I’ll try to make you understand. Although, who will really understand? It’s like you are swimming. You go along just fine, your feet not touching the bottom. Then a wave comes over you. You go under a brief second. You come up, breathing harder, heart racing. Another wave hits, sending you under. You try to get above water, needing and wanting to breathe. Then another wave hits. The waves continue to strike, one after the other. They send you down further and further. You’re desperate for just a glimpse of the surface, for just a gust of air. To see the sun. To feel okay again. That’s how my anxiety feels. I see different responsibilities load up on top of each other. One after the other until it all comes crashing down. You feel like you can’t breathe. Your motivation disappears, for all you can think about is how you can’t do it all. You focus on the worst possible thing that can happen. Food does not sound appetizing. Sleep seems like defeat. You just sit there, tears streaming. But, somehow, you survive. Your lifeguard comes to save you. They buoy you up, trying to help you get breath. And after the longest struggle, you can breathe. It becomes easier for you to function, day after day. It doesn’t mean that your anxiety just goes away. It subsides. It ebbs and flows, just like the sea. You start to figure out what works and what doesn’t. Caffeine is a big inhibitor to my anxiety. Not enough sleep. Lack of food. All these cause the gentle ebb and flow to grow into a hurricane. What keeps the gentleness? It’s friends who listen and care. It’s family that talks sense into you, even when you don’t want to hear it. It’s God, that brings you comfort. It’s a blanket and a good movie on a cold night. Anxiety is a part of me. It does not control everything about me. Some days are better than others. But I am not my anxiety. I am so much more. I am an educator. I am a woman. I am a sister. A daughter. A friend. Anxiety is not something that I can be talked out of. Telling me to “not think about it” or “stop worrying” does nothing for me. It actually makes me think more about it. I can walk around, seeming fine, when in all actuality, I am thinking about the tower of boxes that are my responsibility. Relax is a word that seems so foreign. When people ask me if I’m stressed out, it stresses me out more. People don’t understand just how much their words affect me. I don’t mean to throw a pity party for myself. I don’t need sympathy. I need understanding. I need respect. I need to let people know that anxiety is an illness that you can’t see. It affects so many, so quietly. My name is Cali, and I am not my anxiety.