Anxiety: My Worry Box

I have found it. And I have opened it. It was scary. But that has changed everything.

You see, I have this imaginary box. In it I keep all manner of scary things, things that promise me harm. It throbs with foreboding. It rumbles. It keeps calling out to me with veiled threats.

So what is in this box? In general terms, this box contains things that will harm me unless I do something. Maybe I need to save money, fix something, do maintenance, have a difficult conversation, get disciplined, get specific direction from God, read a book, follow up with someone, plan something.

This box holds all those things that steal my joy. I know they are in there, but I dare not open the box. I could never cope with the crushing weight of so many problems and situations crying out for action. I keep the lid on the box, knowing that's the only way I can be safe. I preserve myself by ignoring the box, hoping it will just go away. Or at least be quiet for a while.

It's like the monster under the bed. Its existence haunts me. It rules my soul. Sounds from within it get my attention. It reminds me that I certainly must be scared. Now. I dare not let my guard down. I could not handle the catastrophe that would ensue. I would surely die, or be broke, or friendless, unemployed, miserable, a failure, humiliated, worthless.

Even when I deal with one of the items, I merely crack the box open enough to pull it out, refusing to look at the countless other burdens preying on my mind.

But now, with some considerable courage, I have dared to recognize this box for what it is. It is a huge deception, a bluff. When I do look in the box to see all those menacing problems, I realize that there is very little substance there. I look at the problems one by one and see that they are mostly empty. At worst they are complicated, but never unmanageable. Almost always they are no actual threat to me. When a truly unmanageable problem arises, I can trust that God is already handling it.

"He will have no fear of bad news; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the Lord." Psalm 112:7.

Now I can laugh at the box. I can experience real joy. I can face those things that threatened me. I can stop putting off the tasks that I dread. They will not crush me.

What a relief!

What's in your box?

Rock Bottom for Worriers

Twelve-steppers know that real change for addicts only happens when one reaches rock bottom. How low can you go? You only know when you reach that lowest possible place in your life. You can no longer fight. You can only give up. The consequences of your actions have become so severe that you can no longer pass the blame off on someone else. You finally own your problem.

When you are down, flat on your back, you have nowhere to look but up. You are helpless, crying out for help, because you can no longer handle it.

An alcoholic may reach rock bottom when she has killed another driver. A drug addict may get there when his crack buddy dies of an overdose. A sex addict may get there when he contracts an STD.

What if you are addicted to worry? What could cause you to reach rock bottom?

Some worriers are fixers. You worry about things until you figure out how to fix them. Then you worry until your fix them. Or you worry until the situation blows over. Or you worry until some other hero comes in to save the day.

Worry has seemed to work for you. If you didn't worry, everything would fall apart. Other people should thank you for worrying. But they rarely do.

You rationalize: Your worry is not hurting anyone else. You can stop anytime you want. Everybody worries about something. You deserve to worry because of all your responsibility. It's just your temperament to worry.

Is there a 12-Step program for worriers? Is it an addiction?

Worriers can reach rock bottom. It hurts. It is depressing. Rock bottom comes with a circumstance that is completely beyond your control, so severe that there is no way out and no turning back.

You finally realize that your worry won't help. (It never has, but you've never admitted that.)

You realize that your effort cannot fix it.

You are finally flat on your back, powerless, forced to look up.

God loves you enough to allow you to face that rock bottom. He is freeing you from your addiction to worry. Not over your worry yet? Then this is not rock bottom.

Look out.

How funny were you?

Yesterday I heard a radio DJ talking about a creative kind of "concert."  There is a troup of daring folks who tour the country hosting events in which they present on stage readings of poetry.  In these events, the performers read their own poetry, written when they were teenagers.  They read their own poetry, or prose, and sing the songs they wrote, and they invite the audience to join them in laughing at themselves.  It sounds like a riot.

To make it more engaging, they invite the audience to bring their own teenage creative works and share them  from the stage.  Every evening presents fresh, raw insights into human nature and the angst of teenage-hood.

I wish I could remember more of my teenage thoughts.  I will have to look through my old journals, dating back to probably age 17; before that, I don't think I wrote down anything but school assignments.  (And some of those make me laugh, too.)  If I did write anything, I'm sure it's a hoot.

In the teen years, everything seems so intense; every turn of events feels like life or death (OK, especially for the girls).  In a few years, those turns of fate look like the turning of the leaves--no big deal, bound to happen.  And we can laugh at ourselves.

So, at the end of our lives, or even in heaven, I wonder what we will look back on and laugh.

I cared about that job?  I wanted to buy that car?  I fretted over that bill?  I let that criticism bother me?  I thought that mistake would wreck my life?  I worried over that tragedy that never happened? I stayed up all night to prepare for that meeting?

I want to go ahead and laugh now.