Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

That Morning I Thought the Kids Died

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I was almost to work, turning down a residential street when I smelled a strange odor. You know how smells can invoke certain memories or thoughts? Well, this smell coupled with people that I saw standing outside an apartment complex brought to my mind a recent, local news story. A housing complex had been shut down after a leak had been discovered. A few people had been found deceased in their beds with carbon monoxide poisoning being the cause of death.

First, I guess I should tell you that my mind is a forest of tangled thoughts. It’s a Rand McNally roadmap of twisted tangents of mental madness. Call it over-thinking, call it a rabbit hole. My mind follows its own thought trail forever. I’ll find myself thinking about something off the wall and wonder how I got there. I’ll backtrack through it, how one thought led to another, and usually be able to untangle the mess.

Okay. Where was I?

So, somehow a smell led to a news story, which led to thoughts of an odd smell outside my RV since we started running the gas. This led to me remembering how I turned up the heat before I left that morning, which led to me thinking of looking at my sleeping family as I walked out the door. I ended up landing at the conclusion that my husband and daughters could be suffering the effects of carbon monoxide poisoning at that very moment!

Yes, we had a carbon monoxide detector!

Yes, it was working the last time I checked it!

No, I hadn’t checked it this morning!

They could be dying right now!

They could be dead already!

My whole world gone all at once!

What would I do?!

Well, I wouldn’t lose faith in God.

Remember Job.

I wouldn’t want a new family, though, God.

I like the one I have.

I wouldn’t get remarried.

I’d be so lonely, though.

God, please don’t let my family die.

This is silly, Brie. They’re not dead!

They could be.

God, are you trying to tell me something?

Should I call the police?

The feeling is so strong that something is wrong!

God! Help me hear your voice! Are they ok?!

My emotions wanted to skyrocket, but my spirit said settle down.

I trust you, Lord. I surrender this fearful situation to you. I know your plans are to prosper me and not harm me. No matter what, I’ll always trust in you. I know you hold my family in the palm of your hand. They are yours; you just let me take care of them for you here on earth. I release this to you and let go of my worry. I pray they’re ok, but I trust you in all situations.

I quieted my spinning mind, and at that point I felt the Lord impress this upon my heart.

You asked me to empty your soul.

And so I had. Earlier in my commute a worship song came on titled “Empty My Soul,” with the premise of being refilled by more of God. I had sung along, and as I recited the words, had spoken them as a heartfelt prayer. So when He reminded me of that I realized that one place that needed consistent emptying was my tendency to fear, my worry for things I couldn’t control, and my anxious thoughts.

This morning He had emptied those things out of me in a flurry, then He had shown me that He could replace the anxious parts of me with His sovereignty. Trusting in Him took up the spaces of my mind and heart where worry had resided. It was a good reminder for me, and as soon as He had spoken the words above to my heart I felt peace come over me like a blanket.

I knew my husband was fine.

I knew my children were fine.

They were warm and sleeping, and God was in control.

Another Thing Women Aren’t Talking About

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I can remember five or six years ago feeling helpless to support the women in my life who were hurting. It was a time when I was birthing babies, and I experienced women close to me struggling with this. Women I loved were feeling the intense pain of miscarriage or infertility, and having never dealt with this particular battle, I could only sympathize, not empathize. What I discovered, though, as I spoke with other women and mothers in my life, was that an overwhelming majority of them had experienced the same pain. Most women I knew personally had lost an unborn child, yet had never spoken of it until I broached the subject. I realized miscarriage was something women didn’t talk about. They kept that particular trauma to themselves. But I also realized that in sharing the struggle with one another, strength was obtained by those close to me.

It was something women didn’t talk about, and recently I’ve come across another struggle women keep to themselves. Why do we do that?

Here’s another thing women aren’t talking about, but I will. Be warned, fellas, and continue at your own risk.

After my third daughter was born I breastfed her like I did the first two. As an exclusive breastfeeding mother, and exactly like my previous children, I did not experience a menstrual cycle while nursing. I dealt with the hormonal changes of pregnancy, and then the ones of postpartum motherhood, but nothing was quite as hard as the return of the hormones related to my period. After 9 months of no cycle, then another two years sans period, when I did stop breastfeeding and my period returned, it was with a vengeance. I mean, I had spent the last seven years of my life pregnant or breastfeeding. I assumed this would get better, that it would regulate, that I would feel normal again. And so began one of the hardest experiences of my life thus far. The worst part, is that I have felt all alone in it. Like, I’m crazy. I’ve even described myself as such.

I’m crazy.

Around the time of my returning cycle, I also entered my forties. My reproductive body was starting to slow due to age, but the mother within there wouldn’t put it to rest. I imagined it like two, competing women within me. One was saying, “we’re done with this procreation business,” and she was trying to slow down my baby factory. Yet the other zealous woman inside screamed, “no, I’m not finished yet,” and she released a torrent of reproductive hormones. I found myself riding a rollercoaster of hormones, with plunges and surges, ups and downs. I just kept telling myself it would get better.

Over the past year and a half I’ve been waiting for it to improve, but instead of improvement I’ve experienced upheaval. I’ve dealt with symptoms unlike anything I had ever experienced in adolescence, much worse, in fact. They followed a cyclic pattern, so that I could pinpoint exactly where I was in my 28 day cycle, based simply on how I felt. When I was ovulating I’d have headaches, dizziness, lightheadedness, and nausea. I’d have pain and be prone to periods of rage. The week before my actual period I’d be an emotional wreck, crying five times within ten minutes of a movie that wasn’t even sad. I’d have acne that was worse than anything I saw as a teenager. My acid reflux would get out of control, I’d be fatigued, swollen, and experience muscle strains and pains in my back and neck. Anxiety, insomnia, depression. PMS was the worst, and I’d actually long for my period, telling my husband that I wanted to “bleed my bad mood away.”

It seemed like with each week new symptoms came, month after month, and I only had maybe 5 days in 30 where I felt “normal” or like my old self. The actual period itself was worse, with cramps rivaling anything I’d ever known, ones that made me cry. It lasted longer, would wax and wane, stop, then restart. But I think it was my mental state that made it the worst. So many times I used the words “out of control.”

I felt out of control of my emotions.

I felt crazy.

I felt unstable.

I felt like no one understood this because no one talked about it. Was I the only woman in my forties who felt insane?

I started scouring the Internet, something as a Nurse I hated when patients did, but I had to do something that made me feel less alone. I found things that made me feel better, but that also didn’t. I realized women in their forties experienced these hormonal surges, ups and downs, as their reproductive bodies geared down. I discovered it was called a perimenopausal period, but I also found it could last ten years or more! Was there any end in sight?!

For over a year I waited to see if it would improve, and when it didn’t I decided to finally bite the bullet and see my doctor. When I explained my symptoms at my appointment he didn’t seem surprised. I had never believed in PMS as a young woman, naively presuming it was an excuse women used to act nasty. Even as I spoke honestly to my doctor a small part of me worried if he’d feel the same, but I was beyond premenstrual syndrome; I was all-the-time syndrome.

I thought later about when he had suggested different medication options. One suggestion had been Zoloft.

“But I’m not depressed!” I had exclaimed defensively. “My life is wonderful!”

He had answered, “it doesn’t mean you’re depressed to take it. It can just help your mood to be regulated.”

A few days after this conversation I had the worst PMS of my life. Two nights before my period started I found myself fixating on a situation. I was worried that someone might be upset with me. The crazy part was nothing had happened, but I was worried it might. I was anxious about a nonexistent issue. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it!

I prayed and prayed. “God, take these irrational worries away!”

The next day I found myself in a “slump,” but that’s really a nice way of putting it. It was even beyond my typical description of “melancholy.” I was depressed, bordering on hopeless, and even had a very brief thought of suicide in the shower.

It wasn’t my first brush with suicidal ideation. I could remember two episodes prior where I had lay in bed thinking that my children didn’t love me or need me, that they would be better off without me. Thankfully, a thought of ending my life was only a fleeting one, mere seconds of contemplation, then pushed away by my rational mind. But the realization that they came at all frightened me. How could I think such a thing?!

Crazy.

If it wasn’t that then I considered running away, deserting a family that I felt didn’t appreciate me.

I guess they’d see how much I do if I was gone!

Crazy.

The truth always would shine through. It would tell me I was loved (and appreciated), by my family and by God. I guess that’s probably what bothered me the most. How could I (in my innermost being) know the truth, that I was complete in Jesus and loved, yet still feel this way? The two things didn’t gel, they didn’t go together, they didn’t go side by side. The truth of who I was didn’t coincide with my feelings. My emotions betrayed me. They threatened to upheave me. I was a happy, blessed woman! So why did I feel so sad?! That was the worst part. The truth of my situation didn’t change how I felt sometimes.

I called my doctor back!

In talking to other women, and ones older than myself, who had been in my shoes (forties, multiple babies later), I realized I wasn’t alone. They had been through the same emotions and struggles. I don’t know why we keep these experiences so close and silent, but I think it’s because they scare us. They make us feel out of control. I mean, many years ago women suffered in silence, and the ones who did voice the roller coaster feelings were hospitalized, institutionalized, given electroshock therapy, separated from family, and heavily medicated into compliance. Perhaps that macabre history is why we keep our struggles close to the vest, unspoken, and swept under a rug.

Maybe it’s indecent or inappropriate for women to discuss out loud things like hormones and menstrual cycles! Like how breastfeeding still isn’t normalized, I guess neither is the struggle of being a woman. We go through the difficulties of carrying a child, the pain of childbirth, the struggles of the postpartum period, but it doesn’t even end there. It continues into this time of life that I’m now discovering, and I haven’t even gotten to the menopause part!

I wish it didn’t have to be so hard to be a woman, and I wish I knew the answers of how to make it better. But I don’t. I do know this, though. If anything I wrote sounds familiar to you then I hope it helps to know you are not alone in how you feel. You’re not the only woman who feels crazy, unbalanced, or out of control. Don’t be afraid to talk to someone about it, to see your doctor. Keep looking for a doctor who understands your situation and helps you find solutions. Don’t be ashamed of how you’re feeling, don’t be ashamed to get help, to find the right medicine.

Tonight I heard a song on the radio that sang, “I’m not okay, and that’s okay.”

I guess that’s my anthem during this season. Women always try to be everything, but it’s okay to admit you need help. I cling to Jesus and prayer, but God created knowledge which created medicine, and there’s no shame in that. Being out of control of your emotions doesn’t mean you’re a bad person or even a bad Christian. It just means you’re human. And I think it’s okay to talk about that.

Asking God to Come Near to You Won’t Help Your Anxiety!

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As I drove to work on a dark and dreary morning I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I had forgotten something. I checked my pockets, my purse, feeling blindly with cold fingers for my badge for work and my favorite pen. As I fingered my handbag’s contents to ensure I had all the items I would need for the day, and ran through my mind if I had remembered to lock the door before I left home, I realized I had not forgotten anything. I just felt like I did. The strange part was that even as my logical mind knew nothing was amiss, the other part of me still cowered in concern. What I’m saying is that even though I had everything I needed, my human mind still bristled with worry that I had missed the mark. That’s when I realized it was my anxiety rearing it’s ugly head. Have you ever felt that way?

The thing I hate about anxiety the most is that it comes upon me even when there’s nothing to worry about. My anxiety isn’t always realistic. It will come along when all is well. If there’s nothing wrong and life is hunky-dory, the little hamster in my brain will jump on its wheel and start spinning endlessly, running nowhere. I will worry about non-issues, create worry out of thin air, and stew on specific scenarios that have 0.02% chance of occurring.

So you’re saying there’s a chance?!

Yep, my mind can worry itself to oblivion if I allow it, and late at night when I’m in bed, even when I do my best to chase it away. Sound familiar?

This particular morning as I drove to work and realized my unwarranted anxiety was trying to rear its ugly head, I knew prayer was in order. I mean, He says to cast all our anxiety on Him because He cares for us, right?! So as I began to pray for God to come and give me peace, I heard the lyrics of a Christian song on the radio. The words beseeched God to “draw near to me,” and at that moment it hit me like a lighting bolt.

Draw near to me, God.

Jesus, come.

Pour out your Spirit on us!

These are all things we say, things popular lyrics proclaim, and words we pray. And there’s nothing wrong with them, per se, but I realized that in my specific situation this wasn’t something that would work as well as the truth.

God is with us.

Always.

When I deal with unwanted anxiety it’s not so much a matter of praying for God to come near and help me. He hears my prayer. It’s not that He’s ignoring me. When anxiety continues, or when it comes back again, and you battle it time after time, a common misconception would be, God isn’t hearing me. He’s not coming to help me deal with this. He’s turned His face from me. What did I do? Am I not Holy enough? Am I not good enough? Maybe I didn’t pray hard enough. It’s probably that unconfessed sin in my life keeping Him from coming to me.

Yet the truth is that as a born again Christian God is always with us. He’s not left. He doesn’t need to come. He’s already there. Asking Him to draw near to us when His Holy Spirit lives in us is simply a misunderstanding. We end up putting it into our own hands. We say we’re casting our anxiety on Him, but we deep down believe our performance, goodness, or holiness will impact His willingness to come to our aid.

1 John 4:13 (NIV)

This is how we know that we live in him and he in us: He has given us of his Spirit.

Christ is in us, and we are in Him. We are seated in Heavenly places beside Him and the Father, in our Spirit. It’s only the earthly body that resides in this world, but we don’t have to be of the world or let it rule us. Jesus died so we could be one with the Father as He is one with the Father.

Ephesians 2:6 (NIV)

And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus

So, instead of asking God to come to us or draw near to us, we just need to recognize He lives in our hearts now. When we call, He is already near. We just have to open our eyes to that fact. We only need to accept the truth that He is. We don’t have to fight anxiety. We just need to acknowledge, understand, and believe that we are in Him, and He is in us. Anxiety can’t live there. No room.

We don’t even have to trudge through a valley. Not really. We’re on the mountain, where He is on the mountain. I realize this might be an unpopular opinion among my fellow Christians, and while I agree we go through barren seasons of life, I don’t think we have to collapse in defeat as we do. To remember this world is but a passing breath, and that we have victory because Jesus is with us always, that is freedom. It’s as if a pipeline from Heaven exists. God pours out His love and victory through the outlet of Jesus and into the container of our heart called the Holy Spirit.

I realized that I cannot fight anxiety. Not on my own, and not simply by asking God to come help me with it. I just have to remember He is here and He says anxiety cannot remain. It doesn’t belong in the Spirit He has created. Anxiety is of this world, but I am not. It has no power over me.

Does it still try to come? Yes. But then I remember the truth. I don’t have to ask God to come near and fight my battles. I just have to remember He is here, and that the battle has already been won.

I’ve Tried to Get Scared, But I Just Can’t

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Something very strange happened to me after my third child and as I entered my forties. My worry and anxiety skyrocketed! I mean, I’ve always been an over thinker, and I’ve also always had a propensity to angle for control of a situation. I like ducks in a row, I like knowing beginning to end, and I like smooth sailing seas. That’s always been my personality. But it has gotten worse over the past couple of years. If I had a conflict with another person I found myself agonizing over it for days, and the tendency to create problems out of thin air became ridiculous. In my mind I could concoct worst case scenario like nobody’s business. I became a professional worry wart.

Well, let me tell you something about that. It’s exhausting! I felt like I was going against the grain of who I am as a Christian. I would read all kinds of Bible verses talking about trusting the Lord, but then I’d keep myself up at night with legitimate concerns and made-up problems alike. I would pray without ceasing for God to help me with an issue, but I couldn’t cease worrying if He would. It was a vicious cycle of surrender and anxiety that left me feeling very deflated. I was tired of being afraid, and I told the Lord as much. Over the years I have spoken scriptures regarding fear over myself, and they’ve helped to dispel incapacitating worry from my life so that I could proceed day to day, but I still battled with it regularly. It was like a cross I had to bear and die to self about daily. I’m not exactly sure what shifted, but I do recall not too long ago when the Lord spoke His Word to me so strongly that I felt a change deep inside my heart.

There is no fear in love.

That’s what He spoke to my heart as I stood in the kitchen of my RV. I spoke the rest of the verse from 1 John to myself. Because perfect love drives out fear. It was at this moment that like a lightening bolt the truth of this statement took hold. His love resides in me. Therefore there could be no fear. It just wasn’t cohesive. I prayed about it long and hard. At the time we were located at an RV park near a patch of woods, and I just felt like I was supposed to leave my fear right there. I felt kinda silly, but I threw on some shoes, walked outside, stared at those woods, and I symbolically laid down my fear on the forest floor. The name of the park had “Cross City” in its name, and I told the Lord I was gonna leave my fear right there at the cross. And that’s what I did.

I’ve had a lot of issues come across the board of my life since that day, and I’m not going to lie and say some of them haven’t caused me concern. They have. Take for instance the recent hurricane that’s currently hitting the coast of the state I’m living in. Watching people evacuate the area, my hospital put into effect emergency policies, and of course, the very dramatic news reports would make anyone a little uneasy. We are, after all, living in a fifth wheel trailer. They’re not known for being the most stable abode, and this would be our first storm in one. Thoughts of leaks and so much more came to mind! Yet despite my legitimate concerns, I couldn’t stay worried. I realized I wasn’t afraid.

Friends and family began reaching out to me in large numbers. I realized my dear friends and family were more worried than I was. It wasn’t that I was being blasé or having Scarlet O’Hara syndrome. I was watching the weather. We even had a couple of evacuation and relocation plans in place if need be. It wasn’t like we were being irresponsible. It’s just that more than fear for a storm, I felt peace. I felt a very deep and very steady peace flooding my spirit. I couldn’t be afraid of this storm no matter how hard I tried. My husband felt the same way, and as he sent a photo of a double rainbow he took over our RV Park, I realized I only felt certainty that God would keep a hedge of protection around us.

For the record, we’re not on the coast, and if we were I would be on a higher alert with immediate evacuation in mind. But I still would not be afraid. And I’m not afraid now. I just can’t be, no matter how hard my human mind may try to be. We’re staying put unless the Lord gives us the wisdom to go elsewhere. I trust His ability to lead us to safety if need be, and I trust His protection over my family. Even if He took our lives in the storm, I would trust His will. I’m not afraid of death. If there’s anything that would make me afraid, it’s a life lived without His perfect love to drive out fear. I’m not naive. I know this imperfect world brings situations that will absolutely usher in things worthy of being scared of (like an intruder with a gun, a missing child, or a hurricane). But I also know I have the choice at that point to hold tightly to that love that exists within me. For there is no fear in love.

Why Worrying is Good For Christians

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I woke up lazily yesterday morning, stretching, and taking in the sunshine that pressed against my bedroom blinds. Almost immediately I noticed the ebb of anxiety that flowed beneath the surface, and I realized I was worried about something, although I could not tell you what. I did that sometimes. It’s like my human nature just yearned to be concerned over something or another, and it drove me crazy, to be quite honest. I hated feeling anxious, and as a Christian it made me feel lacking. I mean, shouldn’t my faith in God keep these feelings better at bay?

As I went into the living room for coffee and quiet time the Lord immediately began speaking to me through His Word about my worry, and something He had spoke just a few days earlier came again to mind.

From John 11, “I am… Do you believe this?”

The words of Jesus that day had echoed off the pages and into my spirit. You see, I had a problem that was causing me great concern. It wasn’t an imaginary problem, or a “what if” like I was prone to worry about. It was a legitimate issue. I had planned on taking two weeks off in between Travel Nurse jobs. The thing was two weeks was my max due to financial constraints. In other words, I couldn’t afford more than two weeks off. I had accepted a contract date that gave me that two week vacation, but shortly after signing the dotted line had found out that dates discussed had been incorrectly communicated. The hospital couldn’t take me on for three weeks! It may seem like just an extra week, and in essence it was, but I was still worried if it would hurt us financially to take the extra time off. In the end my husband and I decided to go forward with the job, accept the three weeks off, and trust the Lord to provide for our financial needs.

Saying you’re letting go and letting God is one thing, but not worrying about it is another. So as I found myself unintentionally worrying the Lord spoke those words to me.

I am. Do you believe it?

I repeated them like a mantra. Then, “yes,” I answered. “I do believe.”

I can honestly say I let it go. Completely. And by the end of that week a miraculous occurrence occurred that gifted us with an unexpected amount of money that was equivalent to one week of work for me. Now tell me God isn’t good?! He provided for our needs just as He has always done.

I ruminated on this yesterday morning, once again reminded of God’s faithfulness that I in no way deserved yet was freely given. I thought about my propensity to worry, and I realized that in a sense it was good. It was good that I wasn’t the perfect Christian who always flew high on faith! After all, God didn’t expect my perfection, but He did make things perfect through His power. When I found myself worrying it was the absolute best opportunity to lean closer into Jesus. In my weakness I sought His face and drew from His strength. It was another chance for me to see His glory and handiwork play out in my life. Again.

I am blessed to serve a God that loves me regardless of my strength, who, in fact loves me at my weakest. For when I am weak, He is strong.

Is It Just Being a Woman, Or What?!

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Today I feel great. More than great, actually. I’ve smiled enough today that the corners of my mouth are sore, but I’m definitely not complaining. It’s nice to come out the other side of a dry spell. I guess that’s what I’ll call it. I’m talking about that barren place of your emotions where you feel empty, where you feel as if you resemble the desert floor when it hasn’t rained in a long time. Dry, open, weeping, even without tears. You’re even too empty to cry.

Last week I experienced a span of days where I awoke feeling downtrodden. In the mornings I would even awake with my heart racing, trying to remember the dreams that had kept my subconscious spinning, the ones that must have had some purpose if they left me feeling so anxious and coming apart. Through the day I would worry on simple issues, the nonexistent problems that I somehow tried to make matter more. I would imagine trouble when it shouldn’t even be a thought, and I guess what bothers me the most about that is it’s the total opposite of who God has created me to be.

One of my down days I actually sat by the pool with a book, my adoring husband beside me, and my darling children playing before me. My life was surreal, spectacular, amazing. So I couldn’t for the life of me understand why I felt so bothered. As I prayed for an answer I felt one come.

This is how I am answering your prayers.

Over the past year especially I had asked God for more of Himself. I wanted to draw closer in my walk with the Lord. I wanted to be used by Him. I wanted Him to rid me of everything that wasn’t in line with that. So it occurred to me that Him allowing me to feel the temporary, intermittent emotions of anxiety was for sure a way to increase my dependence on Him. It wasn’t that I felt He caused these feelings. No. They definitely were not of God or what He intended for my life. Instead they were the side effects of a sinful, fallen world. So while He had all authority and power to break the chains of anxiety and rid me of the spirit of depression, I also saw how allowing these things to touch me drew me into closer dependence and trust on Him. His power was indeed made perfect in my weakness.

Last week I felt like I was running on empty. I wonder sometimes if it’s just being a woman. Or maybe it’s being a working mom. But other times I realize it’s just part of the human condition. Throughout my brief episode of unhappiness I did persist in joy. Did I feel joyful?! No, not really, but under the surface of my visceral emotions flowed a steady stream of certainty. It was the joy of knowing the Lord held me, even if I couldn’t feel it. It was the river of the Holy Spirit, my faith in Him. So many times when I felt hopeless in my emotions I would simply repeat the same phrases to Jesus.

I trust you.

I love you.

Help me.

Slowly I climbed out of the pit, and I am certain the rope thrown to me was divinely woven in patient love. Though I couldn’t see the way out I never let go of that rope, and He never let go of me. I am reminded of the familiar Psalm, Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.

Thank you, Lord, that my joy is here, it has never left, and it never will.

Do We Worry Too Much About Our Children?

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I sat on the edge of my chair waiting to hear the pediatrician’s response. I had almost not mentioned it at all, but worry had caused me to bring it up. Yet as I awaited his reply I felt anxiety bubbling within me. Surely everything was okay.

“I think we can just watch it for now. See how it evolves as she gets older.” He finally replied contemplatively.

The conversation of a concerned mother had occurred on my middle child’s four year well-visit, and though it had still been a problem a year later at her five year appointment, I had not brought it up again. I had spent that prior year watching my daughter with caring, guarded eyes, but I had also begun to alter my way of thinking about parenting and life in general. She was going to be fine.

Since around the age of three my second daughter had started to emerge as a very emotional creature. She cried extravagantly at her sister’s mild tauntings and became almost inconsolable when strongly corrected by me or her dad. I had thought her frequent tendency to cry at just about anything had been bad enough, but around four and a half she also started with fearfulness. In fact, she was scared of most things. We tried to say she was shy, but it went beyond that. She started exhibiting irrational fear. Fear of doors being locked and getting stuck, fear of us forgetting her at places, and many others. There were so many public meltdowns over crowds and unfamiliar faces, and I tried my very best to comfort her yet not baby her. I mean, parenting is hard. You want to console, but not enable irrational fear. So I did the best I could. Honestly I prayed for wisdom a lot.

There was also that voice in the back of my head.

Did I do something to make her this way?

Did someone else hurt her?!

Was something wrong with my kid?!!

I’ve written about it before, but the fact remains that we live in a society of diagnoses. It’s a time of abundant information. So if you have a problem you Google it. If your kid has a problem you research the heck out of it. A society that is full of judgment and perfect parenting displayed on pedestals of public forums highlights the absolute best way to raise children. So when the regular, imperfect moms and dads fall short of the instructional article steps or bright and shiny Instagram, play-by-play lifestyles then they’re left feeling as if they lack. It’s only natural to blame the behavioral problems of your child on yourself, but it’s even more so nowadays. It’s far too easy to compare yourself to others, and your child to someone else’s. And comparison always leads to worry. Is little Johnny measuring up? I’m just glad I didn’t have the added stress of a public school platform to add to my anxiety during this time.

Around the time my five year old’s anxiety really began to manifest at an all-time high we started talking about taking on a fulltime family lifestyle. My husband was working twelve hour days five days a week, and even working on his days off. And while I was present with the girls the majority of the time, we felt like they needed to see their Dad more too. We spent the next five months selling and giving away the majority of our possessions, working to sell our home, and performing other tasks to allow us to embark on a traveling lifestyle. This would let us focus more on one another and less on work and the distractions of the fast paced lifestyle that most of America lived.

Throughout the process we remained in prayer. A huge concern for me was how this traveling lifestyle might affect my fearful child! Didn’t fear require a more consistent environment? Wouldn’t a new environment without familiar faces and routine make it worse?! I didn’t think so. I just felt so certain about our decision to travel, and the more I prayed about it, laying my concerns before Jesus, the more convinced I became that this decision would be best for everyone.

For two and a half years I watched my fearful, shy, and emotional child react to situations in a way that made me worry about her. I can’t tell you how many times I prayed about it and her. In just two months time I’ve watched her transform. In the past two months since we left our comfortable, familiar surroundings I have witnessed my baby blossom. She has gone from crying five times a day to maybe once every five days. She hasn’t displayed any irrational fears, and it’s almost like her idiosyncratic fright has vanished. Miraculous, really.

So was it the change in environment? Has confronting the unknown created courage inside her? I don’t really know. Perhaps the increased time around both parents? Maybe that’s some of it. What if she simply outgrew it? That’s possible. I may never know.

What I do know is this. In the midst of de-stressing our lives I had also made a point to off-load worry. I’ve found that the saying is true. You are what you eat. Or rather you are what you think. If you feel sick you will be. If you’re certain your pain in your joints is bound to happen as you get older then you will feel the ache. If you’re more certain of that sickness than God’s healing then it will be more difficult for Him to work through your faith. It’s like there’s a pipe straight from Heaven into your spirit. He desires to pour blessing into your life, but fear and worry will block that pipe up quicker than anything. I realized I couldn’t block His flow anymore.

In a world that would tell me a laundry list of conditions my little girl might have I decided instead not to worry. I decided to trust God. Now I’m not saying not to take your child to the doctor and address concerns. I’m not saying to not seek treatment when it’s warranted. What I am saying is this. We worry too much. We have bred a society of anxiety. We don’t just say kids are kids. We don’t look at the environment and make changes. We come up with a syndrome or diagnosis. We do this because if it has a name we can fix it. Again, this isn’t to say there’s not real problems with real diagnoses and real treatment. I am sure someone will misunderstand me. Please don’t! No, this post is strictly for the worrier. It’s inside of us all. The Worrier is convinced something is or will go wrong. It breeds fear in our heart that hampers the work of the Lord in our lives and the lives of our families.

So maybe my little girl is less fearful because she confronted her fears. Maybe it’s the consistent love we poured out on her even in our frustration. Perhaps it’s the increased time with dual parenting. Or maybe she simply outgrew it. It’s probably all of the above. But I’m also certain it has a lot to do with the fact that I stopped worrying about her and instead released her to the One she belonged to all along.

Raising an Anxious Child

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We pulled up quickly and efficiently into the darkened parking lot in our cozy and warm minivan. As I put our family vehicle into park I heard a tiny voice emerge from the backseat. 

My four year old sputtered, “I don’t like it here.”

I sighed silently to myself, then spoke softly, “it’s ok. This isn’t where we’re going. We’re going over there.”

I pointed across the street to a brightly lit and inviting church. We were attending a much-anticipated social event where the girls would see their friends from the homeschool group we were involved with. At the beginning of this semester my preschooler had cried when left alone in class with new friends, but by the end she had made new pals and truly enjoyed herself. I knew this was something she wanted to do too, but still…

She asked, “Is it on the bottom floor or do we have to ride an elevator?”

“It’s on the top, but just one floor, and we’ll take the stairs,” I answered calmly. 

I wasn’t always calm. It was not only challenging to raise an anxious child, but also exasperating. I ranged from wanting to throttle her during her meltdown moments to wanting to cry right along with her for my supposed failures. After all, so many times I had wondered, what did I do that has made her this way?!!

Did I not give her enough attention when the new baby came?

Was I somehow lacking in the love she needed to make her feel secure?

Was it that time I screamed like a maniac at her?

The mommy guilt had been strong over the last couple of years as I watched her quirky, unwarranted fears come out. I couldn’t for the life of me pinpoint why my first child was so social and confident, yet the second that I had raised the same was so not. I tried not to compare, but as she developed her peculiar fears I questioned my parenting over and over. What had I done differently and why was she afraid? No abuse, neglect, or negative treatment by anyone else had occurred. 

So why did she ask me if I knew where we were everytine I took a different route to the store?

“Are we lost?”

Why was she afraid of going anywhere that the door could latch shut?

Did that one time she got accidentally locked in the bathroom upstairs really equate to crying in the dressing room at JCPenney’s because she was worried we’d get stuck there?!

“What if we can’t get out?!!”

I wasn’t sure why my child worried, but many times she reminded me of myself. She had a tendency to overreact and definitely was oversensitive in most matters. From an early age I had noticed she cried about something as simple as a shoe not going on right, but she hadn’t really outgrew it like I thought she would. I came to realize she was my special, sensitive, and sometimes anxious child that required a different kind of approach when it came to parenting. 

As we walked into the large hall at the church my seven year old ran excitedly ahead to greet her friends. My toddler tugged at my hand eager to taste the display of sweet treats, but I sensed the anxiety immediately. I turned quickly behind me where my middle daughter stood a mere two steps behind me, and immediately I caught the overwhelmed fear on her face. She was only seconds away from crying, and I scooped her up quickly into my one open arm. I carried my crew to an empty corner and started to speak to my frightened four year old. 

“Is it the crowd? Are you scared?” I asked. 

She nodded confirmation with unspilled tears in her eyes, and I immediately worked to calm her anxious heart. 

“You don’t have to be afraid. I’m here. And Jesus is always with you,” I explained. And then we prayed together. 

Within minutes she was fine, and that’s always how it was. She ran around excitedly with the other children. She laughed, she sang, she danced. She played and ate cookies. She was fear and anxiety free for the rest of the evening. I watched with pride as she smiled brilliantly, albeit shyly at the festivities. She was my beautiful, brilliant girl. Her heart was bigger than Texas, and she loved people with an enormous, unconditional love. But sometimes she was anxious. It was hard for us both. 

Long ago I realized my baby was special, more so than just the typical “my kid is awesome kinda thing.” I think God made her a particular way because He has special plans for her life. Perhaps He made her sensitive so she could better relate to the tender and hurting parts of others. Sometimes I see her thoughtfully watching people and I’m certain this is true. When the idea of this post was floating around in my head I paused mid-thought at the sound of my girl across the house. I could hear the water running in the bathroom, and I could hear her tiny, musical voice carry through the hall. She was talking to one of her toys again, I assumed, seeing she had always been an imaginative, independent player. I walked up to the bathroom and heard her speaking from inside. 

I don’t want anything for Christmas, God, but all the people to be happy. 

I love you, God, more than money or anything you can buy. 

I walked back into the living room without interrupting her little conversation, smiling as I sat down on the couch. I prayed for that child a lot, that is certainly true. Heck, a lot of the time I simply prayed for my own sanity dealing with it all. But mostly I prayed to be just the mother she needed. I figured God gave her specifically to me for a reason, and despite the challenges I certainly didn’t want to mess it up. So I frequently prayed for wisdom that God would show me exactly the best way to parent this special little star. Sometimes she freaked out big over little things, but other times she loved the little things bigger than I had ever seen. 


*While I might experience some silent judgement or even unloving advice from some for this post, I wrote it in a sharing mode with the hope that my situation might make someone else with an anxious child feel less alone. I hope that you too can see the special calling the Lord has for your child. May we all raise them to the best of our abilities, and cling to His strength for the rest. 

5 Bible Verses to Remind You That God Hasn’t Forgotten You

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Some mornings I wake up and I feel down. I feel a heavy weight upon me, and I wonder how I can feel that way. Even if there is some silly, worldly reason for my hurt feelings, shouldn’t I be able to rise above it. Shouldn’t the fact that I’m a believer in Christ afford me some sort of guarantee against bad feelings?!

Well… sorta. I opened my Bible straight away, and the first verse I saw calmed my anxious spirit. It’s like God’s word was written just for me, and I suppose in a way it was. We live in a sinful world, and because of that we are not promised that every day will be without pain and struggle. But we are promised this. God is with us. 

It’s easy when you struggle to think God has forgotten you, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. In times of trouble His Holy Spirit speaks best through His Word. 

1. Psalm 94:18-19

I cried out, “I am slipping!” but your unfailing love, O Lord, supported me. When doubts filled my mind, your comfort gave me renewed hope and cheer.

When we feel like we are falling there is but One that can catch us. When we are certain we are drowning, there is One who lifts us from the crashing sea. When we have lost all hope, He provides a renewal for our soul. Jesus. Precious Jesus. He is the lifter of my head.

2. Philippians 4:19

And this same God who takes care of me will supply all your needs from his glorious riches, which have been given to us in Christ Jesus.

When we have reached the end of our rope and the end of our resources, God provides. When we see no way, He makes the way. We may not always even understand His way, but as a believer you know He has your best interest as heart. He’s never late, but always on time. 

3. Romans 5:8

But God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners.
Sometimes we’re not where we need to be in our relationship with the Lord, and we assume that because of our mistakes and faults that He can’t work with that. We mistaken His silence for absence, when in all reality He just wants us to hear His voice more clearly. 

It’s not by works that we are saved. God doesn’t love us more for being better. He just loves us. He loves us enough to die for. Nothing can change that. 

4. Matthew 28:20

Teach these new disciples to obey all the commands I have given you. And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.
You can bet He wants us to follow after Him in obedience, but you can also be certain of this. He will be with us always. Even when we fall a step behind. When the world happens, and sin happens, and even when calamity happens, still. Still He is with us. 

5. Deuteronomy 31:6

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.

It takes courage to make it through life sometimes, and more courage than we possess on our own. Thankfully we don’t have to face life by ourselves. God is with us. He will never leave us, forsake us, forget about us, or turn His back on us. We may suffer through a season where we are going through a refining fire or receiving His discipline, but He won’t abandon us. 

In the moments where you feel lost, alone, and crushed under your anxiety repeat these verses to yourself, and remember that though it may seem at the moment that He has forgotten you, the truth is that He has not. 

Why Women Let Anxiety Win

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I can’t count on my fingers and toes how many times my husband has said, “but does that really matter,” or something similar. That man is like a calm shelter in my crashing storm of anxiety, and so many times I wish I could be more like that. But the fact remains, I am not. 

My female brain is a tasking one, and when I sit still there’s often times a little voice that shouts out from the recesses of my mind, what are you doing?!

What about the laundry? Nobody will have clean underwear!

Look at that dust! No one will keep this house clean but you. 

You should spend time reading to your kindergartener. Her growing vocabulary is your responsibly, you know. 

You need to make time for a date night  with your spouse. Keeping the flame alive is your job as the wife. 

Have you texted encouraging scripture to your girlfriend today? You know she’s going through a tough time. 

You missed Bible Study last week. Don’t miss it this week. They need you there. 

And on, and on, and on. 

I imagine when my husband sits down on the couch there is only one thing on his mind. 

This feels nice, Ben. You deserve this after a long, hard week at work. 

And while I’d agree with his relaxed mindset in that he does deserve the break, I wonder why I don’t give myself the same consideration. Why do I expect more of myself than anyone else. After all, the kids don’t care about matching socks and making certain the sofa cushions aren’t askew (which is my constant, fruitless battle).

I recently commented after my husband came home, “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten the girls’ summer clothes put away yet,” as I sheepishly eyed the precarious pile in our living room chair. 

And he replied, “why are sorry? Who cares? Not me. It’s not a big deal, you know.”

I realized it wasn’t to him, and maybe even if it was important to me, did I give it excess merit because I felt I owed more to those around me? My husband didn’t mind piles of clothes marring our den, and the children probably didn’t even notice. What was it about a woman that did?!

It seems that women are doers, and we hold ourselves to a higher standard than anyone else. We want a respectable job, a clean home, well-dressed, good-mannered children, and a body that doesn’t look like we birthed babies from it. We want everything just so, with i’s dotted and t’s crossed. We like our boxes checked and our to-do’s crossed out. And when one of the above gets off kilter we get a little twitchy. I personally get a little witchy, or even another descriptive that rhymes. 

I worry about time and schedules, and getting things done. I become anxious over what is in essence not a big deal at all. It builds into frustration and typically falls into anger, which leads to regret and the awful but expected, “I’m a bad mom rap.” I fall asleep praying I can do better in the morning, not remembering the fact that I did pretty good. 

I assume I accomplish nothing when in fact I complete so much, and in my efforts to do more than is even reasonable I neglect the truth about what I achieve on a daily basis. And the only person who suffers from this is me. Cause at the end of the day the children are playing, my husband’s relaxing, and I’m still trying to tie up loose ends. 

Today as I swept toast crumbs covered in peanut butter off my kitchen table into my hand, and for a moment my mind started to see red over the mess, I was jolted quickly into a calm. Instead of the typical anxiety over if I’d have enough time to finish our homeschool lesson, pick up the babysitter for an evening away from home, and change out three children’s seasonal wardrobes, I just let it all go. I let it all go for a second as a voice inside my head whispered, you got a pretty good life you know.”

And I did. That was the thing. My life was amazing. It was abundant and full, and how I chose to decipher that fullness was completely up to me. I could consider it as stress, or I could count it all as a gift. A goodness gracious gift of an abundant life. What’s so stressful about that, really?

So I don’t weigh what I did before I had the baby.

Who cares? I have an amazing baby!

So my house is a cluttered, chaotic monster puking up doll parts and mix-matched socks.

Does it really matter? It’s busting at the seams with love!

I cannot complete a single thing. Ever!

One day I will look around my pristine, dust-free house and be totally bored. 

As a woman I can often times become anxious over things that do not matter in the grand scheme. That’s not to say men don’t become anxious also, as my husband holds his own concerns and worries running a business and providing for his family, but as constant movers and multitaskers women can become overly anxious about issues beyond our control. As sensitive, emotional creatures we can worry too much about what others think. As caretakers and nurturers we can give too much of ourselves towards people pleasing. And we are consumed by anxiety, worry, and stress. 

The only solution I have found for this is the kind of blasé faire attitude that usually annoys me about men. Just being honest. But if I can take that indifferent attitude and make it more carefree I’m getting somewhere. If I can remind myself to ask at every turn, is this really important? To ask myself honestly, is this really worth me getting upset about? I mean, my life is pretty awesome. 

Then perhaps I won’t let anxiety win. Perhaps I’ll even go sit on the couch, ignore the pile of laundry, and say, This feels nice, Brie . You deserve this after a long, hard week at work.