Don’t Say the A Word

I never really understood what it was until a couple of years ago. “It’ll pass, don't worry,” “it’s just a strange phase” I’ve been told. Okay, I guess I can call it that. So I did, for a very very long time and I regret every minute of it. That’s not to say that I have been able to “fix” myself, but I think I can say there has been some progress.

To be honest, I’m not really sure where, when, or how it began. I mean, I have a bunch of theories of when it might’ve started, but that’s the thing right? With these situations, you can’t point your finger on the calendar and say “AHAA! This was the day my misery began.” Alright, that’s pretty dramatic, but you’ll see what I’m getting at.

I used to like to think that since I grew up with one of the world’s most traditional and strictest parents, that I should be able to get away with a couple of things every now and then. Strict parents create sneaky kids, amirite? Ha, not even close in my case. If I even thought about bending the rules I lost my mind, still do till this day.

Anyways, living in a traditional household setting meant that as a female I was in charge of many chores. This meant doing everyone’s laundry, buying groceries, learning how to cook, cleaning every single surface that showed even a little sign of dust, vacuuming, taking out the trash and numerous more tasks. Whoops, I forgot to mention, I also have a brother who’s 16 about to be 17 years old. What exactly does that mean? Pretty much nothing, because I have a lot to work on if I want to be a “successful wife” one day. Which means Bryan can spend his precious time behind a computer screen playing video games all day if he wanted to!

I didn’t really complain. They told me I have a lot to be thankful for. I have food on the table, a roof over my head, and many blessings. I mean, they’re not wrong. I am extremely thankful for everything and I know I’m very fortunate. But sometimes, I wish it were just a bit easier. People always tell me that those are just the basic needs that a parent is supposed to be giving their kids regardless and it’s not really a luxury. Makes sense, but I was raised to believe otherwise. On top of everything I had going on at home, college of course tags along, and I’m pretty much broke, even with having a great job that I love!

Looking back, I can’t fully say that I have actually grown out of my shell and sometimes situations just become too overwhelming for me to handle. Again, I’m not sure how it began, because sometimes I can’t even tell my own triggers. Occasionally, I tend to fade in and out on certain memories that I know will continue to haunt me.

“Go up to the board and we’ll ask you a couple of questions as we go.” After shaking for a good 30 minutes in my seat, praying that I wouldn't get called on, I jumped as soon as I heard the mispronunciation of my name. It was already the middle of the semester and I can’t even emphasize how many times I had to correct this professor. Even though the guy refused to say it properly, that’s besides the point. I started taking really small steps on my way up to the board, not really to kill time, but because along every step I felt like I was losing my balance. Once I got up there, I refused to look up. The floor was my friend, as long as I didn't see those bulging eyes from my classmates I thought I was gonna be okay! “Look at us” it’s like he knew I was up there dying. “My guy please, what are you doing?” I kept thinking. I looked up anyways, participation was 50% of my grade and I had a scholarship to think about. Big mistake. I ran out to the bathroom as soon as I felt the nausea creeping up on me.

Unfortunately, these were one of the many times where I found myself having to excuse myself to go sit on the dirty bathroom floor for about 20 minutes until my breathing came back to reality. As soon as I stepped back into the classroom, everyone was gone. The professor greets me with, “Ya know, it doesn't matter what you have. In the real world, you’re gonna have to speak sooner or later. It’s tough out there and you will be tested.”

You might think “ahh okay, she’s just not the best at public speaking” and you’re absolutely right. I’m terrible at it. But that’s not only it.

I went into college knowing two people from my high school. I wasn’t even that close with them to be honest. It was one of those “I’ll wave hi if I see you walking down the halls” type of friendship. I didn’t mind. It was nice seeing a familiar friendly face every now and then. But if they had not approached me first, I wouldn’t be fortunate enough to be able to call them my best friends today.

They were extremely social, and I was… well… not even close to their level. They knew so many people and because of their good hearts, they felt the need to introduce me to every. single. one. of. them. Eye contact was and will always be my enemy when forming new bonds. How do you even properly introduce yourself? Or start a conversation with someone without stuttering?

Till this day, I have yet to answer that with confidence. I vividly remember getting a ton of questions asked. You know, the ones where you’re getting to know someone and they can speak about themselves. After all, I was a fresh face in the group and I wasn’t physically saying a single word, but rather taken over by racing insecure thoughts. “Do I look okay right now? I should’ve put on a bit more makeup… Or should it have been less? Why didn’t I put more effort into this bummy outfit. I look like I haven't slept in forever... I should’ve checked my hair before this.”

I hated myself for feeling this way, but I felt my palms getting sweaty and my legs shook faster and faster as time went on. I kept looking at my phone. I still had 45 minutes until my next class. Nope. I refused to wait that long. So what did I do? Obviously what had the most sense at the time. If you guessed going to sit on the dirty bathroom floor, you are absolutely right! You see, this wasn’t even a big crowd. It was actually only about 5 people (not including myself), yet it still found a way to creep up on me.

The worst times are when I least expect it or when it’s coming at the worst possible moment.

The words on my screen became extremely blurry. “Not now oh my GOD, I need to turn this in by 11:59.” It was 8:00 p.m. and I was nowhere near finished. “I don’t understand, I was doing just FINE!” I got up from my seat on the table and decided to just lay down on the couch for a few moments. “Okay BREATHE just take note of five things around you, feel four things, hear three sounds, try to smell two things, and then try to taste something. Ummmm… Okay laptop, pencil… Ummm...” After that I don’t remember much, except for my brother calling my name asking if I was okay. I said, “yeah, I’m just really tired. Ya know, finals week is hitting hard haha.” I went back to my table, chugged a Redbull and typed as fast as I could. I think that was one of the worst papers I had ever written. Fortunately, I had a very sweet professor who might’ve just taken pity on the email I wrote begging her for a last minute extension.

Now you might think, “okay she just needs to work on her time management skills and most likely from what it seems, procrastination.” Once again, I couldn’t agree more! I definitely shouldn't have been working on that paper the last day it was due. I got very lucky that time. I was able to pick myself back up from where I had last stopped typing and I even got an extension. I have come across some very understanding people in my life. But of course, not everyone seemed to completely have the motivation to want to understand, and that’s okay. However, it got me to fear having to mention it thinking that they would simply see it as a poor excuse for falling behind and not wanting to do something. I say this because I have gotten both responses. Especially from one memorable instance which I believe has impacted me the most and shaped me into who I am today.

I love my parents and I couldn’t be any more grateful for how they raised me. Like every child and parent, mistakes are constantly made. But I told myself that when it is time to have a family, and my future kids open up to me about any issues that they might be having, I would never make it seem like it’s nothing compared to what I’m dealing with, a quick fix, or not even bother to listen.

I knew I needed some type of help. I just didn’t exactly know where to go to get it. I had already done tons of research and it was looking kind of expensive. “My dad’s insurance could probably cover it.” I had prepared myself to just pour everything out to them. I can’t remember exactly how many times I might’ve rehearsed it, but I knew exactly what I needed to say. I waited for them to get home, and tried to get them to sit down. “Hold on” was repeated about 5 times before they actually made themselves comfortable. Understandable, they’re tired. I began speaking, and as soon as I did, I learned to regret it. I got interrupted several times. “HOW COME YOU DIDN’T TELL US ABOUT THIS BEFORE?” “WE DON’T EVEN GIVE YOU THAT MUCH WORK IN THE HOUSE” “YOU CHOSE TO GET A JOB” “IT’S NOT OUR FAULT YOU DON’T MANAGE YOUR TIME WELL” “YOU THINK YOU HAVE IT BAD? HA… YOU SHOULD SEE THE AMOUNT OF BILLS YOUR MOTHER AND I HAVE TO PAY” and blah blah blah.

It’s funny because as they were going off, I started to recall Charlie Brown from the Peanuts comic strip gang, and how their teacher would make funky noises as she spoke, so that’s how I chose to filter out most of that one ended conversation. But my favorite part was yet to come. They ended everything off by stating that no therapist could help me. They said they didn’t believe in them, yet knew that I wanted to be one in the long term. But in their words, it’s a waste of money and time. They made it clear that the only way I was going to be able to “fix” myself is through God’s help.

Oh yeah, on top of strict and traditional, I forgot tremendously religious. I personally feel like I am in touch with my spiritual side, and I agreed with them up to a certain point. But they said “ONLY PRAYER CAN FIX YOU.” I mean… If you say so. I did that for a while, and still continue till this day. I wish I could just say that was the end of the attacks and the end of my adventures on the dirty bathroom floor. But surprise, surprise it wasn’t.

Since I couldn’t get professional help without having to disobey my parents, I had to look for alternatives. I know trying to perform a self-diagnosis based on WebMD isn’t the most effective road to recovery. Actually, I know it’s pretty dumb, but hey? Who could blame me at that point? So, I began to kind of experiment on myself. I started by trying to learn about my triggers. This involved taking note and attempting to recall the many instances in which it has happened. It was a lot harder than I thought, especially because there were just too many moments, and I just started to feel humiliated as the details soon came along. But after many pasues, I had a pretty solid list:

Caffeine

Big groups, small groups, ah what the heck, just people in general

Public Speaking

Deadlines

Not sleeping enough

Insecurities

Not having enough time

Messing up

Spontaneousness

Overcoming fears… Trying to anyways

Loud noises

I knew I could go on forever, but at that point I was like “damn… I have a lot of issues” and I kinda tired myself out.

Weeks after that horrendous list was made I found myself trying a lot harder to find healthy ways to cope based on what my buddy Google had said. I joined the gym at Hunter and found myself going before my classes, or in between my large gaps. I even signed up to go to a planet fitness center by my house that wasn’t too convenient in location, but it was the best I could do.

It was in a very commercial area, so I guess it was well known because it was very crowded. “What the hell is this machine? Where do I even put my legs? Why are there no instructions? Oh no, that slammed way too hard. Jeez… That man is HUGE. Oh my God, please don’t look in this direction, I’m new and not strong at all… Alright, let’s try the treadmill then… NOPEEEE TOO FAST” and that is just a small description of how I had felt the first week. I didn’t even bother to change in the locker rooms, I went straight into a bathroom stall where I was safe, guarded all over, where only my feet were exposed.

As soon as I went home, I knew I wanted to get rid of all the shame I felt during my first session. I was laughing at myself at this point thinking of how ridiculous I was being. So I started using social media as a way to follow some fitness gods to learn a thing or two, and surprisingly, I learned a lot. Weeks after that I became a lot more comfortable, and woke up early every morning looking forward to my next workout. It’s a little weird to say, but I really felt like I was working out a lot of negative energy or tension? Whatever it was, it felt great.

Now that was just one approach I had taken for myself. I decided that I needed to find happiness in what I currently did in my daily routine.

On the two days off I had every week from school, I worked all day from 7:30 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. My job involved me being a middle and high school teacher’s assistant, then running regents prep during after school sessions. Unfortunately, this school struggles in providing the proper resources for their students, which understandably, only leads to a lack of motivation from them. “Don’t worry about them too much, if they give you a hard time, just know that they’ll probably drop out by the tenth grade.” Considering I worked for this woman, I couldn’t really argue with the poor choice of words that she recklessly just exposed from herself. But I was enraged. “There’s no way that this is really how the teachers thought about their students! Who are they supposed to look up to now? Or even seek guidance from when these people have this type of mentality?!”

The first few weeks were no joke. Classes were a complete disaster, and it was rare when a student actually handed in complete work for me to grade and I had no control. I kept thinking I was too soft for this job and how I would never be able to gain their respect. But I tried, little by little. I approached them, spoke to them, asked about their day, then slowly got to talking about the subject. I started conversations! I know they are younger than me, but it was some progress. “If only I had the guts to do this with people my age, and even adults.” Little by little I started getting good mornings, talking about myself without stuttering, and a bunch of hand raises asking for help. It felt great.

I was caught off guard one day during my lunch break. I had noticed that a middle school student decided to stay back instead of going to the cafeteria to eat with her classmates. For the purpose of her privacy, I am going to call her Cece. She seemed upset. Usually, when I feel down, I like to be left alone. “This isn’t about you though. Not everyone has the same needs. Go up to her.” I slowly sat down and aimed for a casual conversation. She gave me little responses, nothing about why she was upset. I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries, so I kept our talk casual.

This repeated for a couple of days, until one day she told me that she just didn’t feel smart enough to be around her classmates, so she needed somewhere else to have her lunch period. She says she stutters sometimes, gets emotional easily and refuses to participate in her classes. After a few minutes of silence, she asked me if there was any way that she could be “fixed.” At that moment I just wanted to hug her. It wasn’t in my place to tell her what to do, since I myself, have failed many times in getting the proper support for those similar needs. But I reassured her with the words that I wished I had heard from my parents. “You are always gonna be enough” “You will always have my support and help if you need it” “you are not something that needs to be fixed.” I then suggested that she should try talking to her parents, or even the school’s guidance counselor if she felt comfortable enough.

It broke my heart. I had always thought about my anxiety as something that needed to be fixed or solved in order to succeed. Such a scary word… Anxiety. I refused to say it for a very long time. I didn’t want to give myself a permanent label, I didn’t want there to be something wrong with me. I really was aiming for it to be “just a phase.” Over time, I try to absorb my own words and get myself to learn that I am not to be “fixed,” and this mindset is what has kept me at my lowest for years.

Even with my small progress there is still a lot that I don’t know about myself. The worst attacks continue to be the ones in which I have no idea what might have caused them. Every now and then I find myself thinking, “if I don’t know why this happened, then how can I fix this?” But I repeat to myself, “anxiety isn’t something you are supposed to fix, it is something you bring into the light and acknowledge that it has a presence in your life.” The truth is, this is my biggest ongoing challenge and I have yet to overcome it. I’m slowly learning to embrace the factor that has held me back for many years. I have come far in realizing my options and what I can do to give myself the support that I know I need, because even then, I refused to believe that I deserved to feel better.