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anxiety

So raw

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Today I am raw.
Like there is no outer layer of skin protecting me and everything is getting through. I’m hyper-porous and permeable and feelings, thoughts, memories, are all swirling around inside, filling me up up up and I think I might burst. Tears have pricked my eyes so many times today, threatening to spill over into sobs. It’s all too much.

As with the weather, the seasons, the tide, it just happens. I have an idea of a few contributing factors, but the factors are influential, not causal. Which is hard to accept, because it means accepting that this is my wiring. That I can’t control it. That I can’t make it start or stop.

So what do I do? Do I fight the feelings, the memories, the frustration, the disappointment, the fear, the sadness, the heaviness? Do I ride it out until it recedes (as it always does, but I always fear it won’t)? That’s the constant struggle – try to feel it and ride it even as I feel consumed. Even as it weighs so much I’m pulled down. To just…..be.

The time that I didn’t (fully) pass out

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The following is (as usual) completely unedited, completely unplanned, and a complete stream of consciousness. It also mentions fainting and throwing up. Just saying.

I have almost a perfect record of having a vasovagal syncope (i.e. fainting) during any type of medical procedure. Procedure isn’t even the right word, I have (thankfully) not had that many procedures. More like: TB tests, blood draws, chiropractor appointments, gynecology appointments….you name it, I have probably fainted or thrown up during it.

So when I went to the doctor’s office today for an examination that involved a scope up my nose and into my sinuses, I knew the odds were not in my favor. As the doctor explained to me about the lidocaine and the scope, I already felt my body start to struggle. I told the doctor about my history and she very nicely said that it would be no problem, that she would have ice packs ready and she would recline my seat a bit. So I did okay at first, she was reminding me to breathe, and I was, but there’s just a stupid something that gets to me as soon as my brain registers “Holy crap there is something inside of me/going on with my body and I can’t control it and it’s gross/weird/not cool” and I felt that all-too familiar tingling of my hands and my toes and kind of at the back of my throat. I tried to breathe through it but the thoughts of “Oh my god what if this happens what if I pass out what if I throw up will I make it to the bathroom and oh my god this is making it worse I’m going to go down what do I do” kept coming, so for the first time IN MY LIFE, rather than trying to fight it on my own (because, you’d think after 987123987 times of this happening, I would know that it’s the anxiety about it happening that makes it even worse, and when I try to make it stop happening, it only makes it happen sooner), I was honest.

My eyes still closed, I calmly said, “I am going to throw up.” The doctor put a trash can next to me and very calmly replied, “Okay, go ahead right to your right.” She then reclined my seat even farther back so my head was deep below my heart, and she got me ice packs for my wrists and a cold cloth for my head. And there I was, allowing myself to be as vulnerable as possible, lying in the chair with my eyes scrunched shut, trying to breathe, cold packs all over me…..and I accepted it. I accepted that this is where I was, and I accepted that my vision was going dark and I knew I was safe and I knew that if/when I threw up or fully fainted, it would be okay, because I didn’t have to be in charge. I didn’t have to fight it.

I’ve never done that before. I’ve always fought it off, then desperately announced that I needed a bathroom, barely making it to the bathroom before my stomach empties and I pass out, then having to get myself to the sink, clammy and sweaty and exhausted.

I don’t know why this time was different. But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the very first time in my life that I was able to stop it mid-way, before I fully went into darkness, was when I was proactive, and honest, asked for help and told it like it was.

And ten minutes later, I sat back up. And I drove home. And I was tired, and drained, but I was okay. It was so empowering to be able to stop it mid-way for the first time. And so empowering to be so vulnerable and have it be so……okay.

On being where you’re at

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There is something powerful about being real. And raw.

About answering “Not good” to one of your truest friends who is asking you, and really truly wants to know, “How are you doing?”

About having your friend and teacher ask you, “What’s wrong?” because she just knew you were “in it.”

About cuddling up next to your fiance and saying your thoughts and fears, and having him pull you closer and making you laugh.

About telling a trusted co-worker exactly where you’re at, and having the response be, “You can always come to me. There won’t ever be any judgment.”

About just allowing yourself to BE, wherever it is that you’re at, without hiding, without pretending, without faking. No matter what that means, wherever that is for you.

We’re afraid to be judged, we’re afraid to be seen as “dramatic”, we’re afraid we’re complaining too much. We’re afraid.

But the fear makes us think that we have to BE in ourselves, as ourselves, BY ourselves. And we don’t.

p.s. There’s also something powerful about writing this blog post, and knowing you’re being real and raw in it, and knowing people will read it, and knowing they might have thoughts about it, and that they’ll make assumptions, but also feeling okay about that, because being real and raw is what you believe in, and you’re brave, and part of having this blog is to be true and honest, so knowing it will resonate with people and maybe not with others, but it’s all okay.

I found my calm.

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This morning I was anxious. Probably for a few reasons I could figure out, for a few others that I’m ignoring or avoiding, and a few that have not yet been excavated.

Anyway, I debated going to yoga or staying home on the couch under blankets. I love the Saturday morning class. But I had gone to yoga Thursday night, seeking grounding and calm, and got frustrated with myself. I couldn’t get out of my head, I couldn’t ground myself, I couldn’t quiet my thoughts. I left yoga judging myself MORE (productive, right?), texting a friend, “Yoga is supposed to be the ONE place where I can ground myself.”

Now, obviously judging how you’re feeling is like, the least productive thing in the entire world, but when you’re in the moment, it’s easier said than done. But, nevertheless, I got dressed and went to yoga. The anxiety in my stomach was swirling but I walked into the studio, put my mat in my favorite spot, stretched a bit, and lay down on my back, putting my hand on my belly, trying to feel myself breathe.

All of a sudden, a sweet voice popped into my head, saying, “Find your calm.” It was Brooke, an adorable, amazing girl, that despite never having met in person, I feel a deep connection with from the way her mom invites us into her head and her life, and because she reminds me so so much of all of my wonderful kids I work with. 

“Find your calm” became my mantra as I breathed in and out, and by the time class began, I had found it. My thoughts slowed down, my heart slowed down, I breathed deeply and felt myself relax.

Brooke: I hope one day I can tell you this, and I hope you understand, but please know that YOU helped ME find my calm.