Some months back, I had noted a gnawing and increasingly-pervasive sense of anxiety. My life has stresses like many others, I imagine. And, like many others, I carried a burden of being in a state of general unhappiness. I could blame my job. I could blame chronic health conditions. I could blame macroeconomics or geopolitical unrest. I could blame Republicans or Democrats. Suffice it to say, the outcome was the same… I would wake up on the weekends with a feeling of exhaustion and bone-tired fatigue I couldn’t quite explain.

My week was hard, I would tell myself. Then I began to consider burnout. Was it my job? Was it my personal life? Why did I want to spend all my time numbing out on Sci-Fi and Action movies or watching endless hours of TikTok? Through all the turbulence, I realized I had fallen away from my practice of daily prayer and meditation.

I started that Saturday, so many months ago, “Dear Father God, I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. I haven’t kept up my part of our relationship with you.”

I was greeted with a warm silence. In closing my eyes and sinking into the moment, I felt the presence of time and of my God, without need of words. His simple acknowledgement was to let me know He was there.

“I feel anxious and fearful,” I continued on. “I don’t understand why. Can you help me know why?” I began to list off a litany of likely sins, almost expecting God to stack-rank them for me.

“Idolatry is your sin,” I heard as a clarion call to my meanderings.

“Idolatry?” I questioned. “What did I idolize that would lead to anxiety?” I genuinely wondered.

“Financial insecurity is what you worship. Your pursuit of safety and security drives your anxiety.”

I was floored. In my mind’s eye, such a concise explanation had laid bare my motives. I could not argue with His words as they rang so true.

With slumping shoulders, I relinquished and let go of my vanities. It was after all, just me and Him. Why pretend?

Embarrassment led to a petty retort, “OK, if that’s my idol then how do you propose I fix it?”

“I have built you to create. Start writing,” He gently began.

“To what end? For money, or fame, or your glory?” I began to interrogate Him for clarity.

“Just write. Don’t worry about purpose or money. Just enjoy it.”

And so I began—just writing. What had started as a blog post, turned into a chapter. A chapter had turned into two chapters. Then, a table of contents, and before I knew it, I had written nearly 35,000 words on a topic I didn’t originally think I could offer much more about.

As I continued to write, the words flowed into transformation within me–each sentence a small release of the burdens I had unknowingly shackled myself with. Writing emerged as a spiritual practice, my form of meditation reconnecting me with my core values, beyond the material.

The simple act of writing liberated me from the idolatry of financial security that had once governed my life. In creating worlds with words, I found a world within myself that was untethered to the anxieties that plagued me. I was no longer just escaping through mindless media. Instead, I was exploring the depths of my own thoughts and beliefs, actively engaging with them in a way that brought genuine joy and satisfaction.

Now, as I end each week, I am not just looking forward to writing; I am excited about living. The anxiety that once loomed like a permanent fog has begun to clear. I write not for accolades or assurance, but because in the rhythm of my words, I find peace. I am reminded that my path through life, much like my writing, need not be defined by external successes but by the authenticity of each step I take.

In this–my journey of words–I have learned that the remedy for my anxiety was not in securing what was outside, but in understanding and reshaping what lay within. Through writing, I’ve begun to heal, one word at a time.