Embracing my anxiety

Why am I still embarrassed that I suffer from anxiety?

by Georgina Price

I think I managed to get through the first 19 years of my life believing my thoughts were normal and the ‘irrational’ fears and phobias that I managed to suppress on a daily basis were shared by everyone. It wasn’t until University that I experienced my first anxiety attack, induced by a horribly drunken freshers month and probably the realisation that I was in a different city, in a flat I had never been in before and with people I barely knew. At university, you are thrown in and out of every social situation imaginable and wanting to keep up a certain perception of myself, I adhered to the unwritten rules: I never spoke about my anxiety, I probably didn't even address it as anxiety and managed to laugh off the first episode as a result of heavy drinking. Anxiety and depression weren’t spoken about during that time, the world hadn’t developed to the place it is now, people weren’t coming forward, out of the woodwork, admitting they were suffering and that they shouldn’t have to hide it.

Fast forward seven years and we are very much in a progressive and understanding world. So the question is, why do I still feel embarrassed that I suffer from anxiety? It’s upsetting because I feel as though I’m cheating those who suffer but openly admit it and talk about it, but this is a real feeling of embarrassment and one that I am determined to work through. So… bear with me while I write this out.

My dad got himself into a pretty sticky situation last year and ended up having quite a severe stroke. Credit where credit is due, he bounced back pretty damn quickly and—as he always has—put on a stiff upper lip and didn’t let any of it get in his way. Now without pointing fingers and saying ‘Dad, it’s all your fault’, my anxiety really ramped up another notch after he got sick. I couldn’t leave the house, I quit my job, I moved back in with my parents (it was only temporary).

No longer did I feel like the confident, loud, sometimes garrulous young women I knew but instead I wanted to hide in bed, crippled with this feeling that I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get out of the house, unable to pull myself out of it.

I count myself as very fortunate that I have good people around me; my partner, best friend and family were incredibly supportive and almost coaxed me ‘back to life’ despite my feeling that I was being an additional burden considering what my dad was going through. A year on and while my anxiety does affect me in my everyday life, the getting out of bed is easier, the socialising is easier, the breathing is easier. So why, why, why do I feel like I still get judged for feeling like this? Is it because I tried to suppress my anxiety for years and believed there was nothing wrong? Is it because last year all happened at once and I’m embarrassed that I reacted like that? I’m unsure.

Yes, I have anxiety. Yes, sometimes I feel like I can’t move in crowds, or on a tube platform or sometimes it creeps up when I’m on the train—yes, the same train I have been catching every day for the last two years. I’ve heard that routine helps anxiety. Sometimes it makes mine worse. All I have to do is remind myself that my anxiety does not consume me. It doesn’t rule my life. It doesn’t define me. It is a part of me, and always will be, but it shouldn’t embarrass me.

I recently had dinner with a very dear friend of mine. We’ve been friends for years, we met when we were 17 and I’m very lucky he is still in my life now. He suffers from the same crippling anxiety as me and, like me, has waves of feeling fine and then boom! It hits. We hadn’t really spoken about our heads in such depth before he made me realise and understand just how important it is that we talk. We admit and we accept that this is us. We spent the meal laughing and crying and proclaiming how bloody annoying it is but should never be ignored when it has such an effect on us.

For me, I really think that this is the most important thing with my anxiety. I need to talk about it and not be embarrassed about it. I need to not try and bury it and pretend I’m fine. I can be the same person—confident and garrulous—but I can also have those moments where I do just need to take a step back, breathe and paint a few walls in my flat.

It’s a massive struggle for me that people with mental health problems are still looked at in a different light. Despite all the good people are doing in trying to change that, there is a fundamental problem with recognising that just because people struggle with certain issues they shouldn’t be seen as flawed? But then I have to ask myself the question: am I doing enough in my own personal life and circles to make sure the people around me don’t look at me in that way? As they say—it only takes one.

So, I have two choices. I can either keep being embarrassed that I suffer from mental health issues and keep living in a world of semi-denial in the hope that this is going to magically disappear. Ashamed to admit I suffer from any problems whatsoever (Lord above—a perfect person! Who would have thought it?!)

Or I have another choice. I write this article. I admit to myself and to whoever who reads this that sometimes I do feel anxious, sometimes I can’t breathe. Sometimes it takes me a while to separate the reality from the subconscious. I have anxiety. And that is okay. It is okay not to be okay. I will not be embarrassed. ■