I’m Writing about Anxiety During an Anxiety Attack
Here goes nothing.
When I taught English at continuation school, I put a poster next to the door that read, “Showing up is half the battle.” It’s true for at-risk teens’ attendance, and it’s true for me right now.
I’m doing this B.Y.O.B. challenge: Blog Your Own Book. For the month of August, I write a post a day on the same topic. I’ve been working on a manuscript for a year and a half about loving Jesus while journeying through Generalized Anxiety Disorder, so my blog topic felt obvious.
I’d tell you more about it in my “About” section, but I haven’t figured out how to do that in a publication yet, which makes me feel ridiculously old and a little helpless.
What else makes me feel helpless is the fact that I’ve been stuck in a state of anxiety for the past three hours. You wouldn’t know it by looking at me, but on the inside, my heart is pounding, my thinking is offline, my muscles are tense, my breathing is shallow, my head is starting to ache, and I just want to it stop.
When all else fails, drink a Diet Pepsi at midnight.
I tried to figure out what I’m anxious about, but no dice yet. I tried grounding; I tried my CBT journaling; I tried breathing exercises. I tried prayer.
I’ve been tempted to raid the freezer (I’m visiting my parents, and my mom freezes lemon bars and lots of cake slices.) I would have given in by now, but my dad is in the kitchen, and emotional eating is a solitary sport. Keeps the shame at bay, kind of. For me, emotional eating is an act of desperation to feel something other than the anxiety, however momentary that relief may be. Anxiety brings out the primal nature in us.
I grabbed a Diet Pepsi instead, which to many people is probably a worse choice than the desserty stuff anyways. There’s something therapeutic about a Diet Pepsi or Coke for me. Something about the chilled bubbles soothes my insides.
Yes, I know it’s probably actually simmering my stomach lining. But it gives me some relief in the moment. The current moment is midnight, which makes the Diet Pepsi an especially awkward choice. Nothing quite like a caffeinated chemical concoction right before bed.
But in case you don’t know from firsthand experience, that’s how crappy anxiety can feel. You’re really not yourself. Your prefrontal cortex goes offline. Aundi Kolber put it that way in her book, Try Softer. It’s a great way to think of it — your higher order thinking abilities totally go offline when anxious. You just don’t have the access.
But I’ve already committed to this challenge (BYOB), so this is happening, full brain, or part.
Why am I anxious, anyway?
My anxiety is mostly somatic, meaning my physical symptoms often attack without accompanying thoughts. It didn’t use to be that way, but thats for another post. The triggering thought is usually layered in my subconscious and takes some effort to sift out.
So anyway, I thought I’d close by sharing some highlights from my CBT journaling exercise I just did. So here, my friends, is a list of things I’m probably subconsciously anxious about:
- This is all a waste of time. Nobody will read this. Who am I kidding?
- My tribe must not be out there, because my stats say people aren’t reading what I’m writing.
- My skill set is good for nothing. I’m an unemployed English teacher (San Diego is inundated with teachers, apparently), and apparently I can’t garner an audience as a writer, either.
- I thought I might be a decent writer, but I deceived myself. I have wasted so much time on my manuscript.
- This was all a mistake. Nobody really feels like me. It all just sounds like a bunch of “Waaah woe is meeee, I have an anxiiiieeeety disorder wwaaaahhh look at me!”
An Image of Truth
Okay, so now that we’ve got all THAT out of the way, I’ll close with this image I’ve been getting whenever I catch myself freaking out about those bullet points:
Imagine your slightly-cheesey inspirational sports movie du jour. It’s down to the last minute of the championship game, and it all boils down to ME — the raggedy underdog. I have to score this goal to win the game. The cheering and chanting and yelling are deafening. The bleachers start to spin around me.
I don’t think I can do this. I’m going to be sick.
Then my coach, sensing my nauseating nerves, walks toward me from the sideline. He grabs me by the shoulders, shakes me awake from my trance and says,
“Hey, look at me.”
I see him but all I’m hearing is the demanding crowd. I’m going to fail them all!
“Hey, hey, don’t pay attention to them; look at me!”
With a slight shake of my shoulders, he gets my full attention, and I notice his knowing eyes. They are strong, dependable, and stable. Trustworthy, like Him. Like the eyes of God.
“Forget them! Hey, they don’t matter! Look at me. Remember what I told you? Remember what we practiced? Just focus on that. I’m proud of you. Just do your best. I love you. You got this.”
I nod. A spark from His eyes ignites a flame of confidence in mine. The crowds become a blur and the noise fades. I remember that win or lose doesn’t matter. Because my dad is my coach, and He loves me. I have confidance to take the next step, and that’s all I need.
Remembering My Identity
Deep down, I think my writing matters. I think God’s called me to it. And I cannot measure my success or failure on views and curation and likes. Sure, I’m working my tail off to most effectively help my readers, and yes, I want to find them.
But if I never get a substantial readership, then that’s not really my business. My business is to honor the One that called me to the task. My business is to be faithful, and continue following Jesus on this journey. He even gives me what I need in order to be faithful. With Him, it’s grace upon grace.
I don’t know where my path is headed or the shape it will take. But I do know the one who is with me, showing me the path He’s paved for me, one step at a time.
That’s the kind of writer I should be: Just faithful. Just present. Just showing up and doing what I can.
So world, here’s my heart on a screen. Mabye you’ll see it. You probably won’t. But my call is simply to put these words out there.
❤
