Today, I didn’t check off everything on my to-do list. Not a huge deal, right? I’m a busy mom juggling a tidy house, well-mannered kids, and a thriving at-home business. So why does it feel like the end of the world when I don’t accomplish one small task?
In the grand scheme, it’s trivial. I can easily tackle it tomorrow. Yet, because I’ve recorded it in my handy list app, it feels like a binding contract. And when I miss the mark, it’s as if I’ve broken some unspoken law.
My anxiety spikes. I lie awake obsessing over that one neglected item, berating myself: “See, Jamie? You’re falling apart. This is the beginning of your downfall. Your career is doomed. Soon enough, your family will be living in a van down by the river. It’s all your fault!”
No, I’m not completely losing it (though I often convince myself I am). What I have is an anxiety disorder, and it rears its head almost daily, in one form or another.
The truth is, I hide it remarkably well.
I’m that mom who others glance at and wonder, “How does she handle it all?” I’m the friend who radiates kindness, the calm voice of reason. I seem composed, even Zen, and nobody would ever label me as “nervous.”
I break the mold of the typical anxious individual: I don’t fidget or shake.
Instead, my struggles are internal. My mind likes to stir up chaos, a habit I’ve had for as long as I can remember. I’ve experienced bouts of panic attacks, sometimes daily, and have been in therapy intermittently since my teenage years.
Right now, I’d say I’m in a decent place. Panic attacks are rare, and my anxiety is manageable. Still, the intrusive thoughts linger. I often operate from a “worst-case scenario” mindset, convinced that I must achieve perfection or face dire consequences.
That inner voice plays out daily, imagining tragic accidents involving my children or my partner. It insists that if someone doesn’t respond to my message immediately, they must either despise me or have met a terrible fate. It pushes me to respond to every work email within seconds, fearing job loss.
And that same voice urges me to maintain the appearance of being the perfect mom, employee, and friend, all while hiding my vulnerability.
Perhaps that’s why I frequently write about my anxiety — to challenge the notion that anxious individuals fit a specific mold. If you’re someone who has kept your struggles hidden, know that you’re not alone. I genuinely understand the weight of concealing anxiety, the desire to shield others from your burdens, and the pressure to maintain a façade of control.
But I want to emphasize that it doesn’t have to be this way. You don’t have to shout about your anxiety from the rooftops, but if you wrestle with these feelings daily, please seek help. Therapy and medication may not erase your anxiety altogether, but they can help you regain control over your thoughts and reclaim joy and peace.
Remember, every part of you is beautiful, including the vulnerable pieces you often keep hidden. You are stronger than your anxiety, and deep down, you know it. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.
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Summary:
In this candid reflection, Jamie Thompson shares her personal struggles with anxiety, emphasizing that appearances can be deceiving. While she seems to have it all together, her internal battles reveal a different story. Jamie encourages those who experience similar feelings to seek help, reminding them that vulnerability is part of the human experience and that they are not alone.