If you don’t know what this is—good for you.
If you do know what this is—good for you, too.
Because whether you need the help or don’t—good for you. One isn’t more spiritual than the other. One isn’t stronger. And there is absolutely no shame in doing what you need to be whole.
For years, I suffered.
Depression. Anxiety. Constant tears. I was a shell of who I used to be.
So, I did what I had always been taught to do. I prayed. I declared scripture. I studied His Word. I worshiped like no one was watching and showed up to church like there was an award for perfect attendance. But no matter what, I was still sad. I couldn’t even tell you what I was anxious or sad about. I just was.
I didn’t see an end in sight. But I also didn’t see a doctor because I had picked up this idea somewhere along the way that it was wrong. That needing help meant I didn’t have enough faith. That medication was a spiritual cop-out. So, instead, I just kept praying harder. Declaring louder. Letting go, and letting go, and letting go…
But what if you’re already doing all of those things?
Then what—just keep suffering?
It was August 2021 when I realized something was off. Every morning, I woke up with this heavy, anxious feeling—like something terrible was about to happen. But there wasn’t. There was no actual doom, yet my body acted like there was.
My stomach was in knots. I couldn’t eat. Panic attacks slowly worked their way into my daily routine.
And the tears? They showed up without warning—fast, uninvited, and with no apparent reason.
What was happening to me?
Why was I always crying with this aching pit in my stomach?
I wasn’t drowning in fear. I wasn’t battling dark, spiraling thoughts. But I was emotionally exhausted and confused. It wasn’t tied to any one thing. It wasn’t even always about infertility—though let’s be honest, that ache alone can break a heart a hundred times over. It was just… heavy. Unshakable. And constant.
And somewhere in the middle of trying to pray it away, praise it away, sleep it away, and speak all the right declarations over it—I finally heard God whisper: You don’t have to suffer while you wait on healing.
He didn’t say, “Stop believing for healing.”
He didn’t say, “Accept this as your permanent normal.”
He just gently reminded me that receiving help on the way to wholeness is okay.
So I filled the prescription. I opened my Bible. And I kept doing both.
And let me say—because of that little pill, I’m not crying all the time anymore. I’m able to think clearly. I can sit down and pray without sobbing through every word. I can read scripture and let it sink in—not just bounce off the walls of a weary mind. I can serve others with a whole heart, not an empty tank. It hasn’t numbed me. It’s helped stabilize me so I can keep showing up—not just for others, but for myself, and most importantly, for God.
Let’s remove the stigma and stop pretending God only works through “spiritual” means. While I still believe in complete and lasting healing, I also recognize that God provides what I need. He has already given me His peace—the kind that guards my heart and mind in Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:7). He strengthens me daily, and sometimes, that strength looks like the ability to get up, open my Bible, care for others, and keep going—with a bit of help from something that helps calm the storm in my mind.
And honestly? This isn’t the first time Jesus used something physical in the process of healing. In John 9, He spit into dirt, made mud, and rubbed it on a blind man’s eyes. Why mud? It was seen as a natural remedy in that culture—but Jesus didn’t need it. He could have spoken a word. Yet He chose to use something ordinary, messy, and earthy as part of the miracle. Why? Because He wanted to show that healing doesn’t have to look clean or be “religious.” It just has to be Him.
If Jesus wasn’t above using mud, why should I be ashamed of needing something that helps me function while I wait for my complete healing?
So no, this little pill isn’t my healing—it’s not the finish line. But it’s a gift I’m not ashamed to receive while walking toward it.
Because I believe healing is possible. I believe freedom is promised. And I also believe there’s no gold star in suffering silently to appear “spiritually strong.”
God’s strength is made perfect in our weakness. And for me, that’s looked like humbling myself enough to say: I need help. It’s looked like trusting that the same God who created my mind could also work through practical means to care for it. It’s looked like letting go of pride and leaning into His provision—even when that provision came in the form of a prescription bottle.
So if that’s where you are too—caught between faith for the future and help for today—know this:
There ain’t no shame in your SSRI game, either.
You’re not lacking faith.
You’re walking it out.
Elisha, founder and president of Waiting for Baby Bird
This is my story—not a one-size-fits-all solution. If you’re struggling, talk to God, talk to trusted people in your life, and don’t be afraid to ask for help. There’s no shame in seeking support on the road to healing.
