This week I wanted to write about something that has always affected me and probably always will to some extent. What I’m writing about this week is bigger than myself; this is something that affects so many others on a daily basis as well. What I am talking about is anxiety. My personal journey with anxiety has fluctuated a lot throughout the course of my life. The worst times were the years where I felt out of control of my own body, for me that stage of anxiety was between 7^th and 10^th grade. Within those years I simply didn’t know what was wrong with me. My moods were all over the place—probably because I couldn’t keep my mind from running a million miles a minute—and I was frequently getting unexplained sharp chest pain. At first I thought something was genuinely wrong with my heart, because the chest pain was too real to be “nothing”. I would be sitting in class, taking shallow breaths because I knew more air meant the sharper the stabbing sensation.

After some research, talking to my mom and seeing a doctor, we discovered that my discomfort was simply anxiety. “Oh, simply anxiety!” was my first thought, I was relived. I was happy to know that the agony I was feeling was nothing serious in regards to my heart, that was good news. But then I got to thinking, if I have a more abstract condition, then the treatment must be more abstract too. That thought really scared me because I didn’t know what to do to help myself. It took quite a bit of experimenting to figure out what would work for me, mostly because I refused to rely on various medications and their various complications to make me feel better, but I can happily say that now my anxiety is under my control. I’m proud to say that it’s been this way for a few years now, and a BIG part of this success has been because of my mother. My mom is the person that keeps me grounded when I feel like everything is up in the air and I can’t even tell you how tremendously blessed I feel to have that kind of absolute friendship in my life.

I wrote the poem below in the hopes of depicting my struggles with anxiety and in an effort to express my sheer gratitude for my mother. I have no idea what life would be like for me if I hadn’t grown up with her infinite love and support. So here’s to you, Momma:

Momma,

Tell me again.

The words that first took the lightning from my chest

The ones that’ll remind me how to breathe again

You know how I forget sometimes…

You look at me,

through eyes that have seen

so much since 16.

You tell me of things I don’t see,

Tell me, I’m special.

I try to find why in your wise because

You’re a mystery to me.

No one loves someone who forgets their air

But you call me your world,

You kiss the scars I hate and

Tell me to do it too.

You’re a selfless soul

in a selfish world.

I remember forgetting.

You’d hold me close while I convulsed,

Tell me, “Just be.”

Then you’d watch me, slowly revive

Tell me, it’s up to me to be alive.

Thanks to you Momma,

I forget less.

Sometimes my mind still

goes absent,

chest throbs,

face melts,

But it’s your words

I remember.

Ink to skin—

Momma,

I remember.

I’m one of the lucky ones.

Not everyone has a momma

that’ll give’em words like these,

that’ll give’em life like this.

Not everyone has a momma

That’ll be there

When they forget their air.

But I do.