Jules Badger | Author of “When the Lights Go Out” Shares her Spiritual Direction and Mental Health Journey
An SGM Interview with Jules Badger
When the Lights Go Out
Jules Badger is a maturing extrovert who discovered the gifts of the contemplative tradition in mid-life following a period of clinical depression. She is a spiritual director and is also employed as a writer for The Salvation Army’s communications department. In this blogpost, Kathryn Overall-Cass has a conversation with Jules about the book she co-wrote with her husband, Mat, ‘When the Lights Go Out’ and what wisdom she can offer the spiritual direction community in Aotearoa about companioning those with mental health challenges.
Jules, congratulations on the launch of ‘When the Light Goes Out’! How would you describe your book to the contemplative community in Aotearoa?
When The Light Goes Out is the raw and uncut story of the breakdown of my mental health in 2012.
It’s a story of spiritual disruption as faith is lost and found again; it’s a story of life’s rough edges as recovery unfolds but rolls into relapse; it’s a snapshot of the love and care of the Body of Christ when it’s at its best.
It’s a story that looks back to unprocessed grief and trauma and forward to hope and healing.
It’s a story of self-acceptance, self-compassion, resilience and the ongoing pursuit of wellness; it’s the story of discovering God in the depths of darkness where the only light that shines is his; and finally, it’s the story of responding to his gentle call to a deeper, slower, richer life.
What was the experience of co-writing the book with your husband, Mat like for you? What made it important to you to have his voice alongside your own?
I began writing reflective short stories about my life as part of the recovery process. These morphed into recollections of some of the key moments of my mental distress and unwellness. Eventually I gave them to Mat to read and we did some reflecting together. As he shared with me what it was like for him during some of those moments, there were times of revelation, shock and even laughter!
Mat went through that unwellness alongside me and had his own, and often quite different, recollections and perspective. While it was initially amusing to compare our differing responses, we quickly realised there was something important taking place and it became clear that the narrative didn’t just belong to me.
We sensed a nudge and then a call from God to both write in earnest, knowing that readers would benefit from hearing both our voices in the story.
What were your hopes for the book as you wrote it?
I certainly didn’t wake up one day and think everyone needs to hear all the gory details of my hideous breakdown!
It was a therapeutic exercise to begin with. And yet the more I wrote the more I felt compelled to share openly and honestly so that people would have some understanding of what it feels like to be trapped in an unwell mind with unhealthy thinking patterns.
Writing the book felt – still does—like a calling from God.
Mat and I both wanted those who encounter sufferers to ‘get it’, so there was an educational mandate for us in writing as well.
At certain points when writing it felt as though ours was a story God could use to save lives and we both wanted to be part of that!
We were passionate about writing in a way that was engaging and accessible—especially for sufferers of anxiety and depression. You are not alone! And there is hope—there is light at the end of the tunnel. Wait for it and try not to resist the deep work that can only be attended to in the darkness. Embrace the struggle – God is right there.
We’ve had people write to us who have had family members die by suicide, and for them reading the descriptions of my distorted thinking and perceptions helped them to realise that depression kills just like cancer or heart disease if untreated. Loved ones likely didn’t choose to die by their own hand, but rather they couldn’t fathom how to keep going because of what their unwell brains were telling them. This has brought comfort to some.
And finally, we wanted Christians especially to love one another with greater understanding and compassion.
Caring for the sick includes the mentally unwell, and sometimes the mentally unwell are pastors and leaders.
Christians do become unwell, and it’s not a moral failing but part of being human and an invitation to learn and become more self-aware and heal and grow.
The final stages of publishing the book coincided with your training as a spiritual director. What drew you into the ministry of spiritual direction?
What drew me into the ministry of spiritual direction was the impact of the ministry of spiritual direction!
A few years into my recovery I went on a five-day retreat to Magnificat in the Wairarapa. It was led by a handful of trained spiritual directors within The Salvation Army. I will always be grateful that it was within that familiar denominational context that I was introduced to the contemplative tradition. That may seem odd, but it was a ‘safe’ place to explore practices and a way of being with God that was, for the most part, entirely new and to begin with a bit weird!
I had spiritual direction every day during that week, which became the springboard into the gifts of silence and solitude, where I met God in a new and deeper way. I went on retreat every year for the next four years, with the last two being in full silence.
I will never forget the profoundly physical experience of attending to the noise within me with the balm of silence and solitude.
The chatter in my mind ceased, and the swirling in my belly and chest lifted off me. I knew God was right there with me in a new way—a way that finally made sense to me.
He wasn’t in the earthquake or the wind or fire, not in the busyness or service or hustle, but with me, as close as my breath—I just had to stop and notice.
How would you describe your experience of SGM’s Spiritual Directors Formation Programme?
The two-year formation programme was such a gift! I left Salvation Army officership to respond in obedience to God’s clear direction to do the course, and I have not once regretted it.
The course content was spectacular and challenging, and the formation that undergirded the process of learning and unlearning was life changing. I remember being told when I applied that the course was part-time for a reason—to experience and learn the lifestyle of slow. And that’s what happened for me.
Altering the shape of my routine made space for God to lead me into new practices and to reflect not only on the learning, but on my life to that point.
I also really valued spending time with people of faith from other traditions—this was so enriching and important for me. I love my Salvation Army tradition (most of the time), but it has also been the perfect enabler for my false self in so many ways. It was good to notice this, and to see the other faces of God and experience the richness of other ways of being with and worshiping God.
I also made some wonderful friends—a real gift!
I was interested to read in your book about your early experiences with spiritual direction not really gelling for you. Do you think we are more ‘ready’ for spiritual direction at some points in our life journey than others?
My early experiences of spiritual direction in my twenties are certainly amusing. I want to go back and hug my young self for trying and give credit to my director who did her best!
Spiritual direction and supervision were highly recommended by the time I was an officer in my thirties, but I just didn’t go because I was too busy, and honestly didn’t like having my wounds poked at.
I realise now that there was always something in me that deeply desired a relationship with God like I have now. But I was unable to ‘go there’ because of trauma and fear. I wasn’t ready, but like an alcoholic finally reaching rock bottom, my mental health breakdown meant that I had no choice.
As I faced what was inside, the contemplative tradition provided practices that supported a new, gentle way of being with God. I was ready to face God, to sit down with God and have it out with him, as well as be held by him and release everything I was holding onto into his care.
My previous activist lifestyle prohibited this kind of exchange with God by virtue of there simply not being the time and space necessary for such deep work.
Would I have been ready sooner for spiritual direction under different circumstances or within a different faith tradition? Who knows? What I do know is if that’s the path I had to take to experience the intimacy I have with God now, then I wouldn’t change a thing.
Could you describe some of the ways your image of God has changed throughout your journey? What practices have supported your evolving perception of the God who is with you?
The practice of spiritual direction gave me permission to actually notice I had an image of God! I was largely unaware until then that my image of God was limited and distorted.
Becoming unwell also forced me to discard images of God that were incomplete and lacking. It’s hard to explain, but I write in the book…
There was a time in my life when I thought I needed to understand God—having ‘right’ theology and doctrine seemed so very important. However, now the mystery of God looms large, and I’m fine with that—excited by that.
My image of God has been enlarged and I continue to be surprised and thrilled when I encounter God in new and unexpected places, spaces and people.
Praying with the imagination and working with images are practices that have been so helpful for me, but were not part of my previous way of being with God. Recently, after the book was published, God gave me an image of my life before, and of my life now.
My life used to be like a large cruise liner perched a top the ocean with lights and activity and masses of people and a new port to explore every other day, I lived my life at surface level.
There was no depth—nothing below, in fact I was frightened of what lurked in the depths and fearful of falling in least I be devoured so I stayed away from the edge.
But now, my life is like a small rowboat, firmly anchored to the sea floor. And I regularly dive in and sink to the bottom where it is quiet and still, and there is treasure to be found.
This image has become so meaningful to me I have just had it tattooed on my arm!
What advice would you offer to spiritual directors who are journeying with someone recovering from a mental health crisis?
I didn’t settle into regular monthly spiritual direction until 2018. Following the relapse in 2017 that I talk about in the book, I realised that I needed to make considerable lifestyle changes, and at first, I thought spiritual direction would provide some accountability.
Prior to that time, I had been exploring different ways of being with God through the contemplative tradition, but I hadn’t altered the overarching scaffolding of my life to support this newly framed spiritual life. In 2018 I had a change of role and as part of my recovery was only working part-time.
Spiritual direction during this season gave me the space to notice what was helpful and what wasn’t.
My spiritual director at the time, Jenny Caston, listened well and helped me discern the baby steps needed to build a new kind of life—a slower life. I realised it wasn’t accountability I had been seeking, but space to listen and reflect and discern.
Jenny provided that sacred space and was an excellent mirror who helped me notice what brought me consolation and what brought me desolation (drawing on Ignatian spirituality) so I could make change accordingly.
When we moved to Wellington in 2020, I started seeing Helen Tripp.
Helen asks such disarming questions! What was helpful was looking back with Helen and learning to have compassion for my younger, crazy-busy, constantly performing, unwell self.
Helen helped me see self-compassion as a spiritual practice. This was important because I would slip into a mindset of extreme judgement toward my former self. But she was learning, and I needed eyes of grace to see that.
And of course, lament. I write in the book about how when I needed to grieve for my father, the narrative of the church in the late 90s, early 2000s was very much about victory and overcoming and finding joy. But I needed to lament and that was nowhere to be found.
I think for spiritual directors, recognising when lament is needed is vital.
I have recently found Mark Vroegop’s book on lament Dark Clouds Deep Lament to be so helpful.
He writes: “In the Bible lament is more than sorrow or talking about sadness. It is more than walking through the stages of grief. Lament is a prayer in pain that leads to trust…Lament invites us to turn our gaze from the rubble of life to the Redeemer of every hurt. It calls us to turn toward promise while still in pain.”
If you’re a director and you haven’t read Mark’s book, I highly recommend you do!
What’s next for you? What does 2024 hold?
2024 so far feels like a year of consolidation, but also of invitation. I have the privilege of journeying with five directees and a wonderful job that I love. My life now is so much slower than my old life, and there is margin - time to reflect and be with God.
People say to me “oh you must be busy”, and I love being able to say in reply, “no, I’m not busy.” I love it!
There’s also invitation, in terms of continuing to notice and bring to God my desire for closeness with him, and then respond to his nudges and explore new spiritual practices on my way to shaping up a ‘Rule of Life’. Praying with the imagination is my favourite spiritual practice and praying the Examen a few times a week helps me live a reflective and reflexive life. I also firmly believe that meandering along as I walk my aged dog is a spiritual practice!
Self-compassion remains very important—resting within the loving gaze of God rather than cowering under the glare of a false god whose expectations I could never live up to.
Another invitation is the pull to return to church community. After seven years in the youth department, Mat is now a senior pastor again of a local church. I am cautiously attending because I do struggle a bit and it may be residual fear of falling into busyness again in that space. I need to talk with my spiritual director about it, I think!
But I’ve also recently joined with the Quakers for worship. I find shared silence so helpful, and a counterbalance to the noise of ‘normal’ church. I’m going for an open posture and will wait and see how God leads.
Remaining open to what unexpected things God might have in store is always a challenge for someone like me, so I try to reframe that into a discipline that I revisit regularly.
My ‘go-to’ breath prayer is:
(Inhale) I release my need for control
(Exhale) I trust your goodness and purpose will prevail!
When the Light Goes Out by Jules and Mat Badger can be purchased from Salvationist Resources in New Zealand for $32.99 + shipping.
