I remember trembling with fear as my legs gave out in my 10th grade stairwell. Books tumbled down the steps as I crumbled under my backpack. My classmates watched as I explained that no, I had not tripped. Where was this pain coming from? Could they please call someone for me?
I was afraid of so many things. I was afraid that my body was falling apart. When I went to doctor after doctor and nobody knew what was happening, I felt sure it was. And I was afraid I was too chubby, too covered in acne, too neurotic, too brainy, too much for anyone to take seriously. Afraid I would never be good enough. Afraid my family wanted to be rid of me. Afraid my friends were not my friends at all when I wasn't looking.
I remember trembling with fear as my legs gave out in my dorm stairwell, during freshman year of college. My roommates helped me get up, supported me into the room, and pinned me to my bunk bed to stop my violent shaking and kept repeating "Breathe. Breathe. Deeeep breaths, Ash. Just breathe." My heart was racing as the sweat beaded on my forehead. My panic was no longer just in my mind - it was coursing through my veins.
I was afraid of so many things.I was afraid that I was failing - at coursework, at relationships, at faith, at everything. Afraid I was just too much for anyone to ever see me as I am.
I remember trembling with fear as I left the Canadian clinic where I was told that I would need surgery. Surgery I couldn't get at home, that might reveal something permanently wrong, that might even affect my ability to be a mom. I sat in a booth at a nearby McDonalds, shaking from the worry and the cold, and I called my husband sobbing. I was afraid that my body was failing.
I was afraid of so many things. Afraid that somehow God didn't see what was ahead. Afraid that even if He did see it, what was ahead was cruel and He wanted it that way because He was disappointed in me. Afraid that my dreams had shifted focus so often, that I would spend my life chasing them in circles - never achieving anything of any meaning at all. Afraid that my understanding of my own identity was much less secure than I thought. Afraid I would never be good enough. Afraid my family and my husband wanted to be rid of me. Afraid my friends had forgotten me and moved on.
I remember trembling with fear as I fell into the cubicle wall beside my desk at the office, 8 months pregnant with my first child, doubling over from the pain of merely standing up. I had spent months inching my way down the hallways, hand on the wall, as I struggled to walk. Why was this happening? Wasn't all the sickness in the first trimester enough? I remember calling my husband in tears to pick me up and take me to the hospital because I could not bear the pain. This wasn't normal. I wasn't okay and I didn't know why.
I was afraid of so many things. I was afraid that something would happen to my baby, that I would fall on the ice walking home, or that I would lose my ability to walk and care for my child. I was afraid that my body was failing me the one time I thought it would keep me safe.
I remember trembling with fear as our family moved into a new chapter 4 years ago. My husband and I and our 8 month old son were leaving our first home as a family of 3 and temporarily moving back to his family home as we figured out what to do next - where to move and put down roots, what community we could serve, what we would do financially as I left work to stay at home with our son. We would be living out of boxes with no set-in-stone end date - something that filled my "always planning" personality with utter dread. It felt like I was stepping into midair with no safety net - only I had my child strapped tightly to my chest and had to have enough faith for the both of us.
I was afraid of so many things. Afraid that somehow God didn't see what was ahead. Afraid that even if He did see the future, He kept me from seeing it because He didn't want me to mess it all up. Afraid that I'd be left picking up the pieces of my life and my marriage even when I longed so badly to be who I should be. Afraid that debilitating fear had become my MO, despite my awareness that God was over all things all the time.
So many of these fears were based on nothing other than my anxious heart. Many were far from real, but even when fears only feel real, they do unspeakable damage. Talking about them is embarassing now, but I think we need the space to say to someone else who may be there right now, "It's okay to be afraid. It's okay to say you're afraid and to process that fear before the Lord, and in community, and in your art."
Many things have changed since things since my fears first started taking over. There have been hard days I felt I would never get through, and wonderful days I wished I could freeze for eternity. But through every one of those days, I have wrestled to cling tightly to the God who has never wavered or wobbled in His kindness and mercy to me.
Tonight, I am on the cusp of my 30th birthday. I really thought these 3 decades would feel much longer than this, but I have noticed something powerful about finishing them: finally, fear doesn't feel so close. My hands are steady as I write this, and somehow my heart is too.
This past decade was certainly the most full of all! In my 20s, I graduated from university, got married, moved to a new country, got my first post-college job, became a stay-at-home mom to two handsome boys, bought our first house, made some incredible friends, wrote several songs and articles, finally got my driver's license, and even started homeschooling.
It has been a whirlwind of flip-flopped plans and God's amazing faithfulness. It has also been a journey of recognizing and releasing my unrelenting fears to an unrelenting Father who has never stopped loving me back to hope in His goodness. Prayers have been answered in a million ways, large and small. The family I thought I'd never have is a blessing beyond what I imagined. And the grace I could never deserve is still enough for every new day of missteps as I walk on these weary and wobbly legs toward home.
