Dear Anxiety,
Why do you clog up my brain? Make my legs feel weak? Ignite washing-machine swirls in my tummy?
Why do you c-cr-creep out of nowhere? Infect my happy thoughts with something I did that was a little embarrassing 2 years ago?
Why do you make me feel stressed over things that are out of my control? About things I can’t change?
Why do you make me go red with embarrassment when I’m feeling a little uncomfortable in a social exchange?
Why is it that some nights I can’t fall asleep without my television on, in case intrusive thoughts slip in and keep me awake?
And that on days when I’m feeling low, a five minute shower - five minutes of me in my own head - can be impossible to bear?
Sometimes I wonder if it’s just me who struggles to get out of bed some days - especially the days when it’s dark and cold and wet. When the warmth and comfort of my duvet makes me feel so safe and unharmed from the world.
Is it only me who has to delete my social media apps so I can escape the constant cycle of comparing myself to others?
Has anyone around me ever had to cancel plans because their social battery is on -4?
Or had to pretend to go to the toilet to escape that 20-mile-an-hour-heartbeat 5 minutes of being in a crowd of people... And feeling - well, alone?
What about waking up with a hangover that sends them into a panic like their whole world is falling apart?
And don’t even get me started on PMS.
Heavy - right? But this is sometimes my reality. Not always, but some of the time. And that’s okay. We all get a little overwhelmed every now and then.
And part of me finds both dread and solace when I realise that I’m not alone in feeling this way. That when I’m trapped inside the darkest corridors of my mind, I know that others wander down them too. That everyone feels a bit lost. Swamped with life.
I think that we forget that there’s been a lot of life-changing events that have occurred recently.
We’ve had to juggle the Covid-19 pandemic and 2 recessions in the past 15 years alone (with another on our doorstep). Oh, and we can’t forget Brexit. Or that stories of war clog up the news. And Prince Harry’s description of rubbing Elizabeth Arden cream on his ‘todger’ in his latest book, Spare? Let’s just say I saved the worst til’ last.
What I’m trying to get at is, that our generation aren’t weaklings. Give us credit where credit’s due. There’s been a lot going on for us in the years that we’re still developing into full-grown humans. Finding out who we are.
And let's face it - a global pandemic sapped from us a big chunk of our time. The time we should have been making the memories we’d be most fond of in years to come. The ones we'd talk to our grandchildren about.
I’m by no means saying this for sympathy, or to declare that our generation is special. That we're heroes. Because we aren’t. Everyone has had struggles to face, irrelevant of the decade in which they were born.
What’s different, with our generation, is that we’ve recognised that it’s time. to. talk. about. it.
Time to share. Time to relate. Time to wear our hearts on our sleeves. Time to be vulnerably human - together.
It may sound obvious... But find what you love doing.
Spending time with loved ones helps. Even when we don’t realise in the moments of hugging and kisses on the head. The moments we talk about our stresses like the floodgates have opened. Those moments that we’ll look back on and hold close to our hearts.
The biggest battle, though? To find the things we love doing on our own.
And allowing ourselves the time to do them.
For me, it’s cooking. I love letting the stress release from my body and weave into the steam from the sizzling pan, before it disappears into the extractor fan. It’s liberating.
I like lists, too. That sensation I get when I can ‘tick’ something off. It might be completing an article for work, or getting high engagement on a social media post. It may be fitting into a pair of jeans that have been a little snug for a while. It may be making my bed in the morning. Finishing a book. Or eating my five a day. I find that writing stuff down and ticking them off helps me feel like I’m achieving at least something daily.
And I can't forget the magic of a good ol' walk. It revives me. Getting out and inhaling the fresh air, and moving my sitting-at-a-desk-all-day-stiffened legs.
Then there’s my favourite form of sorcery: and it goes by the name of St Tropez. Why is it that we slap a bit of fake tan on and feel 100x better? My face looks brighter, my skin looks softer. Even my legs look thinner----*I'll be right back. Just ordering another 15 bottles to stock up this winter.*
Getting my nails done injects in me a similar feeling of rejuvenation. It’s like that rush you get after going to the gym, which is another priority I’ve made myself this January. My legs hurt when I walk up and down the stairs, but it’s worth it for the way it makes me feel. Plus, it helps me sleep at night.
Prioritising sleep has become a main event in my life. It makes me less ratty. It makes me more productive. It makes me feel good. And being honest, I love a good sleep more than most things in this world. The recharge is just second to none.
The bottom line, folks. Here it is: when we invest our time into doing things that make us feel good, our heart and mind thanks us for it. Weird, that.
I’ve used the word ‘comparison’ once already, and she’s coming out again Diana Ross-style (this time, for good - I promise).
Whenever I’m feeling a little anxious, or in a deep-pit of overthinking, I always remind myself how it could be worse. That at least I’m not:
Doing a skills test on Masterchef;
Running cross country;
Performing open-heart surgery;
Losing on a high-stake bet; or
A worm (even though my boyfriend swears he’d still love me if I was).
And it puts things into perspective for me.
Sometimes I struggle to rationalise my thoughts. I suppose that I’m being silly. That my feelings are invalid. That I’m overreacting. That there’s something wrong for me to have this cloud of impending doom hover over me in short seasons.
But then I remember that I’ve got to surround myself with people that justify my feelings.
The people that make me feel whole. Make me feel safe. Make me feel listened to. Make me feel that I’m lucky to be living this life. My life.
And if you’re ever stuck on who that person is? I’m here. I’m a message away. As a close friend. An acquaintance. Or just someone.
Otherwise, close loved ones and trained professionals are out there ready to listen.
You’re not alone. I promise.
Hannah x