A Moment In My Head

Anxiety for me is something I have a hard time reconciling. I didn’t used to be half as anxious as I am these days. And I think most of the time I prefer to think of myself as old me and not present me. Talking about it makes me feel almost inauthentic because I don’t want to think of myself that way and because I know so many other people have it worse. And not talking about it feels inauthentic too because no matter how much I try to deny it to myself, it is still something I experience. It’s a concept I’ve struggled with most of my life. I don’t feel allowed to feel what I feel or admit to what I feel because someone else has it worse. I feel ashamed at my “audacity” to feel I have a right to have problems. Talking about things that make me sound like a victim makes me feel vulnerable which I tend to deflect with jokes or sarcasm. Partially because I worry about the reactions of those I’m speaking to and want to give them an “out” from a potentially heavy conversation. I fear being “too much.” And then I hate myself for making light of something I don’t take lightly because I worry I’ve misrepresented myself to people. And once my mind has gotten to thinking about what others are thinking about me, generally people I don’t know very well, then I fixate on it. I can’t stop thinking about it all day to the point that it’s difficult to focus on anything else. And then I shame myself for not being able to let it go, for not being normal, for being anxious. And it’s a short skip and a hop from that point, to sliding into depression. Every once in a while I find someone who is naturally babies me by voicing their thoughts out loud for me to assuage that anxiety so I know exactly where they stand and where I stand with them but I also know that I can’t expect that from people and so I do my best to talk myself down and if nothing else create reasonable doubt in my mind that allows for more than one possibility to be true and not just the worst possible option.

Being in Idaho at the moment, where I don’t know how long I’ll be here would normally encourage me to hide my head in the sand and avoid people at all costs so as not have to deal with it. But I have felt strongly that I need to not live like I’m in limbo right now. And so I’ve been trying to feign bravery and socialize, pretend to myself that I’m in for the long haul so that I’m more focused on the present rather the the what if’s of tomorrow. 

But you know what.. it has spoken to me. I used to hate the concept of people being in our lives only for a season. When I love people I tend to love hard and fast and it’s sad to let go of that. But right now it seems to make sense that a season is better than never. And if I have a role to play, or if I can learn something from someone right now, then I can be grateful to Heavenly Father for allowing and encouraging that “season” and opportunity to take place.

It also makes me glad that I have the children I do. I’m grateful for Abby’s made up song “it’s okay to be sad” because it gives me hope that when my kids grow up, they will do so truly believing that it IS okay to be sad.

"As Sick As Our Secrets"

It’s amazing to me that it’s been a year already. A little more than actually. A year since I disclosed about going to Addiction Recovery Meetings. A year since I disclosed about taking anti depressants. A year since I disclosed about experiencing same-sex attraction. I don’t know why it’s been on my mind of late but I wanted to share some of my thoughts on the “aftermath” of that blog post.

Writing that blog was interesting to me because I had complete peace in doing so when even in hindsight it seems like something I would have been more anxious about. Admittedly I was nervous about the reactions of certain key players but was assured by that sense of peace I had. But I believe that those who love me, love me unconditionally, and love me for who I am. 

What I wanted to comment on was the few unapproving responses that I received. There were some who commented they “hated these kinds of disclosures” and felt it was unnecessary,  didn’t see the point in it. Apparently the blog struck some people as nothing more than weird attention seeking behavior. 

And you know what? What it comes down to, is that the blog wasn’t written for those people, in reality it wasn’t written for anyone. It was written primarily for me. I heard a quote recently, I won’t say where, (cough, a TV show) that hit it right on the money: “We’re all as sick as our secrets.” I have always hated secrets. Not the cute ones like some friend sharing that they like some boy and the make you promise not to tell... but the secrets that weigh on you. Secrets that Satan tries to use to keep you feeling shame. Writing that blog was my way of standing up for myself and refusing to accept that shame. It was cathartic, as this blog often is. And it was also written in hopes that it would help serve that same purpose for someone else. And in that sense, I was successful. 

I will never regret writing that blog. I will never regret that writing that blog created a safe place for more than one friend that disclosed to me afterwards. I will never regret adding to the normalization of the topic. And I will never regret writing for myself on the proverbial wall:

“I will not be shamed.”

And I will keep telling myself that every single day. Every day that I experience anxiety, every day that I feel “less than,” and every day that I feel different, and whenever depression strikes hard... 

I will continue to write on the wall, I will not be shamed.