I’ve noticed that a lot of people either loved or hated high school, and I’ve always sat somewhere right in the middle. I loved the sports and activities and clubs and stereotypical experiences (did someone say prom!), but I didn’t love that stage of life where there was so much pressure to become independent yet we still lived under our parents’ rules. Regardless of my opinion of those four years, there are some moments that I will never forget. 

My senior year tennis season? Incredible. My time serving as editor in chief of the yearbook? Forever impactful. My drives (and jams) with friends to Starbucks after school? So fun. But one of the most impressionable days I think back on was not so great. 

On a particular Wednesday morning the spring of my sophomore year, I sat in AP European History with a lump in my throat. It was only 8am, and I was holding back a boatload of tears. That didn’t last long, though, because they spilled out of my eyes and landed on the desk in no time. These were the kind of tears that were so painful they burned my eyes when they fell. The kind of tears you simultaneously want to keep hidden and also want to break into the light. I bolted to the bathroom and let them fall. This was a case of crippling anxiety. 

I don’t remember the circumstances of that season or why on that particular Wednesday it felt like the walls were closing in on me. But I will never forget that horrible, awful feeling. The feeling that no matter what I did or no matter how good I was, that this intense anxiety and cloud of emotions would not go away, and that I couldn’t share it with anybody. 

What I do remember about that season is that the words spoken to me were that my emotions were crazy, that I didn’t know how to handle them, and that ultimately, I was crazy. I never felt good enough at anything or for anyone. I was trying so hard to be a good student, a good friend, a good daughter, a good girlfriend, a good tennis player… and the list goes on. And all I got in return was what felt like one big resounding “You’re crazy! Get your emotions together. No one wants to deal with this.”  

This internal dilemma forced what felt like two options: hide my emotions and fit in, or hide my emotions and fit in. So of course I chose to hide my emotions and fit in. The more I kept my insecurities and feelings to myself, the more the anxiety skyrocketed and manifested in unhealthy ways. 

Maybe you’ve felt this way before. Maybe you feel this way now. Maybe you feel like your feelings are bad—especially the unpleasant ones. I’m here to say that this is simply not true. What I wish somebody would’ve told me in that moment of high school, and many moments since then, is that I am not crazy. And guess what—you’re not either. 

God created us with emotions. Heck, Jesus felt every hard emotion in the book. Jesus wept (John 11:35), Jesus was extremely sorrowful (Matthew 26:37-38), and Jesus felt betrayed (Mark 14:18). He gets it. He understands how we’re feeling—always. And He can handle all of it.  

There is not a single place in the Bible that God calls us crazy. He calls us beloved (Colossians 3:12) and precious (Isaiah 43:4), but never crazy. Hm. That word—and what we imply when we use it—is not a part of God’s vocabulary when describing His children. It’s right about now that I ask myself… So why would I use it or believe it when thinking about myself? 

The fact that we feel things is not bad—it means that we’re human. Join the club, sister. But when we’re fed the lie that expressing, processing, or understanding our feelings is bad, it makes it a whole lot harder to be vulnerable and share them, let alone even understand them ourselves. But in order to stay grounded and not fall victim to our fleeting emotions, we need to put our big girl pants on and take a good look at what we’re feeling. 

Left unchecked, our feelings will manifest whether we want them to or not. When we’re unsure how to handle them, they will spill out in ways we don’t even realize. So we need to take ownership and authority over them. But we don’t need to fear. 

I became really scared of my feelings—scared they were too much, and that ultimately I was too much and had too many passions, dreams, feelings, things to say. For far too long, I believed the lie that I was the only one that felt this way and that nobody else could handle my full, authentic self. If that’s you today, I want to wrap my arms around you and help pick out this lie. Because it is letha, and it is not true.

Here are the two most practical things that have helped me identify my honest feelings and get back on track quickly.  

1. Call things as they are. I have to write down my thoughts as soon as I realize that I’m feeling something. I put them on paper, no filtering. But here’s the catch—I avoid the words crazy, overwhelmed, or anxiety. Why? Those words are not communicating my true feelings, they are communicating a sense of shame, worry, or fear that derive from the not-so-fun feelings. 

For example: I’m so overwhelmed I can’t get through this.

Broken down: Wow I have a lot going on right now. I have a paper due, two projects, and multiple commitments with friends that need to happen in the next few days. I’m scared that I won’t have the energy or time to get through it and that my health will go downhill. 

Now THAT is something I can work with. Fear of what might happen with my energy levels or health. Okay. Game plan:

I’m going to block out time in my calendar to work on the projects, I’m going to get to bed by 10pm to get good rest, I’m going to say no to commitments that aren’t in line with helping me get through these next few days (even if they are super fun), and I’m not going to think about the days ahead and what else I have to do—I’m only going to focus on the task that’s right in front of me. Finally, and most importantly: I’m going to repeat 2 Timothy 1:7 to myself: “for God did not give us a spirit of fear, but one of power, love, and self-control.” I don’t need to fear not getting through this. If I’m making wise, healthy decisions, I believe that God will provide the energy and strength I need to get through, and I only need to worry about today. 

2. Turn to the Bible. No matter what I’m feeling in the moment, how does God feel about me? Did Jesus feel this? (Probably). Zephaniah 3:16-17 is a great place to start when looking at how God really does feel about us, and Mark 14:32-36 is (in my opinion) one of the most comforting parts of the Bible. Jesus gets it. He gets us.  

It is all too easy for me to let my feelings or insecurities rise up until suddenly I feel like I’m standing under a tidal wave of “crazy.” If I don’t address them, name them, and move on from them in real time, I get distracted from God, and I get distracted from what God has called me to do. And quite frankly, we don’t have time for that. We were created with and for a purpose, and that means now—today. It’s go time. It’s time to kill the lie that we are crazy once and for all and to reground ourselves in the truth: no matter what we feel, we are daughters of God, and He can handle even our deepest, most unpleasant emotions.