My many parts

"There's such a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that is why I'm such a troublesome person. If I was just the one Anne it would be ever so much more comfortable, but then it wouldn't be half so interesting." Anne of Green Gables, Lucy Maud Montgomery 

Nosy Nora is my therapist. 

She has saved my life. Multiple times. Figuratively, by providing me with tools and opportunities to say things I've never said, to talk about things I've never talked about, and to make changes in my life, and to know what it feels like to be cradled in support in a way I never was as a child. And also literally in that there have been several times since I've been seeing her when I just didn't want to be alive any more. And Nosy Nora has gotten me through. 

So it wasn't surprising when Nosy Nora had an idea for managing my chronic pain. 

I have had a headache and neck pain since August. It's been 3 1/2 months now. Sometimes it is unbearable. Sometimes it is minimal. But it is always there. Nagging at me. Throbbing. 

Nosy Nora suggested I see Hearing Henry. She said that Hearing Henry is an RMT who does Osteopathy. Who does whatnow?

I turned to Wikipedia: 

"Osteopathy is a type of alternative medicinethat emphasizes the physical manipulation of the body's muscle tissue and bones.[1] Its name derives from Ancient Greek "bone" (ὀστέον) and "disease of" (-πάθεια),[2]" 

I decided that I could live with that definition. That was one hurdle conquered. The next was that Hearing Henry was a man. I don't have very many men in my life. And the ones that I do have don't touch me. My Dad almost never touches me. The odd time he has patted me on the shoulder and it has been awkward and weird and uncomfortable. I prefer he not touch me at all. 

The only man who does touch me is my dear friend DS who is also an RMT. Going for a treatment from DS has always been comfortable, safe, and okay. And part of that is having known him for many years and having the utmost trust in him. The other part is simply knowing what a wonderful person he is. 

The idea of going to see some strange man to have him touch me on purpose was very odd for me. I wasn't scared of the touch. I didn't think that I would like it particularly. But I wasn't scared because Nosy Nora said it was okay. And besides, at that point I wanted to rip my own head off from the constant pain. 

Off I went. Scared to meet Hearing Henry. Not because he was going to touch me, but because he was going to judge me. He was going to take one look at me and decide that I was too fat. He was going to poke and prod me. After a thorough assessment, he was going to determine that my chronic pain was due to my weight. He would tell me that if I lost 100 lbs, the pain would go away. As PP says, there's no rationalizing the irrational. If I actually lost 100 lbs I would either be dead or unable to support my own head. But in my warped mind, losing 100 lbs will solve all my problems and obviously Hearing Henry would come to the same conclusion. 

Hearing Henry didn't mention my weight. And surprisingly being touched felt okay. Even more surprising was that beyond being okay, I actually liked it. It felt oddly comforting and nurturing. Not a feeling I am used to coming from a man. 

AND I got relief from my pain! I now see Hearing Henry twice a week and the treatments are my way of pain management. Much better than me begging my doctor for pain meds which she wouldn't give me anyway because of my being an addict and stuff. 

Nosy Nora and Hearing Henry are the perfect tag-team working in tandem on all my different parts. Sending support from different angles. Different sides of me. Between them, my partner DP, my CP, and my friends, I have a flood of support coming at me from all sides. 

I'm going through one of those periods where life just feels too hard. Where life seems to just throw me one curve ball after another and deciding to go to sleep forever seems like a viable solution. Part of me doesn't believe that. It's a struggle between different parts of me. 

Nosy Nora and I have talked a lot about how people are made up of different parts. And I have started talking to Hearing Henry about that as well. I think different parts of us develop in response to different experiences in our lives. As a way of coping. Not always healthfully. But coping. 

There are many, many part inside of me that make me who I am. And each part plays a role in how I respond to different situations and to the experiences of having emotions. I decided that in order to identify the purpose, motivation and development of each of my parts, it would be effective to name them and draw them. 

Here are some of my many parts. 

Hateful Harriet is the loudest of all the parts of me. She is the mean voice inside my head that tells me how stupid I am when I make a mistake. She tells me that I am ugly, and fat, and undeserving. She calls me names and is the first part to step up in response to anything that happens - even good things. She shuts down happiness and hope by telling me that I am a fraud and am unworthy. She also often shuts down my other parts. There are few parts that she likes and encourages. 

Anxious Martha is the part of me that is afraid and worried all the time. She tells me everything that is going to go wrong. For example, if I am driving and it starts to rain then she tells me that all 4 tires are going to fall off the car and then I will get hit by another car which will start a chain reaction of a 73 car collision. Or if I have a disagreement with someone then they are never going to talk to me again and they are going to get other people to stop talking to me too. She tells me I will lose my job and have nowhere to live and that I will run out of money. She tells me that everyone I love is going to die. Soon. Hateful Harriet encourages her once in awhile and other times she just tells her how stupid she is too. 

Angry April doesn't get to stick around very long. She is a knee-jerk reaction that gets sent to her room pretty quickly after she tries to express her feelings. Even though she doesn't get to talk to sort through her emotions, she's always there in the background. Festering. Waiting in her room for someone to open the door so that she can explode all at once about all the injustices that have made her angry. The door is almost always closed. 

Purging Polly pokes her head up when something feels stressful. She is convinced that throwing up and feeling empty is much better than sitting with an uncomfortable emotion. She doesn't listen to reason. She is irrational and unwilling to stop and think. She reacts swiftly before any other parts can stop her. I think she is mostly afraid. Afraid of what could happen if feelings get felt. 

Fat Fanny sits around eating. She thinks that she can numb feelings with food that is consumed without being tasted. Food without nutritional value. She and Purging Polly used to be a team. Fat Fanny has recently moved out. She barely visits anymore. Which leaves Purging Polly throwing up anything that gets eaten rather than throwing up excess food. 

Jealous Hortense is Angry April's best friend. They whisper to each other through the walls. Hateful Harriet and Jealous Hortense fight a LOT. Harriet tells her that she is so unworthy and undeserving of anything that there is no reason to feel jealous. But Hortense is pretty spunky and is able to hold her own. She sticks around a lot. 

Punishing Penelope is just plain mean. She is Hateful Harriet's right hand. She decides what the punishment will be for my stupidity, my weight, my laziness, my procrastination. My punishments include eating when I'm not hungry, not doing activities that I enjoy like walking or playing guitar, not asking for support from Nosy Nora when I need it, and poking Purging Polly to get a reaction out of her. 

Sexy Sasha is very quiet. She's there. She knows what she wants but is afraid to ask for it. She doesn't think she's worthy of attention. So she doesn't speak up much. 

Morning Myrtle is Hateful Harriet's biggest rival. She isn't around very often. But when she is, it's wonderful. Myrtle makes cups of tea and lays in bed reading. She takes a cup of tea to the park in the morning and soaks in the sun. She goes for walks along the river and notices the colours of the trees and the grass. She likes to sleep in. She buys beads to string on wire with Nosy Nora to acknowledge accomplishments. Morning Myrtle is happy. 

Motivated Mona thinks that Punishing Penelope is a pain in the ass. Mona shows up when things need to get done. She cleans the house, does the dishes, writes report cards, runs errands, and makes the phone calls that no one else will. Unfortunately, she gets tired really easily. I think she must have fibromyalgia. She runs out of steam and goes to bed for weeks at a time. 

Silent Sally sees all, hears all, knows all, and says nothing. She keeps the secrets of all the other parts. 

Scared Susan sits at Anxious Martha's feet. Martha tells her everything that is going to happen and Susan believes every word. She tries to hide from the world. She is convinced that she is going to be hurt. Repeatedly. So she cowers, protecting herself from the next blow that she knows is coming. 

Lonely Lisa was never noticed. She feels invisible. Her sadness was never acknowledged. She didn't know how to ask for help. When sadness comes now, she sits on the stairs wondering if anyone will see her. Instead of going to someone for help, she waits to see if someone will notice, figure out what's wrong, and help her to feel better. 

Needy Natalie is annoying. She has no boundaries. And no respect for other people's needs - only her own. 

Clingy Caroline is embarrassing. She desperately wants the nurturing maternal figure that she never had. So she clings to kindness and holds onto any feeling of being taken care of. She makes me feel like I'm 3 years old. 

Imaginative Anne is the part of me that identifies with Anne Shirley from Anne of Green Gables. Anne thinks all the marvellous things that I would never ever say aloud. She has a vivid imagination and uses flowery descriptive language when she thinks. And what she wants more than anything in the world is to be loved and to belong. 

Felicity the Fraud is really, really, REALLY talented. She can fake anything so convincingly that she has everyone fooled. People believe that she is good, and kind, and intelligent, and strong, and capable, and knowledgeable, and worthy. She worms her way into people's lives and hearts by tricking them into believing these false characteristics. The problem is that she can't keep up the facade forever because other parts knock her over once in awhile. She's pretty much able to pick herself up and take over again though. 

Nurturing Nora is the part of me that I can't find. The part that I WANT to find. She is the part of me who would be able to take care of all the other parts. 

She would know that what Hateful Harriet really needs is a hug. Anxious Martha needs a cup of tea. Angry April needs to be heard and told that it's okay to be angry. Purging Polly needs to be held and protected. Fat Fanny needs to be told that she is loveable. Jealous Hortense needs to be told that it's okay to have feelings about what she doesn't have and to express those feelings so that she can let them go. Punishing Penelope needs to be grounded and taught not to be a bully. Sexy Sasha needs to be invited to the party. Morning Myrtle needs to be encouraged to stick around. Motivated Mona needs to pace herself so that she doesn't burn out. Silent Sally needs to be told that she can speak. To be held while she speaks all the truths. Scared Susan needs to be held and protected and comforted. Lonely Lisa needs to be told that she is noticed and seen and that she matters. She also needs a hug. Needy Natalie needs to be told that it's okay to need other people. That no one can go through life alone. Clingy Caroline needs a big lonnnnnnngggggg squidge. She needs to be told that kindness and caring can be abundant if she is open to receiving it. Imaginative Anne needs to be told that her vivid imagination is wonderful and her use of language isn't too ridiculous to say aloud and that the world is full of kindred spirits. Felicity the Fraud needs to be told that all her characteristics are real. That no one can actually fake their entire life and their entire personality. 

Nurturing Nora is in there somewhere. She is the part that I want to find, to grow, to give strength to, to become the dominant voice. 

NOSY Nora provides me with the things that I don't know how to provide to myself. It embarrasses me. It makes Hateful Harriet and Punishing Penelope very loud. It adds fuel to their fire. CP says that if I had cancer, I wouldn't be embarrassed to need chemo. She says that at the present time, Nosy Nora is my chemo and that I don't need to feel embarrassed. 

I am trying to embrace this idea. 

My hope. My goal. Is to be able to provide these things to myself. To be able to rely on the nurturing part of myself. To be able to develop coping strategies so that I don't continually fall apart. So that I don't continually find ways to harm myself. That I develop the ability to do more than pick myself up, but to hold myself up. 

Have you ever thought about the parts that make up who you are? Have you ever thought of their motivation? Of their reason for existing? Could you name them? Can you imagine them? 

Be kind to yourself, and to all your parts. 

xoxo

...

Dance like everyone is watching

This weekend I went dancing. 

Which is odd, because I don't dance. Not anymore. 

When I was 3, I went to see the ballet for the first time. I fell in love. It was the nutcracker and Karen Kain was the principal ballerina. So of course I HAD to take ballet lessons. 

I loved those Saturday mornings so much. Dancing brought me so much joy. I wasn't very good. I had no talent and poor coordination. As my mom often told me. But man did I love dancing. In level one ballet (so I was about 5) I got to do my exam. I passed. Not with "exceptional". But it was a pass. 

After that I wasn't invited to take anymore exams. But I was passionate. I danced my heart out. I was allowed to take level 2 and 3 ballet classes. 

At the end of my level 3 year I was told that I hadn't passed even without the exam. I was devastated. I had to repeat level 3 while all my friends moved on to level 4. The only reason I survived was that I was a younger than my classmates, so repeating level 3 meant being with girls my own age. 

At the end of my second level 3 year I stopped taking ballet lessons. I just wasn't built for that style of dancing. My turnout wasn't wide enough. My point wasn't flexible enough. My achilles tendons weren't stretchy enough. And my ankles weren't strong enough to support myself in pointe shoes. 

Instead of ballet, I joined a jazz class with my best friend. That was mostly fun. It wasn't the same as ballet, but I still got to move to the music, to stretch my muscles, and to dance my heart out. 

When it was time for costumes though, the teacher measured our waists. In front of the class. And called out our measurements. In front of the class. I was an average sized girl. But I was convinced that I was fat because of many comments from family, because of my Mom's constant dieting, because of my Dad oinking at me when I ate. 

I was still 2 years away from developing anorexia, but I was incredibly self-conscious. And I was sure that my measurements were giant. I was so embarrassed. I quit at the end of that term. 

To replace jazz, I started taking tap classes. Tap was awesome. It didn't matter that I wasn't super flexible (even after 6 years of yoga). It didn't matter that I wasn't as graceful as my ballerina friends. In tap it was more about rhythm, technique, and bouncing. And also smiling. I loved loved loved tap dancing. 

In grade 8 I had an enormous crush on a grade 13 boy that I met. I was sure that I was madly in love with him. And that we were destined to be together (Oddly, he ended up marrying one of my good high school friends). 

This boy went to a school of the arts. So obviously I had to go there too. Even though he was graduating. 

I decided to major in Music Theatre. I prepared my audition and arrived at the school ready to sing my heart out. And more importantly, ready to fake my way through the dance portion of the audition. And fake it I did. I forgot the steps. But what I lacked in talent I made up for with enthusiasm and a big smile. 

Somehow I got in. I still don't understand why. 

For the next 5 years of my life, I learned singing and dancing and acting. I performed in several shows a year. And in all that time, I was dancing. Not well. But with gusto. And it brought me joy. Performing in musicals was fun and exciting. 

After graduation I didn't take anymore dance classes. However, I was of age. I discovered bars. Specifically the one gay bar in the town where I went to university. 

This bar was my happy place. 

My friends and I would dance all night on a packed dance floor. And my passion for dancing had found an outlet where remembering steps and performing was no longer necessary. This kind of dancing was better than all my years of lessons and performances. 

There were even nights where the dance floor was empty. And I didn't care. I would dance with abandon. It felt like freedom. Moving around that floor all alone without a care in the world. Pure happiness. 

And then something changed. 

My eating disorder evolved. My binging and purging followed by bouts of starvation caught up with me. I started to gain weight. Over a period of 5 years, I gained 90 pounds. My body was completely different than it had ever been before. 

My body didn't feel the same. It didn't move the same. I didn't recognize myself. I didn't know how to exist in this body. The more weight I gained the more symptomatic I became. My cycle of starve-binge-purge became more intense. Which only made my body worse. 

I stopped dancing. 

Bars became a place of discomfort. I felt like I was being seen and judged. Always. Fat people experience the world differently than thin people. It is assumed that we are lazy. That we only eat junk and fatty greasy foods. That we eat at fast food restaurants every day. We are judged. Commented on. Stared at. And often insulted right to our faces. 

Dancing meant being seen moving a body that I was not comfortable in. It meant people seeing this body moving. I felt like I wasn't allowed to dance. That I didn't have the right to take up space in the world, let alone on the dance floor. It felt as though my mere existence wasn't allowed.

It felt like everyone around me was thin and beautiful and graceful and perfect. 

So I haven't danced for a very long time. Years. Years of lacking the strength to be seen. Years of being self-conscious of this body that I still don't recognize. This body that I mistreat with my eating disorder cycle. 

Being in this body is a challenge. 

Being in a body that I hate makes me feel like it doesn't belong to me. So the idea of getting on a dance floor and moving while people are near me and seeing me causes great anxiety. It sends me into a panic. 

When I go out "dancing" with friends, I stand on the sidelines watching. Or I stand still on the dance floor so that I'm not alone. 

When I dance in front of people in this unrecognizable body, I feel exposed. I feel like I'm naked and fat and ugly. I feel as though everyone is watching me. 

So I don't dance. 

But ... I came up with a plan: I spent a few days painting about dancing, all leading up to Saturday night. 

I promised myself that I would dance. 

I had so much anxiety about it. So much panic. It meant having a few (or more) drinks. But I did it. I went out onto that dance floor and I danced. I mean I really danced. Like I did in my 20s. Like I did when I was thin. Like I did when my body was my body. Like I did when I wasn't afraid to take up space in the world.

I danced as if I deserved to be there. 

And it felt good. 

Be kind to yourself.

xoxo

...

friendship and support

i was never the kind of person who reached out for support. i was the kind of person who tucked away my troubles and pretended to the world that everything was fine. 

i was too busy taking care of everyone else and didn't have the time or energy to take care of myself. so i let my health go. i let my body go. i pushed all my emotions down inside of me and buried them tightly in the bottom of my heart, so that my heart became filled with hairline fractures. which are harder to mend than a deep single crack. 

but over the past few years i have been seeking support and finding true friendships. and discovered that, as nosy nora says, we all need each other. 

“A fine glass vase goes from treasure to trash, the moment it is broken. Fortunately, something else happens to you and me. Pick up your pieces. Then, help me gather mine.” 
― Vera Nazarian

being able to reach out for support hasn't been easy for me. it made (makes) me feel weak, and needy, and clingy. it makes me feel like i am not strong enough to face up to the world. but i am discovering that people are there to pick up your pieces and help put you back together. no one is humpty dumpty. it doesn't take all the king's horses or all the king's men to mend a broken heart, or to support a friend. (on a side note, do you realize that there is nothing in the humpty dumpty poem that says he is an egg? where did that image come from? i looked it up and wikipedia has several theories but nothing proven. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Humpty_Dumpty) picking up the pieces isn't something that you need to do on your own. the world is full of supportive people who are there to help with the shards of your life. 

“Support and encouragement are found in the most unlikely places.” 
― Raquel Cepeda

what i have discovered through this process is that support can come from places you never expected. an online support group, for example, has been a place for me to share my stories with people who understand. and these strangers offer me strength and guidance in ways i never thought possible. 

my emotional growth through this experience of writing a blog has been tantamount to a miracle. in a million years i never would have thought that his little blog would reach 25,000 page views. that strangers would email me to thank me for my writing. that friends would read my posts and tell me that they connect to my stories. being able to write about my life, my struggles, my heart ache, my successes, my happiness, my sadness, my weaknesses and my strengths ... being able to write about my life gives me strength. it makes me stronger to know that i am putting myself out there. even if it is anonymously published for my own protection - i'm not impervious to pain or embarrassment you know. 

“Friendship is born at that moment when one man says to another: "What! You too? I thought that no one but myself . . ."” 
― C.S. Lewis

i have also discovered that people have way more in common with each other than we first believe. we live with such shame and secrecy and privacy and the inability to share our stories. and it turns out that there are people in my life who have been on similar paths. and we can connect with each other and support each other in ways that no one else can. 

“You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes.” 
― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

i learned through this process of wanting to take care of myself, that you have to ask for help. and when you do, you actually get it. 

what what? 

no, really. when you ask someone to help you, they actually do. when you reach out for support you actually get support. ok, not from everyone. some people are selfish assholes and you can't change that. they aren't worth your emotional energy. but most people? most people will give you the support that you need. 

“There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.” 
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone


there are some stories that no one else can understand unless they have lived that truth. and those are the people whose support can surprise you. unless you share your stories, you'll never know that there are people out there who can relate ... who can commiserate ... who truly understand. knocking out a mountain troll doesn't have to be the only way that you make friendships. but sharing your truth is one way to be sure that those friendships are genuine and are built on truth and understanding. 

i am so very lucky to have a fabulous partner who loves me, adores me, and supports me. i am appreciative and grateful for the people in my life who offer me friendship and support.  i am fortunate to have a fantastic therapist with whom i can share my stories and my emotional tornadoes. i would list the people that i have gratitude for ... but i know that i would forget someone. so if you are someone that i have turned to for emotional support, or for a listening ear, or a shoulder to cry on, or advice, or just a helping hand ... i thank you for being there. you know who you are. 

and in closing ...

“There is nothing better than a friend, unless it is a friend with chocolate.” 
― Linda Grayson

be kind to yourself, 

xoxo
...

unexpected

things don't always go as planned. 

i am a planner. i think things through. i am prepared. i am organized. 

yesterday i was supposed to see a movie and instead ended up with a flat tire. 

today i imagined (worried and stressed about) that i planned to spend the entire day waiting for my tire to get fixed and the mechanic ended up fixing it within an hour. 

nosy nora suggested that i spend my time worrying about things in place of other things. as in, i worry about my car getting a flat tire instead of worrying about important and reasonable things. instead of admitting to myself what i am actually worrying about. i fill my brain with worries that are slightly ridiculous, or at least unimportant. 

today, for example, while talking to nosy nora i was completely distracted thinking about where i parked my car. why? because i had to go in a different entrance and parked in a different spot and was completely convinced that i wasn't going to be able to find my way back and if and when i did find my way back to the car i wasn't going to be able to find my way out of the parking lot. so as we were talking, i kept picturing myself driving around the underground garage in circles for an hour trying to find the exit. 

dude. there are signs that say "exit" and have arrows. and the lot isn't that big. 

but i was totally distracted and my heart was racing. 

so back to my flat tire. i lost it and had a total and complete meltdown over the tire. it was ridiculous. i couldn't stop crying. over a tire. nosy nora says, "it's just a car." and intellectually i know that. but one of my biggest anxieties is about something happening to my car. so getting a flat tire did me in. i just stood there on the side of the road crying and couldn't stop.

it was so embarrassing. 

so the question becomes, what was i really crying about? was it my car? was it my tire? or was that just the tipping point in my stressful life? 

what does my anxiety cover up? what space does it replace in my brain. 

in case you're wondering, my uncle came and changed my tire to the spare. my aunt made me sugary tea and gave me a long hug. we drove home on the highway very slowly and then i took the car in this morning to the mechanic. the rim was bent and apparently that makes the tire leak. totally don't get it. but i don't need to. that's what mechanics and uncles are for. 

another major anxiety of mine is the dentist. i'm terrified that i will go to the dentist, and s/he will clean my teeth and my front tooth will fall out. 

crazy. 

i know i'm crazy. 

i think about it all the time. i am completely convinced that my front tooth is going to fall out. which if i don't get myself to a dentist could actually happen. but i'm too scared to go to the dentist. 

PP says that if my tooth falls out at the dentist i would have all sorts of blog stories to tell ... 

... 

things don't always go the way you expect them to. you can't plan for everything. you can't always be prepared. 

my car has a spare tire, jack, and wrench. i worry about flat tires all the time. i was completely prepared to have a flat and had a way to deal with it. i also have CAA (that's like AAA if you're reading this from the states. it's a car service if you're reading this from another country). but i wasn't emotionally prepared for the flat tire. it was completely unexpected. 

if we spend our time preparing for the worst, we won't be able to enjoy our lives. you can't plan life. life unfolds. you can't control anything that happens to you or what other people do, think, or feel. the only thing you can control is your reaction to the unexpected. or in my case, the reaction to the reaction. 

i need to forgive myself for sobbing about a flat tire. i need to forgive myself for needing my uncle to fix the problem instead of dealing with it myself. and i need to forgive myself for struggling to face the unexpected. 

be kind to yourself, 

xoxo

...

a conversation with martha

“Worrying is carrying tomorrow's load with today's strength- carrying two days at once. It is moving into tomorrow ahead of time. Worrying doesn't empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength.” 
― Corrie ten Boom

in my last post, i shared that i have named my anxiety martha. i imagine her as a 75 year old plump and grumpy woman. she likes to knit and nag. and nag and nag and nag. she sits in her rocking chair and tells me all the bad things that are going to happen to me. 

here is what a conversation with martha would sound like:

Me: i have to drive home from the cottage. look, someone has a flat tire.

Martha: you're going to have a flat tire. watch out for that bump. 

Me: it's just a bump.

Martha: nope, it's a bump that is going to pop your tire. and then you'll have to call a tow truck and ride in with with SC and the dog for 2 1/2 hours.

Me: it's just a bump.

Martha: nope.

Me: okay, we passed the bump and no flat tire.

Martha: your tire is going to explode. at some point on this drive. 

Me: really?

Martha: really. it's going to explode and you'll have to sit on the side of the road for hours waiting for CAA to come with a tow truck. 

Me: it's not going to explode.

Martha: what's that sound?

Me: what sound?

Martha: the rattling squeaking sound.

Me: i don't know.

Martha: the car is going to spontaneously burst into flames. 

Me: really?

Martha: yes, i told you that you should have taken the car in for a check-up. and you should have gotten an oil change. and you really should pull over the car right now. right, right NOW. because the car is going to burst into flames with you in it. seriously, pull over.

Me: i can't pull over. i want to pull over. because i know you're right. but i can't pull over here. 

Martha: you should have pulled over while you had the chance. you're an idiot. and now you're going to be an idiot with a flat tire, and a car in flames. 

Me: i'm an idiot. 

what would a conversation with your anxiety sound like? who wins, you or your anxiety? lots of times my anxiety wins. lots and lots of times. the trick is to find a way to tell your martha that she isn't wanted, that she isn't invited, and that you don't want her around. sending away your anxiety and telling it that it doesn't run your life is one way to deal with anxiety. 

“Life is ten percent what you experience and ninety percent how you respond to it.” 
― Dorothy M. Neddermeyer

naming your anxiety is another way to separate it from yourself. you are not your anxiety, you are having anxiety. by naming it, you are giving it a separate identity and putting distance between you and your anxiety. 

“Man is not worried by real problems so much as by his imagined anxieties about real problems” 
― Epictetus

martha and i are safely home from the cottage now. no flat tire, and no flames. in case you were worried like i was. 

in the meanwhile ...

be kind to yourself, 

xoxo

...

Anxious Martha

Solitude. 

It doesn't have to be lonely. I am sitting on the porch at the cottage listening to the sound of the waves lapping against the shoreline and trying to convince myself that it is enjoyable to be alone. 

Sometimes being alone is great. Time to think. Time to recharge. Time to reflect, rejuvenate ... Other times it's just lonely. 

The truth is, I keep thinking about my anxiety. 

"Anxiety does not empty tomorrow of its sorrows, but only empties today of its strength."

Charles Spurgeon

I have named my anxiety Martha. 

Martha is a 75 year old plump old woman who likes to knit in her rocking chair. She likes to nag and harp on the same topic repeatedly. Her current obsession is money and the lack of it. She worries constantly about how to spend money and how to save it. But she's not helpful. She just nags. 

Martha is smart and knows how to scare me. She whispers all day long until she convinces me that the car is going to explode, or some such nonsense. And even though I KNOW it not to be true, I can't help but listen to her. 

Martha is bossy too. She tells me not to do things like go out to parties or try new things. 

"Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom."

Soren Kierkegaard

I am trying to think of ways to send Martha away when she gets persistent. I've tried talking to her. But seeing as she is my anxiety and not an actual person, sometimes that feels really dumb. But I keep telling her she isn't welcome. That she wasn't invited to the party, I was. She wasn't asked out to coffee, I was. 

"I think anxiety is dangerous, but it makes you think it's your friend."

Noah Baumbach

If you could name your anxiety, what would its name be? What would its personality be? And how would you tell it to leave you alone? 

Be kind to yourself, 

xoxo

...