CARE AND SUPPORT CENTER

In observance of Mental Health Awareness Month, our church is honored to present Stories of Hope, a curated series of testimonies from within our own congregation. These narratives offer an intimate look into the lives of members who have navigated the complexities of mental health challenges, illuminating the diverse pathways—through professional treatment, the steadfast presence of community, and the restorative power of faith—that led them toward healing. By breaking the silence, we aim to foster an environment where every individual feels empowered to speak their truth, rooted in the conviction that mental well-being is as vital as physical health. It is our sacred calling to care for the whole person; we hope these stories serve as a reminder that no one should ever walk through the darkness alone, and that within these walls, your mental health is met with the same compassion, dignity, and grace we afford any other struggle.

 

Read Jackie Getchius’ Story of Hope here: 

I have had the privilege to be part of this faith community for over twenty years. Many of you know that I am psychotherapist in my professional life and have an immense passion for helping those experiencing mental health concerns. What you may not know is that I’ve lived with my own experience of depression. I’m sharing this not because I have perfect answers, but because I believe our stories have power. When we talk openly about mental health, we begin to normalize it, reduce stigma, and create space to support one another with honesty and compassion.

About eight years ago, I broke my leg in a biking accident. This injury was obvious to anyone who saw me. My name appeared in a prayer request in the Sunday bulletin. A meal train was organized to support my family. When I returned to church wearing a large brace, so many of you asked how I was healing. I felt wrapped in care. My injury was visible, and the support came naturally.

In contrast, I’ve gone through seasons of depression where no one could tell just by looking at me. I could still smile, show up, and function (mostly). Most mental health struggles are invisible. There’s no cast or brace that signals someone is hurting. Yet the pain can be just as real and just as deserving of prayer, care, and community.

More recently, my experience with depression has been an up-and-down battle, compounded by hormonal changes related to perimenopause and significant sleep disturbance. Some days have felt heavy, discouraging, and hopeless. Even as a therapist who understands the science behind depression, I’m still human. Knowledge doesn’t make us immune. What makes the difference is remembering we are not meant to carry these burdens alone.

I find hope by noticing what I call “God moments” in everyday life — small reminders of grace. Sometimes it’s the beauty of creation: sunlight through trees, fresh air, the quiet of nature. These moments ground me and remind me that God is present even when my emotions feel unsteady. I lean on scripture that speaks light into dark places and on the support of this church community. Verses about light shining in the darkness have carried me more than once.

My hope is that we can be a church where it feels just as natural to ask for prayer for depression or anxiety as it is for a broken bone. Mental health challenges are part of the human experience. Speaking about them is not weakness — it is courage. When one person shares honestly, it gives others permission to do the same.

If you are struggling, please hear this: you are not alone, and you are not broken. You are a beloved child of God. I pray that our community continues to grow as a place where emotional, spiritual, and physical healing are all welcomed and supported.

Thank you for listening, and for being a church that walks with one another through both visible and invisible struggles.

With hope, Jackie Getchius

 

Read Alivia Larson’s Story of Hope here: 

My name is Alivia, I’m a senior at Chaska High School, planning on attending South Dakota State University in the fall to major in Biology with a certificate in teaching. Throughout my time in high school I've had many situations where I was dealing with both my own mental health and my friends mental health. These internal battles however, have shaped me to be who I am today. The story I’m choosing to focus on today was my most difficult period with depression, how I found support, and what I do now to be able to prevent falling into a slump again.

During my Junior year of high school I fell into a deep depression that lasted from the fall of 2024 and continued into the summer of 2025. Most of the time went by in a blur of numbness, with very few times that I felt like my “normal self.” While struggling with this depression, I removed myself from my faith, taking on a “Fake it till I make it mindset” and while this may have worked for me in the past it created a lot of difficulties in the way I functioned. Most of the time I spent at church, work and school was used to avoid my own thoughts rather than using them to help me. This left me no time to acknowledge that I needed help. Ignoring these warning signs eventually resulted in me isolating myself, and experiencing burnout in school and within my social circles. When I was at my lowest, the turning point wasn't asking for help, but realizing that I deserved the compassion that I readily offered my friends and the people around me.

When I decided to finally ask for help from a professional and recommendations for how to cope with my mental health, I was given support by my family and friends who came to me with their own struggles with mental health. This openness made me feel less alone and eventually led me to find a therapist that was able to help me be easier on myself and acknowledge what I've been through. On top of this I have found coping strategies for the days that my depression gets the best of me in the forms of journaling, having conversations with people around me, and teaching others about my interests and beliefs at church, through 4-H and with my peers. Throughout my road to balance and recovery I found myself enjoying being around people again. I became more open to talk about my struggles with people which brings me to my final step, what I’m doing now.

While therapy has had some challenging aspects, continuing the work has led to major changes in my perspective as well as helped me to open up more to people when I need help. I have also found a lot of support from the people around me, at church, at home, and at school. These people have made the biggest impact in my journey as I realize even when I was at my lowest, I was never alone in my struggles. I will continue to find my faith through them, especially in a world that makes it hard for me to believe there is good. But most of all I will continue to do my part in making the world just a little better for the people around me.

 

Read Becky Carlson’s Story of Hope here: 

I’ve struggled with anxiety for as long as I can remember. My mom likes to say we come from a long line of anxious worriers - my mom before me, her mom before her, and so on. Growing up, it was fairly innocuous - getting worked up before a test, fear over losing a friendship, or anxiety when someone around me got sick. It was “easy enough” to manage, and not so impactful that it felt too serious.

When I was 9, my family experienced the unfathomable trauma of losing my sister to cancer after a nearly year-long battle. During those months, anxiety felt normal…expected in a way. How could it not? Just like anyone in similar circumstances, we weathered the situation and resulting fears as best we could - day by day (sometimes hour by hour), clinging to our faith, our community of support, and to each other.

Throughout my journey with anxiety, I have found it to be the voice that says, “what if?” So, once I experienced the trauma of losing my sister, anxiety became much more powerful. No longer were the “what ifs” just figments of my imagination, but real, tangible events.

The voice of anxiety got much worse once I became a mom. Suddenly, the stakes felt so much higher - I was responsible for two beautiful, fragile lives. During my early years of motherhood, my anxiety became deeply health-related. I found myself regularly Googling symptoms my daughters were exhibiting, obsessively checking (and re-checking) temperatures, all while the blood in my head rushed to my stomach, and my pulse quickened.

After my youngest took a scary fall that had me literally convinced she was going to die in the backseat on the way to the ER (she was fine, by the way - not even requiring any tests), I knew something needed to change.

With the encouragement of friends and family, and feeling the gentle nudge of God, I sought therapy. My therapist was kind and affirming. After years of suffering, I received formal diagnoses of general and health anxiety, as well as PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder). While I appreciated the conversations I had with her, and the support she provided, that alone did not provide the relief I needed. 

Next, I turned to the aid of a psychiatrist. Together, we made a treatment plan to incorporate support from anti-anxiety medication. It took a bit of trial and error to find the right medication and dose. However, after a year or two of adjustments, we were able to find the right balance.

Initially, I felt a lot of shame relying on medication to manage my anxiety. There’s a lot of stigma and misunderstanding surrounding anxiety, both of which amplified my own feelings about it. With time, I worked to get comfortable sharing about my anxiety with others. I wanted others with anxiety to know they were not alone, and wanted those who don’t deal with anxiety to better understand it. Further, since being medicated, I’ve found that I’m much better at identifying and understanding my own triggers, as well as advocating for myself (and others) and the support that’s needed. 

At one point, about a year ago, I reduced the dosage of my medication (under supervision of my psychiatrist), feeling like I was doing better, and maybe didn’t need it anymore. Immediately following the change, my symptoms came back with a vengeance. I was miserable, and knew the dosage needed to be adjusted back up. Again, the shame slipped in. I felt frustrated, thinking, “What is wrong with me that I need this to function?” and “I shouldn't have to rely on this - other people don’t have to!”

Discouraged, I went to my mom for advice (and commiseration - remember, long line of anxious worriers). We turned to reassurance from the words of Psalm 139:14 “I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well.” God made me with intent and perfection. I am just as God intended. There’s nothing “wrong” with me - this is simply how my brain is wired, and where my life’s experiences have brought me. Just in the same way that others may need medication to lower their blood pressure or cholesterol, or insulin to regulate their blood sugar, the medication I take is needed for my brain to process anxious thoughts.

I’m happy to report that now, about 10 years after the incident that led me to first seek help, I’m doing well. Anxiety is still a reality in my life, but it no longer controls me. There’s no more shame. I simply have proud assurance that I am fearfully and wonderfully made, just as God intended - anxiety and all! 

 

Read Cate Everett’s Story of Hope here: 

When my dad died suddenly during the first week of my sophomore year of college, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. My family went into survival mode without even realizing it, my sister still in high school, my mom trying to hold us together, and me pretending college life could keep moving as if nothing had happened. After the funeral, after the hot dishes and quiet hugs, we tried to return to “normal,” but normal no longer existed. Each day became something to endure rather than live.

Years passed like that, slow, heavy, and blurred. Grief we hadn’t faced began leaking out in unexpected ways. We had always been a family anchored in faith. Growing up with a mom who was a Christian education director meant prayer and community were part of the rhythm of life. But when he died, I didn’t reach for any of it. Instead, the question Why would God do this? hung in the air, unspoken and unanswered, until the tears began arriving daily, and therapy could only carry me part of the way.

Eventually, I learned that healing didn’t come from finding an explanation but from finding people willing to sit in the questions with me. Sharing my grief, saying out loud that I was not okay, and hearing others do the same became the first cracks of light in a long, dark stretch. We never move past the death of someone we love, but we do learn to carry it differently. Through community, through honest grieving, and through small connections that remind us we are not alone.

 

Read Nancy Westby’s Story of Hope here: 

I decided to share my experiences with PTSD recovery to remind both myself and others that it is not only acceptable to seek help, but also possible to find hope even during the darkest times.

The Beginning of My Journey-

My path to understanding and healing began unexpectedly, following a conversation with my college instructor. After reading an essay I had written, she reached out to me and asked to meet. During our meeting, she gently questioned whether I was experiencing abuse within my marriage. This conversation marked the start of a long process of recovery, leading me to realize that I had been suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) rooted in my childhood.

At that time, I was struggling more than I realized. I always managed to keep things together on the surface, yet I constantly felt afraid underneath. I questioned whether people liked me, wondered if I was enough, or if I was doing enough. These doubts lingered in my mind, fueling my anxiety and self-doubt.

My marriage became a turning point, revealing to me the extent of what I was willing to endure. I stopped participating in activities outside the home, endured loud music that unsettled me, tolerated my husband's drug use, and accepted the lack of intimacy in our relationship. I even asked a friend to leave our home for the sake of my marriage, believing that marriage was meant to last forever. Much like the metaphor of a frog slowly dying as the water heats to boiling, I was losing myself without realizing it. If someone had asked whether I was happy, I would have said “yes,” unaware of how much I was suffering inside.

Seeking Help and Setbacks-

My sister suggested I seek help. The first therapist I saw encouraged me to accept my husband’s behavior and sexually abused me. I was so happy to have someone care about me, that I tolerated it. Fortunately, he went on vacation and I never went back.

My marriage fell apart after I got pregnant; he wanted an abortion, but I refused. He stayed, but after the baby was born, I struggled emotionally. Therapy revealed his affair, and with the therapist's guidance, I finally found the strength to set boundaries. When he returned to the affair, I told him it was over and he left. Unsure how to care for my baby, I doubted my ability to love him and considered adoption. My therapist said, “You love him more than you were loved”. Although I didn’t fully understand what he was saying. I believed the therapist. What a gift: my son has brought me great joy and I found out I can and do love. 

This was the beginning of a long discovery of the impact of my traumatic childhood has on my life. When the therapist reached his capability to help me, he referred me on. From this therapist, I was able to look at my childhood realistically to discover physical, sexual and worse emotional abuse. They called it Complex Traumatic Stress Disorder. Complex PTSD symptoms include flashbacks, avoidance, and hypervigilance—plus profound difficulties with emotion regulation, persistent negative self-view, and severe relationship struggles. Stemming from prolonged, repeated trauma (often childhood abuse or captivity), it commonly causes dissociation, chronic guilt, and suicidal thoughts.

Recovery-

Recovery is a gradual process that involves many approaches. For me, therapy, spiritual practices, body work, exercise, education, and support groups were key. I am extremely grateful for all the guides God puts in my path. My courage and strength to do the work is a gift from God. Now, I have coping tools, appreciate my growth, and have broken the cycle of abuse to experience love and self- acceptance. Though it’s challenging, the recovery work is one of my proudest accomplishments. Today, I am often a guide to others.