The Text Message You Sent That Really Helped With My Anxiety


It was one of those days where the anxiety takes control — the days when I can barely breathe at all; where I feel dizzy and nauseous; where every muscle is tensed to almost breaking point, and I’m fighting all of them to prevent visible shaking. But it’s not just physical. I’m fighting my own mind, simultaneously telling myself I can’t do this, I’m not worthy, nobody likes me, I’m in everybody’s way, and that I have to do this, I have to make it through the day, do my job. I can’t let everyone down.

Ordinarily, I keep these days to myself. I hate the idea of burdening someone with the insignificant struggles in my life. People have more important things going on in their lives, more pressing issues, their own challenges. But this day, I really needed you. I needed to reach out. I needed someone to know what was going on, just in case I couldn’t make it through the day. So, I did something I’d never done before. I sent you a text and told you how I was feeling and where I’d be if I wasn’t where I was supposed to be. I also asked you not to read the message unless something like that did happen. You ignored that and, honestly, I’m glad you did.

I paced around the room in every class I taught that day. I rocked myself in every meeting and took copious notes as a way of channeling the anxiety. When I wasn’t typing, I fidgeted with the hairband on my wrist or a pen. I could hardly think; hardly breathe; hardly be.

But, you were there and you helped me through it. More than you realize, you got me through this day, and you help me through countless others. You quietly checked in with me, asked if I was OK, and asked again when I said that I was, but you could tell I wasn’t. You looked at me with support and belief, never pity or disdain. Later, you messaged me to check I was OK.

The way you respond to my anxiety simultaneously confuses me and has me in awe. Every time I’m breaking down, you tell me it’s OK — that I don’t need to apologize for being human, for having struggles. You tell me you’re here, that you care, that my anxiety isn’t all that I am — that I’m making a difference for others in the work we do. You call out my anxiety in exactly the right way when I’m giving in to its darkness and mentally attacking myself.

You’ve said a million things which I try to cling to in my most difficult moments, even though my anxiety tries to tell me you can’t possibly mean them. But this day, in particular, you sent me a message that I really needed to hear.

You told me you think I’m strong.

The constant mental battles, fighting the physical symptoms, the lack of sleep and resultant exhaustion, spending every day scared of everything, the always present and uncomfortably fast heart rate pounding in my ears … It makes me feel weak. And I’ve heard it from other people, too. They think I’m being weak or pathetic or overdramatic, or a million other things I’m not trying to be.

But not you. And, as grateful as I was, I couldn’t understand how you weren’t making me feel that way, too. Then you said you thought I was strong, and I don’t think you’d lie to me. I don’t always feel strong, but it matters to me that you think I am, especially when I’m sharing my weakest moments with you. So, in my darkest moments, I’m learning to cling to your voice, to the things you say to me, to the way you see me. I’m using your messages to try to battle the voice in my mind that tells me I’m weak, that I’m irritating everyone, that nobody cares.

Thank you for helping me find a way to light the darkness in this daily battle.

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Thinkstock photo via DragonImages

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