I can’t seem to catch my breath. Breathe, Jeremiah! Breathe! Come on man, get yourself together. Why is it suddenly so freaking hot in here? Alright… play it cool. You got this.
Ugh! My palms are so sweaty. It’s like I’ve been wrestling with a wet fish in a rainforest. Oh great. Now they’re tingling too. Breathe, dude!
Room’s starting to spin a little bit. Probably should find a place to sit down. Crap. Now my toes are tingling and my legs are tightening up.
Is this a stroke? Now I can’t feel my hands. I’m pretty sure this is a stroke. I’m about to die in my early 20s from a freaking stroke.
I’ve got to get to a hospital right now!
That’s a slightly humorous take on what was going through my head the day that I had my first full-blown panic attack. Fortunately, I had some family that were able to rush me to the hospital. By the time we arrived, my body had completely seized up, and I needed a wheelchair just to make it inside.
As they were giving my information to the nurse at the admittance desk I begin to feel tingling through my face. My tongue and mouth started to go numb. Since I legitimately thought I was dying, I tried my best to tell my family, “I love you.” Although it came out sounding more like, “I uhv oo!” My siblings still poke fun at me for that kind gesture.
Once I was admitted, a nurse had me start doing some breathing exercises with her. If memory serves, it was something similar to box breathing. (4-second inhale – 4-second hold – 4-second exhale – 4-second hold) Within minutes, the feeling slowly returned to my limbs and face. I couldn’t believe how quickly I started to feel better.
They ended up running a few tests on me to make sure I didn’t have anything too sinister happening in my body. The results all came back negative. I appeared to be in healthy physical condition, yet I found myself laid out in a hospital bed thinking moments earlier that I was about to get an early access pass to Heaven.
A doctor eventually walks in and tells me that I had just experienced a severe panic attack. He mentioned that it was quite possible that I was dealing with anxiety. It might be worth speaking with a therapist or counselor of some kind to confirm. This revelation was both a blessing and a curse. For years after that trip to the hospital, I was convinced that I was an anxious person. So I began a journey into the depths of anxiety that has continued to this day.
There’s honestly far too much to discuss in a single blog post. So I’m going to focus on one particular aspect of this topic. Please keep in mind that I’m not a therapist or counselor. I’ll be discussing my experience and the lessons that I’ve learned along the way.
Rattling my faith.
Thinking that I might have anxiety was something that I really didn’t believe was possible. Why? Because I follow Jesus and Christians don’t have anxiety. Right? (Insert sarcastic side-eye here.)
So mental and emotional health can be a bit of a taboo topic for Christians depending on the type of religious circles that you grew up in. I grew up in the Bible Belt, in a Baptist denomination, where these types of issues were all lumped into matters of faith. It was fairly common to hear people advising those that are struggling to just pray harder and trust more. Certain verses would be quoted to the hurting parties as if that was going to instantaneously bring healing, and if it didn’t, your faith was lacking. After all, if faith the size of a mustard seed can move mountains, then surely it can heal your anxiety, depression, etc.
But what if it doesn’t?
This is where things got really complicated for me. I wasn’t a perfect individual by any stretch of the imagination, but I really was trying to live a life that honored Jesus. So how could this be happening if anxiety is strictly a faith thing?
So I wrestled with the depth and authenticity of my faith. If this was strictly a matter of faith, then mine had to be the problem. I wasn’t good enough, sincere enough, disciplined enough for God to free me from this mental prison that I had been thrown into.
I scoured the Bible and read all the different verses I could find about worry, fear, and the future. Surely that would fix everything. To be honest, some of that was helpful. As a shock to no one, consuming and memorizing Scripture is a great practice. I would personally advise any Christian to dig into the Word and commit it to memory, but it didn’t stop the battle raging in my mind and spirit.
I started writing out every little thing that I was thankful for in a notebook. Because the Bible says, Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
I was doing a lot of praying but gratitude must have been what I was missing! So implemented that too. Guess what? It was helpful, but I was still having anxious thoughts, and it felt as if fear had swallowed me whole.
This led me to 2 Timothy. Paul was encouraging Timothy to fan the flame of his gifts because God had not given him the spirit of fear but of power and love and self-control. I felt like I got the dyslexic version of that verse.
You don’t have power, love, or self-control, but man do we have some fear for you.
I kept praying, thanking, reading, and journaling because all of those things should increase my faith. Then all of my problems would disappear. But here’s the issue. They didn’t.
Through this entire process, I hadn’t spoken with a therapist. My budget was tighter than a pair of skinny jeans after an extended stay at the Golden Corral. I started to make some headway when I stopped looking at this through the lens of faith alone. I realized that those verses weren’t meant to guarantee invulnerability from the challenges of life.
Paul talks about a thorn in his side that he prayed God would take away, but it didn’t happen. Now some say that could have been some sort of physical infirmity, but I would argue that the text makes it fairly clear that he was dealing with a demonic spiritual attack. Either way, it wasn’t pleasant, and God didn’t remove it.
God did tell Paul that his grace would be sufficient and his power is made perfect in weakness. He never promised that things would be easy, but he did say that he will never leave me or forsake me. So my perspective slowly started to shift from the anxiety to Jesus. What if this “thorn” was meant to push me further into relationship with him?
It’s spiritual and then some.
My faith has matured over the years since being paralyzed by the mere thought of anxiety. I’ve tried to more diligently pursue Jesus and focus less on the “what ifs.” In the midst of this journey, I’ve learned that anxiety, depression, and some of the other common mental health struggles are so much more than matters of faith. I do simultaneously believe that some spiritual attacks and influences disguise themselves as mental health issues when the situation is far more complicated than that.
So I would argue that these things are in fact spiritual matters, but that’s directly related to how we’re designed. As image bearers of God, we are spiritual beings who have a mind, body, and soul all existing in unison. In fact, the Bible tells us to love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. We are complex beings made in the image of an infinite God. The health of our body, mind, and soul are inextricably linked because that’s literally who we are. Therefore, when one area is suffering or uncared for it can affect the others.
Now, before I go any further, I’m aware that for some of you, this might sound like I’m treading into some New Age garbage. In fact, that’s probably what kept me from acknowledging this sooner. The things I was learning seemed so foreign to what I had heard around the church growing up. I was a bit fearful of what others might think of me as I was exploring this.
Fast forward a few years, and I did eventually find myself in therapy with a Christian therapist, and it all started to come together. I was so focused on taking care of the “spiritual stuff” that I completely missed the aspects of taking care of my physical body and the mind that came with it.
My therapist started helping me unpack that there are indeed physical and mental factors that affect whether or not I might feel anxious in the moment. That could be my environment, hormones, sleep quality, breathing patterns, thinking patterns, and diet. Some of those might even require short or long-term medications to address.
I learned I wasn’t any less spiritual because I kept an emergency Ativan in my backpack. I wasn’t any less spiritual on the several occasions when I actually took it. In fact, I would argue that I was in a much healthier place spiritually when I stopped beating myself up for considering it.
Jesus is the Great Physician, but He also created many other gifted doctors and therapists through whom He has helped and healed countless others. I pray that we get to a place where we stop thinking less of someone for pursuing health. God can use a therapist to bring you to that place just as much as He can use the medication they’ve prescribed as well.
So, I’ve learned that healing isn’t always done through grand miracles in the public eye. Sometimes it’s done gradually. One decision, one appointment, one conversation, and yes, even one prescription at a time.