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.