On Anxiety, Part Two: Getting it Wrong

To get you up to speed:
On Anxiety: Part One, Doubt

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Peonies.  Or Cabbage.  Who knows.

To better understand this post, imagine you are in a situation where you need to make a life-altering decision.  I'm sure it won't be difficult to bring yourself back to that time and place.  Maybe you were leaving, maybe you were arriving, but you know that unsettled, in-between feeling.

I found myself in that place.  And then it became less of whether I should do this or that, I realized I should do that.  But then I questioned whether or not I've really heard from God.  What if I'm wrong?  What if I take this path and find out I should've never left?  What if I can't get back to where I started? 

For an unseen God, He is gracious enough to use the words in His Letters, or the words of a friend or a mentor.  I talked to someone about my anxieties and worries, and how hard it is for me to make this decision.

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you this won't hurt," she said.  Either way I choose, something, or someone, will get hurt.  If I leave, both parties will feel the loss of separation.  But if I stay, something inside of me will die from being stagnant.  "You just need to make this decision.  Pull the trigger.  And if you're wrong, then you just come back with humility, and say it simply, 'I was wrong.'"

I don't know what was so liberating about hearing that.  It must be my perfectionism - I get anxiety because I worry about not getting it right the first time.  But why get so caught up with getting it right?  What's so bad about getting it wrong?

I'll tell you what's wrong with getting it wrong (or at least, why our brains tell us so).  Because in the moment that we get something wrong, we can be met with criticism, judgments, a loss of reputation, a lack of trust.. do you see where this is going?  There's this fear that to get something wrong, I'll be loved a little less.

There's nothing more sore than when you feel that someone loves you a little less for getting it wrong.  The childhood of a perfectionist is drenched with these memories, needing to perform/achieve/attain/get it right - in order to be loved.  And years will teach us (if we let it) that it's okay to get it wrong, it's okay to buy the wrong ticket, our value doesn't depreciate, our worth won't change.

I realize that this isn't an easy move for anyone with anxiety.  It's a slow moving process to experience the freedom of making choices without fear of failure.  But the only solution is to make that decision.  Anxiety is often borne because we haven't decided, and haven't made a commitment to that decision.

I've learned that the Latin root of the word "decide" is caedere, to cut.  So to decide is to literally cut off the other possibilities.  When you decide what you'd like to eat or what to wear, you say, this is not an option, that is not an option, this is what I will do.  And it is the same with large, life-altering decisions - to decide is to cut off the "what ifs" and "possibilities with this plan."  To decide is to choose one thing, letting go, commit to what you have, and accept what you don't have - or accept who you are not.

And yes, sometimes the wrong choice comes with consequences.  One day we make a decision to forego eating a healthy meal at home, splurge on junk food, and we feel disgusting for 36 hours.  One day we choose that pair of shoes and realize quickly the blisters we'll feel for a week.  And one day we choose to begin something radical, or end something endearing, and we might feel pain or misunderstood sorrow.  But we become a bit wiser, we grow in our discernment.  We learn what not to do, what hurts us in the long run, and that we are not dead, in fact we are strong enough to stand up and move forward.  We know who we are, we know who we're not.

Recently, I have found out what I am not.  And I made a decision, even though it was coated with questions of whether God really did say.  I know I have to follow through with this, I can't hang on to the what ifs.  It's the what ifs that make me fearful, half-hearted, and anxious.

But it's time to commit to that decision, and be okay - even if I get it wrong.



xo


currently reading: The Heart is a Lonely Hunter
currently watching: House of Cards

On Anxiety, Part One: Doubt

I have dreaded the month of April.

In the same exact time frame, I lost five of my strongest baristas, and began training four absolutely new staff members (yes, half my staff).  Not to mention the Boss Lady in the Accounting Office is also out of the country. Add onto that three commission art projects that are due at the same time.

I tried not to panic, and I rolled my eyes at the attempt. I thought about all the things that need to be done, how much time I have, while completely aware that setting healthy boundaries and resting are my weaknesses.  Oh yes, I absolutely panicked.  I'd trail down worst-case scenarios.  I'd repetitively think about how much I dread all the micro-managing/quality control that comes with training.  I groan and I get unmotivated and I can't sleep and I want to binge-watch British time period miniseries while eating chips and then vent out my frustrations on gracious, innocent bystanders (read: Wes and my family).  And eat more chips.

I was the embodiment of anxiety: an unpleasant state of inner turmoil, a dread of anticipated events.

Worst of all, anxiety is so taxing, that by the time I reach said event, I am exhausted- physically, emotionally, mentally.  And it's straight-up annoying.

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At the brink of April, I had a very big, life-changing decision to make.  And that was the pinnacle of my anxiety.  I was so worried about the confrontation, that it would become personal instead of logistical.  I feared the repercussions, the long-term effects, even the way people would perceive me.  I felt misunderstood before I had a chance to defend myself.

Basically, anxiety is brought about by the lack of control: not being able to monitor or know the outcome of certain events creates a shaking restlessness of "what ifs?" and acting as if the worst has already been carved in stone.  And this was me.

And the lack of control signifies a lack of trust in the One who does have control.  I'm not allowing myself to believe in His goodness or in His care for me.  Surely, a bulk of the Christian's anxiety is that "what if God didn't really say?" or "what if I heard Him wrong?" or "what if He didn't really speak, what if this is my flesh?"

The lack of trust is, at that point, borne by whether we know God and actually hear from Him.  And that's a hard matter to give replicate answers for.  Our relationship with God operates by faith, thus, for the rest of our lives, we'll be questioning just like Adam and Eve felt in the garden - did God really say?


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The question of "Did God really say" is the underestimated root of what distances us from God, what shakes our trust and insists on fear.  Whether this may be theologically sound or not, I do think that the first temptation in the garden was not the apple to Eve, but was the moment when the serpent said, "Did God really say....?" because the temptation then lies in whether or not we can believe what God says, even if He hasn't explained His reasons (did God explain to Adam and Eve the full repercussions of their decisions?).  It's the seed of doubt; doubt, the exact opposite of faith.

And it wasn't just in the garden that this happened, this also happened with the Second Adam, Jesus Christ, when he had no repertoire of ministry, was baptized.

[Then] A voice from Heaven said, "This is my Son, whom I love, in Him, I am well-pleased."

Matthew 3:17

Following this glorious occurrence, Jesus went to the wilderness, where the enemy came to tempt Him with the whole notion of "Did God really say?"  The enemy asked Jesus "If you are the Son of God.." It's the temptation to doubt what was just spoken.  The temptation to doubt our worth. Was that not the struggle in Eden?  God gave a command, a Word, a truth, and immediately the enemy comes, tempting us to believe otherwise.

Similar to the struggle in the Garden and the Desert, we face the temptation of control, and to taste control makes us less apt to trust someone else with control.  We face the temptation of pride, and to reveal what we are capable of doing makes it hard to step back and admit "I am incapable."  We face the temptation of hunger, that is, the cravings of the flesh, and to satiate its desires makes us dull towards the counter simplicity.

As Jesus did come to earth to redeem all things, even the fall of man, His response to the temptation was neither argument nor offense, but rather "It is written." Jesus was presented with the temptation to doubt, and He points to the unchanging, infallible Holy Scriptures.  This too becomes our ammunition.

In the moment where we question the voice of God, we have His tangible Scriptures.  Will you find out what you're supposed to eat tomorrow?  No, but the Word says not to worry because we are provided for.  Will you find out what you're supposed to do for a career?  No, but the Word defines our identity in Christ (Epistles), and He also describes how to gain wisdom/discernment (Proverbs, James).  Will you know how people will react to your confrontations?  No, but the Word spells out how to react in adversity.

It's easy to doubt an unseen God, and this pulls us down in anxiety.  We may have been the First Adam, but we are redeemed by a Second Adam.  We can believe what He says.  We can let go of control.  We can trust in an unseen God.


xo

From hesitation to action

currently reading: The Heart is a Lonely Hunter
currently watching: Death Comes to Pemberly
currently listening: Leon Bridges

the very belated birthday post.

So my birthday was last month, right at the beginning of the great month of feBREWary.  I do try to avoid it at all costs; I'm not much of a celebratory human, and the introvert that I am absolutely loves closing in, making it a meaningful and personal time, seeking and meditating and being quiet.  My birthday is usually when I do some earnest praying - what will You do in my life this year?  How can I expect to grow?  Where will I find You this year?

I knew a few things surely: I would take courage to pursue my dreams, find joy in contentment, and grow in resilience.

With that word barely escaping my mouth, I was suddenly hit with the definition of resilience:

able to recoil or spring back into shape after bending, stretching, or being compressed.

I wanted to cry at the revelation of how much I know I'll be crying this year.
And sure enough, it's the brink of springtime, and this year has been so hard.  I've cried more in the past two months than I have in five years.  I've experienced deep, irreplaceable losses, brokenness in myself, and brokenness in my relationships.  I've felt so absolutely discouraged about what I do, and I've been questioning who I am.  I've been doubting my strength, and I'm more aware of my weaknesses.  I've had a slew of physical infirmities from hives that coat me like red paint, to numbing sciatica, to the worsening of my chronic tendinitis.  There were three deaths/funerals last month, and I even faced the difficult decision of putting my sweet dog down.  I'm horribly terrified of the loss and pain yet to happen, and as much as it humbles me to admit, I've lost a lot of my heart and hope in the process.

And all the while, I am trying to press into God and understand His love in all of this.  I'm trying to pray more and read the Word more and declare His Truth more.  I'm trying to be honest with those around me, and even more so, honest with myself.

poignant, accurate, staged, but not far from how I was found.

My wise roommate and I were talking the other night about our attitudes, of the reality that happiness truly is a choice.  And the things that happen to us, regardless of how tragic or wrong or unjust they are, should not dictate our attitudes.  We know who we are.  We know who we were created to be.  We know the impact of a heart at peace and a soul at rest.  We recognize the power of a transformed mind.  And for these things, we can have joy.  We can choose joy.

To choose joy doesn't mean that the things that happened (or are happening) to us aren't wrong, nor does it justify the harsh situations we find ourselves in.  It does not mean we must become comfortable or content in our situation, or that we can't be honest with our hurts.  The act of choosing to be happy is not a conscious act of ignoring the tension, or the need for confrontation.  In fact, the life of joy is to know an inner freedom, and even crave it for even those around us.  So, living a life of freedom solicits the need for confrontation, and necessitates the courage to stand up for ourselves and/or move on.  To have joy is not disabling and careless, but rather, it is empowering and electrifying.  We can be Joseph who, through the prison bars, could still see stars, and dream and hope and minister to our adversaries while maintaining integrity.  We can have joy in "famine, persecution, and sword," we can be the caged bird that sings.



I see now why God told me those things at the beginning of my 29th year: courage to pursue my dreams, find joy in contentment, and grow in resilience.  And I know I will need this piece of writing as a map back to freedom.  Because I say all these things, and yet, tomorrow and the next day and the next, I will still be in the face of the very same issues that existed this morning.

But I am choosing not to be the same person tomorrow as I have been today.  I don't want to keep living as I always have, and being dismayed as I frequently have.  I'm choosing resilience.  I'm choosing joy.

xo




currently reading: Erwin McManus, Artisan Soul
currently listening: The Brilliance, Lent