anxiety.

It's fear. 
It's anger. 
It's upset tummies and racing heartbeats. 

It's anxiety. 


Anxiety gets me every single time. It seems to overtake me as quickly and mightily as an avalanche of wet BC snow, sliding down a set of vaseline greased marbles on a steep sheet of ice. 
And as stunned as I might seem, I always feel it building. 

Oh yes, the low rumblings, creeping their way into my stomach; 
the hummingbird wings beating in my chest where my heart once was; 
breath... short... lump in throat... inevitable tears where an appropriate response to such seemingly trivial matters should go. 


I seem to have missed some important lessons in my life — like, when I was supposed to tell people how they made me feel, and when they were hurting me. I missed the foundational class of how to express and stick up for myself, without lashing out. Somewhere along the way, I learned that putting other people first, out of love, meant that you were their doormat. 

I was never taught to stick up for myself, out of love. 




A few years back, I finally started the counselling that I knew I'd needed to help me deal with my unresolved issues. It was incredibly helpful to know that, even when I was being completely unreasonable and over-sensitive, my feelings were real and valid. 
I had licence to tell people how they were making me feel. 

Unfortunately, it seemed that, whenever I tried this perfectly legitimate course of action, friendships became tense, I was told off, I wasn't taken seriously. This made for awkward interactions, and, well...


anxiety.




What a tricky little cycle.

What a lonely place to be.

This isn't what God intended.