Tag Archives: anxiety

Stuck and Still

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As wonderful as the Christmas season is and as much as I love it, I’ve been pretty jammed up lately.

I’ve wanted to pull the covers over my head and close my eyes tight…as if doing that could keep it all out.  As if being frozen…stuck in one place will help.  And, it is pretty much over run of the mill adult stuff.  Managing details.

Then that sleepy-eyed little boy comes up next to me. “Nose!” He giggles as he pokes my face.  “Mama, I wan’ somethin’ to drink.”  I give the sweetest boy in the whole entire world a hug, pulling him up into our covers, and feel a surge of mommy love hormones that washes away my concerns.

“Mama, I wan’ somethin’ to drink!”

So, I get up and move.

I get my boy somethin’ to drink.

I’ll continue to struggle with that desire to freeze, to hole up, to close my fists and eyes tight throughout the day.  It can feel pretty intense sometimes.

Then I feel a nudge to get outside…to walk.

So, I get up and move.

I walk and walk.  And feel the December sunshine soak into my bones and wash away the anxieties of life.

Get up and move.

In Psalms we are told to “be still and know that He is God.”  I like another translation better: “cease striving and know that I am God.”

But…and this is a very big but…there is a difference between being still…

…and being stuck.

I went to a Christian university where a common joke was that people would blame God for break ups: “I’ve prayed about it and I feel like the Lord is telling me that we just aren’t meant to be together.  It isn’t His will.”  Or, sometimes God was used as the basis for other decisions (or lack there of): “I haven’t chosen a major yet because I am waiting on God to tell me what His will is” (from a junior…or maybe a fifth year senior).  You can see it after college, too. “I haven’t applied for a job because I am waiting for God to tell me what to do.”

Sometimes this idea of waiting on God, this idea being “still” is really misunderstood and misapplied as being “stuck”…paralysis of analysis.

Sometimes God just wants us to move.

Have you ever studied the phrase “will of God” in the New Testament?  (You can read more about this topic here.)  Do you know what God seems to specify in regards to His will?  Research it for yourself, but you might be surprised by what you find and what you do not find.  You will read that it is God’s will for us to love one another, for us to pursue peace, and for us to love God with all of our heart.  Do you read anywhere about us God’s will and which job you should take, who you should marry, or where you should live?  No.

Too often it seems that the people who are so fixated, so paralyzed, so stuck by trying to determine God’s will in these areas have the most difficult time with things like peace. Love. Not being easily angered…the specifics of God’s will that you CAN find in the New Testament.

God seems to be pretty direct about things like being patient.  Being kind.  Giving grace to others.

He is not always so direct about everything else.

Sometimes I wonder if we focused more on these specific directives of God rather than waiting for Him to boom a voice down about these other “bigger” things (really, now?  Bigger than grace? Than peace?) where we would be as a faith group.

Now, I am not down playing the still, small voice that God chose to use when speaking to Elijah (1 Kings 19:11-13), the voice I think He does still use with us.  I also think our spirituality can often lead us to being stuck…rather than being still…and focused on the wrong things.

We think we are waiting on God, when actually God is waiting on us.

To get unstuck.  To be still.  In our heart and mind.  Which enables us…

To get up and move.

A person who is stuck often feels powerless…a recipe for depression and anxiety.  That description doesn’t sound like the stillness mentioned in Psalm 46:10.

I think we can be moving and have a stillness in our hearts.

I think we can be stuck and our mind be so frantic we are paralyzed.

I think it is difficult…impossible even for God to steer a vehicle standing still.

The movement, the taking the steps themselves reveal a faith in God that says: “I believe You will be at the next place my foot hits.  I don’t have to hole up, close my eyes tight, pull the covers over my head. I can move.  I believe You will be with me every step of the way.  And, if I make a wrong step?  Well, You will help me know it, correct it, and keep going.”

He is waiting for us to move.  To take a step.  Any step.  To trust Him like when a one year old reaches out and trusts his mother or father when he or she takes that first step.  The child doesn’t really know what is coming.  He or she doesn’t have to figure it all out.  The child just walks, often focused on the face of the child’s mother or father.

A lot of my clinical work is with clients who are depressed or struggle with anxiety.  Outside the realm of “depth work”, I think it is important to attend to the basics.  “Get out of your house and out of your head” I will hear myself say to them.  It is something I tell myself, too.  Research shows that rumination, or over thinking, is connected to depression.

And, we love to ruminate…to think…to hole up in our homes and to think and think…we ponder and we believe that if we dwell on something long enough we will figure it out.

It just doesn’t work that way. The result of rumination is being stuck.  Feeling overwhelmed.  Powerless.

Not still.  Not at peace.  Not moving forward.  Stuck.

In fact, in the ruminating, in the overthinking, in the dwelling…in the being stuck…we can hardly HEAR God’s still small voice…our head is so full of other VERY LOUD voices…our own and others.

And, if you think about it, rumination, this overthinking, this idea that if we dwell on something long enough we will figure it out is fairly presumptive…it presumes that we believe we CAN figure it out.  It reveals a sense of power we think we have.

Taking a step…a leap of faith communicates something else.  It says: “I don’t have everything figured out.  I know I never will.  I am just going for it.  I am living life trusting that it is in the hands of Someone who does have it all figured out.”

For whatever reason too many of us were taught indirectly (or directly) that we CAN figure it out…that we are that powerful.  Perhaps in your childhood magical thinking you learned through your parent’s divorce or their alcoholism or their workaholism or their terminal illness that you had that power…you had the power to make your parents happy, sad, or angry.  You SEEMED to have the power to make things ok.  You grew up too fast.  You became a little adult tending to yours and perhaps your siblings needs because the adults were busy taking care of their overwhelming issues.  You gladly took on that power and it felt good and so big as a child, but it was too much too soon. It was adult responsibility and roles without the adult wisdom and flexibility.

And, now you tend to get stuck thinking that you can still think things through…that you can still make things ok…that you are “still” powerful.  And, when life gets complicated and your own powerfulness doesn’t work you don’t have any other ways of coping because you didn’t learn about healthy self care, healthy moderation…how to get out of your house and our of your head… when you were younger.  Your way of coping was to control…through whatever means you learned.  You didn’t learn that you aren’t in control.  You didn’t learn that you aren’t all powerful.

So, in this new, real adult world that requires flexibility, that requires movement, that requires more trust and less control, you freeze up, you hole up, you close up your fists and eyes tight against a world that does not sway to your rigid demands for perfection or thoughts on how things should be done.

You get stuck.  And, that is exactly what the Enemy wants.  He wants nothing more for you to do than to get stuck.  To stop moving.  To be a vehicle God cannot steer.

New moms are prone to this “stuck-ness”, too.  Research shows that mothers of young children have a greater tendency to struggle with depression.  And, that really makes sense.  Working and stay at home moms alike tend to be isolated.  They are swamped with the needs of their children and while this is a magical time, the hours spent at home can weigh on any new mom combined with the pressures our society puts on women to handle it all on their own.  I applaud all ministries and endeavors that reach out to this population of women.  They often need HELP to get “out of their house and out of their head”.

So, on this New Year’s I am reminding myself…get out of your house and out of your head.  Move.  There is something powerful about engaging your body that disengages…in a good way…your mind.  It gives it a break.  So, move!  Yes, your actual body!  Move it!  Take action.  Give God something to steer.  Resist the urge to pull the covers over your head and hide, to freeze, to withdraw.  We all don’t have a cute little two year old to get us out of bed, but we can use an alarm clock…or our dreams and our hopes.

Dream.  Hope.  Dare.  Take risks.  Taking time to dream, to unleash your imagination about the future is a wonderful way to get “unstuck”.  It also reveals a wonderful and delightful trust in God.  It says: “I believe it when You say that You have plans and hope for my future” (Jeremiah 29:11-13).  It is a recovering of a childhood you may have lost when you took on those adult roles a little too early…whether you were seven or seventeen.

Dreaming is quite different than ruminating.  Dreaming is the movement of the mind.  It is the antithesis to “stuck-ness”.  God so often works in the midst of our dreaming.  Often it is in our dreaming that we rediscover who we are…who God is calling us to be.  Dreaming takes the earthly boundaries away and opens us up for God’s possibilities.

This isn’t a call to workaholism…to moving so much, so fast the roar of our motion inhibits our stillness, our hearing of God.  It is a call to balance…to taking a step…one at a time…to being still in our hearts, minds tuned in to Him…and not stuck…minds tuned it to ourselves and others.

Move.  Dream. Dare.  Take risks.  Be still.  But, don’t be stuck.  And, if you get stuck again…like I do sometimes…remember to start over.

Move.  Dream. Be Still.  Know (that He is God).  Trust (in the Lord).

Be that moving vehicle He can steer.

And, while you are at it, if you see someone else who is stuck take a minute to help them get out of their house and out of their head.  Take some time to dream and to hope with them.  Take a few moments to be still with them.  Dream about what they might dare or the risks they could take to be who God is calling them to be.

We CAN help one another be still…and not stuck.

Take My Hand

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To fulfill the requirements for my Ph.D. program I have to be “in residence” for one year.  What that basically means is that I have to be full time, the equivalent to taking three classes each semester.  When I looked at the semester schedule for fall 2011 I discovered that to be full time I would have to take a class on Wednesday nights.  I discarded the idea entirely.  Why?  Wednesday night is one of Jon’s busiest nights at work.  Trying to coordinate childcare would be…complicated.  The idea of trying to navigate those arrangements caused me anxiety just thinking about it.  So despite the fact that Jon wondered if it was indeed the best year for me to do the residency requirement, I threw the idea away and thought that I would fulfill it later.  As August approached, the possibility came up again.  Was I really going to do this thing (the Ph.D. program) or not?

I decided that if I could get help, I would go for it. So after a few phone calls, I had five family members eager to rotate offering help for the four months of class on Wednesday nights.  Once a month my mom, my dad, Jon’s parents, or my brother comes to stay with the kids, take them to church, and then bring them back home while Jon is at the church working.  As a mother it has been very difficult to ask for and accept this help.  Too often we are told that we should have it all under control on our own…that we should know all of the details, have our children monitored by only us all of the time…and I, unfortunately, buy into this cultural idea too often.  By giving up some control on these Wednesday nights my children are getting the chance to spend time with grandparents and their uncle.  And, I am getting to pursue a personal and professional goal.  Win-win.

Things were going very well the first few weeks.  I was tired and working hard, but the plans were working like clockwork.  Then one Sunday night I was putting the girls to bed, anticipating with them the great week ahead of us, and Eloise anxiously asked: “Mom, is tomorrow Wednesday?”  “No, why?”  “Well, I know that I just have to make it through Wednesday and I’ll be ok.”

What followed, in short, was a conversation in which Eloise explained that she was not too happy about our arrangements. “I’m glad you are going to school and all, but I just don’t like having someone different coming each week to take me to church.  I would rather it be the same person each time.”

As it turns out Eloise had in her mind that we would be following this plan for two years.  I am not sure where she got this idea, but the idea of having someone different coming to take her to church on Wednesday nights week after week for two years was just a little too overwhelming.  I explained that we would not be following this plan for two years, but only until Thanksgiving, which was three months away.  That information seemed to help and she went to bed.

Eloise is my daughter that needs to know who, what, why, when, where, and how.  I am fairly certain that she thinks she knows more than I do.  If she does not have the details about what is going on ahead of time and/or she thinks that I do not have it all together, she gets a little anxious.  If coordinating a situation is going to be…complicated…she would rather just avoid it.  She likes things to be calm, orderly, and well planned.

These Wednesday nights are stretching her.

Which is not a bad thing.

As I listened to Eloise share her anxieties I was not too alarmed.  I know this girl.  I know that this is what she does.  I know that her anxiety does not make me a bad mother or mean that I am doing something wrong.  What I do know is that I would love for her to trust me.  Like so many other times in the past I would love for her to just know that I’ve got this.  She can relax.  Daddy and I have the details covered.  She is not the third adult in the house.  I would love for her to rest in all of these truths because I know that ultimately this trust will be best for her.  I know that in her trusting she won’t get silly in her anxiety, she won’t become exhausted by the heightened emotions, and she will have more energy, more time, more space to just…be…be adventurous, be playful, be a little girl.

I would love for Eloise to slip her little hand in mine and say: “Ok, Mama.  Let’s do this (whatever “this” is).”

If you have even grazed the field of psychology in the past couple of decades you are well acquainted with John Bowlby’s Attachment Theory.  It seems that it is the “hottest thing” in the field these days.  And, like most theories of science it has made its way to pop culture with some unfortunate packaging.  Some people tend to think of Attachment Theory as being about how much time a mother spends with her infant every day and week.  While it is true that some research explores this factor, this preoccupation is not what Attachment Theory is about.  Attachment is about relationships, trust, and security.  It is about feeling safe enough to explore…to be.  Attachment Theory explores how early relationship patterns create a sense of security (or not) in a child.  How much time a mother spends with a child does play into the picture in certain ways, but it is more about the relationship.  I have seen stay at home mothers raising anxious and insecure children and working mothers raising secure and confident ones.  It is about creating a space where children learn that they are safe…enough to rest, to relax, to explore, to just…be…be adventurous, playful.  There are two parts to secure attachment: security and exploration.

One of my favorite parts of being a mother is holding my child’s hand.  I know their hands well.  I reach for them when we cross the road, when we are waiting in line at the grocery store, when we watch movies, and sometimes just because I want to tell them I am there.  And, I love what it tells me when their hand relaxes in mine.  I’m ok, mommy. I know you are there.  I will go along with you.  I can trust that we are going in a safe direction.  I know that you’ve got the details covered.

Emmett’s hands are soft, warm, and a little pudgy with left over baby fat.  Lillian’s are strong, usually warm and sticky…with left over mess from whatever adventure she has had most recently.  Eloise’s hands are slender and cool to the touch.  Lillian is most likely to let me hold her hand, often grabbing my hand first.  Emmett is too active to think about it, usually takes my hand on instinct.  Eloise is eight and not sure if she wants to hold my hand or not.  Oh, she does, but she doesn’t. But, she does. Then again, maybe she doesn’t.  Is she supposed to?  For how long? Why?  What?  When?  Where?  How?

I would love for her not to think so much…just take my hand already.

I’m pretty sure God says something like this to me, too.

I would love for you to stop thinking so much.  Just take my hand already.

Often I have those same questions for God… who, what, why, when, where, and how.  Oh, how often I have those questions.  It probably comes across that I think I know more than He does.  I get anxious and tend to worry that He does not have the details covered.  That He does not really have it all together.  If it looks as though coordinating a situation is going to be…complicated (for God)…I would rather just avoid it.  I like things to be calm, orderly, and well planned.  I want to know….just know.

Life itself pretty much stretches me.

Which is not a bad thing.

As God listens to me share my anxieties I am fairly certain He does not get too alarmed.  I know this girl, He says.  I know that this is what she does.  What I do know is that I would love for her to trust me.  Like so many other times before I would love for her to just know that I’ve got this.  She can relax.  I have the details covered.  She is not the other God in the universe.  I would love for her to rest in all of these truths because I know that ultimately that will be best for her.  I know that in her trusting she won’t get silly in her anxiety, she won’t become exhausted by the heightened emotions, and she will have more energy, more time, more space to just…be…be adventurous, be playful, be my girl.

I would love for Emily to slip her little hand in mine and say: “Ok, God.  Let’s do this.”

So, I’ve been thinking about Attachment and Eloise and me.  I’ve been thinking about how much I want her to trust me, to be secure, secure enough to relax and explore, to live life, to just…be.  And, I’ve been thinking about how much I want that for myself, too.  I’ve been thinking about what it tells me when my children reach for my hand.  I’m ok, mommy. I know you are there.  I will go along with you.  I can trust that we are going in a safe direction.  I know that you’ve got the details covered.  And, I want that kind of trust, too.  I want that to be my message to God.  So, I’m thinking about all of these things in the midst of a very, very full week of classes and work and loving on my family and I find myself in the car driving.  I am exhausted and on my way to a field trip with one of my girls, following the bus to the museum, and I desperately need to know that He’s got this, that He’s got the details covered.  And, for a moment, I imagine I lift up my hand, pretend to grab His hand, and I know that He’s been saying it all along: “Take my hand.  Go ahead.  Take it.  I’ve got this.”  And, I choose to take His hand, choose to rest in it, choose to go along with Him and say one more time: “Ok, God. Let’s do this.”

Like a Sponge

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Soon after my oldest daughter started kindergarten we were sitting at the table having a snack, talking about her day, looking through the work she brought home, when I found a piece of paper where her teacher had written a note.  The note simply said that Eloise had not finished her morning work and needed to finish it at home.  Huh.  Well, ok, that isn’t a big deal.  I asked Eloise about it and she told me that she was having a hard time getting her morning work done before time was up.

At this point I felt something rise up inside of me that was like nothing I had experienced before.  I mean, it couldn’t be my DAUGHTER’S fault that she isn’t finishing her work on time!  Not as smart as she is.  No, no, no, uh-huh…something must be wrong with the system.  I was already writing a note to the teacher in my head when I stopped myself with a jerk.

Whoa.  Good grief.  THAT had been ugly.  I am about to do EXACTLY what I knew NOT to do…what I talked to clients about almost every week.  I was about to weave a web.  I wish I could say that it would have been the first time for me to be on the verge of doing my own spinning, the first time I had been a web weaver.  Unfortunately not.  It takes one to know one.

There is an idea in family systems theory that is called “triangles”.  When two people are in a relationship and there is conflict there is a tendency to pull someone else in to stabilize the system, to assuage the conflict, to help disperse the anxiety.  Maybe you can picture it.  Three people…three points in a triangle.  Sometimes the person isn’t pulled in. Sometimes out of anxiety (or anger or fear or simply having a little bit of a savior complex), a person will choose to step in and be that third point in the triangle (ahem…that would be me in the above situation).

Being there for your friends is a nice thing to do, right?  I mean, helping my daughter be successful in school, being her advocate with her teachers…that’s being a good parent, right?  That all sounds fine and good except that when a third person gets involved so many not good things are simultaneously taking place.  The primary relationship where there is conflict is not really getting a chance to grow and find its own strength.

Conflict can actually be a good thing for a relationship…if the relationship is given a chance to work it out.  Like the resistance to muscles in weight lifting, the resistance of conflict can break down a relationship only to help it grow stronger…if the two people are committed to working through it.

When a third person steps in or is pulled in to the situation, an opportunity is stolen.  The two people involved in the primary relationship are not given the chance to grow stronger, not given a chance to learn to tolerate anxiety and conflict, not given a chance to learn to communicate and relate in the midst of a tough time.  They aren’t given the chance to grow…as individuals and in their relationship.  The third person actually steals this opportunity when they try to “help”.

And, it just gets messy.  Very, very messy.

Think about triangles being formed across a community.  What would a string of triangles looks like?  Yeah, a spider web.  And, everyone gets caught in it.  No one comes out completely clean.

You’ve experienced them before.  Let’s see if any of these situations sound familiar.

Your son doesn’t get his homework done on time.  It is the night before the big project is due.  He hasn’t even started it.  Instead of asking him how he wants to deal with it, you take over and do it for him or write a note to the teacher asking if he can have an extension.  Because, you know, he hasn’t been feeling very good…that’s why he needs the extension.  Right.

Your two friends are in an argument.  One of them comes to talk to you about it.  It is so hard to watch your friends struggle that maybe you step in and talk for your friend A to the other friend B.  Or, maybe you don’t do that, but you join in with your friend A and either directly or indirectly put down friend B.  You just joined a triangle.

You are frustrated about a colleague at work.  Instead of going to talk to him or her about the frustrations, you go and vent to your boss.  Rather than handling it right there, your boss talks to another worker, who then talks to another worker… and we wonder why there is tension at work places.

Or, perhaps your boss actually talks to YOU about frustrations with another one of your colleagues…and you go and talk to another colleague who talks to another colleague.  So many triangles…one big web.

Triangles are the result of anxiety.  We watch someone else struggling, which makes us anxious and so we step in.  Or, we are in a conflict and we are anxious about it, afraid or overwhelmed at the idea of dealing directly with the source of the conflict, so we pull someone else in.

If we aren’t careful, we soak up anxiety from others like a sponge and we do really stupid things…things we are ashamed of later.  We talk down about people we care about, get into other people’s business, overreact, become rigid in demands…and cause all kinds of drama…all in response to the anxiety and insecurity in ourselves that is triggered when we sense anxiety in others around us.

I stopped myself with a jerk at the table that day with Eloise.  I took a deep breath and I said: “Well, Eloise, what do you think you need to do about this issue?”  And, without any cajoling on my part I listened as my kindergarten daughter responded in a second with more maturity and confidence than the web of anxiety her mother’s mind had been spinning just moments before.  Well, she said, I probably need to get to school a few minutes earlier.  I also need to stop taking so long to write everything out.  Ok, those sound like good ideas, I said.  Do you think that will be enough to help you get finished on time?  Yeah, she replied.  No problem.

I never got another note about Eloise not finishing her work on time in the morning.

Wow, that was a close one.  I had been anxious about my daughter not finishing her work on time.  If, out of my own anxiety, I had stepped in and written a note to her teacher I would have stolen an incredible opportunity for Eloise to think, to brainstorm, to grow.  And, I would have caused an icky feeling between her teacher and me.  It would have been messy.  I shudder to think about it.  I shudder to think about the times in the past when I didn’t stop with a jerk…when I soaked up the anxiety like a sponge, when I formed a triangle, and became a web weaver.

And, you know what else?  Without actually saying the words, I would have been communicating to Eloise that I didn’t think she was strong enough to handle it.  By stepping in, I would have been saying: “You know what?  You can’t do this on your own.  I better do this for you” and just like that I would have injected a dose of insecurity in my daughter…a lack of confidence that she could think and brainstorm, and figure out on her own what she needs to do.

It is hard but I try to do this with friends and even family.  If they are upset about something I can listen without taking it on.  I can be there for them without intervening and creating more drama.  Wow, I can say, that sounds really hard.  Comments like that are not joining in the drama.  You can be there for someone without taking on their stuff or even agreeing with them!  I’m just being there.  In fact, by not taking it on, I can be there for them MORE.  I don’t get overwhelmed by it…by their stuff, by their pain.  I can stay there and really be there with them through this hard time

And that is really what we all need…someone to be there with us in hard times.  I don’t need my friends to fix my stuff.  I don’t even need them to be angry at people I am angry at even though I might feel like it at times.

Somewhere along the way we will do good to learn that we are called to help bear one another’s burdens…not fix them.

We are not called to be fixers.  We aren’t called to be saviors, healers, slanderers, busy bodies, or gossips…all things we tend to do when we are faced with anxiety and insecurities in our selves or others.

We are called to be burden bearers.

Therapists and counselors start learning this lesson early.  Not too long ago I heard a person telling a group that his daughter was planning on becoming a counselor: “I said, that’s a good thing, too, because she’s been telling people what to do since she was two years old!”  Everyone in the group laughed.  The irony is that very early in training therapists learn that giving direct advice is one of the last things you do.  Part of the point is for the other person to learn how to do their own problem solving…almost how to become their own therapist eventually.  Therapists are trained to ask good questions and there is certainly some direction and advice giving in there, but if I always supply clients with answers I set myself up as the authority in their life.  Not only is that an unethical use of power, it also is not very good clinical work.  Without actually saying the words, I communicate to my clients that I don’t think they are strong enough to handle it.  By stepping in, by giving all the “answers”, I tell them: “You know what?  You’re right.  You can’t do this.  I better do this for you” and just like that I inject a dose of insecurity into the people I work with…a lack of confidence in their ability to think and brainstorm and figure out what they need to do with their lives.

And, if as a therapist I always take on the other person’s stuff, giving them all the answers, becoming that third point in the triangle…the fixer, the healer, the savior…wow, that is too much for any human being.  That spells “burn out” fast.  My clients need a therapist who can stick around for them…not someone who becomes so overwhelmed by taking on things that aren’t mine to take on…abandoning them and checking out.

We can do that in friendships and family relationships, too.  We can take on so much because that feels so good…so good being the savior, the fixer, the healer.  And, because we aren’t created to be those things for people, we burn out.  Then we check out. Friends and family need a person who can stick around for them… not becoming so overwhelmed by taking on things that aren’t ours to take on…and then abandoning them, checking out.

Healer, Savior, Fixer…those titles sound familiar…

I’ll tell you one way to keep from soaking up anxiety like a sponge, from being a fixer, a busy body, a web weaver, a thief of growth opportunities in the lives of others…pray.  It is that simple.  Tell God about it.  And, watch Him absorb all of that inner conflict, all of that anxiety, fear, and even anger that gets our mind spinning.  Just pray.  Write it, speak it, sing it.  Whatever you have to do.  Just pray.  Pray for people in your life.  He is the Fixer, Healer, and Savior anyway…not us.

Somewhere along the way we will do good to learn that we are called to help bear one another’s burdens…not fix them.  And, every time you (ahem…I) step in to fix, heal, and save you just might be fixing, healing, or saving something that God is using in their life or in that relationship to do some incredible things.

I just need to get the heck out of the way.  And, pray.  And, listen.  And, maybe help them think through it.

Hello, my name is Emily and I am a recovering web weaver, triangle maker, attempted fixer.  I tend to soak up anxiety like a sponge.  I struggle to stop and pray.  But, I’m working on it.  I’ll keep working on it…working on injecting confidence in the lives of those I love and work with rather than insecurity…and getting the heck out of the way for what God is already doing.

I’ve killed a bear and a lion

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I’m starting a hard thing this week.  It’s good, but it is still hard, too.  And, there is no way around it. I have to go through it.  It’s like that song about going on a bear hunt that preschoolers sing and you keep coming to these obstacles like the peanut butter river and you sing: I can’t go over it.  I can’t go under it.  I can’t go around it.  I guess I’ll have to go through it.  Yep, I have to go through it.

So I’m starting this hard thing and I am staring up at this giant and I am afraid, anxious, full of nerves.  Then I remember and in the remembering I remind myself:

Wait, I’ve killed a bear and a lion.  I can knock this one out, too.

I come out of a religious tradition that places value on telling your story, or as it is sometimes called, testimony.  We honor a person’s narrative, what a person has been through, and we want to hear about it.  When churches were smaller time was devoted for just that very thing…telling your story.  We believe it is important to live out Deuteronomy 6:20-21: “In the future your children will ask you, ‘What is the meaning of these laws, decrees, and regulations that the LORD our God has commanded us to obey?’  Then you must tell them, ‘We were Pharaoh’s slaves in Egypt, but the LORD brought us out of Egypt with his strong hand.’”.

When our children ask us why we follow God’s word…rather than giving them a three point sermon or a lecture…we are told to tell them our story.  We are told to testify.  We tell what we have been through, about our own Egypt God has brought us out of.  And, children, that’s why.  That’s the meaning.

Hearing another person’s story can be very encouraging. It can inspire us.  However, it is also very easy to discount.  Sure, YOU were able to do that.  YOU have this or that going for YOU or look what YOU have that I haven’t or look who YOU know that I don’t.  Just because YOU have done this doesn’t mean I can.

The inspiration can wane quickly.  You are left with YOUR story.  However, there is ONE story that cannot be discounted.  Yours.  You know where you’ve been.  It is difficult to argue with what you know to be true about your own life.

I call it experiential knowledge and I love to get there with a client in therapy.  I love to hear where they’ve been and what they have been through and when they are discouraged about where they are going I love to gently help them remember.

I’ve killed a bear and a lion.

Not anyone else.  ME.

New information from teaching and the stories of others can be powerful and give new perspective, but there is something significantly different about something you know in your head (head knowledge) and something you KNOW because you have experienced it…you have faced it and conquered it before.

I know that I am strong enough to say no to one more drink and because I did it before I KNOW I can do it again.  Not anyone else.  ME.  I did that.

I know that I am strong enough to stay away from that relationship and because I faced this similar situation before I KNOW I can do it again.  Not anyone else.  ME. I did that.

I know that I am strong enough to start a new job all over again and because I have started new jobs before I KNOW I can do it again.  Not anyone else.  ME.  I did that.

I know that I am strong enough to handle this move to a strange place and because I have moved before I KNOW that I can do it again.  Not anyone else.  ME.  I did that.

Experiential knowledge.  Knowledge that I have done this (or something similar) and I can do it again.

Sometimes we need to testify to ourselves: I’ve killed a bear and a lion.

In 1 Samuel 17:36 when the people are questioning whether or not this young, smallish boy, this child named David, could actually, should actually face off this giant called Goliath, David simply tells them: Look, I’ve done this before.  I’ve killed a bear and a lion.

I am reading between the lines here, but I wonder if David was telling himself this fact as much as he was telling the people.  I wonder if he was afraid, anxious, full of nerves.  I wonder if he looked around, recognized these emotions, and said to himself: Oh, yeah.  I’ve been here before.  I wonder if he remembered and in the remembering reminded himself as much as anyone else:

I’ve killed a bear and a lion.

So, I am looking at this next Goliath, not the first in my life and certainly not the last, and I am feeling afraid, anxious, full of nerves and I am saying to myself:  Oh, yeah.  I’ve been here before. I recognize this place.  Yep, there’s the fear, there’s the anxiety, there’s the nerves.  I remember all of this. I also remember that these feelings are not the end.  I remember this story.  I remember how it ends. I remember because I have been here before and I remember that I killed the bear and the lion.  THAT’s how this story ends.  And, I can knock this one out, too.

You don’t know what my Goliath is and I don’t know what yours is, but I am fairly certain that either you are facing a Goliath now or you will be…soon.  And, I am fairly certain that you’ve killed your own, too…killed your own bears and lions….that you have your own remembering and reminding to do.

So you can tell yourself…wait, I remember this place. I remember these feelings.  Yep…there’s fear, there’s anxiety, there’s the nerves.  You can tell yourself…I remember all of this.  I would also bet money that you can remember that these feelings are not the end.  They are not the end of the story…the end of YOUR story.  I am fairly certain you can remember that you’ve been here before and you can remember that you killed that bear and that lion.  That’s the end of YOUR story.  And, you can knock this one out, too.

Herding Cats and Butterflies

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At least a few and more often several times a day I beckon my group towards to the front door with the goal of venturing outside.  Here is what happens.  As we approach the front door from various directions in the house, one daughter will dart back towards their room: “I need to get…” , which reminds the other daughter that she has forgotten something vitally important, too.  Emmett takes this as an opportunity to just run…anywhere.  We seem to almost make it again…”mommy, I’m thirsty.  I want to take something with me to drink.”  “Me, too!”  Emmett runs again…maybe to look for his sippy cup.  This process happens a few times.

Herding cats is what I call it.  A friend of mine who has more children calls it herding butterflies.  That sounds so pretty.  Herding butterflies.  My experience is that the cries and screeches and screams that often accompany the herding warrants the feline characterization over the quiet, pretty flitters of butterflies.

I would like to say that it is only my children who contribute to this dynamic and not include myself in this picture, but that would be dishonest.  More times than not all three children will be converging at the door to only hear their mommy cry out: “Oh, my phone! (or my keys! Or my sunglasses! Or…!)  I am one of the cats, too.

We all finally get to the front door and I wait for the three of them to file outside.  It is at this point that something I have grown to both expect and be exasperated by always happens.  They stop.  Or, one stops, in the front with the door half-way open.

Just stops.

Whichever child it is seems to be in deep thought with absolutely no care that there are three people waiting on him or her to move forward.  Staring off at who knows what.  Umm, I’m not sure if you are aware of this or not, but we are all waiting on you to go ahead so we can leave.  The door is open.  We are letting the cool air out and the bugs in.  Oh!  Ok.  And, finally we make it out the door.  Through the threshold.  Sigh.  Phew.  Alright.  I think we might make it on time.  Maybe.

When Jon and I moved to Prague, which ironically enough means “threshold” or “doorway” in Czech, we learned a lot about ourselves.  We learned that I get the grieving, the messy crying, the dear-God-what-have-we-done transition stuff over at the beginning.  I stare culture shock down, playing both truth and dare with it…telling the truth about how much it hurts and daring it to take over my life too much, too long.  Jon, thank God, goes into survival mode as soon as we get there.  His comes later.  My wrestling at that time may have had to do with the fact that I had a 20 month old and was 4 months pregnant getting ready to give birth in a foreign country.  Maybe.  I tend to think it had more to do with me and who I am and how I handle doorways.

Doorways bring out odd behavior.  Change is hard.  Even if the grass is, indeed, greener on the other side of that door, it doesn’t matter…doorways are difficult to go through.  Sometimes the change is a wonderful, wonderful thing…full of opportunities and a new, grand world.  Sometimes the change is very, very hard.  It isn’t welcomed at all.  We are being pushed out and not given the chance to walk out on our own.  Either way, good or bad, the change itself is a challenge

Doorways are often what bring clients into my office.  They tell me they are anxious and depressed and can I fix them, can I tell them what is wrong?  What is my plan?  Where is my magic wand?  In the first session I make sure I tell them two very important things: I do not have a magic wand and the process is usually more of a crockpot than a microwave.  Even though we know that food in the crockpot usually tastes better, we so desperately want or hurriedly resort to the microwave.

Not too long into the first session I ask about what has been going on in life for them lately.  Any major changes the last year or so?  Oh, well, sure, I changed jobs or I had a baby or I graduated from school or I moved or…or just any one of these incredibly MAJOR life things.  But, I shouldn’t be bothered by that.  I mean, I should be over that.  I should, I should, I should.

Of course, there are a lot of things we “should” do.  We “should” all love one another and be kind and pay our tithes and taxes, but the “should’s” we tell ourselves are rarely these things.  If I COULD I WOULD strike SHOULD from our vocabulary.

Somewhere we have lost sight of how important, how significant, how challenging doorways can be.  We go a little crazy trying to get out the door and don’t make any connection at all between the doorway and our behavior and feelings.  We make no connection between our anxiety and our blues and our struggles and our acting out with the threshold we are crossing over.

I have been facing a doorway the past six months or so.  I’m not moving across the country or even to another state.  But, because its life and life has doorway after doorway, threshold after threshold, I am facing some changes in my professional and personal life again.  It is all wonderful, wonderful things, full of opportunity and a new, grand world.  And, because I know me and I know how people tend to handle doorways, I have been watching myself.  I’ve watched me run after the “what if’s”.  I’ve watched me cry out: “I think I still need…”  And, I’ve watched me stand, with the door open, waiting, not realizing that I am letting the cold air out and the bugs in.

A few weeks ago at church, I was standing in this doorway, letting the cold air out and the bugs in, and I got a clear message: “I’m not sure if you realize this or not, but you’ve been standing in this doorway, frozen with anxiety while I am waiting on you.  The door is open. Time to go on out.  It isn’t what is on the other side that is wrong and hard on you or your family.  It is your indecision and anxiety.  You’ve been standing here long enough.  Time to walk on out.”

I’ve learned to accept and to be ok with the fact that I run after things on the way out the door.  I am even ok with the fact that I, like my children, stand in the doorway for a while, staring off at who knows what.  If we find ourselves anxious, it can be helpful to look around and realize that maybe we are running and standing and staring because we are at a doorway.  Once we realize the significance of even small doorways in life…that come over and over and over again…we can understand and be patient with our running and standing and staring.  We can stare our own little culture shocks down, telling the truth about how hard change is and daring the change to take over for too much, too long.  We can run and stand and stare…and then walk on through.

Deborah, Barak, and Solos

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My oldest daughter, now seven, sang her first solo Sunday night at church.  It was a short, little line with, as she pointed out to me, 17 words.  I watched her, nervous and proud all at the same time.  She knew her cue.  She knew that if she did not move quickly enough to the microphone the song on the track would move on and she would not get to sing her lines.  She was fast.  She was confident.  Her words were loud and clear.  The experience culminated in a twenty second moment in time.  She walked away pocketing an experience that left her with a drop more confidence that she COULD DO IT.

I am not a big pusher of performing on stage.  I appreciate a good performance, but my daughter being a star singer is not that important to me.  I care more about what this experience gave to her, more about the words she memorized, the words that were planted into her heart mostly because she had to sing in front of a lot of people, wanted to do a good job, and really wanted to not be embarrassed.

Work with enough families, enough mothers, enough daughters and in the midst of all their beautiful intricacies, certain patterns begin to emerge.  For example, the age of about 7-11 is sometimes a difficult transition for daughters and moms.  There are a lot of changes, a lot of struggling and wrestling.  It is a beautiful, exciting time.  It is also stressful and nerve-racking.  More than once, a mom has come in for her daughter to be treated at this age.  More than once, I have ended up working with mom instead.

The mom will come in expressing a lot of anxiety about her daughter’s changes in behavior.  Knowing that anxiety exacerbates any changes that are taking place, one of the goals is to calm the anxiety.  One aspect of getting at the root of anxiety is to determine the root cause of it.  Part of this process involves doing a thorough family evaluation.  I ask a lot of questions about the family’s background, often going back a few generations.  Sometimes, these questions perplex parents.  Why do I need to know if a mom’s family of origin had any domestic violence?

A few steps into this process of asking mom questions, a tender spot is stepped on.  Tears well up.  I slow down.  Holy Ground.  Source of anxiety has been touched.  Mom went through unspeakable pain.  At age 7. Or 8. Or 9. Or 10. Or 11.  Whatever her daughter’s age is.  Right. Now.

We don’t have one little girl in the office.  There are two. And, one is still so scared and hurt and devastated that she will do ANYTHING to keep this new little girl from having to EVER go through that same pain again.

Parenting is such a mystical thing to me.  Mystical in that in some deep ways, it is a chance for us to grow up…again.  As we parent our children, we can encounter, if we are willing, areas of our lives where we are still children who need to grow up.

Peter De Vries wrote: “The value of marriage is not that adults produce children but that children produce adults”.  To fully enter into the parenting crucible, we are faced with the task of “growing up” those parts of us that are still hurt little children.  If we do not, we will end up parenting OURSELVES when we should be parenting our children.

Our children are not us.

When I was my daughter’s age, I had my first solo, too.  I got up in front of my large church, scared to death, and with my soft voice…forgot my lines.  I was mortified and desperately trying not to show it.  When I got back to my place with the choir, the girl next to me said: “You messed up!”  Oh, wow.  I hadn’t noticed.  Thank you for that information.

Watching Eloise, I was amazed.  Amazed at her confidence.  Amazed at how loud her voice was.  Amazed…that she is not me.

Eloise is my daughter.  She has my face structure.  We share the same 1st grade teacher and the same elementary school.  She has my painful ability to discern what is going on underneath the surface of conversations.

But, she is not me.  And, she is not my husband either no matter how close in shade their eyes are.  She has her own strengths and her own weaknesses.  She has her own battles to fight.

In the book of Judges in chapter four, we read about the judge Deborah who was leading the people of Israel.  Deborah called for the warrior Barak to see her and she gave him orders from the Lord.  His orders were to go into battle against Israel’s enemies.  Barak responded to Deborah.  He said that he would go into battle, but only if Deborah would go with him.  Deborah agreed.  She made the trip with Barak to the place of battle.

However, Deborah did not go with him to fight.  The morning of the battle it seems that Deborah woke up from bed first.  The bible tells us that she said to Barak: “Arise…Behold, the Lord has gone out before you!” (Judges 4:14).  Barak went into battle…without Deborah.  The enemy was defeated.

Have you ever heard of Barak?  Yeah, me neither…until a few years ago. The name I was taught in Sunday School on the flannel graph was the Judge, Deborah.  Yet, she was not the one that was called into battle that day.  Why was her role as a leader so important that we are taught to remember her above the warrior, Barak, who actually did the fighting?

I think Deborath, woman of God, probably a mother, had strength and discernment.  Strength and discernment to know that Barak’s battle was not hers to fight.

So, I am going to keep trying to be Deborah for my children.  Keep working on knowing that they are not me.  Working on knowing that they have their own battles to fight and that I have to fight mine, have to grow up my own hurt, childlike parts, so I can have enough energy to call out the warrior in them.

Letting them sing their own solos.