Knots: When You’re Living with Anxiety

Anxiety has a tricky way of sneaking in the back door.

Something feels uncertain. Something feels vulnerable. Something feels at risk. And so we pay attention. We think through possibilities. We try to anticipate what might happen next. We look for ways to keep ourselves and the people we love safe.

At first, this can seem wise.

But anxiety has a way of always asking for more. A little more vigilance, a little more planning, a little more preparation. Just a little more certainty.

And before long, what began as concern starts consuming our thoughts. Our mind begins running ahead of us, rehearsing conversations, predicting outcomes, imagining worst-case scenarios, searching constantly for signs of danger.

A quiet part of us knows how exhausting this can be. We know we’ve devoted hours to trying to solve problems that haven’t happened. We’ve physically and emotionally carried burdens that don’t yet exist. We can become so focused on what might go wrong that it becomes difficult to take care of what is actually right in front of us.

But here’s where anxiety gets devious.

Because it’s surprisingly difficult to stop worrying about something once we’ve convinced ourselves that worrying is a form of responsibility.

Over time, anxiety starts telling us that our fear itself is evidence. If we feel anxious, there must be danger. If we feel worried, something must be wrong. If we stop paying attention, disaster will strike.

And perhaps most convincing of all:

If we stay vigilant enough, we can control the outcome.

That story feels reassuring at first. It gives us the illusion of being able to solve the problem.

But anxiety quietly places a burden on our shoulders that no human being was meant to carry. It asks us to take responsibility for the future — to keep watch over every possibility, to eliminate uncertainty, to guarantee outcomes.

We know that life has never worked that way. No amount of vigilance can remove every risk. No amount of planning can guarantee every outcome. No amount of fear can protect us from every hardship.

And there is a huge difference between being aware of a danger and living in a state of alarm.

And so, at some point, usually in the middle of the night, we find ourselves bracing against a difficult truth:

We are not actually in control. And chances are, we never will be.

For many of us, that realization feels frightening. But it can also be freeing. Because anxiety handed us false responsibilities, often at the expense of our true ones.

We are called to be faithful in this present moment. To make wise decisions. To pay attention where attention is needed. And then to release what does not belong to us.

This does not happen all at once. It is a practice.

Sometimes it looks like turning off the news for an evening. Sometimes it looks like making a decision instead of researching for another hour. Sometimes it looks like taking a walk, saying a prayer, and allowing tomorrow to remain tomorrow.

Sometimes it looks like admitting that we have reached the edge of what we can control and choosing to rest there.

Small acts like these do not solve the future. They simply help us return to the present, which is where our lives are actually being lived.

The world is certain to remain uncertain. But uncertainty is not the same thing as danger. And peace does not come from controlling every outcome. It comes from learning where your responsibility ends—and trusting God with the rest.

A Prayer for When You’re Living with Anxiety

God of peace and steady presence,
You know how quickly my thoughts can race ahead of me.
You know the fears I carry, the outcomes I try to control, and the burdens I was never meant to bear.
Help me recognize what belongs to me and what does not.
Give me wisdom for the decisions in front of me.
Give me courage to release what I cannot control.
When fear convinces me that vigilance is the same thing as safety, remind me that my life rests in Your hands.
Teach me to be faithful in this moment rather than fearful about the next one.
Steady my mind.
Quiet my spirit.
And help me find rest in Your presence.
Amen.