When the Mind Won’t Let Go

This past weekend we played shows in Edmonton and Calgary. Being autistic, concerts are definitely not easy for me on a sensory and social level and just general anxiety but this weekend was especially hard. On the drive there, I had a huge meltdown. It felt like I was drowning, suffocating, and about to throw up all at the same time.

Our schedule was jam packed. I’m so grateful for the helpers who stepped in so I could try to pace myself. Even so, during the Edmonton concert I had a migraine which felt like I was hanging off a cliff, gripping for dear life just to get through the set. I could barely see straight let alone think so I forgot a lot of words and felt so embarrassed. On top of that, I felt guilty knowing the rest of the band had been working tirelessly not only on that day with set up, planning and dealing with technical difficulties but for weeks prior as well.

Calgary wasn’t much easier. My stress had now shifted from shortness of breath to chest pain, along with random aches all over my body. The guilt grew heavier. I was wrestling not only with shame from the night before, but fear of what might happen that night.

And then my worst fear came true. Soundcheck had gone brilliantly, but the second I stepped on stage, I couldn’t hear anything except my voice and a click. I had no idea what key to come in on and I guessed my way through the whole set. More shame. More embarrassment. More guilt for being the least experienced member of the band in this kind of situation. I walked off stage feeling defeated.

When you add it all up, it sounds like a terrible idea for me to even be part of this. How am I supposed to keep doing this? All I could think was: If this is what it’s like, I want no part of it. I’m just letting my band down. They have been so amazing and helpful, and all I am is dead weight.

That’s where my thoughts went, magnifying the negatives. But the truth? The positives far outweighed them.

I got to collaborate on a song with a new friend and share my testimony of how God continually comes through for me in these concerts. I witnessed miracles yet again of stepping onto the stage with absolutely nothing left to give, falling into God’s arms, and watching Him sustain me. (Honestly, how could I ever have pride in my talent when I know for certain I can’t do it apart from Him carrying me through?)

By being vulnerable enough to let the people around me see my struggle and allowing them to pray for me and help me through it, I got to see God use my story to impact the people around me. I soaked up wisdom from a super solid guy with years of hard-earned experience in life and music. I watched a little girl fight her fears and step in front of a crowd to do the actions she created to a song called “Confidence” (and then had to redo my makeup before my set because, yes, of course, I cried). I experienced my bandmates’ love and friendship as they went out of their way to support me. And so so so many more countless moments that I can’t possibly fit into a blog post.

And the truth? Nobody actually cared that I missed a few words, most didn’t even notice. The sound issues didn’t stop the party (🤘) or God from using the music to impact people. Yes, my struggles as an autistic person are real. They’re hard. But they humble me, and somehow, God keeps using them for His glory. In fact, His glory shone through every situation.

This weekend was both a physical and mental battle. But God’s Word teaches us in 2 Corinthians 10:5 to “take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” And when I look at the full picture, this weekend was a glorious testament to His grace.

For everything God did and taught me, I’d do it again and again. My thoughts try to lie and magnify the negatives, but I know that God is so so so good and I am exactly where I’m supposed to be!

I’ll close with the hymn that says it best:

Turn your eyes upon Jesus

Look full in His wonderful face

And the things of earth will grow strangely dim

In the light of His glory and grace

By Morgan Groenewald