the bravest thing

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is get dressed and go to work. In the midst of stomach-churning anxiety, fear, and self-doubt, the simple act of facing a new day feels heroic. That’s where I’m at today; just getting out of bed proved difficult. For the millions of others who daily battle an invisible enemy, my struggle is a familiar one, one that they face every morning. It’s not a broken arm, a scraped knee, or any other sort of visible ailment, but trust me, in the isolating darkness that envelops me every single morning, it feels very real.

But life goes on. My choice is either to lay in bed with the covers pulled over my head, frightened and alone, or to place one cautious foot after the other on the cold bedroom floor and stand up.  Today I chose to get up, to stabilize my breathe, to get dressed and go to work. I recall my list of things to help me feel better: drinking tea, breathing deeply, dressing warmly. Instead of trying to reason my way out of the sensations in my body, I try to focus on other things: the sunlight as I walk to my moto, the warmth of my coffee mug in my hand, the scratchy comfort of my wool sweater. Because one thing I know about my anxiety is that I can’t fight it head on. Like any bully, it feeds on attention and only grows more powerful when I try to argue with it.

Sometimes I forget and I try to analyze my thoughts, find logical responses, question why I feel this way. The result is always the same; spiraling thoughts of self-loathing, feeling trapped, and more than anything, the overwhelming desire to run, run from the situation, from my body, from my brain.

When faced with danger, humans typically react in three ways: fight, flight, or freezing. I’m a flighter. And because of the anxiety that has followed me like the stench of a stale cigarette for the better part of eight years, my brain perceives ordinary situations as dangerous, even when they’re not.

Understanding why my brain and body react the way they do helps, but only to a certain extent. Telling myself, “this is just a physiological reaction with no basis in reality” in the middle of a panic attack doesn’t make the sensations and the fear vanish, but it does provide a starting point in my journey to healing and wholeness.

Because I’m not going to let it win.

Because even though I’m a flighter, I’m fighting this battle.

Because I deserve to life a life full of happiness, not fear.