L.

Learning To Fall and Get Back Up – Literally

Ah, bike riding.

It was something I grew up doing and absolutely loved.  I always looked forward to the summer time because it meant my family and I whipped out our bikes and headed to the park for a long day of riding.  Many years later, the excitement and joy still rang true.

Last summer, my husband bought me a new bicycle and I couldn’t wait to ride it (I really couldn’t).  As soon as we walked out of the store with it I turned to him and said, “Can you drive home… alone?  I’m going to ride my bike and meet you there!”  And, so, that’s what we did:

newbikeI was so happy that day; it was the perfect way to kick off the summer.  I then thought about it when I got home and thought, “Hm, I can ride my bike during the summer to the train station during the work week; what a great way to be active!  But, first, I need a helmet for that!”  So we went back to the store and bought a helmet – I even got a little mirror, too! 🙂

helmet

And that was it.  I was set.

When the weekend was over, I did as I said I would and took my bicycle out and decided to ride it to my train to get to work.  So I hopped on and went on my merry way.

As I started peddling along the right side of the street (being as cautious as possible), I noticed that there was a car that came from behind me and went into my mini ‘bike lane’.  It was about 40 feet straight ahead of me and then it started to make a right turn into a parking garage.  Figuring it would keep going, I kept peddling.  I timed myself well (I was a long-time rider, after all!).  But I was wrong. So wrong.

The driver decided to stop his car (now perpendicular to me) with its butt sticking out into my lane and the other half on the sidewalk.  I needed to either slow down or change lanes.  So I looked into my mirror and tried to see if I could merge into oncoming traffic for just a little bit.  But there it was, a yellow school bus, coming too close to me at a velocity that didn’t fit into my calculations.  So I freaked and panicked.  Knowing that I was either going to (a) get hit by a bus or (b) crash into the butt of the SUV that was trying to get into the parking garage, I did what I knew best: STOP.  I reached for my breaks, but being in such a panic mode, I undoubtedly made a big mistake: I hit the front brake instead of the back and, you guessed it, I went flying.

bikefall

My bicycle flipped under a car and I was flipped in the air.  I thank God that I had on my helmet (SO IMPORTANT!) because my head hit that concrete floor three times.. bang, bang, bang.  I felt dizzy, my palms were scraped and bleeding, and I was waiting for someone to come to my aide.  But wouldn’t you know it, no one saw what happened.  Not the random pedestrian walking by, not the car pulling into the garage, nor the bus that zipped on by.  I was SO scared and just SO grateful that I didn’t get run over by a random passing car or anything.  I immediately got up and snapped the above picture with my phone.  I sent it to my boss and team in a text message and said “Guys, I will be in late.  Just had a bike accident. See you soon!”

And wouldn’t you know it, I got up (limping and all), walked my bike to the train, got on the train, and headed to work.

I didn’t think much of the fall.  I tried to play it off like it was nothing, like I was stronger than it.  I called my husband soon after it happened, crying just a little, and he urged me to go back home, but I didn’t.  I wanted to be seen in the best light from the views of others: I wanted to be a strong girl.

A few days later I started to notice my legs and, yup, they were a little bruised and boy were my legs so sore from the impact:
ouchies

But, I was still ‘strong’; I didn’t show weakness to others. It was more of “Check out my bruises!  Cool, huh?!” than anything else.

To others I was ‘strong’, but deep inside, I was weak.  No one was there to console me when the accident happened.  I didn’t know what to do.  I worried about having a concussion or having fractured something.  All I knew was that I didn’t want to get back up on that bike.

And I didn’t.  I spent a year letting it collect dust and I was OK with that, because I didn’t want anymore accidents.  I wanted to be ‘safe’.

This was three weeks before my giant panic attack last year.  Who would have known…

Getting Back On
With all of the hard work I have been putting in within the last year to control my anxiety and just let it go, I finally started to feel stronger.  So, the other day, I went into the storage room, looked at my bike, wiped off the dust, took it off the rack and told my husband, “Let’s go to the park… for a bike ride.”

When it was finally time for me to get on that bike, I broke down.  I was so afraid.  I didn’t want an accident.  I didn’t want to relive the pain.  Because I do think that me falling off the bike and how that whole situation went down gave some fire to me panicking on the train last year, because it was, yet again, something I was suppressing.  It was something I needed to just say “okay, move on with life, it’s over.” But it wasn’t.

I would ride the bike for a few spins of the wheel and then I would stop, freeze, and cry.  It was too much for me.  Not to mention that I forgot my helmet.  I just felt so susceptible and prone to another accident.  I didn’t know how to keep my balance, I would fall off trying to make a simple turn, and I just kept envisioning myself flipping forward, because that’s exactly how I got off of it last time: I flew and tumbled forward in the air.

My husband took the phone and captured my struggle:
bike 1yr later

It’s a picture that I am both not proud and, yet, proud of at the same time.  I’m not proud because it’s not exactly the most flattering picture I have and it’s a time of my weakness. But, I’m proud of it because here I am, at one of my weakest points, and I’m sharing it. And I’m doing so because I want to share that struggles do exist and they could be anything to anyone.  And you know what? Pushing through this moment was absolutely not what I imagined.  I didn’t want to cry.  I didn’t want to freeze.  But I did.  I listened to my mind and in order to grow, it was telling me to just let the feelings go.

It was me, no one else, that took the initiative to rebuild my confidence in riding a bike at this point.  I felt ready after a year.  It was my idea to go out and try it.  It was my time to do this for myself.

And wouldn’t you know it?  I had such a great time after jumping over the anxiety hurdles.  I rode that bike like I used to when I was a kid.  I mean, yes, I was still a little hesitant, but I grew confident and started to enjoy every moment of it again.

Moral of the Story
Yes, you may fall off of a bike or fail at something somewhere at sometime.  But the important thing to do is to make sure that you take care of yourself, first and foremost.  Don’t try to pretend to be something you aren’t for others.  Make sure that you give yourself forgiveness and remind yourself that you aren’t perfect, that you may fail, but that it’s part of being human.  Just remember that when you do fall, give yourself time.  Don’t rush.  And if it takes a year for you to ‘get back up on that horse’ (or bicycle, in my case), then so what?  Let it be.  Only you know when you’re ready.  Don’t let others force you.  And if you face a moment of déjà-vu, know that no two times in life are ever the same.  You are always are given the chance to do different, to lead different, to act different.

Get back on that bike, even if it’s for a short ride, because even the smallest of tries is the best of tries that will get you closer to where you want to be.  So today, I went for a short ride and enjoyed it.  I’m getting closer to where I want to be.

yaybikeride Loren.

3.

3 Fears I Conquered at the Beach

Happy 4th of July, everyone!  I hope everyone has started to enjoy their holiday weekend!  I know that I definitely started to enjoy mine, and it’s all because of conquering the below three fears yesterday at the beach.  Here we go:

1. Wearing a bikini
I have so many of them in my closet, but I never really wear them out because, well, I don’t feel comfortable in them.  I buy them from time to time because I think “one day I will be comfortable, and when I am, I will be so happy frolicking around in one,”  but that day didn’t really seem to come.  Yet, it wasn’t until yesterday that I made that day come.  I said to myself, “You know what, if you’re waiting for that day that you will be stick thin, or a day you don’t feel bloated, or a day you finally won’t be subconscious, it probably will never come.  And if it does, will that day be in the dead of winter where, surprise, surprise, you can’t wear it because the beach is closed?  What are you hiding from?”  And it was with this in mind that I said enough is enough, put on my bikini, and headed to the beach.  Was I subconscious about my appearance, yes, a little.  But I didn’t let it ruin my day.  I didn’t let it ruin my fun.  I let go and let live.  And you know what?  No regrets.

2. Swimming in a beach… with seaweed.
A few years ago, I went out to the beach with my husband and we were swimming around just fine until I felt something wrap itself around my leg and pull at me. I started to freak out and panic.  My husband, so afraid that it was perhaps an aquatic animal (read: shark) or something, helped me up on his shoulders from the water and quickly checked my leg.  What did he find?  Seaweed.  He started to laugh about it and let me back down into the water, but I, oh, I just went into a crazy panic mode where I screamed, cried, and started having anxiety in the middle of the ocean (the shore was a little swim away).  I clawed up his shoulders, making sure I stayed there until we got back to the shore.  And ever since that day, I swore to only swimming in clear waters where I can see what’s under the ocean and never went into a NYC beach ever again.

However, yesterday was a different day and I, tired of wanting to feel that water and just afraid of doing so, decided to give it another chance.  I thank my husband for holding my hand as we walked into the ocean, seaweed and all, and made me move past my comfort zone. I’m not going to lie, as we walked I felt pinches on my feet (seashells (I’m hoping)) and I jumped and started to freak out again, but we went back in and gave it another shot.  In the end, I was standing in the water, seaweed around me (eep), but I was comfortable with it.  When I tuned it out of my mind, I really started to enjoy the touch of the cooling water up on my body, which was standing in the beating hot sun, and I smiled.  It had been years since I last swam in a beach with seaweed, but there I was, soaking up the ‘here and now’.

seaweed & beach!
Me holding a piece of seaweed 😡

3. Being buried in the sand.
There were just too many instances as a child of evil people burying you and leaving you behind.  I can recall those instances.  Yes, to them it was probably ‘funny,’ but as a child, it is actually quite psychologically damaging!  It was why I volunteered myself to go into this giant hole, that was dug up between my family and myself, and be buried.  Was it still scary?  Um, yes.  Especially since no one else wanted to do it because they, too, had childhood traumas!  But, it was a shame to see that hole go to waste and it was more of a shame to see an opportunity to let go of a fear go to waste.  So in I went.  And while I felt a little, well, claustrophobic, I was actually okay in that hole.  Yes, people kind of started to walk away, but I was mentally ready.  Because I knew that they actually wouldn’t leave me there.  I was sure of the love they had for me; which is probably why my family laughed as they walked away when I was buried in the sand as a child, because they knew that they actually weren’t going to just leave me there.  They would be there to help me out.  And through the years, I’ve learned to understand that I am loved and that no one wants to see me hurt; therefore; no one will leave me there.  Alone.  To suffer.  So why should I be scared?  I shouldn’t.  And from this experience, I grew.  And it was fun. (I actually am laughing and yelling “Nooo” in the below picture- haha!)

stuck in sand

So take this weekend to get over a little fear you have, whatever it may be.  If it’s at the beach like mine was, then cool.  Don’t like sand in between your toes?  It will wash off.  Afraid of being buried?  Ask to be buried, you will come out.  Afraid to wear that swimsuit, or hey, even a swimsuit at all?  Just go for it.  Do what makes you happy and don’t live life always holding back.  Only you know when you’re ready.  If you’re not, seek out something else that you think you may be ready for.  And only when you feel like you kind of are ready, then great, take the plunge, just do it.  You won’t regret overcoming some of your fears – even if it’s just one.  Go on, be brave, you won’t regret growing.  At least, I didn’t :).

Loren.

H.

Hello Again – Coming Back!

Why has life been so busy lately?!

I guess that’s just the way things go. I honestly have been SO bummed that I haven’t had the chance to sit and write about what’s been going on in my life lately; it is something I absolutely love doing, look forward to, and think about every week! Unfortunately, I haven’t had the time to come on here and write.. but I’m hoping that all changes sooner rather than later.  (I have, though, been active on my Instagram account (that counts, right? :)), so please check it out! ———>)

walking

I know my posts are usually a long read; but between work, family, and so many activities going on, I can’t seem to find the time to sit and write out everything in one long post lately.  In my mind, if it wasn’t a long post, then it meant that it shouldn’t even be a post. But, honestly, I’m having decision remorse… because there are days I just want to share my struggles, my happiness, my successes and they may only be a few sentences long!

So! I have decided that, from now on, I will write and pay no mind to if my posts are long, short, or in-between! I definitely want to keep recording and sharing my journey, because that’s the reason I started this blog in the first place!

On the anxiety end of things: I am still dealing with it and have had many moments of ‘almost there’ panic attacks, but definitely have felt that I have been able to control them – which is great! (continue to think ‘Why is this happening? There is no reason!  I have food, shelter, and am loved! I’m good. I’m being silly right now.’)  And I hope to continue sharing how I get through them and what my life has been as of lately!  I’ve been working on a few things that I am happy to record and share with you in the next coming weeks – so stay tuned! 😉

Bringing things back up to speed… here we go!

Loren.

A.

Anxiety and Childhood: The Power of Educating

If I see him again I will introduce myself.

That’s what I tell myself about the four-year old boy I saw on the train the other day. He was in a stroller on the station platform, being handled by his father, and I was in close proximity. The child was laughing and having a grand old time. All of a sudden, the train pulled up to the station, platformed in front of us, and his dad pushed the stroller into the train car. In an instant, that child went from innocent laughter to petrified screams. “Get me out of here, I want to get out! I don’t like it in here, I want to be outside!” he kept yelling.

The father wasn’t speaking to him much. All he was telling him was to calm down, that he was bothering everyone on the train, and how they would arrive to their destination ‘soon’ (the next stop was twelve minutes away). The little boy probably heard him, but he continued to scream at the top of his lungs and cry. He was absolutely afraid. And I could feel his fear. Hadn’t the train been so packed full of people, I would have gone over to him and introduced myself (with permission of the parent, of course). I would have told the kid that I, too, didn’t like trains, but that they are how we get to new, fun places. I wanted to tell him that many people take the train everyday and that there is nothing to be scared of. He has his daddy there that loves him very much and no one was going to hurt him; he was safe. But, I didn’t have the chance to tell him that; he was too far. As soon as the train platformed at Penn Station, I ran out to look for them, but had no success; they were lost at sea amongst the waves of morning commuters. And just like that, they were gone.

The Pain of a Stranger; A Child
That twelve-minute commute will be one that I will never forget. All throughout the trip there was a child crying and screaming non-stop. It was the commute where I felt a seemingly close connection and I started to cry. And I cried because I knew this little boy’s pain. I was terrified of trains a few months ago and the feeling was just absolutely awful. I could only imagine what he was going through! And yet, this little boy he was just told to hush down and no one was explaining to him why he shouldn’t be afraid. He had to bury this uncertainty within himself and just take orders. Which then made me think. It made me think about how, perhaps, this boy will grow up to be an adult and have a fear of trains (or closed spaces) and not know why.

I hope someone can explain it to him next time. I know the father wanted to help; he picked up his child and hugged him, but didn’t know that while hugging may help him feel a little better, that speaking to him would make so much more of an impact.  I hope that one day the kid really gets to learn. And I hope that he starts to ask questions. He may only be about four years old, but little kids have the ability to process what you say, connect the dots, and learn, too.

But then, there it was: an odd moment, right when I was crying, of a sudden flashback to my childhood that I must have buried so deep inside myself that I finally recalled it – almost twenty years later. And it was then that my fear of doctors and my feeling of being helpless came into fruition. It was at this time that I finally knew where part of my subconscious feeling of anxiety stemmed from…

Anxiety Stemming From Childhood – Uncovered
I suddenly went back in time and saw myself at about age six or seven. I was at my primary physician’s office (AKA the doctor) and was told that I needed a shot on my arm. I was so afraid of shots. Probably because whenever I asked why I needed them, I was given a mean look and was told “because.” It was kind of sad that no one ever took the time to explain that yes, while a shot would hurt for a very brief moment, it meant less runny noses, less coughing, less fevers and more time to play outside in the beautiful weather. So when the doctor started to rub alcohol on my arm, and it came time for my shot, I started to panic.  There was a need for both the doctor and my mother to pin me down to try to get it done. I was that petrified.

train

Very much like the little boy on the train, I cried and screamed- a lot. Figuring that I just needed a moment to relax and calm down, they took me off the chair and put me down on the floor. And that’s when I RAN [away]. I ran towards the door leading outside… and then I heard over the PA “we need all available doctors NOW.”

Next thing I knew, I was grabbed by four doctors, taken to a room, and was, yet again, pinned down to the chair. Each doctor had a limb to hold: legs, arms – even my hips were pressed down!

My eyes were absolutely blurry from all of the tears just balancing over my eyeballs and my vocal chords, oh my vocal chords, they were just calling it quits from so much screaming. 

That Moment of Helplessness
I remember looking at my mom and seeing such a nervous, sad, and worried look on her face. I was her baby, after all! Realizing that I was in a great mode of panic, she started to approach me.  As she reached out her hand to me, it was quickly stopped by a doctor saying, “No, mommy.  Stop and stand back. Don’t come any closer.” And just like that, I was shown that not even my own mother could help me.

Shortly after, I felt a big, painful pinch on my arm. And that was it… the deed was done. I walked away with two things: some medicine in my body and a mental scar of the moment that I was vulnerable and helpless.

Dealing With It Today
Think about it: if I was educated on just what this shot was going to do for me, if I was just given some time and a little explanation, I wouldn’t have had this thing stick around for so long.  Yet, it is all starting to make sense, now, why I feel afraid and vulnerable at times. Why I, and many people with anxiety, are always worrying about being safe and are making sure that we aren’t caught off-guard. We want to know everything about anything before it happens, and stress out about things being ‘perfect’, because we cannot deal with anything less.  We can’t deal with not being in ‘control’.  It’s a fear we live with and it all stemmed from somewhere.

There may be a link between anxiety and childhood, especially if you are dealing with it as an adult. Many life experiences attribute to who we are today and, to be honest, I am glad that the one I described above surfaced back, because it helped me see what was hidden and buried deep inside of me. And you know what? I now understand better. And that’s what counts. I analyzed the situation, learned that yes, it was unfortunate, but that I shouldn’t live my life based on what happened in the past. It’s time to move forward. We are in charge of our tomorrows and we are the ones to create our own futures.

Even though the boy’s experience was heartbreaking and unfortunate, I was actually at the right place at the right time. The situation opened up my eyes, heart, and mind to understanding something that I felt was beyond my control. When I told my husband all about the experience, I was in tears and kept telling him that I want to be better for our future children. I don’t want my children to go through what I am going through, and will encourage them to ask questions.

There’s no need to look back and blame my mother.  And there is no way that I am going out there and blaming that kid’s father.  They are parenting the best way they know how and, unfortunately, things happen. But it’s knowing that if you come across someone who asks for your explanation, or is in need of one (especially a child), to take the time to talk to them. Even if it’s another adult; take the time to explain to them what it is that they are seeking. You never know how much just one moment of educating and letting the other person understand can help shape their future and confidence. As for feeling anxious, I don’t need to seek for answers from my mom. I know what happened and I, being confident in myself, can take that experience and build on it. On my journey to recovery, I am realizing that it is a lot of taking the past as the past and working on myself in the present. In doing so, the anxiousness of worrying slowly slips away and I live a better, happier, and more stable life.

If I see the little boy again, I will introduce myself.
Loren.

M.

Mental Health Awareness Month: Breaking the Stigma, Accepting Myself

They’re ‘crazy’.  They’re full of ‘issues’.  Someone get them a therapist and keep them away from me.  I don’t want to associate myself with those kind of people.

That’s what many people think of when they hear that someone has a ‘mental health disorder’.  It’s a social stigma and it needs to end. May is Mental Health Awareness month and I want to share my personal story with you about coming to terms with my mental health disorder.

Growing Up
I was raised in a pretty strict household.  The road less traveled always sparked my intrigue, but I could never go down that road while growing up.  When someone asked me how I was, I had to say that I was OK (no one wants to hear a complainer, right?).  I was pressured to always get straight A’s in school and would be reprimanded if I came home with anything other than that.  I needed to get a job that paid top dollar.  I was never allowed to have a boyfriend, yet I was supposed to get married.  And when I finally got married, that’s when I could move out of my parents’ home, or else I wouldn’t be thought of as ‘lady’ anymore.  And when I got married, I should then buy a house, have kids, cook my husband dinner every night, and do all of the chores around the house myself. I should be able to manage all of this with no problem and never with any kind of complaint. In short, I was living a life that was already laid out for me with standards that should never be questioned. I was a programmed robot. And that was my life.

My pressures may have seemed normal to some, but were actually draining to me.  Because the standards were held so high above me, I learned that I could never disappoint. I learned that my every move should be a success and that I had no opinion on what I wanted to do- unless, of course, if it was choosing to be either a doctor instead of a lawyer (which, I should point out, wasn’t the outcome to this pre-planned fairytale anyway).

Since I was told how I should live my life, step-by-step, I never had the chance to find and be my true self.  I did, though (here’s the grand bonus!), grow to be very critical of my own self.  I was raised to be so ‘perfect’ that I never settled for anything less than that. Imagine that.  Living a life where everything had to be ‘perfect’.  It was hard and unattainable.  But I didn’t know the latter part.  What do you mean life couldn’t be ‘perfect’?  I had no sense of reality.

My Consequences
Life isn’t easy (as you probably know), but when I finally got a taste of liberty and it finally came time to be autonomous, I couldn’t make a decision. I was always very indecisive, over-analyzed everything, and freaked out when I couldn’t come up with what I wanted to do. People would come up to me and say “You are so put together, you are perfect, I wish I had your life.” And while the compliments were great to hear, I could never fully accept them because they didn’t know that I, internally, was struggling. I actually didn’t have it all together. They didn’t know the real me. And it wasn’t until recently that I didn’t even know the real me either.

I grew up so poor- confidence-wise. Approval and direction from others were what I was seeking 24/7. I was nothing but insecure (decisions were so hard, was I making the right choice that would make everyone else happy and keep me ‘perfect’?), had very low self-esteem (I’m not pretty, I was never told that I looked like a model, so I must be ugly), had a super low confidence level (I’m not confident in doing things on my own without direction), and was always worrying about my next move- no matter what it would be- to make sure that it would please others. I couldn’t ‘fail’; that would show weakness and would show that I didn’t know what I was doing.

Standing Up for Myself
With such a pressure to live up to, it’s no wonder that I felt anxious all the time and had mini panic attacks here and there. It’s no wonder that I felt like I was going through crazy turmoil.  But, I could never share any of this with anyone because I would be judged. Those times where I felt overwhelmed and felt like I couldn’t breathe were the times that I knew I needed a therapist or something. But how could I ever tell my parents that?  What would the family think?  No, I couldn’t share that about myself because that meant showing ‘imperfection’. They couldn’t know that. My whole life was about being ‘perfect’; so I had to make sure I kept this ‘perfect’ face on for everyone around me… or else.

And it was skiing back in January in upstate NY that it finally occurred to me: or else what?

What if I let someone see that I’m not perfect? What if I let people know that even those you think may have it all together around you actually don’t? What if there were people out there, like me, that were living with such societal pressures and had no outlet or example, could see that it was OK?

I never allowed myself to fall while skiing; I always avoided it and would tell myself that, if I did fall, I was nothing but a useless failure at life.  But it was back in January that I realized that life wasn’t fun anymore, that skiing wasn’t fun.  So I did something crazy and I let myself fall.  And when I finally did let myself fall back in January, I cried. Not because I hurt myself, but rather because I felt FREE and LIBERATED.  Life had a whole new meaning when I let my own guards down… and it felt amazing.

Being My Own Remedy & Finding My True Self
So I started this blog. Because it occurred to me that living a life of not trying to show that I was perfect was so much more liberating and worth living. I never wanted to see myself as someone who had a mental health disorder, because that meant that I wasn’t ‘perfect’, but you know what, I do. And I came to terms with it.  I came to terms with the fact that I do freak out under many circumstances and can’t think clearly.  I came to terms with that I doneed to face reality, I don’t have all of the answers, I will be judged, and that I will fail.  But all of this is OK. Because if I can start to fix this now, my tomorrow will just be so much better and much truer.

mham

As a result of letting myself fall since January?  I have definitely started to recover and get stronger with every passing day. It’s amazing how ever since starting this blog, I’ve wanted to find more ways to let myself continue to fall and learn from it. My confidence level and self-esteem have both increased, genuinely, because I feel like my true self. I feel like I’m not hiding anymore. I feel like I can BREATHE. Because when you have panic attacks, you feel like you can’t breathe. And you probably can’t.  You’re under so much pressure that you don’t know how to do something as simple as breathe. Freaking out isn’t perfect; it’s deemed as an imperfection. And you can’t handle imperfection. But what if that pressure was alleviated a little at a time with baby steps, once or twice a day, just by standing up for who you really are or what you really believe in?

Conclusion
The amount of responses to my blog have not only been overwhelmingly positive, but also such a such a blessing. There have been so many people that have opened up to me and I thank them. Because it takes a lot of courage to come out to even one person. And by doing so, you are actually showing yourself that you are ready for a change; you can handle the new you that wants to come out. It is with a community that we can get through this. And while at times we may feel like we are alone, we are not. There are so many others like us out there that have said “enough is enough” and are making small changes already – for the better.

So this month, reflect on yourself. If you are afraid of the stigma, don’t be. And if you don’t want to stand up and say that you have a mental health disorder to the public that is OK! But make sure you most definitely say it to yourself. Because that’s what counts the most. If you have your own identity on your side, the rest slowly starts to fall in place.

My name is Loren, I have an anxiety disorder, and I’m not ashamed. Instead, I am so empowered. Try to knock me down, you won’t be able to. Try to tell me what I should do with my life and you won’t be able to either. My confidence level has been building up, authentically, like a strong house, made with TRUE bricks made up of my TRUE self.  They are no longer bricks made up of what those around me want. Nope, not anymore.

Help Others
If you know someone around you that is going through the same things I am/was going through, please share this with them.  I may not be a big, popular example of someone with an anxiety disorder, but I am an example nonetheless.  I wish I read something similar to what I just wrote years ago.  I wish I knew it was OK.  Things may have been different today.  But we live and learn, right? 🙂

Help Yourself
Do some research, read up on Mental Health Awareness Month, and find ways to start feeling better. Drink lots of water, get active, eat well, meditate, and be brave.  Remember to be true to yourself because you are great. The better you awaits tomorrow. And he/she starts today. There is nothing wrong with you. Absolutely nothing wrong about the beautiful, strong, no-one-expects-you-to-be-perfect you.  Let’s end this stigma.  Everyone is human.  No one is a programmed robot.  Not even you.

Loren.

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Resources:
Letter from the President of the United States of America on Mental Health Awareness Month
www.mentalhealth.gov
Jimmy Kimmel – Bringing Awareness in This Cute, Funny Video