Chapter 1

Breaking the human shell

The hardest lesson I’ve ever had to learn was to let go and let God. Since I was just a child, I had always been a chronic worrier. I can specifically remember sitting in front of my mirror, sobbing, because my pony-tail had a bump in it. Up until I was, probably 15, I wouldn’t leave the house unless my hair was completely smoothed back in a perfect pony. Ridiculous antics always made me upset as a child, and my parents just couldn’t figure out why. It didn’t make sense. I grew up in a household with a mommy and daddy who both loved me and loved the Lord. Still, I came out as an overwhelmingly anxious child.

As I entered high school, I was able to let go of some of my childhood anxieties, but I picked up some severe obsessive compulsive tics. Things went a little haywire for me in high school, and I suppose feeling out of control of my life made controlling whatever I could feel much more satisfying. I began counting my steps; I developed a routine for washing my hands. I couldn’t leave any room if drawers or closets were even remotely cracked open. I remember compulsively leaving and coming back to check if I had shut everything. I couldn’t even stand on the left side of people. I was overly organized, erratically clean, and I couldn’t bear to see something out of place. I was very high-strung and honestly, I’m shocked I even had friends. I required a lot of attention and cooperation in my antics.

Not only was I controlling of the things around me, but I became controlling of the people around me. I asked them to speak and act a certain way when I was around. At the time, I felt it was appropriate out of respect for me, but looking back I realize that it was completely unfair for me to ask them to be someone/something they’re not. I have to say that I apologize to these dear friends and I am forever grateful for their love and support for me despite my inability to love them well.

When I first wrote the introduction, I had just returned from my first and last semester in California. I was 18, young and naïve. I had good intentions, but there was so much more that I needed to learn. The majority of my experience in California was one panic attack after another. I would wake up every day and text my parents for fear that they would be dead. Each night before I went to sleep, I thought to myself, “This is the last time I’ll ever hear from my parents.” What a miserable existence. That’s all that I could think of while I was away.

Upon returning home, I faced a few more challenges, which get explained a little later, but through it all I couldn’t stop worrying. The next two years were filled with appointments, classes, relationships, vacations, jobs, and church engagements. I kept myself so incredibly busy that I had no time to worry. Sure, I had general anxiety about finishing an assignment on time or showing up to an appointment late, but I was too busy to worry about the deep see