Strong is Fighting

"Strong is fighting! It's hard, and it's painful, and it's every day. It's what we have to do. And we can do it together." ~ Buffy Summers (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Season 3, Episode 10, "Amends")

Much of my last six months have have been plagued by one single question: "Why the h*** can't I manage to get my s*** together?" Now, I'm not the person who generally throws profanity around (even semi-censored profanity), but in six months I literally haven't been able to come up with a non-profanity phrasing that invokes the same level of emphasis and frustration. I've been beyond frustrated with myself - because when I look at the facts, I should be happy and thriving. I got a job teaching that, while not perfect, is in the content area and age group that I like and in a district that supports the arts and positively supports growth of young teachers. I didn't have to go through the stress of moving. In under a year's time I've found two separate groups of people that I value and trust enough to call "family." Each time another positive piece of the puzzle gets filled, I think to myself, "This is it. This is going to be the time that I can be a consistently functional human being, that I'm going to manage anxiety well enough that people don't see its negative effects, that I'm going to thrive." That feeling lasts for a week or two, occasionally longer, and then it all falls apart.
I finally admitted all this at my last therapist appointment. Her solution? Turn off the inner critic. Practice some self-compassion. I didn't really even know how to react to her suggestion. I mostly nodded and outwardly agreed because I'm a people-pleaser (because conflict is scary and to be avoided). But the suggestion that I should cut myself some slack seemed to be saying that I should just be in denial about how hopelessly flawed I am. Meanwhile, every day browsing social media or other areas of the internet, I'm reminded about how much older generations can't stand Millenials who can't just pull up their big-kid pants and adult already. I'm reminded every time that I share my fears about my job hunt that I chose to teach a subject that often gets cut or only offers part-time positions, and I'm really limiting myself by not being willing to teach in an urban or rural setting. More often than not, everywhere I turn, it feels like I'm being told that if things aren't coming together in my life, it's my own fault - that I am flawed, that I am a horrible person. If I have to live in a world that doesn't have compassion for me when I can't manage to get my act together, why should I have compassion for myself?
I was diagnosed with Social Anxiety Disorder about 7 years ago, and most days, I feel like I'm worse off than I was back then. Back then, I still excelled at my schoolwork. My first year of teaching, I consistently cooked real meals for myself. I didn't always get adequate sleep, but I did more then than I do now - and I was generally able to sleep through the night. I took my dog on multiple decent-length walks every day. I got myself out running. I was able to share my anxiety issues with my colleagues so that I could have them briefly cover a class for me when I had a panic attack. And while I had panic attacks on stressful days or through stressful stretches of the year, they weren't a completely regular occurrence. 7 years later, 6 years with the same therapist, and at least half a dozen different medications (not to mention dosage adjustments) later, and most days I feel like I've gone backward. I spend half my days living off chips, chocolate, and jelly beans. I stay up late, and when I do sleep, it's plagued by stress dreams. My dog is lucky to make it down the block, and I'm certainly not exercising regularly. And at least a couple of times a week, I have multiple panic attacks before I make it out of the house in the morning. Most of the time it feels like for every step I take forward, I fall ten steps back, and it leaves me feel like a failure of a human being. It makes me want to give up trying to get better.

"Strong is fighting! It's hard, and it's painful, and it's every day. It's what we have to do. And we can do it together." ~ Buffy Summers (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Season 3, Episode 10, "Amends")

Over the last month or so I've posted on Facebook a lot about my daily anxiety battles - the days I triumph and the days that I struggle. Given the number of new Facebook friends I have, it's one of the scariest things I've ever done. But when I sent the first couple of friend requests that spread to many other requests going both directions, I did so with one thought in mind: "I value you. I trust you. I'm ready to share this flawed part of me, the real and the raw. I'm willing to let you be a part of this journey with me if you're willing to join me." (Given, there may have been a "Here's hoping I don't scare you off" tagged onto that a few times - okay, most times). So I keep posting the daily battles (maybe too much sometimes). Even with all the great support I've received through that time, anxiety brain still hangs out in the background, telling me that these people didn't know what they were signing up for, that the more broken parts of me they see, the more likely they'll run away. Thankfully, many of the same people that anxiety brain says are going to abandon me are the ones who keep jumping back in as reinforcements in the fight. I just need reminders of that sometimes.
So I started a project. I started taking pieces of those Facebook comments and messages and writing them down to remind myself that I am worthy, that I am valued, that I am loved. I took the ones not just from recent days but from years back (or, at least, I'm gradually working backwards). And I ran across one that I'd forgotten about:

"Just wanted you to know that you are not alone! Anxiety is chronic, it cannot be cured, but it certainly can be managed. Stay strong!!!!!!"

It came from someone who deals with anxiety themselves and has been working to manage it for more years than I have. And it reminded me of something - anxiety doesn't go away. I mean, I know I try to convey that to other people all the time - but somewhere along the line, I forgot to tell myself that. Because no matter how many things are going right, anxiety will always be hanging out in the background. It's not pessimism - it's a reality. I will probably be battling anxiety most every day for the rest of my life. There is no cure, only management.
As depressing as that probably sounds, it was in that reminder that I found relief. It took off a lot of the pressure I'd been putting on myself. There may come a day when I manage anxiety well enough to pass as a normal person again, and to even function at a normal person level again, but even then it will almost certainly be with the daily battle against anxiety brain. And that's okay. Everyone has their own crud to deal with through life, and this is mine. There will be some days where anxiety brain is quieter and less persistent, others that its voice will be loud and constant. Some days I'll spend with a body in fight-or-flight mode, and others that physical symptoms will take up only brief moments. Some days I'll be able to fight it on my own by doing things like literally yelling "Anxiety brain, shut up!" (this may or may not have happened recently, with an emphasis on the may), and others I may need some extra help from the support system that I've built. There will be highs, and there will be lows, but what matters is that I keep battling.
Suddenly, that self-compassion made more sense. Because when my therapist told me to to turn off the inner critic, she told me that I should instead ask the question: "Even if I'm not where I want to be yet, what steps am I taking to get there?" The first thing that my therapist pointed out was that even through some rough stretches, I've managed to continue working when only 3 years ago I was on a long-term medical leave. I'll add to her thoughts that in my job, I've gotten picky about what positions I'll apply for and/or accept, but it's kept me working the most functionally that I have since my first year of teaching, and it wasn't that long ago that a hastily-accepted job offer accepted in desperation left me feeling so awful that self-harm seemed like a better option than showing up at work (which was how a 1-month medical leave turned into a 7-month medical leave on the day that I was originally supposed to return to work).
And my successes stretch beyond work. Not that long ago, I cooked a full meal for myself for the first time in over a year. I hit my Fitbit 3-day activity goal independently without relying on multiple days of choreography rehearsals. I've not backed out of social gatherings even in the face of high anxiety and panic attacks. And recently when someone caught me post-panic-attack and reached out and offered to help, I was able to share enough about what was freaking me out that they could find a constructive way to help - and I accepted the help on top of it. I've been consistently sharing my anxiety struggles on Facebook (because silence perpetuates stigma), even though it's one of the scariest things I've ever done, and even though I usually want to delete what I post within moments of hitting "share," I leave it there for people to see and read (at least 90% of the time, anyway).
Not that long ago I wrote another post about making progress - and I absolutely was - but when I wrote it I'd forgotten something: Managing anxiety isn't an uphill battle that you fight until you reach the peak and then get to relax. It's an endless roller coaster filled with twists and turns and hills and valleys - some in the light of day where you can see enough to know what to expect, and others in dark tunnels where you don't know what's coming next. Managing anxiety is about learning to handle all of those things. It's a battle. It's every day. It's hard and it's painful. But it's what I'm willing to do and keep doing. And I'm learning to lean on others to help me. Because over the last few years I've at least gotten tastes of what it feels like to fully manage anxiety - and it's so worth it.