The thunderstorm inside of me

Breaking News: Anxiety is silent and invisible and alive inside many people you know well, and you have no idea.

I have written about my anxiety before, but I have never made it clear just how much internal struggle I sometimes face on a day-to-day basis. We live in a world where no one wants to admit they struggle with mental health because it makes everyone uncomfortable. But once you start to talk about it, you find out how very many people around you, some of those you'd least expect, are similarly struggling. You find that people will audibly sigh with relief about having this door opened. I have started to take every opportunity presented to me to share how I've struggled. If I complain about the stigma, but continue to feel shame or be secretive about my own mental health struggles, then aren't I just perpetuating the stigma?

Hi. I'm Emilie. I have anxiety.

At my very best, I am confident, quick to make jokes and tell stories, friendly and generous with the people around me, willing to try anything and go anywhere. At my most anxious, I am physically sick with worry, dreading things as normal as going to work, walking into my classroom, meeting up with a friend in a public place, or cooking dinner for guests. At my most anxious, I have regular panic attacks where I can't catch my breath, frantically scan the room for exits wherever I go. You've never seen this happen to me because I go hide in the bathroom or get outside to take a walk as quickly as I can. Or you've been right beside me but it's invisible, and while I may seem to be all clear skies, I'm actually harboring a thunderstorm inside of me.

You might wonder what specific fears drive my anxiety. Well, that's a great question, one I've spent years trying to figure out. Here is my best answer: I am afraid of getting trapped in a situation where I cannot escape, of having no way out. One therapist theorized that I, like many anxious people, have an extreme form of stage fright or performance anxiety, a paralyzing fear that I am going to be exposed as weak or needy or flawed.

The list of things that made me anxious started out small. But every panicky episode at a particular place or doing a particular thing would make me get anxious the next time. As time went on, the list grew. I became anxious almost every day about getting sick, fainting, throwing up. I was anxious at airports and on planes and busses and trains, in the back seat of cars, in the middle of a row of seats at a concert or lecture. I became afraid of public speaking, of being observed when teaching, of speaking at meetings, of reading out loud to my students. I got anxious during races, specifically as I neared the finish line. I was afraid of rooms with no windows, long lines, specifically in airports, being too far away from home, going crazy, humiliating myself, losing my mind. I became a master at avoiding situations that would make me anxious which got harder and harder to do. I had good days, of course, but I white-knuckled my way through a lot of days until I got home where I could breathe.

These fears defy all logic and frankly, they piss me off because they are so ridiculous. Have I ever fainted?  Once, 25 years ago.  I have had no negative experiences with travel. I feel loved and well respected in all areas of my life. I know I am a good teacher, and I love standing in front of a class and telling stories and sharing witty banter with students. I've never been trapped anywhere nor had anything traumatic happen to me. There is nothing obvious to blame. I have learned this is one of the great misunderstandings about anxiety. People want to know: "but what happened?"  Nothing happened. I have anxiety.

I became proactive about fighting anxiety once I started to feel the pull to stick close to home, and I feared my world was getting small and might close in on itself. I went to therapy and hypnosis. I tried meditation. I read books and listened to podcasts and TED talks that provided coping strategies. I even stopped drinking coffee. Sometimes I would feel better for a week and feel victorious, only to find myself with a pounding heart, walking around in circles, trying to talk myself out of a panic attack again.

About 18 months ago, I went to my doctor (I love my doctor) and said to her:"I am throwing up my hands here. I need help." And then I cried and cried and cried. She hugged me and together we made a plan. Even though I had adamantly insisted against it for years, I started a daily medication. The first one lasted 2 weeks and had horrible side effects. The next one lasted 6 months and took the edge off but was not enough. Finally I found the right fit last winter, and I am currently feeling about as good as a human could feel.

I don't know how much of my recovery should be attributed to the meds. All of it?  Half of it? Because now that I'm feeling so stable, I am able to do all of the other things that are good for me and help me maintain my mental health:  exercise 5 times a week, eat well, unclench my jaw, relax.

But anxiety is never far from my thoughts. In the past few months, I've taken two trips that involved flying and miraculously, I was completely fine from start to finish on both trips. Going through security, waiting at the gate, getting on the plane, I kept saying to myself:  "This is weird. I'm not sweating. I think I feel fine. Am I fine? Am I really okay? Yep, I am totally okay. " Meetings?  Deadlines? Social events? Observations?  Public transportation? Riding in the backseat? Crossing finish lines? All good. Bring it on. I'm floating happily in these calm waters, buoyed up by relief and my own confidence in myself. I let my world get small for a while, but it feels wide open again.

In case you're wondering, yes I am tempted to wean myself off of the medication. I feel so fantastic and I want to believe I don't need it anymore. But getting off meds is complicated: weaning has side effects and drawbacks. Going back on involves headaches, jaw-clenching, insomnia and heightened anxiety. For now, I'm on a fairly low dose with hardly any side effects and no plans to change that anytime soon.

 I recently took Skyler to Chicago for the weekend to see Hamilton.  Everything about this scene is a small miracle. Here we are in the balcony of a small, hot, claustrophobic theatre where the seats were all jammed together and we did not have aisle seats. And I was just chillin'. I was happy and calm and able to be present for every second, to truly enjoy this incredible experience with my daughter. Not to mention planes and cabs and making our way around an unfamiliar city and I never even had so much as a nervous flutter. I am so thankful.  

You may relate to none of this, some of it, or all of it, but please know that even if you are not, someone in your life is silently struggling. For those who relate, remember that wherever you are on this path, it keeps moving and turning and you don't know what view is around the next corner.  If you are struggling now, you will not always be struggling.  I promise you this.

  Having a calm head and heart after years of trying and failing: amazing.  Also, I adore my fam.

So why aren't we talking about our mental health? Anxiety and depression are as common as having a cold. Why are we all pulling out our hair alone and taking so long to get help?  What if we didn't treat this topic as if it were such a soul-bearing leap of faith to discuss?  What if we just casually start dropping it into conversations rather than letting our shame grow in secret? How much heartache and tragedy could we avoid?  If simply talking about our mental health takes some of its power away, then please, pull up a chair.  Let's talk.