Where the Catholic Sun Doth Shine

Update. Because obvs you have been on tenterhooks.

I haven't updated my, let's face it, SLIGHTLY DRAMATIC last entry because 1) things got worse! and then 2) things got... mysteriously and bizarrely better. AND I AM AFRAID OF JINXING IT!

But it's been several days now. Several days when I have felt Totally And Completely Normal and HUH? I know. I don't get it either. That's not how things go with me. Things are supposed to be totally sky high crazy and then slowly and gradually simmer down until one day I notice that my shoulders aren't so tight anymore and maybe things are looking up. But no, this was sort of instant. Ish. Like, within one evening. 

SO! I have some ideas, some theories, but nothing that really stands out as Yes, This Is The Thing. But I am not in the habit of looking gift horses in the mouth etc. so we'll just leave it at that. I am better. I am still following The Pro-Active Anxiety Plan Of Attackishness, but I am not anxious anymore. 

It has been the hardest Lent I can remember - at least, the hardest one in which I actively THOUGHT about Lent. Perhaps that's the problem. Note to self: stop praying for refinement. 

I have purchased a Cadbury Fruit And Nut Chocolate Bar. It is sitting on my kitchen counter and OH YES I am counting the days until I can scarf it down.  

Pray for me?

I'm still anxious. Sooooo... I am here, asking for prayer. I had a REALLY GREAT day yesterday, then right before I went to sleep I read something that triggered the whole thing over again and now: not so great. 

I am pretty sure that everything I'm feeling, anxiety-wise, is purely physical. As in, it's my body, my brain, my chemistry, all that stuff that got ramped up over the weekend and needs time and space to come down and even out. This has been my experience over the last five or so years, and it makes sense to me that this is happening. Also: weaning. Evening out of new baby hormones. 

I can write it out and see it logically, but it is so hard to battle against your own physical signs. It's so wearying. 

I just got off the treadmill, the sun is out, I'm determined to come up with something fun and unusual for us to do today. I have hope. But I would still love prayer. Thanks. 

P.S. If this remains a long term thing, I know what to do, and I'm not afraid to do it. But I am still hopeful it's just a tiny spot of bother.

The Aftermath

Well. You'd think I wrote about the HHS mandate and contraception*. But no, it appears CONFESSION is quite the draw!

Can I just say, though: it was like God wanted me to have the affirmation and backing of my beloved Internet as I sat waiting for my turn in the confessional, trying not to be sick all over the pew. I lapped up each comment, I savored each email, I cried over a TEXT MESSAGE. So THANK YOU. 

I went. I survived. I did not feel the Overwhelming Peace afterwards. Huh! 

So the story is: I've had a Big Ticket item to confess for, what. Ten years now? Not something I think about very often, but when I do it's an anxiety trigger. I've been squashing it down because I totally believe God has already forgiven me, it probably wouldn't be a Big Ticket Item to anyone else, and I just have to get over it. Get over it already! Except I have never gotten over it. 

For a multitude of reasons, not least the fact that I feel God pulling me closer and how can I do that if I am not in right relationship with him? - I was suddenly and quickly convicted to go to confession. It was as if God got up in my face and said, "GET OFF YOUR BUTT, WOMAN." Well, it sounded more like, "O Beloved, Daughter, Go Receive The Sacrament Of Reconciliation!" It just had the TONE of "GET OFF YOUR LAZY BUTT." 

BLARGH. 

Anyway. I was totally horribly craptastically anxious about it, but I knew I had to do it. So I did it. And afterwards I was totally horribly craptastically anxious. 

For one thing, the actual confession was rather anticlimactic. I spit it out, the priest absolved me, and my penance was to think about God's love for me this week (obvs I had already spent 10 years beating myself up. More self-reflection was probably not required.) I thought I might, you know, discuss the last five years' worth of sin, but I think it was clear to both the priest and me that I'd done quite enough that day. I can always go back next week!

But besides that, I wasn't really expecting to feel better. Not right away, anyway. I did not expect the sacrament of reconciliation to perform some sort of healing miracle on my rotten brain chemistry. So here I am, several days later, still anxious, but less craptastically so. Which is what I expected. It will take a while for things to even out, and then? 

What I think I DO understand is that the next time this thing pops up, I'll have more to say than, "God has already forgiven me! And I should just get over it!" I'll be able to say, "I confessed. I was absolved. This has no power over me." 

Even yesterday when I went to Mass I felt terrified, because my biggest fear, that someone would KNOW this about me, was now a REALITY and holy crap it's the PRIEST who knows this and GAAAHHHH. So of course he gives a homily about forgiveness and God's love and the sacrament of reconciliation and how he has always prayed for "penitential amnesia." It appears God also wanted me to have the affirmation and backing of the priest as well. 

Actually, this whole Lenten season, I feel, has been leading up to my moment in the confessional. Things we've talked about in my Lent small group (topic: Forgiveness), things that happened during my praying weekend in Portland, things I've talked about with friends, things coming together for the most random of reasons. Why this weekend? I'm not sure. My only thought right now is that God wants to take me somewhere, but I couldn't go along, not really, without letting this go.

Other Christian religions do not require this and to be perfectly honest, it has always puzzled me. I haven't really QUESTIONED it - although that's sort of my MO when it comes to my Catholicism. I'm not really sure WHY about a lot of things, but I kind of trust that things are a certain way for a reason and if I need to know, one day it will be clear. I'm annoyingly un-questioning like that. 

But that isn't to say I have cheerfully taken myself to confession on a regular basis. It's never been a fully peaceful cleansing experience for me. I haven't really felt ANYTHING... well, I will tell myself, 30 seconds out of confession: "You are pure again! Oh wait! Oops! There's a sinful thought! There goes THAT!" I just do it because I'm supposed to. 

I feel like that changed for me this weekend. I feel like God allowed me to see the ways I've been in bondage to this Big Ticket Item. Even though it probably would not be a Big Ticket Item for anyone else. Even though it was so long ago. Even though God forgave me. Even though I have never done it since. Even though IT IS NOT WHO I AM and NO LONGER IN MY LIFE. Despite the truth of those things, it was bound to me. It followed me. Even when I hadn't thought about it for years, the enemy would remind me of it and use it and the spell of unworthiness and shame would add to my already shaky mental health. 

Just knowing that God had forgiven me was not enough, somehow. And something beyond my inability to forgive myself anything. I needed the power and authority of a sacrament. 

I know. I do not understand this either. (See: poorly-catechized. Also: bad Catholic.)

I fully expect this to crop up in my life again, anxiety-wise; I expect to be taunted. But for me, there's always been power in words, in talking myself down from things, and now I can say: I confessed. I am reconciled. This has no power over me. And I expect that to be the end. 

Thanks for helping me get there.

 

 

*HA. Like I would EVER write about the HHS mandate. 

Resisting the Forced Cheer

I haven't written here in over a month. I'm SURE you're dying to know why, right? Well I have no particular reason. I think part of it is that I have a hard time thinking of what to write in this space - I can talk myself out of any churchy-related post, even when it's for the churchy BLOG. Not smart enough, not reasoned enough, not thoughtful enough, not deep enough, ETC. ETC. ETC. And then partly it's because I'm still rather anxious and everything I start writing begins to smack of the Forced Cheer I exude when I'm anxious. I am getting by, and that's all anyone really needs to know. There are moments when I'm tired of fighting back and I'll gladly let it all out, but it would probably unnerve the people who know me in real life, or at least make them feel useless and/or weird, and I don't want to burden anyone because REALLY, MOST of the time, I am Getting By, and that is enough.

But sometimes I just want to tell you what happens. Like in Chicago. The last night of the Blathering I was half-conked out in my bed when suddenly my whole body felt hot, tense, terrified. I would sit up and take deep breaths, trying to slow my heart down, trying to swallow the fear. I have no idea what it was about, where it came from, why it happened at that moment. But it did, and after a while I couldn't stand to just lay there so I went to panic in the condo living room, where at least I wouldn't wake anyone up. But it was so bad. So bad. I called my husband in the middle of the night, even though I knew he would worry about me and not be able to go back to sleep and basically have a crap day because how I'm doing affects him so much. But I couldn't stand it. Talking to him helped, and then I paced the floor, from the door to the window, for forty-five minutes (I watched the microwave clock) reciting Hail Marys at the speed of light. I finally calmed down enough to sit on the couch and play with my phone, and I think I fell asleep around 4:30. It wasn't a panic attack, it was just Anxiety At Its Worst. It used to happen to me when I visited my parents in Italy. Something about traveling, time changes, being away from home. It was awful and I want to cry just thinking about it. 

That's the stuff I've felt like writing and sharing. But then I go on to write about how God Is Still There! And it turns into Forced Cheer and I just... yeah. I delete it. I don't want to get all dramatic, and I don't want to be Forced Anything here. 

Most of the time I feel resigned. I knew it would come back. Other times I'm angry. Really really angry. I want to shout at God: I've done everything! I've done everything I can possibly do! I have worked so hard! I have examined the deepest depths of my conscience! I am a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT PERSON! And yet, I still have to struggle with this. I'm still subjected to this. I have no control over this. Maybe a little, but not enough, and I don't understand it at all. 

I like the "chemical imbalance" approach, because it lets me, and my flaws, off the hook. I've done nothing wrong. I'm just genetically predisposed to The Krazy. But I'm not sick. How is fear an illness? Then I get confused again, worried, sure that there is something wrong with me. I just have to look harder. 

I'm writing this here because my faith is so wrapped up in this. I don't really know how to describe it tonight, but at the risk of sounding like Forced Cheer, I do not doubt that God is with me. As angry as I can be, and, more often, as confused and frustrated and tired as I get, I don't doubt that. 

Gah. This is right where I start thinking how another blogger would know exactly the sort of insightful thing to say right here, with a chunk of scripture of course, but I have to bow out and cop to my churchy blog limitations. I am fine, I am getting by, I even talked to my doctor today and all is going to be a okay. But thank you for letting me show you one of the gory parts tonight. 

 

I have an appointment

I have an appointment with a Spiritual Director. I'll let you know how it goes. Maybe. I didn't call up my referrals, I just sat down and Googled and for a while there I thought I found an excellent candidate. I Googled further. I found an article all about how this woman had been recently ordained by some group called Womenpriests and now she's celebrating Mass and I thought, "The internet would LOVE this." I mean, it was kind of hard for me to look for someone else, once I thought of all the blog fodder possibilities. 

I am also attempting to set up a Google docs system for my new church committee. If the spiritual director stuff doesn't give me anything write about, surely my internet evangelization attempts will provide a nugget or two. 

What I am trying to remind myself, at this point in the year (in my life? in the stage I am in?) is that God knows exactly who he is dealing with. I can't say the same for myself, about myself, but God knows what he has to work with. What is it my not-Catholic friends like to say? He'll meet me where I'm at. Excellent. 

I am not sure about this spiritual director business, though. It smacks of counseling, though everyone takes great pains to explain that it isn't. And I have absolutely nothing against counseling, having felt at times over the last several years that counseling appointments were the difference between Survival and Utter Destruction. However! It feels silly to be in counseling when nothing counseling-worthy is going on (I speak from experience) and also IT IS PRICEY. When it is the difference between life and death and oh you guys I wish I felt like that was an exaggeration, money is not an issue. It is not an indulgence. But now? 

I don't know. I'm ambivalent. I'm realizing I'm ambivalent towards lots of things right now, which is a very strange place for me to be. 

I'm also coming up on two years of No Significant Anxiety Episodes which seriously blows my mind. I just... I don't know. I have every faith that it will happen again, some day. In the meantime, I never really thought I'd get a break. But here I am, with enough space to look back and think: holy grilled cheese, how did I get through that? Part of me wants to write it all out - how it started, the triggers, all the things I tried to make it stop, the ways it changed when I got pregnant, the things that - I believe - ended it. For now. I can't post those things on the blog, at least not all of them. But I wonder if it would be good for me to do it. 

Like, you know I am all into the ennegram stuff and I'll be reading my type description and then I think to myself: dude, I used to be that way, but then I started dealing with anxiety and I'm the exact opposite. God didn't make anxiety happen to me, but I can't help but think he found a way to use it. Refined by fire much?

And what do I even SAY to a spiritual director when she asks me why I'm there? 

"Uhhhh... I'm not having much luck on my own?"

We'll see. 

So maybe things aren't going that great

So, sometimes I think anxiety is a really good reason to forget God. It sucks. He's not around. He doesn't make it go away. When I pray about it, I don't feel better.

Except that, in my experience, anxiety only draws me closer to God. At the very beginning, all I HAD was God. I clung to God with my fingernails - even though prayer didn't make me feel better, even though I never felt like he was around. But I have faith and the faith never wavered. Oh, I got plenty MAD at God, but I never doubted that he was around and that somewhere, SOMEWHERE, he was with me.

I can remember exactly one night when I woke up crazy anxious in the middle of the night and prayed my way out of it. Peace! Glorious peace fell upon me and I went back to sleep. But that was one night out of many many nights.

Sometimes I wonder if God allows the anxiety because I AM so close to him during those times. He is constantly in my thoughts. I am constantly calling on him. When I'm not anxious? Eh! God who?

But I know that's not right. I know God doesn't WANT me to be anxious. I know God doesn't GIVE me anxiety. In fact, most of the stuff that triggers my anxiety is in direct conflict with what Jesus tells us. I mean, it's stuff that makes me feel shameful and guilty and unworthy and what was it that a particularly prayerful woman told me this weekend? Oh right, that even if it'd been just me hanging out on this Earth, Jesus would have died for just ME.

I'm coming to see anxiety as more of a chronic illness than a character flaw. Don't get me wrong - character flaws had and have MUCH to do with this. But I'm at a point now where I have worked and worked and worked HARD on my character. Which isn't to say I am now Perfect. Obvs. But now I have a husband and two kids and a very busy life and I am a very VERY different person than I was when this all started. Now I think: if I had a chronic illness wouldn't I take medication for it? Rather than relying on my own strength of will?

And I'm angry. I feel like all my work is for nothing. I am SO tired of fighting and it feels so unfair. Why all this again? Didn't I do enough? What else is still wrong with me?

It's been three weeks, which means I am now in the period where I am anxious about being anxious and who knows how long this will go on. The other night was one of the worst, and I took myself and a laptop full of Glee episodes to the garage to run it out of my system. It really helped. But it didn't make it go away.

I have some appointments this week to help me figure out how to make it go away. I feel like a failure, which is pretty much the worst thing I can feel, but again: these aren't just character flaws turning themselves into muscle tension and dread in the pit of my stomach. This is something seriously wrong in my brain. I really believe that.

And God loves me anyway. He loves me in spite of my flaws, in spite of the things that trigger my anxiety. In fact, I think those things are probably pretty small in his eyes. I know that he has used anxiety to refine me, but I also know he doesn't want me to feel this way. It's exhausting reminding myself of these things over and over, but I do, because it's true. He is with me he is with me he is with me.