When Your Friends Don’t Get It: The Story That Led to Anxious Faith
In a recent episode of the podcast, we turned the tables on our host James, and instead asked him the questions. He shared his journey of mental health–both his own, and his family’s–and how it led to what is now Anxious Faith. In this blog post, James shares one of the moments that was part of that journey.
Written by James Burke, Australia
“We need to have a chat.”
If you’ve ever been on the receiving end of those words, you know how scary and daunting they can be; especially if you’re someone who struggles with anxiety.
The words came from a friend of mine, who I went to church with. He and another mate had invited me over to one of their houses to talk about the support both of their families had been giving mine. Support we badly needed: my wife suffers from an anxiety disorder she’s had since she was a child, we had a son in preschool, I had a boss who was demanding my presence in the office and denying flexibility, and there was also the second child growing inside my wife–not to mention the perinatal anxiety and depression that this pregnancy had brought on for her.
We were exhausted, strung out and barely coping from one day to the next, and these two wonderful families from our church had been lovingly helping by doing preschool pick-ups and drop-offs when I couldn’t make it, and looking after our son when I was working and my wife wasn’t able to.
What I didn’t expect was what my friends said next: “We don’t think we can help you guys anymore.”
That line rocked me to my core. Outwardly, I’d been holding it all together through everything leading up to that point; 8 years of marriage, raising a child, changing employment and housing situations, and acting as a carer for my wife–supporting her wherever and however I could. Yet as my work situation deteriorated and this pregnancy posed new mental health challenges for my wife, to have our friends’ support pulled out from underneath me was devastating. Until this point we’d been able to make it work; we were getting by. But without their help, I couldn’t see how we would.
My mind immediately spiralled: I wouldn’t be able to fulfil my boss’ demands of working only from the office, I’d lose my job, we’d lose our house because of not being able to pay rent, and we’d end up having to move in with one of our parents with a newborn as we tried to rebuild our life. And that wasn’t even considering the strain it would put on my wife’s already-depleted mental health.
They Just Didn’t Get It
Over the next hour, the conversation that played out with my two friends was one that I’ll never forget. They were approaching the whole thing with love. They wanted to see our family be able to grow and ‘stand on our own feet’. They were concerned that by offering their support, they were enabling us too much and holding us back from being more ‘independent’.
But as much as their words and concerns came from a place of love and care, it also became very obvious that their decision to withdraw support came from a place of very little understanding of the reality of mental health conditions. And as much as I tried to explain, they could not grasp what life was actually like for our family.
Instead of tough love, what we needed in that place was understanding, and permission to fight on as best we could. These weren’t the times to challenge us to ‘do it on our own’. It was the time for a quiet, gentle compassion.
We needed people who saw the weight of the burden we were carrying, even if they hadn’t been through anything like it themselves, and who offered to help carry what little pieces they could. To offer practical help–like picking up our son from preschool a couple of days a week–instead of pushing us to be more independent.
Had my friends understood more about mental health at the time, our conversation that night might have looked different. Rather than being left feeling like I was falling into a void, perhaps I would have felt loved and accepted and supported by members of our church. It didn’t need to be a deep, profound understanding of the experience we were going through, but enough of an understanding of what anxiety is to know when is the time to speak into someone’s life, and when is the time to be quiet and support.
The Realisation
18 months later, our daughter turned one. After years of not knowing if we’d be in a place to have any other children due to our mental health struggles, it was a big deal. On top of that, the very specific perinatal anxiety challenges that the pregnancy had brought up were so heavy, so we wanted to make her first birthday party a celebration not just of her, but of the community around us who had walked the journey with us. We wanted all of those people to know how grateful we were for the parts they had played in our family’s journey.
As we were packing up later that day, our daughter crawling around the floor with a cake-covered face, one of those friends who had withdrawn their support came up at a moment I was by myself, and apologised. In my speech I had been somewhat raw and honest about what the previous few years for us as a family had been like, and for the first time he grasped how hard things had been. He was crestfallen, realising how pulling back in what he thought was an act of love had actually made things more difficult for us. He admitted that it was his lack of understanding about mental health that had led him to make that decision.
It was one of those defining moments that made me realise the importance of something like Anxious Faith–even if I didn’t know at the time exactly what that would end up looking like. All I knew was that I didn’t want anyone else to be in a similar situation to us and feel unsupported because of a lack of understanding from the people who loved them.
The Difference Between ‘How Can I Help?’ and ‘I’m Going to Help’
For me personally, that situation with our friends helped me solidify how I respond when friends or people in the church reach out for help. Listening is important–really, actually listening–but so is doing. For example, instead of asking “is there anything I can do?”, which puts the pressure back on the person who’s struggling to take the responsibility of asking for help, I will offer specifics. “Will it make life easier for you if we organise a few meals a week, so you have one less thing to worry about?”
It doesn’t matter what help you offer, but the difference between ‘I will do things if you ask me to’ and ‘I am going to do things for you; tell me what will help’ can be immeasurably big. The first can come across as passive, like something you’re supposed to say in that space. But the second is a commitment to help and stick with them through what they’re facing; it’s telling them, ‘I’m going to help you anyway, you just tell me what will be most effective’.
For my family, that was what made the difference for us during that period before our daughter was born. One of the other preschool mums knew a little bit about our situation, and without being asked came up to me and said, “I hear your wife is struggling with her mental health at the moment. I’ve been there battling anxiety and depression, and I know what it’s like. You guys only live a few streets away, so I’m going to pick up your son with mine after preschool each day and drop him home so you guys don’t have to worry about that. I hope it helps–and let me know if I can do anything else.”
That act of selfless love and compassion–from a non-Christian family, no less–was one of the integral pieces that got us through that period, and one we will never forget. That same selfless love and compassion is something that we’re called to do. Galatians 6:2 makes it clear to us that as followers of Christ, we are to “carry each other’s burdens”. I’m grateful for the people along the way that have done just that for my family.
This is part of a much larger story of James and his family’s journeys with mental illness that led to the idea that sparked Anxious Faith. Time and time again he kept coming up against the fact that no one was talking or sharing about these experiences, leading him to question whether it was some fault of his: "I needed to somehow know that I'm not the only one going through this, so that I can know that this is not something wrong with my faith or something wrong with me."
To hear more of this story you can listen to the episode or watch the full version on YouTube.
James Burke
James is the host of Anxious Faith, a project born out of having lived in a life involving mental health for the past 15 years. He also serves full time with Our Daily Bread in Melbourne, is married to Beth, has two kids, and loves camping and gaming with his family.
