I'm out of control.

Hey.

That's about all I can muster right now. Why? Because that's the reality I'm living in, the "hey." Not the "Hello!" or the "Dear Reader." I'm living in the informal, the "here's what I can muster." And right now, that's "hey." It's an improvement, honestly, over my recent silence.

I want to be honest with you. I've been fighting off depression since the fall. And that's what I want to talk to you about. If you've found yourself struggling with the craziness in life, I think you'll find it helpful. (And trust me, there's hope at the end.)

Since my book on mental health, anxiety, OCD, and, well, depression, came out in the fall, I've heard from a lot of people who have used it as resource in their own battles. Here's the truth: I've had to use it as a resource for my own battle just as much.

If you've read it, that shouldn't surprise you. I confess in it that this is an ongoing battle. That I'm not "cured." That "rest" isn't a destination, but those moments in the battle where we get respite. That was made crystal clear to me this fall. 

I've spent a lot of time thinking through that. "Why am I feeling this way?"I've asked. And you've probably asked it too. Here's the answer that hit me like one of those neon signs outside Las Vegas: I crave control. Chances are, you do too. 

My anxiety hates it when I'm not in control. It wants to know every outcome of every situation before it happens. So I create scenarios and conversations and contingencies in my head. It's like that scene in "A Beautiful Mind" where Russell Crowe is solving the math problem. Except no matter how hard I try there's never really anything that's solved. 

During the book-writing process, I was in control. I had deadlines. I met those deadlines. I controlled my schedule. Everything was up to me. My anxiety liked that and stayed at bay. 

But once my book came out, I was completely out of control. I couldn't determine how people reacted, if they purchased it, or if they told others about it. I couldn't make it help people, no matter how hard I tried. On top of that, my schedule was erratic. I had interviews and podcasts and TV shows that would come with little warning. It took a toll. And while my digital media consulting business enjoyed a relatively peaceful and steady run last year, the end of the calendar year meant searching for new clients and, with it, a lack of control. 

Control. Control. Control. 

Even though I write about that desire for control in my book, the truth is it's hard to see how much that desire is controlling you while you're in the middle of a control battle. That's why I'm writing to you today. Because if you're like me, which I think you are if you're here, you need someone outside of yourself to try and force a reset, or at least a reexamination. 

So I'm going to say it: If you find yourself in an episode — an anxious episode, an anxious episode that leads to a depressive episode, or somewhere in the middle— I want to encourage you to take a moment to examine the root of what's going on. I bet it involves control. 

"OK, Jon, I've thought about it. I recognize there's a control issue. Now what?"

I hope this doesn't come across as trite, because you know how I feel about "coffee cup Christianity," as I call it – the type of advice that sounds good on a coffee cup but isn't really helpful. So at the risk of sounding like that, let me say this: You have to get to a point where you realize not only can you not control everything, but that it's actually dangerous for you to control everything. 

"Dangerous?" Yes, dangerous. There are more times than I can count where things haven't turned out how I wanted them, and that was the best thing for me, for my family, and for my mental health. But if I got what I wanted? I can easily see how bad it would have been for me...and those I love.

I want you to see that, too. I can't tell you exactly what it looks like for you to practice giving up control, only you can. Here's an example of how it looks for me. This weekend my wife asked me to go on an impromptu family walk. I initially said no. And then I remembered I needed to give up control. I changed my answer, much to her surprise, and we went on an unscheduled walk. You know what? It was a beautiful time together. 

You need to find those small things you can start doing to give up control. The big steps only come after the small ones.

I'll end with this. This week, a client project took a wild turn. A turn I didn't see coming. But as I've done the work over the past month to really get at the root of the problem, my perspective was different. As I finished telling my wife about what happened, she looked at me and said, "Well, you're taking this a lot different than I thought. You're a lot more calm." 

"I guess I've realized I've done everything I can and I can't control it." 

And with those words, a freedom poured out from within that I haven't experienced since September. 

If you've followed me for a little bit or read the book, you know ultimately where I have to put my trust and how that freedom is found. I won't hit you over the head with it, but here's a hint: Jesus. 

But sometimes finding that freedom and that rest can be elusive, even for those who know where it's ultimately found. But here's where the hope I promised earlier comes in: You are going to have those periods where you feel like you're just treading water, where you're wandering in the woods, where you're stuck. You're not a failure because of that. You're not unique in that. And you're not alone. 

When those times come, you're going to have to practice this not having control thing. And with each time, it will get easier. Even if that means two steps forward and one step back.

If that's you now, remember this: You can't control everything. You make an awful God and awful dictator. Everyone does. And that's a good thing. I know that and you know that.

Here's to being out of control. It really is a beautiful thing.