Does The Soul

Just finished “Einstein’s God”. I’ve always been fascinated by time, especially in regards to the soul: Does the soul age? Does the soul have a gender? Does it have a race? Because these are very human attributes—age, gender, race, you know, all of the things that make us hate each other. “Einstein’s God” doesn’t answer those questions, but it does have some deep conversations about the soul of science and the science of the soul. It even discusses depression, and the negative effects of the glorification of suffering in religion. I like ending the year on an introspective note, a very different place from where I was last year when my own soul was in so much pain.

A Kind Reminder That We Are Not Alone

I thought I would follow up my post from this morning on mental health with a kind reminder for those of us who need it.

It is the holiday season. This is one of the hardest times of the year for everyone struggling with depression, anxiety, thoughts of suicide, panic attacks, loss, loneliness, self-esteem, anything that may have been there for a very long time that is causing us pain.

Loved ones: please listen, and just be present.

Those of us who think we are all alone: please seek help. If you can, try to open up to a loved one. If you cannot, please look for a professional. And try to remember that loved ones love us so much that they often times cannot say the right thing, which can make us feel even worse. They, like us, are not trained professionals.

I cannot find the words to express how hard it is to take that first step. When I was struggling through some very tough times, my pastor saw that I was in so much pain and asked me to seek help. It took him three times over the course of six months (of which included me being suicidal) before I finally did. I have a doctor, a therapist, and I even have a minister from the Stephen Ministries who are currently helping me. But I had to take that most important step to ask for help.

We are not alone. There is help.

-National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: Call 800-273-TALK (8255)
-Crisis Text Line: Text NAMI to 741-741
-National Domestic Violence Hotline: Call 800-799-SAFE (7233)
-National Sexual Assault Hotline: Call 800-656-HOPE (4673)
-Emergency: Call 911

It Takes A Toll On Us

Mental health is a difficult topic to discuss even in the general public, but even more so in the Hmong community. The subject of mental health carries the burden of being seen as crazy, and unfortunately in the Hmong community—as in many others—any disability is often shunned upon. I hope that in time we learn to understand that mental health is not about losing your mind, but rather about healing it.

Mental health is important to me. Whatever you may be struggling with please know that I am an ally. You are not weak, and you definitely are not crazy. It will take more strength than you knew you ever had to ask for help. You are strong, and you will be well.

(I also struggled with seeking help while being Christian too. My faith is part of my mental health, and it is well. God & I talk all of the time and what I learned is that the power to heal is in His hands, but the choice to be healed is in mine. Check out “Healing Is A Choice” by Stephen Arterburn if you wish to learn about God’s grace in my journey.)

Being Hmong, I know that the pressure we live with of being a good daughter, being a good son, being a good family member can take its toll on us. I know that being under the microscope of the Hmong community and carrying the weight of our family name can take its toll on us. I know that finding our identity while straddling two very different and conflicting worlds can take its toll on us. I know that witnessing toxic behavior and being told that it is culture can take its toll on us. I know that watching our sons and our brothers sacrifice their careers and their livelihood for familial duty can take its toll on us. I know that being told our daughters and our sisters will never be as worthy as our sons and our brothers can take its toll on us. I know that hearing when our daughters and our sisters ask for help because they are in a toxic or violent marriage and then being told to “be patient” or to “work it out” can take its toll on us. I know that feeling utterly and completely helpless when we hear about sexual violence in our community and to what extent it is covered up can take its toll on us. But I know the thing that takes a toll on us the most is living in the shadow of our parents’ trauma: the sheer force with which they had to fight for their lives, the families that were literally torn apart, the deaths that they saw, the war that they had to fight in as children and young men—The Secret War that they never received credit for, the escape from their homeland to a strange new land that often times was unwelcoming and unkind. I know that the horrors they do not talk about takes its toll on us. And, I know that the fear of passing our trauma on to our children takes its toll on us, and I am afraid that we are too late, and that takes its toll on us. ~KNY

Victory

I am not a mother who is without flaws. I wake up everyday anxious about the challenges of the day. I worry that I am failing with every step. I get caught in the thick of it. But I am going take this small victory…

I asked Tristan why he put pronouns in his bio, and he said it’s because he wants to show support for the LBGTQ, non-binary, gender-nonconforming group. I literally cried because at the very core of me all I want to do is raise a kind, loving, accepting child.

There Are These Moments When You

...find a pair of yellow hospital socks your sister gave to you because yours had a hole in it. You told her it’s ok, you’re not cold, and she should rest. But she scoffed and said, “Seriously?! There’s a hole in your sock, Kang.” And you smile because you know you’ll miss that, the bullshit she calls you on, you know there are few who gets to do that.

...notice the stain on your shirt, your favorite white shirt completely stained from your makeup because you can’t stop crying and so you wipe your tears away with the cuff of your favorite white shirt, and you’re left with this stain on your shirt and you cannot stop but think, “Damn. Why do I wear so much makeup. Why the eff do I do that?”

…cannot look a stranger in the eye because he just might notice that you’re so sad and he might ask why, then you would cry and you’d have to tell him why and you won’t be able to stop and you would go on and on, and then he would know why, why you’re so sad, and you just don’t want to do that, not to a stranger, not like that, not yet.

Advice

Unfortunately, it’s not such a strange world we live in when mom’s best advice is: He can remarry because men can’t live without women, but you can’t remarry because God will punish you.

It’s funny how when you tell people you’re getting divorced, you’re all of a sudden also getting remarried. Trust me, mama. I learned my lesson the first time around.

Hands

Mornings are the hardest. I go for walks; I could walk for hours. I feel like I can’t walk far enough, long enough, fast enough. I try not to go there, not to ask why. It can pull me deep into a pit of despair. There are these photos on my phone. They are reminders, witnesses really, because memory is such a fickle thing. There is a picture of our hands. Mine is bandaged because she scratched me and clawed me until I bled. Hers is bruised because she was restrained to the hospital bed. They said, “She would hurt herself.” I can still see the ICU with its dim lights, feel its cold fear, smell its disinfected air. I can still hear her singing hymns at the top of her lungs, pleading with God for mercy. I still cry at church because the songs gnaw at my heart, the words filled with unfettered truth. I am waiting for that one Sunday when I am numb enough to shed not a single tear. It will be welcoming. It will be maddening.