Last week Tony and I interviewed my dear friend Jill Riley. If you haven’t listened to this particular podcast, I would highly recommend it. The topic we discuss in this episode is not one that gets talked about very often, and for this reason, I ask you to take the time to listen.

Jill’s story is powerful for many reasons. Her vulnerability in sharing the horrific trauma and abuse that she experienced throughout her childhood is powerful. Her honesty in recognizing that she had viewed those with mental illness as ‘other’ until her own mental crash and subsequent hospitalization as an adult is powerful. Her humility in coming to terms with her mental illness and her decision to become a voice and advocate for those with mental illness is powerful. 

When someone else hears Jill’s story for the first time, the main feeling it evokes is admiration. The fact that this woman could overcome something so awful and then find the compassion to be a voice for others in the midst of her own healing is incredibly inspiring. It makes you believe in miracles.

Every time I hear Jill’s story, however, the main feelings I experience are regret and deep, deep sadness.

I was there, you see.

Jill and I spent four years together as best friends. From that first day in Mr. MCGinnis’ class in 5th grade until the end of 8th grade when I moved away, we were together. We played together. We studied together. We shared so much together, and I had absolutely no idea what was going on. Our other best friend, Jenni, had no idea what was going on and neither did our parents. How did we not know?

I’ve read so many stories of how abuse is hidden and no-one knows. It’s not a shocking story anymore. But in this story, it’s not someone else - it was Jill. 

Of course, I was a kid. I give myself grace, but it breaks my heart to know that one of my dearest friends was suffering so tremendously.

I want to go back. I want to change things. I want to pluck her from that hell she was living in. I want that to be the miracle; not the fact that my friend was able to make something inspiring and hopeful out of the shit-pile she was given. Mere regret feels useless and impotent when thinking of the past.

I’m mad!
I’m angry!
And then the sadness comes…
I’m overwhelmed by a deep grief that someone I love endured so much pain.

***

So what to do with all this emotion? I want to have a wonderful way to wrap this up - a positive way to spin this. A lesson learned. But I don’t. 

I don’t get to go back and fix anything. Like everything in life we just get to move forward.

I do know that I’m grateful that when everything finally came to the surface, Jill was able to get help. I’m grateful that she had doctors and counselors that could walk her through coming to terms with her mental illness and help her begin to heal. I am grateful for Jill’s resiliency as she adjusts to an entirely different life in the wake of her diagnosis and for her courage in sharing her story to help others.

I am also so very grateful for our friendship. Jill and I have been friends for almost 40 years now and I am so honored to walk alongside her and be a witness to the incredible woman that she is.

(As I write this, I am reminded that gratitude can co-exist with sadness and anger. So maybe there’s the lesson buried amongst the shit.)

Jill’s re-launching her podcast ‘Post-Traumatic Faith’ on April 2nd. You can find her podcast and blog on her website at jillriley.com