Why doesn't anyone want me?

My journey with depression has been long, but it has also taught me something about what it means to live out the welcome of Christ.

My whole life I’ve struggled with depression. I wrote a blog post about this several years ago, so if you want to know the whole story, you can go read it there.

The short version is that depression runs in my family, and although I didn’t have a name for it when I was younger, I knew there was something different about me. I grew accustomed to the sense of being down all the time. I called it my “inner darkness.” It was familiar, and it would pop up behind me every so often and remind me that I am worthless and that no matter what I do, it won’t be good enough.

My church at the time didn’t place much value in psychotherapy or antidepressants, so I just assumed what I was dealing with was normal, and that if I could just pray harder or have more faith, this darkness would lift to an incoming dawn.

The dawn never arrived.

So finally, when I was in my early 30s, I realized that I needed to do something. It’s then that I first saw a therapist. This helped me immensely, and then later, when my parents died, I spoke with my doctor, and he prescribed antidepressants.

Ever since then, my whole world has changed. Life is a little brighter, and the darkness doesn’t bother me so much or so often.

I’m writing about this again because I have something to add.

Part of struggling with depression is feeling like I’m not wanted, that I’m not good enough, and that people don’t want me around. On an intellectual level I know this isn’t true, but it’s hard to convince myself to really believe it.

And so when I was quite young, I made a promise to myself that no one I ever meet is going to have to feel unwanted or unwelcome.

This expresses itself in a variety of ways. My immense social awkwardness means that sometimes I put my foot in my mouth. I try to be funny because it gives me visual clues about how people are responding to what I’m saying.

I’m working on it.

But anytime I see someone new at church, at work, or any other context I find myself in, I try to go out of my way to introduce myself and make that person feel welcome and wanted.

In a way, I think that’s part of what led to my work in Calais, working with the migrant population.

When we were preparing to move and work here, I was really struck by the stories I heard of people asking questions like, “Why doesn’t anyone want us?”

It’s a feeling I can relate to on some level. And since I’ve made it my goal for no one to have to feel that way, working in a house of hospitality with people who feel unwanted is a natural fit.

Now I’m not saying this to talk about how great I am. I still always have the feeling that I’m not doing enough, that I’ll never be good enough, and that I don’t belong here. I believe that everyone else is welcome and wanted, but I struggle to believe that same thing for myself.

Again, I’m working on it.

But I’ve seen and experienced these feelings before, and I want people to know just how terrible it feels when you feel unwanted and unloved. I don’t wish it on anyone.

I guess the point I’m trying to make is that we need to do better as a society and as the Church at welcoming people in and providing a space where everyone can feel wanted and loved.

I know some of you will read this as me saying that I don’t care about people’s problems and that I don’t believe people need to work to improve themselves.

And in a way, I guess I am.

No one should have to feel a barrier to entry in a faith community. Everyone needs to be welcomed where they are.

There will be a time to work on those things later. It is not your job to judge or convict; that’s something we leave to God and the Holy Spirit. Our job is to love and welcome and encourage each other to grow and be better from a place of relationship.

Lest we’re tempted to feel like we’re better than anyone else that might deign to enter our congregations, let me remind you of the words of Jesus to the religious elites of his day:“For they tie together heavy packs that are impossible to carry. They put them on the shoulders of others, but are unwilling to lift a finger to move them” (Matthew 23:4, Common English Bible (CEB)).

Let’s not make those same mistakes and instead follow these other words of Jesus:“Put on my yoke, and learn from me. I’m gentle and humble. And you will find rest for yourselves. My yoke is easy to bear, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:29, 30, CEB).

Our calling in Calais is to live out the welcome of Christ by providing safety, hospitality, and dignity to those in need. If you feel led, would you consider supporting this work with a donation? Your generosity makes a real difference.

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