you know the feeling, when your chair tips back, and for a split second, you don't know if you are going to fall backward, or if all four feet will land and you'll be just fine?
that feeling is only supposed to last for a split second
but sometimes, for me, that feeling starts and lasts and lasts and lasts
i'm stuck in that anxious moment of extremely precarious balance
not just for a moment, but for moments, minutes, hours, even days
my breathing gets tight and shallow
my stomach clenches
my neck tightens
my shoulders tense and hold
i feel like i am on the edge of . . . of i don't know what . . .
i realized last spring that i could name this feeling - anxiety
and that i could describe this feeling - like i just did, here
and that this feeling isn't normal - i shouldn't regularly have this feeling - it should be reserved for split seconds and for traumatic events, like a phone call we hope will never happen, or investigating a scream from the backyard . . . it shouldn't happen when an everyday difficulty pops up, or for no apparent reason whatsoever . . .
i started to put this all together after ben brought it up to me - in an oh-so-kind and gentle way. he asked me some questions and shared some thoughts with me after a class he took about trauma and anxiety and their symptoms and treatments.
and once i realized that i could name this feeling, and describe it, i started to think that i can maybe get beyond it . . . maybe i can start to relegate it to the situations where it is appropriate . . . maybe by naming the feelings, the body systems, the chemical reactions and nerve impulses, by recognizing, by being recognized, by naming situations and lengths of time and relationships that are part of my past, part of my story, maybe this naming will allow me to process, to build a framework for owning, controlling, and/or riding out the anxiety.
i also talked these things over with my health practitioner. she helped me to find which foods i might need more of or less of or none at all of and which vitamins and minerals my body might need more of so that it correctly sends nerve impulses, so that my brain and systems will be more in sync within my body, and function within reality, not my perceived reality.
ben has helped me to make some changes - drastic ones (where we live, what job i am doing), and seemingly smaller ones (in my own expectations of myself, in my perception of his expectations of me).
i have changed some of how i communicate with ben and with my kids. i let them know where i'm at mentally, and i (usually) don't snap when they ask me if i'm ok or how i'm doing; i (usually) honestly, gratefully let them know. and they have changed some of how they communicate with me. because sometimes a listen is the very best medicine. sometimes the only solution, the only answer needed, is a hug or an affirmation.
and you know what? since we moved (almost exactly one year ago), since i have been working on the naming, on the changing, on the eating, on the supplementing, on the talking, on the breathing, on the good stuff - in the last year, i have only had a couple hours taken hostage by anxiety. just a couple hours of a very few days.
there is hope. there is power in the naming, in the acknowledging, in the inviting other people in. there is also power in the great love of someone recognizing and empathizing and standing by. and hope is a beautiful usher to freedom.