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...
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