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\n 2022 issue of <\/em>Guideposts<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
My first love was baseball. My dad thought I was destined to pitch for the New York Yankees. Then, when I was six, lightning struck: I got a left-handed nine-iron golf club, cut down to my size. I became obsessed with golf, spending countless hours hitting plastic balls around\u2014and over\u2014our house.<\/p>\n
Our family didn\u2019t have much money. My dad was a construction engineer at a chemical plant. But Mom and Dad could see my talent, and, at age eight, for Christmas, I got a brand-new PING junior set from them.<\/p>\n
Winning my age division at the Divot Derby became standard fare. But that day, when I was 13, playing with that Titleist ball<\/a>, I finished at 10-under par 62. In case you\u2019re not a golf fan, 10-under is great at any level of the game, let alone a junior championship. Maybe I could live up to my dad\u2019s expectations\u2026and mine.<\/p>\n My world shrank to the size of that Titleist. My father came to all my tournaments, leaning against a tree, puffing on a cigarette, sipping beer out of a Styrofoam cup, seemingly judging my every shot. He rarely mixed with the other parents, who were generally more upscale than we were.<\/p>\n My dad was a good man\u2014a good husband and a good father to my sister and me. He was as tough on himself as he was on us. A Vietnam veteran<\/a>, he had been wounded in combat and entitled to be awarded a Purple Heart, but he refused to accept it because he saw his wounds as a sort of failure, as if he didn\u2019t do his job. I knew that deep down he was proud of me, and loved me, and that he supported my dreams of going pro.<\/p>\n I enrolled at the University of Georgia. That\u2019s where I met my wife, Angie\u2014the best thing that ever happened to me on or off a golf course. Till then I\u2019d never really been in love with anything other than a golf club. Angie taught me what it was like to love another human being with all your heart. She also taught me what it meant to love the Lord<\/a>.<\/p>\n We were not a big churchgoing family back in Pensacola. Faith was the shining center of Angie\u2019s life. How could I love Angie fully if I didn\u2019t share her love of God and his commandments? She and I dedicated ourselves to a Christ-centered relationship.<\/p>\n Only a loving God<\/a> could have taken my head out of golf and led me to such a kind, generous woman with a vibrant faith that filled her spirit\u2014and mine. At our wedding, I was so overcome with emotion, tears rolling down my cheeks, I could barely say, \u201cI do.\u201d (I admit it, I\u2019m a crier.)<\/p>\n Not that my golf took a back seat. Having helped the Georgia Bulldogs win the SEC championship in 2000, I turned pro in 2001, not long after meeting Angie. I pushed myself relentlessly to get my PGA tour card so I could qualify for the big-money tournaments.<\/p>\n Professional golf<\/a> was a level of competition I could not have imagined even in college. It was a struggle to make cuts and play in the final rounds. But I moved up the ranks, always striving to be at the top of the game, always feeling as if my father were leaning against a tree, judging my shots.<\/p>\n I got a reputation\u2014deservedly\u2014for being overly aggressive and cocky. Looking back, I realize that my behavior was meant to cover up my fear of losing, of never being better than the last win. Back then, it seemed like what I had to do to survive on the tour. Never show weakness.<\/p>\n Then came a devastating call from my father when I was out on the road.<\/p>\n \u201cI have throat cancer<\/a>,\u201d he said in his typically blunt way.<\/p>\n \u201cHow bad is it?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cBad.\u201d The doctors gave my dad months to live. I just couldn\u2019t accept that. My longtime caddy, Teddy, whose faith is as deep as Angie\u2019s, urged me to send him a letter<\/a>. A letter? Dad and I had never had any of those serious father-son talks, let alone letters. \u201cI\u2019ll write everything down,\u201d Teddy said. \u201cJust tell me what you want to say.\u201d<\/p>\n Everything came out. How much I loved him, how I wanted so bad to make him proud, to feel good about my success, how I wanted him to be happy when he went to the Lord, how it was never too late to give yourself to God.<\/p>\n He never made any reference to that letter\u2014except once. We were on the phone, and he declared that when he got to heaven, he was going to become a great golfer so he could beat me.<\/p>\n I laughed and told him, \u201cHeaven ain\u2019t that <\/em>good a place!\u201d My dad, always the competitor<\/a>. Cancer was one thing he couldn\u2019t beat.<\/p>\n One of the last conversations we had was after I\u2019d just gotten my first big win on the tour, the 2010 Travelers Championship. Dad called. \u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n \u201cJust sitting here,\u201d I said. \u201cSoaking it in, at least trying to.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy aren\u2019t you out practicing?\u201d he asked. \u201cEverybody else is. They\u2019re trying to beat you now.\u201d Why wasn\u2019t I practicing? Why wasn\u2019t I worrying about the next cut I had to make?<\/p>\n You don\u2019t keep those feelings inside. You overcompensate for your lack of confidence<\/a>. As I said, I could be aggressive, even mean-spirited, despite my profession of Christianity. A jerk. Not long before winning that first tournament, Teddy called me on it. \u201cYou know,\u201d Teddy said, quoting as he could straight from the Bible, \u201cit\u2019s our job to \u2018encourage one another and build each other up.\u2019\u201d My caddy was calling me out?<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re not being who you should want to be,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019re not even trying. You\u2019re hiding.\u201d<\/p>\n All my life, I\u2019d been running away from this worry that I wasn\u2019t good enough<\/a>, and I\u2019d sometimes taken it out on other people. Hadn\u2019t I pledged to live a Christ-centric life when I met Angie? That meant on the golf course too. Teddy was right. Maybe because golf came into my life first, before I met Jesus, I\u2019d never quite figured that out. After I met Angie, nothing in my life could come before God. My life was on one path, not two, even if I still needed to be reminded from time to time.<\/p>\n I won my first major, the Masters in 2012\u2014finishing with a minus 10, by the way\u2014and I still couldn\u2019t relax. I thought of all the great names in our sport who\u2019d won that event, and I didn\u2019t see where I fit in. Maybe I was just an impostor, a flash in the pan. I ended up taking the storied green jacket awarded in Augusta, Georgia, and shoving it in the back of my closet. I could see the concern in Angie\u2019s eyes as she watched.<\/p>\n My nerves were shot. I couldn\u2019t get on an airplane without taking a pill. One night, I felt this suffocating weight on my chest.<\/p>\n \u201cAngie, I think I\u2019m having a heart attack.\u201d<\/p>\n The hospital admitted me and did all sorts of tests. \u201cThere\u2019s nothing wrong with you,\u201d the doctors said. \u201cYou\u2019re in great shape.\u201d I won a second Masters. I moved up the ladder, my winnings putting me close to the top. Is this as good as it\u2019s going to get?<\/em><\/p>\n I had another one of those \u201cheart attacks\u201d and rushed off to the ER. Someone said something about it being a panic attack<\/a>, but I wasn\u2019t listening. By 2017, I was losing weight. Losing the muscle mass I needed to hit winning shots.<\/p>\n One morning, I got on our bathroom scale. It said 162. I\u2019m six foot three, bigger even than my dad. I\u2019d never been so thin in my life, almost 30 pounds below my normal weight. In the mirror, I looked emaciated. What was happening to me?<\/p>\n I felt panicky, as if having another \u201cheart attack.\u201d I collapsed to my knees. \u201cGod, I\u2019m so lost! Something is wrong with me, and I don\u2019t know what it is. Help me, please help me.\u201d<\/p>\n I was <\/em>losing. But not on the golf course, nowhere but inside my head. I\u2019d lost the battle of denial. In the depths of my suffering, when I cried out to the Lord, I also began to feel a release, as if at last I\u2019d truly handed my burden of self-doubt<\/a> and worry to God, a burden I\u2019d always thought was mine alone to bear.<\/p>\n Anxiety had come to rule my life, not a loving God; the insidious anxiety<\/a> that went all the way back to that tournament I won at 13 and the winning ball I still had. I thought about that ball, sitting in its case on my shelf, and instead of the foreboding that had crept over me the day I shot 62 with it, what I felt now was something completely different. I felt so blessed.<\/p>\n I thought back to my parents. Their quiet affection for each other, the way they\u2019d never leave the house or return without a kiss. Were they perfect? Of course not. Neither was I. But that underlying love was there, the way it was in my own marriage and life with Angie and our kids. And without a doubt, I knew God loved me\u2014love that could be equaled by no other force in the universe.<\/p>\n If only I could let that all-encompassing love banish my fears, my lifelong battle with anxiety<\/a>.<\/p>\n One of the last times I\u2019d seen my dad, I\u2019d flown back to Florida. He and I sat on the porch and had a friendly enough chat, talking about golf mostly. I got in the car to drive to the airport but stopped.<\/p>\n I parked the car and walked back up to the porch. I said what I had never said out loud to him. \u201cI love you.\u201d Tears flooded my eyes. (Remember, I\u2019m a crier.) Amazingly, tears came to his eyes as well. \u201cI love you too,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n That was the legacy I needed to hold on to. Not one of continual self-criticism<\/a>, of constant dread of missing the mark. \u201cLove your neighbor as yourself,\u201d Jesus said. It was that last part that was missing in me. I needed to start giving myself a break. I was so worried about what others believed about me that I wasn\u2019t acting like the person I wanted to be.<\/p>\n Angie, Teddy and the people who really knew me all believed in me, not just as a golfer but as a person. I just had to figure out how to be my true self. I am not completely free of anxiety. But turning to God<\/a>, turning to others, making sure that golf ball is not my whole life, is where I started. I surrendered to the fact that I had a problem, an anxiety disorder, and took my first crucial step toward finding help and getting better.<\/p>\n Believe it or not, I\u2019ve even taken up fishing<\/a>. Something I used to think was boring. Doesn\u2019t matter if I catch anything. It\u2019s an escape from the tour and the things that can trigger anxiety. I recharge my batteries, as they say, especially my spiritual batteries. I relax. And I thank the Lord for the blessings<\/a> I\u2019m learning to embrace.<\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n Bubba Watson\u2019s Tips for Battling Worry and Anxiety<\/strong><\/p>\n Have someone to talk to. <\/strong>Anxiety can be a tiger, but talking can shrink it to a pussycat. Angie, Teddy, my Bible study group<\/a>, my pastor\u2014all have helped me deal with worries and see problems as manageable.<\/p>\n Rest. <\/strong>Resting doesn\u2019t necessarily mean lying around the house. Go for a walk, head to the beach or a museum, catch a movie. Get together with your friends and family. Nothing eases my stress more than being around the people I love, especially our two kids.<\/p>\n Have a hobby. <\/strong>Golf isn\u2019t a hobby for me. It\u2019s my profession. That\u2019s all the more reason I look for and need other things to do<\/a>. So do you.<\/p>\n
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