I could think of a hundred moments
when you told me not to worry. When I
had a math final. When I had a college
interview. When I had to speak in
public. Any time I feared failure. You would list all of my blessings and tell
me that grades/success/money didn’t matter and that you loved me anyway. In light of that, what reason did I have to
worry?
What reason did I have to lie in my
bed shaking uncontrollably, or feel my chest tightening, or hear my breath
getting shallower and shallower as the panic devoured me? When I told you about my anxiety symptoms,
you would tell me not to worry. You
would try to prevent me from sobbing so hard on your shoulder through a few
Band-Aid phrases. I don’t know if you’ve
noticed, but that hasn’t worked.
I know that in America we’re
supposed to pursue happiness. Often, I
suck at doing that. If I have to cry,
don’t stop me. If I have to stress, let
me stress. If I have to vent, just
listen to me. If I have to feel, don’t
tell me otherwise. Because I’m tired of
holding it in for your sake.
I’m sick of feeling bad for not
being ‘normal.’ Of anxiety about anxiety. Of trying not to make you worry. I don’t want to
live that way anymore, and I’m sure you don’t want me to, either. Fiction author John Green writes: “That’s the
thing about pain. It demands to be
felt.” I should have known as soon as I
first read that line that he struggles with mental health. His words described my condition with such
cutting accuracy. My pain demands to be
felt. My worry demands to be felt.
Do you still think I shouldn’t look
at my anxiety that way?
Tell yourself to be
happy. Tell yourself to be so
rip-roaring ecstatic that you want to jump out of your chair and do cartwheels
and a dance number from Grease. Tell yourself to be so giddy that you can't
stop laughing. Stop reading this letter
so you can try it. Can you do it? I might sound extreme, but commanding
yourself to rise to such heights of happiness is as ridiculous as telling me to
not feel anxious—especially when I am trapped inside a tornado of fear.
I know you don't want
me to feel unhappy. I don’t want to feel
unhappy, either. You may hope that the
right words will eradicate my fears. Your
comforting speeches do offer hope when my brain is blaring red alert 24/7. But words can't heal me. Even less so when they command my emotions to
leave or change.
I admit these ideas
aren’t mine. I have learned a lot in the
past year about Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), which boils down to
psychological flexibility. Psychological
flexibility allows me to accept whatever I am thinking or feeling (even if it
is ‘bad’) while engaging in activities that matter to me. ACT has taught me that my thoughts,
sensations, and mental images are less scary than I have interpreted them. Does that mean that I no longer deal with
anxiety? No. It means that I fight my anxiety less often
and less intensely. It’s okay for me to
not be okay sometimes.
I'm not saying that
I never want to hear reassuring words
from you, because I do. I wish they
could do even more for me. I want you to
remind me how much you love me and how many good things I have and how
important I am. In the end, however, part
of me will never believe you.
Never. The volume of that voice
will vary. Some days it will speak in a
small whisper that I can easily ignore.
Some days the voice will ring louder, harsher. Some days, my mind will scream over and over
again: NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONO! DANGER! DANGER! YOU CAN’T DO IT YOU’RE NOT
WORTH IT YOU’RE A FAILURE!
When that happens
(and it will), instead of telling me not to feel anxiety, tell me that, even as
I feel it, you still care for me. That
would make me feel far less ashamed and guilty about my mental health. Even on the days when I have my anxiety
"under control," remember that it has not left forever. I have to live with it, and if you don’t
accept that, my task becomes all the more difficult. I know you want to support me, because why
else would you read this letter? I hope
this has helped you to learn how to support me even better than you already
have.
Love,
Me
Thanks for sharing.
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