Find a psychiatrist here.
Find a therapist here.
Daily Blog
If you’re a parent with anxiety, you probably have anxiety about passing on that anxiety to your kids. Depressing, huh.
I’m speaking for myself here, and probably a lot of others.
Of course, anxiety often has a genetic basis, and there’s only so much we can do to help our kids out with something they’re genetically susceptible to.
But we can do something.
Or at least we can follow eight really good recommendations, according to experts in child development.
Caroline Bologna has a tremendous read on those 8 things.
I’d recommend reading her whole write-up, but I’ll briefly list and make some comments.
a) Don’t encourage avoidance. Sometimes we think we’re helping our kids by delivering them from a stressful situation. But instead we’re promoting avoidant behavior.
The goal is to build resilience. Resilience is one of the best possible skills, btw, for your child to develop. It ain’t reading, writing, and arithmetic because at some point – no matter how good your child gets at those – they’ll reach a point of resistance. At which resilience comes in.
b) Treat your own anxiety. Our kids are frighteningly good at picking up on the slightest changes in our anxiety levels, and since they model everything we do (at least until they’re teenagers), they’re going to believe that airplanes are dangerous if you have a panic attack every time you get on one.
As a parent who struggles with generalized anxiety disorder, this is one of my greatest challenges and might be yours — how can I remain the model of calm and strength when I feel anything but?
It’s a tricky one that I’m still trying to figure out.
Note, however, that experts say you can use your anxiety as a teachable moment.
For example, if your child is anxious, you can talk to them about your own anxiety (while avoiding specifics that might scare your child like “Billy, I might lose my job which will leave us destitute, so see I have anxieties, too”).
If your child knows you get anxious, and you pass along your coping mechanisms, they might feel a) less lonely and b) more likely to believe they can get through it.
So one of the primary reasons I work on my anxiety is for my kids.
They’ve got enough of my genes without my adding nurture to the mix, too.
We shouldn’t be afraid of reaching out for professional help.
It’s, quite literally, for the kids (and good for us, too).
c) Talk about feelings. A lot of Christians of a certain type reel at that word “feelings.” In fact, an entire swath of Americans scoff at “snowflakes” and the “feelings” culture (while, ironically, also taking extreme offense over anything that violates their own political feelings).
But read the Gospels.
Jesus was constantly being “filled with” a feeling.
Compassion, mostly. But also, righteous anger (humans are incapable of righteous anger without it leading to anger-anger, so the whole “I just have righteous anger” thing is the saddest phenomenon dominating politics right now).
Jesus was a super feeling person, and there’s not a single case where he diminishes anyone’s feelings.
We should never, ever minimize our kids’ feelings, tell them to just get over it, or make them feel ashamed for them.
The only thing we’re doing is forcing them to suppress those feelings, and they will come out, one way or another.
Either now, through acting out, or later, through growing bitter and angry at the way they were raised.
So embrace exploring feelings.
And as the experts tell Bologna, validate your child’s feelings as best you can, but don’t just leave it there.
Talk about how you can cope with the feelings.
Use personal examples. Come up with a solution together.
d) Be careful about saying “CAREFUL!”. Admittedly, caution is in the eye of the beholder.
But as the article notes, here’s a quick example. If you’re at the playground and you feel your child is doing something unsafe, instead of just saying “CAREFUL,” explain why they need to be careful.
Don’t issue blanket warnings without explaining why caution is warranted.
And to plug Christianity into all this.
Don’t give into the Christian culture of fear.
I was recently listening to a podcast conversation with David French, where he noted just how terribly afraid Christians are about today’s culture.
Christians tend to imbue “the world” with far more power than Christ himself, the Spirit himself.
It’s a theological inversion that leads to an isolated life of useless fear.
Instead of sheltering kids in a protective bubble (that’s destructive to their long-term health), Christians need to say, “What’s ‘the world’ against Christ?”
e) Don’t praise results. Instead, praise effort. I can’t emphasize this enough. American culture says the win is in the win, when it’s actually in the try.
Depressed people are often victims of this success-aholic mentality.
The “strong” are the ones the world says are strong.
In reality, the strongest people I’ve met are those who experience severe mental or physical disabilities and still get up every day to do this thing.
That takes a strength that neither the world nor, sadly, the church recognizes.
America’s achievement-driven culture has seeped (and in many cases, been fueled by) the church, and that’s creating a culture where “greatness” is being conflated with “goodness.”
When our kids see us wowed by the success of others, the results of others, it puts insane pressure on them to produce their own wow, their own success.
This is one of the sharpest disconnects I’ve noticed in American Christianity — sermons might emphasize spiritual growth, but conversations after church and during the week emphasize school performance, work achievements, and just generally, a mindset completely opposite from the “be careful of building barns” message that Jesus taught.
And again, for kids prone to anxiety, this emphasis on achievement is going to put the kind of pressure that will eventually lead to implosion.
“Celebrating success, celebrating excellence” — what could be wrong with that?
Nothing, except it might be doing your child deep harm, while also undermining Christ’s message that the world’s success and excellence is not that of the kingdom of heaven’s.
f) Don’t ask leading questions. This is a little less obvious, but here’s an example.
My son is worried about riding the bus.
Let’s say I want to know why. I shouldn’t ask leading questions like: “Are you worried that the driver will lose control of the bus and be part of a 12 car pile-up?” Or “Are you worried that kids will be cruel?”
There’s a chance my son is, in fact, worried about that, but if that’s not his primary concern, I’ve just added to the list.
So we need to be careful that, in our efforts to understand our childrens’ anxieties, we don’t fuel additional fears.
g) Don’t be authoritarian. Without a doubt, the most toxic kind of Christian parenting I’ve seen is the kind that’s been taught in many churches, for many years — the authoritarian model.
It’s one that literally uses fear to produce a desired result.
It might “work” in the short term, but it always destroys in the long run.
This is when a parent is so authoritarian about certain behaviors that the child grows up, living in 24/7 fear of staying on the good side of their parents’ graces.
Now, to be fair, this isn’t a phenomenon solely unique to the Christian church, but it’s definitely one the Christian church struggles with.
Growing up in an environment where nearly every family employed the authoritarian model (the “Godly” model), I can tell you that nearly ever kid either turned away from Christ or, if they held on, were so scarred that they had to undergo years of therapy to make things right.
Authoritarian is not “Godly.” It is the opposite. It is destructive.
Jesus’ yoke was easy and his burden light. God forbid we impose it on our children, or else they’ll become the children of fear, not of freedom or peace.
h) Don’t send mixed messages. I brought up a bit on this earlier, but Bologna gives a good example.
“I get this a lot from parents who say to their children, ‘I want you to really enjoy taking this time being a kid,’” Yip explained. “Then they follow up by saying, ‘Have you studied for your SAT yet? That’s really important to do. You really need to get on studying with your SAT because the deadline is approaching, and if you don’t get on it, this is your last opportunity.’”
She urged parents to mean what they say and stay true to their intentions when delivering a message. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing, with 24/7 academics or 24/7 enjoying being a kid.
“Say something like, ‘Your SATs are coming up, and that needs to be a priority. I want you to be able to find some way to balance your time and prioritize what is most important to focus your attention on,’” Yip suggested.
[Photo: Pexels, free stock photography]
Phillip Keller, in his classic book on Psalm 23, writes:
“How many of us are truly convinced that no matter what occurs in our lives we are being followed by goodness and mercy?
….When my little world is falling apart and the dream castles of my ambitions and hopes crumble into ruins, can I honestly declare, ‘Surely – yes – surely – goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life’?”
Oof. That’s a tough question to answer, especially for depressed Christians, who are particularly prone to seeing sadness, melancholy and despair following us all the days of our lives.
But no matter our answer to that question, God’s is always the same: “Yes, my goodness and love are following you all the days of your life.”
If you’re struggling to hear that answer, it might very well be that your depression, anxiety, ocd, (or any of the other innumerable medical disorders that can affect our brains) is lying to you about God — just as it does about so many things in life.
It’s very difficult to believe in a good, loving God when we’re severely depressed or anxious, no?
But as Zack Eswine writes in his wonderful book, Spurgeon’s Sorrows: “Our sense of God’s absence does not mean that he is so…. our feelings of him do not save us. He does.”
And often, the thing informing our sense of God’s absence is our medical disorder.
So…
Find a psychiatrist here.
Find a therapist here.
Bernard Bush, in his essay, Coping with God (quoted here), sends a message to many a depressed Christian.
“We may find that we punish ourselves mercilessly for real or imagined sins, and even then we will not forgive ourselves.
… fortunately, Christ has revealed the real God to us in unmistakably human form, exposed projection for the idolatry that it is, and given us the way to to become free from it.
It takes a profound conversion to accept the belief that God is tender and loves us just as we are, not in spite of our sins and faults, but with them.
God does not condone or sanction evil, but he does not withhold his love because there is evil in us.
The key to understanding is the way we feel about ourselves.
We cannot even stand or accept love from another human being when we do not love ourselves, much less believe or accept that God could possibly love us.”
Amen.
That’s both biblical, and yet also heretical in most evangelical churches and circles.
This idea that we should love ourselves.
Oh, we’ll hear sermon after sermon about how God loves us, but how many times will be told that we should feel about ourselves the way God does?
That kind of message is “the domain of the Joel Osteen, squishy” kind of church.
It’s simply not acceptable in “true, Bible-believing churches.”
But all those “true, Bible-believing churches” would say “God loves you,” and yet deny that luxury to someone’s own feelings towards themselves.
It is not biblical. Far from it.
It is a lie — one meant to steal the joy of our salvation; in fact, if you were to categorize it, you should place it in the realm of the demonic because if Satan can’t steal our salvation, he’ll certainly try to steal the joy from our salvation.
And this is the way to do it — tell people it’s a ghastly lie that you should love yourself (even though God does).
But it’s okay to love yourself. It really is. And again, how do we know? Because God does.
If it’s okay for God to do it, it can’t be a sin, right?
Again, if God loves you today, love yourself today.
It’s not easy to take that attitude towards ourselves when we’ve been told that kind of thinking is a modern sickness in the church.
If so, it’s an ancient sickness in God himself, because he’s loved you since before you were born.
So, as Brennan Manning says, take sides with God, against your own self-evaluation.
[Painting: La Douleur, Cezanne]
I’ve been sick a lot lately. Like, a lot. I’m sick of it.
More than anything, I’m sick of the uncertainty it brings to the delicate equilibrium of a family with young kids.
If a family has two parents and one goes out of commission, it’s like flying with one jet. Everything is worse for everyone.
And the worst thing of all is the uncertainty it brings.
Physical uncertainty, economic uncertainty, and all the small things like, “Am I going to be well enough to drive and pick up the kids today, or does my wife need to come home early, or do I need to ask a friend?” and everything that comes from that.
I hate it.
Now, I’m a Christian and you are, too.
Theoretically, uncertainty is our chance to show the world that we’re cool with uncertainty because we know God’s in control.
He’s sovereign. He loves us. If he’s for us, who can be against us, and there’s a reason for this, and it’s to bring us closer to him and you know the drill.
In fact, that’s what it’s become — a drill.
It’s been drilled into us in every sermon, verse, Bible study group, our own prayers.
All that theology is true.
But I’m also certain of this, and it’s what I want to tell you.
The person at church, sitting next to you — she hates uncertainty just as much as you.
The Bible study group leader who’s taken on the “shepherd role” — he hates uncertainty as much as you.
They struggle with it, just like you and me, and even though the Christian world might put on a face that lies, the statistics don’t.
We experience as much clinical anxiety as non-Christians. And a deep, abiding hatred for uncertainty is one such symptom.
Now this phenomenon — a Christian’s fear of uncertainty — is completely understandable if you believe in clinical anxiety.
In fact, it goes hand-in-hand with our disease.
If you have anxiety and don’t hate uncertainty, then it’s as medically bonkers as breaking a bone and not feeling pain.
But of course, Christians like to distinguish ourselves from the world in all kinds of ways (many of which are based on pride — just like the religious folk did in Jesus’ days).
And for us, aping a relative indifference to anxiety and uncertainty is one of those ways.
And I have no doubt some are relatively indifferent to it, but I suspect it’s because they’re just not the anxious type to begin with, and even if they weren’t Christians, they’d still be writing songs like “What a wonderful world” and talking about how the journey of life — with all its “exciting twists and turns”, even the bad ones — is what it’s all about.
I’m an extrovert and open about my struggles with mental health, and have therefore interacted with a lot of Christians you’d never expect to be wracked by fear and uncertainty who, nevertheless, go to bed at night and can’t find sleep, and wake up, desperate to go to sleep again, because they can’t face another day of uncertainty.
Nevertheless, the stigma surrounding our fear of uncertainty is so deep in the Christian church that, in order to fit in, we have to bow — not to God — but to the general consensus of Deep Faith.
But Deep Faith, in this context, is rarely about faith in Christ.
It is about a million other things that have nothing to do with Christianity but have nevertheless become American Christianity.
And perhaps, standing above it all (although politics is vying for first place) is the notion that Deep Faith is about showing our Deep Difference in how the world affects us.
Thus, we’re supposedly immune to the things that trouble others — like uncertainty.
Yes, we are, in fact, loved deeply by a Father who cares for us, deeply.
But we are also, in fact, humans who develop medical conditions that are no less painful than the ones experienced by others.
Last year, I was hospitalized for a stomach thing and had a 20 minute or so bout with a heavy potassium injection into my veins.
I didn’t know that pain existed.
Those 20 minutes didn’t make me doubt God’s love for me.
But they did make me think, “I never want to go through this again,” and to this day, when I’m battling electrolyte imbalances, I tremble at the thought of another potassium injection.
Uncertainty. See, it sucks. That’s a small example. But it says nothing about Deep Faith.
It just sucks to wonder whether you’ll have to feel the pain of a potassium injection.
Then there are far worse pains, emotional ones, that we’ve been through and fear going through again.
I don’t want to. I don’t like to. I’d rather not.
I hate the idea.
And here’s the discouraging thing.
If I said that series of sentences to a group of Christians — “I don’t want to,” “I don’t like to,” “I hate the idea” — most the time I’d be met with “But that’s how God grows you.”
Perhaps. But I’d rather not grow that way.
And then there’s this. I’ve seen deep emotional pains shrink people. Not grow them. They crumble.
Nothing except an overwhelming fear and terror emerges. We call that PTSD.
“In hindsight, it was for the best,” many of us say. Some never get to say it, because this side of heaven, we’ll never really understand.
I don’t pretend to know how God works. Or what’s the reason for things.
And that’s the point. None of us does. Not you, not me, not the church.
The church, on one hand, talks about how God moves in “mysterious ways” (true), but then tries to explain those ways, and it doesn’t take Kurt Godel to find just how hopelessly tied up in confused logic they get at trying to explain those mysterious ways.
God’s ways are mysterious. Let’s leave it at that.
Except for this.
I don’t know the reason for your pain or mine (beyond original sin).
But I do know that there’s nothing mysterious to the fact that if you have a medical condition, you are going to feel its pain.
And anxiety is a medical condition.
And you can’t expect to look at an MRI, showing anxiety, inflammatory markers suggesting that, and then say, “Oh, but that person isn’t going to experience dread, fear, an overwhelming terror over the uncertainties of life.”
That isn’t mysterious. That’s medical.
Why God’s allowed some of us to go through that — there’s the mystery.
So yes, I’m a Christian and I hate uncertainty and have since a child, and it continues and will until I find myself safely and securely in the arms of Christ, in heaven.
And I also know this.
I’m certain that if you feel this way, you know scores of other Christians who also feel this way, but are too shy to say so, because the church worships a Deep Faith that is often more about how different, how above it all, how tremendously certain we are about life, unlike all those “faithless heathens.”
We think it’s our badge of honor, and yet it is really our mark of pride.
So please, don’t think you’re a bad Christian because you hate uncertainty, because you experience dread, because this world is so this world.
Of course, we have a Savior who’s adopted us as his children, but what child — even a deeply loved child — doesn’t battle fear?
What kind of father or mother would hold that fear against them?
My young son hates the uncertainty of first grade.
I try to comfort him, but I don’t hold his dread against him. I’d be a loveless parent if I did.
So, capping it off, there are three things I’m certain of.
First, that it’s okay to hate uncertainty.
Second, I’m certain your church is filled with people who hate uncertainty, too, and are sadly struggling with having their medical condition, spiritualized.
Third, that Christ is the Good Shepherd, and the Good Shepherd doesn’t demand his sheep become lions. He knows we’re scared little things or else we wouldn’t need a Shepherd.
He lays down his life for us, because frankly, we’re not very good at life, and if we think we are, we’re deluded little sheep.
So if you have a medical condition that goes hand-in-hand with a dread over uncertainty…
Find a psychiatrist here.
Find a therapist here.
[Painting: Nocturne in Black and Gold — The Falling Rocket (Whistler)]
“I will lead the blind in a way that they do not know, in paths that they have not known I will guide them.
I will turn the darkness before them into light, the rough places into level ground.
These are the things I do, and I do not forsake them.”
That’s a beautiful verse, and an even more beautiful truth.
It’s helpful to read, but at times, can be hard, because it is so puzzling to our experience.
There can be such a discord between these beautiful verses and our own lives.
Because God promises to “turn the darkness…. into light” and many of us move (well, barely move) in this difficult shroud of weight our entire lives.
I once talked to someone who nearly lost his faith because verses like this seemed so hollow to the reality of not only what he experienced, but what he also saw other Christians experience.
I know.
Of course, once the trial is gone, it’s easy to get into the spirit of, “Woohoo I learned important things from it! God had a purpose!”
But what if they never leave?
What if we never learn anything from the trial that persists (after all, we’re taught by other Christians that trials only exist in “seasons”) except to further doubt words that seem empty?
That’s the case for many Christians who hear these verses.
We’re expected to be “blessed” by them (and often are), but let’s be honest — they can often feel like empty promises.
But the key word there is “feel.”
How we feel doesn’t reflect how it is.
And in that particular passage from Isaiah, the thing I hold onto is the truth, at the end, that persists now how matter how we feel.
God says: “I do not forsake them.”
Maybe you and I feel we aren’t on the “level ground” or “light place” of this verse.
But no matter how we feel, or what things look like, there’s this thing we know: God does not forsake us.
How do we know that?
Because a perfect Father never forsakes his children.
Never.
Even an imperfect one. The thought of forsaking my children is the most jaw-droppingly terrible one I can fathom.
Elsewhere in Isaiah, God says: “See, I have written your name on the palms of my hands.”
He’s got a tattoo of your name and mine.
And in Isaiah, he also compares himself to a breastfeeding mother: “Can a mother forget the baby at her breast?”
A Father, inked up in devotion with our name, a Mother who’s breastfeeding her baby that has become her entire life.
So yes, when God says he won’t forsake us, he won’t.
Or else he’s a liar.
And it seems one of the most basic tenants of faith rests on the premise that God doesn’t lie.
But if he doesn’t lie, he’s with you right now, and will never forsake you.
If you feel forsaken in your condition of depression, anxiety, mood disorders, the place to go is the root of the problem, and that is best addressed by…
Find a psychiatrist here.
Find a therapist here.
I know that sounds terribly unspiritual to say, but medication, therapy — those are things God gives us to help our medical problems.
And depression that persists, anxiety that disorients, ocd that plagues us. Medical.
[Painting: Compassion, William-Adolphe Bouguereau]
Over at The Daily Beast, Hannah Thomasy has a great write-up of both the history and the promise of TMS (Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation).
You’re likely aware of that acronym, and while I’d definitely recommend reading her whole piece, here are some highlights:
a. TMS is built on a discovery from NIH research that the left prefrontal cortex seems to be underactive in people with depression.
The thinking is that if you can stimulate that region back into activity, that might help alleviate depression.
b. As such, TMS makes some assumptions of depression that differ from more standard explanations relating to brain biochemistry (e.g. neurotransmitters like serotonin and norepinephrine).
These changes can take awhile to filter down to general psychiatry, and it’s often a heavy lift to convince practitioners to consider more innovative approaches.
c. The problem of bias. This has been significant.
In clinical studies, TMS has generated significant improvements in a decent percentage of treatment-resistant cases.
However, the placebo effect seems to be unusually high.
For example, one study showed that people getting zapped with the placebo saw just as much improvement as people getting zapped with the real deal.
Of course, there have been more hopeful studies, but until recently, the placebo effect was a real concern in promoting TMS as a game-changing tool.
Further, there is no standardized TMS treatment in trials.
For example, some trials employ magnetic pulses that differ in location, strength, frequency etc.,
So scientists can’t yet say, “This is the way to do it to achieve best results.”
d. The traditional means is, frankly, a time-intensive — sometimes prohibitive — ask of patients.
Traditional TMS asks you to come in multiple times a week for up to 2 months.
That’s tough for a lot of people (pretty much everyone).
HOWEVER.
I’ve written before about some amazing new advances in TMS technology.
And Thomasy goes through some of these.
One such is iTBS, which was only approved in 2018.
The great thing about this form of TMS is that it cuts treatment time from 37 minutes per session to 3 minutes… and studies show it’s as effective as traditional TMS.
Hooray.
But the most exciting new development is Stanford Neuromodulation Therapy (SNT).
It uses iTBS along with a few other tweaks, based on brain imaging, and so far, seems to be truly effective at reducing symptoms.
And by that I mean — a small clinical trial showed far superior results than the traditional form.
After one month of treatment, 70% of patients experienced a reduction in symptoms, and incredibly importantly, only 7% of those in the placebo group had any kind of reduction.
That’s significant.
Because as I said earlier, one of the knocks on TMS is the placebo effect.
But the gap in the SNT method (70% reduction in treatment group vs. 7% in placebo) is just astonishingly good and seems to indicate that SNT is really onto something.
I would read this article from Stanford on it, and man, it’s just amazingly hopeful.
So as Dr. Nolan Williams writes, “It could be a game changer,” and let’s pray that researchers are onto something.
Finally, here’s a note I want to add.
For a lot of Christians who look at all this with a skeptical eye, any kind of mixed study (for example, small differences between treatment or placebo group), or abandoned theory, is proof (to them) that we can’t treat this condition medically.
That’s tragic.
Has anyone solved Alzheimer’s yet?
No.
For decades and decades, scientists have been trying to isolate the cause and (to be blunt) the cure (or at least the help) of this disease, and yet its complexities continue to elude us.
The brain is just enormously complex.
But I don’t think there are many Christians out there who would deny Alzheimer’s is a medical condition.
Christians aren’t saying, “Let’s abandon Alzheimer’s research because it hasn’t been solved and only memorizing Bible verses can cure it.”
No, we accept that something is going on in the body that needs fixing.
It’s not about something that’s going on with our spirituality that needs fixing.
We see Christians with dementia, ravaged by a disease — not because of faulty spirituality, but a body that’s breaking down.
With mood disorders, obviously, many of the symptoms are different but just because we don’t recognize the shifts as easily, these changes in the brain or the body are no less real.
They require professional, medical help.
And with that…
Find a psychiatrist here.
Find a therapist here.
A new push from the California state legislature would ban the sale of diet pills and weight-loss supplements to children under 18 years old.
This is hugely important.
As The Stanford Daily notes, compelling research has linked weight-loss supplements and diet pills with the development of anorexia (the most dangerous mental health condition).
Further, these supplements are often unsafe, period.
Stanford Doctor Neville Golden says many of them are associated with “elevated heart rate, high blood pressure, and increased nervousness.”
Additionally, 25% of ER visits for supplemental toxicity are related to diet pills.
I hear a lot of Christians these days complaining about the “woke body positivity” movement, and it’s deeply saddening to hear the scorning coming from the church, because this kind of shaming is a significant cause of the most dangerous and disturbing disorders of all — those related to eating.
Let’s hope this bill passes, and spurs other states (and countries) to follow.
Meanwhile, if you struggle with an eating disorder…
Find a psychiatrist here.
Find a therapist here.
[Painting: Carmel by the Sea, Keith]
Alistair Begg, in his sermon “The Power and Message of the Cross,” on one of the most moving stories in history.
This clip is only three minutes, but infinitely beautiful.
Begg imagines a scenario whereby the thief on the cross is grilled by an angel upon entry into paradise.
The gist:
Angel: Did you believe in this particular doctrine, or that one, or that one, or that one?
The Thief: (Clueless) What?
Angel: Well, on what basis are you here?
The Thief: The Man on the Middle Cross said I can come.
Begg continues: “That is the only answer, and if I don’t preach the Gospel to myself all day and every day, then I will find myself beginning to trust myself, trust my experience.
… If I take my eyes off the cross, I can then give only lip service to its efficacy, while at the same time living as if my salvation depends on me.
And as soon as you go there, it will lead you either to abject despair or a horrible kind of arrogance.
And it is only the cross of Christ that deals with the depths of despair and the pretentious arrogance of the pride of man that says, ‘I can figure this out’.”
Beautiful.
Now please note.
When Begg speaks of the “depths of despair,” that’s a spiritual kind of despair over our salvation.
It’s quite different from the despair that originates from clinical depression, anxiety, and other mood disorders.
So I will add the postscript that I always add because too many churches out there want to make any despair you experience all about your spirituality.
When, in fact, it most often originates outside of it.
So…
Find a psychiatrist here.
Find a therapist here.
But yes, you can only find salvation through the man on the middle cross.
A new paper in the journal Emergency Nurse discusses how ER nurses are particularly prone to experience “thanatophobia” — which author Mike Brady describes as “a state in which people experience negative emotional reactions in recognition of their own mortality.”
Healthline puts it more bluntly: “a fear of death or the dying process.”
Mental health professionals divide phobias into “specific phobias,” “social phobias,” and “agoraphobia,” and thanatophobia is a “specific phobia.”
The Cleveland Clinic compares it to claustrophobia (which Christians would never condemn) or aerophobia (fear of flying, which is often based on a fear of heights — which Christians would never condemn).
According to Healthline, some physical symptoms are: Panic attacks, nausea, stomach pain, heart palpitations.
Some emotional symptoms: agitation, sadness, persistent worry, and even avoidance of friends and family.
Additionally, you might develop health anxiety, where you research any possible disease you might have that could lead to death.
And, as in any avenue of mental health, eventually, it can be so paralyzing that it becomes disabling.
There are a number of risk factors, including being diagnosed with other phobias, witnessing close family members who have either recently died or have a terminal illness, other traumatic life events, physical illness, and according to the National Institute of Mental Health, even being particularly shy as a child.
Further, if you’re a healthcare worker (the paper I mentioned is specifically about emergency room nurses), you’re at particular risk.
Death anxiety is also linked with numerous mental disorders, including anxiety, depressive and panic disorders and is associated with more severe symptoms in each of those conditions.
That’s an enormously important point (more on that later).
Interestingly, studies show that younger people are more afraid of death, but older people are more afraid of the dying process.
Now, there are quite a few things to say about this.
First, the American Psychiatric Association doesn’t recognize it as a disorder, but it’s widely accepted to be associated with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD).
So if you go to the doctor and talk about your persistent, distressing fear of death, the dying process, or your fear over your loved ones’ passing — Healthline notes that your doctor is more likely to view your thanatophobia as part of an anxiety disorder.
This has important implications for treatment, because if it’s a manifestation of GAD, it’s treated in similar fashion.
Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, Talk Therapy, Relaxation Techniques, and/or medication are just some of the means.
And it has important implications for how Christians address it, as well.
As a symptom of a disease, we should never impute spiritual deficiencies or faulty faith to its development or manifestation.
We don’t do that for people with cancer, and we should never do the same for someone with a phobia.
And yet, this is one particular phobia that Christians swarm over like a pack of hungry wolves.
I’ve frequently discussed how Christians frequently shame and stigmatize health anxiety.
The “Who Cares?” Christians claim we’re not supposed to care about our health because our time on earth is so short, Christ conquered death, we know we’re going to have resurrected bodies etc.,
And yet.
We can still find ourselves fixated on our health, on the notion of dying, on the fear of our loved ones dying.
We wonder how our fears over our health, the process of dying, and death itself can be compatible with the message we’re constantly bombarded with at church — which is: your body is just a broken vessel and life is all about your soul, and if God’s got that taken care of, what’s the big deal about losing your health, or dying?
Again, you will find a lot of “Who Cares?” Christians roaming about at church, and even preaching from the pulpit.
Consequently, if you go and talk about your phobia over death, you’ll probably get a sermon that boils down to this implicit message: “Your faith is deficient, your fears are a sin, and get over it.”
Well, a few things.
Why do Christians accept some phobias and not others?
Why does the church say, “It’s okay to have claustrophobia and not thanatophobia?”
Both are phobias, both provoke similar feelings of anxiety, dread, and distress.
But one is treated as a spiritual condition, the other isn’t.
If you told someone at church you were getting an MRI and said, “I have claustrophobia and just hate that feeling of being constricted in a tight place. I panic, I sweat, I get palpitations etc”, you’d never be spiritually shamed.
And yet — if you said the same thing about death, that’s when the Shame Brigade would swoop in.
But there’s absolutely nothing in Christianity that suggests fears over our health and death should be shamed.
In fact, God knows what a big deal sickness and death are.
When Jesus came to earth, he seemed to spend the bulk of his time doing what?
Healing people.
He didn’t meet up with lepers, the blind, the crippled, and say, “Hey guys, I know things suck for you right now, but just forget about how sick you are. I’ve got some Good News for you to focus on, instead. Here’s some literature. Bye-bye now!”
No, when John wondered whether Jesus was really the Messiah, Christ pointed primarily to what?
The fact he was healing the suffering.
“Sure, sure,” the “Who Cares?” Christians might glumly acknowledge, “But that’s no excuse for emotional suffering. Christians have the good theology to put that to bed.”
Yeah, we have good theology but we might not have a good gut, which plays an incredibly important role in our emotional health.
So, as this blog and medical research has proven, the line between physical and emotional suffering is blurred to an almost inconsequential point.
Depression, anxiety, any mood disorder are diseases.
And we know that Christ never shamed people for their diseases.
Instead, he was “filled with compassion” innumerable times, and there’s a reason why he was called “The Great Physician” and it didn’t just have to do with spiritual healing.
Historically, Christians have understood this.
That’s why Christians have always been deeply involved in the medical field, in ministries for those with diseases.
It sucks to be sick.
It really does.
I broke three bones in my foot a few years ago. It hurt just as terribly for me as an athiest.
Physical suffering just sucks.
My hunch is that the Christians who preach the “who cares” message are pretty healthy or have never been around someone chronically sick, or in an environment where they see constant physical suffering.
There’s another important point.
The “Who Cares?” Christians often cherry pick verses to build a theology.
They constantly cite Jesus’ famous words to not “not let your heart be troubled,” but ignore that Jesus’ own heart was frequently “greatly troubled,” and yes, about his own suffering.
The “Who Cares?” Christians will cite Paul’s exaltation “Death, where is your sting?” while ignoring that Jesus wept when Lazarus experienced that sting.
The “Who Cares?” Christians will lean on Paul’s observation that “to live is Christ, to die is gain,” while ignoring the fact that, when ill, one of God’s most faithful servants — Hezekiah — “cried with a bitter cry” for God to extend his life.
God answered, “I have heard your prayer. I have seen your tears. See, I will all add fifteen years to your life.”
The Bible, thankfully, is infinitely more reflective of the human experience than what’s preached at church, which often looks more like a propaganda film than the real story of our lives.
And of course that’s what most churches have become.
They want to sell Sunday Morning as the solution to every problem because you’re more likely to come back on Sunday Morning.
Just like any organization, it’s a battle for existential survival.
That’s not to impute bad motives to every church, it’s just to say, “Be wary of churches that won’t talk about the tougher stuff, be wary of churches that shame, that sell Christ as the solution to your physical problems, your mood disorders, your financial problems.”
The Prosperity Gospel is everywhere — even in churches that condemn the Prosperity Gospel.
Because any church that shames people who are afflicted with thanatophobia or any other fear are essentially preaching a form of the Prosperity Gospel.
“Come to Jesus and he’ll heal all your diseases, including depression, anxiety, and any phobia you might have.”
That is a form of the Prosperity Gospel.
Death is tragic. God never intended it.
The process of dying is tragic. God never dismisses that.
The pain of seeing a loved one die is almost insurmountable. Jesus wept when he saw it.
All of this pain is sacred, and to diminish it, to shame it — that is defiling the sacred.
Jesus understands your fears, he doesn’t condemn you for them — instead, he will hold your hand through them, even if you can’t feel it, and he will never judge you because he begged his own Father to, if possible, take away his upcoming cup of suffering.
If Jesus dreaded physical and emotional suffering, it’s quite okay for you, too.
Don’t let the “Who Cares” Christians get to you. Jesus is on your side. He knows how hard it is.
And in the mean time, if you struggle with thanatophobia, I’d urge you to look for professional help.
So…
Find a psychiatrist here.
Find a therapist here.
And I like the Cleveland Clinic’s brief overview here.
[Painting: Hopper, Automat]