"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God" (Philippians 4:6). It's a beautiful promise. It's also sometimes impossible to obey.
My autistic nervous system generates anxiety in response to things neurotypical people barely notice. Unexpected schedule changes. Ambiguous social situations. Sensory overload. Transition between activities. My anxiety isn't primarily about theology—whether I trust God enough—but about neurology. My nervous system is wired for heightened threat detection and slower regulation.
This creates spiritual crisis. If Scripture commands "do not be anxious," and I experience chronic anxiety, am I disobeying God? Is my faith inadequate? Should I be able to eliminate anxiety through prayer and trust?
The answer is more complex than simple commands suggest.
First, we need to distinguish between anxious thoughts and anxiety as nervous system state. Anxious thoughts—worry about the future, catastrophizing, rumination—can often be addressed through cognitive change, prayer, and choosing trust. But anxiety as physiological state—elevated cortisol, sympathetic nervous system activation, heightened startle response—isn't directly under conscious control.
My autistic nervous system has a lower threshold for threat detection and slower recovery from activation. This isn't moral failure; it's neurobiology. Just as someone with clinical depression can't simply "choose joy," someone with an anxiety-prone nervous system can't simply "choose peace" at the physiological level.
This doesn't mean faith is irrelevant. It means faith operates within, not in denial of, our neurological reality. God knows how He made me. He knows my nervous system's characteristics. His commands and promises account for this.
When Scripture says "do not be anxious," the Greek word (merimnao) primarily means "divided mind" or "anxious thought patterns"—worrying about the future, being consumed by what-ifs. This is different from physiological anxiety I can't directly control.
I can choose not to ruminate. I can redirect anxious thoughts to prayer. I can practice gratitude. I can resist catastrophizing. These are choices, and Scripture rightly calls me to make them.
But I can't directly choose to turn off my amygdala's threat response. I can't will my cortisol levels down. I can't make my nervous system less reactive through sheer faith. These require different interventions—therapy, medication, lifestyle changes, nervous system regulation practices.
This is where Christians sometimes fail each other. We treat all anxiety as spiritual problem requiring spiritual solutions. "Just pray more." "Trust God more." "Claim His promises." These aren't wrong, but they're incomplete for people with anxiety-prone nervous systems.
Physical interventions aren't lack of faith. Taking anti-anxiety medication isn't trusting pills instead of God any more than taking insulin is trusting medicine instead of God for diabetes. We're treating biological conditions with biological interventions—which is stewardship, not faithlessness.
For me, managing anxiety requires multiple approaches:
Physical: Medication that helps regulate my nervous system. Regular exercise. Adequate sleep. Sensory regulation practices. These address the physiological dimension.
Cognitive: Catching and redirecting anxious thoughts. Practicing gratitude. Reality-testing catastrophic predictions. Choosing to focus on what's true and good. This addresses the thought dimension.
Spiritual: Prayer. Scripture meditation. Remembering God's faithfulness. Trusting in His sovereignty. This addresses the faith dimension.
All three are necessary. Physical interventions alone might reduce symptoms without addressing underlying thought patterns or trust issues. Spiritual practices alone might cultivate faith while leaving physiological anxiety untreated. Cognitive strategies alone might manage thoughts without addressing either biological substrates or ultimate trust in God.
I've learned not to feel guilty when anxiety spikes despite prayer. My nervous system's reactivity isn't evidence of inadequate faith. It's evidence of how God made my particular neurology in a fallen world affected by both autism and sin's cosmic effects.
This distinction matters. If anxiety is purely spiritual, then persistent anxiety means spiritual failure. But if anxiety has neurological components requiring physical intervention, then persistent anxiety despite faithful prayer might just mean I also need therapy, medication, or lifestyle changes.
Scripture itself acknowledges this complexity. Paul had his "thorn in the flesh" (2 Corinthians 12:7). He prayed repeatedly for removal. God's answer: "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness" (2 Corinthians 12:9). Sometimes God doesn't remove the difficulty but provides grace to endure it.
My anxious nervous system might be a thorn in the flesh. I pray for peace. Sometimes God grants it. Sometimes He doesn't remove the physiological tendency but provides grace to function despite it. Learning to accept this has been important.
I've also learned that anxiety about anxiety is often worse than anxiety itself. When I catastrophize about feeling anxious—"I shouldn't feel this way, what's wrong with me, why isn't my faith stronger"—I amplify the problem. Accepting that my nervous system generates anxiety without judging myself for it reduces the secondary suffering.
This is actually trust. Trusting that God knows my frame, that He understands my neurology, that He doesn't condemn me for physiological anxiety I can't directly control. Trusting His grace is sufficient even when my nervous system is reactive.
Churches need to understand this. When anxious autistic people seek help, don't immediately assume it's spiritual deficiency. It might be neurological reality requiring medical intervention, therapy, or environmental accommodation, not just more prayer and Scripture.
Practical responses that help:
- Validate that anxiety is real and challenging
- Encourage both spiritual practices and professional help
- Don't treat medication or therapy as lack of faith
- Recognize that some people's nervous systems are genuinely more anxiety-prone
- Offer concrete support, not just spiritual platitudes
Practical responses that don't help:
- "Just trust God more"
- Implying anxiety indicates weak faith
- Discouraging professional help or medication
- Treating anxiety as purely spiritual problem
- Minimizing the difficulty ("Everyone gets anxious sometimes")
God designed humans as integrated body-soul persons. Our neurology affects our psychology affects our spirituality and vice versa. Treating anxiety effectively requires addressing all dimensions, not just one.
For me, this means:
- Taking medication that helps my nervous system regulate
- Using therapy techniques to manage anxious thoughts
- Practicing sensory regulation to prevent overwhelm that triggers anxiety
- Praying and meditating on Scripture to cultivate trust
- Accepting that despite all this, I'll still experience anxiety sometimes
The last point is crucial. Even with optimal management, my anxious nervous system doesn't become neurotypical. I still experience more anxiety than many people. But I've learned to function well despite it, to prevent it from controlling my life, and to trust God in the midst of it.
This is what Paul meant by "grace is sufficient." God doesn't always remove thorns in flesh. He provides grace to live faithfully despite them. My anxious autistic nervous system is real, sometimes debilitating, and not going away. But God's grace is real too, and it's sufficient.
The promise isn't "trust Me and anxiety disappears." It's "trust Me and you'll have what you need to face anxiety faithfully." That's a more modest promise, but also more reliable. God doesn't promise neurotypical nervous systems. He promises His presence and grace regardless of our neurology.
Learning to accept this has brought peace—not freedom from anxiety, but peace in the midst of anxiety. I still experience physiological anxiety. But I've stopped treating it as evidence of spiritual failure. It's evidence of my particular neurobiological reality, which God knows and works within.
And in weird way, my anxious nervous system has deepened my dependence on God. I can't manage anxiety through willpower alone. I desperately need grace, medical help, and God's sustaining presence. My weakness drives me to God in ways neurotypical confidence might not.
So maybe Paul was onto something. God's power is made perfect in weakness. Including the weakness of anxious autistic nervous systems that won't calm down even when theology says they should.