Confronting The Questions You've Been Too Afraid To Ask
By Carolyn Shields
A few months ago I wrote an article about facing your anxiety, and the insights from last year has helped me significantly in this struggle. Instead of a fight or flight response, it was a ‘face’ response—ie, simply face it. It wasn’t until recently when I realized this same attitude should be applied to every aspect of life.
Holding your ground—even to yourself—can be terrifying. Things you’ve been avoiding, wounds that need addressed, lies you’ve been telling yourself, and questions you haven’t answered, can take a lot courage. That’s why it’s a freaking virtue!
But I also think this is one of those seedy devil traps: he tricks us into fearing, well, fear, over the actual issue.
I read recently: Name it. Claim it. Tame it. One time in confession, a priest realized I was beating around the bush (everyone’s worst nightmare, right?). But he gently yet firmly told me, “Confession is a form of exorcism. You must name the demon. You need to say its name.”
I broke down sobbing and stuttered the word. Fr. Michael Gaitley, MIC wrote, "It’s amazing how the simple act of revealing temptations and difficulties is often enough to bring an end to the enemy’s little tricks…it can be kind of eery, as if you’re under a spell.” That ‘weight off your shoulders’ thing? It’s real.
And it starts with being honest with ourselves. Stop beating around the bush and making excuses. Sometimes starting this journey is a really, really hard thing to do alone which is why we may need to seek out spiritual counseling and therapy. Sometimes we’re not sure what questions to even ask, or what it is we’re running away from. Other times it’s a glaring wound that we would rather suffer with for the rest of our lives than to undergo the hellish surgery that will cure us.
But here’s my advice: similar to naming the demon, take a deep breath and simply answer the questions from your subconscious just as gently as they surface.
Here’s my example.
When I left the city back in October, I couldn’t bring myself to even think about visiting for months because I knew it would be hard to return to a place that was no longer home. The other night, however, I talked with old friends and at the end of our conversation, I felt so overcome with both love and bittersweetness. Love didn’t necessarily drown out the bitter part, and I was hit with palpable memories that made my heart ache.
But instead of trying to move on from that chapter of my life and temporarily mute both the good and bad memories to let time do its thing, I found peace in facing it.
The truth is, I will probably always miss Philadelphia. I’ll always recall who I was and was becoming during those transformative years with intensely acute detail. If I’m being honest, I’ll always really miss the brotherhood that I found there, something that was rare and something I’ll likely never find again. But once I admitted all of this to myself, I realized that’s okay.
Yearning for the past is okay. Missing your friends is okay. Being afraid is okay! When I do visit again, I’ll know I’ll leave with that ache…but I would rather create more fond memories than not for fear of revisiting old ones.
Here’s another example: For those of us who have gone through a breakup or heartache, there’s always that time after where we grapple with what has been. We can get flooded with fear: what if I won’t ever move on? What if I can’t let go? What if my future spouse realizes a part of me still loves him?
When asking myself these questions for the 100th time on some particularly mellow day recently, I responded likewise.
Well, I mused. I will always love him. That shouldn’t even be a question. And he probably will always be in my daily prayers. And no, I won’t ever find someone like him again. I may have forgotten the color of his eyes, but I won’t ever forget the way he made me feel. And yes, I will always miss him and who we were.
And finally very non-dramatically confronting those questions didn’t kill me. It gave me freedom. Because now I know what I’m carrying isn’t fear but something precious.
What we face might actually be quite serious and big. It can be scary to face it. But don’t let fear be the thing that holds you back from facing it. Fr. Michael Gaitley adds, “Whenever we burn with longing, it may be Jesus inviting us into a deeper friendship. Such an invitation seems to come through his gaze, a loving gaze from the Cross, that says, ‘I thirst for you.’ In fact, I wonder if the thirst we sometimes experience is his gaze, such that when it’s especially strong, it’s simply him gazing on us…”
