Diagnosis: Alone
The Church’s silence on mental illness is deafening.
Sitting on my bed in the dark, crouching over my laptop, I scoured the internet for articles, essays, blogs — anything or anyone who might look me in my tired soul and say, “Hey, I get it. Me too. This is a thing. You’re not alone.” But that night, for the first time in my life, the internet was silent — right when I needed it most.
Earlier that day, I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD). Like anyone else, I dove deep into the internet to learn more. WebMD and a plethora of other sources gave me hope.
They explained what was previously unexplainable — the uncontrollable thoughts, the hypervintillation, the overthinking, perfectionism, heart palpitations, the permanent frog in my throat, the restlessnes —everything that had hijacked my mind and body over the past year. It was a great relief to see my baffling symptoms organized into neat bullet points.
Alone at the Intersection of Faith and Generalized Anxiety Disorder
Despite the light that was shed on my illness, I still felt alone. There was another part of me about which the internet hadn’t spoken — a part of me that was not comforted or discussed. It was the part, actually, that holds my entire self together.
You see, Jesus was deep in my soul long before Generalized Anxiety Disorder came along and “broke my brain” at the age of 23 (doctor’s words, not mine). With Jesus at the core of my beliefs and values, most of my anxious thoughts had “CHRISTIANITY” and “THEOLOGY” tattooed on their foreheads and were massively entangled with my deep-seated relationship with Jesus.
Take, for example, a simple trip to Target.
I see a pair of fun earrings.
Then my breathing gets shallow, and so many muscles tense up. Cold chemicals burst and slide down my throat, and I’m in fight-or-flight mode— over whether or not to buy $4.99 earrings because…
what.if.that.money.is.needed.in Africa to give a kid clean water? If I buy them, then I’m failing at following Jesus — selfish — and responsible for the suffering of children. If I don’t buy them, then I’m stupid because it’s just $4.99, and I’m having a horrible year, and such little things inject a least a little joy into the defeating days, right? And I should consider the context of my life — people here wear jewelry, and I’m here, and some faint voice is telling me this is all so stupid, and I’m so messed up…
… and I can feel the tears start to well and my throat start to swell. Cue hyperventilation, spiral those thoughts, and magnify this mental duress into a moral crisis that determines the content of my core. A crucible, if you will. Panic.
At my worst, I must have had at least 10 of those episodes a day. I was thrown into fight-or-flight mode and helpless to find my way out. My rationality was usurped by cognitive distortions. Anxiety dethroned Truth and and grinned as it shattered against dark, dark pavement.
On my most desperate nights, before I was diagnosed, I was left on my hands and knees in the absence of Truth — panting, gasping for air— alone, crying to Jesus for the ability to believe what I still knew deep down was True.
That was back in 2007. I had never heard a Christian talk about anxiety like mine.
Searching for My People
I knew, however, that I couldn’t be the only Christian with my struggle. Corinthians 10:13 assures us that “the temptations in your life are no different from what others experience.”
And as a lover of literature, I know that nobody is all alone; underneath it all, we’re far more similar than we realize.
So that night, as the sun sank lower and my bedroom grew darker, I continued my search — surely, there must be some Jesus fam out there who share my diagnosis. I desperately needed to find them, so I could absorb what they had learned: I needed their wisdom and guidance and fellowship and commiseration. I needed their testimonies — for hope and unity and for reassurance of my own sanity.
I needed to find people who understood the ways clinical anxiety bleeds through to religion and spirituality. I needed to know I wasn’t alone, and I longed for a person to show me the way.
In my search bar, I added the word “Christian” to “Generalized Anxiety Disorder.” It yielded practices of local Christian therapists. I already had a therapist. So I deleted “Christian” and tried “Jesus.” More Christian therapists, plus some books and articles about worrying less and trusting God more.
So I widened my topic to “religion” instead of “Christianity.” Then I tried “God.” Nothing. So I reduced “Generalized Anxiety Disorder” to “anxiety disorder,” and then to plain old “anxiety.” As my search terms widened, more articles and organizations and famous Christian leaders and writers emerged.
What I Found Instead
The literature only reiterated Truths I’d been absorbing for years:
“God takes care of the sparrows and the lilies… how much more does He care for you!” (Mt. 6)
“When you’re anxious, pray, give it to God, and the peace of God, ‘which surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.’” (Phil. 4:7)
“Let go, and let God.”
My hopes fell as each URL offered the same exact perspective as the previous. Each article, each blog was founded on the premise that anxiety and depression are solely spiritual struggles to be resolved through solely spiritual Truths and practices. “Revise your theology,” essentially was my cure.
Turning to Amazon and Christianbooks.com, I found that book after book held those very same answers. Those authors did not have an anxiety or depressive disorder. They weren’t writing to me.
They didn’t know what it was like to hyperventilate without knowing why. They didn’t know that my anxiety manifested in a fear of letting God down. They thought I was worried about my future like they used to be. They didn’t listen.
The truths–the ones on which pastors and writers expounded and reflected and applied–were not new to me. I had the great privilege of being raised in them, and I still hold them true. You will find them throughout this publication.
In fact, it is God’s nearness and faithfulness that sustained me through the onset of my disorder, and continues to now. (It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, but it’s still absolutely there.)
A different kind of anxiety calls for a different kind of book.
As important and life-changing as books on spiritual anxiety can be, their content and approach are entirely different from what believers with clinical diagnoses need. If you’re wondering, “What do believers with clinical anxiety need?” I think the answer is complex and nuanced, which begs for a book. I’ve written a manuscript, but I’m very stuck, hence I’m doing this blogging thing.
In short, I think people of faith with clinical anxiety need the follwing:
- Permission to not overcome (After all, Paul’s thorn remained.)
- Acknowledgment that clinical anxiety is a thorn, not a spiritual deficiency
- Our faith family to listen rather than throw platitudes and decontextualized verses at our deep wounds
- To be loved more effectively, which means getting to know our struggles. This requires some work, like reading things like this. (Thank you.)
Anxious with Jesus was conceived that night 12 years ago. What Toni Morrison said is true: “If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” The manuscript I’ve been laboring over didn’t manifest physically that night, or the year after, or even the decade after. But the lonely desperation that I felt hasn’t been forgotten.
Thankfully, I’m no longer alone in my struggle. In 2018, I finally I met another Christian who described the kind of anxiety I had been struggling with for years. I was right — other believers were going through the same thing I was — and in recent years, a few have written books and articles about it. I’m adding my voice to the conversation. ❤ Much love.
