Lessons in Anxiety: What I’ve Learned on a Journey I Didn’t Choose
First and foremost, I just have to say a big THANK YOU! When I sat down to write about my journey with anxiety and church hurt that turned into Back to the Heart of It, I had no idea that it would even be a blog post, let alone one that so many people resonated with. I simply needed to get my thoughts out of my head and onto paper as part of my own healing journey. I am humbled and grateful for how many of you reached out to share your own stories of anxiety, hurt, and complicated relationships with church.
Because of that response, I want to continue the conversation in a way that I hope is encouraging. Here’s the truth: Anxiety is not something I ever wanted. Church hurt is not something I prayed for. And yet, over the past 2 years, I’ve learned more than I expected—lessons I wish I could have learned another way, but that I’m oddly grateful for nonetheless.
What follows is a non-exhaustive list of some things I’m learning. I don’t share them because I have everything figured out, but because maybe something here will encourage you in your own journey, especially if you are walking through a season you didn’t choose.
Here are a few lessons that I’ve been learning along the way:
Anxiety and Faith Can Coexist
When I was struggling with anxiety in 2020, I did the “Christian” thing: I searched for sermons and Christian podcasts about anxiety. Do you know what I found? A lot of teaching that implied having faith meant I shouldn’t feel anxious—that real trust in God would cancel it out. Immediately, I felt defeated. I told this story in a sermon about anxiety, and so many people told me that they had the same experience. It seems to be far easier to tell people to “pray away” their anxiety than to walk with them through it. But telling someone they don’t have enough faith because they struggle with mental health is not only terrible advice; it’s terrible theology.
This type of teaching fuels the misconception: “If I really trusted God, I wouldn’t be anxious.” The truth is that faith and anxiety can coexist, just as faith can coexist with doubt, trauma, or depression. In fact, in the midst of my anxiety, turning to Christ was often my first response. Ironically, some of the teachings I found pushed people away from Christ instead of toward Him.
I don’t want to say that no one can pray and God heal their anxiety. I believe He absolutely can. But He hasn’t done that for me. That doesn’t mean He’s absent. In my experience, God has shown up in small, ordinary ways: in music, in Scripture, in conversations, in time with friends. God doesn’t wait for the fog to lift before meeting us. He meets us in the fog.
For a long time, I carried guilt and frustration about not being able to attend church without anxiety. At first, I saw it as a failure of faith. But I’ve learned that faith is not the absence of anxiety, it’s trusting God in the middle of it. If you’re walking with both faith and anxiety, know this: you’re not failing. You’re living out what faith really looks like.
Anxiety is inconvenient.
This probably seems obvious, but it’s worth naming. If anxiety only showed up in certain places or circumstances, it might be easier to manage. But that’s not how it works. It doesn’t respect calendars or to-do lists. It doesn’t wait for the “right time” to arrive. Anxiety interrupts meetings, conversations, and even quiet moments when I most want peace. Anxiety doesn’t ask permission. It barges in like the Kool-Aid Man.
And the worst part? It doesn’t just crash into painful situations where you might expect it like doctor’s appointments, job interviews, and hard conversations. In my life, anxiety has shown up at the things I love: soccer games, concerts, a trip with Carissa, even a week of seminary classes I’d looked forward to. All good things, complicated by my uninvited guest.
Anxiety isn’t just inconvenient because it disrupts my plans. Anxiety is inconvenient because it makes me feel less like myself in the moments I most want to be present. And it’s frustrating. But oddly enough, it’s in those moments that I’ve had to lean on the tools I’ve been given. And while the victories are small, they’re still victories. I can’t control when anxiety shows up, but I can choose how I respond when it does.
Healing isn’t linear.
When I first went to therapy, I was really naive about the process. I thought a few sessions, some “hard work” (maybe a book, maybe a tough conversation), and I’d be told I had defeated anxiety. Spoiler: that didn’t happen. Instead, I went to therapy for a full year, cut out a lot of things that heightened my anxiety, and was eventually told, “You’ve done all the right things, and it’s not working. I think it’s time to discuss medication.” That frustrated me deeply, and for a while I couldn’t figure out why. I wanted an instant fix to a long-term problem.
We all love the idea of instant healing, don’t we? We long for one prayer, one therapy session, or one worship service that changes everything. But healing isn’t linear. Healing comes more like waves. Progress and setbacks. Hope and frustration. Joy and grief. Over the past two years, I’ve had to let go of my timeline and embrace the slow, often messy work of restoration.
If you’re in that same place, two steps forward, one step back, I want to remind you that you’re not alone. I too experience progress and setbacks. I’ve had anxiety-free days followed by weekends I couldn’t shake it. I’ve had good Sundays at church, and others where I didn’t remember a word because I was so distracted by anxiety.
This is the nature of healing: it’s long, winding, and rarely predictable. What helps me is celebrating the small wins and learning to be okay when they don’t come as easily. Healing isn’t a problem to solve, but a process we walk through. And while we’re impatient, God is not impatient with the pace of your healing. Healing isn’t linear, but it is happening. So give yourself some grace.
The Holiness of Boundaries
One of the hardest lessons I’ve had to learn in this season is the importance of boundaries. As someone who grew up in church and is pursuing ministry, saying no to anything that felt “Christian” or “spiritual” always carried guilt. Part of me wanted to take on as much ministry as possible. But with anxiety, I’ve had to learn to say no, and that has been one of the most important lessons of all.
In past ministry roles, I reached points where I had to decide between grind it out or step away. Walking away felt like failure, almost like quitting on God. But with the help of wise people around me, I realized that sometimes the most faithful thing you can do is step back.
A professor at Jessup once told us, “Every time you say yes to something, you’re saying no to something else.” When I began protecting my mental health with boundaries, I was learning to say yes to healing. Boundaries are not selfish; they are sacred. They create the space where God can meet us and bring renewal.
God never asks us to remain in unsafe or toxic situations just to prove our devotion. Stepping back from ministry, or even from church rhythms, was not the same as stepping away from Jesus. In fact, some of my most healing encounters with God came in the quiet, away from the noise.
Whether you struggle with anxiety or not, we all need boundaries. They don’t weaken our faith. They protect it. And often they protect us from ourselves.
This list is far from exhaustive. Anxiety has taught me so much, and continues to do so. I wish my final lesson was the secret to removing my anxiety, but that is not my story. Some days I feel the full weight of it, and some days are anxiety-free. Maybe you’re reading this and feeling a similar weight. I hope you can see that you’re not alone, and that small steps forward, however messy, are still progress. You don’t have to have it all figured out; you just need to keep moving forward, moment by moment. My anxiety hasn’t vanished, yet it hasn’t consumed me either. I may still wrestle with anxiety, but God’s grace reminds me every day that I am not defined by it.
Thanks for reading. I appreciate you.
Philip