This is a wrenching post, and in a certain way I become uncomfortable reading it. I think that discomfort is because, truth be told, I am more like the writer than I want to admit. I like the role of “knowing all the answers” and being the person people depend on.
But in truth we need each other. Even those without clinical depression as such have all experienced some of these feelings. But those having it often or constantly are somehow stigmatized, and that is both unkind and unrealistic.
Neurodivergent liturgical writer, organist, and storyteller exploring the sacred in everyday life, shaped by chronic illness, care, and Benedictine spirituality.
View all posts by Michael McFarland Campbell
Gyronny Herald 
This is a wrenching post, and in a certain way I become uncomfortable reading it. I think that discomfort is because, truth be told, I am more like the writer than I want to admit. I like the role of “knowing all the answers” and being the person people depend on.
But in truth we need each other. Even those without clinical depression as such have all experienced some of these feelings. But those having it often or constantly are somehow stigmatized, and that is both unkind and unrealistic.
We can become “Pharisees” in so many ways.
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