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...