FINDING BRAVE :: CHAPTER TWO

*Did you miss CHAPTER ONE?

The Assured Agoraphobic

For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power 

and of love and of a sound mind.” 2 Timothy 1:7

We moved to another state shortly after the birth of our first child. With everything I was feeling, it seemed like the worst possible idea. It would involve leaving everything I had known, to acclimate to a new city, home, and church.  My husband, Brian had accepted the invitation to serve as a Youth Pastor at a small, charming church in the beautiful state of Tennessee. There was no way I could have known how this time in our life would contribute to the mending of my mind.  It was here that I learned to take baby steps towards bravery.  It was the loving people in our church who would hold our hearts and our hands as we navigated the journey to healing.

Even the most timid of characters can at times put on a brave face, and enter into the drama of life with an assured demeanor.  Some of us are even experts in the field of this kind of helpful hypocrisy. I excelled in this exercise.  I was once told that I deserved an Oscar for my acting, because my friends had no idea I was struggling.  My friends have informed me that even during that time I came across assured, confident, and focused.  

Those traits were the furthest thing from reality the evening we arrived in the charming town of Clinton, TN.  My heart was pounding as we drove up to what would be our new apartment, and immediately spent time with our new parishioners.  They were there to help us move in, and then spend the rest of the evening eating and begin getting to know each other a little.

I suppose it was a blessing that my allergies went into hyperactive mode, since they required me to ingest an antihistamine to help counteract my symptoms.  My anxiety soon turned into medication induced apathy, as I struggled to stay awake.  I sat, trying to have a conversation with the people we had arrived to minister to.  I laugh now at the first impression I must have been making!

In the weeks that followed, I was able to settle into our new life with a certain level of success.  I required help going to the grocery store, and making it to my appointments, but there was a reassuring peace that settled over me.  Our little town was forgiving and kind. It seemed like the perfect location for healing.

I can remember nights when I would sit in bed, filling the pages of my journal with reflections about my state of mind,  praying that God would continue to deliver me.  I had days when I felt that I was making progress with my emotions, and other days when I would recoil in fear from the smallest of tasks.

Some of the hardest days were Sundays.  I loved our church and the people in it, and yet there were weeks when I felt like I couldn’t stand the thought of being surrounded by even a small crowd of churchgoers. They were so sweet, but I was equally scared. I was terrified of normal life; afraid to tell the truth about who I was. I was always stuffing my feelings down -- pretending that the lump in my throat was only a figment of my imagination. I spent every church function hiding the truth about why I didn’t want to participate, or doing my best to barely make it through.

I was the assured agoraphobic.  I crafted a demeanor that exuded courage and confidence, while living in fearful expectation that something terrible was going to happen.  

I never wanted to leave my home, unless I was sure of the outcome.  My heart pounded, and my breath came haltingly as I pulled out of the driveway and made my way into the sleepy community.  Some days I could only handle one store, one appointment, one visit.  Any more than that would leave me exhausted and on edge.  I was always prepared for the worst, convinced that if it could happen to anyone, it would happen to me. I was excruciatingly self-aware -- noticing every unusual sound, unfamiliar ache, and uninvited sensation that coursed through my surroundings, whether body or mind.

It was during this time that I cried out to God for deliverance.  And, I counted each trip to town without a panic attack as a certified victory.  My heart would leap with excitement when I realized I was able to have lunch with a friend without escaping to catch my breath in the privacy of the bathroom.  I could function in my fear.  I could manage my misery. I could live.

Sometimes you just need to know that you can survive.  Even though you may be struggling to wake up and live your version of normal, it has to be enough to just emerge each day, a little more victorious than the last.  I didn’t know at that time that showing up was brave enough. That climbing up a mountain of uncertainty was courageous.  I was so focused on the things I thought I couldn’t do, that I missed noticing what God was giving me the strength to do.

What I didn’t realize then was that a certain amount of mask wearing is normal, and even encouraged.  We don’t want to enter every single social function with all of our insecurities and messiness of life out there for everyone to see.  We’ve all been around those people who spill every negative part of their life when you ask a simple “how are you?”

I would never advocate for that type of transparency. The kind where everyone around you is aware of every tragic detail in your life.  There is a time and place for those kind of conversations, but spilling all the bad parts of our lives on every unsuspecting individual that approaches us is not encouraged, or socially acceptable. 

On the flip side, more often than not, we tend to pull all the negative parts of our lives inside, hiding them from the viewing public.  Even our closest friends are not aware of the intensely personal battles we are fighting.  That kind of mask wearing is not or ever should be encouraged. True healing isn't possible until we drag the pain and suffering into the light and destroy its power.

At that point, I didn’t feel comfortable saying the words… “I have agoraphobia.” “I am struggling with panic disorder.” “I can’t go to the grocery store without hyperventilating.” “I wake up many nights in a cold sweat, and have no idea why.”

My desire for others to perceive me as a confident person, overwhelmed my desire to be free.  I would rather pretend than let the walls come down and allow vulnerability to rule the day. And the cost of keeping silent was high. I was never completely myself. I would paint a smile when I should have let the tears flow.  I would hide away in my home, when I should have been throwing the door open wide, and escaping to the beautiful place of transparency where I would find the support of my truest friends.

I remember one evening at a women’s retreat that took all my courage to attend.  I was discussing life with a good friend of mine.  In the quiet of our hotel room, I summoned enough courage to tell her a little part of my story.  I let her see a glimpse of the real me.  That tiny bit of transparency was liberating.  If only I would have continued down that road a little further.  In telling only a part of the truth, I continued to feed the lie, because I wouldn’t be completely honest. Looking back, I see that my exhilaration at telling even a small part of the truth was short-lived.  I found myself right back where I had started. Lying to others, and most tragically, lying to myself.

I was a masterful artist at living this agoraphobic life. I knew how to paint a vivid picture for the world to see. And that masterpiece cleverly disguised the tones of grey that hid underneath. I was an artful deceiver in a clever disguise.

But the disguise wasn’t working well.  It’s easy to fake people out for a few hours maybe, but that kind of hidden life is not sustainable over time.  Each time I displayed vulnerability, my armor began to crack. Suddenly, being myself felt less like an option, and more like a necessity. All the while knowing if I let the fear creep out and show it’s ugly face, there would be no hiding again. “They’ll know my secret, and will never view me as brave again,” I told myself.

If you find yourself in a similar situation, I encourage you to rid yourself of the disguise.  Run, don’t walk, towards a place of vulnerability and openness with the people who know you best.  Don’t be afraid to tell them what you are feeling. Don’t let the fear of misunderstanding keep you from living an authentic life. Your sanity is worth far more than someone’s perception of you. It doesn’t matter.  They don’t  live your life.  They don’t endure the pain you experience daily. More times than not, the humans who surround you will step up to the plate, lending you the empathy you so desperately need. Because we all have unique stories that sound similar.

The people we see each week are fighting their own battles. Or, they have fought similar battles, and many of them have won. The experiences that shaped them, and the reactions they learned to cultivate can be life-changing for you!

Wouldn’t you know that as soon as I began to share those hidden pieces, I discovered that nobody actually cared that I struggled with agoraphobia.  They literally didn’t care. It was such a relief. They were sympathetic, and even sometimes expressed that they too had gone through a similar period of time. There was no judgement; no condemnation. There was only varying levels of understanding.

This realization brought freedom. There is power in the knowledge that each one of us has parts we keep hidden, and that perfection is never actually underneath the disguise we so carefully maintain.