Let That Sh*t Go

The past few weeks have been, shall we say, a wee bit stressful. School has been brutal, and this final push toward the end of the quarter just might kill me. Life has been hectic and tiresome, mostly in good ways, but also in HOLY FUCKING SHIT ARE WE THERE YET kind of ways. Writing has been a struggle because all of the tired has made creativity feel impossible; I sit down to write, stare at the blinking cursor for what feels like an hour, and then just shut the laptop and go watch Netflix. Oh, and I started working on three professional certificate programs as well, because why not?!?

I'm doing all of the things. And lately I've felt like I've been doing none of them well.

That's the thing about stress, it becomes this vicious cycle wherein you're too stressed to do the things you need to do, then become increasingly stressed about the not doing of the things you are too stressed to do. And the things you do manage to do despite the stress aren't as good of quality as they otherwise would be were it not for the aforementioned stress. Ya dig?

I'm trying to be a good wife, a good mother, a good student, produce good writing content, complete these certificates in a timely manner, exercise, drink enough water, and try to get enough sleep to not look like gollum...

Actual footage of me without mascara on, trying to force a smile because someone is daring to talk to me before the coffee has hit my bloodstream. Precious is not happy you have disturbed us. Just sayin'.

So what do you do when the life crap starts to pile up and you feel yourself getting all bajiggity? (Yes, it's a word, I promise)

See? Told ya.

But I digress.

What is your go-to coping mechanism for pushing past the stress and getting back to business?

No, I'm not trying to be motivational, I'm looking for ideas. 'Cuz mine aren't working and I want to steal yours.

Okay, I'm kidding... ish.

Sometimes all it takes is a tried and true method to get back to basics: a hot bubble bath, a solid nap, a good run, a shopping spree.

And sometimes, all your usual tactics end up backfiring, only adding to your stress because you are acutely aware that you are doing something other than the very thing you know you need to get done, and this knowledge only adds to your stress...

Le sigh.

That's where I've been recently.

And it started with school.

This quarter has been kicking my ass. My instructor is... shall we say, demanding. So demanding that it has made me completely question myself as a student. Okay, that sounds a little dramatic to admit that getting a B on a paper rattled me that much.

But it did.

I don't get Bs.

I haven't received anything below an A- since high school (and even that A- bummed me out hard). And while admitting this might make me sound arrogant and douchey, it's true. My education is something in which I take a lot of pride. I want to excel, I want to achieve... hence the three certificate programs on top of grad school on top of building my writing career. I want big things for myself, and I am the one accountable for delivering that.

But recently it's been at a cost.

I think I've been too focused on perfection lately, too focused on doing all of the things with panache and a big flourish, when really, that's not necessary.

Getting that B rattled me. Badly. It showed me areas of weakness in my school work that I needed to address, and have been ever since. But in my attempt to make up for my self-perceived failure to be perfect, I have piled on a metric fuck ton of added stress. And it has been affecting everything else, snowball style.

And quite frankly, y'all? I'm tired!

There are only a few weeks left in this quarter, and I have committed myself to just chilling out a little bit. Yes, I will continue to strive for my best work, because that's just how I'm wired.

But I'm also going to work on giving myself a little grace. I have so many irons in the fire, and only so much energy in a given day to put into any given one. I give myself permission to not be perfect. I give myself permission to set down the weight of the stress I've been carrying, take a deep breath, and just be.

When Something's Gotta Give

Worst kept secret in history: I have anxiety.

I have for as long as I can remember. I just didn't know it.

I have always been a worrier, an over-thinker, a Neurotic Nelly.

Growing up, my home life wasn't the best. It wasn't terrible, mind you. But it certainly wasn't stable. There was a palpable degree of familial tension and dysfunction that really resonated within me, with lasting effects. I never felt at ease in my own home, which in turn resulted in me never feeling at ease in my own mind or body. I was also a highly sensitive child. I never wanted to upset anyone or rock the boat, and I took it really hard when people were unkind to or judgmental of me. And I never, ever stood up for myself.

I gave myself an ulcer at 9-years-old worrying so damn much about things your average fourth-grader hadn't even considered, let alone obsessed over. I'm pretty sure I was the only kid in class who watched the nightly news religiously and was so emotionally tormented over events in the Middle East, Somalia, and the Eastern Bloc that I needed Mylanta. 

One time I stood up for myself and told a bully at school that I hated her... and subsequently tortured myself with guilt for weeks after. I apologized to her and told her I felt bad for being mean, something she used against me well into the following school year.

I was afraid of everything from lightening storms to chronic illnesses, home invasions to internal hemorrhaging. I read a lot, and my highly advanced reading level meant I was poring through books far too grown up for my mental and emotional maturity, exposing me to real world topics my little fear-based brain couldn't handle. I was afraid of everything. I worried about everything. And it held me back. 

As a teen, these worries benefited me in certain ways, as I never had any interest in drinking, drugs, or the general party scene. I barely dated. I avoided drama as much as I could. I was sheltered both by my mother, as well as by my own acute awareness of all the dangers, risks, and consequences inherent in being a wild and crazy kid. 

But I also didn't have many life experiences from which to grow and learn, which only held me back further. I didn't leave the confines of my safe zones, I didn't take even the most basic of risks; in all honesty, I didn't have much fun. Because what if...? What if this bad thing happened, or that bad thing? What if I did something stupid or embarrassing and someone said something bad about me? What if I got in trouble? What if I got hurt?

Those "what ifs" kept me tethered to a highly limited existence. 

I got married young, like, super young, and my "what if" brain continued chugging along. I worried obsessively over my then-husband as he commuted long distances for work. I checked on my children countless times throughout the night, making sure they were still breathing and hadn't been snatched from their beds. I checked the doors and windows of my house over and over, just in case I'd forgotten to close or lock one of them, or they'd... I don't know... self-unlocked? I imagined all of the ways things could go wrong, so that I could figure out ways to prevent that from happening. 

And this is the trait that has stuck since.

Catastrophizing. 

My brain needs to run through all the "what ifs". On repeat. To the point of mental exhaustion.

The particular topics vary, depending on what is happening at that given point in time. But the cycle is the same.

And it was this cycle that finally led me to the realization that, holy shit, I have anxiety! (Something that literally everyone around me knew... except me...)

A few years ago, I was on the struggle bus. Hell, I was piloting the entire fleet of struggle buses. I was in a near-constant state of stress and upheaval, trying to rebuild my life from scratch, and it was really fucking hard. 

I had gotten divorced, moved halfway across the country back to my high school hometown (a place to which I'd vowed I'd never return), and was simultaneously trying to build a solid career, raise my kids, drink enough water, eat a vegetable or two, and get enough sleep to remain somewhat functioning. 

My ex and I were also in a very, shall we say, contentious phase of our post-marriage relationship, which was incredibly stressful and miserable (thankfully that phase has passed and we're cool now). To top it all off, I was in a new romantic relationship that I knew deep down was a dead end but was determined to make work anyway (yay denial!), and had ended up surrounded by individuals who were toxic, though I hadn't yet figured that out. 

Suffice it to say, it was a lot. A lot of intangible stressors. A lot of negative energies and bad vibes that were gnawing at me, but I couldn't quite identify. A lot of fake friends, fake support, false pretenses, and ulterior motives. Though I was surrounded by people, I ultimately could feel just how alone I truly was.

And it broke me.

My anxieties finally won out.

I was utterly consumed by fear, doubt, worry, even paranoia (although in some cases my paranoia was actually gut instinct, and it was spot fucking on, but that's a post for a different day). 

I didn't know in whom I could trust. I didn't know what to think or how to fix it. But I knew I couldn't carry on feeling this way.

So I started making changes.

Slowly at first. 

I started seeing a counselor in order to gain an understanding of why my brain was always convinced the sky was falling. I started poring through self-help books, reading countless articles, and downloading podcasts all in an effort to establish a baseline. I started unpacking three decades worth of emotional baggage I didn't realize I had been carrying. And finally, ever so slowly, I began to heal.

And it felt amazing.

So I built on it.

Yoga. Meditation. Mindfulness. All that spiritual, hippity-dippity brouhaha. I became addicted to self-improvement, to mending my broken pieces, to living a life of authentic inner peace and happiness.

And in doing all of that, in really digging in and trying to fix what I felt were the broken parts of myself, I started being able to identify the different sources of my anxiety. I started to pinpoint the epicenters of toxicity that were plaguing me, those who were amplifying my anxieties through insecurity, triangulation, gaslighting, pot-stirring, and other general drama instigations. I had unwittingly surrounded myself with people who thrived on my struggles, who were fueled by me being down, all while pretending to have my back. 

In being so lost in the chaos of my life during that season, I didn't notice any of this. After all, when you're up to your eyeballs in mud, you can't see the crocodiles surrounding you.

I had finally started clearing away the muck and mire of my anxious little brain, and was shocked and devastated to realize that as I'd been tirelessly shoveling the mud away, people in my inner circle were just scooping it back up and dumping it back in.

And it became clear to me, those toxic energy vampires had to go.

I was never going to get my anxiety under control, I was never going to heal my past wounds, I was never going to grow and truly thrive, if I stayed surrounded by their garbage.

In the months and (almost) years that have followed, my healing and growth have grown by leaps and bounds. It is amazing how much better you feel, how much easier it is to heal, when you're no longer surrounded by asshats. However, I am well aware that while I was absolutely being fueled by the toxicity around me, that was not, at the core, the root cause of my anxiety. They simply enabled and instigated what was already there. My empathetic, anxious personality is what allowed such individuals to stick around as long as they did; after all, when you're wearing rose-colored glasses, the red flags just look like flags. 

After I cut out the flying monkeys who were gleefully adding fuel to the fire, I took a hard introspective look at what was making me tick, at the very traits that permitted such individuals to prey on my vulnerabilities, and I did the necessary work to rectify it. I am committed to living in an asshole-free zone, and early asshole detection is key!

(I say that in jest, but it's also completely true)

Self-improvement and personal growth aren't easy. Not if you're really doing the work. And it's not linear. Two steps forward, one step back, occasionally a step or two sideways. Essentially you sometimes feel like you're doing the hokey-pokey, but that's what it's all about. 

(Oh you know that pun was intended!)

But in all seriousness, that really is what personal growth is all about. It's about intention. It's about commitment. It's about hard fucking work.

I still have anxiety. I am still that worrywart, that over-thinker, that Neurotic Nelly. 

But nowhere near what it used to be. 

Nowadays, my anxieties are triggered less often. When they do show up, I have much stronger coping mechanisms, and am surrounded by much better people, people who help me through it rather than berate me, belittle me, or talk shit about me all while lending a sympathetic ear. I also have a much better understanding of where my anxieties stem from, what causes it to rear its ugly head, and how to get myself back to center faster and more effectively.

It's not perfect, but it's pretty damn great.

Let's be honest... being a person is complicated. The least you can do is be happy while you do it.