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Praise Is NOT the Best Medicine
Render unto the doctor what is the doctor’s.
I heard a sermon on the radio this evening, as I drove a coworker home from work. We’ve done this before, so she knows that a) I listen to Christian talk radio, and b) that I answer the preachers and don’t apologize for it. I try to keep the sass to a minimum with guests in the car, but make no promises.
“Here’s the secret,” the pastor was claiming. “The best medicine for depression… is praise. It lifts you right out of a bad mood, doesn’t it?”
I couldn’t help it. I snorted with laughter.
“And I am here to tell you that is 100% not true,” I responded, entirely to the radio, but also earning a laugh from the younger girl beside me.
I wish I could have beamed myself into that moment, onto that stage or behind that pulpit to shake the man by his shoulders. I wish I could have made him look at my face, listen to my journey so far.
I wish there is a way to make him understand that he is making the same journey 1000 times worse for someone.
Chronic depression became a part of my life late in college. I was 20, 21, and wouldn’t be fully aware of its presence until I was 26. That’s a long time to be oblivious to how sick you are.
