When I feel anxious, I feel guilty. When I am sad, I feel guilty. When I am overly excited about things, I feel guilty. Basically, feeling anything at all makes me feel guilty.
I always apologize for the moments of loud unrestrained joy because I feel like I become annoying to those around me. Or maybe I'm being too ridiculous, and they definitely think it's all an act. Usually I am silent in moments of depression because it feels incredibly selfish. Other people have it worse, as the saying always goes, so how could I possibly allow myself to feel this way? The anxious moments are hard to describe because I worry too much. I worry about any and everything, so naturally I worry about what people will say if I admit my anxiety. I'm fine. I'm alive. I have food and friends. What am I worried about?
It's usually other people. It's usually things far beyond my scope of control. But if I say that, will people assume I'm trying to be a savior? Will they think this, too, is all an act? Do they think I'm trying to brag or sound like a better person? Honestly. Every time.
I've made so many strides in feeling my joy out loud without feeling as guilty. Joy is monstrously contagious, and I refuse to live without acknowledging the things I love. There are so many things I love, after all. I'm an optimist because I have to be, and I won't be ashamed of being happy. I see the good in things so I won't automatically see the bad.
I shouldn't feel ashamed of being depressed or anxious, but that is something that has taken some more work for me to overcome. When the guilt for feeling each of those things sets in, it only deepens the initial emotion. A cycle.
But I am anxious right now. The current event all around the world is making life hard for so many. COVID-19. Social Distancing. Economic collapse. The man in the White House. The people around him.
I am well-aware that I am in a more fortunate position. I have a decent job that did not put me on furlough, although the workload has certainly overwhelmingly increased. I am getting paid. Many can't say that. I have health insurance. Many can't say that. I can pay all my bills. Many can't say that. While I do still have to work, I am working alone and rarely see other people. Most essential workers can't say that.
But I'm not worried about me.
I am in a constant state of panic about my family who are all at risk in one way or another. Over 60. Immuno-compromised. Essential workers. One of my sisters is a nurse. My brother-in-law works at a gas station. My parents are both over 60. I have a niece and a nephew. It's just not about me.
I'm worried about the people on the frontlines who are not only exposing themselves to the virus, but also under extreme stress to keep the world running. Essential. These people are essential to everyone's lives, and we will never be able to repay them. Every person who works in a hospital. Every person who provides food. Every person who delivers your basic living items. I'm worried about people who have lost health insurance because they've lost their jobs. What happens when they get sick? I'm worried about the older people who can't stay home. I'm worried about the "too little, too late" response from the United States government, and how that will absolutely affect every single one of us financially, mentally, politically, and existentially. I'm worried.
Every new case raises my heart rate. Every new death brings tears to my eyes. The fight for ventilators means the fight for human lives. The lack of medical protection supplies means more risk. The people saving lives are risking their own at a higher rate. It's so tough to swallow. There are so many people in positions of power who are okay saying that 200,000 deaths is fine. They say that x amount of people die from car wrecks, or diarrhea, or the flu every year so this isn't that many. But this is 200,000 on top of those x amount of people. This is 200,000 people who have families, dreams, jobs, plans. And what's their excuse if it's more than 200,000? I'll never be able to wrap my head around how numbers and statistics and votes mattered so much more than people.
Admittedly, there are a few things I'm worried about when it comes to myself. None of them are as important as those listed above, and I know, but this isn't a competition in misery. It is important I (and you) allow myself the space to acknowledge my own difficulties. This doesn't mean you only acknowledge the difficulties, but it means that in addition to pushing through and doing your best, you take some times to figure out what could be preventing that. You have to feel the bad to get better at the good.
I'm an extrovert. The absolute definition of one. I thrive off of human interaction and new experiences. I am one because that's the way my anxiety fuels me. I am a constant "go" person. My anxiety tells me to do as much as possible just to keep moving forward, especially when times get rough. Well, times are rough right now, and I feel lost most days. Going doesn't exist when there is nowhere to go. There are days when my anxiety gets the best of me.
That cues the guilt because of the "it could be worse" mantra. More guilt then cues more anxiety. I'm convinced everyone hates me because I can't see past my own anxious thoughts. I know I can, and I know I show people I can as well, but that's the thing about anxiety. It's always lying to you.
I'm working on it. Do the next right thing.
This whole situation is new and different for most of us, so it's okay if it takes you a minute to figure it out. Be patient with yourself, and be patient with others. We are better together. No one has all the answers, but we are all trying to figure it out. Of course, do what you can to help others, but also remember it's okay to ask for help. Don't ever forget that. We are better when we are connected. We feel less guilty, less selfish, less alone, and less scared when we know we are in this together.
I always apologize for the moments of loud unrestrained joy because I feel like I become annoying to those around me. Or maybe I'm being too ridiculous, and they definitely think it's all an act. Usually I am silent in moments of depression because it feels incredibly selfish. Other people have it worse, as the saying always goes, so how could I possibly allow myself to feel this way? The anxious moments are hard to describe because I worry too much. I worry about any and everything, so naturally I worry about what people will say if I admit my anxiety. I'm fine. I'm alive. I have food and friends. What am I worried about?
It's usually other people. It's usually things far beyond my scope of control. But if I say that, will people assume I'm trying to be a savior? Will they think this, too, is all an act? Do they think I'm trying to brag or sound like a better person? Honestly. Every time.
I've made so many strides in feeling my joy out loud without feeling as guilty. Joy is monstrously contagious, and I refuse to live without acknowledging the things I love. There are so many things I love, after all. I'm an optimist because I have to be, and I won't be ashamed of being happy. I see the good in things so I won't automatically see the bad.
I shouldn't feel ashamed of being depressed or anxious, but that is something that has taken some more work for me to overcome. When the guilt for feeling each of those things sets in, it only deepens the initial emotion. A cycle.
But I am anxious right now. The current event all around the world is making life hard for so many. COVID-19. Social Distancing. Economic collapse. The man in the White House. The people around him.
I am well-aware that I am in a more fortunate position. I have a decent job that did not put me on furlough, although the workload has certainly overwhelmingly increased. I am getting paid. Many can't say that. I have health insurance. Many can't say that. I can pay all my bills. Many can't say that. While I do still have to work, I am working alone and rarely see other people. Most essential workers can't say that.
But I'm not worried about me.
I am in a constant state of panic about my family who are all at risk in one way or another. Over 60. Immuno-compromised. Essential workers. One of my sisters is a nurse. My brother-in-law works at a gas station. My parents are both over 60. I have a niece and a nephew. It's just not about me.
I'm worried about the people on the frontlines who are not only exposing themselves to the virus, but also under extreme stress to keep the world running. Essential. These people are essential to everyone's lives, and we will never be able to repay them. Every person who works in a hospital. Every person who provides food. Every person who delivers your basic living items. I'm worried about people who have lost health insurance because they've lost their jobs. What happens when they get sick? I'm worried about the older people who can't stay home. I'm worried about the "too little, too late" response from the United States government, and how that will absolutely affect every single one of us financially, mentally, politically, and existentially. I'm worried.
Every new case raises my heart rate. Every new death brings tears to my eyes. The fight for ventilators means the fight for human lives. The lack of medical protection supplies means more risk. The people saving lives are risking their own at a higher rate. It's so tough to swallow. There are so many people in positions of power who are okay saying that 200,000 deaths is fine. They say that x amount of people die from car wrecks, or diarrhea, or the flu every year so this isn't that many. But this is 200,000 on top of those x amount of people. This is 200,000 people who have families, dreams, jobs, plans. And what's their excuse if it's more than 200,000? I'll never be able to wrap my head around how numbers and statistics and votes mattered so much more than people.
Admittedly, there are a few things I'm worried about when it comes to myself. None of them are as important as those listed above, and I know, but this isn't a competition in misery. It is important I (and you) allow myself the space to acknowledge my own difficulties. This doesn't mean you only acknowledge the difficulties, but it means that in addition to pushing through and doing your best, you take some times to figure out what could be preventing that. You have to feel the bad to get better at the good.
I'm an extrovert. The absolute definition of one. I thrive off of human interaction and new experiences. I am one because that's the way my anxiety fuels me. I am a constant "go" person. My anxiety tells me to do as much as possible just to keep moving forward, especially when times get rough. Well, times are rough right now, and I feel lost most days. Going doesn't exist when there is nowhere to go. There are days when my anxiety gets the best of me.
That cues the guilt because of the "it could be worse" mantra. More guilt then cues more anxiety. I'm convinced everyone hates me because I can't see past my own anxious thoughts. I know I can, and I know I show people I can as well, but that's the thing about anxiety. It's always lying to you.
I'm working on it. Do the next right thing.
This whole situation is new and different for most of us, so it's okay if it takes you a minute to figure it out. Be patient with yourself, and be patient with others. We are better together. No one has all the answers, but we are all trying to figure it out. Of course, do what you can to help others, but also remember it's okay to ask for help. Don't ever forget that. We are better when we are connected. We feel less guilty, less selfish, less alone, and less scared when we know we are in this together.
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