"Do I want healing my way, or God's way?"
That was the question I asked myself as I stood in my bathroom, tears streaming, a bottle of newly prescribed anti-depressants in hand. It was hard enough to admit to myself that I had a problem; specifically, a problem it seemed prayer had not yet fixed. That I may not have prayed enough. That I may have to live with overwhelming anxiety and unwanted bouts of panic for the rest of my life. A problem that I had secretly, yet unintentionally, looked down on others for having. A problem that came to a head following a very weak season in my life. More on that later.
This tangled, anxious knot of panic was not me. I had never thought of myself as a worrisome person and there was never much that scared me. Growing up I was the brave tomboy who made friends easily and jumped headfirst into any kind of adventure. As an adult, I knew and trusted in God and strived to walk with Him daily, still do! I had led bible studies, served in youth ministries, sang in the choir, led worship, the list goes on. I was set on making my life about serving the God who created me and taking the Gospel into the world around me. Unfortunately at this point, there were days I found myself unable to even leave the house without experiencing the newly familiar grip of panic. Panic that would leave me physically wrecked. Panic that was beginning to take my freedom.
What was I doing wrong? What was happening to me? Why did I feel like I was on the verge of throwing up or dying so frequently? What was causing my hands to shake and my stomach to turn and my heart to race and my vision to blur? What was I so afraid of all of?
It had been roughly four years of doctors' visits, thinking I had some sort of heart issue, until one emergency room visit later, on Christmas day no less, landed me a "generalized anxiety and panic disorder" diagnosis.
Wait, so this is what anxiety feels like? This is what those people meant when they said anxiety was debilitating.
No, the doctor was wrong. I was certain I was dying. Anxiety? No way! Not me! Why?...
What now?
For so long, I thought of those with anxiety and depression as weak and void of the usual well-developed coping mechanisms for adult life. I judged other Christians with this issue as though they were simply lacking in the faith department. Just being honest. I never voiced my opinion, though, and often comforted those with such a plague. However, deep down, I knew I couldn't relate. I was not the worrying kind.
Little did I know that anxiety takes many complicated forms, and mine was the strong silent type.
I had always had my reservations about large crowds, but that was about the only thing that made me feel like I wanted to run away. I had never been a depressed person, that I knew of. I had never been one to get worked up or nervous about much, other than school, but who doesn't. I was always the calm, cool, collected one in my group of friends.
However, a few years after the birth of my second child, I was suffering daily from an invisible foe. One that I was not familiar with and had no clue how to fight. After years of desperate prayer, I eventually came to a place where I knew I probably needed medication, but that was another struggle altogether. Family and friends tried to encourage me to seek help. I tried every "natural" supplement known to ease anxiety. Nothing helped. Nothing even took the edge off. It seemed that the more I prayed and begged the Lord to take this from me, the stronger it got. It was as if my brain was in rebellion to my natural state of calm and it was getting worse. Something had to give.
I had heard the whisper of God’s voice telling me it was time to lay down my pride and rethink some things. I didn’t want to. I didn't want to depend on a pharmaceutical medication. To me, that was defeat. To me, that was being faithless. It was the farthest thing from what I wanted, but I knew it was time to make a decision. I knew it was time to do things the way God was leading me to. I knew I needed pharmaceutical help. For me, that was a hard pill to swallow.
I had convinced myself that taking the meds would be admitting failure. It would mean that I wasn't strong enough (duh!). That I did not have enough faith that God would fix it. It would mean I was weak; that I couldn't control my own brain (double duh!). It would mean I was going to be dependent on a substance for who knows how long just to function in daily life. That was not me. That was not how I wanted to live. In my mind, I was stronger than that! However, try as I might, I was fighting a losing battle. The worst part, even though I had a rock solid support system, was that I felt as though I was fighting alone. I felt like I was slowly disappearing like a scene from “Back to the Future”.
BUT GOD…
After pleading with Him for so long to take this menace from my life, and getting no relief, He finally answered loud and clear where it seemed He had only been barely whispering before. I had been reading Paul's second letter to the Corinthians when I came across his telling of a 'thorn' in his flesh. I had heard this story before, but this time it came alive. I would encourage you at this point to go to 2 Corinthians and read chapter 12.
Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.
2 Corinthians 12:7-8
This thorn, whatever it may have been, was intrusive enough in Paul's life that he asked God to remove it many times. Paul even referred to it as "a messenger from Satan to torment me...". Now there was something I could relate to! Anxiety had become my thorn, my tormentor.
Then the questions came, as I am sure they did for Paul as well. "How could I accomplish what God wanted of me with this problem? How long will I have to suffer with this? What if He never takes it away? Why can't I just be normal? What's wrong with me? He made me this way, what is the purpose in this?" They kept coming. So many questions.
Little did I know that this thorn, this tormentor, had a greater purpose. This thorn would teach me how to depend on God's strength and not my own. This thorn would bring to life the verse that says, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness" (2 Corinthians 12:9). I had to lay down the idea that medication is for those who don't have enough faith. I had to lay down the idea that I am strong enough to overcome my hardships. I had to lay down the idea that God needed me to be strong in order to work through me.
All of these lies I had believed for so long. Now, I know better. But I had to walk through it myself.
In the weeks before I reached out to my doctor, I had sank deeper into the pit of depression. Every attempt at avoidance and every effort to do things my way caused the anxiety to snowball. The anguish of panic visited so frequently it was almost a permanent state of my existence. I was good at masking the depression, but the panic began to tell on me. I was living an alternate reality where fear had become my master and the God I said I followed seemed far away.
Several panic attacks later, I finally gave in and made a call to my doctor's office to set up an appointment. After telling doc how I had been feeling, she prescribed me an anti-depressant. Oh boy. After more internal debate over how ridiculous I felt, and after days of holding onto my unopened bottle of pills, I took the first one.
The first few weeks were the worst of my life, emotionally speaking. To make a long story short, the adjustment period was rough. On the bright side, the doc did tell me I would feel way worse and then it would get way better.
After a couple weeks, the fog began to lift. The mental burden began to feel lighter each day. I was eventually able to slowly crawl back to normal life and it felt AMAZING! My kids had their mom back. My husband had his wife back. I felt like myself again, except better!
GOD IS SO GOOD!
Looking back now, I am beginning to see the long hard road to humility that the Lord was leading me down. I used to think I was a pretty humble gal, but in reality, I struggled hard with pride. Pride in my emotional maturity that gave me a leg up in life. Pride in my intellect that caused me to be a "know it all" quite often. Pride in my "goodie two shoes" nature that kept me out of the kinds of trouble I watched so many around me suffer through. I didn't have the arrogant sort of pride, but my quiet pride was just as destructive, if not more.
This monster of anxiety, although life-draining, God has used to give me new life! How is that you may ask? Because God has drawn me closer to Himself than ever before. Because through it all, He has refined me into a weapon to be used for battle. Because my God has walked me through a fire I thought would take my life and I am not afraid of it anymore! I have a new song to sing and a new story to tell! I can tell my story without shame because my God took my shame and nailed it to a cross over 2000 years ago!
Did I receive healing from my thorn? No, but at the same time, yes!
I was relieved of the symptoms of my suffering thanks to the meds, but I am still burdened with a chemical imbalance that may likely never resolve. Take the meds away and my symptoms return. What I have with the medication is a highly effective band-aid.
I am still stuck with the thorn, and every so often it peaks back through the curtain for an unwanted encore performance. However, I have been healed completely of so many other things along the way. Destructive mindsets, intrusive thoughts, lack of empathy, fear, shame, PRIDE. The list goes on.
I say all that to say this... God's strength is best displayed in our weakness and our brokenness is where His light shines through.
Stay humble, stay hungry, and keep choosing the Good Portion!