Anxious Again

Rest. Ahhhhhh. As I write this post, one week into classes, I’m already craving the profound rest that will animate my mind and body. I’m twenty years old; I am not supposed to be weary. I have DECADES of existence ahead of me and shouldn’t feel weighed by heavy burdens. Certain aspects of my life do feel heavy, though, and I easily slip into mental fatigue when my life gets crowded by assignments and responsibilities. 

Two years ago, during my first semester of college, I faced previously inexperienced levels of anxiety. This anxiety fastened itself to the academics and relationships in my life and dominated my thoughts. I was fortunate to have met many wonderful other first-years, but these friends felt a lot like nice acquaintances, and not yet like genuine friends. I fixated on the lie that I might not find best friends with which to share the happiest parts of college. My classes distinguished themselves from the predictable safety of high school, but the expectations I had for myself did not adjust to match the harder courses. I was consumed with stress over grades and assignments. 

As the semester continued, I fought to let go of the stress. My grades were mini-idols. I had defined myself by academic ability for years, and felt that much of my identity and self-worth came from an exemplary transcript. The semester climaxed into a horrible finals week during which I struggled to function normally because of my anxiety. I did not feel secure enough yet in any of my friendships to reveal the extent of my distress, so I spent most of the week alone, pushing myself to an unhealthy extent for perfect exam scores.  

I wanted rest. I wanted to escape from the pressure I put on myself. I had done what I just did in this blog post: made myself the sole focus. 

But it has never been about me. It has always been about God. 

God met me in my anxiety. These moments of human frailty are when God does some of his most powerful work for “my power is made perfect in weakness (2 Cor. 12:9).” That finals week I was faced with the extreme insufficiency of my abilities. I knew logically that I needed God, but I was also powerfully convicted of how much I needed God. Through the remainder of my first year, I began the work of surrendering aspects of my self-image. The idol of academic perfection had proved a burden that I wanted and needed to cast off. These were the burdens that I brought to adoration and prayed to leave at the foot of the tabernacle holding the Blessed Sacrament. Standards I used to define myself became unimportant as I understood there was nothing I could do to change my worth as a daughter of the King. 

I had tried to carry all my brokenness and bundle it up inside of me without spilling. The more of myself I could surrender, the more I could invite Christ’s healing, and I began to experience true rest from my anxiety. Not only did I feel my weariness dissipating, but I also found genuine friends who sought to help me surrender my burden. Somehow dramatic, first-year me encountered a group of friends who love me with an intensity that reflects that of the Father. I have found rest in knowing that I lean first on God, and then on these virtuous friends. 

This fall, as I started comm classes, those familiar feelings of academic inadequacy resurged in my mental space. I am trying to remember that this is an opportunity to depend more fully on God. I can rejoice in my complete reliance. May we all lean on each other as we follow the cross. St. Maximilian Kolbe, the patron saint of our ministry this year, said, “God sends us friends to be our firm support in the whirlpool of struggle. In the company of friends we will find strength to attain our sublime ideal.” Check on your friends. Be bold in inviting people into friendship. Help one another carry burdens as we receive God’s perfect rest.