I woke up this morning with a hangover, without the usual prerequisite of too much alcohol consumption the night before.

What I experienced is what is referred to as an emotional hangover – after an emotionally charged day, I often wake up the next morning with hangover-like symptoms.

I have been reading a book by Dr. John E. Sarno, M.D. called The Divided Mind: The Epidemic of Mindbody Disorders. Even before reading this book, I have been a firm believer in the mind-body connection. After all, as a person with mental health issues including clinical depression and anxiety, I live with chronic neck, shoulder, and back pain. When the pain becomes more painful than normal, I know that something more is going on and if the emotion behind the symptom is not addressed appropriately and adequately, the physical symptoms could lead to serious physical illness. So, buying into Dr. Sarno’s research has been relatively easy for me. I believe it.

And . . . reading his book helped me self-diagnose the emotional hangovers I experience every once in a while.

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Yesterday was Easter Sunday, my absolute favorite day of the year. Christmas is my favorite season, but Easter is my favorite day. I am always happy on Easter, which is saying a ton because I am not generally a “happy” person.

I feel somehow renewed. The day feels extra holy and special. It feels as if Jesus permeates every nook and cranny of the world. I believe He always does, but it feels more intense on Easter, like no evil can exist in the world. At least that’s how my world feels one day a year.

Then there was our Easter Sunday service. I played four songs and although none were perfect, I stayed on beat and kept playing. And I wasn’t a bit nervous. I mean, not sick to my stomach nervous. And my part in the sermon, although I didn’t write a single word, was solum and got the point across – or more specifically, the mood.

This is huge for two reasons:

The sermon

Although I do preach from time to time, it has never been my favorite thing. I am quick to point out that I enjoy the process of preparing a sermon, but I do not much care for the delivery. It’s the wallflower in me – the one who would rather remain invisible.

This Easter service was going to be unique. We were combining Good Friday, Holy Saturday, and Resurrection Sunday into one service. I was in charge of Good Friday. After reading and rereading scripture, I couldn’t fathom anything I could possibly say to improve upon what had already been written. So, I didn’t even try. Instead, I decided to bring the story to life by simply reading it aloud.

John 19:14-30 (the story of the crucifixion)

I followed this portion of scripture with a story I found in a book I had been reading called Spirit and Trauma: A Theology of Remaining by Shelly Rambo. The story, quoted by the author from another source, gives a literary glimpse into the crucifixion from a fictional eyewitness. This snippet offered a moving portrayal of what it must have felt like to watch the leader with whom you loved and worshipped die . . . and all your hopes and expectations die with him. Without comprehending what was to come, the scene birthed unimaginable grief and fear.

Moved to tears myself as I read, the room remained eerily quiet as I concluded.

Emotionally moving . . . and draining.

The Music

I played drums on four of the songs. It was only my second time playing in front of people in almost 30 years.

A lot changes in almost 30 years.

I do not have the time to sit and learn new songs like I did when I was a kid and young adult.

Contrary to what “they” say, playing drums is not exactly like riding a bike. The basic skill may still be ingrained within me, but my body does not move like it used to. Even though I work out regularly, I am roughly 30 pounds heavier than I was and roughly 30 years older. Sure, there are heavier and older drummers in the world, but they have one thing I lack – practice.

Yesterday – Easter Sunday – second time in just over a month that I played again.

This time, I was not consciously afraid, but my body told me that, quite possibly, I was still subconsciously scared to death.

Since the moment I started rehearsing for Easter, I developed this intense pain in my right shoulder and arm. The pain intensified the closer we got to Easter. By Saturday night, my arm felt like rubber, and I felt a tingling sensation trickle down my fingertips. I could barely hold onto a drumstick.

I wanted to test Dr. Sarno’s theory (although I had a sneaking suspicion that I already knew the answer). If the pain miraculously went away after Sunday service, then the pain was a physical manifestation of my mental anguish. If the physical pain continued, then maybe something more was going on.

Well, my arm still hurts, but it is more like normal muscle soreness from exercise than the intense pain I had been experiencing.

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Yesterday, I faced two fears: public speaking and public playing. After that, I still had to work – eight hours of interacting with humans. Although I absolutely love my job and had a good day at work, I still had to be “on” for eight hours, an emotional drain in and of itself for an introverted wallflower such as myself.

Hence, the feeling of a hangover today.

Still, I am here, and I am happy.

The hangover-like feeling will subside as the day goes on, but the pride and joy I feel in having accomplished what I have accomplished – no matter how insignificant in the grand scheme of things and in spite of my trepidation and physical manifestation of pain – will remain with me.