Getting Real About Mental Health.

A candid conversation about struggle, hardship, and navigating faith with Devon and Stefano

Hey. First off, if you’re new here, welcome.

This particular essay is formatted more as a discussion between my good friend, Stefano and I, talking about mental health and some of the things that we’ve learned over the years of not only helping others work through it, but working through it ourselves. We attempt to be as transparent as we can regarding depression and anxiety and the consuming darkness they can bring.

Even still, our prayer is that the message of hope abounds in this text, as it has in our lives.

We are not defined by our struggle. We are defined by God—
who loves us
treasures us
and calls us by name.

I hope this is helpful.
(If you are actively struggling, please reach out for help immediately. If you are in the United States, call or text the Suicide Lifeline at 988 or call 911.)

Photo by Allec Gomes on Unsplash

DEVON:

As I type these words, I must admit that I have found myself sitting for quite a long while trying to discern the best way to articulate my thoughts on mental health. I have concluded, through prayerful meditation, that the best way forward, or perhaps the only way forward, is to be as raw and open and honest about it as I can.

To tip-toe around a subject that has robbed so many people of their lives would be a grave disservice, and a burden far too much for one soul to bear. I hope you hear me – the real me click clacking away at my keyboard – in this article. I hope you feel the passion and wisdom behind Stefano’s words, a man in many ways I look earnestly up to. But even more so, it is both of our prayers that through this, you’d come to understand the love of God, the God who knows the burdens we face, steps into our pain, and offers a hope that can withstand the night.

To write on mental health is to write on a looming shadow, or, perhaps, a befallen fog – ever-changing in form, clarity, and penetrance. It at once can feel cripplingly all-consuming and yet sometimes able to be tucked away behind a placid smile and veiled demeanor. Like fog, it coils and curls, rolling in silent, deliberate waves. It breathes into rooms once alive with routine, twisting the familiar into something unnatural, greyscale. Shadows waltz where children laughed; hallways stretch and bend, muting the scent of freshly ground coffee, the tapestry of the morning sky, warping the warmth of belly-laughter shared with friends and loved ones alike to a somber chill.

As a Chaplain, I’ve witnessed it in others. In my own life, I’ve wrestled with it firsthand.

It can seem impenetrable. All consuming. Complete. It can rattle your life by its foundation and threaten to upturn everything in a blink. It can steal you of your joy and rob you of the present. Depression is a cruel maiden that stitches together lies and weaves self-reproach until it is able to cover you and prevent you from ever gazing towards the heavens.

It is easy, I think, to remain in that place. In my own journey, I had come to find a peculiar sense of security in my sadness that always held on, like a blanket weaved of cheap thread and frayed edges. It held me but provided no warmth, leaving me trembling and exposed to the frigidity of despair, the bite of melancholy. I was weary of the struggle, willing to lay in the pit for the climb out looked particularly daunting and strenuous. Mental illness can sap you of your vitality, I know it did for me. I’ve seen a similar response in others too. I’ve looked into the eyes of the fleeting, held the hands of the grieved, the snare of self doubt, guilt, and shame pulling them away from reality, too distant from others and themselves to notice the beauty before them — always there, invisible.

Like a cell locked from within, all the enemy has to do is feed lies and hurt and shame and after a while, one does not seem to notice the key to escape dangling right before their nose, or even the cell door just beyond for that matter.

But friends, there is a way out.

There is a place of true security that awaits. And the enemy in all of his darkness cannot help but be vanquished completely in Christ’s radiance.

That’s what saved me. That’s the hope I’ve tried to bring to others too. There is something quite beautiful about the light of Christ that exposes the darkness, meets us in our grief, and sits with us in the mud. The kind of love that offers a hand, a knee, a shoulder. The kind of presence that is intentional, gentle, and always abiding in truth and in peace. A kind of healing that lifts you up, dusts you off, and hugs you tight.

It is a reminder that you’re never alone. Not for one second. And that you were created uniquely and fully in the image of the most high, the one who holds you in the palm of His hand and will never let you go.

I’ve always been moved by Psalm 23. Perhaps one of the most well known Psalms to exist, Psalm 23 is beautiful not only because of its eloquence, but because of the Psalmist’s life.

King David knew suffering.

He knew the dark valley he later wrote about. Persecuted by Saul and driven into years of exile, he later suffered the death of his infant son, the turmoil within his family after his adultery with Bathsheba, and the tragic loss of Uriah. He grieved deeply for those he loved, like Jonathan and Absalom, and he experienced betrayal from trusted counselors and friends. David was not a perfect man, nor was he distant from the ache of grief in his own life.

It makes the words he wrote all the more impactful:

1 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
2 He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
3 He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
for his name’s sake.

4 Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.

5 You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.

6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
forever. PSALM 23, (ESV)

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STEFANO:

First off, I’m deeply honored and humbled to read Devon’s words above, and the feeling is certainly mutual. When Devon first messaged me about the idea of collaborating on a piece together — before he even suggested any specific topic ideas — my response was an immediate yes.

Devon was one of the first writers I discovered on Substack, and immediately I sensed that this was a man who knew how to suffer well. Suffer well? I know that may sound strange, but I mean that as the highest of compliments. Truly. As I prayed and contemplated what I wanted to share for this collaboration, “learning how to suffer well” was the phrase that I wrote down.

What does suffering well mean, exactly?

It means holding onto hope, no matter how dark things get.

It means maintaining your faith, even when you see no way forward.

It means continuing to love, even in the midst of your suffering.

I’m not sure why Devon says he looks up to me, but here’s what I do know. If anyone has seen the depths of darkness and suffering that he has in his role as a hospital chaplain, and is still able to maintain such a soft, compassionate, and open heart — this is someone we all have something to learn from.

“It’s so easy to become jaded to the pains of this world and to lose our humanity, but it’s so important that we don’t – no matter the cost.”

This was a comment I left on one of Devon’s articles last year, and it is something I’m constantly working on myself. I pray to God that I may never let the evils of this world harden my heart. Especially with the seemingly endless tragedies inundating our feeds these days, this is a strong temptation that each of us must actively keep at bay, each and every day.

Though I’ve never been a hospital chaplain, I suppose what I have in common with Devon is that I too have seen some things in my life that I sometimes wish I’d never seen. I too have nearly drowned in the depths of my own misery and shame. I too have experienced the type of pain where it hurts just to exist — the type of pain you don’t talk about in public.

But by the grace of God, I’m learning how to suffer well, too.

Some days I succeed. Some days I don’t.

Thankfully, one key lesson I’m learning – slowly but surely — is that I don’t have to be perfect. That I will never be perfect. At least, not on this side of eternity. This can be frustrating, but it can also be liberating. I long for perfection because I long for my heavenly destiny. To be reunited with my Creator. Where there will be no more tears. No more death, nor sorrow, nor crying, nor pain. I believe we all long for that. It’s written on our hearts.

And yet, I have come to believe that there’s a God-mandated reason for my existence. Just as there’s a God-mandated reason for Devon’s existence. And just as there’s a God-mandated reason for your existence… on this side of eternity. Even in the messy, ugly, painful parts of our lives that we may sometimes wish didn’t exist. Yes, even there — or perhaps, especially there. For those who have eyes to see, there is an infinite well of beauty, of purpose, and of goodness to be found… even there.

As St. Augustine once said, “In my deepest wounds, I saw Your Glory, and it dazzled me.”

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STEFANO:

I used to think that becoming a Christian would mean that my life was supposed to get easier. That my anxiety and despair would suddenly disappear once and for all. I’ve heard lots of stories and testimonies online from people saying that their mental health struggles were instantly cured once they gave their life to Christ. Praise God for that. And… a couple things I want to say about that.

First, I don’t doubt that God is capable of doing that. I mean, of course He is capable of doing that. He is the Divine Physician, after all. There is nothing that God cannot heal — mind, body, or soul. And I wholeheartedly believe that He desires and intends to fully heal us all, of all of our afflictions. But in His timing, not in ours. Just because we may not be able to see or understand His reasons for allowing certain afflictions in our lives, that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a good reason. As a Christian, I believe that God “works all things together for the good of those who love Him” (Romans 8:28). Including our mental health challenges.

So, is it bad then to desire to be healed of our anxiety or depression or any other ailment we may face in this life? Of course not. But as St. Ignatius of Loyola taught, the ultimate purpose of human life, and what we should desire above all else, including our desire to be healed, is “to praise, reverence, and serve God, and thereby save our souls” (First Principle and Foundation). I think it’s important that we don’t fall victim to the false teachings of this world which amplify our desire to control God to give us what we want… now, on our timeline, not His. A painful but fruitful lesson I continue to learn in my own life is that sometimes what we need most, right now, is not what we want most, right now. And no one — I repeat, no one, not even ourselves — knows what we need better than the One who created us.

All of that being said, although God has not completely removed my struggles with anxiety and despair since I gave my life to Christ, He has certainly not been absent in my life and I do have something now that I never had before: peace in the middle of the storms. You see, while I’ve still had some dark days even since giving my life to Christ, the difference is that I’m not walking through them alone anymore. Jesus has been with me every single moment of every single day… and that changes everything. In the midst of my darkest seasons, King David’s words from Psalm 23 that Devon quoted above have become a healing balm for my soul.

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DEVON:

I resonate deeply with Stefano. Perhaps you do too. Oddly enough, when I battled worst with depression — and ultimately created an exit plan to take my life — I was a fulltime worship leader. I led small groups at my church. I ministered to others and served my community. I was a Theology & Biblical Studies major in college. With all the world before me and the grace of God before me, I still struggled with a deep internal lie that I was too far gone, too far broken to be put back together — like shattered glass scattered upon the stony cold floor.

So I buried the ache. Pressed it down deep, where it festered like a malignant bloom in darkness, restless to be known. Fear became my jailer; shame, my cell. I sought solace in self-loathing, fed by the echo chamber of my own confirmation bias. I should have spoken. I should have let someone in. But I wore the mask instead.

I was the face. The guy. The Christian. Surely I had to have my life put together to guide others towards the hope that felt so fleeting in my own life.

Much of my pain was also exacerbated by the lie that Stefano echoed in his section above: I believed (and overheard other Christians share) that as a person of faith, there wasn’t room for mental illness. That it was just a facade, a “mind-boggle”, a “just get out of your head, pull up your bootstraps, pray harder, and you’ll feel better” sort of thing. And while those sharp utterances and well-worn clichés may have been offered with the best of intentions, they drove the lie deeper, lodging shame like a blade beneath my ribs.

I came to believe I was the problem. That day, I quietly decided to plan my own departure.

One of the greatest misconceptions I’ve encountered — both in my own darkness and in walking alongside others — is the notion that depression is selfish. That those who battle it are wrapped only in themselves, considering only their own needs. Nothing could be further from the truth. When I was at my lowest, I didn’t fantasize about escape simply to end the pain. I was convinced that my absence would be a gift. That the world would be lighter without me. That my family would finally be free of the weight of my presence. That my friends could one day smile and move on, unburdened by my witness, my storm cloud. It was not selfishness, it was despair wrapped in self-sacrifice. A dissonant chord, a wrong note in the tune that had, for so long, carried the beautiful melody of my life.

Friends, if you are reading this, do NOT fall for this lie.

It is one of the enemy’s most crafty weapons, one that I believe creates a rift between the sufferer and the vital sources of healing: faith and community. But you, my friend, YOU were created in the very image of God. I was created in the very image of God. You aren’t the problem. And the world would be far worse off without you in it. I need you to know that. I need you to see that. I know that God will show up in your life, I know it because He did in mine. All you have to do is call upon His name. Let Him work within your heart, bringing healing and restoration and a renewed spirit that will meet you in your grief, and set your feet upon solid ground.

1 I waited patiently for the Lord;

he inclined to me and heard my cry.

2 He drew me up from the pit of destruction,

out of the miry bog,

and set my feet upon a rock,

making my steps secure.

3 He put a new song in my mouth,

a song of praise to our God.

Many will see and fear,

and put their trust in the Lord.

PSALM 40:1-3 (ESV)

Every story is different. Every situation is unique. For me, it wasn’t until I, on my knees a few minutes before I decided to go through with my plan, plead with God that if He was real, if He was there, He would give me a sign. Something to make it evident that I wasn’t supposed to go through with this. Something that brought light to the darkness, a flicker of hope, a blink. That sign for me came as a text from a girl I hadn’t spoken to in nearly a year. She asked how I was, said she hoped I was doing well, and reminded me that I mattered to her. When I told her I wasn’t doing well, she arranged a place to meet and made me promise I’d show up. She had no idea what was happening — no warning, no intuition. She simply obeyed what God placed on her heart and reached for the phone.

She saved my life. And three and a half years later, I married her.

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STEFANO:

Wow! I had never heard the story Devon shared above about how he met his wife until reading it just now. What an amazing story, undoubtedly with the hand of God written all over it. Praise Jesus!

I think that story is a prime example of how God can use our greatest difficulties in life — including even our mental health struggles — for some far greater good, far beyond what we could ever imagine with our own limited minds.

Even in my own life, I can see how my own past struggles are now serving a purpose far greater than myself. I’ll get to that in a moment, but first, I want to reiterate a point that Devon made above. When I look back on my own life, and my own dark seasons, including multiple moments in my own life when I was tempted by suicidal ideations, I see a common thread. In all of those moments, just as in the moment that Devon described above, there was dominant emotion of shame, amplified by a state of isolation.

The first time I ever contemplated ending my own life (and the most serious time, too), was when I was 16 years old. Similar to Devon, at that time, I was the guy. Top of my class, straight A honors student. Involved in all the extracurriculars. Went to Church every Sunday. My mom was actively involved in various Church ministries. My teachers loved me. I had good friends. On the surface, everything in my life was good. From the outside looking in, I was Mr. Perfect. But internally, I was struggling with deep shame. I felt like a fraud. I had secrets I was afraid to talk to anyone about.

So what did I do? Tragically, I did what too many young boys do when they are struggling: I stayed silent. I bottled it all up. I talked to no one.

And that, my friends, is the surest way to let the enemy win. The evil spirit will always want you to isolate yourself, to suffer in silence, to not say anything to anyone. Do not do this! Instead, do the opposite. Find a trusted confidant — this can be a family member, a friend, a counselor, a priest/pastor, a therapist (ideally a Christian one), or some other spiritual director — and openly share with them what you’re going through, as honestly as possible. Remember, the truth will set you free, and lies will lead you to hell. So don’t hold back. Say the thing you don’t want to say. Do not be deceived into believing that this makes you weak. Asking for help takes a tremendous amount of strength. And the truth is, we all need help, at one point or another in our lives. There is no shame in this. It’s called being human. So if you’re struggling right now, I pray you take these words to heart.

Whatever you do, do not isolate yourself.

Do not believe the evil lie that things will never get better.

When you are drowning in the voice of shame, rebuke this voice and call upon the name of Jesus. Allow Jesus to speak the truth over your life. Stop relying on your own strength, and lean into the strength of God — and others. Humble yourself and allow others to help you. Allow others to speak life over you. Allow these words that you’re reading right now to begin to sow seeds of life into the garden of your heart:

“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” - Isaiah 41:10

As mentioned, I’ve personally been tempted by suicidal ideations on several occasions in my life. Thankfully, by the grace of God, the second time the enemy tried to convince me that death was the answer to my problems, I made a sacred vow to God that I would never take my own life, no matter what. That was in 2018. Just last year, after facing two of the biggest trials of my life back to back within a six month period, those temptations came back. And they came back strong. But, because I had made a vow to God, I knew that even flirting with the idea was no longer an option. So in the name of Jesus Christ, I rebuked the spirit of suicide, the spirit of death, and with tears in my eyes, I spoke the truth over my life that even during the overwhelming shame I was facing at the time, I was still a beloved child of God. And nothing could ever change that.

Next, I took my own advice — I humbled myself, and I leaned into others. I was already working with a Christian therapist at the time, but I realized that I needed someone who could support me at an even deeper level. I needed more support. So I vocalized that. I told my parents. I told my sister. I met and started working with a highly recommended, well-accredited Catholic psychologist. And thanks be to God, two amazing things have come to fruition since then.

Number one: I’ve experienced a tremendous amount of healing in the past year since that moment, and I now feel more myself than I’ve felt in a very, very long time. Though my life is far from perfect and far from what I sometimes think my life should look like, I continue to feel more grateful for all that I’ve been through and all that God has brought me through with each passing day.

Number two: earlier this year, I felt a strong conviction to finally bring to life an idea I’d been sitting on for several years, which I believe has the potential to help many people. Born from my own story, I created a simple website called Vow To Life to give people an easy, anonymous way to make the same sacred vow I made in 2018 — a vow to never take their own life. You can check it out here (and if you’re interested, you can read more about the backstory for the project here). If you’ve been praying for a sign, like Devon was on that one fateful day, maybe this is it.

So far, as of when I’m writing this, 33 people have anonymously made the vow. That’s 33 silent victories of life over death. Only God knows how many more people are yet to be touched by this project, but even if this site only helped one person choose life over death, then all the pain and suffering I’ve gone through would not have been for waste. I’ve been blessed to work on many meaningful projects in my life, but this one is by far the most meaningful project I’ve ever worked on. And it would never have been possible, had I not first suffered.

This is perhaps the great mystery of life, and yet, it seems to be undeniably true — there is a supernatural abundance of life, meaning, and purpose given to those who learn how to suffer well.

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DEVON:

I’m very thankful for Stefano’s story. His Vow to Life is one of the most incredible tools I have ever seen. When he initially sent me a message telling me to give me his thoughts, I told him with firm confidence that it could and definitely would save lives. I’m forever thankful for his story and how even his darkest moments led him to help others in their own.

I’ll conclude with this: being a Christian doesn’t mean that all of your earthly struggles will disappear. It doesn’t mean that you won’t walk through the valleys of shame and sadness and hardship. It doesn’t mean that there won’t be seasons that bring you to your knees and leave you feeling distant from God. But it does mean that in those times, you won’t be walking alone. That even in the worst of trials, that God Himself will be with you — walking before and behind each step. Friends, you are not too far gone. Your life matters, not only to those who around you, but to the very Being above who wove you together, breathed life into your nostrils, and called you Loved.

Would you be willing to do me one favor? Utilize Stefano’s Vow to Life. Take the pledge. Vow to stay, no matter what. I did. And I’m so glad, all these years later, to still be here, in all of life’s highs and lows. August 31, 2015 could have been a very tragic day for me, but now it is the day I was rescued.

But if you’re struggling right now, please reach out. Contact me or Stefano if you need a pal. Lean into community. If you are in the United States, call or text the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 988. I have personally contacted them before and had a phenomenal experience. You can read more here.

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STEFANO:

I’m still a work in progress, as is Devon, and this is by no means the end of our stories. We write this to you today, dear reader, from the middle of our stories. Stories that have been marked by both suffering and grace. We’ve been through the fire, and we’re still healing. But because we are walking with God, we know that we don’t need to wait until we’re at the top of the mountain to share our story. We know that God can use our stories, even now, to help those who are struggling. And perhaps most importantly of all, we know that no matter how dark it gets, we will never make a permanent decision over a temporary circumstance or feeling.

Because while the ups and downs of life are an inevitable part of the human condition, there is one thing that never changes: our identity as beloved children of God.

With this identity comes a supernatural strength to endure through the trials and tribulations of this world. To not only persevere through the sufferings we face, but to allow God to use and transform all of our sufferings — including our struggles with mental health, however long they may persist — into a supreme good far greater than anything we ever could imagine.

Whatever you may be going through, dear reader, we pray that God may use these words to bless you, encourage you, and console you. We pray that God may transform you through the renewal of your mind and draw you closer to Him. We pray that God may fill you with His Holy Spirit, and empower you to say Yes to the rest of your life. We pray that today may mark the beginning of an overwhelmingly beautiful new life for you — a life overflowing with the eternal hope of Christ’s resurrection and His perfect peace that surpasses all understanding.

In Jesus’ Mighty Name, we pray. Amen.

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“And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” Matthew 28:20

“In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” Psalm 30:5