My mom, to this day, tells me that I am a worrier. As a young child, I worried about being on time to the dentist or school, getting to wash my hands before I ate my lunch or even if the door was locked downstairs. My worrying molded and changed as the years progressed, causing me to fixate on how I looked just in case the boy in my math class (that I had never talked to) glanced over at me. Or it left me digging through my backpack three times on the bus just to make sure my homework didn’t disappear into thin air since the last time I had checked.

I wish I still worried that way.

Now I worry about something happening to my family while I’m at school, seven hours away from home. I worry about one of my friends drinking too much at a football game or getting behind the wheel with someone that should not be driving. I worry about my 13-year-old brother, who is about to start high school, getting in with the wrong crowd. I worry about losing someone I hold close without the chance for an adequate farewell. I worry about the student loan debt I’m going to be in when I graduate. I worry about holding a steady job and being able to provide for the family that I pray ceaselessly to have one day.

I could go on for thousands of words, listing my fears, describing the restlessness that I feel in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep because my brain is so busy, but that is a waste of my time. I already spend so much of it consumed in thought, frustrated by my inability to sit still or my lack of headspace. I find myself so easily frustrated, especially when there are clusters of worried thoughts running through my head. I get snappy, quick to respond, even harsh on occasion. It’s almost like an involuntary response when I feel like there is just not enough space in my brain to receive another ounce of information.

I have found a release in surrendering my worries to my journal or prayers. I didn’t surrender easily. Sometimes I struggle with expressing my worry to others because I fear burdening them, which is just another thing that I worry about. When I first made a point to start casting away my anxieties and fears, I moved slow. Part of me wanted, and sometimes still wants, to hold onto them. There is comfort in familiarity, even in cases like this. So, clearly I struggled. I didn’t know what to do, so I turned to my Bible.

During this reconstructive time, Psalm 23:4 became a blissful reminder to relinquish fear. These words taught me that even though I walk through different valleys, I do not need to fear evil because the Lord is with me. 1 Peter 5:7 reminded me to surrender my anxieties to Jesus because He cares for me. 1 Corinthians 10:13 brought peace when I felt tested. God is faithful, and He will not let us be tempted beyond our ability. When we are tempted, be it with fear or rash decision making, we will be provided a way of escape—back to peace.

I will be the first person to tell you that giving up worry is easier said than done. But I will also tell you that living a life of fear and worry is exhausting and unproductive. Granted, I am thankful for some moments that I’ve had little worries. Sometimes those feelings have gotten me out of not-so-good situations or friendships, but that is not my point.

Laying our burdens down is hard, but it is worth it. Once you start to surrender and regain peace of mind and quiet time, life changes. For me, prayer changed. I was able to have more constructive conversations with Jesus. I was able to pray for my friends and for other people out of joy for the situations in my life and in theirs, not out of worry about every in and out of the moments I had yet to live.

My biggest challenge for you (and myself) in this new year is to give it to Jesus. Not just your worry, but all of it. Be thankful, love well and with intention, treat other people in need like Jesus cared for the Samaritan Woman. Live like you want to model the hands and feet of Christ. When you live life that way, I promise, you will stop worrying so much.