Anxiety Disorder

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."  Philippians 4:6-7

Do not be anxious.  This was the message at church this morning.  Do not be anxious.  It was not the first time I had heard or read this verse, but the conviction was thick today.  And the reason may surprise you; it surprised me.

You might think that having two children under two and a more-than-full-time job would be a good excuse for a case of anxiety, but I can honestly say that isn't usually something I struggle with.  Control.  Pride.  Selfishness.  Those are more me.  Therefore, today's command to "not be anxious" should have been easy.

Instead, the message began with a sentence that resonated in my head (and still is - hence the blog): "Anxiety is not a condition to be managed, it is a sin to be repented of."  Never, and I mean never, have I thought of anxiousness as a sin.  And when this statement landed on my ears this morning, I was sure Scott was wrong.  That can't be.  Afterall, I've been managing people's anxiety as a diseased condition in my clinic nearly every day.

No joke.  Rarely a day goes by where I'm not treating someone for Generalized Anxiety Disorder, or Panic Disorder, or Adjustment Disorder, or Bipolar Disorder, or Post-traumatic Stress Disorder, or Subtance Abuse Disorder, or Social Anxiety Disorder.  There have been so many patients, that I'm getting pretty good at making the diagnosis within moments of walking in the room.  The way they figit.  The way they try to answer questions thoroughly, correctly, quickly.  The way their eyes beg for someone to help them.  Anxiousness seems to ooze out of the pores of those who struggle with it to the point it hangs like a fog clouding the room.  It's hard to miss.

Scott went on to read the verse above, and I found it harder to argue with him.  Just then, he layed on an extra layer and put my profession in the hot seat.  "We turn to doctors [uh eh, me] to numb us, instead of God to heal us."  (I'm paraphrasing.)  Ouch.  Have I been the enabler?  Have I been hindering my patient's true healing?

I'm caught between a rock and a hard place.  Part of me still wants to argue that it is a biologic condition involving the imbalance of neurotransmitters in the brain that can, and should, be treated with medication and therapy.  Yet this new part of me is whispering: it's sin.

I wish all of my patient's knew Jesus and knew the peace which transcends all understanding.  And I wish I knew where to go from here.  What to think.  What to do.