I have a child struggling with anxiety, and it has caught us off guard because she is not the one typically prone to it. Maybe I should blame it on the chaos of 2020 or the intensity of these past few weeks? Whatever the cause, this one’s anxiety, which is coupled with some attention deficit, is showing up dramatically and externally. My anxiety is in my head. I obsess about tiny details and worry about certain outcomes or unlikely scenarios. I overthink and over analyze. She, on the other hand, can’t sit still. She talks incessantly and excitedly. She is passionate and energetic. And with an inability to pay attention, she often seeks attention—even of the negative sort.
A few weeks ago we had an incident where she accidentally set off the car alarm from within the car. She thought it was hilarious at the time. But somehow, that seemingly insignificant event has triggered a new type of persistent fear in her. She needs to be sure of where I am at all times now. Which room am I in? Which floor am I on? Am I going outside? What time am I picking her up? She says through tears when my patience wears thin, “I just don’t want to be alone!” I know this will pass, but it’s making for some long afternoons and evenings. And I feel helpless to help her.
We have an older neighbor who has early dementia. She is pleasant and talkative, but our conversations repeat themselves. She spends most of her days in a lawn chair set up in her garage, so she watches for the mailman, delivery trucks, and anyone else who comes and goes. Sometimes when I speak with her she’ll be having a good day. With a sparkle in her eye, she smiles pridefully when she remembers that my dog’s name is Rosie. She’ll get on a roll and recall details about neighbors or current events. But other times her eyes are glossy and distant, and our conversations are more meandering and confusing. She often tells me wildly imaginative stories that reveal some paranoia. On those days I walk away feeling helpless to help her.
My every temptation is to use my phone or the news or any other project I can find to escape from my reality when that reality is frustrating or disheartening. But, it’s in these hard moments with the people around me that I have to remember the value of being present and attentive. I have to get quiet enough in my head to hear the Lord say, “Listen. Lean in. Be fully where you are right now. I am here with you, and this is where your life is happening.”
I ordered a book of Erma Bombeck’s most-loved columns a year ago to have as a coffee table book. It’s called Forever, Erma. It’s not the kind of book you read in one sitting, but more the kind you can pick up every now and then for a little dose of her humor and insight.
One of my favorite of her columns is called “The Listener—February 26, 1977.” In this one she tells the story of meeting a stranger in an airport:
There were 30 whole beautiful minutes before my plane took off, time for me to be alone with my thoughts, to open a book and let my mind wander. A voice next to me belonging to an elderly woman said, “I’ll bet it’s cold in Chicago.”
Stone-faced, I answered, “It’s likely.”
“I haven’t been to Chicago in nearly three years,” she persisted. “My son lives there.”
“That’s nice,” I said, my eyes intent on the book.
“My husband’s body is on this plane. We’ve been married for fifty-three years. I don’t drive, you know, and when he died a nun drove me from the hospital. We aren’t even Catholic. The funeral director let me come to the airport with him.”
I don’t think I’ve ever detested myself more than I did at that moment. Another human being was screaming to be heard and in desperation had turned to a cold stranger who was more interested in a novel than the real-life drama at her elbow.
All she needed was a listener. No advice, wisdom, experience, money, assistance, expertise or even compassion, but just a minute or two to listen.
It seemed rather incongruous that in a society of super sophisticated communication, we often suffer from a shortage of listeners.
She talked steadily until we boarded the plane, then found her seat in another section. As I hung up my coat, I heard her plaintive voice say to her seat companion, “I’ll bet it’s cold in Chicago.”
I prayed, “Please, God, let her listen.”
How remarkable that in 1977, some forty-three years ago, Bombeck observed the incongruity, {I would argue the tragedy}, “that in a society of super sophisticated communication, we often suffer from a shortage of listeners.”
I keep a quote stored in my phone that I need to put into practice more often. Author David Augsburger says, “Being heard is so close to being loved that for the average person, they are almost indistinguishable.”
When I don’t know what to say or what to do, when I can’t calm the fears or fix the problems:
“Please, God, let me listen.”
To you. And then to my child, to my neighbor, to the stranger, to my friend.
That may well be an antidote to anxiety, a balm for the soul, and the most important thing you or I can do all day.
Allison S Turner says
Praying for your sweet girl.