The Silent War: Holding the Line in Mind and Spirit

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In my first year of being a father, I quickly learned that change is constant and control is an illusion. What once felt like steady routines gave way to sleepless nights, unpredictable days, and a heart that was stretched in more ways than I thought possible. The joy was real, but so was the exhaustion. I began to notice how easily my mind could slip into discouragement or overwhelm, especially in the quiet moments when I felt like I wasn’t doing enough or being enough.

It didn’t feel like a dramatic spiritual battle. But the more I paid attention, the more I realized that the interior tug-of-war I was experiencing was exactly that. It was a battle to stay rooted in truth. A battle to choose trust over fear. A battle to keep my eyes on Christ in the midst of constant change.

The Catechism tells us that man is “a unity of body and soul” (CCC 364), and when we’re stretched mentally or emotionally, the soul feels it too. The enemy knows this. He doesn’t always show up with obvious temptation. Sometimes, he comes quietly—through discouragement, self-doubt, anxiety, and shame. And in those subtle moments, the real war is fought.

The Enemy is Real

Saint Paul speaks clearly in his letter to the Ephesians: “For we are not contending against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places” (Ephesians 6:12). These are not just poetic words. They are the reality of the spiritual life.

The early Church Fathers knew this intimately. Saint Anthony of the Desert, living in prayer and silence, described fierce spiritual attacks that were anything but imaginary. He battled voices of fear, accusation, and despair—the same kind of mental warfare many of us experience today in our own hidden ways. What he faced in the wilderness, we face in the demands of daily life. The temptation to despair. The voice that says, “You’re not good enough.” The heavy fog of spiritual fatigue.

Spiritual warfare is real. It doesn’t always feel dramatic. Often, it’s subtle and slow. But it must be taken seriously, especially when it intersects with mental and emotional struggles.

The Armor of God

Saint Thomas Aquinas wrote that the devil "proposes evil under the appearance of good." This reminds me how easily we can be drawn into habits of over-functioning, isolation, or perfectionism, all under the guise of being responsible or strong. Aquinas also taught that grace builds upon nature. That means it's not just acceptable but holy to seek mental and emotional healing. Therapy, rest, asking for help—these are all ways that God equips us for the battle.

But just as important is our spiritual armor. Ephesians tells us to put on the whole armor of God: the helmet of salvation, the breastplate of righteousness, the shield of faith, and the sword of the Spirit. These are not lofty images for saints and mystics only. They are necessary tools for husbands, fathers, mothers, students, and anyone trying to live faithfully. We must fill our minds with Scripture, guard our hearts with prayer, and stay alert to the lies that seek to tear us down.

Naming the Battle, Seeking the Light

In that first year of fatherhood, there were days when everything felt overwhelming and out of place. But I learned that Christ meets us there too—in the mess, in the fatigue, in the hidden service of waking up again and again in the middle of the night. There is grace in those moments, but it often hides behind the veil of surrender.

Saint Ignatius of Antioch once said, “It is better for me to die for Jesus Christ than to rule over the ends of the earth.” That kind of strength doesn’t come from pride or grit. It comes from knowing who we belong to. And even when we feel pressed on every side, we are not abandoned.

Onward, Not Alone

God never calls us to fight alone. He gives us the Church, the sacraments, the Scriptures, and the community of believers to walk alongside us. Through Confession and the Eucharist, through silence and reflection, we are reminded that we are not the sum of our fears or failures. We are His.

So when your mind begins to spiral or your heart feels weary, remember this: your greatest strength is not in having it all together. It is in surrender. Like Mary, we echo her words, “Let it be done unto me according to thy word.” Her surrender was not weakness. It was courage anchored in trust. That same courage is available to us.

Saint Basil the Great once wrote, “When you sit down to eat, pray. When you sleep, pray. When you are tested by sorrow or joy, pray. In all things, pray.”

This is how we fight. This is how we heal.

Ad Jesum per Mariam.