In the middle of the night, I lay crying out and gasping for breath in the worst panic attack I’d ever known. My husband, Rob, turned to me and quietly said, “It’s time for you to get some help.” Those words were a rope thrown into my pit of depression to begin pulling me to safety.
Depression was a cruel enemy since my early teens. It led to irrational mood swings. Isolation. Suicidal thoughts and actions. I began to find freedom when I received salvation in Jesus in college, but it never fully left my life. Fast-forward to age 30 and the birth of our third child, and exhaustion paired with postpartum “blues” knocked me lower than ever.
God brought complete healing through his Word, therapy, and the hard work of self-care. But he also used my husband in powerful ways I’ll never forget. Rob loved me where I was — I didn’t have to walk the dark road of depression alone.
He served: For many months I was exhausted and drained. The daily work of caring for three young children was overwhelming. Rob gave me space to “check out” in the evening. He washed thousands of dishes and handled baths and bedtime stories without complaining. When mommy was no fun at all, he filled the kids’ days with laughter and trips to the playground. There was no score-keeping while he gave much more than he received.