I feel as though sicknesses such as depression, anxiety, etc. tend to be a bit glorified on social media. I never publicly speak out about my anxiety disorder because I'm so scared of making it seem potentially beautiful or even the slightest bit interesting. Anxiety is nothing but a thief. There is nothing beautiful about it. There is no quality that it possess that deserves to be celebrated. The only things that deserve to be celebrated are the people who struggle daily with these invisible sicknesses and press on. If you are struggling with any type of depression, anxiety, OCD, etc. know that you are not alone. Know that you are strong. So strong. Know that what you're facing is more than a stigma. Just because it's not physically visible doesn't mean it isn't any less real. I wrote this blog post about a month ago, and it is one of the most personal, honest and open things I've ever written. So in honor of mental health awareness month, I'll let you into my heart. Enjoy. (Originally published here.)

"it is my Father's good pleasure to give me the Kingdom."

the phrase that has acted like a child's security blanket on my worst days.

those eleven words have set free the troubled mind that I call my own.

my anxiety has controlled me for far too long. in seventh grade, it took the breath from my lungs and as a freshman in college it keeps me chained to the floor, unable to move my legs, stealing my strength and creating an ever-growing puddle of tears on the floor.

an embarrassing sight, really. sitting with my legs to my chest with tears rolling down my thighs.

"You aren't good enough"

"You shouldn't have said that"

"You're going to fail all of your tests"

"Your friends don't really like you"

"You can't do anything right"

"You're so emotional, nobody likes that about you"

"You're nothing but weak"

"You're never going to find someone to love you"

"Can you believe they said that to you? They must not like you"

The thoughts that steal my courage. The quiet whispers that run through my head and take control of my heart. There is no happy ending to this story, or at least that's what my anxiety wants me to think...

But it's convincing, and controlling, and sometimes I give in. Sometimes I choose to believe the lies.

Sometimes I fall onto the floor and cry so hard that my lungs can't keep up, and I end up a hyperventilating mess with tear stains on my cheeks and mascara on my shirt.

But then I remember the truth,

"it is my Father's good pleasure to give me the Kingdom"

And it's still hard. And sometimes it takes a long time. I have to catch my breath. And eventually, I have to muster up the strength to stand. But I do it. I do it because I'm not weak. Because I am good enough. Because I don't have to believe the lies. It is my Father's good pleasure to give me the Kingdom.