In the middle of the night, I shot up out of bed. Heart racing. Sweat across my upper lip. I was dying. I knew I was dying. Some dark evil creature wrapped its claws around my beating heart and squeezed. Thump. THUMP. THUMP.
I KNEW that if I fell asleep I was not going to wake up again. My heart was going to stop and they were going to find me cold and still in my sheets. Must stay awake. MUST keep my eyes open. MUST survive. My family needs me.
As my husband snored beside me, I desperately pleaded with God to let me live. I begged God to remember my children and to preserve their hearts by keeping me in their lives. I don’t want to screw them up by dying when they’re still so young. I know too many young people who are forever changed by the loss of a parent. Tears streamed down my face and I repeated over and over and over “Not yet. Please.”
When my alarm went off at 5am and I woke up, my first thought was “Thank God. Not yet.”
Why? Why would this happen to me on a perfectly normal day in a perfectly normal month. No anniversary nearby. No special reminders of a lost loved one or anything…just a Sunday night. I wasn’t sad or stressed going to bed the night before. I wasn’t sad or stressed after I woke up. I just had a blip in the middle of the night where my anxiety controlled me – body and soul. This hadn’t happened in months. Maybe a year. What was so special about this night?
Grief doesn’t work like that. Grief doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t follow your rules and it doesn’t follow my rules. Grief works in random ways on random days. Anxiety is the same way. It doesn’t follow any logical course and it certainly doesn’t show up only when you’re ready for it. I am a grown woman with a healthy spiritual life, a strong faith, a beautiful family and glorious marriage and I still struggle with the anxiety of life. I still struggle with my grief.
There are still moments where my heart can’t handle the desperate sadness and struggle it feels even while it’s singing because of the incredible love of an all powerful God. Those things are not mutually exclusive. I can be sure that God is good and sovereign and still be anxious for what that means for his plan in my life. Christ demonstrates this for us in Matthew 26, where he admits he is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death, but then accepts God’s will in the next verse:
37 He took Peter and the two sons of Zebedee along with him, and he began to be sorrowful and troubled. 38 Then he said to them, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.” 39 Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.”
Matthew 26:37-39 (NIV)
Here’s the thing. Let’s take this to another level. It is easy to assume that this type of experience is unique to me and my grief/anxiety journey, but that would be wrong. In my grief and anxiety student group the very next day, one high school student admitted (without me sharing my story) that she woke up crying in the middle of the night and there was a chorus of “Me too!” in reply. Then several students admitted that they regularly have frightening dreams where they are shot/attacked/chased/killed or attend their own funerals. That they stay up half the night trying not to fall asleep or trying desperately to fall asleep again after waking up sweaty and scared. These teenagers don’t have the years I do, but they experience many of the same thoughts and fears that I do. What about the kids who struggle with this in silence?
So what is the answer? Or better yet, what is the question? How do we help those who wake up panicking in the middle of the night? How do we equip young people to deal with life circumstances that screw up even the healthy adults? How should the church be responding to mental health issues in a way that acknowledges its prevalence? How does knowing the struggle change the way we treat ALL people? What is the solution? There is so much to unpack here and no easy answers.
If this is you, talk to someone. Someone you trust. Someone who loves you. Hand over your burdens to someone who is willing to hold you up underneath of it. Maybe a therapist?
If this is someone you know, BE that person to trust. Show them love. Non-judgmental, open-minded, patient, never-ending, unconditional love. Encourage them to go to therapy. These relationships will be hard. Loving us will be emotionally expensive. It will be tiring and confusing and gut wrenching. But worth it. Not a magic cure – just a move in the right direction.
In the meantime, while we wait for Christ to return and set things right, just be extra patient with me if I look like I was up half the night. Give extra grace to that weepy senior in the back corner of your classroom. Hug your difficult child extra tight. Use every opportunity to love those around you. I’m working on this too. Hold me accountable.
Ephesians 4:2
Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.
Curdled Like Cheese 