That’s what I was told on the day my life fell apart.
I’d been the co-host of a Christian talk show for five years—discussing the news and interviewing guests with a smile on my face—but inside I’d been falling apart a little more every day.
The pressure of two shows five days a week, then flying out to speak and sing at events every weekend had finally caught up with me. I was sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of severe clinical depression. I knew that I needed to get help and I needed to get it now.
As I left the studio that day, one of our senior staff asked me to take a walk with him. His words weighed like lead on my soul.
“Sheila, if you do this, you’ll never be special again.”
“You’re the weak link in the chain.”
“If people find out that you’ve been in a psychiatric hospital, your career is over.”
With tears pouring down my face, I told him the truth from the basement of my soul: “I’m not trying to save my career. I’m trying to save my life.”
I watched the U.S. gymnastics team walk into the arena on Monday in Tokyo, their red, 하얀, and blue leotards shining in the spotlight. I could hardly breathe as I watched Simone Biles take a deep breath and steady herself before adopting her pose and smiling as she looked at the challenge ahead.