It took me nearly three decades, but I have finally developed the ability to express my anxiety. I can describe the unease that causes my skin to crawl, the tightness in my chest, and, most importantly, how desperately I yearn for control over every aspect of my life.
I don’t aim to be obsessive or neurotic. I recognize that this is a mental health issue. I understand that my thoughts can be unrealistic and impractical. I acknowledge that many of my feelings seem absurd.
Yet, despite their silliness, these feelings are mine — and they are undeniably real. I often feel them intensely. I create lists and revise them repeatedly. I meticulously plan for events that will likely never occur. I maintain multiple budgets to ensure all bills are settled and we have enough for groceries before the next paycheck arrives. I mentally rearrange the furniture of my mind, hoping that a shift in perspective will help me feel at ease in my own skin.
I’ve even prepared mentally for the possibility of my partner’s death, mapping out where my children and I would go and how we’d cope without him. No, he’s not ill — not at all. I’m simply perpetually worried, always strategizing. This concern extends beyond my partner to my parents, siblings, and even my two kids.
These are the emotions I can articulate. However, when it comes to asking for help, I often fall short, even though I silently plead for someone to come to my rescue.
“I’m utterly drained. I was awake all night again.” I lie there, restless until dawn, my legs stiffening and my body drenched in sweat. I change into fresh clothes and crank up the ceiling fan, but nothing alleviates the discomfort. I attempt deep breathing exercises, and eventually, I feel my chest loosening. Yet, the moment my head hits the pillow, my mind races uncontrollably. My body is weary, and I wish I could escape these relentless fears and guilt through sleep.
“I’ve been feeling nauseous again.” My anxiety has intensified to the point where my stomach is in constant turmoil.
“I could really use a night out with friends.” Please, just give me an opportunity to unpack my irrational anxieties over some soda and snacks.
Then comes the well-meaning, but often unhelpful response: “Let me know if you need anything.” I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling tears trickle down my cheeks. “I am,” I silently scream. “This is me asking — no, begging! I need something, but I don’t even know what it is.”
“Sure, I will,” is all I manage to text back. After all, you have your own responsibilities, and truthfully, I doubt I could bear the guilt. I am aware that I can be overwhelming, and it often doesn’t make sense.
But I do need assistance. I just don’t know how to convey that need.
If you’re navigating similar feelings, remember that there are resources available to help. For those looking into pregnancy options, check out this useful guide on home insemination. Additionally, for a deeper understanding of fertility and mental health, visit Cleveland Clinic’s insightful podcast.
In summary, articulating anxiety is a journey that many undertake, and while expressing the need for help can be challenging, it’s crucial to seek out support when necessary.