thing of you.
Look at ME.
SEE ME.
See me for who I am. Not what you want me to be. Not what you think I should be. My name is Erica Marie Hogan. I love to write dramas and romances. I like vanilla lattes and chocolate. I change my hair color twice a year, just because. I think that if a tattoo is pretty and tasteful, thereās nothing wrong with it. I think nose piercings are pretty (I got one last October). If I could, Iād have a whole farm of cats and dogs, all mixed breeds, rescued and loved. I watch old movies, I love I Love Lucy, and I have ten-thousand books š (half of which I havenāt even read yet and half of which arenāt Christian Fiction or religious based). Iām 24-years-old and in no rush to be in a serious relationship with anyone; Iām happy being single for now. Iām the best introvert I know, but it doesnāt mean I donāt love my friends and family. It just means that crowds make me nervous, Iām more comfortable one-on-one with a friend, and I prefer being at home. Iām a bit claustrophobic.
I believe that, no matter what I do, no matter how bad things get, God is on my side and Jesus is here to save me.
This is me without my makeup on. This is me, vulnerable and exposed. This is me, unashamed to say that this is who I am and if you think Iām weird or in sin, then itās your loss. Iām not going to be ashamed of who I am anymore. Iām not going to pretend to be like you, just so youāll like me. Iām not going to let myself fall into that pit again.
Being depressed didnāt make me a bad Christian. What made me a bad Christian, was letting others whisper in my ear what was wrong with me instead of listening to the other Voice that told me what was RIGHT with me. God was always with me, I just forgot how to look for Him. The voice of depression told me I wasnāt worth it. It told me I wasnāt worthy of love or friendship. It told me to run away from someone who wanted to help me. From the first person I confided my years of battling depression to. I ran, because I didnāt think I was worthy of his help. I ran, because I didnāt think anything would actually help. I ran because I was afraid of being judged again. If that person is reading this, then he knows who he is and I hope he can forgive me. For cutting myself off. For going my own way.
The voice of depression told me that people who said they were my friends, didnāt really want to be my friends. That they tolerated me, instead of actually liking me. It told me I was annoying, ugly, full of sin, completely unworthy of Godās love.
But thatās not true. None of it. Not for anyone. The truth is, if we were all faultless, then we wouldnāt need Godās mercy. We wouldnāt need His forgiveness. I was led to believe that because I didnāt think the way others did, because I didnāt do things the way others did, it made me a bad Christian. I was convinced that I needed to change who I was in order to have a place in Godās heart and house. I didnāt believe that Godāor anyone else for that matterācould love me for just being ME. I thought I had to be better than myself to be loved and have friends. But whatās the point in having that kind of love and friendship if youāre miserable? It isnāt real, none of it.
I thought things youād never imagine I would think. I considered actions you never thought Iād consider. I kept secrets. I fell far. I was told that there were a lot of people far worse off than me and I should be grateful.
No one should have their feelings belittled. No one should be made to feel guilty for feeling. If you make a depressed person feel guilty, that just makes their depression worse. Trust me, I know. Guilt & Depression are old friends of mine. They work together like a poison, wrapping themselves around you like a snake, trying to squeeze the life from you. I felt guilty for being depressed. But no matter what a person is going through, no matter how small you think their troubles are, depression is still depression. It doesnāt matter if you think that person shouldnāt feel depressed. It doesnāt matter if you think they have nothing to really be depressed about. You donāt know whatās really going on inside. You donāt know what theyāre thinking. You donāt know about their health. You donāt know about what happens behind closed doors.
They are not yours to judge. As Christians, we are to love each other. Forget about the splinter in their eye and look at the plank in your own.
God is their judge. God is my judge. He did not appoint you to judge me. He did not give you the authority to tell me what you think is wrong with me.
Jesus said:
āA new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.ā
Nothing I say here, is said in bitterness or anger. Writing like this is how I heal. This is how I move forward. Some would say they told me the things that they did because they love me. But I canāt believe that. Telling someone over and over again how theyāve failed, how theyāre sinning, how they should be more like you, isnāt being loving. Loving someone is helping them; telling them that you think theyāre a beautiful person, no matter who they are or what they look like. Telling them they arenāt in sin just because their opinion differs from yours; their choice of dress differs from yours; their choice of living differs from yours.
Yesterday I did something I never thought Iād do. I got a tattoo. But not just any tattoo. I went out and got a semicolon on my wrist. Itās small and barely noticeable, but it means everything. Itās quirky, because Iām a writer ;). But it means something, too (if you donāt know what I mean, Google āProject Semicolonā). Thatās why I chose it. Because you know what? My story isnāt over. Far from it. Iām moving forward now, with a new sentence. A new chapter. A new life. Iām pulling myself out piece by piece, with Godās help, a loving family, and friends.
For the first time in a long time, I like myself.
I am not ashamed. I do not feel guilty.
Iām me, exactly as God made me.
And itās the best feeling in the world.
If you were at all offended by this post, then I am sorry. But this is me. I am finally saying what Iāve been screaming inside for years. Forgiveness is a powerful thing, and thatās what this post is about. I am moving forward now, which meansāin simple termsāI am āoverā the past. If you decide to remove my friendship on your social media because of this, then I am sorry. That is your choice, not mine. If you wish to leave a comment, then please leave something positive. This post is not meant to start debates or arguments. Any negative or defensive comments will be deleted. This post is meant to encourage any and all who have suffered with depression; to show that you can conquer this. That this point of your life shall pass. That you are loved and cherished, no matter what the world tells you. God is always with you, even in your darkest hour. Even if you donāt believe it.
I am LIVING proof of that.
Only one person knows of the plot against the royal family and cares enough to try to stop itā the servant girl they banished.
Ā Ā The Winter Queen has been planned as a series of books about three young princesses attempting to take back their father’s throne in the midst of the coming winter storm. It follows not only their loyalty and love for one another, but the lives of all the people around them who love them in return. It is the first project I’ve worked on with SO many POVs, which makes it difficult to write.
The best part of this, was discovering everything this book could be. WhenĀ The Winter Queen was one of three finalists in the ACFW First Impressions Contest in 2014, I was stunned. When it was offered a contract for publication, I was ecstatic. It made me realize this book could actually be something more than just some private entertainment for myself. It could actually make other people smile too and I wanted that more than anything.
Coffee, Chocolate, & Romance 