My Anxiety Relapse

Each night, before I fall asleep, I meditate for ten minutes. What started as an experiment to become a better, more productive me quickly became part of my routine I couldn’t go without. I’ve noticed a huge shift in myself since the start of this habit over a year ago. I became less rigid, less controlling, less in my head and more present in the world around me. All the things they say meditation is supposed to do for you. I put more trust in myself, and in the harmony of life.

I actually started to believe that it will all work out.

Because so far, it has. Even when it’s not okay, all is still okay.

But recently, while I’ve continued to maintain the habit, I stopped noticing the benefits of my nightly mindful breathing within myself.

I started getting irritated quicker again, snapping at what I once would have laughed at. My phone’s screen time grew steadily each day, as I retreated away from approaching the world with an uplifted, curious gaze. And I felt less confident in myself, turning all of my focus on finding proof within my interactions with others that they had lost their confidence, and interest, in me, too.

Anxiety, slowly but surely, had been creeping its way back in.

…

I didn’t notice this completely — didn’t put a name on it — until last night, while I was laying down, listening to my breath.

I was trying to get through the ten minutes of mindfulness, feel the ups-and-downs of my inhales and exhales as quickly as possible so I could finally be done with my to-do list for the day and fall asleep. Yet, I couldn’t keep my focus on anything.

The sound of my heartbeat, the steady thump, thump, thump, was pounding through my whole body. It was loud, and it was angry, and it was distracting.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

But in the quiet stillness of the night, I could hear that my heart wasn’t thump, thump, thumping at all. It was saying something. Shouting, actually. My heart was calling out:

FEAR, FEAR, FEAR.

With each pump of blood, my heart was spreading fear all throughout my body. From my ears to my toes, my mind and heart had synced and were spreading their mantra together — a low, rhythmic, chant:

fear, fear, fear, fear, fear

And in that moment, I felt afraid. Because every ounce of my being, except for the true me hiding somewhere in the depths of it all, was telling me to be.

…

I can no longer avoid that I’m not in the mental headspace that I thought I was in. That I want to be in.

It’s time to recognize what I’ve been too full of fear to admit: that my anxiety has relapsed with a vengeance.

This time, I feel lost at how to battle the anxiety I thought I had done away with for good.

Because I hear again and again, when trying to overcome the brain’s shortcomings, to:

trust your body

But what happens when your body has been conquered by your mind? When your jaw is clenching and your shoulders are tense and your brow is furrowed even when you’re sitting in the safety of your own home, because your brain is crying wolf so convincingly?

When you hear and feel fear pumping through your body with each heartbeat?

And if I can’t trust my brain, because it tries to trick me, and I can’t trust my body, because it has been tricked, what do I have left to trust?

But being unable to trust in myself is what I view to be the greatest defeat. And I’m not willing to wave the white flag of surrender.

…

So I guess all I have left to do is fight back. Reclaim my body, and then my mind, from the real intruders: anxiety and self-doubt.

Starting with recognizing that the problem isn’t even my mind at all.

I am not any part of the problem.

I’m just caught in the crossfires of my mind and body’s defenses against the anxiety that has re-infiltrated my being.

And once I remember that, I can go on fighting back in the only ways I know how:

— By continuing to meditate each night. Taking deep breathes and listening to calming music to soothe my tense, tired, under-attack self.

— By remembering there’s a me in there, underneath all of the fear — a me that is strong and capable, a me that can be less rigid, less controlling, and less in my head.

— By letting it pass and refusing to consider myself my own enemy.

— By not even fighting at all.

Because it will all work out.

Even when it’s not okay, all is still okay.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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