Desperate for Deliverance

It’s wonderful to hear from Jennifer Bousquet this week! If you’d like to learn more about her, check out the contributors page.

I woke from a few restless hours of sleep to the sound of my baby crying from the next room.

He needed me. The familiar pit instantly formed in my stomach. Feelings of dread rushed into

my mind, followed by guilt for having the feelings of dread. For weeks, obsessive, unwanted,

terrifying thoughts had been swirling mercilessly in my brain while I did the mundane tasks of

caring for my son.

These “what if?” thoughts would often trigger a panic attack with physical symptoms like a racing

heart, nausea, sweats, shakiness, ringing in my ears, and confusion. Once the panic attack itself

subsided, I would fall into the compulsive pattern of performing mental rituals for hours and even

days—a futile attempt to negate the anxious thoughts and feelings. Sleep was elusive. I had lost 15

pounds. This anxiety disorder known as OCD had plagued me since childhood, but never quite so

intensely as it did when I was several months post-partum.

How can I think these things? I must be a horrible parent. Maybe my child would be better oﬀ

with a diﬀerent mother.

In the midst of these dark days, I would cry out to the Lord, sometimes journaling my prayers. I

pored over the Scriptures, desperate for deliverance. But our Savior didn’t grant that right

away. Instead, He walked beside me through that valley—or rather, sat with me in the valley.

Psalm 103:14 reminds us, “He knoweth our frame, he remembereth that we are dust.”

Sometimes I felt His presence; sometimes I did not. But I had to learn not to trust what I felt.

My anxiety disorder constantly fed me lies. I knew I had to tell myself the truths of Scripture.

A verse that became my theme for those particular months was Psalm 94:19: “In the multitude

of my thoughts within me thy comforts delight my soul.” I certainly had a multitude of thoughts

within me, and I could ﬁnd no comfort in the earthly things that would have normally made me

smile. I didn’t feel like myself.

My only comfort was knowing that God remained constant. No matter what, nothing could separate

me from His love. He created me. I was His because as a child, I had accepted His Son Jesus as my

Savior. I even learned to thank Him for my OCD because it drew me closer to Him. My family doctor

and a Christian therapist have also played a role in my journey. I’ll likely deal with an anxiety disorder

for the rest of my life. It’s part of this earthly body of mine, but I won’t let it deﬁne me.

My identity is in Christ. If there is a person reading this who can identify in some way with my story, I

want you to know that you’re not alone. For years, I felt ashamed to speak openly of my struggles, but

I hope to share even more of what the Lord has taught me in the future.

I Corinthians 1:3-4 shows us a purpose in our suﬀering: “Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord

Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort; Who comforteth us in all our tribulation,

that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we

ourselves are comforted of God.”