It's in the Journey

Coming to the realization that I have anxiety has been a lifelong journey. In honor of Mental Health Awareness Month (May) and in reaction to recent health issues coming to light due to untreated anxiety, I wrote this poem.

This is not a pity party- it’s a celebration. I’m finally coming to terms with this and seeking help. And I’m posting about it because I’m sure many people can relate to the struggle. If you’re one of those people, I urge you to get help before your mental anxiety results in physical ailments. Please learn from my mistakes…

There are many misconceptions that even I had about anxiety until recently. For instance, you can be happy but still have anxiety. Anxiety and depression are often grouped together but NOT at all the same. I’m learning more every day.

Ode to Anxiety
It took me 36 years to acknowledge you,
Anxiety.
To say your name
and call you what you are.
Regardless of the sleepless nights I spent
as a child
worrying about my parents, my siblings, 
anonymous strangers I saw on the news, 
that deer in the road,
those children in Africa,
what I learned in church 
and the fact that I could never
live up to God’s expectations.
Worrying about what people thought of me,
or worse...
not being thought of at all.

My mom told me to relax.
My dad told me to slow down.
My friends told me “you’re always smiling.
You’re such a positive person.”
And I tried, and I tried, and I tried.

But my biggest worry was always this:
What if I get everything I ever wanted
and I’m still not completely happy?

And here I am at 36 and I should be genuinely relaxed
because I have an amazing husband, a feisty daughter, 
a blossoming career,
and a beautiful life.

And yet.

Anxiety can wear a smile gracefully. Can feign coolness.
Anxiety wants you to earn its presence, so It puts you into overdrive.
Keeps you busy.
So anxiety can look all kinds of successful
and at the same time force you to create problems 
in your mind 
and then bring them to fruition
in your life.
Don’t be a crybaby. You brought this on yourself.
So you push it down and push on
and on and on.

Until you’re 36 and your dentist tells you 
“You have an irreversible disease from grinding your teeth”
And your doctor tells you 
“You have constant pain because you carry so much stress on your shoulders”
And your mom says
“You always were such a worrywart.”

Why? 

Because Anxiety is not something you can guilt away
just because you live a good life. 
Anxiety doesn’t care what is.
Only a mixture of what could be and 
what has been,
sprinkled with all the things out of your
Control
and all of the choices
left to be made.

Anxiety doesn't take orders, anyway.

Anxiety is this strange shadow that has been at my heels
all of my life
and I'm finally turning around to face It. 

“You've been clouding my sunshine for far too long. 
How can I convince you 
to leave?”

But Anxiety doesn’t answer. Never does. 
It just smiles Its cheshire grin
and I know Anxiety will visit me in my sleep.
Will make my teeth grind, 
will pull my shoulders into knots,
will settle in the pit of my stomach.


So I guess 36 is old enough to ask 
for help.