I’m a pastor and I‘m on anxiety medication
I’m a pastor, and I’m on anxiety medication.
That’s not a sentence I thought I’d be typing this time last year. Not because I’m against the idea of medicating mental health issues — I’m a firm believer the Lord can use all sorts of things to bring healing and relief to our various struggles. I simply had no idea it would end up being a part of my own story. Sometimes new seasons bring new struggles, which require new solutions and different next steps.
Anxiety — specifically OCD — is very common in my family. Four out of my five immediate family members have some form of OCD, although it manifests surprisingly differently in each of us (anyone who’s seen the inside of my car knows I am not the obsessive cleaner of the fam). For me, I have an unhealthy tendency towards perfectionism. My counselor once described OCD as “anxiety on crack,” and that’s what my drive towards perfectionism has always felt like.
As far back as I can remember, I’ve lacked the mental ability to move on if I don’t feel good enough in a certain area. During my younger years, my obsessions centered around my physical appearance. Some of my most vivid middle school memories involve counting calories in secret and forcing myself to do 500 crunches every time I watched TV. By the time I got to high school, I obsessed endlessly about certain physical traits, causing me to almost go through with plastic surgery when I hit 18. I have no recollection of ever being teased for these things, but I still couldn’t shake this deep desire to fix these self-identified flaws.
Since becoming a Christian and entering adulthood, I’ve found myself much more preoccupied with moral perfectionism. I know that legalism is the antithesis of the Gospel, yet I’ve continually struggled to accept my own need for grace. My first few years in ministry, I would fixate on the most minute mistakes nobody around me gave a second thought. I’d replay them in my mind 50 times over a few days, often resulting in stress headaches, lack of sleep, loss of appetite, and lots of shame. I finally hit a period toward the end of 2020 where I felt defeated and overwhelmed. The combination of trying to pastor people in such uncertain times and simultaneously cultivate the right moral convictions in the midst of unprecedented cultural chaos tipped me over the edge.
I did everything “right” to fight for holistic health in this new wave of anxiety: I worked out regularly, ate well, spent time with life-giving people, cultivated good spiritual rhythms, etc., and still felt trapped in my anxious thoughts. So I made the decision to go back to counseling.
I had done counseling once before during grad school and loved it. My first round of counseling gave me the gift of self-awareness. It sounds silly to say now, but I had no idea I struggled with anxiety until my counselor brought it to my attention after our first few sessions. That singular lightbulb moment placed me on a path toward better integration of my mental health with my faith, and I’m forever grateful for that.
My second round of counseling helped me realize that self-awareness is not the same thing as experiencing freedom. Self-awareness may be a step toward freedom–and a very important step at that–but it doesn’t guarantee a one-way ticket to mental paradise. As I was realizing in this anxiety-ridden season, you can be self-aware and still feel so stuck. After another six sessions of counseling with little progress, my counselor finally asked me how I felt about going on anxiety medication. I’d never been asked that before, but it felt like an easy “yes.”
Medication is not the end-all-be-all for mental health issues. I am well aware of the risks associated with medication and the various ways people may respond. But for me, it’s been life-changing. It’s felt like stepping into an airconditioned room after spending hours in intense summer heat — you spent so long adjusting to less-than-ideal living conditions that you almost forget how easy normal feels.
I am a firm believer that our view of God affects every area of our lives, and I’ve seen firsthand how a warped view of God prevents people from fully addressing their mental health issues. I’ve come to see various forms of healing, including medication, as an intentional opportunity to cultivate more selflessness, integrity, and harmony into my day-to-day life, and my hope and prayer is that someone reading this is encouraged to see their fight for mental health through a similar lens.
A move toward selflessness
The older I get, the more I try to intentionally integrate a biblical understanding of my life’s purpose with my daily thoughts and actions. More than anything, I hope the way I live points people to a clearer picture of God and adds some semblance of beauty and meaning to the world around me. Struggling with mental health, instead of feeling free to love the person in front of you, you’re selfishly consumed with your own struggles and setbacks; it often prevents you from focusing on others.
I don’t mean that in a shaming way — it’s an undesirable, unchosen kind of selfishness. As anyone who’s dealt with a mental disorder knows, it takes up so much mental space that could be devoted to more life-giving things; places and spaces that should encourage you to love others become triggers that turn you inward. Meals with friends turn into fast math as you add up calories in your head. Mirrors ignite insecurities that surface every time you sit across from that girl. The smallest of mental molehills turn into massive mountains, and suddenly, you’re so consumed with your own inner world that you struggle to focus on the world that needs you. As I was thinking about going on medication, I found myself wondering if it would free up any of the mental space devoted to my anxiety. If it helped me focus on myself less and love others more, it felt like an easy yes.
We learned about a concept in seminary called “prevenient grace.” Some theologians believe we’re so lost on our own that God has to grant us a measure of grace just to help us out. This “prevenient grace” props us up and gives us the freedom to make good choices if we desire to do so — that’s what medication has felt like for me: pill-sized prevenient grace. It’s given me the mental freedom to stop the spirals earlier and choose to play and dream and create instead. This past year, I read more books, taught myself photography (still an ameatur but having fun), and had more emotional energy to give my friends and family. I dreamed a bit more, worried a bit less, and breathed a bit easier. It’s been a sweet, joyful year.
A move towards integrity
One of my mentors recently asked me what kind of pastor I want to be in ten years. I thought about it for a few minutes and finally said, “I just want to be a pastor who maintains their integrity.” When I think of pastors who have integrity, I think of pastors who live privately what they proclaim publicly. I’ve sat with countless students over the past five years who have wrestled with their mental health. Everytime I sit with a depressed, anxious, or suicidal student, I remind them that they’re not alone in what they’re going through and that the bravest of people know when to ask for help. When I follow up with their parents, I often recommend counseling and a visit to their primary care doctor as potential next steps.
The very same week that my counselor recommended anxiety medication, I was working on a resource for our volunteers called “A Theology of Mental Health.” In it, I talk about how the Lord can use lots of different things, including medication, to bring healing and relief to our various mental struggles. There have been plenty of times over the past five years where it’s felt easy to compartmentalize my personal and professional life. This was not one of those times. As I finished up this resource and replayed my counselor’s latest suggestion, I felt the unavoidable question bubble to the surface: Do I really believe this for myself? Or is it just something I preach to our students while somehow believing it doesn’t apply to me?
A couple months ago, I got Panera with one of my favorite students. We talked about Taylor Swift and Harry Styles and why Christians sometimes suck and why middle school’s so brutal and the best fashion moments from the Met Gala (undisputed, Blake Lively). Eventually, the conversation turned to mental health. She started opening up about her struggle with OCD, and as tears welled up in her eyes, I simply said “me too.” I could tell she looked surprised, and as the shock wore off, she uttered a sentence I’ve thought about a lot over the past few months: “I know this might sound weird, but you’re the type of Christian I want to be someday.”
Often we believe the lie that our lives are only worth emulating if the cracks aren’t showing and the brokenness is kept hidden. For a while, I kept confusing integrity with perfectionism, thinking shiny, unblemished lives are what a watching world wants from the Church. Maybe what we really need is more Christ-followers who stand with instead of preach at those who are suffering. In the Kingdom of God, integrity and humility will always get you further than perfectionism and pride.
A move towards harmony
I find it fascinating how interconnected our mental, physical, and spiritual states truly are. Like wheels on a car, when one’s out of alignment, the rest inevitably suffer. One of my biggest frustrations with American culture is how resolutely we deny this reality. It seems we never run out of creative ways to promote the fracturing of our personhood as the latest fad —
We actively encourage and reward workaholism despite the way it wrecks our physical health in the long run. We worship materialism and consumption while ignoring the spiritual rot it inevitably brings. We continue to teach young people to compartmentalize their physical and emotional selves by participating in things like pornography and hookup culture. And then we wonder why the next generation seems so mentally unstable and removed from reality.
I truly believe one of the best ways to be countercultural in today’s world is to accept the undeniable interwovenness of our mental, physical, and spiritual selves. Because what you do with one will inevitably affect the other. One of the biggest things I’ve noticed since being on medication is how much more physically relaxed my body feels. I get less headaches. I fall asleep easier. I can go on walks without my mind racing a million miles a minute.
As a Christian, I look forward to the day when our physical, mental, and spiritual states will be healed, whole, and in perfect harmony. The good news is we can bring a little bit of that heaven down to earth now in the way we choose to live our daily lives. If things like medication, spiritual practices, eating healthy, etc., help me experience more harmony and wholeness on this side of heaven, why wouldn’t I embrace them?
A move towards hope
I’ll leave you with this important disclaimer: This is not an advertisement to follow my personal path of healing. I’ve pastored far too many people to believe you can slap a one-size-fits-all solution on something as complicated as your mental health. But this is a gentle encouragement to revisit how your belief in God affects your view of mental health and healing in general. I’ve been so encouraged to see God’s faithfulness show up in a way I didn’t expect this past year, and I’m grateful to have been surrounded by friends, mentors, and counselors who offered wise solutions instead of Christian clichés when I was feeling stuck.
If I’m being honest, I still have days I wish I could flip a switch and permanently stop my anxiety. I don’t know that my anxiety will be fully healed in this lifetime, but I’m learning to make peace with that more and more. When the tougher days come, I remind myself of a simple truth I hold dear: God has a tendency of turning our deepest struggles into our biggest testimonies. May that be as true in this area of your life as it’s been in mine.
Recommended resources for mental health and faith
The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma by Bessel Van Der Kolk M.D. (not a Christian book, but a phenomenal look at the way trauma impacts our bodies and brains)
Addiction and Grace: Love and Spirituality in the Healing of Addictions by Gerald G. May
The Soul of Shame: Retelling the Stories we Believe About Ourselves by Curt Thompson
Changes That Heal: Four Practical Steps to a Happier, Healthier You by Dr. Henry Cloud
