It’s like this huge, horrible monster that comes along and swallows me whole. One day, I’m fine, the next I’m trapped and helpless inside this beast. I can still see, but not very clearly; everything is distorted. I feel out of control as it wreaks havoc on my life and my relationships; raging with anger, relentless criticisms, self-pity, and resentment. I get confused as I fall prey to its lies about others and myself. Depression and despair fall over me like a heavy wet blanket and I feel like I will suffocate under its weight.
When the monster finally slinks away, I’m left defeated and discouraged, full of self-loathing and sometimes lingering anger towards others who have lost all compassion for me in this ordeal; who, in their desire to stay as far away from the monster as possible, also have stayed far from me in my time of need. No one can hear me crying for help in here.
I call my monster PMS and that’s my life once every month (at least). Some months it’s blessed brief, just two or three days. On other months, it can be as long as a week or even two. Those months cause me to lose hope.
To some people, I’m sure this description would sound like a cop-out. That doesn’t really matter because this is my journal and I understand exactly; as I’m sure any other woman with PMS would as well. No worry of me giving myself a pass or being too easy on myself. No, that is one thing of which I have never been guilty; quite the opposite. I’m a perfectionist, after all. I don’t need any help beating myself up.
I remember years ago, when, as a young mother, PMS seemed to rule my life. I spent two full weeks every month absolutely devoured by this monster and two full weeks afterward, depressed over the wake of disaster it left behind. For a few years, there was no such thing as a “good time” of the month for me.
It was in this desperate state that I attended a prayer meeting at my church one night. We were invited to come up for prayer with the deacons and their wives. As I was standing in line thinking that I didn’t want to have to tell one of these male deacons my very personal, very female problems, our pastor suddenly interrupted the service. “Let’s change this – let’s have the deacon’s wives on one side and the deacons on the other. That way the women can go for prayer with the women and the men with the men.”
I have no idea what his motivation was for that decision, but it was one of those moments when I felt like God had shifted the earth for me!
When my turn came, I shared with a group of women that included some of my closest friends, many of whom were fully aware of my dilemma. They laid their hands on me and poured out loving, heart-felt cries to God on my behalf. God healed me that night. I was instantly set free from this plague that had consumed my life.
For years, I no longer had a problem with PMS. Unfortunately, it eventually returned and I have again been wrestling with it for several years now. I’ve tried everything. Diet, exercise, herbs and natural supplements, even alcohol…anything I could think of that might help. Many of these things have been helpful. Certainly, when I’m taking care of my body it makes a difference. Still, it’s a demon I’m always battling.
Through this past month as I have experienced God’s emotional healing and insights in my life, I have had more peace than I’ve had for many years. I breezed through my period last month as if it was nothing. No PMS at all.
I guess I was expecting that from now on I’d just merrily float through life in constant harmony. If I bring every need to God, He will meet it, right? That was my hope and that’s what I have been doing. Then, when I started feeling a little irritable a few days ago, I prayed for God to change my attitude. I kept praying and it did seem to help, but it didn’t go away completely.
Yesterday, I woke up feeling blue and discontent. I just wanted to be left alone, but this was our family day. Since that was my idea, I couldn’t just bail on it. I went into my bathroom and pleaded with God. I was beginning to be suspicious that the old monster was creeping back.
I struggled with the fear that I hadn’t changed at all; that my family would be disappointed in me once again, thinking that it was just another one of my “phases” that didn’t last. I wondered how I could continue to share with others what great things God is doing in my life when it seems that I’m still in bondage to my weaknesses. If I were honest about where I am now, the hope that I’d offered others might seem meaningless.
God did bring some relief to me and I was able to enjoy some pleasant time with my family later in the day. Today, however, I woke up even more depressed, not wanting to face the day. Again, I prayed and rebuked the enemy’s attacks. I realized that, while I could ask God to deliver me, I must accept, as Jesus did, that it may not be His will. I made the decision to hold onto God even if I have to walk in darkness again.
I thought about the times when one of my children has come to me with a wound. I have to clean the wound even though I know it will cause them more pain. I don’t like to do this, but I know it’s necessary in order for the wound to heal properly. My kids allow me to do it because they trust me; they know I want only what’s good for them.
With this image in mind, I decided to try really hard to sit still and let God clean my wound even though it really hurts and I’d much rather He just magically made it disappear – maybe with a Barney band-aid or something.
I’ve spent enough years questioning God. I will try something different this time. I’ll try believing. I’ll try submitting. I don’t have to panic and assume that, because I hurt, God has left me.
When life gets hard for my kids, they run to me, not away from me, because they know that I’m always here for them. They know that I am for them. It’s time for me to learn that my Father is not just here for me in the easy times, but is here for me all the time. God is for me.