Anxiety … my fickle friend! As I’m still reeling from the positive highs of what I have overcome you are always there to show me the lows of how far there it still left to go. And for that, I must thank you. (Don’t get me wrong, the celebrations and “back patting” are still in full force)
On the surface, I’ve been going about my days this week and have been pleased at the progress I’ve seen and acknowledged in my last posting. Underneath, however, there has been a battle going on. Little did I know just how apt my pondering on life and my leaning tower of life were. Whilst I was pondering a small crack, an even bigger one had formed without my realising. I knew I had to respond … but the anxious thoughts began to take hold. Every time I went to respond, something kept pulling me back. Thoughts about how I’ve been falling short of the person I should’ve been for the people who have always been so much for me. Reminders of all the times I’ve gotten these things wrong. Every time I went to communicate, that voice, the inner critic in me would pick away at every word and sentiment until there was nothing left.
Days began to pass, time in which I would have wanted to have responded but couldn’t. I grew angry, a little at myself but mostly at the anxiety that is not me (pats back). I was angry at the fact I couldn’t just pick up the phone and call someone, angry that I couldn’t go knock on a door or go to a common meeting place. I was angry at how this must appear to people I care about, that it might be hurting them, especially as the years pass by.
Ultimately l knew that anger wasn’t going to solve anything and nor was me putting myself down and eventually I got out what I wanted to say (for the most part – I’ll still question whether it was enough or “right” just a little). I know this isn’t final, that “anxiety” has no power over me, only the power I give it. I know that slowly but surely I’m giving it less power but today and this week it has had too much power still.
Alice in Welshland 