I wasn’t always the anxious girl. When I was younger, my dad would always tell me that I was incredibly free-spirited--a go with the flow kind of girl. So, I’m not sure exactly when that all changed, or how. But all of the sudden I found myself lying awake in my bed at night, billions of thoughts swarming my head like mosquitoes. And no matter how hard I tried to swat them away, they stayed put. Every small issue became an unbearable task, every worry a cataclysmic event. Sometimes the panic would build and my body could no longer handle it. The anxiety would come crashing over me in waves of pure terror. My body would shake violently and with each sharp breath, it felt like someone was shoving a sponge deeper down my throat.
I didn’t tell anyone for a really long time and left myself to suffer alone. I was afraid that if I told my parents, they would look at me differently and they would see me as fragile. And I didn’t know if I could handle that.
As cliché as it sounds, the first and hardest obstacle I had to overcome was admitting to myself that I needed help -- that I wanted help. I told my parents and although they seemed a little uncomfortable at the thought of their baby girl having a mental disorder, they were incredibly understanding and supportive throughout the entire process. Telling them took a burden off my back that I didn’t even know was there and I suddenly felt like there was light at the end of an incredibly long and dark tunnel.
After being honest with my parents, they suggested that I talk to a professional. So now I do. I go once a week, sit on a brown plush couch in a room that smells like vanilla and cinnamon, and just talk. Movies have made out therapy to be some hellish experience where the therapist dissects your personality and then out of the blue delivers some outrageous diagnosis, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. It is simply a conversation in which my therapist works with me and offers suggestions on how to control my attacks. She gives me candy, red-hot balls to be specific. She tells me how whenever I felt an attack coming on, I should pop one in my mouth and the spicy sensation would it bring my mind out of the swarm of anxiety and back into my body -- into the moment. These conversations have helped immensely. I urge anyone who is going through something similar to try and attend just one session and see how it goes. Maybe if it is too intense or expensive (god knows it can be), try talking to a compassionate friend for an hour every week. Just having someone there to listen to you, to make you feel like your problems are valid, is incredible.
It was actually through these weekly sessions that I found many ways in which to cope with the anxiety I was feeling. First off, I exercised more. As a member of my school's track team, I was no stranger to long hours of painful workouts where your muscles cried for the sweet release of rest. However, I stopped exercising to improve my times or to lose a few pounds, and instead devoted my time to exercising in a way that made me feel good. I tried yoga and fell in love. I ran through the hidden trails behind my house and stopped at the dock at the end that overlooked the water and gave myself a moment to not think about anything but just to exist. Which it in of itself is an entirely different way I coped with my anxiety. While exercise provided a release, I needed something to rejuvenate me. So I decided to set aside at least forty-five minutes a day just to do something for myself. Whether it was watching an episode of my favorite TV show, journaling and listening to music, or FaceTiming a friend, I always looked forward to this time; a time with no expectations, worries, or fears. It was a time where I could escape all of it. These forty-five minutes were my “meditation.”
Lastly, I forced myself to be more organized. As one of the most naturally disorganized persons I know, I’m aware that it’s easier said than done. After talking to my therapist, I decided to commit to the whole “neat living” thing. I started small. I bought a couple planners and a journal at my local convenience store and started planning it all out. And let me tell you, I am absolutely obsessed with planners. The daily one I have now has a “to-do today” column, another “to-do later column,” a place where I can plan out my meals and exercise, and a list of all the things I need to buy. I now keep track of my day- to-day work and make sure to jot every small task on my to-do list. It’s the most satisfying feeling in the world when you can check off the tiny box next to a task and know that is just one less thing you need to do. Next, I de-cluttered and cleaned my room. Coming home to a clean space gives me a sense of satisfaction that nothing else can.
I’ve come so far from that girl who used to spend sleepless nights to find answers for all of the what-ifs in her head. And all of the work that I’ve done to better myself wouldn’t have been possible if I hadn’t admitted to myself that I needed help. I am so incredibly lucky that those around me listened and that I had the privilege of actually seeking out that help. And through honest conversations, exercise, organization and friends and family, I have broken out of the anxious girl mold. For I am so much more than that. We all are.
