To Feel

I have told some people at the place where I work about my past.  Largely because of the group of ladies who come in regularly.

One of the middle-aged ladies was very interested and asked me a couple questions about things.  She was a people-watcher and had some real questions.  It was fun hearing her interest because it helped me think over some things as well.
On question she asked me was:
How do you feel?

The surprising thing about this question was that it took me a day or two to think out a real answer.

Honestly, my first thought was: You Don't.
Feelings are from the deceitful heart and should be ignored at all times and for all situations.

But I knew that wasnt really the case, so I had to think it out.  And the truth is that you do feel.  You feel the eyes of people taking in your denim ankle skirts and baggy shirts and looking away in disgust.  You feel the wear and tear of waking up in the middle of the night to rock a fussy, sick baby to sleep.  You feel the multiple burns on your arms, still sensitive every time you open the oven to bake and the heat pours out.
You feel shame for thinking bad thoughts.  You feel fear when going out to run errands alone, always watching the people around you warily, ready to scream and run if anyone approaches you.  You feel pride when you look at girls with skin showing and tops popping out of their clothing and fat knees under mini shorts.  You feel accomplished when you have done all that was required of you and still found time to read your Bible before the day is over.  You feel joy when you read a book to a little sibling and get silly and end up tickling them on the floor.  You feel safe in your house where no evil can get to you because of your lifestyle and choices.

But in most cases, feelings on the positive (or seemingly positive) scale are emphasized and talked about and the negative (or perceived negative) ones are censured.
Feelings like depression, anger, resentment, grief, pain, and loneliness were hidden.  It is not befitting a young woman of God to be angry, or to give way to depression, or bitterness.   Unless, perhaps, it be towards lost souls or those dying in foreign lands without the word of Christ.  Then one can be as sad and angry as one wishes.
Righteous anger could be exercised by heads or fathers when something unapproved or even forbidden broke into the sanitized realm they ruled over.  But such occasions are rare and definitely excuse the outbreak of emotion.

Feelings like joy, peace, contentment, praise, and kindness were always encouraged.  Female bloggers (often daughters of QF/P 'royalty') write about the things in their lives which attempt daily to rob them of these virtues.  Girls are encouraged to read their posts and books and attempt to model these "modern-day-heroines-of-the-faith".

But even with all the emotional vamping and sincere efforts to model others; there is a weariness that many good works and no assurance of eternal security produces.  You can only run a car with gas in the tank and only so many gallons can fit.  When you run on fumes, you end up running out. 
And the problem with these feelings is they dont have names.
Depression is a bad word.  It is not a feeling or a description.  When my readers first began telling me I was depressed (back when I began writing in April '10) I was sincerely shocked.  "Is this what depression feels like?" I asked myself.  I began putting names on the emotions that raged in the locked closet of 'bad things' that kept popping up in the life I tried so hard to keep clean.  And thus began my journey out of the life I had always known.

But it only began the journey of "feeling".  I am still putting names on feelings and trying to separate the differences.  I am still trying to connect the puzzle pieces I have to work with to find a picture of who I am.  It is an interesting approach allowing a feeling to roam free while you name it and place it instead of stuffing it and pretending it doesnt exist.