Weakness

This post is for you if you are an achiever personality, have ADHD, are prone to addictive or compulsive behaviors, or suffer any kind of phobia that keeps you from doing or enjoying activities that most people take for granted.

You’re not alone here. All of the above apply to me, too.

Agoraphobia is the fear of being in a public place or in public view with no way of escape. I experienced my first attack in December 1994. I was an 18-year old college freshman. While visiting a local church, I was seized with panic for no reason. I couldn’t breathe. My heart stampeded. My skin crawled. My head swooned. I felt like I was about to die. I fled the church in the middle of service. Every eye seemed to stare as I made a mad dash to the door. Alone, outside, I finally calmed down. It was the first day of my new normal.

Over the next few months, I became so afraid of another attack that my world get smaller and smaller until it was no bigger than my dorm room. I was Brian Wilson without the royalty checks.

Eventually–I don’t recall how–my agoraphobia eased into the background of my life and I carried on as normal. Every once in awhile, something would trigger the return of the panic attacks. Except for dating (something I literally could not manage until I was almost 30 years old), panic attacks were never strong enough to keep me from doing the things I enjoyed.

A year ago, my wife had a miscarriage and the agoraphobia came back like a hungry bear charging from a cave.

The feeling was like a ship striking an iceberg. Freezing water rushing into what had been safety and warmth just moments before. Sinking. Hysteria.

Panic.

Then, shame.

Since then, my panic attacks are increasing in frequency and intensity. I quit doing many of the things I do best and enjoy doing most. My agoraphobia is so bad–as bad as it was in 1994-1995–that going to a show with my wife or having lunch in a restaurant is a white-knuckled cliffhanger.

If you have experience with this disorder, you know how you eventually become scared of getting scared.

And it’s not hard to get scared when you’re already scared of it happening.

Two things about agoraphobia make it especially hard: 1) You cannot be fully present for the things you enjoy the most or that are most precious to you, and 2) You feel like you must be the stupidest person alive because you can’t just make it stop. It’s all in your head, right? Shouldn’t you be able to do something about it?

A lot of people in this situation add addiction or compulsive behavior to the mix. It’s called self-medication. I did. My lifelong abusive relationship with pornography started at exactly the same time that agoraphobia moved in.

If you have experience with this, you know the feeling of being in a cement mixer of shame and weakness that turns until you don’t know down from up.

The apostle Paul (some people call him Saint Paul), wrote this to Christians like you and me:

“…there was given me a thorn in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to torment me–to keep my from exalting myself! Concerning this I implored the Lord three times that it might leave me. And he has said to me: ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.’ Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me…for when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:7-10).

In light of these words of Paul, my weakness makes sense.

I care deeply about my appearance and what people think of me.

I possess exceptional talent for public performing and speaking.

I derive a very great sense of importance and self-worth from my public appearance and the things I can do and say in front of groups of people.

Under all of this, I believe (mistakenly) that my physical appearance and social skills and talent are what make me desirable and lovable.

Do you see how I conflate my physical appearance and my talents with relationships, self-worth, and value? Do you see how I believe that love is somehow dependent on how I am in front of people?

Do you see the pride and puffiness in this?

Do you see how desperate it makes me to be good-looking, important, and talented in other peoples’ eyes?

My weakness isn’t a coincidence. It attacks the very thing that I believe I cannot live (and love) without.

The weakness may be a messenger from the Satan (The Prosecutor, the reminder of guilt and shame), but the apostle Paul says that a person of faith sees it as a gift.

For one, embracing our weakness is a way to control and turn away from our own pride. The weakness keeps us honest. It keeps us humble.

It also gives us a chance to find the true source of life and love. It’s not our smarts, our strength, or our talents. The tighter we hold to these things, the weaker we become.

It’s grace. It’s learning to find the grace of God in every situation. And oftentimes, we find that grace in the love of family and friends. We find out that love abounds to us no matter how good-looking or important or talented we are. In fact, we find out that love has nothing to do with those things at all. We have value and worth apart from what we can do.

And when we don’t learn that lesson–when we prefer to “control” how others love us by manipulating them through our social skills–our weakness tightens its grip until we have no choice but to confess that love is beyond our control. We can calm down and rest assured that love is real and love is true whether we “earn” it or not.

So, believe it or not, I’m thankful for my weakness. It’s pointing me to what is real about life. It’s keeping me from the pride that keeps me away from the grace and love that is flowing all around me. It’s making me more and more thankful for the blessings that come to me whether I earn them or not.

What could be more powerful than that?