Today I want to talk about the things I DON’T do when anxious. These are things I used to do as a matter of course, but have left behind in recovery. They are no longer necessary for me because recovery taught me that they were never necessary.
Things I DON’T DO when anxious:
I don’t immediately declare an emergency to anyone within earshot. When I was stuck and struggling, my default reaction to a flash of anxiety or fear triggered by thoughts or sensations would be to speak my fear out loud. I had my safe people that I really believed needed to know that I was suddenly feeling “weird” or that “my anxiety is going through the roof”. I would often describe my current set of symptoms in great detail so as to explain clearly why I needed to talk about them and be so afraid of them. I don’t do this any more. I rarely tell anyone that I’m anxious because why should I?
I don’t begin to instantly try to soothe myself. There was a time that I would immediately start to breathe in a special way or attempt to meditate so I could “calm down” quickly. I was the king of soothing through temperature. I would go open the window and stick my head out into the winter air, or crank up the air conditioner and a fan and stand in front of that. I would also launch into a pretty impressive array of little tics and body language rituals that I somehow associated with fighting anxiety or calming down. I still haven’t figured out how pulling on my ear was supposed to save me from certain doom. But I don’t do this any more so I don’t have to figure that out.
I don’t run to my safe places. I would head immediately for my bedroom, the bathroom, or my mother’s sofa when anxious. Those were my go-to spots. If I was out when anxiety struck, my entire reason for being would immediately revolve around moving closer to those spots as quickly as possible, or trying to simulate those spots if that was not possible. This was really disruptive in my life (it’s part of what created agoraphobia) and was completely teaching myself that I HAD to be home and in my comfort spots in order to be OK. Man was my brain wrong about that. I don’t do that any more. When I get anxious, I just get anxious wherever I am at the moment and it plays out without having to “go” anywhere in particular to feel better.
I don’t treat myself like I am made of glass and about to shatter. This was a big one. I developed the bad habit of interpreting anxiety symptoms as signs of fragility, and interpreting catastrophic thoughts as predictions of the future. Naturally, I began to treat myself like I was about to shatter into a million pieces. I would walk slowly and stand up very slowly. I would stay clear of loud noises or bright lights, try not to eat things that might make me feel different, and I was very engaged in the process of not letting my heart beat too fast because …. no! Then I would rest, rest, rest, rest because fragile people need plenty of rest, right? Much of life was roped off and placed into the “too much” section. I was literally acting as of I was made of crystal and always on the edge of breaking. I don’t do that any more. Kinda the opposite, but that’s not good either and that’s a topic for another time.
I don’t try to find total assurance that I will be OK. This was a HUGE problem for me. All the other stuff I’m talking about really speaks to this need to guarantee my safety and control outcomes. I tried to figure EVERYTHING out including the number of heartbeats I had been allotted in my lifespan, the nature of reality and existence, and death. Have you ever tried to figure out death? You can’t. But still, I tried and tried and tried and it really did make things worse for me on so many levels. I don’t do that any more. I am “sure enough” (credit: Sally Winston) about life now, which is the default state for a non-disordered person. I don’t pretend that bad things don’t or can’t happen, but my risk assessment math is FAR more accurate now than it was back then and I could not be happier about that.
Again, I can keep going for pages and pages, but you get the idea.
The things a non-disordered person does NOT do are almost as important as the things they are doing when it comes to understanding the difference between disordered and non-disordered. I’m guessing you can relate to at least some of this. And if you find yourself thinking that there is no possible way you can stop doing these things because … IT FEELS … I used to base all my actions on how it felt too. But now I don’t, and my life is way better than it used to be.
Think about that. From your perspective I may be living like some kind of daredevil thrill-seeker on the edge of ruin. But here I am, doing just fine. What does that tell you about the nature of disordered anxiety?
168. Things I DON'T DO When Anxious