I spent most of 2024 wishing I was dead.

That’s probably a really shocking thing to read someone admit to this early in the new year, especially if that person is a pastor like I am. In fact, I’m not sure I can recall any time in my childhood when a pastor was able to admit serious struggles with mental health, likely for fear that admitting to that could be the end of their ability to serve in ministry.

In some ways, it’s great that the conversation is changing. There is a lot more awareness about mental health issues and we’ve come a long way to reduce the stigma around depression.

Even so, it’s still jarring to have someone admit plainly that they spent a lot of the last year wishing they were dead.

Infertility & Sudden Parenthood

Since August 2022, my life has been going at a pace I never could have imagined for myself. When I graduated from seminary the year before, I just imagined that I’d be serving in ministry at my local church for the foreseeable future.

My husband and I had known for a long time that I’m not physically capable of having children. We’d resigned ourselves to that fact and made big future plans around a home that wouldn’t have little feet running through its halls.

I told my mentor that if I was supposed to be a mother, God would have to drop a child in my lap. It would have to be so obvious and unavoidable.

In August 2022, we got a call that my niece needed a home. As the only close relatives able to take her in, my husband and I began the long process of getting our foster licenses and working with social services to get her moved across state lines.

Over eight months later, in May 2023, she came home with us! We began settling into a rhythm. As the courts moved forward with all the steps to free her for adoption, we got a call that rocked our world: our nephew was born and if we wanted to adopt him, too, they’d do what they could to expedite his move.

Adjustment Disorder

Note: Both kids are now adopted. Although they are biologically my niece and nephew, from here on I’ll be calling them my “daughter” and “son,” because that is what they have become in 2024.

Our son came home shortly before Christmas in 2023 and that year’s celebrations were filled with an electrifying excitement and joy. We went from no kids to two of them in just a year! Wow!

But as January rolled around, I began having serious mental health struggles. I was angry and exhausted and stressed beyond what I’d ever experienced before. Even though I was tired, I’d wake up in a panic to check on the baby. And even if I did manage to fall asleep, his screams woke me up – something I found to be the biggest challenge as a first-time mom to an infant.

I later found out that adoptive parents can get postpartum depression, too. Since the hormonal changes are not a factor, this is more often diagnosed as “adjustment disorder.”

However, in the early weeks of 2024, I didn’t know that. I believed that I was a monster and a terrible mother for being so angry all the time. That anger and frustration turned to shame, which then festered into the worst suicidal ideation I’ve faced in a long time.

My Google search history during that time was dark and alarming. Although I was in a very bad place, my intellectual side was desperately trying to figure out what was wrong. When I read the list of symptoms for postpartum depression, I immediately scheduled a psychiatry appointment for the following week.

Medication and the Slow Return to “Normal”

Fortunately, my doctor was able to place me on some antidepressant medication that offered me significant relief from my worst depression symptoms. By the time I was on the medication for a month, my relationship with my son had changed significantly because I was finally able to emotionally engage with him.

I wasn’t out of the woods. Over the next several months, I’d have several moments when I’d wonder if I’d be better off dead. In April, I had the 15th anniversary of a traumatic event, which took me a few steps back. In May, my son got croup several times, causing long nights where I blamed myself for not being able to make him better.

Depression isn’t often logical. As someone who over-intellectualizes their feelings, the tailspin I was in left me distressed and even more depressed. I knew things weren’t my fault, but the depression seemed intent on blaming me for everything that went wrong. And when that happened, the unfortunate suicidal ideation returned.

Grieving My Greatest Loss

I have to pause here at my computer as I write this section. Tears come to my eyes and my heart begins racing. I have never known a pain like losing my Grandpa Tom and it takes the daily strengthening of God’s Spirit to allow me to live in a world where Grandpa isn’t alive.

Grandpa had always been one of my greatest cheerleaders. He made sure I went to college. When I graduated with my Master of Divinity, he said I’d probably go on to get a doctorate at this point. As my husband and I worked to adopt our babies, he encouraged us. He’d regularly text, asking if we had an adoption date yet.

He passed away three weeks before we finalized our daughter’s adoption. I’d always just assumed he’d be standing there with me. Several months later when we adopted our son the week of Grandpa’s birthday, I once again mourned the fact he wasn’t there.

Whether it was my already fragile psyche, the immensity of the loss, or (more likely) both – losing Grandpa broke me. If I could have climbed into the ground at the family gravesite and been done with it all, I would have. Even now, there are moments when the grief feels like it will swallow me whole.

The Absolute Breaking Point

My darkest turn in 2024 happened in the late evening hours of an October Saturday. I needed to take my son to the hospital, but didn’t trust my local hospital to treat him adequately. I loaded him in the car and began the one-hour drive to Nationwide Children’s Hospital.

Five minutes from the hospital, a dark-colored car flew past me on the right. Before I knew it, they hit the car in front of me, which spun and hit my car. My car spun and slammed the driver’s side into the center divider.

As my car was spinning, my life flashed before my eyes. When people used that phrase, I always assumed that meant they rapidly remembered all the important events in their lives. But for me, it was my future that flashed before my eyes.

Was I terrified? Yes. But more than anything, I felt immense sadness. I knew my son was going to be alright – the damage was on my side of the car and car seats save little lives. But as my car spun into the center barrier, I imagined my children growing up without me. I mourned that I wouldn’t see my daughter or husband ever again.

But as soon as my car hit that barrier, my instincts kicked in. I called 911 and began screaming into the phone, trying to get help. I was trapped in the car and cars were still flying around me on the highway. Police came and stopped traffic, cut the airbags to allow me out of my car, and ushered my son and me to an ambulance to continue on our journey to the hospital.

After the Accident

It would make sense, after an accident like that, to feel ready to seize life and live it to the fullest. Unfortunately, my psychological state was already stretched after the events of the year up to that point.

One friend said that it seemed like the car accident was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Since there were no major injuries in the accident, it wasn’t like the accident itself had any long-term ramifications.

A few weeks after the accident, I realized I needed more help because I was far from okay. I was struggling with public speaking – even praying in public was somehow more than I could manage. Fortunately, my lead pastors are kind people who gave me the space (and permission to do so without guilt) to heal.

I wish I could say that’s the end: I rested and felt better and everything’s okay now. What I’ve learned is that I can have hope for my future while still wishing I could die. I can make beautiful plans while still experiencing horrible heartbreak.

Why (Over) Share This?

I’ve not written every ugly detail or dark thought that I had in 2024. Otherwise, you’d need to carve out a few hours to read the book I wrote on the topic!

However, I’ve felt convicted about sharing (in broad strokes) the landscape of this year to help further de-stigmatize depression and suicidal ideation. It was in the moments when I admitted how much I was struggling that the people I love were able to surround me and support me in ways that helped me make it another day.

If sharing my story helps even one person get the mental health help they need, it will be worth it.

But more than anything, I want to shine a light on this because no one deserves to experience the shame I felt on and off throughout the year. I didn’t think I was depressed, I thought I was defective or maybe even evil. Instead of thinking I was struggling, I thought I was worthless.

Pain and beauty can coexist in the life of a faithful Christian. You can love Jesus and know that things will get better… while also wishing you didn’t have to fight so hard or suffer so much along the way.

2024 was the year I thought would kill me. I don’t know what 2025 will bring, but I serve a God who uses the “2024s” of our lives for the good of those who love the Lord (Romans 8:28).