There was a deep blue sky in my rearview mirror and flood warnings on the radio as I drove to my first counseling appointment. Yes, this would be my third new therapist in a year—but this time, I was determined to stick it out.
"There is one really good thing about anxiety," she said. "It's painful. It hurts so much that it forces you to do something about it."
She was right. If my anxiety hadn't been so unbearable, I wouldn't be sitting awkwardly on the couch of yet another therapist. But there I was, doing exactly what I didn't want to do, seeking the healing I didn't want to seek. And ironically, I had my anxiety to thank for that.
But if anxiety was just the painful agent driving me to seek healing, then what was it I really needed healing from?
"I've found that most people who deal with anxiety have at some point turned off their other emotions," she explained. "For example, some people are unable to process sadness."
"Do you think you know how to be sad?" she asked.
I nodded confidently as my mind flashed through all the very healthy ways I cope with sadness: Jillian Michaels, Cabernet Sauvignon, the Target clearance section, salted caramel anything . . .
The nodding slowed. Maybe I didn't know how to be sad. Suddenly I couldn't think of a single instance that I had actually allowed myself to feel it. And for that matter, did I even know what it felt like? When I tried to recall the feeling of sadness, all I felt was fear.
"You must be exhausted," she said, with her empathetic counselor eyes. "It takes a ton of energy and resources to avoid feeling pain."
I felt my chin start to tremble.
No. Not this, I thought. Not the ugly quiver chin.
I considered faking a phone call, or excusing myself to the bathroom, or abruptly changing the subject, or just straight up playing dead. Something.
But I knew that would all be counterproductive. After all, this was the reason I had come. Not to mention, playing dead would most likely get me a far more serious diagnosis. So I did what I thought I couldn't. I sat there and let sadness wash over me in all its glory.
I'm happy to report that I survived. And when that horrible 30 seconds had passed, I realized I had traded a little pride and fear for an unusual amount of peace. Not a bad deal, as it turns out.
I've never seen it rain like it did the day I left her office, and I couldn't help but laugh at the timeliness of it. My weary, neurotic soul needed a torrential downpour just as much as the thirsty soil needed rain.
According to Tim Clinton and Gary Sibcy, in the book Attachments:
All neuroticism, or unnecessary pain, is caused by the avoidance of legitimate pain.
Fellow neurotics, this is a game changer. All my life I thought neuroticism was just biology, but the truth is, it's rooted in unhealthy coping mechanisms. If we are unwilling to feel our pain, we will have to work really hard to avoid it.
Enter: anxiety.
Truly processing the difficult emotions we encounter means inviting others into it. We need someone there to hear us out, identify with us, and provide comfort in the midst of our sorrow.
"Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted."
As my therapist likes to say: if the wound came through relationship, so will the healing.
Although it can be terrifying to let others into our pain, this is where all true connection is born, and connection is the only thing that makes us fully alive.
So if we are willing to feel our pain, and if we choose to let others into it, we might find even more than freedom from fear . . .
We might find joy.