I lived in the past and the future, but never the present

How I made peace with my anxiety

My dad would often complain about how dirty the spotless kitchen tables were, or how “out of shape” the pillows on the sofa were when they were just skewed by a few centimeters. My mom makes detailed Excel spreadsheets of family events and does most things herself because she doesn’t trust me enough to do them right to her standards.

As a child, unlike other kids, I could only ask for their permission to go out with my friends if I had the exact time of when I’d leave and return home, the location of where I’d be going, what I planned to do and who I’d be with. Last-minute changes and extensions were negotiable, but updating the family that I had arrived safely was a must.

Although these rules have loosened up as I grew older, they became a habit that stuck with me as an adult. I have to plan my schedule way ahead of time, or I could go insane when things aren’t set in stone by the last minute.

…and yet, they still wonder where I get my anxiety from.

Another Cinderella Story (2004) by Warner Bros

Last year, my therapist told me that I was either living in the past or the future, but never in the present. I was always excessively worrying about the past that I couldn’t change or the future that didn’t even exist. I couldn’t live in the moment and see things for what they were — not what they had been, and not for what they could be.

I was that person in a group project who’d think about too many irrational scenarios in her head that she’d take the initiative to do most of the work days ahead of the deadline, only to feel burnt out because she put too much pressure on herself when nobody else did.

I was that friend who’d send long paragraphs or voice notes at two A.M. about rants of feeling like she was never good enough for herself or anybody, digging down for pieces of failure and letting them define her as if her successes meant nothing, eagerly yearning for her closest friends to reassure her that she’s not all those terrible things her mind was telling her she was.

I was that friend who worried so much about the possibility of her closest friends being against her that it blinded her from seeing how much patience, care, and love they had showered her with throughout the time she felt like she had no control over becoming the person she never wanted to be.

I was that friend who always had grand stories filled with intense emotions to share; she loved the rush of adrenaline from trying to decipher puzzling situations or seeing the look on her friends’ faces whenever she told them a past character in her life showed up just recently.

But… lately, my life feels stable.

‘Stable’ not in the sense that I’ve got everything figured out, but ‘stable’ as in I have made peace with the uncertainties of life. Little Miss Anxiety has taken too much control to ‘protect’ me over the past few years, and she’s still there, but she just now has her own massage chair and a cup of warm tea to calm her nerves when she gets alarmed by things that used to keep her up at night.

She helps me just enough to stay vigilant; not too much that it stresses me out, not too little that it makes me negligent. Navigating my way to finally focus on the things I can control and let go of the things I can’t control was a journey on its own. I learned that we should be making the best out of what we’re given, and everything else is a mystery of life that we might have no say over.

A few days ago, my friend asked me, “Do you have any targets of when you’ll get a full-time job?”

At that moment, I flashed through the many memories of stressing over goals I couldn’t fulfill, and I realized that it has been a long time since I felt that way. I have, or, maybe I had several targets in life. I have a target of securing a full-time job soon, but I no longer blame myself when the timeline shifts or the plan changes. I can only do my part by applying to different vacancies, but I have no guarantees of when someone will take a chance on me.

A part of me feels like I might be missing out on the full experience of your ‘roaring twenties’; the pinnacle of your youth where you have just enough freedom and energy to explore many things before you have backpains and migraines with a family to feed. Looking back at my track record, I guess I could be harder on myself if I wanted to — but I don’t find the added value in trading my peace for a life I don’t know I’ll enjoy.

I believe that everything in life is a part of God’s grand plan, and everything will eventually make sense one day.

With this belief in mind, everything felt at ease.

I’d take a deep breath and send a job application I’ve rechecked many times even when I don’t feel qualified for it, because rejection is redirection.

I might still feel pathetic whenever I compare how other people my age seemed like they had things figured out, but I realize what’s good for them might not be good for me (and social media is skewed anyway, people rarely share their failures).

I might still feel looked down upon by people who questioned my career switch because it didn’t seem as lavish or promising to them — but deep down I knew what my priorities were, and it was easier to disregard these thoughts when I realized they didn’t matter.

Lately, I have been spending my days doing part-time work, being an amateur matcharista, and trying to make every day count. Sometimes I’ll take a break for a while when applying for jobs start to feel burdensome, or I’d rewatch my favorite movies, volunteer on the weekends, catch up with my friends once every few days, and visit my extended family in my free time.

After years of feeling submerged in unpredictable waves and thunderstorms, I finally feel like I’m just staying afloat, seeing where the tranquil waves will take me and believing that as long as I have faith, everything will be alright.

If this piece resonates with you, read more on how I dealt with my mental health:

How a school prank shattered my self-esteem for a decade

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