Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

What God Would Say to the Woman Who’s Not Enough

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Most of us women, at one time or another, feel as if we’re not enough, like we’re lacking some fundamental trait that will magically transform us into the women we wish to be. Not a patient enough mother, or perhaps you’re a wife who suffers to serve. We desire to be that mighty woman of God, to get it right at least every now and again. A fight with our spouse, or a harsh, thoughtless word screamed in frustration at our children prove to us where we have fallen short once again. If only we could be the kind of friend our girlfriends need, or have the time and energy to volunteer at church. If only we could keep the kitchen clean, laundry basket empty, or keep up with our graying roots like other moms seem to do.

We see our Facebook friends dressing trendy, our Instagram idols redecorating their homes. The lady next door doesn’t have trash falling out of the backseat of her minivan, and the mom of four at church, her kids are always so well behaved! A condescending look at the grocery store, the well-intentioned yet hurtful advice from an older woman at church, and the thoughtless comment from your husband all cement the idea that you need to step it up. You need to change, improve, work on you!

Wash your face, wipe your eyes, and work on you! Make time for yourself, yet cherish time with your children, time that is fleeting, and that you’re constantly reminded passes too quickly. How does that work?!

You’ll miss this, they say, all while taking afternoon naps themselves that you can’t personally enjoy.

So you strive to do better. You endeavor to be a Proverbs 31 woman, even though you feel like a Prozac 24/7 kinda gal. If you feel depressed you must not be godly enough, so back to the drawing board for you. Watch your weight, exercise, pray, repeat. Count backwards from ten, take your vitamins, and drink more water. Go out with your girlfriends, read a book, take time for yourself. Stay attractive for your spouse, serve him in love, and give him the affection you yourself feel like you’re lacking. Be in the mood, even if you’re not. Meal prep, crockpot, freezer meals. Keto, Paleo, Weight Watchers, Hello Fresh. So much advice, yet so little time. I don’t know about you, but I just want to not be tired anymore, and to wake up without a sore neck and back. Also, why am I anxious about nothing at all?!

Being a woman is hard, but working to be the woman you think you should be is even harder. It’s not easy being everything for everyone, yet still feeling like you’re not enough. Not good enough, pretty enough, young enough, thin enough, strong enough, happy enough. You’re not everyone’s cup of tea, sure, but maybe you just want to be the cup you yourself could enjoy. You want to be the mother your children deserve, the wife your husband desires, and the woman God needs you to be. Why is it so hard?!

Well, take a breath and listen. This is what God would say to you today.

Stop! Don’t work on you. Work on knowing me better. Stop striving to be the “mighty woman of God” you think you should be, and instead simply rest in who I have created you to be.

I don’t want you to be like her. I created you to be you. The things you see as flaws, I put those there. I thoughtfully formed your crooked nose and short legs. And even the flaws that the world has harshly placed upon you, I can work with those too. Don’t doubt what I can do.

The world will say you are not enough. Even my other children will tell you that is so. Satan will whisper lies so stealthy you will think they are truth, but I promise you this. You can only find my truth in my Word. If it’s not in the Bible, then it’s not for you to believe.

Stop seeking self-improvement, and instead seek my face. Spend time with me. Pour over my truths in scripture, and let that truth flood your soul. Allow it to take over your thoughts so that when lies from the enemy come, because they will, you can overpower them with who I say you are.

Stop working on being better, and start being better in me. Remember that my strength is in your weakness, that you have been made perfect in me, that I am in you, and you are in me. Together, there is no lack. There is always enough.

You are what I say you are, and you are enough. You can rest in my perfect peace, knowing the plans I have for you, plans for a wonderful future.

Stop fighting battles I have already won. Stop waging war on yourself. I take it personally. I created the stars in the sky, ones you cannot even see, ones that shine so fiercely they are blinding up close, but you are still my most precious creation. Just as you are. Stop trying to alter my design.

Stop planning to do better, and simply follow my path I have laid out for you. You cannot see it for your own anxieties of becoming lost. When you feel lost, go back to my map. Read the words there in red. They tell you the way.

Stop working on being a better you, and focus on residing in me. I am your safe place. I can block out the whispers that say you’re not enough. There’s nothing wrong with desiring to be a better you, except when you begin to think you alone hold the key to change. Only I can change hearts, and only in me will you find the completeness you desire. Stop trying to be everything, and rest in the fact that I already am. In me you have fullness of life. In me, you are already enough.

I’m Not Living My Best Life Over Here

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Things have been a little trying over here lately. I hate to use the word stressful because I promised myself I had let my ole worrywart persona go, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more than mildly concerned for a second. Initially came the feeling of anxiety, quickly followed by the voice of reason.

“Haha. No need to get upset,” it sang. “You know God’s got this!”

Of course, He does, I’d chuckle to myself, and then I’d do my right best to walk forward in that belief. Well, if you know anything about life you know that believing something, telling yourself the truth, and abiding in that afterwards is the true test. So, even as my heart was proclaiming that God was in control, I still found myself feeling bummed. You know how you’ll have that underlying feeling of melancholy? Or perhaps it’s better described as a trigger-finger feeling. It’s like you’re on the edge, on pins and needles, like you’re expecting the worse to happen, and you’re readying yourself to jump into action. I guess that’s how I found myself feeling. It’s like I was sitting on the end of the bed waiting for a knock at the door, wringing my mental fingers, despite the fact that my Father told me I had plenty of time to get ready before company came.

After a year of renting our home the time had come for our renters to move on. The thought of losing them saddened me. It meant I had to face the anxiety of paying a large mortgage in a vacant home. It meant the decision of whether to rent again or sell. It meant the hassle of going back on the market, the frustration of paying for electric I wasn’t there to use, or yard maintenance I couldn’t even enjoy. It meant things like unexpected repair costs and trying to reconfigure our budget, for only God knew how long, and of course, the anxiety that is waiting. Waiting for someone else to fall in love with our home like we had once done. The spirit of truth told me it was taken care of, but the fleshy thorn of worry made me feel on edge regardless.

Today we walked back to our enormous truck. It was a huge, black dually (six tires total) 4×4, complete with an engine that could haul 21,000 pounds! Good thing, too, since it’s what we used to pull our traveling home. There’s one thing about moving your house from here to there. You need dependable tires. It’s not just vehicle damage you worry a blowout could bring, but the possible damage it could have on the fifth wheel you’re pulling behind you. We had just left an auto shop, and the gorgeous, deep tread, front wheels gleamed like the best sought treasure. Wow, they were really good looking. Seeing them made me realize how much we had needed ones that weren’t slick like a seal.

“It was a bit more than I thought it would be,” my husband commented, head down, trying to hide his frustration.

“How much more?” I asked.

“The quote I told you wasn’t labor or mounting and balancing included like I thought,” he answered.

I tried to push down the knot of concern in my throat as we drove back towards home on our brand new, pricey tires. I did mental math in silence.

That’s all the overtime I pulled.

We still need to pay to have the yard work done and floors cleaned.

Mortgage is due next paycheck.

Then the truck payment.

We’ll need to get gas…

I tabulated debits versus credits in my head, cursing the stale housing market of a small southern town.

“Can we go eat,” my eldest asked in a whine. “I’m hungry!”

“No,” my husband and I chimed in unison.

We drove in silence, my brain having a mental pep talk with my nerves.

It’s going to be ok. It’s going to be ok.

“They’re really good tires,” my husband finally said. “We got the best, safest tires, with a great tread rating.”

“Yes, we did,” I answered, taking his hand and looking softly at his strong profile beside me.

Yes, we did.

There were so many things going so right. We had found someone to do some cleaning inside and out for our sticks and bricks home, and at a price well below all the quotes we had received. We hadn’t looked for this particular answer, but it had come. We had found a way to rent an RV spot for the summer for only $160 a month. That’s nothing. We had spent over a grand at places in the past. I knew we couldn’t afford that kind of high rent and a big mortgage at once, and just like that a solution had come before we even knew a problem was behind it. We may not have tons of cash to give away, but we certainly had what we needed. Just like how God provided just enough manna each day for the Israelites, so too did we always have just enough. If some kind of trouble came up, the solution always popped up too. He was so faithful to us.

I reminded myself that when a strong gale blew on tumultuous seas that my trust wasn’t in the boat that held me, but rather in my Savior, the creator of the ocean, that carried me.

I realized I was the happiest I had ever been, and despite any concern or anxiety I had to push away about finances or selling our house, I realized that I felt better than ever before. There was hardship, and there was sickness. Unexpected bills came, or my old knees ached. I worked long hours, and we needed to replace the slide-out seals on our RV before they started to leak. I had no idea where those funds would come from, but I knew that for now it wasn’t leaking. Despite it all a river of peace ran through me, below me, above me, like never before.

I’ve found that you go through different seasons in life, some more difficult than others, but if you can find joy in the season you’re in, no matter how hard you have to look, it’s a blessed season.

I’ve found that storms will come and problems will rear their ugly head. That. Is. Life. There isn’t a life without trouble on this planet. If you breathe air, then you will experience some sort of turmoil in life. That’s just the reality of it. You have to understand and accept that, but then still make the decision to keep going forward. It’s not the storms that define us, but how we walk through them. I’ve discovered I like holding the hand of Jesus as I walk. Then I forget it’s raining.

I’ve found that it’s easy to look at the things that make us unhappy, the mess that makes life so far from perfect. But it’s also easy to see the joy. You can find it if you look. Somehow that makes the journey more enjoyable, the season more fulfilling, and the everyday more appealing. It makes the worrisome, bothersome buggery seem less. It makes the sunshine seem more… I don’t know, sunshiny. You cannot find a perfect life, but you can see it perfectly clear as the blessed life God gives.

I’m not living my best life over here.

My life is full of uncertainty. But it is also full of a certain God. He is ever present, and He has good things for me, even if I can’t see how He’ll get me there.

As we drove down the road, my mood becoming more positive as I reminded myself of God’s goodness to us, my husband spoke about the armor of God.

“Have you noticed,” he asked, “that the shield of faith is something you must pick up?”

He went on to describe that the helmet of salvation we always wore, the same with the belt of truth, or how we shod our feet in peace. But when the fiery arrows of the enemy came, we had to take up our shield. We had to raise up the sword of the spirit to battle. In other words, we always had our armor on, but when adversity came you had to be intentional in your defense.

I wasn’t living my best life over here. And that was ok.

Real life was too uncertain and chocked with difficulty to be practically perfect.

I wasn’t living my best life over here, but I was over here living life the best way I could.

When trouble came knocking, because it would (that was life), I took up my armor again. Seasons change, adversity comes, but my God is constant. And He is constantly looking out for me. My flesh tells me to fret, but my spirit tells me to be still. It shows me His kindness, His past provision, His future promises.

I am the happiest I have ever been not because I’m living a perfect, dream life. I’m not living my best life. I’m just enjoying life as it comes the best I know how. And somehow, gosh, that makes it seem like the best.

How I Got Rid of My Anxiety

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This post comes from a person who has dealt with anxiety for as long as she can remember. It’s not from someone who hasn’t been in the trenches of panic and all the side affects it induces, yet wants to tell everyone else how to live a stress-free life. Nope. This post is from someone who dealt with fear, anxiety, worry, and depression for forty years, the last ten of those being the worst. This individual got so used to the way she felt that she considered it to just be the way it was going to be, and accepted that these feelings were her lot in life. She called herself an over-thinker, a worry wart, and other pet names to poke fun at what was in fact an irrational thought life, one which controlled her, made her dislike social situations or hanging out with groups of people, and kept her from being the kind of person deep down she knew she could be. Her anxiety controlled her. Until one day it didn’t.

This person is me.

I assumed I would always deal with anxiety. I would find myself anxious over absolutely nothing. It’s sometimes kinda like the feeling that you forgot something.

Did I remember my keys?!

Did I turn the stove off?!

I would eventually realize I had not forgotten anything.

At least, I don’t think I did. (Cue increased heart rate).

The way my brain worked said that I had done something wrong, people were upset with me, didn’t like me. If people were whispering I would wonder if it was about me. My logical brain knew it wasn’t. My anxious mind told a different story.

It’s like the dream where you’re naked on stage in front of your peers. But, it’s not a dream. And it’s every day.

I got anxious about problems that didn’t exist. Problems that weren’t even problems. Problems that I created. I worried a lot about finances.

What if I lose my job?

What if I bounce a check?

Pay a bill late?

Go into more debt?

Lower my credit score?!

Gasp.

And on, and on.

I can remember driving to Florida when I first decided to become a travel nurse. As we drove through Birmingham I found myself anxious. I was in a panic as we drove through the city.

What is that smell?!

Oh, gosh, our new truck is going to breakdown! Then what will we do?!

It’s so bumpy! We’ve sold all our possessions; what if the meager collection of our stuff that’s packed in the back of the truck blows out?!

Y’all, I can’t even. It was exhausting. Anxiety is exhausting. And I got tired of being tired.

You’ll hear all kinds of ways to beat anxiety. I had heard exercise is a good one. Well, that wasn’t happening. So, I moved on to other practices I had heard, but even the power of the ultimate, positive thinking couldn’t squash my anxiety. I mean, it was illogical, so no logical thinking could reverse it or prevent it.

You always hear that you “need to give it to God,” but what does that even mean?! There’s not an app for surrender, know what I’m saying? And I guess that was my problem. I was trying to do whatever I could to not be anxious. I mean, nobody wants anxiety. I wanted to get rid of it, but I wasn’t sure what I needed to do.

I prayed. Oh, Lord, did I pray. But I still had problems with anxiety. Was I not praying hard enough?!

I read a verse this morning that summed it up pretty nicely, how I dealt with my anxiety once and for all, about a year ago.

John 8:31-32 (ESV)

So Jesus said to the Jews who had believed him, “If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”

Funny thing about the word abide. It’s not so much something you do, as something you are. I came to a place, through reading God’s Word, meditating on scripture, and reading fantastic Christian books and studies, where I truly, and I repeat truly believed where the Bible states I am in Him, and He is in me.

See, the thing about anxiety is that you can’t control it! How can you fix something you can’t control? You can’t! But Jesus could. I could do all things through Him. He was in me, and I was in Him. Therefore, if Jesus could see anxiety for the lie it was, and if He could make it go away completely, then doesn’t it just stand to reason that I could too? Because it wasn’t just me; it was Him.

I began to see myself as seated with Christ in Heavenly places. I fixed my eyes on things above, not things below. You don’t so much worry about your bank balance when you realize that money isn’t everything. You can stop fretting about finances when you really believe Jesus will provide for you. I had never faithfully and consistently tithed because I didn’t think I could afford to do so, but I was proclaiming God couldn’t provide for my needs when I didn’t. So, I followed through my faith by tithing every week. I watched more money than I had ever given in offering before leave my bank account, and it gave me zero anxiety. I considered it an investment.

I stopped worrying about health concerns that might come my way or to my children, and instead focused my attention on God as my healer and sustainer. I’m not saying I stopped taking care of my temple, but I stopped fearing illness. The flowers of the field didn’t fret. Why should I?

What is the worst that could happen to me? Would it affect me for all eternity? If the answer was “no” then it wasn’t worth concerning myself about.

But what about the uncontrollable, irrational anxiety? Well, I got rid of it too. When I remained in Christ, through frequent reading of my Bible, consistent prayer time (I talk to God all day, my eyes pop open and I’m immediately thanking Him for the good sleep I got), and surrounding myself with things pleasing to Him, I became saturated with truth. Y’all, where truth resides, anxiety cannot be. Anxiety isn’t from God, and if you can fill yourself so completely with the truth of who Jesus is personally to you and in your life, anxiety just slips away.

I can’t pinpoint when I precisely realized I didn’t suffer with anxiety anymore. It didn’t disappear all at once. It wasn’t a magic spell. I simply, consistently absorbed more of Jesus. I abided in His truth. I rested in it. I took it in so frequently that it became reality to me. You can read the Bible and know in your heart that a verse is true, but you almost have to pound it in to yourself for it to click. You can’t read the truth once. I know Atheists who have read the Bible. You have to read it again and again, ruminate on it, get guidance from other believers on it, pray on it, listen to God impress to your heart what He’s trying to tell you through it. I did this over and over, and one day I realized that I believed so deeply in my spirit every word of scripture to be true, and true for me (that’s the kicker), that I couldn’t let lies stay very long.

Do anxious thoughts try to come my way? Not as much as they once did, but they still try to sneak in. The cool part is that God’s truth shines a light on my anxious thoughts, and it exposes them as the lie they are. I speak scripture to my anxiety, and if it tries to come on me, I fight it off with God’s Word. This may sound like it couldn’t possibly work. It may sound like mumbo-jumbo. Maybe you’re saying, “you haven’t dealt with real anxiety, not anxiety like mine.”

Well, I don’t know what your anxiety is like, but I know that I have experienced suicidal ideation in the past and a failed suicide attempt due to mine. I wanted to be asleep forever rather than deal with the anxiousness I felt. Sound familiar? I remember even having a psychiatrist diagnose me as Bipolar when I was a teenager.

All I know, now, is that it feels good to be free. It’s not anything I did, per se, but what Jesus did in me. When I realized and truly believed, rested on, and drew strength from the fact that through the Holy Spirit, Jesus lived in me, I was able to abide. I was able to continue in truth. The truth set me free. I was able to move forward by being still. I was able to get rid of my anxiety by letting go of my ability to fix it. I was able to get rid of my anxiety by allowing Christ to. You see, He never had anxiety (sin) for me. He took it on Himself on the cross. He already died and was resurrected so I could be anxiety-free. I just couldn’t see that. I was blind to that fact.

When I opened my eyes to the truth that Jesus had already made the way to trash my anxiety for good, it simply stopped being a thing. Heck, I didn’t even have to get rid of it; it was just gone.

Why Being An Anxious Person Isn’t as Bad as You Think

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This morning thoughts of work woke me.

“Did I chart that?!”

Somehow the question of whether I had remembered (in the chaos of a rapid intubation, followed by a code blue) to chart a controlled substance is what pulled me out of slumber. It wasn’t the promise of good coffee or the plans of going poolside. It was worry over whether I documented something correctly that happened at work many days prior.

Even after I figured that one out, the feeling of persistent concern followed me. It followed me as I sat sleepily on the side of the bed, and it followed me into the bathroom. It followed me all the way to the coffee maker, and it followed me afterwards to the couch, coffee and devotional in hand. I just felt anxious.

I was feeling worried about something, and unable to pinpoint a cause, I recognized it for what it was. Anxiety. Just plain, ole anxiety. Although anxiety never felt “just.” It felt anything but. It felt awful.

Sometimes I could figure out the specific concern, and with that knowledge in hand I could speak truth into my thoughts. I could speak God’s truth. Soooo many scriptures that combated anxious thoughts. But still…

Sometimes even knowing the cause, even realizing it was ridiculous, that didn’t always make it go away. Sometimes anxiety was pretty darn persistent.

In these cases, I had to be persistent also. There was no “if you can’t beat-em, join-em” mindset allowed. When lies hit, truth had to hit harder.

It had actually been going on for a few days, following a hormonal pattern. Going through your forties was no joke! Last night when I had noticed the persistent flow of anxiety below the surface and the overshadowing happiness, I had reached for my Bible. I had prayed for God to reveal to me what verses to read. I had read them. I had gleaned what God was trying to tell me. It had helped. But still…

Here it was again this morning. Persistent. Present. Like the annoying cold virus I had for two months this winter, my worry just wouldn’t go away. I took all the right medicine, I fed my body right, but still it attacked me. Still anxiety reared its ugly head. Eventually my cold went away. I had to believe the same for this feeling of worry that tried to come on me once a month.

I drew in. I prayed, I listened, I read some more, and little by little the anxiety lifted. It was replaced by peace, joy, and hope. God was faithful.

One might wonder “why.” Why did God allow anxiety to return? Did I not have enough faith to fight it?! Well, I guess that’s what the devil would have me to believe, but I would rather share what the Lord spoke to my heart about it this morning.

He said,

You are fragile, but that’s not a bad thing. Your weakness is a gift because it offers you the chance to draw closer to me. In your vulnerability you seek me deeper, with more persistent passion. In your weakness you focus on me.

That was certainly true.

This morning I learned that the Hebrew word kanafim means “wings,'” and I’ve certainly found shelter in His wings at times. But the same word also means “corners,” as in the corners of a garment. And sometimes it may be all I can do to just reach out weakly and try to grasp a piece of the hem of His garment. Yet just like the woman with the bleeding condition who was completely healed when she grabbed a corner of His clothing, so too am I restored when I reach for Him. No matter how weak I may feel my grasp must be.

So, if you find yourself in a place like me, where sometimes your thoughts are not your own. Or perhaps your shoulders are weighed down from the heavy load you mentally carry. Maybe your anxiety is persistent like mine, and you feel so weak and defeated. In this time I want you to remember that God always turns what the world means for your harm into something good. He makes beauty from ashes. In your fragility, He gives you strength. In your weakness, He draws you close. I would encourage you to not give up, and don’t give in. Instead reach for His kanafim, no matter how weak your grip may be. In your persistent pursuit, even in your surrender, falling on your face in bitter tears, He will rescue you.

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.