Breathe

For as long as I can remember, I have always been anxious. When I was in elementary school I recall crying over spelling tests and begging my mom to let me stay home because I didn’t think I was 100% prepared to ace my exam. In middle school, I would ask teachers to hand out the test to me first because I was fidgeting in my seat and couldn’t risk losing any of the information I had studied. I was always the last one to finish an exam, but also received one of the highest grades. With my straight-A report card I brought home every couple of weeks, there was no doubt that I was smart. However, my life would have been a lot easier if someone had explained to me that all of my weekly breakdowns, chest pain, stomach aches, and test panics were too intense to be brushed off as just “bad nerves” or “over-achiever problems”. It was anxiety. I had chronic anxiety.

Similar to many disorders, anxiety is one that can sometimes go unnoticed if you aren’t aware of the signs. Growing up in a black, Christian household, anxiety wasn’t something that was discussed. I was told that if I prayed to God and truly believed in Him, then my worries would go away. This lead to years of frustration, feeling like my faith wasn’t strong enough and that God refused to rescue me from my own thoughts. I reached out to leaders within the church and their advice to me was to pray as well and to give all of my problems to God. They always made it seem so simple, yet I struggled with the concept. How do I make my thoughts slow down? How do I stop worrying about the things I can not control? It was as if I was given this secret recipe, but a key ingredient was not mentioned and I was left with a cake that wouldn’t rise in the oven.

Looking back on my primary education, I was truly set up for failure. Not only did no one explain to me what anxiety was, I was simply given extra time on tests without a conversation as to why I may need that time in the first place. I was often seen as indecisive and very meticulous about my work. While not false, this was not the true root cause. It was anxiety. As a result of my anxiety going untreated, I struggled most of my college career because I had to adjust to performing at a high level under new conditions. I was unaware that my condition qualified me to receive extra time on exams and that there were counselors available to assist me. As you may have guessed, my grades suffered. There were times I knew the information and had studied many late nights, attended countless office hours, went to tutorial centers, and even helped others that struggled in my study groups. I had private tutors tell me that they didn’t understand how I scored poorly on an exam when I seemed to grasp the information. After a handful of failed exams and feeling on edge 24/7, I decided to reach out for help. I had never heard of anyone in my family going to a therapist/psychologist. All I knew were the stigmas surrounding mental health and that black people weren’t supposed to have these problems–that was reserved for my non-melanin infused counterparts. However, this couldn’t be further from the truth.

Mental health issues can affect anyone and everyone. It does not discriminate based on your age nor race/ethnicity. While various demographics and even genetics can make you more prone to suffer from certain mental health disorders, it’s crucial to know that having a particular identity does not make you immune to all problems. Also, mental health is just as important, if not more import than physical health. Your mental health affects how you think, feel, and act. When you hurt your arm or have a fever, people tell you to go to the doctor. Yet, there is a stigma surrounding those who seek help for their mental state. Your brain deserves the same love and treatment that you give to other organs in your body! Seeking help does not mean that you are crazy. When life gets hard, it is completely ok to seek professional help to talk through your emotions. Honestly, even if life is going great, it is valid to still talk to a therapist. I have found that saying things aloud helps me realize how my behaviors are often rooted in past experiences of hurt. Acknowledging these behaviors allows me to work towards having a healthier outlook on life and correct behaviors that I do not want to one day pass onto my future kids. I learned more about myself in those intimate moments with my therapist and found comfort in someone else giving me the space to just be. There was no need to justify my feelings. I could simply be content with the exuberant smile I carried for the last few hours or the tears that flowed.

It was not until my senior year of college that I realized my emotions were suffocating me indefinitely. It was made clear by my therapist that I had performance/test anxiety and after multiple sessions I had found methods that helped me stay relatively calm during moments of intense stress. However, after having an episode where I panicked in public and needed a friend to come help me stand on my feet, I knew that I needed more help. Sleep was no longer an escape. I was haunted by my own crippling anxiety, even in moments meant to bring me pure joy. I stayed busy in hopes that planning for large conferences and organizing events would enable me to escape my own misery. My high-functioning anxiety eventually caught up with me. I perpetually operated with high anxiety, leaving me in a place where I was barely functioning.

Soon, I hit a wall.

This wall felt more like being thrown at 96 mph towards a pile of sharp, metal objects and having people tell me I was fine as I bled out. I felt like I was constantly falling and every time I tried to stand up, the floor was ripped from beneath me and I was stumbling to catch my balance all over again. I was caught in a whirlwind of doubts and unrequited grief after the loss of loved ones. I was overcome by waves of worry that left me gasping for air.

I. COULD. NOT. BREATHE.

“What would you say to a friend who said they had trouble reading words right in front of them? Would you tell them that they should squint harder? Would you tell them that their eyes were probably fine and that their perceived lack of 20/20 vision was merely a fault in their faith? Or would you just tell them to get glasses or to check out contact lenses?” This was the start of a very important conversation I had with my beloved therapist. It was about the possibility of me taking medication for my recent diagnosis. I had a generalized anxiety disorder, or GAD.

I feared medication, because I thought that I would become addicted or be prescribed something that took away my ability to feel any emotion at all. But mostly, I feared that medication was a sign that I was weak and not strong enough to handle my anxiety on my own. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be a good Christian and that I was telling God He wasn’t enough for me; that He could do everything except fix my current situation. However, this small example of a friend needing glasses offered me a new perspective. If someone is physically hurt, there’s often no stigma around going to the doctor for help or taking medication. When it comes to mental health, I now believe that the same treatment should be given. It was ok if I had needed medication to help reduce anxiety. I was reassured that medication was helping to “level the playing field” and allow my natural coping mechanisms (singing in the gospel choir, running, dancing, etc.) to actually be effective. I was informed that medication was not the sole answer to my problems either, because I still had to utilize the additional methods I had learned throughout therapy. This began another chapter of my life with anxiety. And this time, I no longer saw myself as a victim, but an overcomer.

Despite the stories I had been told, my psychiatrist did not force me to take medication nor tried to prescribe me a highly addictive substance. Instead, I was given options and allowed an opportunity to ask questions. My psychiatrist gave honest answers and encouraged me to even do research on my own before making a decision. I was told that even if I purchased the medication, I still was not required to take it. For the first time in a awhile, I felt in control of my own mental health.

As expected, I was faced with discouragement and backlash from my close family when I disclosed that I was considering medication. I knew that they had good intentions, but were ill-informed. Upon completion of my own online research as well as discussions with friends who were also taking medication for anxiety-induced problems, I made my decision. I knew how I felt and knew that I needed additional help. I had reached a dark place in which I was desperate for anything and anyone to take me away from the constant agony and anxiety I had over things that I could not change. I was accustomed to living life in a constant state of anxiety, that even when I had seemingly no worries (food, rent, clothes, school/graduation, job, good health etc.), I still felt uneasy and worried. There were times where I could not even pinpoint what I was worried about, but felt extremely tense and would begin hyperventilating. How does one pray to God about a problem that you can’t identify? This is a good time to give you more insight into how my faith played into my recovery.

I wrestled with God, legit yelling and crying out to Him in anger. I didn’t understand why I was placed into various situations and why I had abruptly lost loved ones. And I certainly didn’t understand how I was supposed to receive peace in the midst of the storms that seemed too hard for me to bare. I felt hopeless, especially since the very people I would ask to pray for me would invalidate my anxiety and tell me that I shouldn’t worry. Now if I was hurt and bleeding, I bet they wouldn’t tell me to just stop bleeding. Why? It does not help! The same goes for anxiety– telling someone with anxiety to stop worrying does absolutely nothing. Instead, be patient and just ask if you are unsure how to help rather than invalidating someone’s feelings. I believed in God and knew very well that He would provide and come through. It was the uncertainty of when and how that left me perplexed and often stressed. A sermon preached by Pastor Steven Furtick from Elevation Church, entitled “Why Am I Anxious?”, gave me hope. It was the first time I did not feel shamed by a pastor for feeling anxious. I had hope that some of the anxiety I was fraught with was common among other believers and that there were practical things I can do in my faith to overcome them. Pastor Futick mentioned that the bible never said that we wouldn’t be anxious, but the key is to not stay in anxiety. What I learned was to be mindful of my INTAKE and that I can’t pray anxiety away while still consuming every lie that the enemy tells me. It was suggested to keep a thought log and to feed your faith through scripture (and for me, this includes lots of belting gospel songs) so that you can make room for the peace God wants to give. Secondly, check for IMBALANCE. What you devote your time to and give weight to can easily contaminate your spirit. Do not focus on what others may think of you or what someone else is doing on social media. Take breaks and log off if you need to. Next, be mindful of INDECISION. You will live in a constant state of imprisonment to your own indecision since options gives us more opportunities for anxiety. In my life, I have had to constantly practice and force myself to just make a decision. For those that know me, I can spend forever deciding what to eat. I now have peace knowing that even a wrong decision will not deter God’s ultimate plan for my life. And when I make a hard decision and am left with peace, I know that God is with me every step of the way. The last point I want to mention from this sermon that really spoke to me was about INTENTION. Stepping out of the center and shifting your intention to can help reduce anxiety. Instead of wondering why someone didn’t speak to you, challenge yourself to recognize that sometimes people may be facing battles of their own in which they were so consumed with themselves to even notice you. In conclusion, God had not left me and wanted to extend his full peace to me. To this day, I still struggle with anxiety and have my moments where I wonder when God is coming to my rescue. It’s no longer a question as to whether or not He will show up. I find comfort knowing that He brought me through before and will continue (Philippians 1:6) to do so. Although I no longer take medication, I do not look at that period of my life as I time where I had given up on my faith. The medicine was an additional tool that helped me manage, along with the countless prayers, scripture reciting and meditation, and singing.

Now, I would like to leave you with a list of things I have learned throughout my battle with anxiety that have helped me cope. Please note that I am NOT a licensed psychologist and am no way asking you to abide by this list as the answer to any problems that you may face. There is no one-size fits all when it comes to anxiety. Instead, I hope that this list may be added as a supplement and provides assurance that you are not alone.

With love and light,

Kai