I am one of the likely seven million or more who suffers from anxiety and depression.  I don’t have any idea how to even locate an accurate statistic for that, so let’s hope that a quick google search will not lie.

As of late, my anxiety has been especially strong in my personal matters and surprisingly less in my work.  Of course, a large part of that now is likely that I finished the final edit and sent it in before my deadline.  When I spoke with my therapist about a particular, well, breakdown, I suppose it was, he really hit me on a few points that cropped up during my explanation.

First of all, I hate guilt and I hate feeling guilty and I hate doing things that will somehow come back so I have to feel guilty.  Which, really, makes it sound like I’m required to be a serial killer.  Nay, dear travellers, never that.

I was recently blessed to have two of my close friends come to visit.  It was a fantastic visit and I adored having them here and getting to see them and do girly facial masks and drink a ridiculous amount of coffee.  As they were here, however, I was getting more and more anxious.  This wasn’t their fault; it was all me.  I felt as though I had to fix the tension between them, fix my child being a spoiled brat, fix every event and activity so that everyone could have fun and be happy.  I want to fix things so badly.  And that– I’m sure you’ve guessed it– is how I broke myself.  Again.

One of my homework assignments currently is to tolerate guilt.  In my case, at least, guilt is proof that I am growing.  I will be uncomfortable and likely incredibly unhappy, but I will be practicing a tool that will help me in the long run.

And perhaps if I keep reminding myself of that, it really will help me grow.

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