Important note and content warning: the following post highlights my personal journey through my anxiety disorder and offers a perspective towards a mindset change. I am not a doctor and have zero intention of suggesting that my path is a solution for everyone. I’ve long felt the sense of powerlessness that comes with this stuff and by no means want to diminish the individual impact. Take my words or leave ’em. But importantly, take care of yourself out there!
For context, this post comes to you from this tweet (yes, I know there’s a typo):
I’d like to follow through on this one and hope I’ve added enough disclaimers along the way. Yes, I saw what freakin’ Jake Paul said today. No, I won’t link it nor will I be next up in the Ignorance Games. Maybe this post will click for someone and that’s worthwhile enough for me. Let’s do this.
My Life with Anxiety: A Quick Recap
I really, really, really don’t want this post to be a long rant about what my anxiety is like, as I’ve come to terms with it being a part of my identity and personality. I’ll cover the basics and offer up that you can contact me if you’d like to talk more about this stuff. I’m very open to this discussion, as I think we all bottle up a lot to conform when it’s rather common. Plus, there’s a lot of self-imposed suffering that comes with thinking you’re going at this alone. Let me help lift that pressure. I mean it!
Okay, so my “flavor” of anxiety (diagnosed as Generalized Anxiety Disorder or GAD) stemmed from food poisoning as a kid. Flashback to that cold, November night in 1998 and the long drive home from seeing family. I remember how the moon looked and that Britney Spears was playing on the radio when I got very sick. I’ll never know if it was food poisoning or a 24-hr bug, but all the variables around that night grew into an intense aversion towards various things e.g. long car rides, public food, Britney (wish I were kidding; I still get pangs when I hear “Hit Me Baby, One More Time” hah) and a newly-minted, puke phobia in the mix. Little did I know that I’d loop that scenario and others for literal decades. (Note: I have not been tested for OCD; I sometimes wonder, but I’m staying in the anxiety lane for now). All of this was pre-teen stuff, too. Middle-school anxiety looked like trips to the nurse’s office to regain my head and stare at the paint chipping from the walls. Always wanted to pick at it. This phase also featured counseling and the start of talking to doctors about my tendencies. I forget the exact timeline, but meds were involved for a short while to “clear the static from my head.” I was so fearful and felt myself shutting out the world so I could live in a routine that I deemed safe and consistent. I’d internally panic if something happened beyond my plans (I was pretty good at hiding these emotions, by the way). I’m giggling while writing this because my young, perfectionist self hadn’t yet smashed into the hormonal nonsense that would further disrupt my brain chemistry and feeble efforts to maintain full control at all times. That happened, and high school anxiety looked like more “safe routines;” additional sports to counterbalance my extreme energy (a huge catalyst in this whole ordeal); kicking meds because I didn’t like the groggy feeling; and repeatedly bolting from English classes because I couldn’t sit still in my head long enough to read a book. Leaving class caused a lot of personal shame, as I was a senior still dealing with this inability to tune out my own thoughts. I felt hopeless against my own mind and bottomed out mere months before touring colleges.
My “bottoming out” might not be what you think. Mine was more of a realization that I had to make moves because the current condition was not acceptable. Instead of treating anxiety like this ominous force that could knock me off my feet, I turned my pattern-spotting skills towards it and analyzed the shit out of it. I also came to terms with the fact that anxiety would always be a part of me and, importantly, what makes me who I am. Learning to identify through it and appreciating what comes with it – high energy, eagerness, attentiveness, quick analysis, ability to stay on my toes, etc. — helped me turn anxiety into a super power that I honestly cherish. I also learned to see my brain as a pressure gauge that doesn’t always regulate itself so I needed to help the cause through my lifestyle. I still get knocked on my ass by a random panic attack here and there, but they’re far more predictable and I can at least trace the catalyst after the fact for added peace of mind. It’ll always be a learning experience and damnit I’m not giving up coffee even on the worst days.
So there you have it! Decades of anxiety in two, kinda-chunky paragraphs. Again, I’d happily dive deeper if someone’s curious or aligning to something, but my goal is to focus on the impact of increased self-awareness and understanding of my privileges. Next up!
My Privilege Learning Curve
I’m a white, cishet, able-bodied woman that was raised by parents, particularly a mother, that taught me about privilege. I remember her emphasizing that the life I was leading was not the same experience for everyone and that I’m lucky on top of the already smoother path granted by my identity. I’m forever grateful for these nudges so early in life, as they made my tougher life lessons absorb much faster than if they were a first-time recognition of privilege. Lessons like giving the benefit of doubt to failing leadership in a nonprofit organization built for “all women” despite the damning feedback from members and internal employees. (More here if you’re curious). I got my ass kicked by the ordeal and am once again grateful to recognize that I was asleep at the wheel due to my privilege and the small bubble of a world order in my mind. I had let my pattern-setting ways convince myself that I was covering the most bases when I most certainly was not. Hell, I couldn’t even see some of the bases. Yet, I was lauded for my efforts with this organization — awards, news interviews, a thousand members, friendships, career networks, etc. All the while, so much of it was deeply rooted in white feminism and the often-unchecked reality of nonprofit models, particularly in tech. I had a lot to learn. The past few years have brought pivotal change in my understanding of my own privilege. Since the GDI ordeal, I’ve been reading, listening, following, amplifying, and supporting causes and voices that help to reduce the “privilege asleep at the wheel” tendencies in our society. I don’t want to be caught up in that ignorant place again and I know how easily it can happen. So how does this tie back to anxiety? Maybe you’re spotting the pattern already.
Anxiety Meets Privilege
Recognizing my own hypocrisy and failing at a mission I wholeheartedly believed in stirred up a ton of emotions. Anxiety was only a small part, for once. Shame and heartbreak took front-and-center stage for a bit, as does an extreme eagerness to “do better” (which can be sloppy at first) followed by (or alongside) the sheer frustration for not knowing what I didn’t know. I grappled with all of these thoughts while doing my best to stay focused on bouncing back, as nobody wants to see a white woman like me pouting over my own mess. Now, some of you might read that sentence and think I’m invalidating myself. This is where privilege comes back into the fold. My actions, impacted by my unchecked privilege, helped to create this mess. Had I been more aware from the start or invested in what it means to say “we serve all women,” then I could have perhaps avoided much of the ordeal. I won’t sit here and say perfection is possible, but this is about accountability: I helped build up GDI, but damnit I was honored to be a part of the crew that ripped the rug when left unanswered. GDI was just the start, too. I began questioning the hell out of our societal norms and systems at micro and macro levels. I slowly realized I was too focused on the “women in tech” struggle when there are layers for days. Much like my anxiety being used for energy, I channeled my privilege for additional change beyond my own, personal experience guided by the voices and realities shared by those around me. This position forced me out of my own head (where anxiety looms) and into a mindset that looks for opportunities and gaps instead of a fight or flight response. In the simplest form, I removed myself from the center of focus, which is quite the disarming move when it comes to anxiety. How will it be triggered if I cannot be bothered? Tada! Privilege awareness trumps anxiety.
I’ll repeat my disclaimers after that line: I don’t believe I’ve cracked the code to GAD or anything mindblowing here, but I also can’t shake that I’ve removed a large fuel tank from the mix in the least. Anxiety is a stacking, cyclical nuisance so any reduction in the layering effect can make or break a tolerance. Figuring out how to redirect attention or disarm the buildup is key and, for me, keeping my privilege in use gets me there. I wish you luck in your journey to finding your catalyst! Again, don’t be shy if you’d like to chat about this some more. I’m trying very hard to keep a lifelong ordeal concise so there’s a lot more to dig into if desired. Thanks for following along in the meantime!
Some additional reading I found before this post, as I was curious if others were tying anxiety and privilege together. I would love a follow-up discussion to this piece: Is Anxiety a White-People Thing?
