the age of anxiety

      I’ve lived with anxiety all my life even though I’ve never been officially diagnosed with it. Anxiety just wasn’t a thing when I was a child, even though I was quite aware of it. I kept it to myself. I have taken medication a few times, but as an adult, I’ve dealt with it organically. I started running in my twenties and discovered endorphins are a great antidote to feeling anxious. I still exercise regularly.

      A little later in life, I adopted yoga and meditation, which have been incredibly helpful over the years. I’ve also learned to do deep breathing when I panic. 

      But despite those strategies, I still deal with those uncomfortable feelings, especially when I’m in a situation where I don’t have control. Yes, that describes most of life, doesn’t it?

      Many situations trigger my anxiety. We are currently in negotiations over the sale of our house. And we will soon be moving into a new smaller house. 

      But until that happens, my anxiety is a constant unwelcome companion, the familiar dread sabotaging my stomach and stealing my sleep. I’ve often envisioned my anxiety as some sort of being, so I was gratified to see it portrayed as a character in the recent movie “Inside Out 2.” …

      Looking back, I clearly remember several situations growing up where I essentially had panic attacks. In kindergarten, I got off the bus at the wrong stop. I found my way home, but I still remember feeling panicked. And in 8th grade at a new, much larger school, I was anxious because I thought a large, tough guy was following me down the hall. Anxiety can play some mean games with one’s emotions and head. 

      It seems that I come by this anxiety naturally. I realized as an adult that my mother suffered from anxiety, again, undiagnosed. 

      She also had mild claustrophobia, which is, in fact, a kind of anxiety disorder. I didn’t understand that at the time, but I empathized.

      So, maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise when I had my first bout of claustrophobia, in my twenties, getting on a crowded elevator after the bicentennial celebration in Washington, DC. To this day, I cannot be at the back of a crowded elevator. 

      I’ve had other unfortunate bouts of claustrophobia. On a trip to Florence, Italy, we had tickets to climb to the top of the Duomo for the wonderful view. As I started climbing the narrow, dark, dank staircase, I felt visceral panic. I simply could not go on and had to leave as quickly as possible. My unfortunate but compassionate husband helped me exit and then found us tickets to another part of the area—sans stairs and view but still enjoyable.  

      One of my triggers is getting an MRI, which I’ve had to do for recurring medical conditions. The first time I tried it without medication, I freaked out and had to leave. From then on, I always took Valium or Xanax, prescribed for those events. 

      Lately, though, as a result of yoga and meditation training, I can breathe my way through an MRI without medication. Few things in life have made me feel so victorious and strong as conquering that particular trigger. (I can practically see the little anxiety character on the floor, defeated!)

      I don’t love the physical and mental feelings of anxiety, but I know they will pass when life settles down. So—I breathe deeply, do yoga and meditate, read a novel and go help with the grandkids. That little character on my shoulder? I’ve learned to live with it.