Back in high school, a good friend once told me how she admired that my life is like an open book for everyone to read. Then another friend came warning me not to trust the people around to the extent that I share my personal experiences with them. Since then, my life has been a constant push and pull of whether to keep quiet or to bare it all. As I started writing journals though, I have come to a point when I bare everything – the raw feelings, hurts, frustrations and even tears (yes, as I flipped through my journal, I see sheets with ink blotted and smudged by tears!) to these trusty sheets of paper. As I matured some more, I have learned that these words can actually be a way to minister to others. So now, I have resolved to write down my deepest hurts even while I am in the darkest days, and share the journey and lessons once I have seen the light.
My anxiety journey began last June. Inasmuch as marriage is a thing to be happy about, I think the world has often highlighted the festivities more than the adjustments. (Or maybe we are warned, but you know how we can never understand how some things feel like unless we are there?) Don’t get me wrong, I am blessed with a loving husband and a set of in-laws that treated me like their very own, and I am more than grateful for them. Even until this very day, I would not wish for a different family and in-laws. Yet to be in a situation that is new sometimes creates more apprehensions and uncertainties than excitement. Truth be told, I am a creature of habit, one who lives with the ordinary, enjoys routine, and finds beauty in monotony. Call me boring, call me plain, but that’s how I am. Okay, maybe if the colored TV never got invented, I’ll be okay with black and white. After getting married last April, leaving my home church December the previous year, and leaving the work I have known as my second family for seven years, and needless to mention leaving my mom and sister, I found myself lost. Actually, I lost myself. If these conditions do not spell out change, then I don’t know what change means.
Since my dad passed on when I was 16, I have always been that strong daughter, sister, friend, woman that everyone looked up to. (Well, maybe not everyone, but at least I know that some people looked up to me.) After graduation, I took pride in being the breadwinner of our family. I’ve been through quite a lot, and if this isn’t the definition of strong, I don’t know what is. In fact, if you ask my husband, one of the reasons why he fell in love with me is because I am one strong woman. (The “fell in love” is my translation, he probably used a less cheesy term. Disclaimer!)
Back to my June status, I cried almost every week, because I realized I was so lost. Without teaching, without kids, I am basically Jen, the woman with no purpose. Or so I thought.
July came, I tutored a student from my previous school. Hurray! Teaching opportunity found. After my tutoring stint was done, my in-laws saw how happy I was so they rented a condo unit from a family friend and made it my new workplace. At first I was excited, back to teaching at last! Little did I know that this venture will bring me to a downward spiral that will last for quite some time. It was also the month when I learned that the book project we were working on got postponed (in my mind, it got cancelled). I remembered how I bursted into tears when I received the news. That was the last trophy I was holding on. You know how I would comfort myself after I gave up teaching, “Jen, it’s okay, maybe you are not a teacher now, but soon, you will be a published author.” But the sad news in my email came crashing in, and I suddenly didn’t know how to pick up the broken pieces.
August was a promising month, I started with four students in my tutorial business. One was a boy from China who wanted to learn English and Filipino. The goal was to make him ready for local school the coming school year. The first few weeks went well, but as the reality sank in that we were still quite far from our goal, I started to lose heart. Day after day, as I sat in the condo unit alone, I began to think how much of a failure I was for not being able to prepare him well. The task was plain daunting and overwhelming.
I was alone, I had no one to share these struggles with. I started talking to people, and they gave encouraging words, “Ikaw pa, Jen, kaya mo ‘yan” (You can do it, Jen!) But sadly, I did not need encouraging words that time. I needed someone to understand that I am weak. I needed someone to know that the strong Jen they know is nowhere to be found. I needed them to realize that I know this is just a shallow problem to cry about or to give up on, but I just cannot go on. I needed them to tell me that they can fathom my frustration – that this is just a simple problem that I can be victorious over, but right now, I just can’t.
Many tried to reach out to help, and honestly, a lot of them were a big help. But the fact still remains that they will never understand the anxiety I feel, unless they have been through it themselves. I was awake when it was time to sleep. I wanted to sleep in when it was time to be up and productive. I didn’t like weekdays because I dreaded teaching the child. I didn’t like weekends, because they passed by so quickly. I didn’t want to be alone, but I cannot talk to people. I wondered if stabbing myself with a knife while I was cutting the watermelon will kill, or if being run over by a truck will leave me dead. I woke up each day hoping today will be better than yesterday, but every day just became worse. I wanted to break free from the heavy chains, but where are the keys?
November came, and after talking with my husband, we decided that my emotional well-being should be priority. So, even if I have never been a quitter, we ended the tutorial business, and I went back at home, hoping to recover from the severe anxiety attacks. I was convinced that I was a failure. When I rested at home since I got married to hopefully become pregnant, I didn’t conceive yet. When I was given a job, I didn’t succeed. Failure sucks. They say, the idle mind is the devil’s playground. I had the combination of being convinced I was a failure and an idle mind, so I guess mine is a sure recipe for disaster. You know how every time I’m asked when we will have a baby, I cry deep in my heart and feel sorry, sorry that during the time when my only purpose was to get pregnant, I didn’t. I never felt more useless that time.
As the year was about to end, I was home, resting and recuperating from a sickness no one takes seriously. For many, anxiety attacks are just overacting tendencies glorified, depression is just sadness overhyped. I don’t blame them, it takes one to know one. For those who never experienced such, it is easy to judge or to dismiss these feelings. With continued support from family and a few close friends, I was able to wake up and live one day at a time. Some days were cloudy, some stormy, and a few sunny.
The year ended with my anxious self opening up a bit. I was then invited to join a group of ladies who meets every Wednesday mornings at a church near our house, Bible Study Fellowship (BSF). As I was regaining my extrovert self back, I went. Week after week, my hurts and pains were slowly dissolved. My sense of purpose was renewed. I realized that I am not alone in this fight. Seeing how these women also struggled gave me a sense of company I have not found elsewhere. Seeing how they managed to smile through losses, deaths, ups and downs reminded me that I, too, can regain this strength from the Source.
Little by little, I was able to plug myself back to the Lord. Slowly, the suicidal thoughts left me. Before I knew it, I was back serving Him by assisting my husband in the work He needed to do for a church retreat. After two months, I served in our church daily vacation bible school teaching kids. Now, I am back to teaching in school, back to serving in the ministry, and back to my element, basically. And, remember the book project that was “cancelled”? Well, it got published last September, and was launched at the 40th Manila International Book Fair. What’s more, I have contributed to a local devotional material that will be launched soon. And if you think the blessings end there, I have a few writings that got into a US-based devotional magazine as well. I wrote these not to brag, but to tell you that God’s blessings are just overwhelming!
Anxiety is a silent killer. When you are good, it makes you think you are not good enough. When you are down, it makes you lose what little hope you may have. When you are loved, it makes you think people just do superficially. When you are alone, it makes you lonely. When you are with company, it makes you seek solitude. It seeks for things not there; it hates what is present; it expects and disappoints. It is never an instant turn-around. The lessons are tough. The situations are challenging. The night is long. The winter is cold. As I look back, I sometimes ask God why I only found out when I recovered that many friends lived near our house. Why did I need to feel so isolated, with no one to talk to or ask help from? (I’m not discounting the fact that many were around to help, but during that time, I had a longing for people to join my pity party, and that spelled help for me.) One thing I realized, God took them away from me intentionally, because He used that season to prune me and draw me to Himself. After all, He is God who walks with us. He is God who experienced the darkest storms, yet was victorious. And because even death was not able to hold Him down, we can be sure that no challenge is too difficult for Him.
“Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.” (Psalm 30:5) My morning came after nine months. Yours is sure to come! Wait on Him!
When a Teacher Writes 