Peace in the Panic of Anxiety.

Have you ever felt like anxiety is something you’ve had to hide? I know what that feels like. It started so quietly—I didn’t even know what it was. A flutter here, a skipped heartbeat there—nothing too alarming at first. Life is busy, I told myself. But what began as an occasional irregularity soon became a daily occurrence, then multiple times a day. One moment, I was fine; the next, my heart was racing, my chest tightening, breath shallow. I couldn’t hold onto a single thought; my mind spun in circles, lightheaded and dizzy. I ended up in the emergency room, convinced I was having a heart attack.

I’ll never forget the doctor’s words: “This isn’t your heart; it’s anxiety.”

Anxiety…

I didn’t know how to process it. I’d been nervous before, of course. Who hasn’t been? But this wasn’t the butterflies before a big moment or the jitters before a hard conversation. This was something deeper, something heavier—a weight I couldn’t shake no matter how hard I tried.

Here’s the thing about anxiety: it hides in plain sight. Unlike depression, which often leaves visible marks or signs of weariness, anxiety can remain unseen. I could be sitting across from someone, having coffee, smiling, nodding, seemingly engaged. And yet, inside, my mind would be spiraling, my body waging a war I didn’t know how to stop. I’d pretend to listen, all while fighting the rising panic that felt like it was consuming me.

It’s hard to admit that as a Christian, isn’t it? We’re supposed to have faith that moves mountains. We’re supposed to trust in God’s perfect peace. But in those moments, the anxiety was louder than my faith. And the shame of that made it even harder to talk about.

Growing up, I had a picture of what it meant to be a ‘strong Christian.’ Faith was always equated with strength—never showing weakness, always holding it together, leaning on God when things got tough. And in my mind, that meant anxiety, fear, or worry weren’t things I should wrestle with. If I truly walked close with God, I wouldn’t struggle like this. Or so I thought.

How many people in our churches are silently struggling like this? How many are sitting in the pews, singing worship songs, and fighting unseen battles? How many are sick in a place that should bring healing?

It’s something I’ve thought about often. I’ve been part of ministry teams, and I’ve seen how many leaders and members alike are navigating mental health challenges. And while I’m thankful for resources like therapy & medications available—options that I believe God uses beautifully—it’s made me wonder: Are we leaning on those tools more often because it feels safer than opening up to each other? Have we, as the Body of Christ, not created nurturing spaces where it’s okay to say, “I’m not okay”?

For me, anxiety didn’t just show up in big moments. It crept into the mundane. Grocery stores, church services, quiet evenings at home—no place felt safe from the storm. It wasn’t just the physical symptoms, though those were overwhelming. It was the relentless flood of what ifs that paralyzed me: What if something happens to me? To my family? What if I never feel normal again?

Even now, anxiety still makes an occasional appearance. It doesn’t always need a reason; it simply shows up, uninvited. But over the years, I’ve learned how to face it differently.

When the panic rises, when the air feels too thick to breathe, I stop. I close my eyes and whisper one name: Jesus.

There’s nothing magical about saying His name, but there is something powerful. His name anchors me when the storm threatens to sweep me away. It reminds me of who He is—Prince of Peace, my refuge, the One who holds me steady.

And then, I write. I pour out my fears and thoughts onto paper, giving them to God in the only way I know how. There’s something about seeing the words laid out before me that helps me untangle them, to remember that they don’t define me. Slowly, the weight lifts. Slowly, peace returns.

Anxiety has taught me that needing help doesn’t make me faithless. It makes me human. And in my humanity, God meets me—not with judgment, but with grace. He doesn’t look at my trembling hands or racing heart and call me weak. He calls me His.

But there’s more to this battle, isn’t there? The enemy knows how to twist our struggles and make us believe that if we feel anxiety, if we’re afraid, if we worry—it’s because we don’t have enough faith. He wants us to believe that it means we’re failing God, that healing will never come, that peace is just out of reach. Don’t listen to those lies. The enemy loves to plant seeds of doubt in our hearts, to make us feel like we’re fighting alone. But we’re not. And his goal… to keep us silent, separate, struggling internally without speaking a whisper… to feel shame.

The truth is, anxiety is part of the human experience for many of us—body, mind, and soul. It doesn’t mean we’re weak, and it doesn’t mean we’re failing. It means we’re facing something real, something that God sees and understands. And He has not left you in this battle.

I’m so blessed to be writing this today, because it was through my struggle with anxiety and depression that I was drawn to seek God more deeply. His Word became my refuge, my source of truth, guiding me to let go of worry, to hand over my fears, and to be reminded again and again not to be anxious. It taught me to lean on His promises, to rise above fear, and to walk in the truth that I am more than a conqueror through Christ. And now, I pray the same for you—no matter where you are on your journey.

May you find strength in Him, peace that surpasses understanding, and the courage to stand firm against the attacks that seek to overwhelm you. If you’ve struggled with anxiety, you’re not alone. And if you’ve come through to the other side, I pray you’ll be the voice someone else needs. Be the one who listens without judgment, who prays when they can’t find the words. Be the shoulder they can lean on.

Because healing often comes through community. Through someone who’s been there and isn’t afraid to say, “I get it.”

To the one reading this in the middle of their own battle: call on Him. Whisper His name in the panic. Let Him be your peace, even when your world feels unsteady. His peace isn’t the absence of anxiety—it’s His presence in the midst of it.

I want to finish this piece a little differently than just “Let’s talk about it.” I want to leave you with this prayer if you are struggling today or know someone who is.

Lord,
I come to You in the midst of my struggle, bringing every anxious thought and fear. I lay them at Your feet, trusting in Your promise that I do not have to carry this alone. You are my refuge, my strength, my peace.

I reject the lies of the enemy that tell me I will never overcome, that my faith isn’t enough. I declare that I am more than a conqueror through You, Jesus. Your Word says to not be anxious about anything, but to bring every concern to You in prayer and thanksgiving. So, I do just that—offering up my worries, trusting in Your perfect peace that guards my heart and mind.

Strengthen me, Lord. Fill me with Your courage to stand firm, even when fear tries to creep in. Help me to walk in the truth that I am not defined by my anxiety, but by Your love. Guide me to cling to You in every moment, knowing that Your presence is greater than any battle I face.

Thank You for Your grace, Your faithfulness, and Your unshakeable peace.
In Jesus' name, Amen.

*Thank you so much for joining me again this week for the Let’s Talk About It limited series. I pray this piece has spoken to your heart and encouraged you, and that you know you are not alone in your journey. If you missed last week’s post on Faith In The Darkness Of Depression, you can read it here.

For my Little Sparrow Loved crew, don’t forget to check out the chat space where I dive deeper into this topic. It’s a place where we can continue the conversation, share our thoughts, and find support together.

If you’re ready to walk this journey with others who understand, I’d love for you to become part of this community. Together, we can lift each other up, seek God’s peace, and grow in faith (totally optional always).