I was 13 years old when I had my first major depressive episode. I was younger than my age implies; I was naive. I was innocent. The "worst" thing I had ever done at that point was probably, I don't know, watch MTV even though my parents thought they had blocked the channel.

I was raised to believe in God and was taught Christian values since infancy-values I strove to put into practice even in my young life. I went to church. I said my prayers. I helped my family, tried to love everyone I came in contact with, avoided holding grudges and didn't get involved in petty fights. I did my best to follow God's laws and understand what he wanted from me, and I thought was on the right track. In essence, I was "doing everything right."

But, yet, I suffered-oh, how I suffered.

I remember lying awake for hours at night, praying for my pain to be lifted. It was an anguish so deep that metaphor completely escapes me. It was paralyzing. It was black. It was consuming. I thought, "If God listens, if He really knows and loves all of His children, then He will hear my prayers. He will know I don't deserve this, that I've done nothing wrong. If I have enough faith, He will take this away from me."

But He didn't.

Walking alone

Time went on, and sometimes things were better. Sometimes they were worse. As the weeks and months and years went by, somewhere along the line I decided I'd had enough. But I didn't turn my anger against the depression, myself or even the people in my life who couldn't see what I needed them to see (even though I did my best to hide my depression from the world). No, instead, I got angry at God.

I often thought of the poem "Footprints," which tells the story of a man walking along a beach with God. He sees footprints marking the path of his life and notices that in his darkest hours, there was just one set of prints, not two. When he asks God why he was abandoned in his time of need, God answers, "It was then I carried you."

I'd think about this poem, then I'd say to myself, "What a load of crap." Because God wasn't carrying me-He wasn't there, wasn't even with me at all.

Understanding God

It's been nearly 20 years since that first bleak episode with depression, though I've had many others that have been far worse. Through the decades I have learned so much about life and about God, but the fact still remains: I don't fully understand Him.

I don't know exactly what God wants me to do; though, I work to understand it each and every day. I don't know why He lets bad things happen to good people and good things happen to bad people. I don't know why some people seem to face every obstacle known to man while others seem to sail through life. And I just don't know where He is when it all goes down.

But of the many, many things that have changed since then, one thing remains the same: No matter how abandoned I have felt, I have never doubted He exists, somewhere. Whether He was quietly suffering along with me or simply absent I'll never really know for sure, but since choosing to believe God is real, I have seen evidence of Him even in the worst of times. I have felt the presence of Heavenly help in countless forms, many of which I did not anticipate or even fully understand.

And now that I'm a parent, I'm starting to understand Him better and better every day.

Becoming more

Sometimes, I am not there when my children get hurt. Sometimes I'm not even there when they recover and move on from the fall. I cannot hold their hands and wipe their tears and guide them through every storm or even rejoice with them through every triumph. It doesn't mean I don't love my children or I'm not heartbroken when they are; it means I love them fiercely and want them to become more because it is in my absences that my children find their own strength.

They learn what they're made of and what they can do-and what they can't or shouldn't do. They learn resilience: that they can be happy again even after they are consumed with sorrow. They learn there's always another chance to try again. They learn to trust their inner voice, not just the ones whispering softly or screaming loudly all around them.

In those moments when I am not there, my children are discovering who they are and what they can do, how they fit into the world around them and how to change their world. They are deciding each day who they can and want to be. In the end, these discoveries will give them the ability to trust their own instincts and rely upon their own strength. And I pray they will be strong, find stability and inner peace and that they will grow.

Changing myself and the world

Now, I'm starting to think my 13-year-old self was right all along. God wasn't there. But I'm also starting to think maybe He chose not to be there. And that's OK.

God had to step away and let me fall, again and again and again and again. He had to let me grow strong and find my inner peace. Because it's what I needed, too.

When God isn't there, it doesn't mean He doesn't love me; it means He wants me to know who I am as He does-a brilliantly shining soul with divine origins; with continual access to spiritual guidance and protection; and with infinite, wondrous potential. He wants me to remember I am all these things and more and to know I am capable of conquering all obstacles.

And through it all, God lets me decide who I am and whether or not to believe. He gives me the space to change when I want to be someone better. And now, He is letting me change the world in a way only I can, with all the wisdom and strength I have gained because He wasn't there.

This article was originally published on Another Mormon Mommy Blog. It has been republished here with permission.__