When There Is No Cure for Anxiety
Heart racing. Sweaty palms. Heavy stomach. Tight throat. Short breaths. The same worn-out feelings on a new face: postpartum anxiety.
My entire life I’ve waged war against anxiety. I’ve thrown punches, taken blows to my body, and fought to have my body and mind back again. I’ve longed for the day when I wouldn’t be afraid of vomiting or social gatherings. I’ve fought to not be overcome with nausea, shaking, or panic attacks. To not be captivated with catastrophic thinking. And after all these years—from daughter to mother, from student to employee, from girlfriend to wife—I’m here facing anxiety again in a new way.
“My entire life I’ve waged war against anxiety. I’ve thrown punches, taken blows to my body, and fought to have my body and mind back again.”
During a group therapy session, one participant asked our leaders, “Does it ever end? Do these irrational voices and fears ever go away?”
They gave us thin smiles and glanced at each other. Then one of them replied with a laugh, “When you find out, let me know.”
Maybe you’ve heard those stories of victory and overcoming—those who finished the battle, won the reward, and experienced pure freedom from their previous mental oppressor. Those are the stories that are shared most often and are so well-known.
I’m learning that those aren’t the only stories. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us are hopeless—if we choose, we can find quite the opposite.
The Battle That Never Ends
Some of us never find full relief from our battle against mental illness. Though we have memorized those Bible verses, read the books, prayed the prayers, taken the advice, done the exercises, and obeyed God, we continue to spill sweat and blood in our battle.
Anxiety carves a long scar that touches every area of my life and history. Now, as a follower of Christ, wife, mother of three, and writer, anxiety is still a present battle in my life, just in different forms.
I used to imagine the day I would be free from anxiety. I pictured myself encouraging others who were battling by saying that they too (someday) could find healing and peace. I imagined writing a book about how I overcame anxiety and how others would too if they followed these steps. I looked ahead to that triumphant day, swinging my legs over the side of my bed, and smiling into the sunshine—anxiety-free. Instead, I climb into bed with anti-anxiety medication in my stomach. I’m still here, I’m still seeing a counselor and psychiatrist, and there’s still no step-by-step plan to be anxiety free.
Anxiety Is My Body’s Warning Message, Not Its War Flag
But what if anxiety isn’t the war flag I’ve always thought it to be? What if anxiety is my body’s cue that something is amiss?
When I notice myself begin to down-spiral into sadness or anxiety, my instinct is to peer into my heart. What’s going on in there? What idol am I harboring? What truth am I not believing? What heart motive needs to change? I dig and search within my heart and begin a new spiral of morbid introspection. The war against myself is afoot.
At times, those are important questions to ask. But sometimes, those are all the wrong questions. We tend to think that mental health is always rooted in heart issues. But we aren’t just souls. We’re bodies too, and these bodies affect our souls just as our souls affect our bodies. The Psalmists talk about grief being felt deep in their bones and heartache being felt physically. Likewise, when our bodies are struggling, they can cause our hearts to ache.
“. We tend to think that mental health is always rooted in heart issues. But we aren’t just souls. We’re bodies too”
Sometimes my seasons of sadness, spiritual dryness, and anxiety are all rooted in something as human as sleep deprivation. When I’m low on sleep, I’m impatient, overwhelmed by an unmade bed, and sullen. Both of my postpartum experiences likewise left me feeling overwhelming sadness and anxiety that could find no source in my spiritual life, but in the many changes my body had and was going through. Intrusive thoughts, irrational fears, PTSD flashbacks from my c-section, and unexplained sorrow all tried to convince me I was a bad mom or believer, but in reality were symptoms of a body that had faced trauma and many hormonal changes. Relentless introspection only aggravated my problem.
I’m learning that instead of yelling a battle cry when my anxiety rages, I should not only ask myself the heart questions but the physical questions as well. Do I need more sleep? Do I need to change my diet? What’s amiss that’s causing my mind to misfire this way? Do I need to talk to my doctor or psychiatrist? We’re whole people and we need to care for ourselves as such. Instead of fighting against my body’s warning signals and forcing it to plow forward, I need to pause to care for it.
Hope Even in the Broken
So the anxiety continues to rage because of my broken body, and I’ve come to terms with the reality that anxiety will be my lifelong companion.
And yet, I have this crazy belief that this is a story of hope.
“So the anxiety continues to rage because of my broken body, and I’ve come to terms with the reality that anxiety will be my lifelong companion. ”
My hope is no longer in future victory over my anxiety. My hope is placed in the God who, with each present moment, has stood by me and shone his glory into every piece of my story. My hope is in his promise to bring me to completion (Phil. 1:6) and to do all for my good and his glory. My hope is in eternal life already won and kept for me, where all this pain will be wiped away as our bodies are made new.
What is sown is perishable; what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power. It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body. (1 Cor. 15:42b–44)
This is our greatest hope. While we’re being sown weak and perishable, we’ll be raised as whole and healed—the way we were created to be.
Looking forward to this hope, we also have hope here in our earthiness: We can trust that whatever weakness he allows in our life today, it has a reason, and he is still good. As Paul wrote of his own struggles,
For if I want to boast, I wouldn’t be a fool, because I would be telling the truth. But I will spare you, so that no one can credit me with something beyond what he sees in me or hears from me, especially because of the extraordinary revelations. Therefore, so that I would not exalt myself, a thorn in the flesh was given to me, a messenger of Satan to torment me so that I would not exalt myself. Concerning this, I pleaded with the Lord three times that it would leave me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is perfected in weakness.” (2 Cor. 12:6–9 CSB)
Though the thorn can be sharp and jagged, we can trust God is still faithful and good. He has already proclaimed the depths of his love by saving us from eternal hell through Jesus’s sacrifice for our sins. We can trust him where he allows thorns to grow, because we know he will allow roses to flourish again.
It’s wearisome. It’s tiring. That’s why we keep our eyes open and watch. Take note of the ordinary ways you see his faithfulness. Keep your eyes fixed on God who is our only hope. And each day, we wake up, pray, and press on to our next task of faithfulness. We meet with our doctors and psychiatrists and follow their guidance. We keep our eyes set on our eternal hope; one day we will be redeemed and given resurrected bodies that no longer bear these scars. But until then, our fighting looks like seeking refuge, seeking help, and finding rest. Thorns are wearisome, but our God never grows jaded of listening and coming near.
Lara d’Entremont is a wife and mom to three from Nova Scotia, Canada. Lara is a writer and learner at heart—always trying to find time to scribble down some words or read a book. Her desire in writing is to help women develop solid theology they can put into practice—in the mundane, the rugged terrain, and joyful moments. You can find more of her writing at laradentremont.com.