Lincoln bishop discusses mental health challenges

He got a golden retriever, his eyes were full of life again, and his smile, something we’d rarely seen in years, lit up again.

A Jayhawk at heart, the 69-year-old Kansas native has once again found his composure.

Gone are the long, sleepless nights when he stared helplessly at the ceiling, trying to solve the mounting problems that befell him: from his own family’s medical difficulties, to financial issues leading to difficult decisions at his diocese, to the sex abuse scandal that has rocked the Catholic Church.

“As I lay in bed, I kept reliving the events of that day,” he said of that difficult time in 2018. “I thought, ‘Okay, I’m a bishop. I have to come up with solutions to these problems. What’s the right thing to do?'”

Eventually, the gravity of it all — the sleepless nights of worry — began to show in Conley’s appearance: He was feeling unwell and looking worse for wear, family and friends said.

After two days of tests at the Mayo Clinic, it was determined he suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder, situational depression, anxiety and tinnitus (a constant ringing in the ears).

In December 2019, four months before the pandemic shut down the world, Conley received permission from the Vatican to take a leave of absence and then penned one of the toughest letters of his life, writing to the citizens of Lincoln with complete transparency about his medical condition.

Speaking the truth wasn’t the hard part, but persevering through a lifetime of internalized depression was the harder part, he said, because that’s how he was raised.

“What I had to overcome was shame,” he said, recalling his father, Coral, a World War II veteran who didn’t show his emotions. “… You can’t show weakness.”

“A leader should be immune to all of this. A leader should have a strong and invincible leadership style.”

But by showing vulnerability, Conley set an example for those around him: He let his community know that it’s okay to ask for help, and that no one on this earth can do it alone, not even the highest-ranking official in the Diocese of Lincoln.

He’s not alone: ​​Around the same time as Conley’s leave of absence, other organizations, including the NFL, launched mental health care campaigns to emphasize the importance of seeking help when needed.

“Looking back, I think leadership is more effective when you show vulnerability,” he said. “People can relate to that and it gives you permission to be vulnerable and honest.”

That openness makes people better business leaders, better parents and maybe even better politicians, Conley said.

Conley took 11 months off work, moved to Arizona and joined a circle of friends that included psychotherapists, doctors and spiritual leaders, and stayed with the families of some of his former students, taking refuge in their homes.

“It was very therapeutic,” he said.

Once he was ready, he returned to Lincoln and things slowly started to get better.

“The first year back has been a bit of a rocky one,” he said, pointing to the financial strain caused by the construction project on the Newman Center on the University of Nebraska-Lincoln campus, whose costs have ballooned from $25 million to $40 million.

“It was a big albatross,” he said.

Then, at the end of 2021, the church received a $15 million donation from community members for the Newman Center, helping to ease that burden, Conley said.

Soon after, the Nebraska Attorney General’s office released its report on the church sex abuse scandal, saying it had found no further evidence of wrongdoing.

Attorney General Doug Peterson released the report expressing frustration that no suspects in the church have been prosecuted because the statute of limitations has expired in the vast majority of cases, the Associated Press reported. In some cases, suspected priests are dead or missing, and in some cases, accusers have refused to participate in prosecutions.

Conley is saddened by that chapter in church history, one that caused so much suffering and led more than a dozen dioceses to declare bankruptcy due to the financial burden of civil lawsuits.

“It was always hanging over our heads,” he said, “and maybe there would be like this giant settlement, but we got through it.”

The church is taking safety precautions. Five newcomers were ordained this weekend. Before they took their vows, Conley said he spent hours with them, counseling them, and they were required to read and sign a code of conduct.