Don't Water The Flood A CALL TO CARE ATTENTIVELY FOR THOSE STRUGGLING WITH ANXIETY

Written by Grace Hildebrand, Designed by Erika Fager

Sorrow drips onto my head, paralyzing my thoughts, and tears roll down my face. Sometimes it clouds my vision until everything I see is filtered through a hazy film. Sometimes anxiety inhibits my thoughts and disposition in the middle of the day, and sometimes I am woken up in the middle of the night, sweating, panting, and my heart beating out of control. Anxiety does not look the same for everyone; I want to make that clear. My experience does not define the limits under which anxiety acts, but I hope that through an exploration of its effects on the mind, anxiety becomes a more acceptable, sympathetic, and substantial topic of conversation.

Countless times, in attempts to comfort me, fellow Christians have reminded me what the Apostle Peter wrote in his first letter to Christians across northern areas of Asia Minor. He says that as Christians, they ought to “Cast all [their] anxieties on him, because he cares” for them (1 Peter 5:7). Another verse used consistently in an attempt to lessen my anxiety was from the Apostle Paul’s letter to the Philippians, in which he tells them, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God” (Philippians 4:5). The common thread running through the efforts by my neighbors trying to show me love was that stronger faith in the Lord would cure my anxious thoughts. If I could trust him with anything I feel worried about, then POOF, all my anxiety would be gone. It creates a tension between faith and feeling, between what I believe and what I am physically experiencing. An anxiety attack can take over control of my thoughts, feelings, and abilities to focus, sleep, rest, or even, breathe. These cognitive consequences come in different combinations and intensities during anxiety attacks. Nevertheless, anxiety also has physiological causes and triggers that indicate it is not entirely emotional, but sometimes biological. The construction of our brain is so intricate and deliberate, composed of over 100 billion sensory-receiving cells, or neurons, and about a dozen of what are known as small-molecule neurotransmitters, the chemical messengers that tell the neuron to respond in a particular way. The created human brain includes functional mechanisms, and these agents of communication to help us operate. However, under certain circumstances, the structure of the human brain, unfortunately, leaves room for anxiety to flourish.

Neurotransmitters can communicate one of three messages to the neuron about what type of response it should illicit, but I would like to focus on a type of inhibitory neurotransmitter. In our brains, the main neurotransmitter influencing anxiety levels is called GABA. If neurotransmitters were soldiers, the GABA troop would be fighting for peace in the brain. As an inhibitory messenger, GABA acts to calm the nerve cells in our brains that freak out during a fear-inducing situation.1 This activation primarily happens in the amygdala, the part of the brain in charge of responding to fear-based stimuli. It can also occur in the other parts of the temporal lobe, which is responsible for sensory processing and houses the amygdala.2 However, if the brain is producing fewer GABA chemicals, there are fewer soldiers fighting for peace within the brain. As a result, the feelings of anxiety coming from a stimulation in the amygdala or the temporal lobes of the brain linger, with no soldiers calming them down.

Am I a child? A child of God? Questions like these repeat themselves in my brain constantly, whether anxiety comes in the middle of the day, or it wakes me up in the dead of night. The physiological responses come with them-- the sweating, the rapid heartbeat, the uncontrollable shaking. Not everyone’s experience with anxiety coincides with questions like these, but this identity crisis is one of many themes that seem to invade my brain. Logic ceases in these moments, and all that remain to fester in my mind are these doubting questions, leading me to believe the sorrowful answers in these moments of anxiety. But I think mine have come to an end. The ability to rationalize these destructive thoughts decreases for me as an anxiety attack persists.

The temporal lobe is a part of the area of the brain that is responsible for judgment, thought, and rationalization.3 In healthy circumstances, this area serves to judge what the appropriate response for a situation would be. However, with a mind predisposed to feelings of anxiety, a stimulation of fear affects the way in which the brain can judge with reason. If the brain has a decreased level of GABA available to inhibit the physiological response to an anxiety-provoking situation, the task then goes to the cortex to calm the overwhelming thoughts. These thoughts could be questions of doubt or any other worrisome notion generated during an anxiety attack.

However, like how plentiful sunlight and adequate water help a flower grow, the makeup of the human brain provides the correct characteristics for anxiety to prosper when combined with a decreased level of these inhibitory neurotransmitters.

Connections between the amygdala and the temporal lobe – the fear and rationalization centers – are key in processing the fear that erupts in anxiety-provoking situations. However, the number of connections transporting messages from the amygdala to the temporal lobe is much higher than the number of connections moving messages from the frontal lobe to the amygdala.4

Translated: the place where anxiety is commonly provoked easily tells the rest of the brain that fear is near, while the place where logical thinking happens has a much harder time calming down the irrational panic. This disproportional system of communication inherent in the brain’s design explains why even unjustifiable provocations of fear can easily overpower our thoughts and why subduing them is difficult.5 Combined with a lack of GABA, the biological structure of the brain allows anxiety to surpass our abilities to fight it off with the truths we know. We hear of never-ending mercies, but sometimes it’s so hard to receive them. A trigger for anxiety can come out of nowhere. Sometimes the trigger is recognizable, but other times, a sense of panic swarms my body without a clear reason. Sometimes a doubtful thought triggers the response, but other times the doubts or fears trickle in after something else triggers panic. The surge of fear rapidly comes in on the one-way path from the amygdala to the front part of the brain, making my heart pound in my chest, my fingers start to sweat, and my vision run rampant. Everything that should be still starts swirling around in front of me, as the GABA soldiers are not there to fight off whatever triggered the fear. My body shakes, and my thoughts are unbelievably indecisive as the one-way path carries messages of panic from the amygdala to the frontal lobe. Once the path clears out, the frontal lobe can resume its rational thinking, and the panic can fade away.

In the book of Lamentations, the author states: “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning”(Lamentations 3:22). This never-ending love, these neverending mercies, highlight aspects of God’s character that indicate our ability to trust him and thrust our anxieties upon him. I believe in the

Lord’s loving and merciful character, and I know that he truly does care for me, for you, and for all of his children. Through prayer and thanksgiving, God hears our anxieties and wants us to trust that his sovereignty overcomes all that makes us anxious. I believe these things. However, our bodies and minds, though created by this same powerful creator, endure experiences that are not perfect. We are human. I am human. There are things that we cannot and will not understand about the Lord from our perspective here on earth. Why is anxiety possible? Why do conditions exist that let anxiety flourish? These questions I cannot answer. I can only share my experience and pray that someone suffering from the same discouragement I have encountered is lifted up. Anxiety is real. Anxiety is overwhelming. Anxiety requires attentive care from others. I pray you handle your brothers and sisters enduring this pain with care and not add to the tension between what they may feel and what they believe. Responding inappropriately can water the flood that is anxiety. However, you do not have to approach people suffering from mental health like we are exceptionally fragile. I ask that you care deeply without walking on eggshells, especially in the context of church. Christians are not exempt from mental illness, either, and mental illness does not define someone’s strength of faith. Making my requests known to God does not change the physical structure of my brain or add the missing GABA chemicals needed to combat fear. The Lord is ready to catch the anxieties cast upon him, yet the presence of anxiety goes far beyond the number of prayers or depth of trust in the Lord. But God. He may seem far and unreachable, but he is there. Anxiety is real, anxiety is overwhelming, but God is there to carry you through it. But God.

G RACE HILDEBRAND Class of

I’ve heard of the never-ending mercies, Ones that come every morning with The rising of the sun.

And I’ve heard the call to be praising, From the moment I wake until The sun goes dim.

These words etched into The palms of my hands, But somehow still, Somehow

Sorrow drips onto my head, Rolls down my face, clouds my vision

Until everything I see is filtered through a Hazy film.

My stomach empties out

Despite His promise to nourish me. Am I a child?

A child of God.

A child of God who yearns for food to fill This hollow cave between my head and my feet. We hear of never-ending mercies

But I think mine have come to an end. What else would cause this starving wretch to Be lying here, still, on the floor

Looking through the hazy film at the world to Satisfy this deprivation? Tainting me, tainting my soul,

Tainting my soul with fleeting joy and everlasting pain.

From this pile on the floor I cry out

To a God who I hope is listening.

And somehow I breathe.

By Grace Hildebrand

But God.

Somehow these cries are softened and A calm swims in my warm blood. Somehow I feel the drips of sorrow drying up. But God.

Somehow I feel the Prince of Peace

Overwhelming my heart, To soothe my limbs and wiping these tears from my face.

But God.

Somehow an inhale swarms my lungs And at the height of that breath I’m almost Tall enough to touch his throne. But breathing out deflates me.

We hear of never-ending mercies. Sometimes it’s so hard to receive them. But grooves in my hands acting as a reminder Of the two words that belt out mercy: But God.

G RACE

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