I have an ugly confession to make.
I have, repeatedly and over many years, considered avoidance the path to salvation. Through the gospel of vigilance, the commandment of “Make sure nothing bad happens,” and the liturgy of constant surveillance, I have sacrificed freedom on the altar of control.
My prayer is worry in which I rehearse every possibility, and prepare for every eventuality, relying on daily communion with my feared futures for guidance.
Having convinced me to continually monitor whatever might threaten my joy, my peace, my future, avoidance has become my god, interpreting reality and directing my life as a sovereign and all-knowing authority.
How did it come to this, you ask?
Well, as it turns out, you cannot continually watch for danger without making danger the most prominent feature of your life. In other words, whatever you organize your life around avoiding eventually becomes the organizing center of your life, turning everything you love into something you have to guard with your life.
Somewhere along the way, my brain became convinced that its job was not just to respond to trouble but to prevent every possible version of it, and avoidance gave me a way to try. Every time I escaped something, double checked, controlled the situation, or rehearsed it like a dead horse, avoidance was rewarded. “See how well I protected you,” it whispered.
Having chosen immediate relief so often that it became the object of my love, I turned protection into discipleship.
My name is Hayley, and I am addicted to certainty.
I have preached myself the gospel of vigilance, and it has failed me. I have treated uncertainty as unacceptable and control as my refuge. And all of it has failed me.
It has failed me by feeding me its lies, telling me once everything works out, is settled, doesn’t hurt anymore, and is exactly how I want it, I can finally relax. Anxiety can take a break only after I’m safe and comfortable.
But the search for safety and comfort is never over. There’s always one more thing to watch, one more outcome to control, and one more future to rehearse, which keeps me waiting for a certainty I never get in order to live the life I really want.
The evidence against me is overwhelming: I worry about losing my home while still sleeping in my own bed. I panic over the possibility of having a panic attack. I refuse to ask people for things because rejecting myself is safer than letting them do it. I really want to avoid planes, trains, and automobiles because staying home is the only way to guarantee I won’t perish in a fiery crash.
Yes, this vow to protect myself from suffering is a terrible bargain in which I surrender my freedom in exchange for a protection that avoidance can’t actually guarantee. Because “Make sure nothing bad ever happens” is not an assignment any human being can complete.
I cannot guarantee that I will never hurt.
I can’t prevent every disappointment, control every outcome, or prepare for every future.
I cannot keep living by the false promise that I will make sure nothing bad happens.
So my new mantra is: Even if.
Even if I am disappointed, I’ll survive it.
Even if they reject me, I’m gonna risk it.
Even if something hurts, it’s not necessarily harming me.
For years, I’ve fed my anxiety by demanding proof that nothing bad would happen. Now I’m risking to live with the belief that pain won’t be the end of me.
I can prepare for what is likely, respond to what is real, and stop surrendering today to what is merely possible tomorrow.
I don’t need to know the future before I live the present. I can do what is mine to do and give up what was never mine to control, even if I’m pretty sure it is.
All this time, I have been asking avoidance to save me from a future only God can see, a job that is way above its pay grade. The future isn’t mine to know, but the present is mine to live.
The reality is, freedom is living before fear gives you permission.