Anxiety Is My Worldly Treasure

I used to think anxiety was a necessity, like preparedness or discernment. As if I were the Protector of the World, and anxiety were my control panel. How else would I stay one step ahead of what could go wrong without anxiety keeping me alert? But none of the buttons on my control panel are actually connected to the outside world. It’s a placebo. I’m spinning a steering wheel that isn't attached to the tires, convinced that my skilled driving is the only thing keeping us on the road. So I’ve effectively traded the reality of my helplessness for the high-octane illusion of control.

After all, it’s only through precise and powerful anxiety that I can do something about the future. That I can protect what I’ve been given to protect. How else can I really be considered responsible if I don’t have a degree of anxiety about the situation?

I mean, consider the opposite. Consider being nonplused about the state of affairs in your family, or your country, or the world. Imagine not getting riled up or upset when things look like they are going wrong, out of control, or just plain dangerous. What would others do if you didn’t correct them, or teach them, or worry over them? Where would our help come from?

Anxiety is a kind of treasure, isn’t it? Not that I’d ever tell anyone that, but I do treat it as such. I do tend to mentally organize around it, and guard it, revisit it, and reinforce it. But there is a strange paradox in guarding this kind of treasure: the more I protect it, the more it crushes me. It is a heavy, suffocating wealth. I’m exhausted from the effort of carrying it, but I fear I am subconsciously terrified of the lightness that would come if I just set it down. It seems I treat it like gold, but it feels like lead.

I don’t just have anxiety. I keep it. I covet it. I hold onto it as if letting it go would leave me exposed. As if my life, and yours, depended on it. And that’s what makes it so difficult to let go of.

And there’s the tell.

Because I don’t treat things I hate this way. I don’t return to them, hold them close, keep them running in the background. No, that’s how I treat things I think I need.

That’s how I treat my treasure.

And I’m not entirely sure what to do with that yet.

But it does make me wonder what I believe anxiety is actually doing for me… and whether I’ve been trusting it to hold something only God was meant to carry. And if that’s the case, why am I trying to play God?

AUDIO: As a continuation of this, I’ve recorded a guided reflection centered on returning to peace in God’s presence.

“I look up toward the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the LORD, the Creator of heaven and earth! May he not allow your foot to slip! May your protector not sleep! Look! Israel’s protector does not sleep or slumber! The LORD is your protector; the LORD is the shade at your right hand. The sun will not harm you by day, or the moon by night. The LORD will protect you from all harm; he will protect your life. The LORD will protect you in all you do, now and forevermore.” (Psalm 121:1–8)