Fog colored glasses
Living with anxiety changes the way you see the world, It can feel like you’re always at war with the thoughts in your head.
But it doesn’t have to define you, or your relationships. You are not a burden and you most certainly are not alone.
Battling anxiety, not just in a generalized “everyone has things they’re stressed and anxious about” kind of way, but in a way that at times feels unmanageable, at times IS unmanageable. I’ve struggled with it since I was 15 (at least, that’s my earliest recollection of it interfering with my life, and when I started learning how to live with it). I say live with it because in my opinion there’s not a real treatment for anxiety. It’s going to rear its ugly head at some point or another because it’s innate, it’s how our species survives, everyone just processes and handles it differently. Dealing with anxiety is like you’re wearing fog colored glasses at all times. You just don’t see the world the same. Intrusive, irrational thoughts cloud your judgment and change the lens through which you see the world. Usually these thoughts are accompanied with some kind of coping mechanism, a way to gain and maintain control. Control is a huge part of my anxiety. Symptoms for me included rage cleaning obsessively, easily overwhelmed, not wanting to leave my house, couldn’t trust anyone with my kids, had to do everything myself, thought could only focus on things that needed done, I could go on and on and on. Generally speaking it felt like this idea that everything is bad and I need to fix it, I’m the only one who can do it, and everything is stressful. It for SURE and without and DOUBT affected my every day left and kept me from living a healthy lifestyle. I’m not a medical professional or a psychologist, I’m just giving insight to my experience- so take it at face value.
The unfortunate thing most people know, is that with anxiety, its BFF is depression. When I was newly in high school I spent days in my room, sleeping life away. At first it seemed like maybe it was a result of a physical illness, and that’s what I’d tell people, I was sick and that’s why I was home. I missed so many days of school. I no longer cared if I saw my friends. This was also before the days of texting (it was expensive AF) and social media wasn’t really a thing yet. So they would literally drive to my house, yank me out of my bed, and say “GET UP we haven’t seen or heard from you in days” and as much as I was happy to see them, I didn’t have the energy to go about life. I wanted my bed.. at all times. I started having thoughts about how maybe I could just go to sleep forever? Wouldn’t that be nice? And that’s like a really scary place to be. With caring and attentive parents, proper tools (ie, medication combined with therapy), I persevered, eventually no longer needing to actively utilize either.
I’ve been fortunate that depression and I haven’t occupied the same space since I was a teenager, but anxiety and I have done quite the dance from my teenage years on into adulthood.
When I was a senior in high school I found myself staying up all night cleaning my room. Sounds like a good thing right? But no it was obsessively. I couldn’t sleep. It was beyond picking up like a “good” kid, it was neurotic. The stress of major life changes, figuring out what life would look like after high school, triggered an extreme OCD. Trying to find control when everything around me felt so overwhelming. It mellowed out by the time I settled in to my freshman year of college to the point of being manageable. Of course, it wouldn’t be the last time I find myself in its clutches.
The thing is, once you get to know yourself, it’s almost like you can feel the shift when things start to go awry. The next time I’d experience it would be in my pregnancy and postpartum days, again in forms of severe OCD and the actual super fun feeling of losing my fucking mind. That was coupled with an extreme panic disorder. I was convinced my husband was dead on the side of the road when he wouldn’t respond to my text when he was working. I knew the bridge would collapse if I tried to drive over it and my kids and I would drown in the river. I had two voices in my head, a rational human being and completely maddening, totally irrational, invasive thoughts. I couldn’t keep either of those voices quiet and it was a non-stop shouting match between the two. It was like I was peering in on an argument and I was stuck standing outside watching through a glass window unable to get through and make peace. That was probably the worst of it- knowing exactly what’s going on but not able to help it, or stop it. You know you’re going crazy, you know WHY you’re going crazy, but you can’t make it stop, and two, three, four small children and your husband depend on you to have your shit together. And instead they’re see you spiraling. As if you didn’t feel bad enough, the guilt you feel makes you feel more guilty, and then you feel even more fucked up, it piles on to the depression, and the doomsday cycle continues.
*I understand that going crazy is not an appropriate/politically correct description. I will say that’s the easiest and most generic way to describe how it feels. Going crazy. I do not, in fact, think I or anyone else struggling with mental illness is crazy.
I’m now able to live a highly functional lifestyle, keeping my anxiety at bay. Most days I don’t notice it. I am thrilled most days when I see crumbs on my table or let a day go by and realize I haven’t run the vacuum. There are finger smudges on my windows and I can’t remember the last time I scrubbed my walls. To the outside, one probably thinks a messy house has a negative connotation but for me, I’m proud because it shows extreme growth. I couldn’t sleep without having every single space decluttered, every surface sanitized, vacuumed multiple times a day, mopped. The works. Imagine 4 kids and renovating our house. It was literally a full time job just coping with my OCD- cleaning all damn day. So, when I say I’m proud when I can go to bed with dishes left in my sink, I really mean it. It doesn’t physically hurt me or keep me up at night. It’s a win. I also love that I’m able to fill my time with things that bring me actual joy instead of fighting a battle. I read books when there’s laundry to fold. I take photos every second I can. I write. I walk in the woods and spend time with my friends… even sometimes without my kids!
(I will say, anymore it seems like my anxiety is directly correlated to my hormones. Leading up to my period it comes back. It changes me, and I can feel it encompassing me like a dark shadow. It’s not as severe, but my filter through which I see the world definitely changes. I’m scared to get pregnant again because I know what it could do to me mentally, which in turn would affect my whole family.)
A big difference between now and when I was first struggling, is how open I am about it. Being a perfectionist, the last thing you want to do is to lose the outward appearance of things being perfect, right? I wanted everyone to know I had it all together. I didn’t even ask my mom for help with my kids until I was pregnant with my fourth, because I needed that control and appearance that I could handle my stuff. (It was bad enough by my 4th kid I literally was desperate for help, and at this point I was more open about what I was going through) but before I felt, if I asked for help that just means I’m not perfect and how could I not be perfect? I’d fail the high standards I set for myself. Thats how I saw it. In retrospect I actually think I was denying her opportunities she would’ve like to have with them.
I’ve learned a lot about myself through the trials and tribulations of mental illness I’ve learned that shedding the perfect appearance not only makes others feel more comfortable, but more importantly it gives myself grace and permission to forgive myself for being less than perfect. I’m not setting some unrealistic standard that I’ll never achieve. It gives me the opportunity to be honest with myself, get to know the real me, and be in touch with who I am so I can better take care of myself and everyone else who needs me. Most days I still have anxious tendencies. I’m easily overstimulated with noise and clutter. I like having a routine. I get stressed anticipating certain social situations and overanalyze everything I say and do afterwards. It doesn’t rule my life, though, most days. The fog colored glasses are more like transition lenses these days… mostly clear but every now and then they get dark :-D
There are a few things I’ve found helpful dealing with anxiety. The number one thing that’s been the most helpful, is being open and honest. Communicating with my spouse, with my midwife and doctor, keeping people in the loop about how I’m feeling- it makes a difference. Even if I’m not wanting any actual treatment, holding myself accountable and not feeling like I’m having to mask who I really am/how I’m feeling makes a huge difference.
It’s also helpful for me to actively practice gratitude. Your mind is a powerful muscle. The same way the doom and gloom of an anxiety fog takes over your field of vision, when you’re looking through grey colored glasses and all you can see and hear is everything negative and awful…
your brain can find the light. It takes SO much work, when you’re in one of those funks. The amount of energy just reminding yourself of all things positive can leave you completely drained. But with practice and effort, it gets easier. Yoga, meditation and reminders of simple pleasures, small moments of gratitude, they matter.
Journaling helps me immensely. Even if it’s not writing down what I’m thankful for (though I do try to do that daily), getting the anxious thoughts, no matter how jumbled they are, off my brain and into the universe helps me make more sense of them. Sometimes it’s even better than venting to my husband, just because it also takes away that feeling of me burdening him with my issues, but still allows me safe space to get them out.
When I’m going through a low, meaning my anxiety is acting up, I find it really beneficial to ride the low. I hold on to the faith that with a low, comes a high. If I’m in a low, that means good is on the horizon. It always is. The sun might always set, but it also always rises. Both sunsets and sunrises are equally beautiful. I tune into my body and give it what it needs. If working out feels right, I do it. If I need to sit on the couch and read I do it. EVEN if it means I’m less present with my kids, or someone else is watching them, or god forbid they watch a movie. I don’t try and wait until it’s a convenient time, or until I get XYZ done. It’s not a burden for my husband to spend time with his own kids while I regroup (no, he doesn’t watch them.. he raises them too!) It’s not a burden that the laundry doesn’t get done right away or if I can’t handle taking my kids to the library because I’m too overwhelmed. Letting go of this idea of being a burden is one of the biggest revelations of all of it.
You are not a burden.
You are a human.
Most importantly talk to someone. If you are struggling, you don’t have to do it in silence and there are tools and professionals who can help you. Seek help.
