Content Note: This post touches on postpartum depression, anxiety, and past struggles with self-harm. Please take care while reading.
I’ve written before about the ways we fail our brothers and sisters when they suffer from depression, and how we can show up for them better.
But today, I want to step into something a little more uncomfortable.
Something that can feel… controversial.
Medication.
Specifically, mental health medication.
Before I go any further, I want to start with my own story.
When Everything Started to Break
I grew up afraid of medication.
I had seen early antidepressants turn people I loved into versions of themselves that felt distant; flat, dulled, disconnected. Some struggled with dependency. Some didn’t feel like themselves anymore.
So I made a quiet promise to myself:
That would never be me.
Then I had my son.
And postpartum depression didn’t just knock on the door; it broke it down.
I wasn’t functioning. Not as a mother. Not as a person. I was barely holding myself together.
During that time, my cousin stepped in as a second parent for my son. She became a steady presence when I couldn’t be one. Every therapy appointment I went to, I came back reporting the same thing:
“I’m getting worse.”
Eventually, she said something that changed everything.
“Give yourself boundaries. If you cross them, you have to be willing to consider medication.”
So I did.
I set four:
- If I felt unsafe being alone with my child
- If my cousin felt it was unsafe for me to be alone with him
- If I had more than one panic attack in a day
- If I needed to call for help because I couldn’t parent on my own
The Moment I Couldn’t Ignore It Anymore
I crossed all four within 24 hours.
That was the moment everything became undeniable.
I couldn’t be alone with my newborn for more than a few hours without breaking down; panicking, spiralling, calling for help.
So I opened the conversation.
Facing the Fear of Medication
I was terrified.
Not of judgment, but of losing myself.
I was afraid medication would take my personality, my creativity, my writing. I was afraid I would become the hollow version of a person I had seen before.
And I was afraid of addiction.
I knew my own history. I had spent over a decade addicted to self-harm. I wasn’t naive about what dependency could look like.
But I wasn’t alone in the decision.
My cousin, who had a strong medical foundation through her training, and my aunt, who was a medic and didn’t sugarcoat anything, helped me understand what I was actually facing.
They helped me learn the differences between medications. What was addictive. What wasn’t. What side effects were real, and what fears were outdated.
Piece by piece, the unknown became something I could face.
Living With the Decision
I’ve now been on antidepressants for most of my son’s life.
And I’ve made peace with the possibility that I may always be.
Would it be nice to come off them one day? Of course.
But that decision isn’t just about effort or faith.
It’s also about brain chemistry.
Where Faith Gets Complicated
So why am I telling you all of this?
Because there is a belief, especially in Christian spaces, that prayer should be enough to fix everything.
Including mental illness.
And I need to say this clearly:
It’s more complicated than that.
I’m not here to argue whether medication is right for everyone. That’s a deeply personal, often complex decision.
But I am here to say this:
You Are Not Failing God
Taking medication does not mean you are failing in your faith.
A cancer patient is not failing God by accepting treatment.
We celebrate miracles, but we also live in a world where healing doesn’t always come the way we hope it will.
And that doesn’t make someone less faithful.
So why do we treat mental health any differently?
Both Stories Matter
God created us with intention.
But that doesn’t mean every path we walk will be easy, or that every struggle will be removed through prayer alone.
Some people will be living testimonies of miraculous healing.
Others will be testimonies of God’s presence in the middle of ongoing struggle.
Both matter.
Both are holy.
Still Held, Still Here
I am not less loved by God because I take Sertraline.
I do not hear Him less. I do not feel Him less. I am not further from Him.
If anything, I am here writing this because He is still with me.
And that matters.
You Are Not Disqualified
This morning, during prayer, I felt a clear pull to write this.
So maybe this is part of the story I’ve been given.
Maybe one day there will be a miracle.
Or maybe I’m simply someone who follows God and takes medication, and can stand beside others who need both, too.
Either way:
You are not disqualified from faith because you need help to survive.
Leave a Reply