#they are so doomed whaaatttt

[treef-greef]

Theres a reason I need a way out....

[emmisays]

I’m Scared Stupid! (No, really...)

Hey you! 

It’s been a while since I’ve vomited some words on a page to you lot. And I happen to have my laptop open and a coffee in my hand and an hour to spare here in New York, so I thought I would tap something out to you. Prepare yourself. I’m feeling verbose…

Firstly, let me start with saying how grateful I am to you guys for all the love you’ve shown for ’Scared Stupid’. I’m really glad you’re feeling it! But before we move on to Chapter 4 (FRIDAY!) I wanted to share with you guys what inspired me to write it. Because while it absolutely is a tongue in cheek, neurotic little pop tune, underneath that is a very real and serious theme that’s quite personal to me. And I wanted to speak about a thing called anxiety and share my own story with you. I’ve been deliberating as to whether I should go there or not, but on the off chance that it might resonate with you or help you in some way or even just be of interest as we get to know each other, here goes…

I’ve been afraid of death since I first understood what it was. I’d think about it. Obsess about it even. I was constantly imagining horrible things happening as a child. My mum would be all of 10 minutes late to pick me up from a class and by the time she arrived I’d have already imagined at least three tragic reasons for the delay, played them out in my mind and attended both her funeral and my own. I’ve had a sense of pending doom for as long as I can remember. And for the longest time I just put that down to being a conscious human… aware of my own mortality and powerlessness in this life. But a few years ago I realised that wasn’t the whole truth. I, like so many of us, have anxiety. That feels strange to admit publicly even now.

See when I was a kid my parents worked for a missionary organisation that saw us living in the developing world for some time. And I’d say there is a healthy dose of adrenaline required when you are dropped off in a village on a mountain top next to an active volcano without knowing a word of that tribe’s language and told “see you next week”. I don’t remember being afraid. Mum and Dad made us feeling like everything we encountered was an exciting adventure, something to explore not fear. But any fear or ‘fight or flight’ hormones coursing through my veins (or indeed my parents) then would have, under the circumstances, be considered justified. We had some ttiimmmmesss....

The first instance of irrational fear probably started when I was around 8 years old. We were in Papua New Guinea and I asked my folks if I could go on a sleepover with my school friends at a dorm house at the local American mission school. They said yes. That night us girls went roller skating (yes, in line skates… and we still wore scrunchies because we were frozen in time over there!) had dinner and went to bed, only to be woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of sobbing and wailing. We went out to see what was happening and the teacher informed us that the father of one of the girls there, who had been held captive by militia for some time, had been assassinated. In that moment, stood amidst the shock and grief around me but perhaps not fully understanding it, I developed a fairly illogical (but understandable) idea I would hold onto for many many years to come: when you are away from your parents they die. I didn’t go on another sleepover until I left home at 16 years later. I would make myself sick to get out of school camps. The feeling was real. The thinking was not. 

A few years ago, now living in London and worlds away from that time, that feeling of pending doom I’d carried with me as a dull ache all my life started becoming more prominent. Quietly at first, as a knot in my stomach and then in a more noticeable way (shortness of breath, tightness in my chest, pounding heart). And I would feel that rush of adrenaline and be flummoxed because I’M ACTUALLY SAT IN A LOVELY CAFE IN SOHO! So what was there to be afraid of? I was confused and terrified by these very real physical symptoms that were suddenly presenting themselves in me with seemingly zero cause. And the more confused I became, the more mad at myself I got. This is ridiculous. Pull yourself together! You’re a smart person. There’s no sense to this!  And the madder I got with me, the worst more extreme the symptoms became...

I had my first anxiety attack at home in Oz with my family. Nobody knew what to do. Least of all me. My family knew me as a bit of a jittery character ...  but hyperventilating and publicly falling apart in a pizza joint was a new one on all of us. I was so embarrassed. I felt like I was losing my mind. But I shrugged it off the next day as a ‘one off’ thing and hoped that was the end of it.

Back in London, however, as the weeks passed and I started opting to stay indoors all day because of that heavy feeling in my stomach… and then the next…. and the next…  I knew things had gone from bad to worse. My relationships were suffering too. I wasn’t letting love in, because I had shut down, so I couldn’t have been giving much out either. Much like the videos I made for Scared Stupid, moments of joy or moments with my family and friends would pass me by because they would be immediately accompanied by a sense of foreboding. How will this go wrong? Not only was this thing stealing my own joy, but it was stealing the joy of the people around me too.

So I eventually decided to talk to someone. And I wanted to share my experience of how that went down because a) I want you guys to know me and b) what I was told in that time has helped me no end ever since, and I don’t want to keep that all to myself. 

Perhaps you are sitting there reading this now thinking you’d like to see someone but perhaps it feels ridiculous, or unnecessary, or maybe you just can’t afford it! (That was a struggle for me too) Or perhaps you’re sitting there and you know someone who suffers from anxiety. Well, whatever the case, I hope what I tell you now can be of some help to you, or if nothing else an education. 

When I started therapy it took five minutes to realise that there was a lot more than that pesky knot in my stomach to address here. A whole lot more. I unpacked the whole darn attic of my life and mind and realised I spent most of my life apologising for taking up the space I inhabit... among many other things. And in just a few sessions I was a changed me. (No… correction… I didn’t actually change at all. I was still the same me, but now I was conscious of myself and who I was and WHY and of the people in my life and who they were and why.) And I left with more love and forgiveness for everyone in my life and everyone I encountered because, yep!, you guessed it, I had more love and forgiveness for myself. Bingo!

Then came the day we spoke about my anxiety. I happened to be having a day of it and so she asked me to close my eyes and actually feel what I was feeling and sit with it. So I sat there and closed my eyes and just felt … and tears immediately rolled down my face in the silence. I’d never done that before. Really sat with it. Anxiety was always a war with me. Something I fought. Hard. Something violent. And I was surprised at how sad the feeling was. How tired and weak it felt in the silence now that I’d given it permission to exist. She asked me where I felt it and I pointed to my tummy. She asked me what it looked like and I told her it was a swirling green and yellow blob thing. She then asked me to draw it on a piece of paper. When I finished she said “Well that’s a kidney.” Makes sense I guess.  

(Geeky side note: green and yellow are two recurring colours Shakespeare uses  to describe anxiety or pining too.  “She pined in thought, and with a green and yellow melancholy, she sat like patience on a monument smiling at grief.” - Twelfth Night. Thus ends my geek aside…)

Then she asked me: “What would you like to say to your anxiety?” 

The fight came back in me immediately. I took a deep breath and said clearly and loudly... 

“Fuck off. Just fuck off.” 

“Why?” She asked. (I figured she was being the kidney thing so I went into improv mode. You can take the girl out of acting...) 

“Because you shouldn’t be here.” I said. “I’m a smart person. And you are ruining my life. And you have no point. And you need to fuck. right. off.” 

I opened one eye to catch the lady smiling at me in that all knowing way that counsellors do which is half annoying, half comforting like a parent. 

“So do you feel better now?” she asked.

“No. Worse.” 

“I know.” She said. “We can stop now.”

What she then told me both saddened me then saved me.

“You have anxiety. And you will always have anxiety.” 

WHAAATTTT?!? 

“But see the thing is this. Your anxiety is a good thing. It was there for you when you needed it. It was a survival defence. And as long as it made sense to you, you didn’t mind it sticking around. But now you don’t feel there is a point to it, you don’t want it. And that is totally understandable. But you have to learn to listen to it. Even if you think it is pointless. Even if you think it has nothing to say.” 

I’m a sucker for images and what she said next really hit things home for me. 

“See… anxiety is like a small child. A little kid who will come up to the table while you’re at dinner with friends, or in the bath… or at the most surprising of moments and just tug at you. “Mum! Mum!” It wants your attention. It’ll start as a whisper. Now if your first reaction to that tug is at a 10…  “FUCK OFF! GO AWAY!” and you ignore it, the child won’t understand. They’ll do one of two things. They will get louder and louder until you notice them and give them the attention they crave. “MUM! MUMMMMMM!” Or they will cry and make a scene. Maybe even have a tantrum. But the one thing they will not do is GO AWAY.” 

“Balls. So what do I do then?” I asked. “You listen.” She replied. 

“When that child tugs, you stop what you’re doing and say …oh hey… there you are again… what’s up?” And you spend some time with it and close your eyes and just see if they have something to say. You let them have their moment. Sometimes they will have nothing to say. (Much like kids coming to the table “What is it darling?” …”Ummmm…. I like kittens!” (they skip off into the distance).) They’re  just content to have had your attention. And they will eventually take a seat next to you quietly. Or get on with a jig saw puzzle or something. But sometimes they will have something to say. Something important that you may need to hear. And they may stay with you an hour or even a day, or even a few, and that’s ok. But you take the child’s hand and let it walk with you. And you listen. And let it be what it needs to. Because if you don’t, that child will grow and grow until it’s a giant next to you that you are looking up at and screaming at. No, it’s not going anywhere and that’s not in your control. But you can choose how it stays with you. Hold it’s hand. IT IS SMALLER THAN YOU.” 

For whatever reason that image helped everything. I stopped fighting and started listening. (By the way, I was never really yelling at my ‘anxiety’ ... I was yelling at myself, which was never going to work. Be careful how you speak to yourself. Negative company can be toxic, especially when it’s with you 24/7.) 

And I’ve been holding this child’s hand for a long time now. People close to me have also learned to hold it’s hand with me too, which has helped me no end and I am so grateful. Because when that kid turns up at a family dinner uninvited, or takes over my face while we’re watching a film…  it makes all the difference that someone might notice and say “Are you ok Em?” or just hug me without saying anything because they know. Or maybe we exchange a knowing smile that says “here we go again” ... the way you might if a naughty toddler cousin or your weird uncle started playing up. Cos’ you can’t choose your family. And you can’t choose anxiety either. But neither are going anywhere so you gotta get along right?

But above all... no-one asks WHY? anymore. No one asks me to stop feeling what I’m feeling. And I’m learning not to ask that of myself either. Anxiety is not the enemy. It’s just a part of me that makes me brilliantly sensitive and expressive and aware as much as it can be a negative sometimes. You can’t fix anyone. You can only ever be with them. 

That’s all I got. I have to get on with my day and this has become a blog of EPIC proportions!

But I wanted to share this with you because it helped me so much. And for all the fun videos of me ‘not enjoying myself’ in ball pits and on carousels and around kittens and puppies and cheese… underneath it all is a very real thing. That so many of us deal with. And I want to say, if this is you too I get it! And I hear you. And it’s ALWAYS good to talk about this stuff. And nothing is ever too silly.

I think we have to choose to feel the pain and the fear when it comes. And to sit with it a while. And give yourself time to cry on a bad day. And time to think. And talk it out. That way you stay open. So that when happiness does sneak up on you, or laughter, or love, or joy… you can really sit with those feelings too and really feel those highs and take pleasure in the moment and in the eyes of the people around you and stop time for a second. 

Enjoy that ice-cream and that puppy and that grumpy cat! (Actually… on second thoughts don’t worry about the cat. He was a bully.) But just feel it all. Because it’s a privilege to be alive and feeling anything at all. 

We’re all going to die. Most freeing fact there is! (And this is officially the worst end to a blog. Ever. In the history of blogs.)

EMMI “We’re all going to die.” 

You’re welcome. 

Happy Tuesday folks! Looking forward to seeing you guys on my live feed for more chats. I’ll hit you with a time ASAP.

Em

xxxx

FULL VIDEO OF SCARED STUPID NOW ONLINE: https://youtu.be/hfBYW28bEAU