When Dishes Become Mountains

I peeked around the corner at the sink. Yep. They were still there. The dishes from last night’s dinner had not cleaned themselves. Now it was breakfast time. And that meant more dishes. I would have a mountain of dishes before the morning was over.

Have I said that on a good day I hate dishes? Well, I do. I have this thing about putting my hands into anything that is not clean. I failed papier-mâché in the fifth grade because I wouldn’t put my hands into the glue. It’s a sensory thing. And dirty dishwater is high on the list of things I don’t want to stick my hands in.

But on a day when the depression monster has me by the throat? I can’t even think about doing the dishes. It practically gives me hives. And so, the mountain is created. One dish at a time, until I can’t see the sink underneath it anymore.

OK. Maybe it’s not that bad, but it’s a lot.

The truth is, washing dishes only takes about five or ten minutes, tops. Especially if you have a dishwasher, which I do. But depression math says the dishes are going to take all day and maybe run over into tomorrow. And more dishes are going to get dirty along the way, so why bother?

I know I’m being a little funny here. But the distortion is real. It’s not imagined. It’s not laziness. Depression inflates the size of ordinary things, and when we avoid them, we add shame onto the top of that mountain like a flag flying in the wind. That makes the task heavier still, and so we go round and round in our heads.

For me, it’s the dishes. For others, it can be the mail, a shower, returning a text, or the laundry basket. Those things are sometimes overwhelming for me as well.

I’m sure you’ve all heard—or at least told yourself—that you need to try harder. Suck it up. Put your big girl panties on. The platitudes are endless. But when depression is ruling the mind, trying harder just makes it hurt more. And you can’t even find your big girl panties. Much less put them on.

This post is not all gloom and doom. There is hope. My own turning point came when I finally realized, with the help of therapy, that no one was going to rescue me from life. By life, I mean the dishes, the laundry, vacuuming the floors, or dusting the furniture. In some kind of funny way, I had been waiting for someone—God, my husband, my children, a prince riding over the next hill—to come and take me away from having to do all those mundane things that depression made harder.

I want to say this gently. No one is coming. The dishes and the laundry will be there tomorrow. You will still find dust bunnies under the bed. And that’s OK. In fact, that’s life. And even though depression says we aren’t able to live life in any meaningful way, depression is a liar.

If you look closely, that mountain of dishes is only a few plates and some glasses, a pan or two, and some silverware. Five minutes. Maybe ten.

If I can learn to do the dishes without guilt or shame—and actually be proud of myself for doing them—then there’s hope for you, too.

Maybe you need therapy. Maybe you just need a friend to talk to. Maybe it’s medication or talking to a pastor about how much you are struggling. There is hope, and it is within your reach, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.

Crushed Olive Ministries