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Kelsey Langland-Hayes

Dr Mattix

ENGL 240

27 September 2019

The Weight of Knowledge

Eyes glazed over, my breaths become more shaky and fearful. My foot shakes rapidly up and

down. Hands shaking, I slowly ball them into fists to calm them, but the shaking only intensifies.

Every single noise in the room seems almost unbearable; the low humming sound of the air vent

sharpens. My eyes search the room rapidly, longing for something to hold on to, something to

keep me grounded. It’s too late. I can’t hold on anymore. I can’t do this. Glancing over at the

intimidating college letters on my bed, I immediately turn away and realize my mistake.

Thousands of thoughts flood my mind as my vision comes almost to a blur. Senior year of high

school is rapidly approaching, and I have no clue where I’m going to college. I don’t know what

to do. If I can’t choose a college soon, then I’m going to submit all of my applications too late. If

I submit my applications too late, then I won’t get into college. If you don’t go to college, then

you will fail your family. You’ll be a reason for your mom to lie awake and cry at night. Stop.

Please stop. You know it’s true. At this rate, you’ll never go to college. I can’t do this. I can’t hold

on anymore. You’re right; you can’t do this. Tears flow from my eyes and rush down my cheeks.

My balled fists close tighter and tighter until my nails dig into the palms of my hands. If I grasp

tightly enough, maybe I can feel something; maybe it will make the thoughts go away. Lips

tingling, I feel my entire face go numb until I find myself having a full-blown anxiety attack.
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As my vision begins to clear and I return from my dissociation from reality, I notice the

humming sounds of the air again. Instead of making me panic, it acts as a calming noise as I

breathe slowly in and out. Realizing what just happened, my heart feels heavy with guilt and

remorse. How could you be so stupid? Why did you let yourself get all worked up over nothing?

Hands approaching my face, I rest my head in my palms. You should’ve never gone to that

recovery ministry at church, Celebrate Recovery. You were fine before, and “those people” made

you feel like you actually have real problems. Reflecting on my time at Celebrate Recovery, I

feel an impulse to return to my state of ignorance, a supposed state of bliss. Oh, the comforts of

ignorance; as human beings, we prefer ignorance in all of its simplicity. Whilst we may spend

most of our lives pursuing knowledge and wisdom, we also fear what this pursuit may bring.

Why don’t we just choose ignorance and avoid the weight that comes with pursuing knowledge?

Taking a deep breath, I open the door of my mom’s cherry red Kia and take a step onto the

pavement.

“Bye, love! Make sure your dad knows you’re riding home with him,” she calls.

“Mhm, bye,” I wave half-heartedly.

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I approach the church building. For some reason, the church

seems larger and more daunting than it ever did on Sundays. Forcing a smile on my face, I swing

the tall door open.

“Hi! Welcome to Celebrate Recovery!” a friendly man greets me with a warm smile.

“Hey! Thanks,” I force a smile back.

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Walking past the Welcome Desk, I follow my nose into the kitchen where I spot an array of food.

The smell of homemade mac-n-cheese and fried chicken floods my nostrils. Eyes closed, I

breathe in deeply and allow myself to enjoy the smell of fresh food. Opening my eyes, I glance

around, rapidly searching for a familiar face.

“Hey, sweetheart!” the deep, booming voice makes me jump.

“Oh! Hi, Dad! You scared me.”

Leaning in for a hug, my dad squeezes me tightly.

“I’m so glad you came. I’m looking forward to you finally checking us out.”

I laugh nervously as I recall my dad’s countless invitations for me to come to church on Monday

nights to check out his ministry, Celebrate Recovery. Any time my dad would try to convince me

to come, I would always laugh it off or brush it to the side. Who am I kidding? This is a ministry

for people with “hurts, habits, and hang-ups,” and I don’t really have any problems that are that

serious. I have struggles every now and again, but it’s not like I have issues with alcohol, drugs,

or self-harm. I tried to explain to him previously that my problems weren’t serious enough for

his ministry, but he wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. Reluctantly, I decided that I would finally

try it out tonight.

“And hey, don’t worry about open-share group. If you don’t feel led to share, then you

can always pass. Okay?”

“Okay, dad.”

After grabbing myself a plate of food, I head into the enormous room flooded with people

laughing and talking. Unable to find a familiar face, I nervously stroll over to a table filled with a

bunch of adults. Plopping into the seat, I smile at the faces and immediately look down to my
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food. I grab my utensils wrapped in a napkin and plastic and take a moment to fiddle with it,

trying to free the cutlery from its sheath.

Glancing up, I catch a couple of the adults watching me. A warm pinkness covers my cheeks for

what seems like an eternity.

“User error?” I shrug, holding up the unopened package of cutlery.

“Hey, that’s okay. We all struggle sometimes,” one of the adults, a woman, encourages

me.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.”

Furrowing my brow, the woman’s comments urge me to stop and think about what she said for

just a moment.

Walking down the long, extensive hallway, I drag my feet as I follow the leaders of the

open-share groups for teens. Hands grasped together behind my back, I fiddle with the hem of

my shirt nervously.

As we slowly approach the doorway, the entrance almost feels daunting. Rushing in, I approach

the last empty chair in the open share group for teen girls.

“Hi, my name is Cassie, and I am the leader for the girls in The Landing, which is just a

fancy name for the teen program here at Celebrate Recovery. If you have any questions,

feel free to grab me after this group, and I will be happy to assist you.”
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The woman speaking has long brown hair, soft blue eyes, and a radiant smile that lights up the

room. The group opens with Cassie sharing some basic guidelines for the group.

“...and we also ask that you please make sure that what is shared in the group stays in the

group. The only exception is when someone threatens to injure themselves or someone

else. Other than that, if you do not feel comfortable sharing, you are more than welcome

to say ‘pass.’ Does anyone have any questions before we begin?” Cassie continues.

Shaking our heads in unison, Cassie asks us all to go around the group and “introduce”

ourselves. The Celebrate Recovery introduction involves sharing your name, emphasizing that

you’re a believer in Christ, and listing your struggles. The only problem is that I have absolutely

no clue what I struggle with. Honestly, I don’t feel like my problems are that serious anyway. I’m

sure everyone else’s problems are more serious. Maybe I’ll just pass.

After everyone in the group introduces themselves, the conversation finally lands on me. You can

pass.

“Hi...uh...my name is Kelsey, I’m a grateful believer in Jesus Christ, and umm…what do

I struggle with is next?”

Cassie nods.

“Well, I’m not really sure what I struggle with. To be honest, I’m not really sure why I’m

here. Umm...I guess you could say I struggle with getting stressed out sometimes, and I

guess I’m kind of a people-pleaser sometimes?”

You were supposed to say “pass.” A nervous smile spreads across my face as I ignore the voice.

“Thank you for sharing,” the group declares in unison.

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“Now, we are going to go back around the group, and take this opportunity to share about

anything positive or negative that impacted our week and our recovery. I’ll begin,” Cassie

speaks confidently and joyously.

“Hey, Mom!” I yell up the stairs.

“Hey, Kels! How did it go?”

Running up the stairs, I meander in to the bonus room to share about my night.

“Umm...it was good, I guess. I actually shared in group tonight, which is not what I was

expecting.”

“That’s good. How did you like it?”

“Well, I thought it was really incredible how everyone was so transparent about their

problems with a group of strangers, but it was all really heavy.”

“What do you mean?” she continues.

“I just find myself feeling kind of sad. I’m glad I shared and everything, but I just feel so

weighed down and burdened.” I sigh, dropping my hands exasperatedly to my sides for

emphasis.

“That makes sense. There’s a lot to soak in as you learn more about people’s ‘dirty

laundry,’” she chuckles to herself.

You don’t have ‘dirty laundry.’ The same commanding voice is back again. I thought the night

went pretty well, personally, but maybe the voice is right; I don’t have any real struggles, and all

this is honestly too much to worry about in my opinion. The heaviness weighs me down

throughout the rest of the evening.

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Over the course of the next few weeks, the weight I felt from the first night only felt heavier; it

became a burden. Whilst at first I may have thought my problems weren’t that serious, I have

started to realize that maybe my life isn’t as perfect as I once thought it was. Maybe I do struggle

more than I thought. Maybe my stress isn’t just the occasional stress, but maybe I sometimes let

it dictate my life. This burden, this weight, feels overwhelming; it’s too heavy to carry. You’re

right. It is too heavy. You can’t do all this. It’s too much to handle. Each week, I felt the voice

growing louder and louder until I became a slave to the voice, to this thing people told me was

called “anxiety.”

You should’ve never gone to that recovery ministry at church, Celebrate Recovery. You were fine

before, and “those people” made you feel like you actually have real problems. Breathing in and

out slowly, still resting my head in my palms, I wonder: why don’t we just choose ignorance and

avoid the weight that comes with pursuing knowledge?

When I decided to pursue knowledge and uncover my specific struggles, I felt this weight - the

weight of knowledge. In this moment, I desired ignorance. I craved it. Why did I crave ignorance

in the midst of my pursuit of knowledge?

Through discovery of my anxiety, I have realized that we as humans long to know and to

understand the world around us, even though it can cause us pain, because it makes us more

aware of the brokenness. When we come to realize how broken mankind is, we feel a need to fix
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it and to be better for others. Fixing the world’s brokenness is hard, impossible even; the weight

of understanding our broken world leads us to long for ignorance. Despite our preference for

ignorance, we as humans choose knowledge because of our desire to have a purpose in the

world. We want to “make a difference” like the old cliché points out. We are willing to carry this

weight to help those around us. We are willing to grow an awareness of our struggles - anxiety,

depression, addiction, etc. - to help others who struggle with similar issues. We are willing to

fight that panic attack, that relapse, to help the burdened people around us manage the weight

that we have allowed ourselves to become “experts” in. We are willing to carry the weight of

knowledge, so we can stand up against our broken world and maybe leave this world a little less

broken.