High Anxiety: It's Not Just a Mel Brooks Movie Title

Does anybody else out there find their peace of mind in short supply these days?

I blame the omnipresent news stream. Pretty sure our psyches weren't designed to handle an unending onslaught of reported natural disasters and human tragedies from every corner of the earth and beyond. Splice in our personal concerns about loved ones and fuses start to blow, internal reservoirs of resilience dry up.

There are of course some ducks among us—that lucky few, off whose backs the world's worries simply slide into an ocean of discarded concerns. People who can quickly refocus and whistle their way past it all.

I identify more with hyper-reactive pups born to stray mother dogs whose elevated levels of anxiety hormones pass through to their litter. My risky entry into this world took place under nerve-wracking circumstances, surrounded by a frantic emergency medical team and beeping transfusion equipment. I think I was born uneasy.

Recently, after the accumulated stress of six years of unprecedented triggers had pumped my cortisol level so high that no amount of self-talk or treadmill sessions would neutralize it, I went looking for help.

Start with a counselor, I thought. They're everywhere, I thought. They even advertise on television. It took hundreds of computer clicks and numerous phone calls to track down someone who fit my needs, but she was thirty-five miles away and booked six weeks out. Made me nervous just thinking about the wait.

Maybe some therapeutic massage would help. After an extensive search among iffy prospects, I checked in with a known physical therapy clinic. Eighty bucks for 60 minutes. Another 30-minute drive to the location and a three-week wait for an opening. How is this helping me today? I grumble.

I'm obviously dealing with anxiety issues. It's stressful having to postpone an urgent need for help due to overcrowded schedules at overbooked clinics, filled no doubt with others more in need than I.

Let's think about this, I decide. I can do web research. I can read books* on coping. I can practice the breathing techniques I use to keep my blood pressure in healthy range. And I can do what never fails me when I am feeling overwhelmed: turn to my in-house counselor; pray to the always available One who has an authentic interest in little ol' messed up me, no matter how unrelenting the constant drip, drip, drip of my pleas for help may be.

His guidance never fails. Sometimes it comes slowly over time—subtle nudges, motivating, directing my course. (Those action plans that come to me in moments of reflection do not spring forth from "the universe"!) Sometimes it comes immediately, astonishing me, lifting me, taking the wobble out of my knees. Helping me today, in this moment. Equipping me for tomorrow.

I'll keep my ears and eyes open for practical, earth-bound assistance, of course. But knowing that with God, I never have to take a number and wait in line calms me right here where I sit—without the 30-minute drive.

*I'm finding this resource both entertaining and helpful: The Anxiety Sisters' Survival Guide, by Abbe Greenberg and Maggie Saracheck.