At the campus counseling center, I had promised my therapist, Chrissy, that, unlike previous forays into counseling, I would be completely honest. In a previous article on dealing with depression, I described how being honest with a college student convinced me to try medication. In another article, I described how I was honest with Chrissy about my anger, and that led to forgiving those with whom I was seething with rage.
Honesty also paid off when Chrissy made a passing remark: “Well, you know, Brad, your comment reflects a cognitive distortion.” She looked to the side in thought and started to proceed. I almost let her go on. Fortunately, I made one of the best decisions of my life: to be honest about my brain fog and/or knowledge gaps.
Brad Bull
I said, “Timeout.” Chrissy looked at me. My face surely looked resigned. During seminary, I had worked four years as an aide at Norton Psychiatric Clinic where the lead psychiatrist was Jesse Wright, who co-authored a book with Aaron Beck, the founder of cognitive behavioral therapy. How could I not remember what a cognitive distortion was? I mean, with the benefit of not being in grinding pain, it’s pretty clear just from context.
At that moment, though, I sighed. “I’m already a licensed therapist. I know I’m supposed to know what a cognitive distortion is, but I’m in such a fog, I can’t think straight. Would you please remind me what a cognitive distortion is?”
“Oh, certainly. They are described in this book.”
She held up a copy of The Feeling Good Handbook by David Burns. I noticed how thick it was. I’m a slow reader, and I was father of two young children, had two part-time jobs and was taking a double full-time Ph.D. course load. But I was in burning pain, desperate and would do anything. Within a half hour after the session, I found a copy at a local used bookstore.
I devoured it in less than two weeks. However, I ignored Burns’ pleas when he kept saying things like, “Are you doing the written exercises? Research shows that if you do the written exercises, you’ll feel better faster.” I kept thinking, “Whatever. Just shut up and let me read the book.” I didn’t do any of the written exercises. I finished reading and felt better. “Ha. I’m an outlier.”
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A trip to the grocery
Then, on Easter week, I went to the grocery store. The parking lot was packed, and I had to park at the bottom of the hill. Emerging from my car, I joyously reveled in the beauty of the day: cloudless azure sky, the aroma of fresh cut grass, and the sight of dogwoods in bloom. I felt amazing.
Walking up the hill, I saw a woman about my age (38) coming down the hill with an overloaded shopping cart. She arrived at her car but couldn’t get her key into her trunk because the cart kept dragging her down the hill.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Would you like me to hold your cart?” She smiled and said, “Yes, please.”
I turned the cart across the slope and got it secured as she opened her car’s trunk. She smiled brightly and said, “Thank you!” Now I was utterly on top of the world.
Arriving in the store, I got my own shopping cart. Arriving at the bread aisle, I suddenly felt as if a trapdoor had opened above me, and I was being crushed by a dump-truck load of depression and anxiety. I felt short of breath. Tearful. My forehead began burning. I thought a word not fit for Sunday school.
The excruciating pain was back. It seemed to come from out of nowhere. This surely meant I had some sort of brain chemistry disorder I would never be able to control. Despair became so overwhelming I returned my shopping cart and slunk back home.
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Do the exercises
I saw The Feeling Good Handbook lying on my textbook-covered dining room table. I plopped down and thought, “Fine. I’ll do the freaking written exercises.”
The instructions said to think back to the moments just before feeling depressed and/or anxious. What had been my automatic thoughts — the thoughts that become so reflexive we’re not aware we even have them. We must first pull them to consciousness so we can address them.
Searching my mind, I realized encountering the woman in the parking lot had been the experience that immediately preceded my plummet from the mountain top of joy to the valley of the shadow of deathly depression. However, when I had walked away from the woman, I had felt even more elated for a bit, having been a helper. Still, what were my thoughts? Think, Brad. Remember. Reconstruct the moment.
It hit me. I had thought: “Wow. She was pretty. … Oh my gosh, I bet she thinks I was being nice just to flirt with her. I bet she thinks I’m a creep.”
In the workbook column to identify automatic thoughts I wrote, “She thinks I’m a creep.” The next column was to identify any cognitive distortion involved. Cognitive distortions are nasty mental habits that warp reality. They have the impact of one of the carnival funhouse mirrors that make us look short and fat or tall and wavy. They lead to glass-half-empty negativity that drains us of joy.
“Once I did the hard work of getting the first pickle out of the jar, the others came much more easily.”
There are many forms of cognitive distortions, but most resources, like The Feeling Good Handbook, identify 10 basic distortions with a few subcategories. I ran my finger down the list of cognitive distortions. “She thinks I’m a creep” was easy to identify. That was mind reading.
The next column asked for the evidence the woman thought or didn’t think I was a creep. I wrote, “She smiled and said, ‘Thank you.’” I was feeling better already. However, I argued with myself: “What if she was faking it and really thought I was a creep?” Was I being a creep? No, I was being polite. If she thought I was a creep, she had baggage with others she was projecting on me.”
Were there other automatic thoughts?
Digging deeper didn’t take long. Once I did the hard work of getting the first pickle out of the jar, the others came much more easily. For brevity, I’ll just share one more:
In the automatic-thoughts column, I wrote, “I was thinking how pretty she was. I’m going to end up committing adultery.” The cognitive distortion? Catastrophizing — imagining the worst-case scenario and focusing on it. I contemplated and wrote down the evidence: “Have you ever committed adultery before? No. Can you look at someone you find attractive and not behave inappropriately? Yes, I do it every day.”
A major turning point
Now let’s skip to the end of this story. After a few minutes, I burst out laughing. My wife came in the room and asked what was so funny. I said, “Dear God. No wonder I’m so depressed and anxious, I just committed all 10 cognitive distortions in reaction to one 15-second interaction.”
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That 30 minutes of debunking cognitive distortions marked a major turning point. Immediately, my life started turning around for the better. Eventually, I would be able to wean off medications. My ability to debunk distortions got much faster with practice. One Saturday morning, I was feeling great when suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, I felt an oppressive sadness coming on. I stopped what I was doing and retraced my mental path. I realized I had heard on the radio a comment about care. That had reminded me that on the way home the night before my check-engine light had come on.
My automatic thoughts yelled, “It’s probably going to cost a few thousand dollars to fix.” I quickly grabbed control of my thoughts and reasoned: “It might be minor like it was last time. Or if it does cost a few thousand dollars (it did), I have saved money for a major repair, and if I didn’t have the money, I’d just put it on a credit card and scrimp until I paid it off.” All that took about 10 seconds. I immediately felt better and went my merry way.
I do want to stress two other realizations though. First, of the four types of depression — situational, psychological, existential and biological — my depression and anxiety turned out to be those first three purely cognitive types.
However, I went through a period of wondering if I might have a more biological and, therefore, less controllable type such as bipolar disorder. During that time, I found great comfort in the words of a friend who referred me to the parable of the cracked pot. In short, two clay water pots emerged from the kiln, one perfect, one cracked. The cracked pot felt guilty about leaking. It told its maker of its shame. The maker told the pot that during the next day’s walk to the river to notice the sides of the path. The pot noticed flowers growing along the path. The maker said, “I carry you back from the river on my right side on odd days and my left side on even days. I account for your flaw and use it to water the flowers.” When I finished reading that, I wept from two joyful realizations. First, I was useful even if flawed. Second, I appreciated my friend’s belief and encouragement.
This leads to an essential realization. Even if depression is of the biological type, we have cognitions about that. We can think “I’m awful,” or we can think things like, “OK, I’m in a trough of sadness again. But another wave will come. Like a surfer, I need to just hang tight until I can hang ten.”
Brad Bull has served as a hospital chaplain, pastor and university professor. He currently works as a private-practice therapist in Tennessee and Virginia. He’s also a storyteller. His counseling, speaking and retreat leadership services can be reached at DrBradBull.com.