A Vague Sense of Unease

The waters closed in over me; the deep surrounded me;
weeds were wrapped around my head at the roots of the mountains.
I went down to the land whose bars closed upon me for ever;
yet you brought up my life from the Pit, O Lord my God. 

                                                          Jonah 2:5-6

Some days I wake up and the world’s a good place. I stretch and smile and thank God for another day. I may lie around a few minutes longer than I’m supposed to, but I’m ready for the day, trusting that God is in charge.

From there, the day isn't necessarily splendid. Work may press on me. I get caught up in maintenance instead of ministry. Kay and I have a rub. I miss the mark too much. But in the end, it’s a good day.

Other days I wake up feeling like there’s a weight resting on me. I still stretch. I thank God for another day, if I remember, but I don’t smile. Lingering in bed may take the form of hiding. At breakfast, Kay asks a couple times how I’m doing. This is a clue in for me, as she's an astute daughter and sometimes realizes I’m having trouble before I’m aware myself.

This was me a couple weeks ago when I read Emma Gray’s description of her own anxiety: “When you feel as though you have a small child made of frenetic negative energy trying to beat her way out of your body.” She could have been talking about me.

Anxiety disorders are the most common mental illnesses in the U.S., affecting 18% of the population. And, women are twice as likely to be affected by Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), Panic Disorder, and Specific Phobias.

Online research plus time spent with a counselor indicate that my anxiety is a personal challenge, but not a disorder. Karen Swartz, from the Johns Hopkins Mood Disorders Center, says the big difference between worry and GAD is the frequency of the symptoms. People with GAD worry 5 hours a day while those without worry about an hour a day. My "challenge" is taxing enough but I feel for people who live with the disorder – to doubt and anguish over things five hours a day!

What can I do to stand in solidarity with strangers I may never meet? The only answer I have is to challenge the mental illness stigma. I want to be whole and healthy. Don't we all?

Silence is what keeps the stigma alive. The stigma keeps people from seeking treatment. I've been silent about too many things in my life. I will do so no longer. Would you join me?

I’m thankful for my health, but still I wonder about that girl inside, vibrating with sorrow, who every so often breaks through to the surface of my consciousness.

• Did it start with the bullying in junior high? Does it matter when it began? 
• How can I care for this creature, validate her so that she doesn't feel the need to wreak havoc in my days? 

I've worked on this last one – having an interior conversation to find out what this piece of me needs. My most vulnerable selves seem to be the 4-year-old creative child, dependent on others and scared by uncertainty, and the 6-year-old who has learned the rules but not yet learned finesse. We “talk.” I affirm. My results have been mixed – sometimes helping a lot, sometimes not at all – but good enough that I'll try again another time.