As the church continues to discuss how better to serve those struggling with mental illness, I'm pleased to share this personal story from Samuel Ogles. Sam powerfully tells how he found hope and healing from a serious anxiety disorder, offering a little practical wisdom for leaders. – Paul
I had my first real panic attack in a Big Boy restaurant my junior year of high school.
I used to think that I just didn't like change. New places and experiences made me uncomfortable. When I would go to a restaurant on a date I would get nervous. "Everyone gets nervous on dates," people told me. What I couldn't tell them was that I got so nervous, I couldn't even touch my food. I got so nervous that I was afraid I'd vomit or pass out or run screaming from the restaurant. I know now that the "fight or flight" response of a panic attack will do that to you. But it wasn't until college that I learned the name for what was happening to me: Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD). Panic attacks.
Dominated by fear
Anxiety takes one difficult hurdle and projects a thousand more just like it into your future. What started as one reaction to an isolated incident becomes the script for your whole life.
For the next five years, I experienced severe anxiety every time I went to a restaurant. That's the power of anxiety—it takes one difficult hurdle and projects a thousand more just like it into your future. What started as one reaction to an isolated incident becomes the script for your whole life. Your thoughts take over and "you do it to yourself." On a primal level, having an anxiety disorder means that you're dominated by fear—irrational fear of a particular something, though that something can be anything from traveling on airplanes, to social situations, to (vicious cycle here) fear of panic attacks themselves. Personally, my anxiety mainly centered around two issues: breaking out of my routine, and eating in front of other people.
It became painfully visible when I started college. On a meal plan, I had to eat in the dining hall with hundreds of other students. I didn't eat a full meal in one sitting for two months.
By the end of my first year of college, I realized that what I was experiencing wasn't just some quirk. It was debilitating—and I couldn't enjoy things that I had previously looked forward to—trips with friends, concerts, dates, being a normal student. I saw a college therapist. She was the first person to give my experiences a name, and diagnose me with an anxiety disorder. Once I started connecting the dots, I could trace small instances of anxiety all the way back to childhood. The first time I remember it happening, I was only five. As I grew up, the anxiety got worse. By late high school, I was experiencing anxiety attacks on a regular basis—though I didn't understand what they were at the time.
No instant cure
I should note that for a few blessed souls, simply learning that what they've been experiencing is anxiety, that it's "all in their head," is an instant cure. But I wasn't one of them.
I went through one therapist, then another, and another. By my fourth therapist I was 20 years old and living with my aunt and uncle for the summer between my sophomore and junior years of college. My aunt and uncle were gracious to host me, but perhaps that generosity isn't so surprising when your uncle is a Baptist minister.
I wish I could say that the summer was great, but it wasn't. Somehow, knowing that I had an anxiety disorder made things worse. Before, anxious moments just sort of happened. Once I knew that they were caused by my own obsessive worry, though, I couldn't stop myself from having those thoughts. Tracing the same thought patterns over and over trains your brain. By that point it becomes a rut and I felt that I couldn't break free.
I spiraled downward. I was attending therapy and on anti-depressants (often used to treat anxiety) but my world was shrinking. I became depressed. I couldn't do anything without having to fight a panic attack. I turned to God for comfort—like I had been this whole time—but my pleas became more desperate.
How was I going to fix this? I wasn't. I couldn't. I needed help.
Seeking guidance, seeking identity
One in four people who seek help for a mental illness will turn to a member of the clergy. In fact, pastors are more likely to be sought out than medical doctors or even psychiatrists. In my own story, I wanted to seek help from my church, but I was embarrassed and ashamed of my condition. Without really knowing why, I didn't think my church leaders would be sensitive to it. Today, thank God, that's becoming less and less likely.
Rick Warren's Saddleback Church, the Roman Catholic Diocese of Orange, and the National Alliance on Mental Illness of Orange County co-sponsored the "Gathering on Mental Health and the Church" in March of this year in order to raise awareness about mental health issues that affect Christians and non-Christians alike. The church is starting to realize not only the depth but the degree to which people within their walls are affected by mental illness. The numbers are much higher than we've known (America magazine reports that more people die now by suicide than by auto accidents), and anxiety and depression are some of the most common ailments.
Before my anxiety, I thought that I was Samuel Ogles: yes, proud Christian, but also student activist, cool musician, politics-junkie, leader of tomorrow, and so on. All of my own identity markers seemed so real—giant lifelines I could grasp onto at any time for support. It wasn't until I was in a true crisis that I realized just how useless they were. The ropes were in reach, but the more you pulled on them, the more you realized that the other end wasn't anchored to anything; it just kept giving way. I was left drowning. And the summer of my depression, I thought I was taking my last breaths. "Death is an imaginary loss of an imaginary self," says Franciscan contemplative Richard Rohr. When your life falls apart and your illusions about yourself have faded, you realize just how right he is.
But God met me there.
The depthless water
We don't have to be controlled by fear, and stepping out in faith is the way to freedom. … It wasn't easy. In fact, it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But it was a true way to live.
One of my mother's favorite preachers is Joyce Meyer. One day during a televised sermon, Meyer was talking about fear and a friend she knew who was dealing with extreme anxiety. Meyer said she gave her friend a simple piece of advice: "Do it afraid." We don't have to be controlled by fear, and stepping out in faith is the way to freedom. Hearing that changed my perspective entirely, and I decided to act—as much as I could—out of faith rather than fear.
It wasn't easy. In fact, it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But it was a true way to live, and it even echoed my therapist's advice. Through that wisdom in a sermon, through the prayers of my pastor uncle and the worship and presence of my church, I realized that God would be present with me in my journey toward wholeness, especially in my moments of suffering. Doing it afraid was the practical way out, and it brought me closer than ever to God.
In hindsight, I was fortunate to get the help I needed through therapy by a trained psychiatric professional (a solution I highly recommend to anyone facing mental health issues). But I also experienced tremendous spiritual growth alongside my treatment. Yes, I needed therapy, but I also needed God, and I was desperate for him to speak to me. I asked my pastor uncle and his wife to pray for me. I nearly cried every time my own church prayed "free us from all anxiety" in our liturgy because even though it wasn't a gesture to me personally, it was an acknowledgment of my pain.
Anxiety is a profound inversion of grace. When you suffer from anxiety, you feel completely helpless, and yet you have to acknowledge that you are controlling your thoughts. With life we want to be in control of everything and yet grace teaches us that we are helpless to save ourselves. I imagine this is why the AA program requires its members who hit rock bottom to admit both that they have no control and that they need a higher power to sustain them.
Pastors pray for Christians to be this hungry for truth, this open to the message of redemption, in the position to experientially learn that God saves. The church can't guarantee any quick fixes or magic formulas, but she can walk in compassion and solidarity alongside those struggling with anxiety and depression.
Through my anxiety and depression, I found that suffering has an inherent way of opening us up to reality—God—because everything else is quickly revealed as insufficient and ephemeral.
Through my anxiety and depression, I found that suffering has an inherent way of opening us up to reality—God—because everything else is quickly revealed as insufficient and ephemeral. We come face to face with our weaknesses and simply must fall into the arms of something, someone, larger than ourselves. Many people struggling with anxiety and depression are primed for this lesson.
The church has not only the obligation but the opportunity to meet those suffering from anxiety and depression in their pain and helplessness. She met me there. No, we cannot require our faith to do the work of psychology any more than we can expect our faith to replace medical care. But our faith can work alongside other disciplines to offer God's comfort and meaning to our experiences.
My depression subsided when I started getting help, and my anxiety is really only a small part of my life now. I dislike using the term "cured." I'm not "cured," but anxiety in no way defines me or keeps me from life. I haven't had a panic attack in years. My suffering is being redeemed.
If you are struggling with anxiety or depression (or both), know that there is healing, no matter how bad or how long you've suffered. And know that your true self goes much deeper than you've been taught to think. Waves on the ocean have crests and troughs, highs and lows, births and deaths. But know this—your identity is not in the surface wave. Your identity is in the depthless water.
Three things not to say to someone struggling with anxiety:
"Your fears are irrational."
While that is usually technically true, those of us facing anxiety need to know that our experiences are legitimate. Saying this phrase has the opposite effect. Allow those facing anxiety to have their experiences validated and not dismissed.
"I've been pretty nervous/sad before, so I understand."
Our culture throws around words like "anxious" and "depressed" too easily. True anxiety disorders or depression are not a matter of regular worry or sadness. Everyone worries. Everyone experiences disappointment and sadness. But unless you've experienced clinical anxiety and/or depression, you can't relate personally. Don't assume your level of understanding is sufficient to relate.
"You'll probably always have some anxiety."
This may be true but it also may not! Regardless, people need to know that there is hope for change, that things can get better.
-Samuel
Samuel Ogles is an editorial intern for Christianity Today's Church Law & Tax Group. You can find him on Twitter and at his blog.
