Powerless

“We’re going to try something different today.” In her hands she held two small oval pieces of plastic - one black and one white. I had heard about EMDR, but I had never personally experienced it. “What causes you anxiety?,” my therapist asked. I had to think about it for a moment. My mind started scanning. There were so many things which caused me consternation…the fear of disease…the fear of losing a loved one…the fear of flying. But these weren’t things I necessarily thought about day in and day out. There were the daily stresses….my tinnitus…money…my worries as a parent. The next layer down were the deeper anxieties - things I couldn’t articulate as easily - feelings that came with a vengeance - emotions that I thought I had conquered, yet showed up when I least expected them.

“My son and his comments…,” I finally replied, “…and of course, there’s my biological family.” “I can’t stand feeling like they don’t accept me…I don’t like thinking that something is wrong with me…and ultimately, I hate feeling like I’m alone.” I went on to explain how both of my siblings and my parents knew the French language, but somehow, I never learned it. I was nearly five years old when our family returned from France in 1980, yet I only understood a handful of French words - most memorably un camion (truck) and voiture (car). My parents and siblings all knew I didn’t know French and even spoke French openly in front of me - whether the discussion included the topic of Christmas gifts or another ”secret.” (I find this so peculiar as I know missionary friends whose kids were bilingual by the age of three). To this day, I have no clue how I passed high school French, short of a curve. Unsurprisingly, hardly any of the language came back to me.

“Is there anything else that causes you anxiety?,” my therapist inquired. “Well, there’s my brother…,” I remarked. Ever since I was a little boy, I wanted to be close to my brother. In fact, I obsessed over the idea of having a good relationship with him. But I could never get there. It was as if there was an invisible wall between my brother and me - one which I could neither scale nor break through. I couldn’t forget the time in 2009 when my brother told me I’d always be the “littlest” sibling and we’d never be equals. What 41 year old brother says this to his 33 year old brother? My brother went on to suggest that our family would never be close because his wife wanted justice and was protective of her children (I had no idea what he was talking about. However, this comment would take on a painful new meaning seven years later).

My brother is an engineer - basically a rocket scientist. I’ve always looked up to him. I remember recording music with him one Christmas. He played acoustic guitar, sang and I added some keyboard and percussion. That was a special moment. Yet so often, he and his family would leave after the holidays and it might be another six months or more before I’d talk to my brother. Somehow, I was always the one reaching out. The holidays brought with them a high and a crashing low. For a moment, it felt like our family was close - but only for a moment. I could never understand my brother. There were times when it seemed like he was supportive of me. But more often than not, he came around when I needed to be corrected. It felt like he was on a mission to keep me in line. He could make me feel guilty about anything. In 2016, I told him what our dad had done to my son…and instead of being supportive, my brother warned me that I would be alone. His response only solidified what I was already feeling. When it came to my family, I was the black sheep, the outcast, the reject. One of these things didn’t look like the other - and it was me. I was indeed on the outside of a frosted window looking in.

“Well, let’s take some time to think about these feelings which you have about your brother,” my therapist quietly suggested as she gently caressed the edge of her tea cup. She invited me to hold the two plastic black and white oval pieces in my hand. The vibrations began to alternate between my two palms. “How did you feel when your brother said you’d be alone?,” she continued. At first, I sat there quietly. My mind went blank. I was honestly expecting something dramatic. Instead, I felt sleepy and I started to zone out. I suppose it was 8:15 and I was only several sips into my morning coffee. After what seemed like a good thirty seconds or so, my mind sharply went on the defensive. “Your brother has no control of you.” “His opinion doesn’t matter.” “You don’t need him anyway.” About this time, my therapist interrupted - “How did that go? Did that bring up any thoughts or feelings?” “I didn’t think about a lot,” I replied, “However, near the end, my ego began to defend itself. I suppose that’s a good thing? I’m pretty sure I would have been in a different place six years ago.” “Well, don’t be surprised if you think of more things later,” she assured me. I walked out the door as she waved and smiled, “See you in two weeks!”

What an odd experience. What had just happened? Had anything really happened? I called my wife and stopped home for a quick bowl of cereal. Later, as I drove to work, my mind began churning. My therapist and I had sure covered a lot of ground, but did we get anywhere? Had I really identified and confronted my greatest anxieties? And if so, what did they all have in common? Suddenly, a word hit me - “Powerless.” That was it. All of these anxieties centered around one Goliath sized fear. A suffocating sense of helplessness. My brother made me feel powerless. I could never earn his approval. My family made me feel powerless. I would never fit in. Quite often, my son directly or indirectly made me feel powerless. I couldn’t fix him and I didn’t know how to help him.

In that still moment in my therapist’s office, something monumental had taken place. Without knowing it, I had stared one of my most formidable fears in the eye. So many of the lies which fluttered around the rafters of my mind were bent on stripping me of my power. The opinions of my brother still haunted me like a dirty old ghost. My family’s expectations were still strapped around my leg like a dusty ball and chain. The slicing words of my son still caused my heart to bleed. Who would I be if I didn’t listen to these lies? What if I stood in the power granted to me as a child of God? Wouldn’t this change everything? Wouldn’t this transform who I was to my wife - to my kids - to my friends - to my co-workers - to the world?

It’s wild how one word can bring clarity. How can one truly face a fear if he doesn’t know what that fear is? I certainly have many fears, but above them all is the fear of being powerless. I must remember that this is not my battle to fight. I’m not pressing into the darkness in my own strength. The Creator is backing me. He is for me and is with me. No human disapproval can change how my Heavenly Fathers sees me. No earthly or heavenly opposition can stop the Almighty’s purpose in my life. My confidence ultimately rests in the unshakable power of the God of the Universe. In Him, I will never be powerless.

“I will raise my eyes to the mountains; From where will my help come? My help comes from the LORD, Who made heaven and earth.” Psalm 121:1-2