L I N G E R I N G

When I was a kid, I suffered from A.D.D. Big deal right? I feel it's been socially accepted that some of our generation's parents merely classified us with an attention disorder to stave off the hyperactivity of being a child. But my case was real, however, it manifested in a different way because I remember it did not take shape in the same way other kids experience A.D.D. Rather than being a crazy, bounce-off-the-wall kind of kid, I was very closed-off and reserved. I experienced shyness from a young age. It took all of me (and all of my mother's insistence) for me to work up the courage to even associate with the neighbors' kids. It wasn't so much that I didn't know how. It was more a feeling of unbridled terror, but I wasn't scared of them. I was frightened of my own inadequacy. Ironic, I know, to be terrified of something so complex when the biggest worry of my life at that time was whether or not I would be able to stay up later than 9:00 P.M. Of course, my feeble brain would not have noticed that at the time anyway. But as I reflect now, I see where it begins.

The disorder didn't stop at affecting my ability to make friends, eventually, it took hold of my education. I am most certainly not a left-brain thinker, and thus, math was particularly difficult for me to grasp (those damn multiplication tables). I would get so frustrated with a math problem I was unsure about that I would physically not allow myself to move on. I told myself, "I will surely have to figure this out inevitably, so I should suffer through it until it comes to me." Clearly, not a healthy way to learn. My parents saw this and this is where therapy comes into play. Before long, I found myself being weekly treated with breathing exercises, thought experiments, and brain-electro-wave-monitoring-something (I don't know, they stuck a bunch of sensors on my scalp for 30 minutes). As bizarre as that time was, let me give a firsthand experience to those who need it...THERAPY WORKS. For that period of time, it was the best thing for me. I benefitted and slowly, I was able to adapt to learning in the way that works for me.

Of course, I wish that were the end of the story. Kid has a disorder, kid gets treatment, kid feels better. However, as I grew, my lingering hints of insecurity would morph into full-blown anxiety by the time I graduated college. Due to my wondrous trait of being willfully oblivious, I allowed my anxiety to grow into ways I never anticipated would affect me. I always felt like any time I had those feelings of doubt that I should just shrug them off. "These feelings will pass," became a mantra. I wanted nothing more than to believe that what I was feeling simply wasn't real. I wanted to show that I was confident in who I was. But as great as self-esteem is, it can only get you so far.

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Anxiety is a specter that looms over you at your most vulnerable. It is a raw, guttural conglomerate of emotions that, left unchecked, will consume you. The worst of mine comes when my own body gives me biological warning signs. I can't focus on anything, my mind drifts, I literally feel my heart beating out my chest whilst merely sitting at my desk, I have exhausting gastrointestinal issues, and the unmistakable voice screaming "What If?" is deafening. Most days are better than others, and I go along just fine. But then something happens, and I feel the debilitating weight of that familiar feeling.

"You're not good enough."

It's a vicious cycle of anticipating the next time I will feel anxious. It's having to calm myself and tell myself that the worst will most certainly not occur. I want to trust that the people in my life are there for a reason and that I belong in their lives as well. I want to believe that I am capable and worthy to be in the fields in which I practice. I don't want to feel like this. It all simply makes me feel abnormal.

I tweeted this as a prelude to these thoughts:

And I am truly sorry to my friends that I have distanced who may be reading this (A pandemic didn't help either). I sometimes feel as if I am on an island. I need visitors, and I know how to signal them, but my head makes me believe that my efforts will be in vain and nobody will see it. These lingering insecurities try to control me, but I promise I am fighting them off. God heals. And I have confidence in myself. I know I am blessed with so much and many amazing people in my life, and those reminders are what help me know that better days will always lie ahead.

This is the first time I have ever spoken publicly about my anxiety, but it definitely won't be the last. The conversation is key in order to confront conflicts that arise from the condition. You break a cycle by interrupting it with change, and I encourage you if you or someone you know experiences any self-doubt or anxiety to simply start talking about it. Mental health is a vital part of our everyday lives. It may not be exciting, but it is absolutely necessary. Don't ignore it.

Blessings,

GH