When your anxiety gives you anxiety

Anxiety is a fickle beast. It bows its head to you in an aggressive posture, reminding you of the dangers that curl around its horns, but then it waits. 

I’m a perfectionist by nature. Everything I do, I want to do as best as possible. But I can often forget that in that quest, I haven’t always read all the instruction manuals. I skip levels without completing the challenges that I’ll need to complete a task later on. I’m in a constant back and forth between years, worlds, and self accomplishment. What I can do is dependent not on my stubbornness, but my experience.

Recently, I have been navigating different relationships. Trying to understand them. Trying not to isolate them. Trying to see the bigger picture surrounding me. I don’t understand how romantic love can tangle itself into the web of my heart, crisscrossing strings with anxiety.

I need to take a step back from it to see. And ironically, it was while at the gas station today, that I began to think about it and gain clarity. At one point in my life, I felt terribly alone. Isolated, depressed, I believed that I couldn’t be understood. It left me feeling anxious all the time, and it immobilized me in many of my relationships, both to people and to places or events.

Buddhist philosophy busted through that one day, in the way it so ordinarily does. All Life Is Suffering. We all suffer. Yes, this was the simplest concept, but the book I was reading at the time broke it down further. It went on to remind me that it is impossible for us to be alone, and that the more time we spend trying to be “individual”, the more time we spend in conflict and isolation. Once we melt those fictional barriers, we begin to find harmony.

In my recent relationships, I have been working on the concept of Relationship Anarchy. (I will link to a more in depth a blog post about this concept soon.) Essentially, I am trying to rewire society’s idea of conditional love, and how the best thing we can do is find “The One”, our mate, our spouse, our soulmate. I instead, see possibility and unconditional love in all my relationships, no matter what form they take. But while navigating this, I got bumped a bit off track by this particularly intense connection. Anxiety set in.

The anxiety I was having sent me both back in time, and forwards in time. Looking back, I was recalling past connections ,and the failures that eclipsed them into unhealthy situations. Forwards, I was thinking about how I wanted to be: the best at communicating, completely secure, and totally self aware. Black and white, dark and light, I found my current anxieties effected by past anxieties, and anxieties that I imagined I would need to battle in the future.

I forgot where I was.

I am loved. I have lovers, friends, and family that care for me and support me. I have stability in my home, my dog, and my work environment. I have battled demons or dragons,  or whatever you want to call them, and I have always landed on my feet. People see me as someone who is well put together. While I am not always sure of that, I can understand the perception.

I am not the best communicator in the world, and a big part of me knows I need to remember to be more still, more quiet. But I do know how to take space for myself. I do know how to feed myself, and I am learning to ask for help. I do know how to recognize when something doesn’t feel right, and I do know that good things come out of difficult conversations.

The rush of this new fire set me off my feet a bit. It was exhilarating, yes. But I began to isolate it, and compare it to the past and to concepts of what a “future” looks like, and that’s when my anxieties kicked in. Instead I had to go back to the concept of oneness, of recognizing the energy as something that was shared.

I would rather be here and be present with what is, rather than what was or may be. I am not a perfect friend, perfect lover, perfect partner, perfect person. But I have to remember, I’m kinda rad, and for my imperfections, I have a much greater web of love, trust, and compassion around me to fill in the blanks. I cannot focus on fixing the future, I just need to be okay messing up here and now, learning, and moving on. I need to have patience. That is what will set me free from these anxieties, and allow me to enjoy what I am currently so fortunate to receive.





Feeling fictional

Am I ready to break back into the realms of fictional writing? I think I may be inching closer in that direction, though my fantasy realms are often still heavily tied into reality. Here’s something I wrote recently, and shared in an open reading. It was written on a plane sometime in June, and it needs some work, but its still to be determined whether it will develop into anything bigger. It was mostly just fun to play.


She paused as the power down screen glossed over her phone. Was there anyone who would want to know that she was about to take off? The answer was as firm as the pad of her finger on the screen, and just as undramatic:


There was a dry kind of sadness tinged in her afterthoughts, but the sense of relief was more apparent. The last person to whom she felt she owed an update never seemed to care much.

This void left space for her to write, and to process. It was in moments like these that she could conjure up the creativity that kept her flying, traveling across the globe. It wasn’t extra-ordinary.. just the luck of the times (she supposed).

The pale, slightly dirty gray of the airplane window gave way only to a more pale day outside, but she enjoyed watching the intricacies of the airport employees as they got ready for departure.

Put your mask on first, before assisting someone else.” The generic safety instructions echoed through the cabin.

She nodded, with a slight smirk. Yes, she had learned that lesson during her last major crash.

She had found a new purpose-getting things accomplished as efficiently as possible. What she could set her mind too, she could control, in a sense. It was a change from the control she had been under before.

..She still had his letter; the envelope worn on all corners, and the fold rubbed so much that the glue threatened to let go of its bond. But to her, the contents had never been revealed.

Instead, they served as a reminder of why she couldn’t turn back, and allow anyone to have that kind of access again.