I am not my #anxiety

I love how writing and writers evolve over time. I can look at my own writing and see how I have found my own voice through different creative outlets. I started writing “books” when I was five or six — as time went on, I really enjoyed all of my writing assignments at school. I created musical magazines for extra credit for piano. I made book jackets for my future books. I started on my first real book when I was 13 — it was a mystery with some drama and law thrown in.

Blame it on all of the Grisham I was reading at the time. 

I had an incredible writing teacher in high school named Mrs. Falk who encouraged me in my writing, and I think my positive experiences with writing and English in high school steered me towards journalism and English lit in college. When college rolled around, I started blogging in earnest (remember Livejournal?), and then started a few new books. These days I have the chance to write a fair amount for work and I have my blog here. I’m convinced that I’ll devote time to actually finishing one of my books next year.

So I stand at this point where I’m torn about my blog and where I want it to go. What am I writing for? What is the goal here? How do I shape this so it’s not the ramblings of one person? Is it okay to have such wide-ranging subjects without some sort of cohesive thread?

Overthinking it, I know.

I love reading other blogs, and what drives me to them are the stories. One that I stumbled upon a few years ago was Enjoying the Small Things, written by a woman who found out at the birth of her second child that her daughter had Down syndrome. She wrestles with this for her own blog —do I let this thing, this diagnosis consume me, my family, and the words that I share with you on this blog?

It was inspiring to watch her, through her words, grapple with the very thing that I face now. How much to I share? Can I be honest or is it too dangerous? How much do I let this define me?

It’s been a life-shaking few years — a non-pleasant (is there another kind?) divorce and then the anxiety disorder. But what I learned from the first set of experiences that I have applied this time around is that hiding and not speaking your truth are so dangerous to you and your relationships.

I’m not saying that it is fun to talk about anxiety. It’s anxiety-provoking, actually. At some point, though, if I had to smile and nod and say, “Everything is just fine, thanks!” with a fake smile one more time I was going to scream. Telling everyone you meet about your biggest struggle? Probably not ideal. But not opening up to close friends and family? It’s lonely.

When I first decided that I was going through with the divorce, I was filled with shame. Shame, as Brene Brown says, is that feeling that I am bad, as opposed to guilt, the feeling where you say, I did something bad. The latter motivates — the former crushes you.

So, I thought, I’m getting divorced. But it was more than that. I was so ashamed. I felt like such a failure. I retracted into myself. I lost friends. I left my church community (and felt really rejected and forgotten because of it). I had plenty of awkward moments as people found out, even though I had practiced different ways to respond. I went through the process of changing my name again. 

It was awful. Awful. It wasn’t cancer, don’t get me wrong. But I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Ever.

When I look back on it, though, I felt best when I was being authentic. Whether it was standing up for myself or just graciously redirecting an inquiry, I was happy when I felt like I could be me. My family and my true friends never faltered and they let me be who I was. 

I am inspired by people who blog about mental health and mental illness. Upon further reflection, though, I don’t think that is my calling. Maybe this will be with me all of my life, but I am convinced that I am not my anxiety. It is not what defines me, just as I came to realize that going through something as life-altering as divorce would not be the center of my story. Not if I didn’t want it to be. Not if I could pick myself up and keep going.

And because it's front and center in my life right now, it will be here. This blog will be, if nothing else, the authentic me — diverse, optimistic, reflective, and sarcastic. Disjointed, perhaps. But me. 

And ETST, the blog I still follow? The author still mentions Down syndrome from time to time, but, like my anxiety, it’s clear that it doesn’t define her daughter or their family. They are just a family — messy, fun, and human.

People are complex, including yours truly. I hope you’ll stick with me through the simple and complex times because I do love this blog as a writing outlet. It brings me too much joy to give it up! 

xo,

Sarah

P.S. If you really like reading, you can sign up to read my book as I write it. Talk about anxiety — giving your writing for others to read is like being asked to play a Chopin waltz at a party. OH THE PRESSURE.

P.P.S. Tonight we're decorating for Christmas -- a tradition in my family. Once the turkey is off of the table, it is okay to start decorating for Christmas. The power went off last night, so I'm a day behind.

P.P.P.S. FLORIDA! S is editing all of the photos from our 11-day trip -- maybe I'll even have a travel blog by the end of this long weekend!

At the China Pavilion in Epcot.