When I'm Told to 'Get Over' My Anxiety
It is fairly easy to scroll through social media these days and feel disenchanted and despondent with how people are talking to each other. Insults are being thrown like fast balls, insensitivities paraded proudly like trophies, and ignorance blinds us from progress. This is coming from both sides, not just one. In a recent post, I was suggesting we choose kindness over division, especially with our children. There can be so much anxiety in so many people for various reasons. I will admit, I’m anxious. I expressed this in that post, and a family member told me, “Oh, get over it.” This statement from my family member hurt more than anything else. It stung because, as most anyone who lives with anxiety likely knows, there is no “getting over it.”
Anxiety is not something that comes and goes. I wake up with it; I go to bed with it. It is a quiet murmur in my body, like a slow boil in a pot. It is always there; some moments it’s stronger than others. It makes my body hurt. My hands shake, my heart races, my chest tightens, my stomach ties in knots, my body temperature rises, it suppresses my breath, it clouds my thoughts, and it robs me of sleep. I have tools to help me, don’t get me wrong. But more often than not, the only thing that works is sitting in the discomfort and letting my body go through the process.
I cannot “get over it,” because it is never going away. As my husband can tell you, this is not easy to watch. There is no simple solution to watching a loved one physically coil in pain. There is a vulnerability of helplessness that my husband must go through. He also shouldn’t be expected to “get over” watching me when things are very bad. He has to walk through this with me.
Anxiety is not a mountain to climb, with the promise of the decline to be worth the incline. There is no incline with anxiety. It is a constant, unpredictable and arduous path one must carry with them through life.
Please stop telling me to “get over” my anxiety. Please understand, I’m getting through.
Image via Thinkstock.
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Meagan Grant is a mama, a writer, a reader, and an over thinker. Meagan is Disability Services Coordinator at an art college. When she has a moment’s peace, she blogs at Sassy Scriptor and various publications. Her love of language began at five under her covers with a flashlight reading Beverly Cleary’s Ramona and Her Father.
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