Reading as Anxiety Management
And books as prescription
I’ve always been a reader. I’m a pretty slow reader, so I don’t read as much as I want to, but ever since high school, I’ve read books on theology, the Christian life, self-improvement, and other similar topics. Not all of these books were created equal. Some books I read that I wish I didn’t. Other books I read later that I wish I had read much earlier. But some books have legitimately changed my life. With these books, there was a marked before-and-after.
Not every book will do this, but that’s why it’s worth reading widely—you never know which book will land with such a force in your life that you turn the last page a different person than when you opened the first. The few books that do this for you make all of the other books in between worth it. Yet even those books that aren’t life-changing move the needle and add another layer to your character that wasn’t there before. One sentence of wisdom, one useful fact, one insightful story. All of these small things on their own can make an entire book worth it. You’re adding small, niche, but useful tools to your toolbox. You may not know when you’ll need it, but you’re prepared when you do.
In the spirit of trying to be a reflective and self-aware person, I’ve recently wondered why I’ve always been a reader. Beyond the enjoyment of it, the pragmatism, the vanity of wanting to appear smart, why do I read, really? What is perhaps my deepest motivation when I pick up a book? And the answer surprised me.
Anxiety.
I don’t think of myself as an anxious person. I’ve had a handful of panic attacks over the years, but nothing crippling. I can trace the source of all but maybe one of them. Anxiety isn’t something I “deal with.” But when I thought about why I read, it occurred to me that reading is how I manage my anxiety.
My anxieties arise from the gaps in my life experiences. My broken family. My fundamentalist spiritual background. My poor academic performance. My overexposure to death at a young age. My betrayal of trust from a close mentor and past church. All of these accumulated anxieties created gaps that, left unclosed, would simply make life much harder to live. If I didn’t find ways to manage the anxiety and close the gaps, I’d be like the doubter James talks about that “is like the surging sea, driven and tossed by the wind” and is “unstable in all his ways.”
The problem with that is that I had a stark example of what that kind of life looked like from my parents. For most people, reacting against their parents is a form of rebellion, a struggle to differentiate, that can lead them into destructive habits and lifestyles. That’s exactly what both of my parents did. So for me, it was the opposite. Reacting and rebelling against my parents looked like trying to live a good life, a stable life, a life of responsibility and care for others. So the gap between the vision I had of the life I wanted to live and the resources I had to do it felt, at times, impossibly wide.
Which is why I read books. I’m realizing now that was subconscious for most of my life, but I feel very conscious of it now. Books help me fill in the gaps, which helps me manage the anxiety I feel about the gap in the first place. I don’t know God, so I will read books about God. I don’t know how to pray or read the Bible, so I will read books about prayer and the Bible. I don’t know how to be a father, so I will read books on fatherhood. I don’t understand money, so I will read books on money. I don’t know how to have a good work ethic, so I will read books about work. On and on it goes.
There’s a light side and a shadow side to this.
The shadow side is that it can easily become a quest for omniscience. I can subtly believe the lie of the serpent that if I just read the right book, if I read enough books, I can be like God, taking on his incommunicable attribute of knowing all things for myself. The temptation to trust in the knowledge of humans through books rather than the wisdom that comes from the fear of God often pulls me into reading a book more than praying or studying scripture.
But that doesn’t mean it’s always or inherently this way.
The light side is that books act as self-prescribed therapy for my anxiety. In his book Christian Philosophy As A Way Of Life, Ross Inman writes,
Philosophy [is] first and foremost… therapeutic. Philosophy was a kind of care or therapy of the soul, not in the thin, modern sense of making you feel better about yourself but in the older, thicker sense of promoting the objective health of the soul.
It’s easy to think about philosophy just in terms of the statuettes of ancient men, but philosophy is simply the love of wisdom, and wisdom is the art of living life well; cultivating the good life. In that sense, nearly everything can be philosophical if you treat it as such: Seneca and Augustine, Keller and Willard, Seth Godin and Brene Brown, Lewis and Tolkein, Stephen King and JK Rowling, and everything in between. The common denominator is the pursuit of wisdom.
That wisdom is in and of itself therapeutic. It gives health to the soul. It still anxieties and increases confidence. It closes gaps and gives direction. Instead of living out of a negative vision—“this is what I don’t want”—it gives a positive vision—“this is what I do want.” It shifts your mind from reacting to every situation life gives you with whatever your gut instinct is to living from a place of principles, values, and virtues that guide all you do.
Reactivity is at the core of anxiety; patience is at the core of wisdom. James goes on, “Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger, for human anger does not accomplish God’s righteousness.” Reading is slowing down. It’s humbling yourself before those who have gone before you. It’s choosing to learn and then live instead of living then learning. Implicit in reading is admitting, “I don’t know,” but it often finishes the sentence with “…yet.” Ignorance isn’t a virtue, but acknowledging and accepting our ignorance is the first step in gaining wisdom.
Of course, this isn’t the only thing needed to manage anxiety, but for me, reading is a large part of the prescription I take to still my anxieties and close the gaps in my life. I will never be like God, knowing everything and lacking nothing, but I can fear him. And in fearing him, humble myself before both him and those who have gone before me. I trust that in that fear, I will find wisdom, and in finding wisdom, I will find life.
I’ve written a book about deconstruction. It’s called Walking Through Deconstruction: How To Be A Companion In A Crisis Of Faith. It’s deeply personal, but it’s not a memoir. It’s an attempt to serve the church; to help the church understand what deconstruction is, what causes it, and how to walk with people who are experiencing it.