For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a habit of chewing my fingernails. It’s not a casual nibble that you might associate with typical nervousness; rather, I gnaw at them until they’re nearly gone. This compulsion kicks in whenever I feel anxious—which, unfortunately, is pretty much all the time.
Only a few people in my life are aware of my generalized anxiety disorder (GAD), and I often keep it to myself. I take medication to help manage my anxiety, but discussing it feels like opening a door to a dark room that I prefer to keep closed. Those closest to me sometimes struggle to comprehend my reactions; after all, it’s hard to explain feelings that are foreign to someone else. Imagine a ball being thrown at your face—your instinctual response would likely be to shield yourself. My instinct, however, is to spiral into worry and envision every possible disaster. It’s a reflex that I can’t seem to control.
I understand that some might judge my feelings as excessive or irrational. That’s okay; it’s a common reaction. But this judgment is precisely why many individuals with anxiety choose to suffer in silence. My goal in sharing this is to let others in similar situations know they’re not alone and that support is out there.
Here’s a glimpse into my life with GAD:
When my sister asks if she can take my son to the park, I immediately decline. I can’t shake the fear of a potential car accident leading to an unimaginable tragedy. When my stepdaughter wants to play in our backyard, I say no because I can’t bear the thought of her being kidnapped, even if she’s just a few feet from the door. My husband suggests giving our baby a banana, but I refuse, convinced she might choke. We’ll stick to baby food until she’s ready for solid food at 15.
I leave the house 45 minutes early to pick up my stepdaughter for school; being late feels like a soda bottle shaken to the brink of explosion. If my mother-in-law wants to take my son for a sleepover, I worry that he might fall off her bed and hurt himself. A simple stomach ache spirals into a fear that my appendix has burst, and I’m on the verge of death.
When I’m in a crowded room, it feels like everyone is shouting at me through megaphones. If I agree to an invitation, I’ll dread the event the entire day, knowing I’ll have to engage in small talk and socialize. By the time I return home, I’m utterly drained.
Self-doubt also plagues my thoughts. If I leave the house feeling insecure about my appearance, I’ll obsess over how others perceive me. If a friend doesn’t call back, I jump to conclusions, imagining the worst-case scenario—that they’ve been harmed.
Every time someone asks to hold my baby, I can’t help but watch them intently, ready to catch her if they stumble. When an unfamiliar person knocks on my door, I grab something for protection and have 911 ready at a moment’s notice. At night, any noise sends me into a mental frenzy, planning my escape from an imagined intruder.
I know this sounds extreme, and trust me, it feels extreme. Living this way is exhausting and challenging, yet many others share similar struggles. Each anxiety disorder manifests differently, but the common thread is a relentless fear of impending doom.
My anxiety has deep roots, perhaps tied to the loss of my parents and most of my grandparents. With every loved one I’ve lost, I’ve developed an intense desire to keep those I care about safe, often leading to irrational fears and overprotectiveness.
This is the first time I’ve laid bare my feelings outside of my close circle. Reading my own thoughts can be painful, and I realize how irrational they might seem. However, I hope that sharing my experiences will help others understand that we aren’t just “worry warts” who need to “calm down.” If we could simply turn off this anxiety, we would.
To help manage my anxiety, I’ve started meditating and praying. I’ve learned that much of my anxiety comes from a desire to control everything, but the reality is that control is an illusion. I can’t dictate the weather, traffic, or other people’s actions, and recognizing this has been liberating.
What I need from those around me is understanding and support. If you know someone grappling with anxiety, don’t belittle their feelings. Instead, offer your help and let them know you’re there for them. Living with this condition is challenging, but a solid support system can make a world of difference.
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In summary, my journey with generalized anxiety disorder is filled with constant worry and irrational fears, especially as a mom. But I believe sharing these experiences can foster understanding and support among those who face similar challenges.
Keyphrase: living with generalized anxiety disorder
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