How to invite God’s peace into Anxious Moments

Today's blog covers these key points:

- Re-creating trust with yourself  

- Training your self-dialogue  

- Bridging the gap between our fragmented perspectives and His perfect one  

Something you may not know about me is how I first entered the field of psychology. Early on, I was drawn to psychoanalysis and cognitive behavioral therapy. A major turning point came when I began stepping back from my own mind and noticing how much I projected onto others. For example, if I felt someone was being awkward toward me, I'd pause and wonder: What if I'm the awkward one here? Reflecting on my actions afterward, I often realized ways I might have come across as off or uncomfortable to them.

I share my psychology origins because they reveal how far I've come in my beliefs today. In college, as I wrestled with mental health struggles, I initially used psychological tools to reinforce my low self-esteem and negative self-image. In the awkward-interaction example above, I took full responsibility for my part without assigning blame to the other person—even when my initial gut reaction was that they were awkward.  

But the true opposite of that self-blame isn't flipping the script to blame them entirely or trusting my first impression as "truth." Instead, I now see the healthier path as holding both perspectives with deep self-compassion.  

I don't believe the antidote to most psychological struggles is rigid projection or dream analysis (as strict psychoanalysis might emphasize). Rather, it's drawing from multiple approaches while approaching them all with self-compassion—compassion directed toward yourself. (I'll save a deeper dive into biblical self-compassion for another post to avoid a rabbit trail here.)  

Why does this matter so much for mental health? Psychological tools can backfire when paired with self-criticism, cynicism, or condemnation—especially in trauma-informed work. Research consistently shows that shame and self-hatred are common outcomes after trauma, often fueling cycles of pain rather than healing.

Biblically, we face a paradox around sin: Ephesians 5 calls us not to sin, yet we're invited to live as children of light. From years working at camps, babysitting, and now as an aunt to my three nephews, I've seen (and experienced) how children excel at offering unconditional love. Even when parents fail us, kids naturally hold both the hurt and the love.  

I believe true movement toward mental wellness involves cultivating self-compassion and retraining our self-talk. It means turning our inner child's gift for forgiveness and love inward—toward ourselves—and letting that same grace flow outward to others. When we hold both our own story and someone else's with compassion, it's hard to stay in the role of condemner toward either.

In my earlier example, that looks like acknowledging my own awkwardness, extending grace to myself for it, and extending grace to the other person too—whether they "need" it or not. Our growth happens in how we perceive and hold those moments.

This practice of holding both stories aligns with what Dan Allender describes in To Be Told: we must first learn to walk through and hold our own story well before we can truly hold others' stories. Trauma often fragments the mind, but narrating or writing our story—in therapy or privately—helps reintegrate those scattered parts. For me, processing my story in safe spaces built greater compassion for myself and others. As Brené Brown says, “Vulnerability is not weakness; it is our most accurate measure of courage.” Sharing emotional information builds intimacy, though it always carries risk. (That's another post!)

Ultimately, I can only do this because God holds all our stories. When we self-reflect, we’re unlocking potential through the Imago Dei—the image of God in us. He leaves fingerprints throughout our lives, making His presence undeniable. In stillness—“Be still and know”—His perspective becomes shared with us. He holds every fragment: our stories, others' stories, the whole.  

Growing in trust toward God, our Creator, rebuilds our bond with ourselves. We reintegrate because we trust He made us for a purpose, with a plan. In a culture that flees stillness and God, this is one of the most fruitful realizations possible. We are good because God died and made us good.  

Let’s return to the garden, guys and gals.

Blessings,  

Alyssa