Insecure Attachment + God
“We are not accustomed to thinking that God’s will for us and our own inner dreams can coincide.”
Recently, my friend Kyle and I were making plans to hang out later that same afternoon.
Partway through our text thread, we needed to decide where to meet.
Before he could respond, and being too uncomfortable with unclear responsibilities, I stepped in and offered to find us a location. I needed a bit of time, I said, but I’d do some research and get back to him with an idea.
Putting down my phone, I decided to tackle a pile of dishes before hopping into a call with another friend. Casually minding my business while washing a plate or something, a revelation chose to drop into my mind, very much uninvited.
My interaction with Kyle, doing these dishes—and oh, you know—an insecure attachment with God were all related.
How?
Let’s start with Kyle. I have this way of offering my time, energy, and “labor” without ever asking for help or even allowing someone the space to provide it. It’s a kind of control—if I do it, I know I’m on top of it, and I know I’ll be intentional and considerate and pick a great spot. (I make either the best group project partner or the worst, depending on your take.) Besides, clear next steps calm my nerves. I don't like to wait, because, yes, that triggers a feeling of anxiety, or anxious attachment, in my body.
Regardless, I get the job done. Plus, what if Kyle or my other relationships consider the job of pitching in a burden? (Yikes, what does this say about how I value myself and what I deserve in relationships?) Someone might not deliver on their promise. (What does this say about how I think of my friends?) Or, someone might provide a suggestion I don’t like. (What does that say about my ego or ability to compromise?) In all cases, the story I have of myself and others isn’t a pretty one.
So, okay, the dishes. Far be it from me to rest when there’s a single second available between items on my calendar. Five minutes? Ha! I use it to tackle one more thing on my list. Does the list ever dwindle? No! Of course not! You can’t rest! There's always work to be done somewhere! If I'm not constantly doing things, the world will cave in.
Okay, so what about God?
Taking care of things on my own without allowing others to help is a way I both stay in control and also one way I practice avoidance.
If I do everything myself, I don’t allow others to disappoint me.
If I never stop working, going, doing, I don’t have to depend on anyone else.
I never have to admit that I’m not running the show.
And I completely cut off opportunities to receive from others, including God. More than that, I exhaust myself by constantly doing, instead of trusting that God might actually just...provide...what I need to me, without all of the work and effort I'm constantly putting in.
Slowing down, meditating, doing nothing? No thanks. That would mean having to trust someone or something else. It would mean believing I'm actually safe. That we live in a benevolent world that might, I don't know, care about our thriving?
Wild.
In my conversation with Andreas Weber, he talks about how, from a biological perspective, we now believe that all life trends toward more life. That the nature of the universe is actually bent toward more life.
This is where I think science and faith are beginning to truly overlap. (I mean, they always have, but I think science is continually proving more of what we already know to be spiritually true.) Basically that, whatever your spiritual leanings, behind it all seems to lie an energetic force that works "in our favor," because the universe is deeply interested in aliveness.
Death is part of that, yes. But life is the goal.
That being the case, I'm trying to integrate the idea that I can trust that all things actually are intended for my good. That doing often isn't as powerful as stopping and trusting. And that I can't keep blaming "life" when I'm too tired to function. "Tired," it turns out, is often my own damn fault.
Practically, for me, I think it means saying "yes" to a few, right opportunities might yield better results than a million tiny little tasks that only serve to wear me out and make very little impact.
And, I don't know about you, but now seems like a great time to learn that rest is a better option than work. Or, at least the wrong work.
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