Stargazing Through the Storm

Finding Faith in Mental Health Recovery

Stargazing Through the Storm: Finding Faith in Mental Health Recovery

Sometimes, when I have stepped outside to start a night of astrophotography, I will be greeted with heavy storm clouds that hide every star. A stormy night sky can be a reflection of my mind, which can also be like a storm full of thoughts swirling like a hurricane, each one louder than the last, telling me I wasn’t enough. I’ve walked through the valley of mental health struggles, where anxiety and depression carved deep ruts in my soul. But through it all, I found a light that refused to be extinguished: Faith. I am finding the ability to find hope, reclaim my worth, and learning to lift others up while still navigating my own recovery. Sometimes, when reaching out to someone I know in an effort to regain connection, I can be left with silence and no return in the dialogue. I have to accept the truth and death of that once friendship and that it’s okay to for me to also let go and work towards closure.

Mental health struggles are like a storm you can’t outrun. For me, it started subtly with a creeping sense of dread, sleepless nights, and a voice in my head that whispered lies: You’re a failure. You’re alone. You’ll never be enough. I was trying to keep my own head above water. The world saw a smile, but inside, I was drowning. It sucked, honestly.

I remember one night, sitting outside on the grass, staring at the sky, watching storm clouds roll in; the darkness was so dark it mirrored my heart. I felt like David in Psalm 13:1, crying out, “How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?” I was angry, lost, and questioning why God would let me feel so broken. But in that moment of despair, I heard a still, small voice reminding me of His promise in Isaiah 41:10: “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

It didn’t erase the storm, but it gave me a reason to keep looking up.

The hardest part of my journey was learning to see myself the way God sees me. Depression had stripped away my sense of worth, leaving me feeling like a cracked vessel, useless and discarded. But God doesn’t see us as broken beyond repair. In Jeremiah 18:4, the potter reshapes the marred clay into something new. That’s what God was doing with me, reshaping me, even when I couldn’t see it.

I started small. I journaled my thoughts, pouring out the pain and pairing it with scriptures that reminded me of my identity in Christ. “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made,” from Psalm 139:14, became my mantra. I wasn’t a mistake. I wasn’t defined by my struggles. I was a child of God, loved and purposed, even in my weakness.

Therapy helped, too. I was hesitant at first, worried it might mean I lacked faith. But I realized seeking help was an act of stewardship over the life God gave me. Therapy, prayer, and community wove together like a lifeline, pulling me back to myself. I began to see my worth not in what I could do, but in who I was in Him.

As I started to heal, I noticed something shifting. The more I leaned into God’s love, the more I wanted to share it. My pain had a purpose; it wasn’t just about me. In 2 Corinthians 1:4, Paul writes, “[God] comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” My struggles gave me a lens to see others who were hurting, and I knew I had to help.

I have started volunteering at a local mental health/addiction & recovery support groups, sharing my story and listening to others. It wasn’t about having all the answers; it was about being present, like Jesus was with the brokenhearted. I learned to prioritize love, love for God, love for myself, and love for others. My to-do list used to be filled with tasks to prove my worth. Now, it’s about moments that matter: praying with a friend, checking in on someone who’s struggling, or simply sitting with Him under the stars, reminding myself I am never alone.

Recovery isn’t a straight line. There are still days when the clouds roll in, and the stars feel far away. But I’ve learned to stargaze through the storm, to look for God’s light even when it’s dim. My faith has taught me that healing isn’t just about getting better; it’s about becoming a beacon for others. Galatians 6:2 says, “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” When I share my story, when I hold space for someone else’s pain, I’m living out that call.

If you’re reading this and you’re in the storm, I want you to know: you are not alone. Your worth isn’t tied to your productivity, your perfection, or your pain. You are loved by a God who sees every tear and holds every hope. Start small; reach out to a friend, seek help, and cling to a verse that speaks to your heart. And when you find your footing, reach back and pull someone else forward. The stars are still there, even behind the clouds. Keep looking up.

-g