Goosebumps

on big feelings, the emotion conversation in the church, and what to do when it's dark

It was dark.

The tiny theater smelled like popcorn and fog machines.

Onstage, the light pinpointed the local actress playing Mrs. Potts. As she sang “tale as old as time”, I jumped. Goosebumps covered my arms and my spine did that weird tingle thing.

I jumped because I hadn’t felt goosebumps in so long that I’d forgotten what it was like to be moved. I tried not to let tears ruin my mascara as a heart-dropping sense of relief flooded me. At that moment, to the words of that song, it felt like a piece of me had come back to life.

But let me back up.

I used to be embarrassed by my big feelings – I’d rarely let myself actually cry and only then hide away in a bedroom. I tend to feel everything intensely and utterly, and I often wish I didn’t. Sometimes I wonder if life would be easier if I didn’t feel things in my bones and gut and chest. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that I’m an HSP or “highly sensitive person”. If that’s the case, then yes, I’m aware that I *feel* the world around me more than others. Can you relate?

A lot of my confusion about my emotions stemmed from talk in the church that sounded like, “Oh, you should have more faith in God’s sovereignty so you don’t feel negative emotions—sadness or doubt or anxiety—because those are a lack of faith.” (Don’t get me started on the “let go and let God” verbiage.)

And then there’s the catch-22: these same voices implied that being happy about anything other than the resurrection was edging too close to loving The World The Flesh and The Devil. Oh and depression? Spoiler alert, that doesn’t exist. End result? I ended up feeling guilt for happiness and shame for sadness.

It makes me wonder if maybe this creepy Christianese-stoicism-gnosticism mashup gets it wrong.

(I say that tongue-in-cheek. You betchya britches it gets it wrong.)

God created our emotions, and I believe there is a healthy way to engage them—all of them. We don’t have to ignore them or let them control us. (Check out the book Untangling Emotions by J. Alasdair Groves for a helpful approach to the emotion conversation in the church.)

Let’s not forget that the Psalms are poems (the most emotional medium of communication.) As my current pastor says, “The Psalms are unique in the Bible because they take the truth of God and drive it into the soul.”

You can’t read Psalm 69 and not wonder if David was banging his head on his desk while he wrote, saying “Come ON soul, we’ve been through this before, even though you feel like your throat is dry from crying and you’re drowning under the tsunami and stuck in deep mud, IT’S GONNA BE OKAY AND YOUR FEELINGS ARE VALID BECAUSE GOD CREATED THEM AND HE HEARS OUR LAMENT AND HE IS GOOD!”

I went on a little creative tangent—but you get the idea.

This is also the same David who danced in the streets and played a harp. I stick by what I said. Big feelings. And it’s not like Peter wasn’t a big feeler either. At the end of the day, it tells us God holds our tears in a bottle and will wipe the tears from our eyes one day. How intimate! That doesn’t sound like “suck it up, buttercup” to me. We read that he has tenderness like a mother to her baby and speaking from experience, that is so much tenderness it physically hurts.

And let’s not forget that Jesus wept. And got tired. And needed time alone on a mountain. The Man of Sorrows cried and went through trauma responses alone in a garden while his friends slept. And in Hebrews, it tells us that he can sympathize with us.

A few weeks ago I shared in this Substack letter about part of my journey over the last several years. If you haven’t read that one, feel free to click here.

I learned the hard way after the birth of my second son that late-onset postpartum depression is very much A Thing, unlike the stereotype. Unfortunately, I struggled through it and didn’t ask for help like I should have.

Not many people talk about the numbness of depression—the inability to feel anything beyond a disassociated, out-of-body, robotic way of being. Sometimes depression doesn’t look like constant tears. Sometimes it looks like feeling nothing.

And for someone who has always felt the world deeply, it can feel like the murder of an important part of you.

I don’t share this for sympathy or to grovel in my own story. I share it to say that I know how hard it is to be in a dark place mentally and pull yourself out of it. So if you have done that today or any day, I am SO SO proud of you.

And if you’re still in a dark place where you don’t feel like yourself, don’t be like me and think you can handle it alone. I desperately need to be reminded that I can trust that God is good. These things don’t come naturally to me. I’ve had to fight for every inch and I’m so thankful that the Son of Man has a gentle and lowly heart toward me. These are truths that I’ve had to hold onto with my fingernails.

But they hold.

And I promise they’ll hold for you too.

Whether you’re facing feelings that seem too big or wonder if you’ll ever feel happy again, I can say from experience that nothing lasts forever.

There are wise people in the world who write true words and have important conversations about these things. I can’t begin to try to cover all the aspects of these topics in today’s letter, so I encourage you to find those people. But I hope these thoughts give you a starting point.

If you aren’t sure, deep down, how you feel, please consider reading This Beautiful Truth by Sarah Clarkson or Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy by Mark Vroegop, and don’t be afraid to ask your questions. Also, please go ahead and ask for help even if it’s embarrassing or scary. (And I’m here to talk to if you ever need someone.) I promise you’ll feel goosebumps again. It won’t be dark forever.