My last semester was awful, I was so buried in anxiety over my school work I couldn't think straight. I felt like I was crazy, every time I would get a handle on things and come up with a new plan to reorganize I would have a panic attack or nearly work myself into having a panic attack. I was burdened with terrible fear of being alone (especially since I had no roommate) as soon as I would enter my room I would turn on my t.v. and watch a movie. Movies became an escape. There was no deafening silence that made my thoughts slip into the anxiety traps that seemed to wait for me, so I would space out to escape. I tried to ignore my problems and be strong enough to shoulder them, instead of showing true strength and admitting my defeats. I am prideful, to an obvious fault. How could I admit to my family that it wasn't that I was failing, but much worse that I couldn't even overcome my anxiety enough to try. My father, whose acceptance I valued so much as a daughter, was the Chairman of the board of Trustees to Southeastern, a personal friend of the President of Southeastern Daniel Akin, whose class I was failing because I couldn't attend it without having an anxiety attack. I had so many whispers ringing in my ears, you're embarrassing your father, you're ruining your life, who could ever love someone with anxiety, how can God use someone who can't even handle anxiety enough to go to class. To be perfectly honest I hated this Amy, this side of myself who was so weak, and so easily listened to the lies that Satan thundered on me night and day.
At the end of the semester everyone was packing up to leave for home, ready to enjoy their family and Christmas, I decided to stay in the dorm a week and a half longer to work. I didn't want to have to own up to my behavior, or even look my dad in the eyes; in fact I wouldn't even call him and talk to him, I was so ashamed and so ready to accept his disapproval of me. He would often call me very upset, telling me he was tired of wondering if I was okay, where I was, or that he just wanted to hear my voice and ask about my day. His loving rebukes were like a mirror to just how broken I was, in some ways it only fueled me to hide even more.
Christmas 2009 was probably the worst season of my life. All I wanted to do was curl up in my sister's bed and watch movies with her. As I look back now I can see how tentative everyone was, keeping quiet, and the house was softer then it's normal Homesley chaotic roars! I can practically see my 13 year old sister sliding so softly into her bed next to me that it was like she was scared of hurting me. I knew the truth would have to come out, but I also didn't want to completely destroy everyones Christmas by admitting that I was failing at college because I was suffering and caving in from battling oppressive panic disorder. "Merry Christmas mom and dad, sorry I couldn't afford to buy you guys a gift this year, by the way the whole semester I've been periodically having anxiety attacks that have now turned my GPA into a nightmare! Now who wants some more eggnog?"
So I suffered through Christmas, and made continual lies that "I'm fine" and when someone brought up classes I would say everything was "fine" and change the subject as swiftly as possible. I smiled through physical torment and pain, hiding from failure and fears of rejection. I made it to New Years, just barely though, I felt like a shadow of the Amy I once was. That night at dinner I sat across from my father and he looked at me and again asked the question I hated most "So how do you think you did in your classes?" I couldn't say "fine" anymore, I was physically sick and ready for freedom from failures. I broke into pieces at that table, I admitted every thing I had been holding back for half a year. In sobs I begged for forgiveness, I feared rejection and scorn. I was as ready as I could ever be for a volley of justified anger from my father. He had every right to cast me off in anger, to look at me with contempt. In my father's eyes was shock, pity, understanding, compassion, and hurt. He didn't understand why I hadn't trusted him with my anxiety, I had inherited it from him, and he had a similar battle against it. He spoke gently to me, soothing my fragile state, as tenderly as if I were a dove with a broken wing.
In that moment my earthly father became the clearest living example of God the Father to me. Reminding me again and again that his love was unconditional, pleading with me to understand the depths of his compassion for me, asking in tenderness why I hadn't come to him when I needed him. He showed me that it is possible to love someone undeserving of love. I was the ugly, wretched, sick woman crawling to touch touch to hem of Christ robe unnoticed. Hoping to be healed, but expecting rejection, and ready to sneak back away. Over the months that followed I slowly came out of my shell. My father allowed me to use home as a refuge for rest, provided counseling for me, and even swallowed his human nature to demand answers for my shortcomings. We found out that half my classes I had scored B's but the other half, due to the focused anxiety I was experiencing with them, were incomplete. The B's were a shock, I had given into the idea that I was a complete failure, nothing was right.
My father encouraged me to take time off school, heal, and rethink my plans. Even then I was so wrapped up in them I couldn't possibly imagine another road of life. I was ready to dive right back into my idols, to accept that there was no other way God could work through me but through my plans.
I guess some people just learn the hardest of the hard way.
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