Steve Austin's Blog, page 3

The Ultimate 6-Minute Guide to Spiritual Self Care

In this ultimate 6-minute guide to spiritual self care, I define what the term means, how it impacts your mental health, examples from the Bible, and practical ways to make self care part of your daily practice.

I'd love to speak to your group, or present at your workshop, retreat, or conference. For more details, email booking @iamsteveaustin.com today!

Why You have to Stop Saying Suicide is Selfish

“What a selfish bitch.”

I thought I might stop breathing. I hadn’t heard someone say something so harsh and ignorant in years. Not in person. Not in real life. Not about someone who just died by suicide.

Sure, I’ve seen the unthinkable things cowardly trolls say from behind their screens on social media. But no one has ever had the nerve to say something so void of compassion to my face.

I stopped in my tracks. The guy who said this terrible thing a couple of years ago was a good acquaintance, fully aware of my journey with mental health and a suicide attempt. We were talking after work one night, and I could not believe he uttered those hateful words.

What a selfish bitch.

The words bounced around in my guts and echoed through my ears for a while. I put my head down and furrowed my eyebrows, searching for help. Shocked. Uncertain of how to respond. I wanted to punch someone. I considered running away. I needed to scream but had no breath in my lungs.

It was after regular working hours, and the parking lot was almost empty. I stared at the darkness in front of me and wasn’t sure if I could take another step. I’d had the wind knocked out of my lungs.

What a selfish bitch.

Even if he thought it, why the hell would you say something like that aloud? And to ME? Are you serious right now?

I was in middle school when a twelve-year-old classmate hung himself in his bedroom closet. Two years later, my aunt hooked a garden hose to the exhaust pipe on her car and went to sleep forever.

I’ve lost family and friends, a co-worker, a classmate, and a fellow mental health advocate to suicide. I’ve grieved with you over losing Robin Williams and Chester Bennington, among others. The pain is nearly unbearable. The loss never recovered. The gaping hole can never be filled when someone leaves earlier than we expect.

What a selfish bitch.

YOU DON’T GET TO SAY THAT!

If you’ve never felt entirely alone while surrounded by a room full of people, you don’t get to say that.

If anxiety has never corroded your insides like battery acid, you don’t get to say that.

If you’ve never tried seven different medications, desperate to feel “happy” again, or just a little less, “I want to die” again, YOU DON’T GET TO SAY THAT.

If you’ve never come to the place where you’d rather let the blood spill from your arms than face another moment of this living hell, YOU DON’T GET TO CALL SOMEONE SELFISH.

It’s not okay. It’s not okay. It is not okay.

It’s not okay to say that someone whose mind attacks them every waking moment of every single day is selfish for wanting the madness to end. It’s not okay for calling a woman selfish for giving into her desperation and considering every single option at her disposal to cool the fires of her living hell.

If you’ve not been there, YOU DON’T GET TO SAY THAT.

You don’t have the right to demonize my despair. You are not allowed to minimize my pain. I do not give you permission to spew toxic ignorance over something you cannot possibly understand if you haven’t lived my experiences.

What a selfish bitch.

The Kindergartener’s Gold Rule is this: If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.

Remember that.

And if you’ve lost someone to suicide and you’re crushed and angry and sad and something more profound than all of those things combined, I’m so sorry. I'm with you. Let's grieve the time we no longer have with them. Weep for the pain they were walking through. Scream at the heavens for not doing something. All of our feelings are valid.

But please don’t call them selfish.

Call it irritational. Call it unwise. Say it's short-sighted. Mention the pain of those left behind.

Suicide is a major problem. The numbers keep rising. Diseases of despair are killing people every single day. 

But calling it selfish helps no one.

So let's work together to end the stigma around mental illness. Let's start a healthy dialogue and educate everyone we can about the signs that someone might be thinking of suicide. Let us link arms with mental health agencies, churches, schools, and anyone else who will approach the topic with compassion and understanding - and let's do our damnedest to help people understand that suicide is not the only option.

But don't call it selfish.

It’s not fair. And it’s not true.

You don’t get to say that.

Click here for a free copy of "From pastor to a psych ward"

I am Steve Austin.

Whether you’re looking for a coach you can trust or a lifeline because your soul has been wounded, you’re safe here.

As you check out my site, my goal is to encourage you to do things like: silence your inner critic, cultivate a lifestyle of self-care, and recover from whatever has wounded you. Fear, shame, and guilt have permeated our culture for far too long. It's time to be embraced by Divine love, exactly as you are.

Welcome home.

When You Feel Ashamed, Remember this 1 Thing

I've made a lot of mistakes.

I've lost jobs and friends. I've hurt people and broken promises. I've lied and cheated. I don't live with regret at the forefront of my mind, but there are a few things I would absolutely go back and change, given the opportunity or keys to a time machine.

What about you?

Years ago, my friend Sue had a 1950 Plymouth, 3-on-the-column. It was army green with mohair seats. I’d give just about anything to hop in that car for a Sunday afternoon ride with Sue. One problem? Her car wouldn’t go in reverse. The gear didn’t work. Wherever Sue went, she had to make sure to find a space where she could pull forward. Other parking spaces might have been closer or more convenient, but even if my friend had to walk farther or go across the street, putting that car in reverse was not an option.

Can you imagine? How frustrating!

Recovery is a lot like the car that wouldn't go in reverse. It can't. It absolutely cannot go back. Healing means always moving forward.

Even after doing all the hard work these past six years, shame sometimes still has a debilitating effect on me. Yes, I've been through intense counseling and coaching. I've done my best to right my wrongs. I've allowed healing to do deep and transformative work in my soul and relationships. I am not the same guy I was five or ten years ago, not by a long shot. But sometimes I still feel ashamed. 

There are moments when my past comes calling, demanding payment for the sins of yesterday. My inner-critic rears his ugly head and throws all of that fear, shame, and guilt in my face. When that happens, I typically shut down. I close everyone out and become reticent. I feel like everyone can read my mind or see right through me, and that is the last thing I want. In those moments of unhealth, I look in the rear-view mirror of my life, and everything seems closer and darker, like it's chasing me down.

The truth is, shame isn’t intimidated by my beliefs about God. Fear doesn't give a damn how about how much inner-work I've done to become the man of substance I strive to be today. Guilt sings an all-day solo, always slightly off-key. And the only thing that can silence the cries of fear, shame, and guilt is talking to myself with truth and love.

When I slow down and think about it, I have done a lot of hard work to become the human being I am today. I haven't "arrived," not by a long shot. But I remember the toxic person I used to be, and I know that I've made progress.

So I speak my shame aloud.

I combat my fear with the voice of inner-Love.

And I tell that overwhelming sense of guilt to go to hell.

I am not evil, even if I have done things that make me feel ashamed.

If you've royally screwed up in days gone by; if you have past indiscretions that would humiliate you if brought to light; if you have moved beyond the misdeeds of yesterday, but they haven't moved beyond you, just know that I hear you. And I'm sorry. But don’t fool yourself: we’ve all got skeletons in the closet, and sometimes they stubbornly claw at the closet door, just itching to get out and parade themselves down Main Street, ass naked, airing our dirty laundry to anyone who will listen.

If you've blown it before, you are not alone. All you can do is change your life, apologize, heal, and move forward. 

Remember, this car doesn't go in reverse. Being able to only move forward is sometimes inconvenient and uncomfortable. It means you have to continually keep an eye on your surroundings. You must always have an exit strategy. You are not able to park in just any old place.

Keep moving forward.

Sometimes telling the truth isn’t easy or comfortable. Healing comes with a whole lot of pain. But don't stop. The first step in recovering your life is recognizing that you are drowning. The second step is admitting it to someone else and asking for help. But all the while, you must keep moving forward. No turning back. No turning back.

When you feel ashamed, remember this 1 thing: this car won't go in reverse. 

Pre-order my new book for only .99 cents! Sale ends at 10pm CST, Monday 8/13.

Pre-Order Catching Your Breath

I am Steve Austin.

Whether you’re looking for a coach you can trust or a lifeline because your soul has been wounded, you’re safe here.

As you check out my site, my goal is to encourage you to do things like: silence your inner critic, cultivate a lifestyle of self-care, and recover from whatever has wounded you. Fear, shame, and guilt have permeated our culture for far too long. It's time to be embraced by Divine love, exactly as you are.

Welcome home.

Tweets of the Week: Suicide Prevention, Enneadog, & the Pope

Are we connected on social media? This post is a list of my Top 10 tweets for the past week. I'm considering sharing a list like this regularly, just to keep you in the loop. Follow me on Twitter by clicking right here. 

10. @Target now sells greeting cards for people struggling with depression. via @TheMightySite

"Although you can buy Thoughtful Human cards individually, they also come in packs. This makes following up with friends and family a little more manageable, encouraging the type of ongoing conversation we often don’t know how to have."

.@Target now sells greeting cards for people struggling with depression https://t.co/Uegtb3RjO8

— The Mighty (@TheMightySite) August 2, 2018

9. Blessed are the peacemakers..." What does that even mean? And how does it apply to me? feat. @jscottmusic77

Favorite quote from this episode? "I’d rather have the Peace of God than to have my piece of God."

"Blessed are the peacemakers..." What does that even mean? And how does it apply to me?

I had a blast talking with my friend, @jscottmusic77 (of @HolyHeretics) about what it means to be a peacemaker.https://t.co/GINjtXnq84 #AskSteveAustin #SundayMorning #PodernFamily pic.twitter.com/jIqkBwytXZ

— Steve Austin (@iAmSteveAustin) July 29, 2018

8. NY Times - Pop says death penalty inadmissable.

"Pope Francis has declared the death penalty wrong in all cases, a definitive change in church teaching that is likely to challenge Catholic politicians, judges and officials who have argued that their church was not entirely opposed to capital punishment.

Pope Francis' declaration that the death penalty is always inadmissible “because it is an attack on the inviolability and dignity of the person” shifted Roman Catholic teachings https://t.co/AKEpMI2yUi

— New York Times World (@nytimesworld) August 3, 2018

7.  #Suicideprevention starts with listening to the people around you. It doesn't require a degree or certification of any kind. Just slow down & listen to the hurt, fear, & shame beneath the words of those with whom you interact.

#Suicideprevention starts with listening to the people around you. It doesn't require a degree or certification of any kind. Just slow down & listen to the hurt, fear, & shame beneath the words of those with whom you interact.

— Steve Austin (@iAmSteveAustin) August 7, 2018

6. Pre-Order Catching Your Breath (paperback or e-book) on Amazon to get all sorts of free bonuses in the digital swag pack!

Order yours today at catchingyourbreath.com.

PRE-ORDER #CATCHINGYOURBREATH & get my Digital Swag Pack with bonus chapters, a manifesto, music, & more! Pre-order today at https://t.co/PxmpFmG2px! #amwriting #AskSteveAustin pic.twitter.com/T1K45vyw0j

— Steve Austin (@iAmSteveAustin) July 28, 2018

5. Need help overcoming a codependent relationship? Here you go! via @TIME

You may be In a codependent relationship. Here's how to overcome it https://t.co/h0AtnPcZ1a

— TIME (@TIME) August 3, 2018

4. New blog post: “Lots of people are holding unthinkable fears or heartache on a daily basis. Those very people are riding next to us on the subway, sitting in the cubicle across from us, praying beside us in the pew, or preaching from the pulpit.”

I combined two of my recent popular posts on despair and heartache into one new article for Medium. Get the best of both world at the link below.

New blog post: “Lots of people are holding unthinkable fears or heartache on a daily basis. Those very people are riding next to us on the subway, sitting in the cubicle across from us, praying beside us in the pew, or preaching from the pulpit.”  https://t.co/WCx0xv1ccv

— Steve Austin (@iAmSteveAustin) August 2, 2018

3. One of my favorite humans is reading the final draft of #catchingyourbreath - let's all hope she's right.

Advanced readers have started devouring Catching Your Breath - and the results are coming in! I love my friend Jill’s response to this book! Check out more reviews on Goodreads today.

One of my favorite humans is reading the final draft of #catchingyourbreath - let's all hope she's right. pic.twitter.com/ZyifcAzzXH

— Steve Austin (@iAmSteveAustin) August 2, 2018

2. People. Do you follow the Enneadog on Twitter? If not, you are missing out!

Friend: It's just a casual get together
Type 3s & 4s: I'm extremely casual pic.twitter.com/WD864QWhvZ

— The EnneaDog (@enneadog) July 30, 2018

1. New blog post - Click to read Chapter 1 of my new book, Catching Your Breath: The Sacred Journey from Chaos to Calm

This book has been a lifetime in the making.  It’s something between a memoir and a Divine accident. Read chapter one of Catching Your Breath right now for free!

New blog post - Click to read Chapter 1 of my new book "Catching Your Breath: The Sacred Journey from Chaos to Calm". https://t.co/v0Twb82udQ via #catchingyourbreath #graceismessy #AskSteveAustin

— Steve Austin (@iAmSteveAustin) August 1, 2018

Have You Forgotten Your Why?

“The willingness to show up changes us. It makes us a little braver each time.”

— Brene' Brown

Between calls at my day job, I would take 10-minute stretch breaks, walking the perimeter of the pond behind our office complex. It’s a small slice of solace amid the busyness of a sometimes frantic work day. I’d been feeling the simmering for a while, but much like the frog you’ve probably heard about in fables and other examples, I was being cooked alive and hardly noticed it. The temperature rose ever-so-slightly until my insides were boiling.

I wanted to call it “writer’s block,” but it was deeper than just my creative well running dry. I was out of motivation in general. I no longer enjoyed my day job, I felt as if I’d written all there was for me to say, and even my marriage just felt routine. The scariest thing for a naturally enthusiastic guy like me was to pick up my phone during my walk around the pond and admit to my friend Sarah, “I feel like I’m living on autopilot.”

This wasn’t a brand-new revelation for me or even a shock to Sarah, but it’s the first time I remember saying it audibly. I was frustrated, bored, and scared - a toxic cocktail for a creative helper like me. In typical fashion, Sarah listened intently, paused quietly for a bit, and eventually, gently said, “Steve, I think you’ve forgotten your why.”

There are few people in my life who so skillfully balance truth and grace. Sarah Robinson is one of them. As kind as she has always been to me, I remember passing by a dogwood tree that had just bloomed. It was late March in Alabama, and while the dogwood tree was whispering the possibility that newness can come again, I felt washed up and exasperated. Not with Sarah - but with myself - with life in general.

“What does that even mean?” I asked, stretching that last word into four syllables, my voice rising three octaves, like any child who missed a nap. With candor and compassion, my writing buddy and dear friend responded, “What makes you smile? What gets you excited? Where do you feel the most purpose?”

I sat down at a picnic table near the water's edge, and the coolness of the metal against my pant leg jolted me back to reality "Give me some time to think about this," I said, nearly in tears. My soul was so parched, I think tears might have been impossible that day.

Rediscovering Purpose

I thanked Sarah as I hung up the phone and returned to work in a fog. I wondered what this ever-insightful friend of mine had just done to me. "What makes you smile?" The questions echoed through my mind the rest of the afternoon and throughout the weekend. "What gets you excited?" I couldn't seem to shake the annoying but powerful way my friend had listened past my exhaustion, frustration, boredom, and fear, and heard something more profound, beneath the chatter.

"Where do you feel the most purpose?" In some variation, my answers to each of these questions all revolved around people: loving them, serving them, creating a community (both in-person and online), where the underdog feels welcome and leading only when necessary.

For added clarity, it was equally as crucial for me to list the things that made me smile but didn't give me purpose. Things like website stats and podcast analytics or social media metrics provide someone like me with a temporary boost of validation. The increase in views and downloads let me know that my message is resonating with my tribe, but any time I switch the priority from people to numbers, I've left my purpose at the door.

Sarah's question began to make even more sense after a talk with my mentor, Sue. She leaned across her desk toward me, her body language saying, "don't miss this!" Sue asked, "When you take your final breath, and life as you now understand it is over, what will you be thinking about?"

Each time I reminisce about that question, the same word resonates in my depths: belonging. I hope that when my eyes blink closed for the final time, it won't be stats or metrics I'm wondering about. I pray it won't be stocks and bonds or savings accounts. I hope I won't be thinking about accolades or pats-on-the-back, but instead, about belonging. 

Belonging

Did my time, energy, and focus create space for myself and others to belong? Did my words, thoughts, and actions permit me to be human? Did I learn to be honest with myself, even when it was uncomfortable? Did I reach inside myself to find my home? Did I push aside politics and religion and all the ways we distance ourselves from one another, believing the illusion that we are separate? Did I make more room at the table for broken-hearts and friends in need of a warm cup of tea and a gentle reminder of their inherent enoughness? Did I lean into belonging and invite others along for the journey?

What excites me? What makes me smile? Where is my purpose found? In belonging to myself and others who purposefully choose loving-kindness over all else, as a natural extension of the loving-kindness we show ourselves every day.

What’s your why? Answer that, and I’ll bet your sense of feeling overwhelmed continuously will begin to decrease in a big way. When somebody finds the courage to be vulnerable, a fantastic thing happens - they want more. 

The freedom is awkward at first, but I'm still free. There’s nothing quite like the taste of empowering honesty, which encompasses courage, reliability, and truth. Freedom begets freedom. 

If you’re ready to create the most honest version of yourself, you’ve got to own your story. I know the world is telling you to keep your shirt on, but you’ll never find freedom until you strip everything off and let yourself be seen. It's why I've dedicated an entire chapter to getting "nekkid" in my upcoming book. The power of owning your story will change your life. The best thing we can do is live honestly with ourselves and give others the space to do the same. 

Remembering your why is the first step in living your most courageous and authentic life. Being gut-level honest is hard work. Digging down deep to re-discover who you are underneath the labels and expectations and busyness is no small feat. But it's worth it so that you no longer live in a constant state of...stuck.

Just like those dogwood blooms, newness can come again. You can start over. You can rediscover yourself. You can reconnect with the truth of your being, empowering you to not only tell your truth but live it.

What's your why? Email me or leave a comment below today.

Pre-Order Catching Your Breath Today!

I am Steve Austin.

Whether you’re looking for a coach you can trust or a lifeline because your soul has been wounded, you’re safe here.

As you check out my site, my goal is to encourage you to do things like: silence your inner critic, cultivate a lifestyle of self-care, and recover from whatever has wounded you. Fear, shame, and guilt have permeated our culture for far too long. It's time to be embraced by Divine love, exactly as you are.

Welcome home.

Catching Your Breath: Chapter 1

“Who is he?
A railroad track toward hell?
Breaking like a stick of furniture?
The hope that suddenly overflows the cesspool?

The love that goes down the drain like spit?
The love that said forever, forever
and then runs you over like a truck?
Are you a prayer that floats into a radio advertisement?

Despair,
I don’t like you very well.
You don’t suit my clothes or my cigarettes.
Why do you locate here
as large as a tank,
aiming at one half of a lifetime?”

— Anne Sexton
Click the "play" button below to listen to Steve Austin narrate Chapter 1 instead.























Catching Your Breath: The Sacred Journey from Chaos to Calm Chapter One: DROWNING

When I was a little boy, my dad was my hero. One summer when I was 5 or 6, we took a trip to Nashville for a few days to visit my dad’s best friend. The hotel had a pool. I distinctly remember standing on the stairs at the entrance to the shallow end when Dad said, “Okay, ready to count? Let’s see how high you can count & how long I can stay under.”

My dad, the career firefighter and marathon runner, held his breath and slipped beneath the surface of the water. I watched him swim away, toward the shallow end, turn, and slowly make his way back.

For the first few seconds, it was so cool, but to a kindergartener, staying under past the count of ten seemed either impossible or superhuman. He didn’t come up for what felt like forever, and I was getting nervous. You know, 60 seconds seems like an eternity if you’re a small child.

When my dad finally emerged and took that first gasp of fresh air, I was both relieved and amazed. I cheered, “Dad! Oh my gosh! I counted to 60! How did you do that?!”

As awed as I was to see my dad’s trick, I always felt better when my hero was near me. The water was an uncertain thing to me: I knew I couldn’t hold my breath and swim for it like he did. And I didn’t like feeling alone.

It’s interesting, children can’t hold their breath as long as adults can. But the older we become, the longer we teach ourselves to hold it in. The same is true in life. Countless people are holding their breath and fears, just waiting to exhale.

A Case of the Mondays

You curse the alarm as it blares in your ears. The new baby was up on-and-off all night. So you were up, too. Your mother-in-law was staying in the guest room to “help,” but she slept soundly all night long.

You have a flat tire because it’s Monday morning and Mondays were made for flat tires. You think to yourself, “I cannot handle one more thing.” You finally get on the road, knowing you’re already ten minutes late for work, just to find cars backed up for miles. Of course, there’s an overturned tractor-trailer on the interstate.

Your blood pressure spikes and anxiety grips your chest as you realize you can’t afford to be late. There are rumors of layoffs at work and everyone wonders which staff meeting will be their last. You can’t afford to give them a reason to sack you.

Maybe you slam a fist into the steering wheel and growl with frustration. Or spill a cup of coffee down your shirt and have a total meltdown in the breakroom, leaving coworkers staring.

If I were there, I’d pull your coworker aside and whisper, “Trust me, friend: it’s never about the spilled coffee.”

Look, you don’t need an official mental health diagnosis to have a meltdown. There are plenty of mostly normal people with relatively ordinary lives and good families who completely lose their shit in chaotic moments.

Can you blame them? At one point or another, we all know what it's like to fear an unpredictable future, dread an encounter with that overbearing person, or experience the shame of an unforgiving past. We stress out over people and situations that we cannot change or control. And then we beat ourselves up about it.

Why are we so hard on ourselves? When I make a mistake, I can be hateful, vile, and just plain mean to myself. Why do we do it? Sure, we mess up. No one is arguing that, but why do we treat ourselves worse than we'd treat our worst enemy? We're human, and for some reason, the Divine didn't program us for perfection. Therefore, there will be times we screw things up.

But instead of talking about the problem (we made a mistake), we view ourselves as the problem. Instead of calling it like it is and saying, "I messed up," we say, "I'm a loser."

What an idiot.

I'm so stupid.

I'm a mistake.

I am a failure.

We give ourselves no room for mercy. We accept no imperfections or flaws. Even if we might offer someone else a second chance, we refuse it for ourselves, condemning ourselves to a life sentence of self-hatred, criticism, and shame. And for what? Making a mistake? Being human? Dropping the ball?

Weak Sometimes

When my son, Ben, was around four years old, I took him with me to the grocery store. As I pushed the cart past the yogurt and cream cheese, I stopped to add a dozen eggs to my cart. I opened the carton and carefully inspected each one. I asked Ben if he knew what I was doing. “Checking to see if they’re broken,” he said. I was pleasantly surprised.

A few days later, I was reminded of those eggshells as I had lunch with a close friend. Kendra always seems to have it together, even in the face of heartbreak and adversity. Few people knew about her unfaithful husband who liked to spend grocery money on his drug habit. She loved him desperately but worried about being able to keep the lights on. She wondered whether Child Protective Services would find out and take her babies away.

Kendra took a second job to make ends meet and never asked a soul for help. While keeping up appearances is something we Southerners pride ourselves on (that and college football), she wasn’t so concerned about what others thought. My friend was just doing what she could to be strong for her kids. She was just trying to make it another damn day.

I had watched Kendra walk through difficult decisions and unbearable circumstances with dignity and grace for years. She’d been pulled in every imaginable direction without friends, family, or coworkers realizing the hell she lived in.

Until she couldn’t. Kendra had been one of the strongest people I knew, but as I sat across from her, I could see her sudden fragility. Years of chaos and mess had nearly broken her. I knew I needed to tread carefully.

I feared she had become like those eggshells, ready to crack at any moment. I wondered if that thin shell might crumble if I asked one more question.

Those moments aren’t easy. When someone I care about seems to be suffocating underneath the weight of life, my deep-rooted habits flare up. My savior complex kicks into overdrive and I have to restrain myself from looking for the nearest phone booth to change from suit to superhero.

I love my friends, so it was tough not to try and swoop in as Kendra’s guardian angel. Cherry-picked Christian scriptures that had been drilled into my head over the years flooded back, along with all the times I’d been told God would magically fix everything if we just pray hard enough. But I couldn’t bear to use Bible verses to give a false sense of hope.

I wanted everything to be alright, and I wanted to play a part in it all working out. But I saw the sadness, exhaustion, and loneliness in my friend’s eyes. Kendra wasn’t looking for a Super Christian or a savior. She just needed space to breathe. She just needed me to embrace the tension of uncertainty with her and let her know that I saw her. This “got-it-together, keep-it-together, don't-let-them-see-you-cry” friend of mine was trusting me with her pain and weariness and fear of all that felt uneasy.

It was a holy moment.

An eggshell holds it all together and protects everything inside. But one foul shake of the carton, one sharp drop, one little push, and splat, out spill baby chicken guts. The harsh reality is this: sometimes, even good eggs crack. In those moments, friends and loved ones get the chance to pad the carton with an extra layer of love. And at the end of the day, that's all we've got: uncertainty, hope, and the compassion of those who care about us.

In moments of personal despair, the Bible mostly either confuses me or pisses me off. Even as a pastor, sometimes the only part that seemed fully human to me was the Book of Psalms, a collection of songs, poems, confessions, and laments that people wrote in the best and worst moments of their lives. One portion that resonates deeply with me is this confession by King David:

I’m up against it, with no exit—

bereft, left alone.

I cry out, God, call out:

‘You’re my last chance, my only hope for life!’

Oh listen, please listen;

I’ve never been this low.

I’m certainly no Bible scholar, but it does seem that David understood what it was like to live in all sorts of chaos. King David was a royal screw up. His confessions in the Psalms are a roller coaster of emotions, but I think he had genuine faith. David’s story is incredibly human and tragically flawed. He was a military veteran, had an affair, knocked up his baby’s mama, and then had her husband killed. Can somebody say, “Jerry Springer episode?” Chapter by chapter, this trainwreck of a “man after God’s own heart” famously flip-flopped from hope to fear, doubt to certainty, despair to peace, anger to sadness, chaos to calm.

As I write this, I'm listening to my very favorite, always-on-repeat song: "Weak Sometimes" by Devin Balram. Here's what it says:

You’re put together, you’re so well and put together

That even on your tragic days, you seem fine

You try so hard to hide that there’s a fight inside

But I can see it in your eyes that you're not fine

 

Whoever said it was wrong to be weak sometimes

To cry yourself to sleep & wake up with your tears barely dry

You might feel like you’re dying, that the end is nowhere near in sight

But whoever said it was wrong to be weak sometimes?

 

You say that pain just gets in the way

Just let it sit, it’ll dissipate

You say that no one’s had a better day

By dealing with their shame

 

Whoever said, it was wrong to be weak sometimes

To cry yourself to sleep & wake up with your tears barely dry

You might feel like you’re dying, that the end is nowhere near in sight

Whoever said it was wrong to be weak sometimes?

Damn, I love those words. After all, we’re all weak sometimes. Or if we’re not, it’s just because we’re so busy holding our breath and trying to “just keep swimming.” Like my friend Mike said recently, “We’re all doing one of the hardest things possible. Living.”

When I was much older than the little boy watching my dad from the shallow end, I was acutely aware of what it felt like to hold your breath so long that the pain and shame feel like drowning. For me, the end of the rope looked like waking up in an ICU hospital room after a serious suicide attempt. That was the point I started to learn how to breathe again.

Humaning Ain’t Easy

In chapter five of the biblical book of John, Jesus was at a well-known spot for healing called the Pool of Bethesda. Legend had it that an angel would come stir up the water every so often and whoever got in first would be miraculously healed. So countless sick and disabled people hung around the water, watching and waiting for their chance to slip into the swirling waters.

One guy had been an invalid for thirty-eight years, but he hadn't received his healing because no one would pick him up and carry him to the water's edge when it began to churn. Jesus heard the man's story and said, "Get up. Take your mat with you, and walk!" And the man did.

What was different? The man didn't even have to step into the water. What changed? He didn't know it, but what he had actually been waiting on for nearly forty years was for someone to come along and say, "It's okay." He just needed permission.

What are you waiting for permission for?

Permission to do something.

Permission to quit something.

Permission to say something.

Permission to question.

Permission to rest.

Permission to cry.

Permission to not give a damn.

Permission to expect better.

Permission to still be upset.

Permission to move on.

Permission to seek a better way.

Permission to be weak.

Beneath all the different things we think we need permission for, I believe what we need is permission to be ourselves. Permission to belong, just as we are.

Mostly, I think we’re all in desperate need of permission to be human.

Have you ever secretly wished you could tell someone what you really think? Not necessarily in that "I'mma give her a piece of my mind" kind of way, but just the ability, space, or courage to peel back the plastered smiles, stop hiding what you're feeling, and show everyone who you really are underneath? Yeah. Me too.

Instead, we allow rules of institutions, unrealistic expectations of others, outdated cultural norms, and our own toxic self-hatred to cake on our souls like Playdoh on my four-year-old’s chubby palms. Grime, snot, and purple marker mix with sweat in her little hands as she unintentionally paints the glass of our beautiful French doors. Our spirits look similar, smeared with pain, performance, ego, and fear of what everyone else thinks.

Some days I have to stand in the bathroom, face set firm, staring in the mirror, giving myself permission to be human. Sometimes I still have to remind myself to untie the cape from my neck, come down off the cross, and take a deep breath.

You too? It’s tough to stop. But, friend, do whatever it takes to snap back to this reality: you are human. You are only one person - only capable of doing so much before you completely forget about the fragile beauty of your being. You have permission to be yourself.

Because guess what? You’re a freakin’ human!

Not a robot or an algorithm or the newest AI technology. Not a spreadsheet or a superhero or the savior of the whole damn world. Your name is probably something like Cindy or Billy or Tom or Tammy or Steve or Jon. It’s probably not Jesus (unless you’re Latino) or Clark Kent or anyone else with a cross or a cape on their back.

Before you’re ever part of any group or carry any label - be it Christian, Democrat, parent, spouse, teacher, student, or any ethnicity/nationality/gender/orientation - before ANY of that, you are a human.

We’re human. That’s it! And it’s cause for celebration, and a call for radical grace. Humaning ain’t easy (let’s not even get started on adulting).

We are bruised, yet brave.

Once broken, now held together by strands of love,

Proudly on display on the front porch of God's house.

 

A tapestry of red and yellow, black and white,

Flapping in the breeze of the Holy Spirit.

Unashamed. Unafraid. No longer willing to hide.

Slaves no more.

 

Standing tall.

Fists on hips.

Courage

Just behind our ribs.

The man in John 5 had been an invalid: sick and unable to care for himself. Pronounced another way, the word means something entirely different. In-valid: not valid. Not legitimate. Not significant.

The sick man needed someone to validate him. To confirm him. To approve of him. He needed someone to tell him his life mattered. He was longing for meaning. Just like many of us, he needed permission to be human.

As Jesus spoke, I imagine the man heard something very different than simply, "Get up and walk." I think he heard something more like:

“You have believed your life doesn’t matter for far too long. You have worth. In spite of your past, your imperfections, and what everyone else thinks about you, I am giving you permission to get up and walk away. Get up and leave this place. It is time to move on. Be different. Be new. Don't look back.”

Did you notice that Jesus didn't even address the man's issues? Jesus wasn't blind: I'm sure He noticed the guy's problems. But Jesus loved beyond the labels. He saw past the illness, to the heart of a human being who had been created by Divine Love. While others had tossed him a few coins to silence his cries, Jesus came along and embraced him in the fullness of his humanity.

Jesus recognized the man as a person and helped him find purpose in the midst of the struggle. In recovering his value, the man was able to see himself as an equal, probably for the first time in his life. And that may have been the greatest grace of all.

Whoever you are, whatever your story, whether you even believe in this spiritual stuff or not, listen to the invitation of Jesus, my favorite human:

“Come to me, all you misfits. Come and rest. Bring your story, covered in grit and grime and glitter and let's write something brand-new together. Come to me, all you who have been told you don't belong. Let Love create beauty from the ashes. Sit next to me, you who have believed you'll never be enough. There is space at the table for each of you who've grown weary from holding your breath for far too long. Come to me. Come and rest. You are welcome here, just as you are.”

Even if you don’t believe in Jesus, take those words as an invitation to exhale all the pain, anxiety, anger, and everything else you have been holding on to. We’ll learn to breathe in calm and newness together. We’ve got this! The journey is all about learning to embrace the whole person, which requires cultivating mental, emotional, and even spiritual wellness.

I’m not a medical professional; I’m just a guy who survived a shipwreck and found the courage to talk about it. Much like the day my dad finally laid his head against the edge of the pool and drew a deep breath after his long stretch underwater, my journey from chaos to calm started after years of holding everything inside, blindly hoping all the pain and stress would magically disappear.

No matter how superhuman someone may seem, we all know what it’s like to feel completely overwhelmed by life. We are all desperate for the safety of the shallow end. The good news? We don’t have to live like this forever.

Welcome to the shallow end, friend.

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What to do When Life Knocks You Down

“You’ve got all that emotion that’s heaving like an ocean
And you’re drowning in a deep, dark well
I can hear it in your voice that if you only had a choice
You would rather be anyone else.”

— Andrew Peterson, “Be Kind to Yourself”

Last January, my family took a trip to the beach with some friends. My little boy brought the brand-new football he’d gotten for Christmas. It was painted bright orange, with black lighting rods swirling around the sides. While playing near the water's edge one day, Ben’s friend miscalculated and the football landed in the frigid ocean water. Instead of asking for help from an adult, my six-year-old reacted like most other children his age. He saw a prized Christmas gift floating away, and neither the temperature nor the depth of the water had registered in his mind.

"My football!" he shrieked in horror, as the waves threatened to pull it out to sea. Ben's face was turning red and splotchy, as tears lept from his eyes. At a pitch that only a dog could hear, he screamed again, "My fooooootballlll!"

I watched all of this play out in slow motion, and with a balance of force and love, I snatched him up and yelled, "Ben! Get back!" It was nearly too late. I exhaled a deep and furious breath and watched the football for a moment, trying to see which direction the tide was going. Even as my child continued to shred my eardrums with his incessant screaming, I was going to do everything in my power to save the stupid football and not end up waist-deep in frigid ocean water on New Year's Eve, four blocks from home. Naturally, my response time would have been different if my son and the football had been switched.

Times like these remind me of the importance of practicing stillness. Chaos screams, "Get it!" with blood-curdling intensity. While Calm says, "That water is freezing, and you can purchase a replacement football for $7.99." Chaos says, "Hurry!" Calm says, "It's just a football." And can I tell you something? In my life, most of the time, it's just a football.

When It’s More Than a Football

My little boy's chaos was just a toy football, but my mom’s sister hooked a garden hose to the exhaust pipe of her car and went to sleep in the then-vacant lot where she used to live. My grandfather found her body a few days later.

I was fourteen when my Aunt Missy died by suicide. It was the last day of June in Alabama when a police car pulled up to our new house, which was still under construction. Per the officer’s instructions, we loaded up in the minivan and drove down the hill to the fire station where my dad worked so Mom could call her parents. Very few people had cell phones yet, and my Momma wasn’t one of them. I’ll never forget the way she shrieked in horror, “My sister!” as she dropped the grey receiver and it swung out and slammed back against the concrete wall, there in the lobby of Fire Station #1.

Aunt Missy had been missing three days. And this wasn’t her first attempt. She’d had many episodes in recent years. As hard as my grandmother tried to help, nothing helped. Even with all the training I’ve taken and books I’ve read, I don’t think you can stop someone who is bound and determined to end their suffering. And even though we all carried the eerie expectancy of that dreaded phone call, my mom’s sister was dead, and my cousins had just lost their mother.

Aunt Missy’s funeral was my first time to be a pallbearer, and carrying my favorite aunt to her final resting place was an unusual burden to bear as a preteen. I remember letting go of the metal handles as we set her mauve casket down, my lip quivering as I turned around. I walked right into my Dad’s chest and sobbed as my head landed there.

Sometimes, it's more than just a football.

When my friend and award-winning author of Some Things You Keep, J.J. Landis was just a teenager, her mom died by suicide. One of the most gut-wrenching parts of her confession is this, “You don’t get to be carefree when your mom commits suicide.” These days, my friend has a genuine faith, which has transformed her life, but J.J. once told me that nothing is ever as easy as taking a magic Jesus pill and expecting everything to be okay.

Katie McKenna was 25 when she was run over by a truck. Her body was literally crushed by an 18-wheeler on her way to work. Talking about her gripping memoir, How to Get Run Over by a Truck, Katie says:

Everyone has had a moment where they feel like they have been run over by a truck. One pivotal moment that breaks apart everything one knows to be true. My truck moment was literal, but others are figurative. We all have a choice: either mourn the life you lived or fight to create a new life so beautiful that you can’t help but fall in love with it.

In a much darker season of our lives, my wife found herself in the midst of total chaos, receiving a phone call from an emergency room nurse from another town, that I was barely hanging onto life after a serious suicide attempt. Lindsey says:

In times like this, you need someone to hold on to you. But my someone was in an ICU hospital room, nearly dead. My best friend at the time, Gigi, was my anchor. She checked on me regularly. Gigi literally dropped everything and drove me up there because I couldn’t manage to drive myself. She wouldn’t take me at my word when I said, ‘I’m fine,’ but she also didn’t push me. She let me grieve and process, and even listened to my nonsensical murmurings, keeping me safe and serving as an anchor in the midst of all hell breaking loose.

One of my best friends was spending the day at the pool with her family a few years ago when her toddler “left the world for two full minutes before he was reborn on the warm concrete beside the swimming pool that awful day. And in that moment, I too was reborn. I was baptized into a world where babies can die.” The initial crisis may have only lasted two minutes, but while her son is healthy and alive today, this momentary chaos spilled over into Stephanie’s daily life for a long while. In a brilliant article for the Washington Post, she said:

In the weeks after my son’s accident, my emotional stability unraveled. I stopped taking my children out in public, made a drastic change in schools (the better to keep them safe), put alarms on the doors so no one could wander out front alone. I spent my days counting my children’s heads over and again. If one of them went to the playroom alone, the air left the room. If it was that easy for a child — my child — to die, well, I was just going to have to tighten up security.

Eventually, Stephanie went to counseling, started meditation, and increased her exercise to begin to deal with the stress and fear. She recently told me, “In the chaotic seasons of life, when all we can possibly do is trudge through to the next morning and start again, we need to give ourselves permission to do just that” (sounds like self-compassion, right?). Self-compassion sounds silly to a lot of people, but the strive for perfection is unnecessary oppression. This realization has freed me to be really kind to myself.

What about you? Have you ever been there? Have you ever thought, “Maybe this is all there is”? Has discouragement ever smacked you around and made you question what in the hell you’re actually doing here?

What do you do when you're standing, wordless, breathless, after life knocks you down? You’re frozen in the middle of the grocery aisle from an unpredictable and unwanted phone call. Do you take a deep breath and ask for help? Do you call in the reinforcements? Do you seek wisdom from others that you cannot currently access within yourself?

In the moment, I’m not sure that there is a right or wrong way to respond. I think the key might be in preparing yourself in times of calm for how you’ll respond if chaos returns. And offering yourself dump truck loads of grace when the crisis strikes.

Standing on the shoreline of the Gulf of Mexico last January, the waves soothed my soul. The ocean is a great reminder that nothing ever really stays the same.

Rhythm and rhyme.

Inhale and exhale.

To and fro.

Chaos and calm.

The lungs of the earth expand and contract in an eternal reminder that there's a rhythm and rhyme to all creation. Sometimes the chaos seems unbearable, and at other times, the calm brings healing to our souls. In the midst of it all, there is a great, fathomless mystery. Hope brushes over us, and as quickly as it appears, chaos pulls it back. If you feel like you’re drowning today, the unfortunate truth is this: no one is immune to hard days. But hold on. Don't give up, because eventually the tide will recede and you’ll be able to breathe again.

Pre-Order Catching Your Breath

Exciting news, friends! My upcoming book, Catching Your Breath: The Sacred Journey from Chaos to Calm, is now available for pre-order on Amazon for the discounted price of only $7.99! To pre-order your copy, go to catchingyourbreath.com.

As a bonus - when you email me a picture/screenshot of your receipt, I’ll send you the Catching Your Breath Digital Swag Pack!

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45 Pieces of the Best Marriage Advice Ever

Lindsey and I have been married more than a decade. The first seven years or so were full of more downs than ups, more bad than good, more sickness than health. During those dark and fearful days, we both considered quitting more times than we’d like to admit.

These days, we've become best friends. But there was a whole lot of living in between the hard times and these much better days. So please don't read this like there was some cosmic snapping of the fingers and suddenly our marriage was a Nicholas Sparks’ novel.  No way. Not a chance.

No magic potion will promise you a pain-free marriage or a perfect life. But here's 45 things marriage lessons we've learned in the past decade. Maybe they'll help you, too.

Love is a give and give, not a give and take. Try to out-serve each other.Screw the social norms. If she likes to be outside, let her mow the lawn! If he’s creative, let him help decorate the house! Your marriage is unique - celebrate that!Form a unified front. Whether you are dealing with friends, family, or your children, be united. Talk to your partner first! Make a game plan and have each other’s backs.Own your issues but don’t feel like you have to own theirs. It isn’t our job to “fix” the other.Honest and direct communication should be at the top of every list for a successful relationship of any kind. Say what you need. And say what you don’t need. No one is a freakin’ mind reader. A badass marriage starts with robust communication.Balance the serious with the fun. Life is too short, and marriage is hard work. Do what you can to live it up!Be vulnerable. If you use humor as a defense mechanism, stop. Speak your truth. If you want to stop feeling overwhelmed with marriage, sometimes you’ve got to let it all hang out.Be trustworthy. Trust is the cornerstone of any good relationship. You can’t have love without trust. That means that if your partner tells you something personal or hard, it goes to the grave with you. Ride or die.Forgive quickly. Keep the small things the small things. I’ll never forget the ridiculous fight we once had over the exhaust fan in the master bathroom our first year of marriage. Decide what matters, and work it out.Take some time apart. A good marriage knows not to smother each other. Let him have a guy’s night. Or leave the kids with him and go enjoy a glass of wine with the ladies. A little absence really does make the heart grow fonder.Know which family you belong to. Your spouse and/or your kids are your family now. You can honor your parents and respect your in-laws without letting their opinions control your relationship.Don’t neglect date night. I know life is busy and babysitters are expensive, but don’t neglect time away with one another! Whether you go out, or order pizza and stay in, be intentional about your time together.Even if you love your person, sometimes they are going to piss you off. In times like that, the best thing you can do is calm down before you blow up. This will allow you to respond instead of reacting.Stop running. Sometimes the best thing is to take time to “cool down,” but it is never okay to have something that serves as your “escape” from your family.  If you feel the need for a constant “escape,” you need to ask yourself what you’re running from.You are not his mother. Find a man who loves the way you think and look, who enjoys your company, and – most of all – who respects you as an equal. If a man is looking for someone to wait on him hand-and-foot like his Mama did, keep moving, sister.Take care of yourself. Caring for your spouse and children doesn’t mean you neglect yourself. Don’t ignore your soul. Life is busy, marriage and children are demanding, and if you don’t speak up for yourself, no one else will! Say what you need and don’t be afraid to confess what you want. Mamas are not machines!You are the only people who live inside your specific marriage. No one else lives in your house, knows what your spouse is like behind closed doors, and no one is going to stick this thing out but you. You are the one doing the hard work to make things last, so ignore the critics.Choose your battles. Socks on the floor don’t matter.But she ain’t your Mama. Put your own dishes in the sink.When things fall apart (because they will), hug her tight and silently count to thirty. You’ll be surprised just how much that can fix.It’s your marriage. If it’s excellent, it’s because you put in the work. If it sucks, you better put in more work. Only the two of you can make your marriage healthy. So push away distractions, shut out negative opinions, and do what it takes to make it last.Guys: flowers for no particular reason are always a good idea.Don’t just hope for the best. Do something. Don’t avoid the hard conversations so long that resentment takes root. Address problems as soon as they come up.Listen more than you speak.When life is stressful, look for opportunities to laugh together.Girls: Don’t throw away his favorite t-shirt without asking first. No matter how many holes it has.Intimacy is about more than sex.Guys: notice the details. The new earrings, the shoes, the fact that she put clean sheets on the bed. And don’t just notice it, say something.Compliment each other regularly. Let your words bring life to one another.Girls: Don’t expect him to intuitively recognize a problem. It probably won’t happen. If something is up, tell him!Forgive until you actually mean it.Guys: If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie. Girls, if he doesn’t, do it for him. This is not a hill worth dying on.Sort out the chores between you. In our house, if she cooks, he cleans.Fight fair. Stick to the present issue and do everything you can to resolve it. Don’t pick at old scabs.Don’t be afraid to reach out when you’re in over your head. The thought of marriage counseling really freaks people out. Most folks do not like the idea of airing their dirty laundry to a complete stranger. I get it, but there’s no shame in seeking professional help when you just can’t fix it.You will not always “win” the argument, and that’s okay.  The point isn’t “winning or losing” in the confines of marriage; the goal is mutual understanding and respect of one another’s views. We’ve got to start viewing our spouses as partners instead of opponents. It’s not about being right, it’s about understanding each other.Don’t kick them when they’re down. We all go through seasons and have tough times. If you are choosing this relationship for a lifetime, then choose your battles and your timing wisely.Stop trying to fix your spouse. I am not my wife’s therapist, and she isn’t mine. While we play a primary role in each other’s support systems, we are not professional helpers.There is conventional wisdom that says not to go to bed angry. I disagree. Sometimes you go to bed with a hurt heart, with the full intention of waking up and talking about it once things settle down.Cry together.Know your limits. I don’t believe “When you have done all you can do, stand” is always the best advice. To the one suffering in silence, this kind of advice can feel like a death sentence. I have seen firsthand that separation or divorce can be the next right step, and can breathe peace into a family. Sometimes the best way to love and honor everyone involved is to leave.Take time for yourself. Marriage is stressful, no matter what. Sometimes it’s impossible to leave your responsibilities. In that case, find moments of quiet to enjoy something simple – a cup of tea, a few pages of a book – even within your routine. Give yourself space to breathe. It matters.Be honest. When something frustrates you, speak up. There’s nothing worse than an old sore that’s been left to fester. If something hurts your feelings, say so. Nobody wants to have to dig to find out why you’re pouting. Just follow this simple rule: tell the truth in love. It’s always the right choice.You must set clear boundaries with outsiders (yes, this includes friends and family). Your marriage–both its joys and dysfunction–is nobody’s business but your own.No more comparisons. Nobody has the perfect marriage. Let go of what you think it is supposed to be, and live in the relationship you actually have. Stop trying to have your friend’s marriage or mimic your parent’s relationship. Nobody has the magical romance they portray on Facebook, so shut that noise off.Interested in relationship coaching? Click here.Listen to this week's podcast episode: Divorce is an option, but is it the best?

Listen Now
PRE-ORDER CATCHING YOUR BREATH

Exciting news, friends! My upcoming book, Catching Your Breath: The Sacred Journey from Chaos to Calm, is now available for pre-order on Amazon for the discounted price of only $7.99! To pre-order your copy, go to catchingyourbreath.com.

As a bonus - when you email me a picture/screenshot of your receipt, I’ll send you the Catching Your Breath Digital Swag Pack! This includes:

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Early access to the first 2 chapters of Catching Your Breath

2 bonus chapters:

When Your Marriage is Overwhelming

Leaning into Fear

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I am Steve Austin.

Whether you’re looking for a coach you can trust or a lifeline because your soul has been wounded, you’re safe here.

As you check out my site, my goal is to encourage you to do things like: silence your inner critic, cultivate a lifestyle of self-care, and recover from whatever has wounded you. Fear, shame, and guilt have permeated our culture for far too long. It's time to be embraced by Divine love, exactly as you are.

Welcome home.

"I just want to feel safe for once."

“I just want to feel safe for once.”

I read this sentence on a friend’s social media account recently, and it wrecked me. To think that there are people in my circle who feel constantly scared, uncomfortable, or uncertain breaks my heart.

I’ve felt terribly unsafe three times in my life:

When I started having flashbacks from my childhood sexual abuse.

As Lindsey walked through the horror of postpartum depression.

After waking up in an ICU hospital room after my suicide attempt.

I knew I wasn’t safe for about two weeks, leading up to the suicide attempt; yet somehow I managed to hide it from those around me. But waking up in intensive care - numb from the waist down, hooked up to a catheter, knowing my next step was a psych ward - was the worst kind of dread imaginable.

In the middle of my scary darkness, I had what I can only describe as a God experience. I know, I know: I’m the ex-pastor, the ex-vangelical, the guy who’s walked away from the Christian Machine, the Christian Agnostic. But even though I have more doubt than faith these days, but as I laid there in that hospital bed, I felt something like a man’s hand on my chest. Blame it on the drugs if you must, but I experienced an inaudible voice, whispering, “I’m not finished with you yet.”

I’m not finished with you yet.

That singular message has echoed through my soul for the past six years. It’s why I keep writing and speaking about it, every chance I get.

Maybe you don’t know what it’s like to feel suicidal. Perhaps you don’t have a diagnosis of anxiety or PTSD, but you know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning beneath the weight of guilt, shame, fear, stress, and exhaustion. You know what it’s like to hate yourself. Or be shakily scared of the dark. Like me, you have felt unsafe in your own skin.

That’s why this whisper of, “I’m not finished with you yet” changed me. I was so scared of myself, fearful that I would try to die again, or that my addictions would destroy my life and the lives of those I cared about. Because my self-hatred ran deeper than my skin, I would have never spoken to myself in such a kind, encouraging, HOPE-full way.

It wasn’t necessarily the words themselves that changed me, but the understanding that in my own darkness, mess, and pain, God was sitting with me. My legs were numb and my brain was in a fog, but Divine Love was writing on the walls of that hospital room, and the walls of my heart:

Don’t give up.

I’m not giving up on you.

There is more to this life.

Let me show you a better way.

I’m not finished with you yet. You may need to hear the same thing. Maybe you’re angry at the church. Perhaps you’ve been wounded by people in the name of God. Maybe those who were supposed to keep you safe royally failed you. You might be recovering from a lifetime of addiction. Or a million different unthinkable things.

I remember what it’s like to feel….nothing. It’s been nearly six years now since my ship capsized. I remember how the water poured in and the waves crashed. My heart was tired from trying to keep my head above water. I knew I was going to drown, and somehow that was good news. I know what it’s like to feel completely unsafe - scared to death of the person in the mirror.

I didn’t want anyone to do anything in particular. I just remember wanting my wife and best friend to stay with me that first night in the hospital. I begged them not to leave me alone. It was entirely against protocol, and yet somehow, my nurse made it happen. My wife and her best friend camped out in office chairs in my hospital room, holding my hand until morning.

Starting Over

When we love one another, guided by understanding and compassion, and just hold each other close, no words are needed. It doesn’t take any kind of an expert to show messy grace.

Life is tough sometimes because bad things have happened to us. And we’ve made bad decisions. And those bad decisions have consequences that are less than desirable. But hear me: life is worth living. Sometimes the only way you can keep living is to start over. Maybe starting over means moving out, leaving the group, getting a new job, or asking for help for the first time in your life. Starting over has a thousand faces, but death and resurrection are what this entire human experience is all about.

For me, beginning to feel safe in my own skin again started with sitting down in the counselor’s office. I had to get honest about everything that’s ever wounded me. Medication saved my life for a season. Following the doctor’s orders helped, too. Walking away from toxic theology, while still clinging to this idea that there is a Source more magnificent than anything I can fully grasp - those are the things that continue to save me and make me feel safer these days.

I remember coming in and out of consciousness in that hospital room six years ago, wondering what the hell life would look like when I was finally released. But I couldn’t allow that fear to consume me. I had to continue to let, I’m not finished with you yet wash over me. I had to accept the grace for that moment and eventually learn to let go of the pain from my past.

Hope is the Anchor

I can’t make you feel safe, but I can tell you that for me, the journey toward calm meant I had to start separating the terrible things other people were saying and doing from the character of God. Healing means I continue to listen to the voice of unconditional love - that’s the one that holds us. That’s the voice that pulls us back from the ledge when we’re ready to jump. That’s the anchor.

These days, I have hope. But it didn’t show up overnight. When you are anchored by something (or Someone) greater than yourself, the wind still blows. The waves still crash. The lightning strikes and the rain might pour down on your head. But when you’re anchored, you know that in the end, you will be okay.

You will be okay, my friend.

So if you’re hurting, scared, or brokenhearted today, this one’s for you. If you feel like you’re slipping beneath the weight of life, dragging yourself forward to the next meeting or trying to slap on a smile for your kids or your partner - I get it. I know what it’s like to think your heart mind pound out of your chest. This sacred journey isn’t always easy. I just have the doubt-filled faith that God isn’t finished with either of us yet.

Resources:

Get Steve Austin’s book, From Pastor to a Psych Ward, free here.

National Safe Place

Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Stop it Now (preventing child sexual abuse)

I am Steve Austin. As you check out my site, my goal is to encourage you to do things like: silence your inner critic, cultivate a lifestyle of self-care, and recover from whatever has wounded you. Fear, shame, and guilt have permeated our culture for far too long. It's time to be embraced by Divine love, exactly as you are.

Whether you’re looking for a coach you can trust or a lifeline because your soul has been wounded, you’re safe here.

Welcome home.

Get your free copy of From Pastor to a Psych Ward! Just click here.



























PRE-ORDER CATCHING YOUR BREATH

Exciting news, friends! My upcoming book, Catching Your Breath: The Sacred Journey from Chaos to Calm, is now available for pre-order on Amazon for the discounted price of only $7.99! To pre-order your copy, go to catchingyourbreath.com.

As a bonus - when you email me a picture/screenshot of your receipt, I’ll send you the Catching Your Breath Digital Swag Pack! This includes:

The Catching Your Breath Manifesto (printable PDF)

Early access to the first 2 chapters of Catching Your Breath

2 bonus chapters:

When Your Marriage is Overwhelming

Leaning into Fear

mp3 download of “Weak Sometimes” by Devin Balram

ORDER YOUR COPY TODAY AT CATCHINGYOURBREATH.COM!

What to do when you are living your worst-case scenario

"Can you just move that damn thing? It's staring at me!"

-Lindsey Austin, PPD survivor

Benjamin Thomas Austin was born on September 22, 2011. My pride and joy.

I was a brand-new daddy and on Cloud Nine. But almost immediately, things were not okay - not with Ben, but with his mama. Something snapped, friends. After snuggling my little boy for the first time, singing and praying over him, I walked back over to check on my wife, and something had disconnected. Her eyes glazed over, and I figured she must just be on some really good drugs. But that blank stare continued for the better part of a month, and I feared I had lost the love of my life forever.

There are a million little things that happened in the first week of Ben's life that clued me in that my wife was not well, but I won't list them all here. But can I tell you one story?

I called the OBGYN one more time, near the end of the first week of Ben’s life. I was sure she wouldn't answer this time. But she did - again. "Something's got to give," I told her, voice shaky and tears flowing. "Lindsey is not okay. This is only getting worse by the day. She still hasn't slept."

"I'll call labor and delivery and tell them to make room. Pack your bags and bring her and the baby." There was no psych ward at the hospital where Ben was born, but Lindsey's doctor wanted to make her as comfortable as possible. The plan was to observe her for a few days, hoping she could get the sleep she so desperately needed and then go home.

With the help of both grandmas, we loaded Lindsey and Ben in the car and caravanned back to the hospital, getting her settled in a room. I remember being scared to death to be in the car with my wife. Would she start screaming? Would she try to escape at a stop light? Would she grab the steering wheel in a panic? Literally, everything was uncertain those days.

Lindsey was eventually transferred from our local hospital to a much larger facility a few miles away, where she was admitted to the psych ward for another week. But during our time on the labor and delivery wing, doctors, nurses, counselors, and social workers kept a close eye on her.

Scared shitless

One afternoon during our stay, the scariest thing happened. I was sitting on one of those terribly uncomfortable vinyl couch/bed things, next to Lindsey's hospital bed. Baby Ben was in a plastic bassinet at the end of the bed, and there was a rolling hospital tray on the other side of Lindsey.

I stood up and walked over to my sweet bride, brushing my fingers through her hair, lightly kissing her forehead. I didn't say much to her during that week, just gentle whispers. Everything I was doing was in an attempt to wake her up. "Come back to me," my heart kept begging hers. "Wake up. Come home. We're right here." But she was not right there.

As I planted those little kisses on her forehead, she snapped her face around with a stare that must have traveled a thousand miles. She said, "Can you just move that damn thing? It's staring at me!"

On the food tray, there was a can of baby formula. The label pictured a happy little baby with dimples on his chubby face. It was turned toward Lindsey and me. "It's staring at me! Move it!" It’s like her eyes were staring right through me.

I'm not sure I've ever been more terrified.

Nobody tells you these things are possible when you're in your early twenties and walking through premarital counseling with the pastor.

What did they not tell you?

That your husband can develop a gambling addiction? That you might not be able to get pregnant? That your baby could be born with one chromosome less than "normal"? (What a terrible word.) No one tells you that houses burn down, and marriages do too. Or that friends walk away when you opt for divorce or your children come out of the closet. Or that perfectly healthy spouses fall off their bikes, bump their heads, and never return to "normal" (there's that word again).

There are a million different things that no one seems to tell you until the switch flips. Until the lights go out. Until your perfect bride doesn't sleep for two solid weeks and her OCD-like symptoms are driving the whole house mad, and you wonder if you'll be raising a brand-new baby all by your damn self.

Focus on the now

Sometimes a case of the Mondays isn't just missing one little hour of sleep and needing an extra cup of coffee. Sometimes it's being scared shitless because the bottom of your LIFE has fallen out. Sometimes it's shaky hands and weak knees, sliding down the hall in the hospital, uncertain of any fucking thing at all. Wondering how you got here. And what will tomorrow look like?

In moments like those, there's not some magic formula to make everything all better, or alright. There is only the moment. There is just the person in front of you, and the person in the mirror. There is only compassion and taking things as slow as you need to, and praying to God that you have an empathetic support system around you who will refuse to leave you alone. There's not the end result. There is only this decision that you have to make right now.

I know that focusing on the “right now” is not an easy pill to swallow when all you can think about is the end result. You want to hear something hopeful or believe in the miraculous or cross your fingers that you’ll wake up from this nightmare. When you are living your worst case scenario and every ounce of your being is obsessed with the “what if,” it’s really difficult to stay present in the moment. But remaining here, right now, living through this, is the one thing that will keep this hell on earth from consuming you.

To be fair, I’m not sure I actually practiced the advice I’m giving you right now, at least during those first few days. But when Lindsey’s best friend drove through the night to be there with us, she graciously told me to stop trying to do all the things. She could hold Lindsey’s hand just as well as me. She could spend the night at the hospital and let me get a better night’s sleep at home. She was giving me permission to take a breath.

If the darkness comes again

Thankfully, my wife recovered. Lindsey is healthy again. Eventually, she even had another baby. But not all spouses recover. Not all stories have a happy ending. And unfortunately, if we live long enough, we will likely face the shaky and unpredictable darkness again.

Most of us have been scared shitless at least once before. Truth is, lots of people are holding some kind of unthinkable fear on a daily basis. Those very people are riding next to us on the subway, sitting in the cubicle across from us, praying beside us in the pew, or preaching to us from the pulpit.

We may never know exactly who is living their worst-case scenario at any given moment, but we can safely assume that everyone around us is carrying a heavy load. And we don't really want to trade places or walk even half a mile in their shoes. We all know what it’s like to feel scared to death. Let’s remember that all we have is this moment. And all we need is compassion and understanding to keep this living hell from burning us alive.

PRE-ORDER CATCHING YOUR BREATH

Exciting news, friends! My upcoming book, Catching Your Breath: The Sacred Journey from Chaos to Calm, is now available for pre-order on Amazon for the discounted price of only $7.99! To pre-order your copy, go to catchingyourbreath.com.

As a bonus - when you email me a picture/screenshot of your receipt, I’ll send you the Catching Your Breath Digital Swag Pack! This includes:

The Catching Your Breath Manifesto (printable PDF)

Early access to the first 2 chapters of Catching Your Breath

2 bonus chapters:

When Your Marriage is Overwhelming

Leaning into Fear

mp3 download of “Weak Sometimes” by Devin Balram

ORDER YOUR COPY TODAY AT CATCHINGYOURBREATH.COM!

I am Steve Austin. As you check out my site, my goal is to encourage you to do things like: silence your inner critic, cultivate a lifestyle of self-care, and recover from whatever has wounded you. Fear, shame, and guilt have permeated our culture for far too long. It's time to be embraced by Divine love, exactly as you are.

Whether you’re looking for a coach you can trust or a lifeline because your soul has been wounded, you’re safe here.

Welcome home.

Click here to download a FREE copy of my book, From Pastor to a Psych Ward.Listen to this week's podcast: Judge Not (with Teer Hardy)