Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

Opening up about my anxiety keeps me aware, reflective, objective. It feels good. 

Except when it doesn’t. 

When I’m in anxiety*, talking about it can be overwhelming. My fuse is short. Putting my struggle in words can soon feel like justifying, like having to explain myself—the opposite of empowerment. 

This is when it drains rather than nourishes. At these times I just need to buckle down and let the storm wash over me. Wait for it to pass. Whether the world understands or not.

When I’m in it, logistics have to take precedence too. 

So I’m reserving the right to withhold, and to take the path of least resistance whenever necessary: “My back hurts. Can you drop my daughter off at my home instead of meeting at the park?”

Looking through my collection of tools, I came across this and smiled. I still stand by every word:

The pretend sore back, cramps, and headache are still valuable strategies as I face a reality many don’t yet understand.

Am I contributing to society's ignorance by hiding my own condition? For me, personally, it is a temporary sacrifice I must make. Besides, I have another rule for myself that makes the above a necessity:

Don’t try to explain anxiety when I’m in anxiety. 

I don’t disclose my anxiety disorder when I’m pacing, unable to sit still, unable to form sentences. Experience has taught me that wanting to understand often distracts well-intentioned folks from actually supporting in the moment. And so I’ve found myself trying to be teacher and in crisis at the same time. Kinda like a patient on the table directing the surgeon. 

Right now, I have a window seat at one of my favourite coffee shops to write. I’m watching the people go by between spurts of typing. I have no anxiety--and no headache or cramps either. 

*being in it, being in anxiety; how I describe having anxiety in the moment. I may have an anxiety disorder but that does not mean that I am in it all the time.