I had my first memorable panic attack when I was 10. Sitting at my desk with the lamp on and colored pencils scattered around, I was coloring a map for what I assume was a geography lesson of some sort. I began to sob and when my mom came to check on me, I struggled to explain through my tears that coloring this map was going to take longer than I expected. I remember her saying “It’s just a map, Morgan.”

Whether it is as menial as a fifth-grade homework assignment or as significant as the looming inevitability of graduation, my anxiety is always fixated on something. Right now, it is submitting this article on time. Tomorrow I might obsessively question my spending habits.

I have been in and out of emotional therapy since elementary school when my mom suggested I go to anger management. Naturally, I threw a fit. Maybe she was on to something.

I am 21-years-old now, with just a few more months until I join "the real world.” My philosophical side wants to argue that real life starts long before graduation, but who am I kidding? If college was real life, everyone would be alcoholics, procrastinators, and idealists. I digress.

The way my anxiety was perceived began to alter after I left high school. As a teenager, the occasional panic attack could be attributed to adolescence and emotional immaturity – I was just being “dramatic.” I convinced myself that I would marry Nick Jonas and dedicated more time to texting friends than I did to my calculus homework. Has anyone ever claimed a 16-year-old is completely sane? It didn’t hurt that I had my mom on deck and my therapist 20 minutes down the road.

Upon entering the unfamiliar environment that is a public university, though, I became acutely aware of my anxious habits. I couldn’t spontaneously burst into tears over an insignificant homework assignment anymore because it might scare off the people around me. Everyone loves college immediately, right? If it didn’t look like you were always having a great time, you were doing something wrong.

This led me to internalize those feelings and urges until they ultimately resulted in a full-blown panic attack: a full hour of incessant crying and heavy breathing, accompanied by thoughts of inevitable failure, and finished off with ten hours of deep sleep — those things are exhausting.

Something had changed. It wasn’t just the fact that I was hyper-aware of my new friend’s opinions— my anxiety carried new undertones. Crying over something irrelevant didn’t make me dramatic, it made me unable to cope. Growing emotional over criticisms from my superiors made me incapable of receiving feedback. Complaints meant I was unappreciative and concerns deemed me a worrywart. Instead of being dismissed, my anxiety now spoke to my character.

This made me more anxious.

Thus, it is a constant back-and-forth battle. Some days I am able to normalize it — everyone worries about something — and some days, when my emotions have me physically tied to my bed, I know there is something wrong with me.

Recently, though, I have realized my anxiety isn’t just about how I perceive myself, but how others perceive my anxiety. Perhaps this is because I am in a period of scrutiny: presentations, internship performances, full-time job interviews. I feel like every move I make is being analyzed in order to determine if I am fit to survive the real world. Will I sink or swim?

This means I am about to enter a new stage of altering anxiety perceptions: that of a young, working professional. Emotional episodes are looked down upon in corporate settings and supervisors don’t want to know the string of what-ifs constantly running through your head — they want assurance that you will get the job done. Entering the real world is a complicated change and you are expected to adjust accordingly along with the millions of new graduates in the same exact position.

Or at least that’s how I see it. I will say I am fully aware of the connotations that come with being a millennial. We are notoriously sensitive and infamous cry-babies. So maybe that’s all you see when reading this article: an overemotional youngster looking for attention. I have confidence, though, that there are plenty of people who are in the same position as me or who have experienced similar adjustments.

If that sounds like you, let it be known you are not alone. You are not crazy. Some people have a harder time navigating the roads of life and that’s okay. In fact, my anxiety has proved itself beneficial in multiple ways. I won’t settle for subpar work, I avoid procrastination, and I have a greater compassion for the people around me. It is important to recognize the good with the bad.

And to those who don’t have first-hand experience with anxiety or depression or panic attacks: have patience. Be kind. Don’t assume. The girl crying in the library over her unfinished presentation probably feels as crazy as she looks.