I have been told that
I worry too much. I have been told that
I get anxious. I guess it’s true. There have been several instances in my life
where a friend or family member had to calm me down from an unseemingly dire
situation. Some people may find this unbelievable. The young woman who seems to laugh at the
most simplest of things, who can be care-free….who is known by her closest
friends as a “prayer warrior” deals with anxiety, and off and on, times of
depression? Yes.
I probably should discuss the objective
of this post. I have struggled mentally
with this issue called “Anxiety” silently for so long, and I’m tired of hiding
it. Perhaps all the Facebook posts this
month about how to recognize depression, and how to treat someone who lives
with some form is also a part of it. But I don’t want this to simply be another post. However, I am trying to understand why my
mind acts the way that it does, as well as come out of this hole. This isn’t to
say that I can explain the psychological and physiological aspects of every
person who may struggle with such a case.
Every person is different, and
the causes for their situations vary.
And
yet, I am anxious to write down what goes on in this brain of mine. Maybe I’ll write it; save it for a future
book I may or may not compile…just not make it public, for now. I don’t how it will be received. I have had family members and friends tell me
that, “[I] just need to get out and do something,” or to “[not] stress,” while
I was in the midst of anxiety or depression.
Neither have been helpful, and
often drive me deeper into this pitiful pit.
In writing this, I don’t mean to condemn anyone. I know that my family and friends were trying
to help, and I must be thankful in their attempts.
I
have been told that I worry too much.
I’m tired of it; I’m tired of feeling shame, and I am desiring to throw
this off once and for all. As of now,
this seems to be where I am, however, I long for a better future filled with
hope. If you are willing to understand
fully one of my struggles, please read on.
v
What
Goes Through My Thoughts with an Anxiety Attack
When
a situation arises that I become anxious, I shut down mentally. My sense of logic becomes paralyzed. People have told me to just “snap out of it”,
and I don’t understand why, because the truth is, I can’t. In the moment of my anxiousness, the world is
so much bigger than me, and I want to feel
protected. I want to curl up in a
ball (and when the anxiety is at its worse, I literally do); hide away from the
problem until it is solved on its own, or dissolved - whichever ends up
occurring. I know that a solution is
more likely. Realistically, I am the one
needed to come up with the solution. I
have been told to just go outside and “do something.” Yet, when I am faced with whatever is making
me either anxious or depressed (I’ve dealt with both), my mind becomes so
fixated on the issue, as the paralysis that resulted from the stroke I had
before I was born. In that moment, I
want to be rescued. I want someone to come to me – not telling me
that I’m okay. Because, right then and
there, I’m not. But I want them to tell
me that everything will be okay.
Reminding me that time is greater and
stretches further than the present moment helps me hope that this struggle will
not last.
Why
I Become Anxious
I
finally had to sit myself down, and ask why I become anxious. Looking back on the different reasons, I
realized that my mind becomes frantic when something is out of order. I don’t like it when I can’t come up with the
solution, or if the solution is not able to be implemented automatically. The waiting is probably one of the hardest
things for me to internalize. Not that
things have to ‘my way or the high way’ (though I can be stubborn at times…),
but as long as there is some form of communication, it helps to know there is
progress.
All
in all, I like to help. I like to be
needed, wanted. And if there is
something I can’t fix or at least assist in a solution, I start freaking out,
because suddenly whatever out of order – whatever chaos- now must be weathered
instead of ended. Not being able to help
wreaks havoc on my nerves, because I fear that the weakness I see in myself is
out in the open. I hate being weak. I hate being broken. Furthermore, when I exasperate the situation
rather than aid, I suddenly believe myself to be broken.
The
Internal Struggle that Accompanies
I am
fully aware of what 2 Timothy 1:7 states.
“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love,
and of a sound mind.” In my God, there
is no fear. So, why then am I so prone
to fear when my loved ones can see things from the proper perspective, and move
along? To be completely honest, I do not
have a full answer to that. What I can
tell you, however, is realizing the discrepancy of my reaction to situations
compared to my friends, I not only curl up trying to dissuade my fear, but I
also can be at fault in cowering in shame.
I hate it whenever I have had an anxiety attack.
I
know that God is bigger than this whole world, but when things have fallen
apart, my mind frantically searches for a way out, like one caught in the midst
of a fire. I know that there is a fire
hose near me (i.e. Jesus, and the Bible), but sometimes, it seems as if He’s so
far away. I’m better now, than when I
was younger. At least now, I will
acknowledge and cry out to God. I used
to just cry and freak out. But that is
only comforting to a certain extent.
I
hate how anxiety comes and goes. I hate
how when things go array, I huddle in fear rather than stand in courage. After all, that is what Christians are
supposed to do, right? Stand in courage,
be fearless. Trust God without any
shadow of doubt. For me, the causes of
the anxiety is situationally based. I
can even discern the fear coming on…Nevertheless, even when it is foreseen, I
still fall for it…The result is shame.
“I
should know better. I’m so stupid. How could I become so concerned about
something so little,” I tell myself. After waves of doubt have been windswept, I am
then battered with words that force me to look into a mirror which shows a
reflection I don’t want to believe to be my own. In the piece of glass, I see: “unlovable”, “unwanted”,
“coward”, “stupid”, and “childish”.
These are just some of the words, but I think you can get the idea of what
plagues my mind after an anxiety attack.
It is in these moments that I need to be reminded of truth.
I
know that people try to help. Really, I
do appreciate their efforts. However, when
I’m told that I “just need to get out”; that I “shouldn’t stress”, it actually
makes things worse. Because I KNOW that
this shouldn’t be normal. I shouldn’t
regress into a toddler mindset when I am overwhelmed. As an adult, I know that I shouldn’t run
away, hide, and wish the world could solve everything on its own. And yet…I do.
Because of it, I feel like a failure as a human, and as a
Christian. The kinds of phrases I
mentioned earlier are like the man who told his wife to “Just calm down!” when
she was worried. The reaction that the
woman gives is very similar to that scenario.
Those kinds of comments can actually escalate the raw emotions being
felt, not help settle them. I need to be
reminded of truth. As childish as it may
seem, I have needed someone to come to me
at times, while I have been depressed. I
wish people would remind me that God’s goodness is still sovereign, instead of
pointing to how I am sucking at adulthood.
When I ask for help, instead of making a point of what I’m doing wrong
(because, I am very well aware), remind me of how great my God is. How He formed the stars and holds us – holds ME
– in His hands. (Personally, I have
found that suggesting, inviting me to do something rather than telling me is
more beneficial.) That however big my
God is, He is bigger still. And when I
fall off, He is willing to pick me up, if I run to Him. Remind me that He loves me, because it’s in
those moments that I feel so alone and unlovable.
Looking
to the Future
I
have finally figured out why I become anxious, personally. It’s been my norm for a long time. I don’t
know if I can remember when I wasn’t nervous initially. Probably back in early primary school. Yet, I’m
not satisfied in having this be a thing I “deal” with. It is easy to claim that this will always be
my unwanted accompaniment in life. After
all, my Oma and my mother also have dealt with anxiety at certain levels. They have become anxious to the point that
they will fear something out of order, and will desire perfection. Perfection of themselves, sometimes of
others. (I remember when my family went
to visit my Oma and Opa, my Opa’s heart raced to the point that he had to spend
the remainder of the week in the hospital.
My Opa was just excited! However,
my Oma blamed herself for his plight.) Not
only have I dealt with the same anxiousness, but I also have battled against perfectionism
and legalism. I have desired to be
good. I have desired to be loveable, and
somehow, my method of madness to prove that I’m loveable is to have no
blemish. When that perfection falls
apart, so do I. For the exact reason why
my grandmother and mother (and were there any other women in my ancestry that
has also dealt with some form of anxiety?
Yes, I am hinting at generational curses and blessings here) become
anxious, I do not know.
But
for me, I can’t stand for a problem to left without a solution…and there is
also probably a belief that the solution must weigh on my shoulders. It will not get fixed unless I do something
about it. And if I can’t solve it, then
I must be weak and broken. Thus the
cycle continues. After an anxiety
attack, I beat myself up emotionally for allowing myself to fall into a stupid
trap. Shouldn’t I, as a Christian, know
better?! And ergo, the reconfiguration
of how to do things more perfect, more well, more desiring so that I may be
more wanting to others…perhaps, even to God.
God. Let’s get the focus back on Him.
I
know that I should look to my heavenly Father.
I know I should. I try. I guess there is still a part of me that
struggles with letting go of control.
Letting go of the ability to just let God deal with it as He knows
best. This is something I have been
aware of for a while, and am still in the midst of fully trusting God. The good news is that I am not content with
allowing anxiety or depression to crush my emotional, psychological, and
spiritual well-being. This generational
curse must be broken. And it will
be.
The
irony in all of this is that in the same line of women who become anxious, they
are also known to be prayer warriors.
Warriors who look to God and usher in the Holy Spirit to move on the
behalf of their families, friends, nations, and other things that concern their
hearts. How is it that one woman – or in
this case, generations of women – can wear two masks that depict completely
opposite emotions? On one end,
fear. The other, boldness. Sometimes there is a sense of Dr. Jekyll and Mr.
Hyde. However, I am finding that God is
glorified in the ironies of life. He
uses the foolish things to confound the wise (1 Corinthians 1:27-31). He calls out the unqualifiable to declare
that it is by His hand that heaven and earth move. Anxiety will not have a hold on me. There WILL be a day that the dubbed, “Worry
Wart” will fall away like the old skin of a snake. I will take up my generational blessing as a
Prayer Warrior and look to the One who holds the whole world in His hand.
No comments:
Post a Comment