I’ve struggled with anxiety for as long as I can remember.  As a kid, my anxiety presented itself as stomach aches and a general feeling of being unwell.  I distinctly remember telling my mother that I didn’t know what was wrong but sometimes I just wanted to cry.  This was different from depression, although they usually do go hand in hand.  It wasn’t a sad, hopeless, joyless feeling, but more of an uncomfortable, panicked, want-to-jump-out of my-skin feeling.  I didn’t know how to label it at the time, but looking back, I’m 110% sure it was anxiety.  And honestly, it’s no surprise.  I grew up in a home where my nervous system was on high alert around the clock.  My late father was an alcoholic and physically-abusive to my mother.  My anxiety served me well then.  It protected me.  It allowed me to react quickly in emergency situations.  My anxiety kept me safe.

In some ways, my anxiety still does serve me well.  I’m extremely empathetic, which makes me a great friend and a gre...