Naming the Waters Within

Last week we talked about the overflow. Whatever is happening beneath the surface eventually finds its way into our relationships. It shows up in our words, our reactions, our tone, even our silence.

But before we can bring what is underneath to Jesus, we first have to learn to notice it.

I still remember sitting in my counselor’s office when she gently said, “I think you have high-functioning anxiety.” I remember thinking, well, thank you? Honestly, it felt a little like a compliment. High functioning? I’ll take it.

It never occurred to me that functioning well wasn’t the same thing as living freely.

The truth was, I wasn’t even able to name that I was anxious. I had spent so many years stuffing my feelings and pushing through that “fine” was about the only emotional vocabulary I had.

If you had asked me how I was feeling back then, I probably would have answered with one of four words. Busy. Stressed. Overwhelmed. Tired.

Honestly, they all seemed completely normal for a mom with young kids and a full schedule. I assumed that was just life in this season.

Looking back, I realize those words weren’t really feelings at all. They were descriptions of my circumstances, or my capacity. They told me how much I was carrying. They didn’t tell me what was happening in my heart.

I had learned that moving was safer than feeling.

One of the things I love about Jesus is how often He slowed people down with a question. “What do you want Me to do for you?” “Why are you afraid?” “Do you love Me?” I don’t think Jesus asked because He needed information. He asked because they did. I’ve begun to wonder if He still does the same with us, not because He doesn’t know what’s happening in our hearts, but because so often we don’t.

As I began paying attention, I realized I needed to learn a new language. Not a language of theology. Not a language of performance. A language for my own heart.

At first, it felt surprisingly difficult. Was I angry, or was I hurt? Was I overwhelmed, or was I afraid? Was I frustrated, or was I disappointed?

Sometimes I realized that what I had been calling “stress” was actually grief. Sometimes what I called “overwhelm” was fear. Sometimes what I labeled “busy” was a way of avoiding something I didn’t know how to name.

I’ve come to believe that naming our feelings isn’t about becoming more self-focused. It’s about becoming more honest. Because we cannot bring into God’s presence what we’ve never stopped to notice.

One of the most freeing discoveries for me has been realizing that the loudest feeling isn’t always the first one. For years I thought I was simply anxious. But as I slowed down, I began to notice that anxiety often wasn’t the first feeling at all.

Sometimes underneath the anxiety was sadness. Sometimes disappointment. Sometimes fear. Sometimes grief. Anxiety was often my attempt to manage those feelings instead of simply bringing them to Jesus.

I’ve learned that our emotions aren’t interruptions to the spiritual life. They’re often invitations into it. They gently reveal where something inside us is asking to be seen, held, and met by God.

The next time you notice yourself reacting more strongly than the moment seems to require, pause if you can. Take one slow breath. Then simply ask: What is happening inside me right now?

If finding the feeling feels difficult, that’s okay. Maybe start with your body. Is your chest tight? Are your shoulders tense? Does your stomach feel heavy? Notice without judging. Then ask one more question: Jesus, what do You want me to know here?

You don’t have to understand everything before you come to Him. You only have to come honestly.

For a long time I believed my feelings were getting in the way of becoming the kind of wife, mom, and friend I wanted to be. Now I’m beginning to wonder if they were invitations all along, not invitations to stay stuck there, but invitations to let Jesus meet me there.

Because our hearts are not the obstacle to loving people well. They’re the very place where His transforming work begins.

Next week we’ll begin exploring the stories that often live beneath our emotions, because the stories we believe quietly shape the lives we live. And when those stories are brought into the light of God’s presence, they begin to lose their power.

Until next time, may you slow down, notice His presence, and return again to the One who is already holding you.

Grace and peace, Sacha