The Grace I Needed: Why I Started Prescribe Me Grace

This is the journey I’ve always been ashamed of.

For years, I secretly struggled with managing my emotions, feeling like I was not enough, making impulsive decisions, anxiety, depression, and even not wanting to live. And for the longest time, I thought all of that meant one thing:

I was “broken.”

I allowed the enemy to take my refusal to get the help and support I needed and use it as evidence to build a case against me. See? You’re broken. And yes, we are all broken in the sense that we are all in need of a real Savior. But somewhere along the way, I started believing I was uniquely broken. Like something was wrong with me in a way that wasn’t wrong with everybody else.

Because, for some reason, the support I needed looked different. What seemed to come easily to somebody else just…didn’t come easily to me. The ability to get over something. To not overthink, rethink, and triple-think about what they meant when they said what they said, did what they did, or maybe what they wanted to say but didn’t say—but because they didn’t say it and made a face, now I know what they really wanted to say.

If that sentence made perfect sense to you, I believe I have found my people.

The worst part about all of this is that it took a lot of ruined relationships—and I mean A LOT—getting fired, different therapists, community, and even medication to get me to a place where I’m proud to say that I’m even on this journey in the first place.

Notice I said proud to be on it, not done with it.

So, if you don’t know me: welcome to the party. I see you. I feel you. And I want you to know you are not alone in this.

And if you do know me, you’re probably in one of two buckets: you’re proud of me, or you are in complete and utter shock that I would get on God’s internet and tell everybody that I’ve struggled with my mental health and that I take medication to help me. Oops.

Oh, and did I mention I’ve been navigating this for the past 10 years and have spent the last four of those years in full-time ministry?

So imagine that.

Imagine feeling like your worst day can’t exist because somebody is standing in front of you having theirs. Imagine feeling like you have to be okay enough to help somebody else be okay.

And I want to be really clear here: I love ministry. I very much feel called to ministry. I love people, and I genuinely care about what they’re carrying. That’s actually part of what made this so hard. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about the person in front of me or didn’t want to be there for them. I did. Deeply. But there were days when I was trying to help somebody carry something while quietly wondering how in the world I was going to carry myself.

Both things were true at the same time.

I could feel called, love what I get to do, love people, and still be struggling.

For a long time, though, I thought my mental health was just always going to be basura. I thought I would always cry for reasons I couldn’t explain. That I could have the best day and still go home not wanting to be here. That I could leave church after worshipping, serving, praying, and encouraging other people and somehow still go home feeling like I wasn’t good enough.

And for years, I chalked so much of it up to “spiritual warfare.”

Now, don’t get me wrong: I absolutely believe there is a real enemy who would love nothing more than to see each of us forfeit the call God has on our lives. But I also had to learn that getting support does not mean I stopped believing God could heal me.

Sometimes getting support was part of how He was taking care of me.

Today, I am experiencing some of the most peace I’ve ever experienced. My mind has been clearer than I knew it could be. And part of what gave me the courage to seek the support I needed was hearing people close to me say, without shame, that they loved Jesus and needed help. For some of them, that help looked like medication.

Suddenly, I could see an option for myself that I had never really given myself permission to consider.

And to be clear, I kicked and screamed, stopped taking it, started again, and cried through it—but we’ll get to that later.

And hear me CLEARLY: medication is not everybody’s journey. Therapy is not going to look the same for everybody. Support is not one-size-fits-all, and none of those things are the point of Prescribe Me Grace.

The point is grace.

Grace to figure out the uniqueness of how God created you. Grace to admit when something isn’t working. Grace to ask for help. Grace to try again. Grace to discover what support you need in order to live fully, healthily, and faithfully in the life God has given you.

That is why I started Prescribe Me Grace.

I spent too much of my life believing I needed to be ashamed of the very journey that was teaching me how much grace I actually needed.

So, here is your Prescription of Grace for today:

It’s okay.

It’s okay if you need the therapist twice a week or once a month. It’s okay if part of your care involves medication. It’s okay if you need a support group. It’s okay if you need extra prayer—cause don’t we all? It’s okay if you need community, boundaries, accountability, rest, professional help, or a combination of a whole bunch of those things.

Whatever healthy support you need to be well, GET IT.

Please do not let pride, shame, or some imaginary version of who you think you’re supposed to be keep you from discovering a version of yourself you didn’t even know was possible.

Literally, pray and ask God:

“What steps do You need me to take to be well?”

And then have the courage to take them.

Don’t get so caught up in the religion of Christianity that you start believing God cares more about the image of your wholeness than He does about you actually becoming whole.

He loves you too much for that.

And apparently, I finally love myself enough to talk about it.

Asia out.