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Anxiety

Writer's picture: Justin Scoggins, Th.D.Justin Scoggins, Th.D.

Updated: May 10, 2023

Anxiety is weird.

In full disclosure, I’m fairly new on this journey. While I have probably had anxiety my whole life…I self-medicated for years. It also looks different for folks, which makes it weirder. More recently, I have worked out, prayed, and kept moving to mitigate the symptoms and the constant buzzing (for lack of a better term) that would go on in my head. 1 in 3 struggle with anxiety and 1 in 6 are medicated for it, if recent studies hold true. Anxiety has been a part of human existence since our beginning.

Anxiety is necessary. In a healthy space, it can push us to accomplish and get stuff done. It triggers the fight or flight response in our brains and we respond accordingly. There are times when I can look and see where anxiety has helped me meet deadlines, make quick decisions, and focus. More recently, it has made me shrink. I’m not a small guy. But there have been days when I would curl up behind a desk at work or in the fetal position at home. My wife has had to rub me like a puppy. I’ve not been able to focus. My temper has been short with my boys. I have had a couple of panic attacks. Blood pressure and heart rate increase and other health issues. It’s been weird. I cut down caffeine by over half and increased my workouts. Nothing helped this time. Since June of 2022, there has been this growing wave of anxiousness washing over me. Weird fears and obsessive thoughts. Legit mind messing with weirdness in the brain. I finally told my wife that I needed to see a doctor.

St John of the Cross coined the phrase “Dark Night of the Soul”. And it has had a resurgence since the pandemic began. In simplistic terms, it feels as though you’ve been abandoned by God. It’s dark. Spiritually dry and emotionally distant. Everything that you think you knew is called into question and you feel insane. I’ve been here for the past 4 or 5 months. At some point, we will all walk through some version of this. It’s a miserable place. However, the existence of darkness means the existence of light. St John of the Cross in his poem:

“I remained, lost in oblivion; My face reclined on the Beloved. All ceased and I abandoned myself, Leaving my cares forgotten among the lilies.”


One of my favorite pieces of art (pictured below) is by Craig Hawkins

(https://www.craighawkinsart.com/). This is from the series he titles “Superventions”. This one, in particular, is “Supervention 13”. Hawkins describes this series as: “depicts figures veiled by visual manifestations of thoughts or seemingly important responsibilities. The manifestations represent anything without eternal significance that gets in the way of our ability to see reality, to see, and to set priorities in an appropriate hierarchy. These are supervening thoughts, questions, worries, concerns, anxieties, pleasures, distractions, and rabbit trails we consume on an hourly basis.” It is a perfect visual representation of how I have felt (and still do on some days).

One of the hardest things has been holding on to a faith that I can’t feel. I can look around and see and experience the goodness of Christ; I can even rationalize the reality of Christ. I am well aware that I am abundantly blessed with the life that I have. Anxiety doesn’t care about my awareness. The truth is, I’ve felt like I’ve been grasping at straws trying to hold onto anything that would resemble firm footing in a faith that has become my existence. The best thing I have done is walk around with an orthodox prayer rope in my pocket and pray “Christ have mercy” and I rub the knots. In this darkness, I have kept hoping in Christ. It’s all I have. Some days it feels like it’s enough, other days it feels pointless. On the bad days, it feels like pieces of me are dying. What is interesting is that I have become ok with these pieces dying. Because maybe that’s what has to happen so I can get back to Christ and ‘abide in his love’.

I’m having to learn how to be loved by Christ, who I’ve given my life to. Learning to move that thought from rationality to truly allowing him space in my spirit and being. It’s tough. Having to be vulnerable and open with my wounds on display is gut-wrenching for me. But I have to trust my caretaker and the fact that my wounds are healed in his. I have to learn and hope in that. Henri Nouwen wrote:

“Each little step toward the center seemed like an impossible demand, a demand requiring me to let go one more time from wanting to be in control, to give up one more time the desire to predict life, to die one more time to the fear of not knowing where it all will lead, and to surrender one more time to a love that knows no limits. And still, I knew that I would never be able to live the great commandment to love without allowing myself to be loved without conditions and prerequisites. The journey from teaching about love to allowing myself to be loved proved much larger than I realized."

So look, if you’re dealing with this weirdness, keep taking these little steps. Go see a medical professional to figure out what’s the best route for you. For whatever it’s worth, light exists in spite of the darkness and as you claw and reach for the light, others are with you in the search too. The loneliness of anxiety is a flat-out lie. There is a very human God who has shared in these experiences (even anxiety) and struggles. They were buried with him and overcome in resurrection giving us hope that there is more to reality than the darkness we experience. In the searching, there is grace upon grace in the fullness of Christ, always grace and forever mercy.



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Artwork credit: The Last Supper, Sadao Watanabe ,1977

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