How does anxiety attack?
It attacks without warning, constantly catching you by surprise, and you're never prepared -- regardless of how long you've struggled with anxiety.
It attacks silently. You're the only one who can feel it. There are no outward symptoms that your loved ones can see so they know it's happening. You're the only one who can hear it -- the chorus of self-doubt, negative self talk, accusations thrown at yourself; they all go round and round until you feel like you are the worst person on the face of the planet and that no one likes you and that everything you do is a mistake and a mess up, that you are nothing but an annoyance.
It attacks relentlessly. The chorus of every attack feels incessant. You struggle to believe that it will ever end. And when it does finally end, you're exhausted. And just about the time that you build yourself back up, it hits again.
It doesn't just destroy you. It affects relationships of those who you are closest to. It takes a very strong person to be able to be with someone who struggles with anxiety. And a lot of people can't handle it. So relationships fall apart because of the constant anxiety, self-doubt, and paralyzing fear.
Anxiety has you questioning every inch of who you are as a person, whether anyone could possibly like you, wondering if people just tolerate you and if they talk crap about you behind your back like they do others. It has you withdrawing from others, retreating to books and television and the bed.
Exhausting.
Thursday, August 9, 2018
Wednesday, August 8, 2018
Prodigal Daughter
In the last three months, I have surrounded myself with busy-ness and buried any sort of emotion that has come up. I pushed away anything and everything that forced me to face my feelings or what had happened. I threw myself into work, home improvement projects, and visiting friends on every available occasion (yet largely refusing to talk about what had happened). Any time a feeling came up, I forced it into a dark corner and shut the door.
After three months, I was running out of dark corners and doors. A permanent state of exhaustion, weariness, and imbalance had set in. Emotions were less containable. They began to leak out of my eyes and choke me up.
But still I persisted. Determined to push forward with a normal routine and deal with it later.
On one of my friend dates, we went to worship night at her church. The church was one I'd never been to before. It wasn't huge. We walked in and sat down. The room was dark. There wasn't too many people there, so I didn't feel an overwhelming press of "too many people." The music started and it surrounded me, enveloped me, and gave me no chance of ignoring it. It pulsed into my skin and deep into my soul. Promises, love, faith, and hope were sung and I couldn't escape them. I couldn't push God into a dark corner in this dark room. He was everywhere in that room. I had pushed him away for three months without even realizing it. And there he was, even still. I was overwhelmed with his presence, the lyrics, the message. I was the prodigal daughter in that moment. I was forced to face that I'd let my own grief and busy-ness come before God. I had real work to do. Real healing.
That next Monday at work, I asked my boss for a couple of days off. I told her that I was finally ready to spend some time with my feelings and that I needed some time to heal. She gave me the next week off (this week).
Today is Wednesday. Monday and Tuesday I spent basically in bed. Three months of stuffing all those things into dark corners had physically exhausted me. I slept. And when I wasn't sleeping, I just simply rested. I watched TV. I slept. I rested. I cried.
Today.... Today I knew I needed to work on drawing closer to God. I admittedly put off this work, this healing. I knew it was going to be messy and awkward. So I rested some more. Watched some more TV. Went to the grocery store. But after dinner, I knew it was time.
So I picked up my Bible and my notebook and went outside. I just sat there in my glider chair with that beautiful, leather bound book in my lap and had no idea where to start. I opened to where my ribbon had been left during my last study but didn't feel like that was where I was supposed to be. I flipped to 1 Peter and read a few chapters, but that didn't feel like that was where I was supposed to be either. I flipped to find the 10 Commandments, but didn't feel like Exodus was where I needed to be. I closed the book, frustrated.
In just three months, I hadn't just fallen away. I was totally lost.
Not just in reading my Bible.
But in prayer too. Even trying to just close my eyes and pray to God felt awkward and frustrating and wrong.
I knew this would be hard. But I wasn't prepared for all of this.
After three months, I was running out of dark corners and doors. A permanent state of exhaustion, weariness, and imbalance had set in. Emotions were less containable. They began to leak out of my eyes and choke me up.
But still I persisted. Determined to push forward with a normal routine and deal with it later.
On one of my friend dates, we went to worship night at her church. The church was one I'd never been to before. It wasn't huge. We walked in and sat down. The room was dark. There wasn't too many people there, so I didn't feel an overwhelming press of "too many people." The music started and it surrounded me, enveloped me, and gave me no chance of ignoring it. It pulsed into my skin and deep into my soul. Promises, love, faith, and hope were sung and I couldn't escape them. I couldn't push God into a dark corner in this dark room. He was everywhere in that room. I had pushed him away for three months without even realizing it. And there he was, even still. I was overwhelmed with his presence, the lyrics, the message. I was the prodigal daughter in that moment. I was forced to face that I'd let my own grief and busy-ness come before God. I had real work to do. Real healing.
That next Monday at work, I asked my boss for a couple of days off. I told her that I was finally ready to spend some time with my feelings and that I needed some time to heal. She gave me the next week off (this week).
Today is Wednesday. Monday and Tuesday I spent basically in bed. Three months of stuffing all those things into dark corners had physically exhausted me. I slept. And when I wasn't sleeping, I just simply rested. I watched TV. I slept. I rested. I cried.
Today.... Today I knew I needed to work on drawing closer to God. I admittedly put off this work, this healing. I knew it was going to be messy and awkward. So I rested some more. Watched some more TV. Went to the grocery store. But after dinner, I knew it was time.
So I picked up my Bible and my notebook and went outside. I just sat there in my glider chair with that beautiful, leather bound book in my lap and had no idea where to start. I opened to where my ribbon had been left during my last study but didn't feel like that was where I was supposed to be. I flipped to 1 Peter and read a few chapters, but that didn't feel like that was where I was supposed to be either. I flipped to find the 10 Commandments, but didn't feel like Exodus was where I needed to be. I closed the book, frustrated.
In just three months, I hadn't just fallen away. I was totally lost.
Not just in reading my Bible.
But in prayer too. Even trying to just close my eyes and pray to God felt awkward and frustrating and wrong.
I knew this would be hard. But I wasn't prepared for all of this.
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