One Panic Attack at a Time

Photo by  mahyar tehrani  on  Unsplash I have written this and rewritten this. I just don’t like telling this story. It makes me feel dirty, stupid, and worthless. Let’s not forget ashamed, because I’m rooting for all those women who stand up for themselves – all while I’m sitting back and being a coward. We are in the days of #MeToo. I’ve written about this before . I have my stories, as do most women I know. Mine aren’t as bad as some, though I’ve learned that every woman’s story of sexual harassment or assault is valid, no matter the extent. I’ve dealt with these situations since high school and a boy on my bus made comments about my breasts often. Then later in high school another boy actually grabbed my breast one night at work. I did nothing. I laughed it off, changed the subject, and never mentioned it again. Decades later, I still handle those situations the same. All those people who say that women who wait years to say something shouldn’t be taken seriousl

Photo by  Matthew Fassnacht  on  Unsplash   I think everyone carries anxieties from past relationships into future relationships. It’s how we evolve and grow. But at some point, we have to figure out the line between protecting ourselves from getting hurt and preventing ourselves from being happy. Some people are afraid of letting down their guard and entering in to new relationships, out of fear of being hurt again. I’m not one of those people, though I do see where they are coming from. I have no problem entering new relationships – my problem is staying.   I’ve often jokingly referred to myself as The Girl Who Ran. At the first sign of problems, I flee. I grew up with my parents fighting often, and I swore I wouldn’t live that way again. Okay, so it’s not instant fleeing – but it doesn’t take long before I decide the fighting will probably never end, and I need to get the heck out of dodge.   Unfortunately there have been times I didn’t flee fast enough and thin

Photo by  MMPR  on  Unsplash Anxiety is, once again, kicking my ass. I have a crazy busy week, and all I want is to hide in bed. I work every day this week and have plans in the evening every day. Two of those evenings are Cub Scout events for my son, and every time I think about it I start crying. He is loving the Cub Scouts. I am dreading every moment. The meetings are absolute hell. There are kids running around screaming in a church gym, and it’s sensory overload. They discuss upcoming events, and I want to cry because I desperately don’t want to go to any of them because I’m terrified of all the human interaction. They’re doing popcorn sales and I don’t want to go to any of the sale events because THERE ARE PEOPLE THERE, but not going means my son misses out on earning a badge. Thursday is the homecoming parade that the Scouts are riding in, and I typically avoid parades because they’re loud and there are so many people and so much traffic when you leave and what if

Today's guest post was written by someone I had the pleasure of meeting very recently. I love the way he describes invisible anxiety - it's not always shaking and hyperventilating. So often we look perfectly calm, but inside we're falling apart. Enjoy!    When you have high-functioning anxiety, the world is a battlefield that only you can see. You’re at war with yourself and the world around you, yet no one else notices. As someone with high-functioning anxiety, I’m constantly told that I can’t possibly be sick because I still function perfectly fine in the world. I have a job, I go to school, I even do some extracurricular activities. Sounds like a person who’s perfectly fine, right? Wrong. Think of my outside appearance as a mask that I put on to hide what’s underneath - what’s inside. The thoughts inside my head; constantly telling me that I’m a failure, that I’m not good enough. On the inside, I’m screaming. On the inside, I’m trying my absolute hardest to