Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

I Cried in the Shower Today

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Have you ever cried so hard it hurts? I’m talking about that deep burn in your throat that reaches all the way to your heart and back, only finding escape from the flames via hot, molten tears. That was me, sitting in my shower, somehow enjoying the emotion, yet begging it to simmer down before I hyperventilated. The last thing I needed was my husband to run into the bathroom, following an echoing thump, and find me slumped naked in the billowing steam. So, I tried to qualm my cries, yet the overflow of emotion erupted again, a fresh cascade of tears across my already wet face.

We had recently gone to a child’s birthday party, and I guess that’s where the story of tears started. My daughters were excited to see an old friend, and even opted to miss dance and voice lessons for the occasion. We had shopped excitedly for a present, each child contributing to the basket before making a final selection. They had chosen the outfits they would wear, and had asked me each and every day leading up to the event, “how much longer until the party?”

So, what happened?!

We had arrived to the gathering a little after its commencement, and already swarms of girls and boys bolted along the sandy beachfront. The birthday girl came running towards my oldest, screeching her name with excitement, enveloping her in a hug.

And my girl stood there awkwardly stiff, having trouble accepting the embrace. I heard Stephanie Tanner in my head proclaim, “how rude!”

Our awkward entrance continued. I looked around at my girls standing on the periphery of the group, looking shy, uncertain, and uncomfortable.

I encouraged them to “go and play.”

Yet, they kept coming back, and sitting on the outskirts, as if unsure of exactly how to go play. It didn’t make sense. These were their friends, and sure there were lots of other children they didn’t know, but my childhood wallflower self silently screamed, “go, be a part of the group!”

Yep, I had been that awkward kid in school, unsure how to act in social settings, sitting on the outside looking in. I had always done better one on one, a single bestie, and that trend had followed me my whole life.

“It’s Covid,” I thought.

Over a year of telling your children to stay away from other kids had surely stunted their social growth I hypothesized, and while I’m sure that’s true, it didn’t explain the fact that my tween had refused to bring her swimsuit, refused to wear shorts, and I had to buy her a baseball cap just to keep her from wearing a winter boggin pulled down over her head. Was that just a phase? Y’all, parenting is hard.

She had headphones in her ears, so she wouldn’t have to listen to the voices of others, and sunglasses because the sun hurt her vampire eyes. I’m sure it had nothing to do with being holed up in her dark room most of the time (insert tired mommy sigh).

I texted my spouse, “our kids have no idea how to act in a large group.”

I was questioning my own parenting skills, imagining all the ways I was messing up my kiddos, and trying not to worry I might be creating an ax murderer. Just kidding. Kinda.

My husband quickly replied, “uhhh, neither do their parents.”

Oh Lord, my husband and I were closet introverts. We loved people, and even flourished in one on one relationships, but put us in a group setting, and our left eye started to twitch. We hated crowds and avoided going places on weekends like the plague. We were happy to sit at home, and neither of us had the desire to go out with friends to blow off steam. We liked the bed, dinner and a movie, quiet time, and no expectations. His words made sense.

But still, I worried about my babies.

And that’s what I talked to God about in the shower. I handed Him my worries and my babies, listening to the counsel of the Holy Spirit. At some point in our conversation He brought me a vision of a flower in a field. Like the sunflowers we had grown last year, this flower tilted its head towards the light, and the light shown on its face, giving it new life.

The sun set and darkness surrounded the solitary plant. From above came a thermal blanket, like the kind a gardener would use to protect his prize winning roses from a spring frost. I knew at that moment, that was how God covered me and my family.

Each flower in His garden was unique, each created and cultivated to be its own creation, for His glory and kingdom purposes. His light illuminated and fed each one as it turned its face to Him, and He protected them from dark and cold places.

I felt the Lord speak to me, “nothing is by accident. I created each of your children according to my giftings. Nothing can take away from that. Nor does it need to be.”

I recognized that perhaps my children were different than the average child. Each one had nuances, sensitivities, or gifts that made them unique. I had grown up feeling like a square peg, longing to fit into a world I couldn’t seem to become comfortable being a part of. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized God created me square, with a square hole in mind for me. After all, squares make the best block for building God’s Kingdom. I wanted my girls to feel alive and beautiful in their uniqueness, and I realized that started with me not expecting them to fit into standard social norms. They were created for more than that. I didn’t need to worry so much as trust. And while there was nothing wrong with noticing peculiarities, or even learning more about those particular social styles, making a diagnosis or treatment plan if necessary, the bottom line was they were beautiful flowers in God’s garden, perfect in their specific design. Even if that made group events a little cringe worthy.

So, why did I cry? Gratitude, I suppose. What the world calls wounded, God calls blessed. What society would view as imperfect, He sets apart. And best of all, His light and love never fail. His covering persists, through every season, even the ones of drought and doubt. I’m still growing. My girls are too. I suppose, sometimes it’s the tears of gratefulness and joy that water the soil best.

I Finally Found Where I Fit In!

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I can recall receiving a specific message tailored just for me from a visiting prophet when I was twenty-one years old. His words were like a soothing balm, the proclamation I had always wanted in life, whether I realized it or not. He didn’t know me personally, yet the accuracy of his comments struck a chord with my misfit heart, and I have remembered them always.

He had spoken, “you feel like an outcast, like you’ve never fit in. But God wants you to know He has a place for you. You’ve always felt like a square peg, and God is saying He has a square hole in mind just for you.”

These encouraging words were just what I needed. I had always felt like an outsider in life. I was the girl in school who tried to hang out at the “cool kids’” lunch table, but had somehow never been able to take a seat there. I didn’t feel welcome.

As a child I was the new kid, from out West, with the weird accent. Totally tubular.

Or I was the sick kid. Epilepsy. Not a well-known condition in small-town U.S.A.

I was the adopted kid, never really fitting in with all the cousins. Treated differently by the grandparents even if they didn’t mean it to be that way.

I was the little girl who was so ordinary that her biological father had left town, never looking back at the daughter he rejected.

I was the quiet girl in school. Pretty, but odd. Puberty didn’t hit until I was seventeen, and I was the last cheerleader who still admitted to playing with Barbies or frogs.

In all the Howard Hughes’ films of the eighties, the outcasts and misfits at least had their own clique. Even The Nerds got their revenge.

But I didn’t fit in anywhere. I couldn’t find my group, and went through most of my young life trying way too hard to find my niche. A loner. Maybe even a loser.

I was born again at the age of 19. I can remember feeling such acceptance into God’s family, but it seemed short-lived. I’ll never say this was anyone’s fault but my own. I know my own perceptions are often to blame. It was probably the devil at work in my feelings, and perhaps in the actions of others as well. Regardless, I never felt like I fit into the Church. Most of my Christian peers had been raised in a deep faith, and I was still learning to read the Bible. I didn’t understand all the rules, of what was good, or what was definitely bad. I was on a learning curve when it came to taboos of the Christian walk, and those who corrected me were not usually gentle. Sadly, I have way too many instances of harsh correction by my “sisters” in faith, and I know I have healing still left from those encounters.

I had a past, but one thing I learned about people was, ones outside the church didn’t care about that stuff. They didn’t give a hoot about what I wore, if I watched an R rated movie, or if I had saved myself for marriage. It was much easier to get along with the people who skipped Sundays all together, and so began a season of being apart from God.

It makes me wonder, is backsliding the result of sinful influence outside the church, or is it perhaps the realization one haves that they’ll never be good enough to have a place at the table of religion?

Oh, but Grace. Great, great grace.

I have finally found my place. I have finally found where I fit. For awhile I thought the place that prophet spoke of over twenty years ago was a certain space. For years I wondered where God would move me, or what group of friends He would put in my path. Still corrupted by the ways of this world, and still scarred by past rejection, I still tried to make myself fit. I attempted to insert myself in this women’s group or that ministry opportunity. I allowed my belief system to be that of the majority to which I wanted to conform, knowing that to sit at the table, there are certain standards you must uphold, and certain opinions you must keep inside. The thing is, no matter how much I tried to mold myself into the Godly women I admired, the more unqualified I felt. I wasn’t the trendy mom, the crafty homeschooler, or the first hand up to volunteer for watching the nursery on Sunday. I didn’t like being busy, spinning plates, or overwhelming my schedule. Then I had this habit of seeing the best in others, trying to walk in the shoes of the “sinners,” and remembering far too easily the past I had previously mentioned. I wanted to give money to a guy on the street without worrying if he was going to spend it wisely! I wanted to believe that each time a drug addict ended up in my hospital bed, that they would stop using, and change their life. When others whispered about a short skirt on Sunday, I remembered a “church lady” making me leave a meeting because my t-shirt said the word “suck” on it.

My weird ideas have often left people confused. My fair treatment of those different than myself has made me unpopular in certain circles. In fact, the last year has found me ousted from the table of many of my Christian friends, simply for speaking topics not allowed for discussion. I guess we could call them “square peg” topics in the circular world of religion.

I felt so hurt. I felt the rejection all over again. Kindness was met with anger, and I trudged away licking my wounds. I guess sometimes you think you’ve found the place where God has you to fit in, only to discover you’ll never fit! We aren’t meant to fit in the pretty, round spaces this world provides. It turns out the edges have hidden rough spots, and you can get a face full of splinters, even as others have planks in their eyes.

When I read the Bible, though, I felt like I fit. When I read, re-read, meditated, and prayed over the words of Jesus, I felt totally at home. In His warm embrace I found my place, and in His love I found me.

I’m not in any way trying to lessen the importance of gathering with fellow believers. I truly belief that finding a church home, surrounded with brothers and sisters in Christ is much needed. Relationships are beneficial! The support, counsel, and correction of other believers is required in this confusing walk of life. So, don’t get me wrong, here. I’m not saying to throw out the baby with the bath water. But I am saying that some dirt and grime can get in the way sometimes.

Some people in this world find their place like the perfect glove. For others, they always feel like an outcast. I think it’s good to understand that if you don’t feel like you fit, you’re in good company. Jesus never fit in with the religious leaders of His day, either. People will misunderstand you, they will hurt you, or they’ll unknowingly (perhaps, knowingly) push you out. But at the table of the Father, there’s always a seat saved for you. Right next to Christ. It’s in His love we find our perfect place. It’s in His love that we finally fit in.

An Introvert Reformed

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We waited our turn in the long, slow-moving line as the sun beat down on our sweaty foreheads. Ahead I saw only three windows open to grant admission to the local zoo, and that seemed too few for a busy Saturday. When we finally made our way to the front of the line I could see the frazzled frustration and fatigue of the older woman dealing out our tickets. Eyes downcast, brow set in a determined frown, she busied herself with the task at hand, not looking up at our approach while she called out, “how many?”

Against my quiet character I felt the necessity to answer with more than just the number count of our crew. So after commenting back the answer she desired I added, “how are you doing today?”

Along with my question I presented her with a genuine smile. It was the kind of expression that lit up a face, that offered kindness. The type of facial expression that exuded joy while also offering a true desire to interact on more than just the typical business level. In other words, my smile, my inquiring eyes, crinkled at the corner and beaming with contentment spoke more than just a cursory question. My countenance spoke that I really wanted to know. I saw her as a human, not just a ticket machine, and I cared. Sometimes that’s all a person needs.

Now, I’m not trying to say I hold a deep affection for strangers. And such a fake sentiment would surely show. Yet I did love her as a fellow person in this world, trying to transverse through the difficult mess of it, just like me. A sister almost, even if not by blood. I had not always seen others this way. Sometimes I still didn’t, but I was trying.

At my question the most amazing thing occurred. As if an invisible veil was lifted, so did the dredging darkness from her face. She looked up, her eyes took on a spark, and her entire appearance transformed. So light was her spirit at that moment, so airy, so encouraged. She smiled back, a big one, and she began to animatedly share about her day. A friendly banter among strangers. My heart felt as light and airy as her countenance had appeared.

As I walked away I thought about her response to my interaction. It had been a joy to watch. Someone having a busy, difficult day, found some glee in the middle of it by something as simple as a smile and question directed towards her well-being. It reminded me of how on a hard day of bedside nursing I could be lifted out of my pit of despair by a friendly patient with a compliment and smile. Funny how kind interaction could alter someone’s little universe.

I can remember a time back just a few years when I celebrated my inability to function in social situations. A self-proclaimed introvert, I shied from conversation, kept my eyes averted, and walked the other way if I saw someone in the store I knew. It was simply easier for me that way. Interaction made me uncomfortable, people weren’t my favorite thing, other than the select few I invited into my life.

But I have begun to question lately… is being an introvert from God?

I mean, I know He makes us all unique. I’ve tried to embrace my idiosyncrasies over the years, and instead of feeling like an outcast, see myself as a special creation designed by God. And that’s all true and good. I am how He designed me to be. But I am also what the world has shaped me to be.

So, could my once-celebrated introversion be a side effect of rejection, hurt feelings, and loss? After years of being left behind, excluded, or put down, did I put on a garment of introversion like a shield to protect me from harm? I mean, man can be cruel. Sometimes it’s easier to just avoid it all together.

Over the years, as I read the Bible more and sought God’s will for my life, I realized a disconnect from how Jesus interacted with people and how I did. My actions and behaviors didn’t inspire the love of the Father. I wasn’t offering comfort or serving others in need. I was avoiding them. Almost running from them. And yeah, in Walmart, exactly that sometimes. I began to see that Jesus was calling me for more. He wasn’t asking me to become the life of the party and exceed my limits of human interaction. I mean, even Jesus went alone by Himself to rest. He wasn’t asking me to be someone else, but He was encouraging me to stretch my ability to love others and shine His light.

It was uncomfortable for me at first, and sometimes it still is. Yet I will feel an encouragement from His Holy Spirit to reach out often. A gentle whisper inside me will say, “ask her how her day is going.” Like it did this last weekend at the zoo. It may seem like a very small thing in the grand kingdom of God, but even the small parts are valuable to our Father. Even the small gestures, kind words, or helping hand can move mountains when accompanied by the Lord.

Opening a door for a stranger, a smile, a friendly conversation. Small tokens that show someone they are seen, they are worthy, they are special. The devil would tell us these gestures are too small to even be noticed. Satan will tell you to place a wall around yourself, stay in your lane, keep your head down, and worry about you and yours. But Jesus would say you are a house on a hill. He’d tell you to turn on the porch light, invite that neighbor over, feed them at the table. Everyone just wants a seat at the table.

I’m a work in progress. Social interaction still isn’t my jam, but I am stepping out more. I no longer celebrate being an introvert. Instead I stretch my extrovert muscle. I’ll never show the love of Jesus locked inside myself. So I try each day to let others in. I’m an introvert reformed. Funny what God can do.

When I Stopped Trying to Fit In

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I stood at the community dryer removing my clothes and placing them into my basket to take back home. For a moment I had felt sad, lonely maybe, less; I’m not sure. But whatever the emotion it was only for a brief moment. Then it passed. I smiled to myself because it didn’t matter. I had stopped trying to fit in.

When I had first walked into the shared laundry room of our RV Park, two women had been talking loudly to one another and laughing as they shared a story, but as I entered the area they lowered their voices in a conspiratorial tone as they spoke about events around our little community. I knew both of the women from having been around the small community for a few months. We were all friendly with one another, but as they continued to whisper together within my earshot I understood that I wasn’t part of their inner circle, I wasn’t part of the fold, or in the know. I certainly wasn’t close enough to the pack to invite inclusion into their most interesting and shocking, shared gossip. For a moment that made me feel sadly excluded, but then I shook it off, remembering that I wasn’t the woman I used to be. I smiled knowing it was okay to be different.

I didn’t always feel that way. I used to feel like I was on the outside looking in, like I was a beggar at the window of the restaurant, staring hungrily at the steaming plate of food, wishing for a bite, something to wet my appetite for acceptance.

I was the young girl who moved around a lot when I was little. And I mean a lot. I remember getting behind in first grade after moving schools three times in one year, and feeling ashamed that I required a special tutor to catch up to the rest of the class. At six I felt like I didn’t fit in.

I remember second grade, another new school, and joining other girls to make fun of someone else on the playground. I knew it wasn’t right, but I still did it. After all, if it was her it wasn’t me. Do you want to know the most peculiar part? I saw her smiling. It was like the negative attention was better for her than being invisible. I got that. Our eyes met by the swing set, she smiled, and we understood each other on a very deep, painful level. Even if just for a moment. Outcasts.

I remember another new school in third grade. It was the second new school that year. I recall telling a little girl on the teeter totter I was epileptic. I thought if she felt sorry for me she might be my friend. The rest of my time in elementary school I was the kid with the weird disease.

I can recall switching school in junior high, hoping with everything I had that it would be different, that I would be liked. I still enjoyed Barbies and frogs, but I realized quickly that wasn’t what the popular girls were into.

Popular girls. I’m not sure why I fought to be a part of their clique. There were nice girls who weren’t in the top echelon of the socially elite, yet I set my sights high. From sixth grade throughout high school I was a cheerleader. I didn’t have a grand affection for toe touches and booty dances. I just thought I would find my place inside that way. Have you ever had your bed short-sheeted at cheerleading camp? Even though I always made the squad, I wasn’t part of the squad. I remember calling my mom in tears at a cheerleading sleepover because everyone was ignoring me and being cruel. It wasn’t imaged. It was the real thing. Once you become a social leper, it sticks.

I look back at the bullying and I thank God social media didn’t exist. I already wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. I can’t imagine if my misery had been shared on social networks. I already weighed 90 pounds because sleep was better than food, or because the cafeteria was where my tormentors gathered. I can’t imagine if pictures had been shot across Snapchat with the caption of Anorexic Annie.

The great thing about college is that you get to let go of the cliques and taunting. There’s more on the horizon. You get to find your tribe, the people who are more in line with what you value. Yet… yet my desire to fit in didn’t fade.

At twenty, as a reborn Christian, I felt like I didn’t quite fit in with all the church folks. I had so much to learn, they knew way more about Jesus than I did. They hadn’t done half the awful things I had done, and our families were different. I had watched Smurfs and HeMan! Lol. I still taunt my husband a little about his lack of eighties cartoon knowledge. But seriously, even amongst people who loved me, I felt like I didn’t fit in. Which led one to ponder, was it me?

I began to learn that my past experiences molded my current perceptions. Once you’ve been rejected, especially at a young age, and especially by someone you love, it slants your thinking. You walk around either fearing love, craving love, sabotaging love, feeling you’re never loved and never will be loved, or all of the above. Parents should consider this before they dip out on their kid, but it goes beyond that. It’s like hurt just piles on hurt, piles on hurt. You end up like me, seeking acceptance, but never quite feeling like you get it.

I don’t think I can pinpoint when it happened, but one day I stopped caring so much what people thought. As I grew older and matured I realized what was important to me. I held those things close and didn’t put as much value in the things that didn’t matter. I discovered who I was according to Jesus, and I realized the opinion of anyone else didn’t matter. I learned to love myself because of how God saw me. Then I didn’t crave love from man to make myself feel better, yet I was also able to accept love from others more easily.

As I kept going in this vein I realized that I was a unique creation of God, that He made me a certain way. So although hurts along the way may have changed my actions and perceptions, I also was who I was because He created me that way. Special. Different. These were no longer bad things, but worthy of celebration. I didn’t need to fit into the box. It was cool to be a square peg in a circle hole world. I didn’t have to fit the mold, and I could break out of the constraints of trying to fit in and be anyone other than me.

But it kept going. I also started to understand that sometimes my vision could be clouded, and that the devil could use lies to make me feel like I didn’t fit anywhere. Maybe I wasn’t an introvert by design, but rather by choice. It’s easier to be a loner when people are mean, but it’s also less painful to stay that way and believe everyone is mean. I had missed out a lot over the years. I had missed so many opportunities to be kind and show God’s love to others because I was tired of being hurt.

Through it all I had gone from rejected to social misfit, and from introvert to major lover of people. That’s what God can do, I suppose. I am grateful I came to a place where I stopped trying to fit in, but I am even more thankful when I came to the point of realizing I also couldn’t sit life out.

Why My Inner Circle is Small

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I have a habit of sharing the Bible verse of the day from my Bible app onto Facebook, but recently I did not. The verse didn’t resound within me like most do, and it bothered me that it did not. I just couldn’t help it, though. The verse from Proverbs was about loyal friendship, and that was something I didn’t put a lot of trust in. Opening your heart to friendship was easy for most people, but for me? Not so much. My inner circle is small.

See, I have a hard time making friends. I’ll hang out with my siblings, and I call my husband my best friend. That’s pretty much where the buck stops, though. I’m a self-proclaimed introvert. I’m the type of person who will see someone in a store, look down, and run the other way rather than make conversation that’s uncomfortable for me. It’s not like I’m trying to be rude; it’s just hard having relationships. I can talk the ear off my patients at the hospital bedside, telling them my whole life story sometimes. But maybe that’s because it’s part of my job. I enjoy communicating with others, showing God’s love, and having a good time. There’s simply that part of me that doesn’t do well with friendship. Even though I’ve grown tremendously in this area over the past couple of years, I still can count my girlfriends on one hand. And that’s going all the way back to third grade!

Recently I was talking to my seven year old about being nice to her cousins and sisters. I explained to her that you can never fathom how your actions may affect someone. Perhaps even for life. I told her some of the things that had happened to me growing up. I didn’t recount it all. Much of it was too harsh for her tender heart to hear.

I explained how I was bullied in school. Girls who had been my friends for years suddenly wanted nothing to do with me. They certainly didn’t want to face the wrath of the bully themselves. I was a ghost, a walking misfit. If I wasn’t ignored I was taunted and laughed at, the butt of jokes. I was beat up, my hair pulled out by the roots, and it still to this day grew out uneven from one side of my head to the other.

I could still see the remnants of vulgar names and taunts spray painted on the road signs in front of my parent’s home. Over twenty years later and it hadn’t faded away, from the signs or my heart apparently. It brought to mind the prank calls, dozens in an hour, the bloody, stuffed animal thrown in my driveway, and the trip my parents took to the police station trying to press charges and offer me protection from my tormentor.

Mostly, though, I remember how thin I got, how I never wanted to eat, or how I only wanted to sleep. I remember pretending to be sick, and when my Mom wouldn’t buy it, simply begging her if I could stay home from school. I recall my gratitude when they finally let me switch schools, but I also remember my fear of starting a new school. Would other girls be the same way?

As an adult I knew that this part of my adolescence had negatively impacted me forever. Just like how an absent parent can affect a person their entire life, so too could cruel treatment by their peers. I learned from an early age that females were fickle, easy to turn their back on you, and even easier to hurt you. I learned I couldn’t trust friends, even the ones who used the word “best” at one time or another, and that secrets were never sacred. I discovered men could tear apart a friendship, that loyalty was a farce. I was taught that people could smile at your face, but laugh behind your back. I learned that lies were easy to tell, that reputations could be ruined in a day, and that I could never truly trust a woman in my life other than those closest to me, like a mom or sister.

I never wanted to be friendless. I didn’t grow up hoping I would close my heart to trusting others, but that’s what happened. That was the consequence of my adolescence. Despite all the healing God had done in my life, and despite the fact that I had forgiven all of those who had treated me cruelly in the past, I still had a problem with trusting others. When you’ve been hurt deeply sometimes it’s just easier to err on the side of caution. It’s easier to keep your distance, play it safe, keep relationships superficial, and only trust your tight, inner circle. I don’t want to be this way, but past experience has molded me into the timid creature I am. Not sure if that will ever change. I wonder about wonderful women I may have pushed away due to my own fear.

Today I tried to make sure my daughter understood this, that she realized every action has a consequence, and sometimes those consequences affect people around you more than you know. I wish all parents could teach their children this. You never know; it might just save some future heartache.

What God Would Say to the Over-Thinker

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I woke up this morning with something on my mind. A social interaction gone bad. I even felt a small sense of anxiety over the entire thing as I replayed potential scenarios. The more I thought about it the worst I felt. Wanna hear the crazy part? This was a situation that hadn’t even happened. It likely wouldn’t even happen. I mean, I guess it could, and the thoughts of the what-if maybes were the ones that kept me up at night.

I was the kind of over-thinker who replayed confrontation for hours. Recently a coworker had said something demeaning to me over the phone. When he later appeared in my presence I averted eye contact and said nothing. So, naturally, for the next hour after he left my floor I made up conversations in my head. In these convos I was the witty, quick-thinking gal who stood up for herself. I knew she was in there somewhere. I just had trouble finding her outside my mind.

At least with the above scenario an actual incident had occurred, but in the one this morning it hadn’t. It was a problem I imagined, one I concocted. I guess I didn’t have enough problems to deal with in reality; I also had to invent possible problematic situations. I suppose it was my contingency plan. In reality I knew, though, that I suffered from over-thinking. I would mull over a negative occurrence for forever, and the possible, it might just happen, negative incidents almost just as long.

This morning as I prayed about it the Lord spoke clearly and strongly to my heart, and if you’re an over-thinker too then these words are probably for you too.

You need to see these thoughts for what they are. They’re not a curse you’re stuck with, or just the way it is. You need to recognize them for what they really are.

Distractions.

They’re distractions from the enemy to take your eyes off my purpose for your life. I have a plan for you, one that I am working out as we speak. You may cannot see what I am doing, but I am laying the groundwork behind the scenes right now. The Devil would choose to take your eyes off my purposes. You are already walking in the plan I have for you, but Satan would work to make you immobile, to keep you so focused on the distractions he places in your way, that you stop moving forward with me.

Don’t look to the left, and don’t look to the right. Like the blinders a horse wears I need you to be steadfastly focused straight ahead on my face. That’s where truth lies, and truth always sheds light on distraction for what it truly is.

Whether it’s overthinking a confrontation, regretting past mistakes, dwelling endlessly on a situation, or worrying about one that may happen, I realize that when I am fixated, or my mind is spinning haphazardly, I’m missing an opportunity to hear God and do His will. So here’s to looking straight ahead.

Diary of an Anxious, Overthinker

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Yeah, she seemed really nice about it, but what will she be saying behind my back? She must think I’m a loser.

My mind wandered. And when I say wandered, I mean really wandered. Like, past the confines of typical, logical thought. That was pretty much how my mind functioned, especially when it came to human interaction. I’m what you might wanna call a weirdo, or a socially-handicapped woman when it comes to relationships, especially with other women. I was the girl in high school who had a lot of guy friends, and worse, that awkward junior high kid who played with frogs and Barbies while their peers moved on to boys and blue eye shadow. I really held on to the Barbie dream house for far too long. Actually wish I had kept that thing. But I digress. 

Point is, I didn’t grow out of a lot of my awkwardness. I just carried it onward to adulthood. I was the lady sitting beside the group of cool moms at the ballgame trying to think of something clever to add to the conversation. 

Maybe just be really nice, Brie. That should work. 

“Hi. How are you today?” I ask cheerfully to the nearest mom. 

A very pregnant her replies, “I’m so hot. I’m ready to have this baby already!”

“Me too!!” I reply too eagerly, a huge grin plastered across my face. 

You’re not pregnant, moron! I chastise myself, but quickly go over how to save the conversation in my head. Yes that sounds good, Brie. 

Oh, she’s already turned around talking to that other woman. 

Is that other woman looking at me?

I’ll bet she told her what a social idiot I am. 

Plus I’m wearing my shirt from college. That was twenty years ago. Maybe they’ll think it’s vintage chic. I mean, except for the boogers. 

Just smile!

Oh God, they’re laughing now. 

Yeah, that’s me. 

Recently there was a misunderstanding between a co-worker and I. Immediately I went into panic mode. Aside from being socially inept I also hate confrontation. Loathe it, in fact. My husband is so lucky. Typically if I’m in an altercation or disagreement I will go into a mental shutdown. I never have the cool comeback when someone is a jerk. I mean, I think it. Later. After they’ve already left my sight. 

Oh yeah, well at least I have enough confidence in myself to not try and make others look stupid so I feel better about me!

Yeah, that’s so true. That’s what I should have said. Next time that’s what I’ll say. 

But aside from never getting my point across adequately I also have a tendency (make that a huge tendency) to create more of the situation than is required. Like, in a situation the person who hurts me will have probably already long forgotten our conversation. They’ve moved on, and I have too. I moved on to the part where I dwell on it for anywhere from 8-36 hours, roughly. 

Like an amusement park of emotions


I’ll replay the entire scenario. I’ll do a slo-mo play-by-play in my head. What did I do wrong, what could I have done better, and will this person now hate me forever? Will they tell all their friends to hate me?

I have gotten better at this over the years, actually. At forty I’ve reached a place where I don’t care much what people think. Unless it’s hurting my witness as a Christian it doesn’t matter much to me. But that anxious, overthinker? She’s still in there somewhere too. She’s comes out every now and again. 

And such was the case with my most recent misunderstanding with a coworker. I reached out almost immediately to explain the situation, apologize, and try to smooth things over. It only took her about five minutes to respond. Naturally those were the longest five minutes known to man. In that tiny block of time I imagined what she must be thinking about me! I imagined extended scenarios. You think I’m a writer?! You should see the stuff in my head that never comes out. It’s a cross between William Shakespeare and reality television on TLC. 

After my friend responded back quickly and kindly with understanding I felt a sweet surge of relief. Until the anxious, overthinker tried to kick in. 

Does she really mean, “no worries?”

She’s probably telling our other coworkers how stupid I am right this minute!

In my moments of accelerated ridiculousness of inner dialogue I have to talk myself off the ledge. I have to remind myself what I’ve learned about my character as it’s been molded by Christ. I have to remember I’m a daughter of the King. So if my crown gets a little crooked I just have to readjust it. And my thought processes. I’m kind of a major work in progress. Sometimes I think if I could look around in there with a flashlight I’d see a “Men at Work” construction sign. Or rather a “The Son of Man at Work” sign. 

I would like to think I’m not the anxious, overthinker I used to be. But I also know I’m not the non-anxious, level-headed thinker I need to be. I know God made me think about the world the way I do for a reason, and as I find my balance between empathy and being overly consumed by emotions I learn hopefully how to best relate to all of God’s people. That’s what I’m going with anyway. 

Until next time, world!

Gosh, they’re probably gonna think you’re stupid because of this blog, Brie. Sheesh.