I spent all day yesterday listening to the UnwindingAnxiety audiobook by Judson Brewer. It had been on my radar for a while after he was a guest on Tara Brach’s podcast, but, you know, money. I was getting desperate about my mental health though.
Anyway, Unwinding Anxiety was very helpful for me, because there’s so much woo out there when it comes to learning about mindfulness and meditation. Brewer is an MD and PhD (like the neurosurgeon who cut my head open in 2017) and there was so much science in his approach, I was darn near giddy.
I know some people prefer a more spiritual approach to these things, but that is not me. I sometimes filter through the spiritual silt for the nuggets, but when I don’t have to spend energy on that? Praise cheezus.
Let’s just say it was worth every penny of the $13 it cost me to get that book. Bonus points that I can listen from bed.
By the way, I made this wallpaper for my phone’s lock screen after listening. Feel free to save it to your phone if you think it could help. I’m much less inclined to be on social media these days, but I do still look at my screen more frequently than I’d like. Maybe this will help me create space, as they say.
Brewer is from Indianapolis, experienced IBS, and mentioned how well Western medicine handled brain tumors in chapter 20. Those random connections in some way comforted my anxious mind.
Speaking of anxiety (Because I never do that. Ha!) I am now pretty sure—after reading Brewer’s book—that what I have is generalized anxiety disorder. However, seeking an official diagnosis in a clinical setting is the last thing I need at the moment.
Just learning how my anxious brain works is progress. I think working at identifying my anxiety loops and recognizing when it’s time to place the proverbial sticks in their spokes will get me to a place where I can make a better decision about whether seeing a psychiatrist is warranted.
I’m not opposed to the idea. But money and other triggers are always a concern.
Readers, I wasn’t. This time. I just couldn’t remember the lyrics, and it bugged me.
I also caught hella side-eye from Dan for absentmindedly singing the J. G. Wentworth jingle yesterday, but clapped back immediately, “I’m not the one who watches TV all day. Why do I have to pay the price?”
Dan kept on walking. His silence a clear indicator that I had won a round.
I’m back, bitches!
I don’t know how long less-anxious me is going to stick around between episodes, but it feels good to have my mind free from anxiety’s death grip right now. It’s been a minute.
Speaking of death grips. I’ve been trying very intentionally to grip my Rollator less tightly. Now that I’m aware—thanks to my lung function testing—I’m noticing when I white knuckle the handles so hard my hands don’t register a pulse. It’s pretty much every time I stand up.
No wonder walking makes me see stars! I’ve been anxious about falling for too long.
It’s easiest for me to relax my hands, arms, and shoulders first thing in the morning, and it gets worse as my body comes online and remembers to be freaked out. It seems to be a combo of cortisol and muscle memory that trigger fight or flight once I’m coherent.
I imagine it’ll take some time to relax and exercise my way out of this paper bag. That’s okay. I can deal with hard shit when I understand it, and I am starting to understand how my anxiety works.
I had a small breakthrough while listening to a talk on addiction by Tara Brach. At first I wasn’t going to even listen to this week’s podcast because I was thinking alcohol, sex, shopping, and drugs weren’t really my problem.
But I am addicted to answers, and when I started thinking of my diagnostic side quests here lately, well, I wasn’t exactly making space for my anxiety. The first part of the talk is broad anyway. I found it very helpful.
I’m taking a break from social media. I’d already cut way back on Facebook and deleted my Twitter account, but I mean from all of it. I need to take care of myself and constantly worrying on behalf of other people—from strangers to close friends—isn’t helping me do that.
I don’t mean I’ve stopped caring about actual things, but I’ve stopped making it easy for my brain to imagine horrible scenarios I have no way of verifying.
So if you’re seeing less of me around the internet, that’s why.
It’s unfortunate I’m losing my damn mind while I need to fundraise, but whatever. Not the first time that’s happened and likely not the last. There’s probably some connection there, but it doesn’t serve me to dwell on it.
On Saturday I think it was, I listened to that Tara Brach podcast episode on Embodiment like six times. I’m finding a lot of stuff in there to ponder, helpful stuff. I think I’m chipping away at my anxiety. My IBS pain is going down too. I feel less like an overinflated kickball.
While contemplating my past traumas (two early psychological abuses) it occurred to me that the reason trying to heal from them now wasn’t working is that I didn’t need to. I had already done the work. Digging in again because I thought I needed to #MeToo my way out of a soggy paper bag was overkill. I was retraumatizing myself for no real reason.
See, I developed coping habits escaping those relationships that became habitualized. And that’s the actual problem.
For instance, while imagining a plan of action for dumping the first “I’ll kill myself if you leave me” guy (I was young and didn’t know) I would repeatedly have conversations in my head where I’d imagine how to escape the controlling and manipulation without being the impetus to someone’s suicide.
That coping mechanism worked back then, helping me build up the courage to end what was hurting me and envision a different kind of future. But now that overactive imagination is just a habit fueling my anxiety, not a creative way to choose a solution. It has me trapped in my own head.
I want to be clear that I’m not making excuses for any abusers. They are still assholes. But what I realize now, finally, is that there is no creative way to make an asshole listen—assholes can’t grow ears.
Anyway, this anxious imagining eventually translated to me obsessing about how best to describe my physical symptoms at doctors’ appointments. But by rehearsing my conversations in advance, I implicitly accepted a burden that wasn’t mine. I was losing a lot of sleep, and I mean that in the most literal way possible.
It takes energy to imagine. No wonder I’m exhausted.
