Anxiety makes me fragile and it makes me tough. Anxiety breaks me down and tears me apart.
If you love them enough to want to sleep next to them every night, you love them enough to get through this. Tell them that. They’ll be grateful.
Recovery means letting go, stepping out of your comfort zone and facing the unknown. So I say, as you start feeling better, you need more support, not less.
On the outside, indeed, I look very happy.
“The research is pretty clear,” Charlie said. “They have done experiments. They’ve deprive animals of play—they give them love, nurturing, food, shelter, all the things they need to survive— but they deprive them of play, the animal inevitably grows up to be socially and emotionally crippled.”
I am learning to breathe. But most importantly, I am learning to tell myself that sometimes it is okay to not know what I want or need.
By trying to do everything perfectly, you are giving power to the person who sets the standard.
The thing about depression and anxiety is that of course you can’t see it, and this is a constant, unending source of doubt and distress for me.
They will see through you. They will know the difference between your smiles, the tone you use when you’re happy or sad, the way you excuse yourself when you feel like you don’t want to talk.
No matter what the situation is, no matter how uncomfortable I become, I still don’t ask for what I want, because I don’t want to be a bother. I don’t want to make things awkward. I don’t want to end up embarrassing myself somehow.