Today’s post is written by my dear friend Laura. She would want me to tell you that she is my favorite person in her family. We’ve been through a lot, and I’m so thankful for her faith in me. She gives really good gifts, is extremely gullible, and talks way too much about reality TV shows. She also has my back, forever and always.
The thing about self-leadership is that it’s really hard to do when you don’t know what your ‘self’ is. I have spent so much of my life perceiving myself in a certain light that it is nothing short of revolutionary for me to begin to think otherwise. Leading myself seems a foreign concept, when I think of how many years of my life were defined as being led by something else.
There are some things that I don’t want you to know about me. I will not divulge them all right here, but I will tell you something. And it can be hard for me to share things, because even though I don’t know you, I want you to think I’m perfect, or pretty damn close.
But that’s laughable. For a number of reasons, really, but the one I want to tell you about is this: I struggle with anxiety. And not like sometimes-I-feel-worried-for-no-reason anxiety, but the kind of anxiety that sits in my stomach like a rock and blocks any room for food and has me doubting everything and paralyzed by nothing; the kind of anxiety that can turn a fun and rational and very confident person into someone scared and frozen and insecure.
From five years old on, I can remember experiencing deep and frequent feelings of anxiety. So I suppose that it’s not terribly surprising that I have come to allow anxiety to define me in primary ways. In my mind, before I am a wife or a colleague or a friend, I am anxious. I have looked at the world through those foggy lenses for so long that my bedrock view of reality has become distorted. Anxiety, at many points in my life, has been the force that was leading me, guiding my actions, motivating my decisions. Instead of making choices from the core of who I am, I deferred to the path of least resistance and most comfort, hoping that I could avoid the pain of anxiety by giving into it completely.
So I might want you to think I’m perfect, but when I open my medicine cabinet and swallow that pill every morning, I’m reminded that I am not. I am also reminded, though, that I am not the young girl who couldn’t leave her parents, or the twelve-year-old who couldn’t eat the whole first week of school because transitions left her terrified.
Because here’s the thing: Somewhere along the way, I grew up.
I went to college.
I traveled in Europe for four months with people I didn’t know.
I got a job, quit that job, moved away, got another job, quit that job after two weeks (yes, weeks), got yet another job, quit that job, got married, freaked out that I just got married, got another job, moved again.
These may sound like simple enough things, but each one was, in its own unique way, a deeply significant battle for my mind. Each time, I could have made the decision to stay close to home, to choose comfort, to remain aloof and project an air of competence that cloaked my deep fear. And each time I have chosen to think outside the confines of my anxiety and act accordingly, I have grown closer to becoming the person that I want to be. The person who leads her own life, who lives in the beauty and mystery of each day and does not cocoon herself from difficulty and learning and growth.
I’m living into my life. Slowly, but honestly. As I stopped conflating myself – my soul, my personhood – with my anxiety, I was able to understand, for the first time, who I really am. It’s not that things changed overnight, and I still struggle with anxious feelings and thoughts. That probably won’t go away completely in my lifetime.
There are some concrete things that I do to separate my anxiety from myself. I exercise. I take medication. I read books that help me to understand anxiety, and then I read other books that have nothing to do with anxiety. I pray, and talk to my friends, and I make sure that people know me well enough to help me with this journey, because I know myself well enough to know that I cannot do this on my own.
Things have surfaced in my life – circumstances, people, internal signals – that have set me on a journey into myself that helps me live more authentically. Shedding a skin of anxiety, for all the ensuing pain and drama, opens up to me a new way of living in which I am at the helm and in which I seek wisdom and growth, rather than comfort or pain avoidance. Instead of being motivated by fear, I can be proactive. (I know, it’s kind of a buzzword—but it works for me. Feel free to replace with something more erudite.)
It’s like this: I am driving my car. My soul is full and my mind is free, and there will be stops and bumps and unforeseen curves along the way. But I am in the driver’s seat, and I drive with confidence and grace and responsibility. It is my road, my journey, my self. And sometimes I might like my passenger, and sometimes I won’t. I can’t always control who that passenger is, when my anxiety feels overwhelming, when I feel sure that I can’t go on. But I trust that I will be sustained, that I will have life breathed in to me time and again. I trust that I learn along the way and that I can become better without being defined by being in process. In the words of Elizabeth Strout (and via Michele, about a year ago):
“I suspect the most we can hope for, and it’s no small hope, is that we never give up, that we never stop giving ourselves permission to try to love and receive love.”
Laura started to love Michele over toffee almond bars at Starbucks, and really loved her when she met her sons. For the good of everyone, she has finally moved on from her time as Spring Sing’s greatest producer and now works for Fuller seminary. You can read her blog here: www.anordinaryplayerinthekeyofc.blogspot.com.