I had no idea I was anxious

It has come to my attention lately that anxiety has been a significant part of my life for years. I just didn't know it. My coping skills are impressive and nearly impenetrable. I know what comfort feels like, I know what dis-comfort feels like, and I know which I prefer.

My anxiety coping skills are called upon when I'm feeling like I might or actually do need somebody, which asks me to trust someone else with my emotions and desires. They look like defensiveness, anger, control, frustration, or making a case for myself. In the face of needing to feel connected to someone in the midst of my circumstances, the annoying little imp of shame tells me that to believe in the goodness and kindness of another is utter foolishness, because I am not worth caring for. I know that is complete bullshit, but that imp has been there for an awful long time, and he's protected me from being proved right (or wrong, as is more likely).

Here's how the progression goes: all is well, and then I find myself in a predicament where having an ear to listen or an extra set of hands to help would be really helpful, and I want it. I feel the desire of it. I contemplate seeking help. Anxiety enters--the threat of being harmed. My body feels a tad warmer, and my hands sweat a little. Within seconds shame has shown up, too, and shame is unbearable, so I use one of my coping mechanisms, which always work in the moment. Shame tells me to get tough and isolate, and I know how to do that well. The thing about getting tough is that it involves anger for me--anger at myself and others. Anger creates a delightful cocktail of chemicals in my brain that really do make me feel better and un-anxious. So, I successfully sabotaged what I wanted and needed.

I write about this because I am aware of it, finally, and because I'm trying to not do this any longer. It's time for the imp to be muted and destroyed. I'm trying not to cope with feeling a desire for connection, because I was made for connection, so there is no need to feel bad about it. I'm just going to let that desire hang out there.

I was reading in Exodus this morning (and I will say that I do not read my Bible every morning, so for those who struggle with guilt over this, I invite you to bless me for reading my Bible this morning, and to bless your desire to read it yourself. I invite you to not curse yourself with any violent monologue in your head that says that you are a sucky Christian for not reading your Bible every morning--that would be siding with the shame imp). Anyway, Exodus--God's people have just witnessed a series of horrible, nasty plagues against the Egyptians, effortlessly plundered them, and left Egypt. They haven't even gotten as far as the Red Sea, and they are contemplating turning back. This is where I usually judge them.

This morning my thoughts were that perhaps they were feeling a ton of anxiety, they were really scared, and it felt wretched to feel that way. They are following this Moses dude, who didn't have the best reputation, and Egypt went to all to hell as soon as he showed up again. The God of their fathers brought them to Egypt where they were enslaved, so trusting him might have felt a little sketchy, too. They are supposed to march away from Egypt based on the words of a shady guy with a magic stick, and a promise from a God who appeared to have abandoned them. They felt uncomfortable with the unknown before them, and the known (slavery) felt familiar, so not so scary.

Kettle = Black. That's how I role. Its hard, really hard, to trust God for the currently invisible and future goodness he promises. Trusting God means feeling uncomfortable and waiting to see how it turns out, instead of sabotaging. Trusting God means waiting. Trusting God means leaning into the unknown with courage, tenacity, and heart. Trusting God means groaning (not whining) in my unpleasant, anxious, painful circumstances.

Right now, for me, trusting God looks a lot like asking people to listen to what's happening in my heart, and asking for help with stuff like raking leaves. I might find out that they care enough about me to offer their hands and their hearts.

Cats get anxiety too, apparently, but they make a wrap for that.