Taking Heed

“I think you are depressed.” My doctor’s words shocked me, and I protested. I chose to be Daddy’s caregiver, and I found joy in all that I did for him. I also loved my job as a school administrator, and with my accumulated leave, I worked flex time to care for Daddy as needed.

My doctor persisted. “How are you really doing?” Her question triggered tears and honesty. Yes, even though I was
seeing a counselor, I was floundering. I admitted I could not concentrate at work. Simple tasks overwhelmed me. I slept less than three hours a night, my mind knotted with worry about Daddy. My cheerful persona shrouded the turmoil within.

I reluctantly agreed to begin a mild antidepressant. Then I hesitated to fill the prescription. I shouldn’t be so weak. Why didn’t Jesus simply make me better? I prayed for wisdom about the medication, and God’s peace came. After a few weeks on the medication, I began sleeping all night. Now that I felt rested, I handled all my responsibilities better and with renewed joy.