I thought I had conquered this thing. I learned to sink into the arms of my Heavenly Father when storms arose; I learned to cling to Him in my desperate hour, and to be content to long for Him in the hours of my joy. But in the last two months, things have not been so. Without going into much detail, I have been facing these same demons again. Every which way, I wasn’t doing something right.
I would do something - all with good intentions - yet, not doing it well enough. I would do something wrong, say something wrong. Every turn, it felt - with less than a better way to phrase - “damned if I do, damned if I don’t.” In my psyche, I felt jumbled. Confused about what and where I was making my mistakes. The more I was aware of my flaws, I only became more apt to commit them all the more. Have you ever been in that position? It sucks. It’s despairing. It’s an almost hopeless feeling. I was tired of fighting. I just wanted to be done. Who cares? If I am not wanted, why try to convince them otherwise?
Anxiety...fear...depression...imperfect.
That has been the culprit. I am imperfect.
I know that I am not perfect. I know that I am human. Actually, Daddy God has been showing me that it’s okay. He’s the good work in me, not myself. But when someone else saw my flaws, and only spoke to me when I made them, it triggered something of the past. I was no longer the confident daughter of the King. I became, once again, the wretched girl who is no longer good enough. No matter if the intention was to grow me, I felt defeated. I have felt defeated for two months straight. Over the course of my life, I no only inherited anxiety from my grandmother, but I constantly have feared the disdain of others’ opinion of me. I know that God has made me, but there is this insistent pressure to believe the words that carry the most weight are the ones that I can see their faces. Their impact is more immediate.
The blows have been cut deep and cut daily. Once I could gain enough courage to hold onto the encouragement God was so desperately speaking to me to believe, another left hook runs in right field, tripping me to fall on my knees with a slump of defeat. I want to get back up. Stand firm. Never back down, and never fear that I would fall. Yet, here I am.
It’s been nearly three decades with having this chain of anxiety tied around my waist. Sure, I am strong. Yet, this strength carries a cost in which it is too much to bear. I am either too much to share my burden, or I slowly asphyxiate from my own isolation; a measure taken to not cause any worry for other loved ones in my life. But this isn’t living, and surely not living in the purpose and power of Christ. The worst of it is I know who I am in Christ. I know all the Bible verses, and how I should think. “I know better, so I should do better,” I tell myself. And that statement causes a condemnation that should not be my own. Where God’s grace is meant to cover my heartache and brokenness, I fall into subjection to a law that has already been fulfilled.
I have had enough.
I have had enough of not feeling like I am not good enough. I have had enough of living in courage, and yet, when stepping into boldness, I suddenly become fearful of the rejected response I secretly wish (yet still expect to occur) won’t come. I am tired of not caring, because I care too much of what people think. I am tired of knowing that my identity is in Christ, but yet, I am constantly living a definition written by other men and women. I am tired of being wrecked by wounds that I inflict, because I determine my situation to be the revelation of truth. I am tired of not resting. I have had enough of not being enough.
I am determined, however. Ever since I was born, I was a fighter. Call me stubborn; sometimes I wonder if it does me some good, though. My mind may have been ravished by lies draining the rivers of life from my soul, but there is enough of His Holy Spirit seeping in to convince me that I know what I am believing is a lie. Does that make sense? I know I have been discouraged, and yet, I have enough of His truth in me to make me restless; to make me not content with just lying down dead in the face of my enemies. Their names: anxiety, fear, failure, defeat.
So, I am getting back up. Pick up that Sword and cut out the arrows that have poisoned me. Their venom has been swimming in the midst of Salvation’s blood, but I aim to not be finished with allowing it to continue to “water” the soil of my heart. I am going to let God do His perfect work in me.
Oma, I am thankful for the heritage you left me. You desired after God, and had a heart of worship. The women of your family were prayer warriors. But there is thing I must no longer receive from you. Bid me no disdain for disowning the inheritance of anxiety. I am done with the self-loathing, and I want to learn to stand in the truth of God fully. I am ready to believe all He has said about me, and His heart for me.
How this shall look: to be continued... 
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