I am in the middle of a story about my experience with seasonal depression. Begin at the beginning right here.
Nine years ago, I looked out my window and thought, I had no idea there was so much gray in the world. Born and raised on the northern edge of Minnesota, I was the last person in the world to be afraid of winter snow. But every day? Every single day, with constant, oppressive cloud cover? Here was something strange.
Newly-wed and deeply in love, I thanked Jesus for the good life He’d given me. But I was lonely.
My house required little care. My husband left each day for work, taking our only vehicle with him. Stranded in an unfamiliar community with a total of zero family members, zero close friends, and precious few people I knew at all, I paced my living room and watched the snow fall.
I developed what I called “cabin fever” that first winter: a restless loneliness, a desperate yearning for the sight of something (anything!) green.
Growing up, I lived for winter, and I’ll tell you why. Every year of my life but one, my family traveled to Maranatha Bible School, a place I loved, a place I grew and thrived and came alive, a place I belonged. I hated my teenage home of Plain City, Ohio. Winter brought an explosion of brilliance and color, and when I returned home after two months, spring was in full swing.
Only once before in my life had I lived out a whole winter in one place.
Now I was in Guys Mills! the region in which my doctor claims the US government once positioned a top-secret base during wartime, because it was always hidden from satellite images by the heavy cloud cover. I don’t know if that is true. I do know that when the sun comes out from behind the clouds, we all run outside with our hands up, thinking the Lord is returning or something.
It’s one of the worst possible places to live if you have SAD, or are about to have SAD, and the journey was just beginning…