"Anxiety is sin..."

and the Privilege Behind Well-Meaning Mental Health Hot-Takes

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“Anxiety is sin…”¹ I came across this tweet (cw: see footnotes) about a day after everyone else and saw the references to Matthew 6:25-34 and 1 Peter 5:7, neither of which mention anxiety being a sin.

The woman in my body ten years ago—the one wildly ignorant of her struggle with anxiety but who had become a master of shoving it all down only so it could explode later—would have read this and nodded her head in agreement. The woman I am today—the one post-explosion, who knows her body and has befriended it—shakes her head and sighs at just how harmful (and pervasive) this idea is. I would have shrugged it off had I not seen another similar sentiment on Instagram by a well-known artist² weeks before. It said:

May we knot cling to the noose of anxiety when it’s being dragged to the depths of Hell.
May we not settle in because anxiety was a familiar lover.
…
For anxiety is a cruel master seeking only your destruction.
And Christ is an intimate lover seeking only the pursuit of your attention.
For in the great pursuit of the lover of our souls, our affection must start with our attention.
Choose on this day whom you will give it.
(emphasis mine)

It was a short, poetic-ish post. I’ve included the problematic pieces here along with surrounding lines for context. Some other lines weren’t bad, and to some degree, I would probably agree. I feel I need to say this because people will assume what they will, but regarding both takes, I do not want to put either of these men “on blast.” I do want to highlight the pervasive and harmful stigma around anxiety that permeates our culture and affects the beloved of God.

We all have a working idea of what anxiety is, but fewer still have a real idea of what is physiologically going on in our body and brain when one is anxious. And from what I can tell, neither of the men sharing these sentiments are learned in any discernible way with regard to mental health, psychology, or neuroscience. And I argue that neither are able to appropriately care for the anxious among God’s people in their work.

The first take was a pointed one: “Anxiety is sin.” There are a wild number of assumptions undergirding this sentiment, but I’ll approach from one angle. If this were true, if anxiety is sinful, how helpful is it to actually share on social media? Would not anxious people who read those words feel some sort of condemnation or shame? Did he consider them his neighbors? If so, how is this the wise way to love your anxious neighbors? Over 40 million people in the U.S. (19.1% of the population) have an anxiety disorder. One could argue that sharing and communicating the “truth” is love, but it is not loving to Scripture bomb the World Wide Web with a mental health hot take that affects 40 million broken neighbors. It’s not loving to lob this fastball at them and not provide resources or assistance to help them catch it. Let me clarify: Anxiety is not sin. And the scriptures shared were of a loving God who abides with the anxious—a God of healing and restoration. Not a God who dunks on the broken in their anxiety.

The second take was a poetic one. “May we knot [sic] cling to the noose of anxiety…” “[A]nxiety was a familiar lover.” These are writerly words meant to evoke emotion. This is an artist whose work I have enjoyed; he is often raw and real, evoking emotion naturally. This, though, was an instance when he wandered out of his lane and navigated territory he was perhaps ignorant of and could not do justice within. Many preachers and communicators often attempt to evoke emotion, but I don’t believe we need to artificially poke the Spirit for her to move. And I think it’s manipulative if, in attempting to evoke emotion, we’re prodding to elicit a certain response. The psalms were poetic, but they never shamed or condemned the broken. Art is capable of more care than this.

Good art points to the truth. Makoto Fujimura says that in art, both in our images and imagery, we can care for our culture—we can practice resurrection.³ Yes, you take risks. You push the boundaries and get uncomfortable. Artistry is inherently vulnerable. But you should approach art and wordsmithing with a humility that allows you to learn from your mistakes. You can weave beautiful words and imagery through a piece you’ve written, including the beauty of Jesus and the gospel, and you can still woefully miss the core of God’s goodness. Art is theological, and sometimes our art and words reveal our bad theology.

My anxiety isn’t my sin. It is not and will never be my “familiar lover.” As is often the case, this harmful perspective is born from an overflow of privilege. I speak of my anxiety because I know I need help. Having Generalized Anxiety Disorder is not a blanket that keeps me warm at night; it is a reminder of what I lived through that helps point me to the new way—the way of Sabbath—in which I get to dwell.

I name my anxiety so that it does not rule me. The beasts of shame and condemnation are the ones who have pushed me into silence, distant from a healing God. So many people choose not to speak of their struggle with anxiety because they fear well-meaning-but-Bible-thumping Christians shushing them at the first whisper of anxiety. Because of my anxiety, I have become a better friend to the body God has given me; I have learned how to name the tension in my shoulders, the nauseating ache in my stomach, and the hyperawareness of my activated nervous system. Because I know the fractures of my brokenness, I feel the healing work of God’s hands.

My anxiety isn’t inherently evil—it kept me safe in an evil world. So many of us share some of the same horrors from childhood. My body and brain coped with trauma when I was a child by behaving and acting a certain way to find safety and survive. In his book, The Anatomy of the Soul, Dr. Curt Thompson pieces together how one’s brain works from childhood attachment to implicit and explicit memory to how the prefrontal cortex, nervous system, and reptilian parts of our brain respond. He mentions that when you go through an event, maybe one that’s brand new, it’s like your brain is navigating a jungle without a discernible path. You may need to use a machete to cut through the dense jungle. Overtime, the pathway you cut becomes more distinguishable as it is used. Thus, every time I met a traumatic event, I walked the path of safety. My brain cut neural pathways that helped me survive. The problem is I don’t need that pathway any longer, and yet it is still there. I am safe now, removed from feral spaces that made me fearful, but my brain wiring is stuck in a fraught past. My nervous system perceives a jungle no longer there. So, naming my anxiety helps me chart a course away from fear toward flourishing.

When I’m triggered and gripped by anxiety, I’m not choosing anxiety, “an acquainted lover,” over the God who heals. In my anxiety, I’m choosing to believe God is with me. I’m choosing to believe he knows my brain and body better than I do. I’m choosing to believe God laments over the life the 6-year-old in me had to live. And I’m choosing to believe that he will help me cut new pathways that lead to the New Creation.

For those of you struggling under the weight of anxiety, depression, obsessive compulsions, or other mental health woes, I see you. I see your courage to get out of bed each morning. I see your bravery as you believe in healing. I see your desire to discern a better way forward. Only the privileged, ignorant, or deluded have the capacity to say ugly and harmful things about mental health for attention. They have no authority over naming your struggles or how you befriend your body and brain. Even if other well-meaning Christians are doing so, you do not have to “like” the bad hot takes categorizing your anxiety as sin. In the face of persistent ignorance, I want you to unapologetically choose your personhood. When the perfect comes, the anxiety will pass away. From yesterday to today and into eternity, you will always be beloved. Choose the Face of flourishing over those who prey on your fear.

May the God of the weary and anxious abide with you, making you feel felt, tended to, and loved.

With you and for you,

Jenai Auman

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Resources

If you’re wrestling with religious trauma, anxiety or a concoction of unfun things, I’ll list some resources. But check the footnotes further down for more.

• The Anatomy of the Soul by Dr. Curt Thompson is a wonderful read I reference regularly. Please look it up and check out his other books.

• Reclamation Collective Therapist Directory - you can find clinical providers who are licensed in your state here. There are some national and statewide providers as well.

• Consider a Trauma Recovery Coach (TRC) - Not all therapists are trauma-informed. Unless they have graduate degrees in social work, trauma care was likely not an intrinsic part of their education. Many have to take continuing education credits to become trauma-informed. I trust the Reclamation Collective directory, but if you would prefer to work with a TRC, they do wonderful work and they are not limited by state licensure, so you can work with a provider of your choosing.

  • My friend, Katherine Spearing, who runs the Tears of Eden nonprofit advocating for survivors of spiritual abuse and hosts the Uncertain Podcast for the same purpose, recently because a certified TRC. She is one I personally know and trust. Connect with Katherine on her website to learn more about trauma recovery coaching.

• Learn to be a better advocate, listener, and communicator by registering for the Compassionate Conversations courses available from The Full Collective. This is a paid service, but Ayanna Mathis and myself taught the course covering those wounded by the church.

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On the Horizon - Creative Coaching 💃

Over the last year or so, I’ve met with many others, hearing and holding your stories as you shared about your experience of abuse in the church. Many of you have become friends whom I gladly cheerlead. Like those who caught me as I was careening after spiritual abuse, I’ve been grateful to stand-by and catch many of you. But I’ve realized the limits of my work.

I’m not a therapist. My bachelor’s is in Behavioral Health, but I realized clinical work was not wasn’t the path for me. My path is that of the artist and writer. The drumbeat at the core of my being is one that says, “Art is healing.” Words, paint, and music can take the broken pieces of our lives and make them whole.

With that in mind (and after working with my spiritual director and my own coach), I have begun to take steps to become a creative coach, specifically for those healing from trauma and hurt. I want to meet with those who find writing, painting, composing, etc., to be a healing outlet for them, even if their work never sees the light of day. To do this, I’ve been doing my due diligence in trauma certification, but my hope is to be a guide in art as an effort toward wholeness in your creative or professional life. My coaching work will not replace your relationship with your therapist. But I hope it will strengthen the work you do in therapy.

If you’d like to learn more, feel free to email me and tell me about the creative work you’re doing now or hope to do in the future.

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Don’t Forget about The Wilderness Forum

For those interested in joining a group where you can share thoughts or ideas with those who understand spiritual abuse and trauma, The Wilderness Forum is available to you.

Brief PSA: The Wilderness Forum a server hosted on the Discord app. The WF isn’t therapy or soul care, and, if anything, it is more akin to a Facebook group, except with Discord, you don’t need a Facebook account.

If you’re interested in joining, fill out the form at the button below:

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You can find past posts from Letters for the Wilderness by visiting jenaiauman.substack.com.

1. From Twitter. (I’m referencing for integrity, but if you carry the weight of anxiety, please be gentle with yourself if you click and read the comments.)

2. From Instagram. (Same goes for this link. Referencing for integrity, but consider this a content warning.)

3. See Makoto Fujimura’s books, Culture Care and Art & Faith, but “practice resurrection” is actually a great line from a Wendell Berry poem, “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front”