The curse of anxiety 

I am not an expert on much, if anything. I certainly won’t be writing any books on parenting, cooking, crafting, decorating, or fitness. But, if there is a topic I know a good bit about it is anxiety. I haven’t studied it or been to seminars on it, but I have lived with it for a long time. And, this is a subject where it seems like personal experience alone qualifies one to discuss it.

I was born with a tendency to worry. Even as a young child I remember having heightened fears of things like the wind, storms, fireworks, earthquakes, bees, and jellyfish, to name a few. Some were rational fears; some were not. Additionally, I know how to calculate any given risk, and therefore have never been one to take many.

Sometimes everyday fears like the ones I mentioned above, when coupled with stress, pave the way for a more generalized sense of anxiety to take hold. My first real experience with the latter happened my senior year in high school when I blew college decisions out of proportion. It’s embarrassing to even admit it, but I had everything from night sweats to heart palpitations and panic attacks in the months leading up to graduation. Looking back, I think it all stemmed from a fear I had of messing up the next few years of my life by choosing the wrong school, the wrong living arrangements, the wrong major, etc. 

Thanks to attentive parents and some solid friends, I eventually settled on a school {though I transferred early on}, settled on a major {though I changed it several times}, and waded through the four years of college I had so unnecessarily feared. Not long after that I went on to graduate school, met the Spouse, started my first real job, planned a wedding, and settled into marriage ~  all without any sign of the overblown anxiety I had experienced a few years earlier.

Then, I became a parent. I distinctly remember the first few days we were home with our firstborn and the overwhelming sense of panic I felt as I realized we were now responsible for the wellbeing of this tiny, helpless new person. In the way of newborns, she was remarkably healthy. But, she had jaundice and needed to have her blood drawn daily and be under a light at home for awhile, and I wasn’t sure we were going to survive this new phase when the adrenaline ran out. I feel certain sleeplessness is a perfect fuel for anxiety, and mine kicked right back in. I obsessed about everything. Was she getting the proper amount of ounces at each feeding? Was she spitting up too much? Was her head too large? Was her head too flat in the back? Were we going to the best pediatrician? I know some of these concerns are very normal for first-time parents. However, there is a fine line between appropriate concern and hypochondria. I would be mortified for anyone to see my Google history from the early months with any of our three children. I assure you, if it could be searched on Google, I have searched for it and found the worst possible outcome one could expect in any given scenario. I’m not proud of this, but I’m something of a Google “health concern” guru.

Once our girls moved into toddlerhood my concern with their every move and their every mole waned a bit. I attribute this solely to the fact that we had the girls close together and there simply wasn’t time to obsess about details when our mere survival was in question. For several years, meeting the urgent needs of three small {yet loud} people dictated most all of my waking {and often even my sleeping} thoughts and activities.

This past week I noticed a couple of moms at the preschool who are in the place I was just a few years ago with the ages of their children. I see them at pick-up. They have their hands full with three tiny people in their care. It’s a major chore just to make it to the car and secure everyone in their seats when an infant has to be carried, a toddler just woke up and wants you to hold her in your “free” arm, and the oldest ~ a 4-year old ~ is upset because you’re not paying attention to the artwork she’s trying to show you. (There were seriously times when a teacher would escort us to our car… and I think it was more that I visibly needed some moral support than it was that the girls needed assistance). I don’t have to think hard to imagine what the afternoons look like for these moms. If they’re anything like ours used to be, it’s bottles, diapers, snacks, potty assistance, clean-up, refereeing, dinner prep, baths, books, and bedtime battles. There are little moments to enjoy and savor all along the way, but so many of those afternoons are a total blur.

If someone were to have told me ahead of time what those afternoons were going to be like and how long and lonely some of those evening stretches were going to feel, I guarantee you I would have crumbled with anxiety anticipating it. Yet, we made it. One meltdown at a time, one hour at a time, one day at a time. 

Obviously, I don’t have a lot of perspective on parenting yet. My oldest child is only in the third grade. Our afternoons and evenings are still crazy, but they’re a different kind of crazy now. And already, I can think back to seasons we have come through, like the one we were in just a few short years ago, and feel a sense of gratitude for the way God sustained us.

Lately, I have noticed some anxiety creeping back into my life. I don’t consciously think about it, but if I pause long enough I can feel how tight and tense the muscles in my back and shoulders are even when I’m at rest. I have to put more worrisome thoughts to rest by day, and my mind wants to race at night. I don’t have any particular reason to be anxious right now. I’m not aware of any major stressors, transitions, or big decisions we’re facing. I mean carpool lines, soccer games, and field trips aren’t on any “big ten” lists of stressful life events. Even a high-energy, extroverted 4-year old who marches to the beat of her own drum isn’t a source of real stress when I think about the challenges some people are waking up to every morning. But, that’s the peculiar thing about anxiety. It isn’t always logical. It’s sneaky and unsuspecting and sometimes most palpable when it has little reason to be so.

Yesterday morning I was reading a short devotion on my phone and these words jumped out at me, “A key predictor of our obedience in the future is remembering God’s goodness in the past.” {Whitney Capps, First5 app} The whole point of this particular devotion was that God had commanded the Israelites in Leviticus to celebrate certain festivals so they and their descendants would remember God’s faithful provision for them in the past. They were to repeatedly share the stories of their deliverance at these festivals so the people would never forget how God had met their every need.

Since we’re not Jewish, we don’t participate in festivals like those described in Leviticus. But, I think it’s helpful to think about and share stories from our own past to remind ourselves and our families of how far God has brought us… and the many ways He has delivered us. Looking back helps us look forward with hope. 

I’m not victorious over anxiety. I know its tremendous power and my potential to succumb to it at any second. But, I also know I can look back and see how God has kept it at bay for me for entire seasons. I have no idea how I made it through the sleep deprived years of 2008-2015 without episodes of panic or crippling anxiety. But, I did. We did. In mysterious and illogical ways, God has used things like the circus of our daily lives {and it is still very much a total circus}, an unruly dog, and the antics and liveliness of three girls to work as a natural antidote to anxiety. And, that reminds me He will continue to be faithful in the future. I may not be resilient, but I am reminded. And, that’s enough for now.