anxious

I’ve never really struggled with anxiety. Depression was always my mental illness of choice. I prefered the melancholy lows to the manic frenzy of an adrenaline-laced high. That was until a crisis in our marriage a few years ago brought me intimately acquainted with anxiety. Ranging from mildly agitated to full-blown panic, everything felt out of control and everyone felt like a threat. The worst part was that I could not even anticipate what might trigger an anxious episode. It could come seemingly out of nowhere at any time of the day or night. It was all so new and uncomfortable and confusing, but instead of running from it, which was my usual M.O., I decided to get curious about what was causing these attacks of anxiety. What’s was the root of this fruit? 

Fun fact: I study cults for fun. That’s right. In addition to running a business and sweeping floors and keeping other humans alive, I use my limited spare time to study cults. I listen to podcasts, and audio books, and watch documentaries about groups of people who will abandon all common sense and blindly follow a leader past the point of no return, sending them into financial devastation and some even as far as moral decay. Typically, lives are destroyed and families torn apart in the span of a few short years. Listen, if this is you, no judgement here. I have had my own experiences with people who suck you in, only to use and abuse you for their personal gain. But if you have not had the pleasure of this life experience, let me spare you some time and let you in on a little secret. Bottom line: it all boils down to money. Every time. But it was this quest for a greater understanding of people that began my journey down the rabbit hole of toxic organizations. As a result of studying human behavior for a few decades, it has also made me really curious about my own.  

Why in my mid 40’s was I suddenly being hit with this new sensation when everything in my world was spinning out of control? Ahhhhh, control. There is that word again; the word I have worked so hard to let go of for almost 2 decades. Struggling in my late teens and all of my 20’s with an eating disorder helped me to understand that my root issue was control, or my lack thereof. Since working a program for 19 years and creating a new relationship with food, I have worked hard to rewire my brain to behave differently around stress and chocolate (for the most part). But this new season was pushing on old wounds and my heart reacted in an almost primal way. My need for control and self-protection went way deeper than a brownie could fix. 

It went back to a woman over a decade into a marriage where she felt neither seen or loved. It went back to a young wife and mother with more month than money who pleaded for a way to make ends meet. It went back to a teenager with a broken heart who just wanted to know that she was worth loving and protecting. And it went back to a scared little girl who saw the world as a big place full of wonder, but also full of danger around every corner. All of those places felt scary and painful and out of control. All of those places drove me to a desire to run and hide and shut myself off from the source of the pain. I didn’t need to feel good; I just needed to feel numb. Anything that would make the pain subside sounded like a plan. And when I could not make it stop, when I was out of options, when I could no longer keep up with the barrage of emotions that hammered my soul, almost as a last resort, it went back to Jesus. I would stop and look for Him when I finally got to the end of myself.

And there He was. Smiling, waiting patiently, and beckoning me to come sit for a spell. To simply hold His hand. In His presence, my delusion of self-sufficiency melted and I once again saw that I was never alone in those seasons of pain. My pastor talks about combating a spirit with the opposite spirit. You battle greed with generosity, lust with purity and pride with humility. In the same way, you battle anxiety and control with rest. Not sleep. Not vegging out all weekend with a Netflix bender and some jamocha almond fudge. Not a pedicure and peppermint mocha kind of rest.

My anxiety came from a place of believing that my thoughts, feelings, actions were the only things impacting my results. Therefore, having control was paramount for my own sense of well-being. The kind of rest my weary soul needed was the deep kind. The kind of rest that slows you down enough to remind you that doing and being are two very different things. Rest reminds us that trying to hold it all together is usually what is tearing us apart.  

Rest, by nature, is an act of faith. Just as Jesus was with the disciples in the boat in Mark 4, He has been with me in all of these storms that have rocked my world. The problem is that my first reaction is to focus on the wind and the waves. Even after 30+ years of life as a believer. I almost always prefer to exhaust myself in the act of hunting lifeboats instead of first turning to the one who controls the storm. It is as if I believe that staring at the problem long and hard enough is going to magically present a solution. Or that the solution is really the point at all. 

MY anxiety is MY response to MY problem that I believe is MINE to solve. Hmmmmmm… 

I am starting to see a pattern. So much me, so little Him. Only one of us can be in control. Only one of us has the power to work out all the details. Only one of us can see the road ahead and make a way where there is no way. 

And spoiler alert: it ain’t me. Deep sigh. Maybe one day I will learn to stay in my lane instead of trying to play God. But for now, I will just be grateful that His love for me covers all my stupid human tricks. As I take a few deep breaths and exhale all of the anxiety that has seeped into my bones, I will focus on releasing my death grip on control. I will settle into rest and ease into a pace that creates more space for my mind, will and emotions to recover from the beating of these past few years. I will take a walk, pour myself a glass of awesome and find some sunshine to soak into my skin and warm me from the inside out. These are the moments that remind me who I am, and help me connect to myself and to Him. For me, these are the beginnings of a new season of rest. And I will probably do a little baking alone in my kitchen with some classic country music on in the background.

Brownie, anyone?