Anxiety and the power of prayer

There hasn't been a lot of writing going on here for a couple of weeks. Instead, I have been working on my 14th edition of an art magazine as the editor, raising children, and dealing with what I thought was a physical ailment, but which multiple trips to the doctor proved to be stress-related symptoms. 

In the morning chaos that is life with two kids, I have found that I am frequently gasping for air from anxiety. My heart pounds at night when an irrational thought enters my mind. I lie awake, terrified, believing that I am a fraud and a failure. Despair lies in the darkness, like the open maw of some great animal.

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I am by no means unique here, and though three weeks ago my stress was severe, the worst (hopefully) has dispersed.

It got me ruminating on life as I grappled with big decisions.

I was at a point in life where there hadn't been a lot of gear-changing. I had been sitting in cruise-control when a smattering of huge decisions cropped up on the horizon.  [I resent diarising all of this on the Internet. I wish it could be spoken of obliquely in a literary novel where all of these thoughts and concerns wouldn't be out on the table in the glaring light of day quite so obviously. But frankly, that's probably the worst novel in the world.]

So, stuck in cruise control on the highway, I saw some road signs which read "ANOTHER BABY, TURN OFF 9 MONTHS", "NEW JOB AHEAD", "MOVING INTERSTATE". But I couldn't get off the highway. It's not the right time to make a detour. I couldn't see what's in my blindspot and have no way of knowing if it will be a bad decision.

And so, perhaps by default, I decided that there will be no more babies. New job? Despite having a pretty nice job, I live on a permanent deadline and my heart, occasionally, just isn't into it all that much. Life had started to take on a more mild and middle-aged patina, a certain predictability which wasn't comforting, initially.

Invitations have dried up. My friends don't send ecstatic text messages any longer. (They too, are dealing with newborn twins and the work/life balance, their own messy, heartfelt existences).

Friday nights were spent watching Jumanji and eating snack foods I wished that I didn't have in my pantry. 

This has been rather unsettling for me, like sitting in a waiting room with the same dog-eared Women's Weekly for weeks on end. It's sort of misery inducing. How can I be both bored and stressed at the same time? How can I feel like I have (mostly) everything together but also have failed to meet my expectations of life? 

So I talked to the doctor and she has encouraged me to exercise more and to see a counsellor.  I also spoke to my spiritual father in the evening after seeing the doc. Of course, these aches are beyond simply growing out of an age, there are other things too (which I will resist diarising on the Internet).

I am getting better. There is not one-size solution

The remedy for me has been: Prayer. Confession and communion.

And early morning boxing.

Pierre Bonnard, The Boxer (Self-portrait), 1931. Paris, Musée d’Orsay. © RMN-Grand Palais (Musée d’Orsay) / Michèle Bellot.

Way before anyone gets up, in the dark of pre-dawn, I slink out of the house and drive to a warehouse in an industrial estate where a boxing gym is housed. I go out and punch the animal that lies curled up in the corner of my bedroom at night. I punch it straight in its gaping-ass maw. I punch and I punch, until sweat runs down my brow and my face glows hot and I just hear the rhythm Jab-Straight-Jab-Slip-Hook-Straight-Hook. Uppercut. Body. Head.

Stress, anxiety and depression affect an individual on many levels. For me, boxing takes care of the physical side, and prayer and communion eases the spiritual side of the ailment. 

How does it work? How does prayer help? 

I am currently reading Introducing Eastern Orthodox Theology by Andrew Louth, and early on in it, when explaining the Holy Trinity he talks about how Jesus is depicted as spending whole nights alone in prayer to God who is the Father. This is to encourage us to devote ourselves to prayer.

Louth writes: "we can be attentive to God and expect his attention to us."

My priest explained to me that prayers can be answered in ways that show us what we should do.  Whether that is to take our meds, or to go do some boxing or volunteer for refugees. I am by no means a scrappy or even very sporty person but somehow I have found my way to something that has clicked.

Prayer is something that I am working on. It's not rattling off some vaguely comforting, archaic phrases before bed. Having a personal relationship with God is an incredible thing to strive for and to maintain.

You want real mindfulness? 

"Be still and know that I am God."

You need life to give you a break?

"Come to me, all that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."