Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts

I'm a Little Dog in a Big Dog World


During November and December, I'll be diving into a personal Bible study of hope. I'll be sharing what I learn here, in a series called "Hope for the Holidays and Everydays."

Each week, I'll be giving away a book. This week's title is 21 Ways to Connect With Your Kids by Kathi Lipp, with personality assessment and applications contributed by yours truly! 


Oh, and if you haven't already "Liked" Kathi on Facebook, I think you'll actually LOVE her!

Enter via the Rafflecopter at the end of the blog post or click to enter here.

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Big Dogs
I’m a big dog girl.

I grew up with a 50-pound Samoyed, Nikki.

Our first dog as newlyweds was a big black Labrador Retriever.

Shatzi, my Keeshond, only tips the scales at 35 pounds, but since most of that is fur, she looks like a big dog.


Little Dogs

In our household, we call the toy breeds “squeaky toys.”

Anything smaller than our smallest cat simply can not be taken seriously as a canine.

Years ago, in Shatzi’s puppy class, we met an itsy-bitsy chihuahua named Chiquita. This teacup mite weighed a few ounces and shook violently if anyone looked in her direction.

While all the other puppies learned to sit, stay, and come, Chiquita’s big accomplishment at the end of eight weeks was spending a few seconds nose-to-nose with Alexander, the 40-pound German Shepard puppy, without puddling in fear.


I am a Big Dog Girl

Did I mention that I am a big dog girl?

(Keep in mind: I am a big dog girl.)

When the counselor who leads my eating disorder group explained to us last year, “Each woman has her own unique sensitivity and reactivity. Some are like big bold German Shepherds while others are like little timid Chihuahuas.”

NO. 

No, no, no.

I am a big dog girl!

I refuse to be a Chihuahua!

I am NOT a squeaky toy!

I want to be a big bold German Shepherd!!!


I Want to be a Big Dog

This morning, I read this Tweet from Mary DeMuth, a Christian author and speaker I greatly admire:

I want to live an outward life that blesses others, not an inward-looking life where I obsess over my shortcomings.

And I thought about yesterday's blog post and my most recent solo performance. 

NO. 

No, no, no.
I am a big dog girl!

I don’t want to be a squeaky toy!

I don’t want to be an inward-looking obsesser who focuses on her shortcomings!

I want to live an outward life that blesses others!


I am a Little Dog

In my quiet time this morning, I read Mark’s account of the widow’s offering. 

Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large amounts. But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a few cents.

Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.”

And it struck me: I know about giving out of poverty. 

Emotional poverty. 

I know about watching strong Christian speakers who have their lives together and marriages together and parenting together and big beautiful hair all together and wishing so desperately I could have what they have so I could give what they give in such abundance.

I desperately want to be a German Shepherd: big and bold for Christ!

But all I actually have is a broken Perfectionism ruler and a retired Anxiety Girl cape. 

That’s pretty much everything: my life in a nutshell. 

I’m a timid trembly teacup Chihuahua whose big accomplishment on any given day is not being reduced to a puddle of tears.

Yet when I give Him all of what little I have -- all I have to live on -- He considers my worthless gifts greater than all the others?

This makes no sense to me.

But my heart leapt this morning at the thought it just might be true: 

  • I don’t need to keep trying to be a big dog. 
  • I don’t need to be ashamed of being a shaky little dog.
  • All I need to do is give him all I’ve got.
And trust Him to do the rest!

Be strong and take heart
all you who hope in the Lord.
Psalm 31:24



Your Turn:
  • What makes you feel like a tiny teacup chihuahua in a world full of big bold German Shepherds?
  • What are your "two very small copper coins"? 
  • Anything else on your heart!
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Dear Teenage Me: Don't Worry that She's not Happy


(We're gearing up for The PURSE-onality Challenge holiday edition–"A Holiday-Ready Heart"–in October! Stay tuned for full details...Warm-Up Week starts September 24!)

September 5-23, I'll be blogging through Mary DeMuth's soon-to-be-released book Everything: What you Give and What you Gain to Become Like Jesus. Each week, I'll be giving way a copy of the book. You can enter the drawing via the Rafflecopter at the end of each Everything blog post!

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Don't let the smile fool you. I worried about
my "horns" (feathered hair). I worried
about my teeth. I worried about my
thick glasses. I worried about...
"Worry is a weighty monster with poisoned tentacles. It clutches at our minds, steals our breath, our will. It lurks. It pounces. It colors how we perceive the world. 

But God whispers peace in the midst. 

Me? I listen to my frenetic shouting, preferring my self-imposed rants, and I don't hear the Almighty's peace."

Incessant worry and overwhelming anxiety were normal for me growing up. The women in my family modeled this self-perpetuating control cycle, and I learned it well at an early age:

 1.  fear the dozens of ways things could go wrong; 
2.  work to exhaustion to prevent them; 
3.  congratulate self when everything turns out fine;
4.  repeat.



In honor of this week's release of Graceful {for young women}, Emily Freeman (author of Grace for the Good Girl) has invited bloggers to write letters to their teenage selves. 

 Here is mine:

Early in my eating disorder;
I went on to lose another
20+ pounds.
Oh Sweetheart,

Stop trying so hard.

I know that’s hard to hear. You pride yourself in being a do-er. A hard worker. An achiever.

But you’re trying to achieve the impossible.

Trust me on this one:

Nothing you do will make Mother happy.

Your A+++ grades won’t make her happy.

Your becoming a teacher won’t make her happy.

Your marriage won’t make her happy. (In fact, she’ll be so unhappy that she’ll refuse to participate at all. You’ll plan your wedding all by yourself.)

Your children won’t even make her happy. 

Oh, she’ll enjoy them. And you’ll have a few years during which you’ll feel like you’ve finally earned her approval.

Wearing my mother's dress,
gloves, shoes, and belt.
(The hat was my idea!)
But then they’ll grow past the “cute” stage, become teenagers, and about the time you’re launching your firstborn to college, Mother will start losing her memory.

And then, for the first time in your life, you will see her happy. She will not know you, but she will be happy.

As Daddy and John comfort each other by saying that she’s “the happiest she’s been in 45 years,” it will occur to you that they knew her when she knew them and was still happy. 

You will realize then what you can not suspect right now:  Mother has been depressed for your entire life.

Her unhappiness is not your fault. 

You did not cause it. You can not fix it.

You can not make her happy. No matter what you do. No matter how hard you try. 

I left home shortly after this photo
was taken, but my craving to make
my mother happy followed
right after me.
Nothing you do will make Mother happy.

Stop trying so hard. 

Start seeking refuge. 

Learn now–when you long for the love she can not offer–to run to Him.

Learn now–when you cry for the comfort she can not give–to hide in Him.

Stop trying so hard.

Stop trying.

Stop. 

Be still.

Know Him.

Know that He delights in you;

He always has, and He always will.


In His Delight,



Your 45-year-old self



Your Turn:
  • What worries are at the top of your worry list?
  • What would you say to your teenage self?
  • Anything else on your heart!

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Grace for the Good Girl: Worry, Fear, & Anxiety

August 1-14, I'll be blogging as I read through Emily Freeman's Grace for the Good Girl. Each week, I'll give away a free copy of her book! Enter via the Rafflecopter here.


Bloggers: I'll be hosting a link-up on Friday on "the try-hard life" and/or "good girl syndrome." If you've got something to share, the link-up will be live at 12:30 AM Pacific. Would love to have you join the conversation!



“Worry is a thief, Fear is a liar, and Anxiety is their trembling, furrow-browed baby. I have lived with this dysfunctional family for the better part of my life. Sometimes I live with them still. 
Worry robs me of the peace I know is available. 
Fear lies and says there is no peace at all. 
And their immature, screaming baby Anxiety keeps me up at night with her unrelenting cries of what if? and what now? and what will they think?”  
What if?
My grandmother lived through the depression. She always traveled with several hard-boiled eggs in her purse. Half-way through any flight, regardless of her hunger level, she’d pull them out and smell up the plane. 
Oh, I was trained to worry at a tender age!  
What if…
  • ...there’s no more food?
  • ...she stops being my BFF?
  • ...I miss a point on this test?

What now?
(Setting:  The eating disorder unit, just before our first family group counseling session.)
My counselors: “People change, Cheri! Just you wait and see!”

Me:  “You don’t know my mother.”
My counselors:  “Just you wait and see!” 
Me:  Maybe they know what they’re talking about!
(After the meeting)
My counselors:  “Cheri, sometimes you just have to accept…”

My worst fear had come true: there was no hope for me. My only “hope” was to try harder.
What now…
  • ...that I have two babies and a difficult marriage?  Try harder
  • ...that we need my income but I dread teaching every day?  Try harder
  • ...that I’ve fractured T7 and can’t do what everyone needs me do?  Try harder

What will they think?
The summer I was 9, a boy at day camp asked me, “So, do you read the dictionary for fun?”

“Of course!” I answered honestly, thrilled to have found a kindred spirit. Only he didn’t talk to me the rest of the summer. 
I can still feel the flush of shame as it dawned on me, days later as he and the “in” girls snickered at me from a distance yet again, that he hadn’t asked a question. 
He’d delivered an insult. One I’d been too dense to recognize.
I grew into a mashup of Sanguine PURSE-onality with hypervigilant anxiety.
What will they think…
  • ...if I talk too fast? too much? too loud?
  • ...when they see the cat and dog fur on the couch?
  • ...about my out-of-season mis-matched Ross clothes? 

Fear drives.
But Love leads.
“God can do anything, you know – 
far more than you could ever 
imagine or guess or request 
in your wildest dreams! 
He does it not by pushing us around 
but by working within us, 
his Spirit deeply and gently within us.”
(Eph. 3:20 Message)

Your Turn!
  • How do you know the dysfunctional family of Worry, Fear, and Anxiety?
  • Which cry keeps you up at night:  What if?  What now?  What will they think?
  • What does “Fear drives. But Love leads” mean to you?

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