Today, in Richmond, British Columbia, I had the profound privilege of being a “book” in the Human Library. For three hours, eight individuals chose to “borrow” me for twenty-minute conversations, my title: “Wounded Healer: Helping Overcome Personal Suffering by Helping Others.” As I sit here reflecting on the afternoon, I’m struck by the unexpected gifts I received just as much as what I offered.

My journey with depression began a decade ago in Ontario, a path marked by struggle, the slow process of acceptance, the courage to seek and receive help, and eventually, the desire to reach out to others. As an Anglican priest, the expectation to embody unwavering faith and peace often felt at odds with my inner turmoil. There was a deep-seated fear – fear of judgment, fear of not being accepted, fear of professional repercussions. Shame clung to the idea of needing a break, seeking therapy, admitting to being “sick” with depression. Yet, with the invaluable support of my bishop, I took those initial, trembling steps towards healing.

One of the most significant transformations on this journey has been accepting myself, flaws and all, rooted in the belief that God’s love and acceptance are unconditional. This understanding has been a constant anchor. Another crucial leap was stepping outside my self-imposed “comfort zone” and the isolating confines of my struggle. Reaching out to listen to others, to tentatively share my own stories and experiences, proved to be an unexpected catalyst for my own healing.

Today, as a Human Book, that act of reaching out took on a new dimension. Eight individuals, each with their own stories and curiosities, sat with me. I shared my journey through depression: the initial darkness, the gradual acceptance, the vital role of seeking and receiving professional help, and the profound healing found in extending that understanding to others.

What struck me most was the resonance. Many of my “readers” were navigating their own mental health challenges, some at different stages of their journey, others grappling with entirely different struggles. Their appreciation for my openness, for the raw honesty of sharing my perspectives, was deeply moving. It validated the very reason I chose to be there – to break down stigma, to foster understanding, and to offer a glimmer of hope.

But the gift wasn’t solely in what I offered. I found myself profoundly grateful for my readers. Their willingness to listen, their thoughtful questions, their own vulnerability in sharing snippets of their lives created a powerful connection. In those brief twenty-minute exchanges, a sense of shared humanity transcended our individual experiences. I came away feeling less alone, more connected, and strangely, more healed.

It reinforced a truth I’ve come to understand: coping with the isolation of depression often lies in actively engaging with community. Reaching out isn’t just about offering support; it’s about receiving it in return. It’s about recognizing our shared human experience and the healing power of simply being present with one another.

While my journey with depression continues – and I am grateful for the ongoing support of medication – today reminded me of the profound impact of vulnerability and connection. Being an open book wasn’t just about sharing my story; it was about opening a space for mutual understanding and, in doing so, experiencing a deeper layer of healing myself. The unexpected gift of the Human Library was the reminder that healing often happens in the space between us, in the simple act of sharing and being heard.