To the adventurer: what my anxiety taught me about faith
I’ve always loved adventure. Where others see obstacles, I see opportunity– sometimes, to a fault. See: local 18-year-old girl comes near-death during a long-boarding accident. But suffering from anxiety made me feel stuck. Nothing helped. That is, until I found freedom in faith.
Anyway, as a young child, I was the one who would convince the other kids to take the mysterious trail home, or to walk the “long way back” for sight-seeing or in hopes of finding a wounded animal to nurse back to health.
I created Survivor games in my backyard where my sister and I would play pretend that we were living off the earth and trying to survive off worms, build our house out of sticks, and the way-back yard was the true wild wilderness where we’d have to hunt.
In the summers when my family and I went camping, I would often wander off to find some hidden campground or undiscovered field to bring my imagination to life and unpack it into another exciting game– even if it was with only me and myself.
I craved more than I could see; I stepped fearlessly into the mud and grass, climbing over fallen trees and thorny obstacles that stood between me and something new.
A few steps back: when anxiety takes over
At some point in my late teens, I developed crippling social anxiety. It began but stretched beyond large crowd gatherings stirring up a racing heart. Eventually, every time I left my house to attend a social event outside of my friend group, the car ride was a stretch of war-time between me and my own mind:
On one side, I tried to convince myself that I could get through it; on the other, there were warnings about being stared at, judged. My mind constructed various imaginary situations and conversations that always ended in total embarrassment. I tried really hard to talk myself out of every single social situation presented to me.
And because of that, I missed a lot of opportunities: job interviews I either cancelled or no-showed for, friends I could have made but refused to show up for, parties I heard about afterwards, following the “You should’ve been there!” confirmations of what was already going on in my own head. You could have been there.
While I loved school, it was my enemy. I tossed and turned all night at even the prospect of being called on the following day. I over-studied, rehearsing lines from my textbook until the sun came up.
Flash forward to getting a UTI because I was too afraid to stand up in the middle of class to use the bathroom before class ended.
That kind of suffering goes beyond being “shy.” Beyond “introverted.”
A writer… at a loss for words?
After a while, the anxiety affected my speech.
I first realized the severity of it while at a conference in Virginia with my college’s literary magazine. Everyone was hanging out after an open mic.
Through clouds of cigarette smoke, over guitar chords, laughter, poetic lines and loud conversations, one of the girls looked at me and said, “So, what’s your thing? You’ve been so silent, are you just shy? Are you just mostly an observer, a wallflower?”
I smiled and laughed it off, affirming that I do, in fact, like to observe– that I think it’s something all writers enjoy. I realized then, though, that it had gone beyond being shy. I’d been told as a child that I was shy, but this felt much different.
I hadn’t been completely silent because I wanted to be, but rather every time I thought I should speak or join in on the conversation, I couldn’t form words. And I couldn’t control it.
This happened often.
And as a result, I stopped moving. Because every move I made– or wanted to make– was punctured by this fear that I would be judged by others or that I would be the center of attention when I just wanted to be exactly what that girl accused me of being: a wallflower.
Any writer knows that being an observer and a writer go hand-in-hand. You need to be intuitive and notice the beauty in small details.
But we have nothing to observe without experiences. No shared truth to define without participation.
My anxiety caused me to try running from myself
In 2017, I got on a plane and traveled over 1200 miles to Minneapolis, MN, the city I once fell in love with at a writers conference with a small group of people from college. But this time, I went alone.
I just felt like I had to. While I had tried to convince myself that it was the adventurer in me who just wanted a new experience, the larger part of it was just that I was running. I was still struggling. I was drinking heavily and remaining unable to forgive, my relationships suffering as a result.
All this is to say, I wasn’t thinking clearly– but at the same time, it had felt like the clearest decision I’d made in a long time.
You’re not happy here? Well, then leave…
Run.
That was it. I loved the city the first time I went, so much that I boldly told everyone I wasn’t going back home. And I cried on the drive home when that inevitably didn’t happen.
I’d been running from so much instead of facing my emotions head-on.
I quickly realized I am not built for the bitter Minnesota cold and public transportation. But it taught me a bit about how much social anxiety was holding back my wander-lusting heart from new experiences.
Learning how to get around a strange city, being forced to ask for directions, for help, going out of my way to open mics and poetry events, wandering until I’m lost and my phone dies and then having to make it back to my Air BnB in one piece… I needed all of it. But at the moment, I hadn’t yet realized Who I really needed to ask for directions from.
I’ve taken more solo trips since then. Most recently, I ventured even farther west to Portland, Oregon, 3000 miles away. I conquered the hectic world of airport terminals, skating through Customs and navigating through the sea of working and vacationing people.
The adventurer in me said, Go. Little did I know, someone much greater was saying, Stay.
In the beginning of this Covid nightmare, I was unemployed, newly single, and panicking to find my next move, my next career move, thinking of all the worst scenarios. I started sending my resume out to probably 20-30 jobs a day…
The anxiety was coming back. I was getting ready to do it again: run. There was no time to rest, I thought, I’m going to lose my apartment, or get sick, or worse…
But God showed up and stopped me in my tracks.
“Be still,” I heard Him say.
So I stopped it all. And I prayed. I opened my Bible…
And the peace came. My next move came. A way out of that downward spiral of emotions came.
What happened?
The prospect of asking for directions no longer forms a soft lump in my throat; I don’t miss out on the chance to indulge in delicious new meals because I’m afraid to ask for a table for one.
The difference is: I’m asking God for directions to get closer to Him instead of asking strangers where to go to be the farthest away from myself.
Adventuring– it could be exciting, or it could be scary. Before, I was chasing both feelings, pouring money into plane tickets and hardy west-coast breakfasts.
I started realizing that my anxiety only lifted when I was thousands of miles away, or sharing poems on social media about my experience… And it quickly returned when I came home to my quiet studio and had to sit inside my own mind. I thought I was becoming this strong, independent adventurer woman who hops trains and takes names….
I wasn’t growing.
Now I consider the way I handled my anxious inner voice saying Run, and I finally get it. The closer I get to God, the less fear I have, the less anxious I feel; my depression only begins to creep in when I start to pull away from Him even a little– and I’m learning to trust Him more and more every day.
I want God’s Compass
No matter how many miles I rack up traveling to new places, it matters very little if I’m following my own compass and not God’s.
I got on a plane out of fear, not because I thought it was good for me or because I had somewhere to be. But because I had nowhere to be, and that was the problem. I stopped showing up for God in my own life. I’d stopped participating in my life, period.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight. Proverbs 3:5-6
God doesn’t want us to live in fear. He wants us to trust Him, fully. His plans are always better than our own.
Anxiety and faith: From adventurer to follower
I am learning I’m not in control. If I was, that’d be a pretty scary lifetime because I mess up a lot. Much of my social anxiety spurred from this deep fear of being judged by other people, of saying the wrong thing or appearing the wrong way.
A person with a changed heart seeks praise from God, not from people. Romans 2:29, NLT
I was still looking for validation from others– myself, even. I thought I was in complete control and that if I could take back control of my body, my thoughts, my external world, by traveling thousands of miles away, that would somehow “cure” me.
As I’ve said in past posts, God has shown up for me in every desperate moment of my life where I just couldn’t physically or possibly pull myself up. And I’ve thought hard these past few months about how I can start showing up for Him and just being better.
I am now turning to Scripture instead of Google and plane tickets. I am closer to peace than I’ve ever been before.
And just like that, a new adventure emerges
I like to think He created me to be an adventurer, but not for the purpose of running from my struggles. Rather, for knowing that with Him I can walk through anything, fearless, and with that adventurous spirit I’m learning how to embrace in this season.
I see so much fear today, so much so that we are frozen. Speechless. I recognize it. We’ve stopped moving. We’re barricaded inside until we’re told it’s “okay” to leave. We’ve shut down our businesses without much of an explanation as to why.
We’ve put many aspects of our lives on hold because we’re afraid. For some, human interaction means a chance to become infected.
COVID is creating this new social anxiety that is affecting masses of people.
I was walking a hiking trail the other day, and people were passing by covering their mouths and making huge strides to get as far away from me as possible. We’re living in so much fear of death that we’re forgetting how to live.
Of course, we need to be cautious. Wearing a face-mask in public is a small burden to bear when it may save someone’s life in the long-run.
However, the thought that there are people out there with adventurous hearts like mine, who may feel stuck or hopeless or feel like running, I just want to say: Stay. Live.
God has lifted my anxieties as I’ve continued to pursue Him and pursue the life he’s planned for me. He wants us to move forward, not constantly search for an out or the next “big move.” He wants us to be present, to trust in Him and seek Him when things get tough.
Anxiety is a fear of the future– we’ll never move forward if we live in fear. When talking anxiety and faith, there is a lot of misconception over people saying things like anxiety doesn’t exist, or, if you really believe in God you wouldn’t have anxiety. It’s simply not true.
The point is, though, we cannot conquer something so dark and consuming all on our own.
3 Things you can do to move forward now
I had to make some changes if I wanted to move forward. Here they are. I believe they’ll will help you, too.
1. Stop trying to open doors He’s already closed behind you
I know that sometimes when we feel stuck or like we aren’t progressing, the past looks yummy because it’s familiar and comforting. But new opportunities can’t come into fruition if we continue to bang on the doors of situations He walked us out of. Do not run backwards simply because you’re afraid of stepping forward.
2. Understand that humans are complicated
The fact that every single person has their own lives, thoughts, beliefs, struggles, and daily burdens to focus on– you are not the center of attention in a crowded room. In fact, someone in that room may need someone to talk to. If you focus so much on the way you look to other people, you may miss an opportunity to help someone else.
3. Be transparent about everything, including your anxiety and faith
Open up to other people you trust. As much as my relationship with God has grown, so has my relationships with family and friends that needed mending. We all need a support system. Transparency is essential to trustworthy, meaningful relationships because it allows us to be fully ourselves and understood by those who love and care for us. Talk to those people about your struggles, your fears and questions. You never know who needs it or feels some of the same things.
Sometimes we think that changing our external environment– where we live– is what matters most. But actually, much of the work we need to be doing in order to grow is within ourselves and within our relationships.
Trust me– I traveled thousands of miles just to realize that the only place I needed to be was on the map of my heart that God marked, “You Are Here.”
Love,
Lee
