I woke up to it again this morning. There I am, all soft and relaxed in my peaceful warm blankets, my bird Pearl sleeping soundly (as opposed to her usual ill-advised attempts to imitate a small grey rooster) and there it is. Again. Its ugly tone and condemning words cut through my post-sleep fog and jolt me awake.
Happy Monday, Shannon. Say hi to your old friend, the anxiety bully.
After two courses of neurotherapy and several years' training in anxiety-management techniques, I have become pretty well-versed in anxiety bully-avoidance. Like the proverbial overly-talkative neighbor or ex-boyfriend, I have learned to see it coming and duck down a nearby corridor or behind a calming affirmation.
But anxiety bullies are persistent, and it never stops trying.
I watched the wonderful movie "A Beautiful Mind" again this weekend for a movie discussion group my parents are hosting later this month. They have asked me to help lead the discussion since Dr. Nash's miraculous drug-free recovery from paranoid schizophrenia holds a particular source of fascination for me. In the movie, Nash is asked by a colleague what he does when the visions (or more accurately, voices) reappear. He says, "I liken it to a diet of the mind - I refuse to indulge certain appetites, like my mind's love for patterns."
My mind has a certain, if not love, at the very least comfortable familiarity with the act of worrying. Anxiety feels familiar, comforting even. My mind doesn't always know what to do or think in every situation, but it does know how to worry about it - that it can accomplish without breaking a sweat.
What is worse, like any other addictive behavior, my mind at first conveniently forgets what the fallout will be later on if it once again walks down the all-too-familiar road to worry. At the start, worrying even feels preventative, supportive, honest. Yes, I am worried about this. Yes, my worry is legitimate. Yes, I have every right to feel every one of my feelings - including the feeling of worry.
The trouble comes in when my mind then forgets that worry still doesn't help. It never has. And it never will. After the initial self-respectful acknowledgment that worry is in fact, well, worrying, and I do in fact feel worried, worry ceases to be useful. In brief flashes, worry can be helpful the way fear is helpful - as a flashing red light to get our attention.
But worry's usefulness diminishes exponentially after its early warning system effect wears off. It becomes self-diminishing, self-sabotaging, and ultimately (as Dr. Nash so eloquently states) self-indulgent.
I was reading a wonderful book the other day about meditation, which is one of my many favored anti-anxiety toolkit coping skills. The author said that one technique he has found helpful is to step back, identify the feeling as worry, experience how he and his worried mind are two different entities, and then SMILE at his mind.
When I first read that I thought, "Yah, right. Whatever, Mr. Happy. That won't work - I'm WORRIED!"
But then I tried it. This morning when I felt the worry arising, I named it, acknowledged its essential separation from me, and then smiled at my worried mind. I even said to it, "Don't worry - that's just the anxiety-bully. It knows you are the most vulnerable first thing in the morning. But don't take it so seriously. I am here with you. We will work out the solution for whatever you are worried about together. It is a new day - and you just never know what wonders might be in store for you!"
Then I waved goodbye to the anxiety-bully as I told it, "Look around you! It is sunny out - first signs of spring are here. I sure as heck am not going to spend this beautiful soon-to-be-spring morning with such grumpy company. So you can just move along now...we are finished here."
Just then, Pearl woke up and let out an imitation-rooster shriek.
Another day has begun.
I woke up to it again this morning. There I am, all soft and relaxed in my peaceful warm blankets, my bird Pearl sleeping soundly (as opposed to her usual ill-advised attempts to imitate a small grey rooster) and there it is. Again. Its ugly tone and condemning words cut through my post-sleep fog and jolt me awake.
Happy Monday, Shannon. Say hi to your old friend, the anxiety bully.
After two courses of neurotherapy and several years' training in anxiety-management techniques, I have become pretty well-versed in anxiety bully-avoidance. Like the proverbial overly-talkative neighbor or ex-boyfriend, I have learned to see it coming and duck down a nearby corridor or behind a calming affirmation.
But anxiety bullies are persistent, and it never stops trying.
I watched the wonderful movie "A Beautiful Mind" again this weekend for a movie discussion group my parents are hosting later this month. They have asked me to help lead the discussion since Dr. Nash's miraculous drug-free recovery from paranoid schizophrenia holds a particular source of fascination for me. In the movie, Nash is asked by a colleague what he does when the visions (or more accurately, voices) reappear. He says, "I liken it to a diet of the mind - I refuse to indulge certain appetites, like my mind's love for patterns."
My mind has a certain, if not love, at the very least comfortable familiarity with the act of worrying. Anxiety feels familiar, comforting even. My mind doesn't always know what to do or think in every situation, but it does know how to worry about it - that it can accomplish without breaking a sweat.
What is worse, like any other addictive behavior, my mind at first conveniently forgets what the fallout will be later on if it once again walks down the all-too-familiar road to worry. At the start, worrying even feels preventative, supportive, honest. Yes, I am worried about this. Yes, my worry is legitimate. Yes, I have every right to feel every one of my feelings - including the feeling of worry.
The trouble comes in when my mind then forgets that worry still doesn't help. It never has. And it never will. After the initial self-respectful acknowledgment that worry is in fact, well, worrying, and I do in fact feel worried, worry ceases to be useful. In brief flashes, worry can be helpful the way fear is helpful - as a flashing red light to get our attention.
But worry's usefulness diminishes exponentially after its early warning system effect wears off. It becomes self-diminishing, self-sabotaging, and ultimately (as Dr. Nash so eloquently states) self-indulgent.
I was reading a wonderful book the other day about meditation, which is one of my many favored anti-anxiety toolkit coping skills. The author said that one technique he has found helpful is to step back, identify the feeling as worry, experience how he and his worried mind are two different entities, and then SMILE at his mind.
When I first read that I thought, "Yah, right. Whatever, Mr. Happy. That won't work - I'm WORRIED!"
But then I tried it. This morning when I felt the worry arising, I named it, acknowledged its essential separation from me, and then smiled at my worried mind. I even said to it, "Don't worry - that's just the anxiety-bully. It knows you are the most vulnerable first thing in the morning. But don't take it so seriously. I am here with you. We will work out the solution for whatever you are worried about together. It is a new day - and you just never know what wonders might be in store for you!"
Then I waved goodbye to the anxiety-bully as I told it, "Look around you! It is sunny out - first signs of spring are here. I sure as heck am not going to spend this beautiful soon-to-be-spring morning with such grumpy company. So you can just move along now...we are finished here."
Just then, Pearl woke up and let out an imitation-rooster shriek.
Another day has begun.