The Prickly Beast (not to be confused with the pickled beets which are delicious and full of antioxidants)

There is something new in my life, friends: anxiety. Of course it isn't completely new. I have always been a worrier. But this past winter, after I declared a fragile victory over my customary seasonal depression, an extra-ordinary sort of anxiety took me on. Unlike depression which I have worn like a heavy cloak, anxiety seems to wear me. It inhabits me from the bottoms of my feet to the top of my scalp. It is prickly and uncomfortable. Unlike depression, once anxiety has it's hooks in, it will not allow me to hibernate or mentally check out.

Anxiety is also much more difficult for me to write about. It feeds on my insecurities. It plays games with my ego. It fills me with doubt. It is circular and exhausting causing me to replay, second guess, and over analyze various moments from my day. I feel as though a foreign energy has invaded my mind. No matter how much I try to appease it with logic or calming affirmations, it riles me repeatedly. It insistently whispers that I am incapable, unremarkable, and downright foolish.

The internal arguing is exhausting, but sleep will not come. Within the last year I have turned to a variety of over the counter sleep aids to help quiet the voices in the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes I numb my mind by binge watching political dramas or mystery series on Netflix when I should be sleeping, or mothering, or simply being present in the moment.

Clearly I have not learned how to defeat or even tame this brute yet, but before I go running for a Xanax prescription (which may indeed be a necessary course of action at some point), I'd like to explore some other options.

Simply acknowledging that this is a problem I'm dealing with is an intimidating first step. Hello, my name is Meredith Carson, and although I think I hide it well, I am plagued with doubt and anxiety...on occasion...but I'm not crazy, you know. I want you to know that I totally have my act together...except when I don't.
This is why talking about personal mental health issues is so difficult. If I tell you that I am experiencing these feelings of unworthiness and apprehension, there is a chance that you could pounce on me while I'm in this state of not-so-adorable, vulnerable honesty. You could tell me that my doubts are not unfounded, that I truly am incapable, unremarkable, and downright foolish.

Damn. Anxiety just happened again, y'all. It just serpentined it's way right onto the page I am writing.
Let me try that again. I, Meredith Carson, am a delightful and talented person who occasionally suffers with bouts of anxiety. I am not alone. I wish I were more on top of it. I wish there were an off switch that I could access to make it all stop, but for now I am just learning to cope.

A friend suggested that late night, deep yogic stretching may help during anxiety ridden, insomniac moments. I'm completely willing to try this. Journaling might also be an effective form of therapy, but I'm not sure. Worst case: journaling would offer horrifying, lasting evidence of my circular, irrational thoughts. Best case: journaling would cure me, OR Sarah McLachlan might take a page from my journal and adapt it into a hit song on the adult contemporary charts. It could happen.

Recently I have been focused on trying to limit anxiety triggers like: too much social media, electronic devices after 10 pm, alcohol, and caffeine. Sounds fun. I know. But it is making a difference. In the past I have also written about honoring my introverted nature by intentionally planning for quiet downtime, guarding against overstimulation, and spending face to face time with genuine, caring, adult friends. All of this is more important than ever, and as challenging as ever with three energetic kids in the house.

I'd like to conclude on a hopeful and humorous note, but truthfully, I'm feeling more hot and bothered. Sharing this is difficult. I want to appear confident and in control, but I do not always feel confident and in control. Sometimes I feel like I'm back in middle school and that I don't really know anything. Anxiety warns me that if I admit this, I will lose your respect.

I KNOW this isn't true. We all have our middle school moments. Most of us expend a lot of energy trying to conceal them. I am hoping that shining a light on this prickly beast will rob it of some of its power and also offer you, dear reader, the chance share what has worked for you during your long and sleepless nights. Got any pearls of wisdom for me?
Thanks.
Love,
Meredith