You would think I’d have my anxiety attacks under control by now. I don’t. I’m still learning.
Every time I have an attack, my body isolates. I can’t write. I can’t move. Growing up, I thought I was just inconsistent, but really my body would just stop. It’s like I get stuck in this pool of stagnancy, and the only way out is to sit there until the pool drains.
Newsflash: the pool doesn’t drain fast enough. And life keeps moving.
I’ve been trying to figure out how to manage this, and I finally realized why it’s been such a struggle. I’ve been trying to do it by myself. And I’m not meant to do it by myself.
I need help.
Whew. Three words. Hard to say, but necessary. And don’t judge me, because I know you’ve had trouble saying them too. I can ask for help with everything else. But when I’m stuck in that pool, and the pool isn’t even real, it’s in my head, those words just won’t come out.
So imagine me calling my man this weekend like, “Uhm… I need help. I can’t get out of my head again.”
And he just started asking me questions, one at a time, until my breathing calmed down. He didn’t get irritated. He didn’t lose patience. He was just there.
That’s when it hit me. I was afraid to ask for help with this because I thought people would lose their patience with me. I mean, I’m over 30 and still struggling with anxiety?
How about this instead: I’m over 30, anxiety is a challenge I still face, and I don’t have to face it alone.
I carry a lot from my childhood. I know there are things I need to unlearn. But y’all, one day at a time. I missed writing, and the way anxiety can cripple me is maddening.
So here’s the gist: practice saying I need help. Out loud. To someone safe.
You got this. And so do I. Let’s get back to writing.
From my writing corner with love,
Teish
