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A Young Woman’s Personal Experience with Anxiety

A Young Woman’s Personal Experience with Anxiety

Anxiety is something that everyone deals with, to some extent, during their life. For some people it’s a passing experience of feeling stressed and overwhelmed. For others, though, anxiety can be crippling. I mean truly, intolerably, despairingly crippling.

You can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you can’t focus. Your work suffers; your relationships suffer.  You question everything you do, and everything you say. Your mind never stops churning things over. You’re filled with feelings of self-doubt and never being good enough. It’s pure agony.

The term “anxiety” gets thrown around for everything, ranging from feeling nervous to experiencing unrelenting, incapacitating panic attacks. Because of this, there are people who equate “feeling stressed” to knowing what having an anxiety disorder feels like. Unfortunately, this attitude feels discrediting and invalidating to the person who truly experiences the wrath and magnitude of anxiety.

Anxiety can manifest itself as a condition, such as a phobia, social, or generalized anxiety; or on a greater level, it can present comorbidly with other conditions, such as Depression, ADHD, Schizophrenia, and so forth. Anxiety is not a character flaw. I repeat: ANXIETY IS NOT A CHARACTER FLAW. Anxiety is a neurological imbalance. It is the result of obtaining some unfortunate genetics and/or exposure to certain life experiences. None of those things are your fault in any way.

I am the youngest child of two girls. Some people believe that being the youngest child makes you “selfish.” I would say that I do, in fact, have a tendency towards selfishness. But my selfishness isn’t due to being the youngest child; rather, it’s a result of having to manage my anxiety.

For instance, I can’t be the person who goes and offers comfort to a friend in the middle of the night because of a break-up, or some other challenging situation. I have to be selfish; I need to sleep. Because altering my routine and extending myself could offset my own mental stability. I need to rest. I need to relax. I need time to myself.

I have to “be selfish” in order to operate in a fast-paced, high-producing, performance-based society. I’m at a disadvantage to others, who function at a higher level, and with more ease. Because of my anxiety, my mental and emotional reserves are easily and quickly depleted.

I want to be there for my friends in the middle of the night, when they are hurting, but the fact of the matter is that I can’t. I have to take care of myself. This doesn’t mean that I don’t care. It doesn’t discredit me as a kind-hearted person. I absolutely want what is best for the people around me. I simply need my time, time when I am off limits, time to recuperate.

I’ve learned from past mistakes of over-extending myself. There have been times when I’ve tried to be everything to everyone. I went out of my way, above and beyond, to be there for people. Even when I did all that I could, I still felt this hankering guilt that it wasn’t enough; that I wasn’t enough.

I have since learned that the care and support I am able and willing to offer others is enough. I have since learned that I am enough. I realize that I owe it to myself (and others) to take care of me. I have to care for myself at least as well as I care for others. Self-care is a requirement for others-care. And when you think about it, there’s really nothing selfish about that.

 

* Special thanks to my considerate, generous, hard-working, and capable niece for sharing her story, in hopes of providing understanding and validation for those who face their own struggles, and in hopes of providing insight for others to develop empathy for such challenges. 

Raised by an Addict [Part I]

Raised by an Addict [Part I]

In her memoir, There was a Little Girl: The Real Story of My Mother and Me, Brooke Shields paints an honest and vivid picture depicting her experience of being raised by an alcoholic mother.

Much of her childhood was filled with chaos, and a lack of structure and stability, which is quite common in families with addiction.

She speaks about the enmeshed, codependent relationship she shared with her mother for many years:

    I never thought I could live without you. I knew and understood you better than anyone else in your life. I became the meaning in your life when it would have served you to find the meaning from within. Your approval meant the world to me, as did your happiness. That was the hard part, because I wanted your approval for my growing up independently of you, yet I feared my independence was the root of your unhappiness. But if I had not fought to differentiate myself from you and from our tight bond, I would not have been able to survive.

There are many themes in her life story that are shared by others who have lived with an addicted or mentally ill family member:

Being constantly afraid and worried for their safety and well-being
Feeling like it’s your responsibility to keep them sober and alive
Becoming panic-stricken when you haven’t heard from them in a while
Desperately trying to control their addiction…AND NOT BEING ABLE TO.

Brooke lacked a sense of confidence and security, despite becoming famous at such a young age. She never felt good enough. How could she, when she wasn’t enough to keep her mother from drinking?

She was not her own person. Her existence and purpose were for her mother, not for herself. How can you be your own person, when you spend all of your energy trying to please someone else? There’s no room for you to discover who you are. Her job was to intuit the moods and needs of her mom: “She was my barometer for joy. If she was happy, I was happy.”

Like many children of addicts, Brooke became parentified, taking care of her mother, instead of getting to be a kid. It affected her as she got older, as well. While others her age were going out and dating, she was afraid to intimately connect with another person, for fear of mom feeling abandoned. As if by loving someone else, she would somehow love her mother less. There wasn’t enough space for anyone else.

[Story Continues in Part II]