#you may remember that for years he's suffered immensely from anxiety depression and panic attacks

[storybycorey]

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[thatnerdgirl7]

OCD Master Post

Hello followers! 😊 So, I have seen some of these posts kicking around and I decided to make one of my own. It's not something I ever thought I'd do, because I don't really enjoy talking about my illness, much less sharing it on the Internet. But I feel that if I am able to share a few experiences with you, that I can help someone else get through their own struggle while simultaneously helping myself because writing down my thoughts is helpful because if they're on paper (or pixels in this case 😜) at least they're out of my head. About five or six years ago I was diagnosed with OCD and Anxiety. Actually, I diagnosed myself, since I read an article about a teenage girl who matched most of my symptoms (washing hands constantly, touching things many times, needing things to be "just right" or I couldn't continue my day etc) but I still attended therapy for CBT which helped immensely. For some reason as a wee un, I was terrified of chemicals. I think it was because I was aware of the dangers of under the sink items like bleach and what it can do to your body if you drink it. This made early secondary school hard because I had chosen biology as one of my subjects, and we had to work with chemicals on numerous occasions. What followed was: •Me literally running out of the room scared that the chemicals would spill on me or get near my mouth •Not trusting myself that I wouldn't drink said chemicals •Worrying the teachers who didn't know why I was acting like this •Prompting bullying from the other pupils •Me having to do textbook work while the others swirled liquids about in test tubes •One incident prompted a near panic attack when a pupil thinking they were being hilarious, found out I had a fear of Tippex (the correction fluid stuff) and smeared some on my jacket in front of a group of students outside the corridor •I was the reason one of my female classmates had her tippex unfairly confiscated when she wasn't even doing anything bad with it, I just felt uncomfortable Eventually, my fear of Tippex was overcome through the CBT and I learned not to act like a prat in class. But OCD is cunning like that. Once you get rid of one obsession your fear preys on something else. After the death of my grandparents, my anxiety went through the roof. You all know that scary Stephen King story It? Well, I watched the Nostalgia Critic's review of it (he was the crux of me getting my joy back because he made me laugh through a horrible time) Well after watching those clips, my Anxiety started to play havoc (and yet I LOVE horror movies so this was unusual) •Brain thinks how scary it would be to be a character in that book and have an evil clown following you •Brain thinks "Could this happen to you?" •Brain goes "Yeah actually and what if just like in the movie, you're the only one who can see him?" •Hence mind games with myself that I was hallucinating this clownish figure in my peripheral vision (despite the fact we can't see ANYTHING clearly in our peripheral vision and even if we could over active imagination/pseudo hallucinations don't necessarily mean you're crazy) •I convince myself that I must be Schizophrenic and that I was going to be committed to an asylum where they would stick needles and wires in me •Even today I can't watch a film or look at a picture of Tim Curry dressed in his clown costume for fear it might bring back an anxious episode (or as my OCD says "make you crazy." Then we come to my peak worst of the worst: My Obsession with the End. I know I'm not the first person to fear death and the inevitable end blah blah blah but from December 2013-through to 2014 I became terrified that wait for it: the UNIVERSE WOULD EXPLODE. Does that sound like a nonsense article to you? That's because that's exactly where I read it. A theory from Danish scientists speaking about how the universe may collapse into itself one day and "it could happen at any given time." Hence me searching up about outer space threats even though I knew deep down I was being very irrational. Strap in: it gets crazier •Remember in March 2014 when Russia marched into Crimea and then the rest of the world got into a huge proxy war over Ukraine? And how everyone was talking about it? Well, at school I couldn't escape talk of a WW3 and nuclear weapons. •My Anxiety went "HOLY MOLY I'VE STRUCK GOLD HERE!" •I began obsessively checking the news/any little hints and signs even Nostradamus predictions to make sure a world war wasn't starting soon (like I had any power to stop it if it did. "Duck and Cover children that'll save you from being roasted to a crisp!" •This subsided in summer until the MH317 plane was shot down over Ukraine. Then my Anxiety flared up again all throughout August, September and October. And then Winter cometh and I am a M E S S 😧 •I lost my appetite. I stopped eating because I felt like every time I did I was going to be sick. I took nothing but fluids and my weight dropped considerably to the point where my family became really concerned I was going to end up in hospital •I dropped out of school for seven weeks because I couldn't face anyone and spent most of November and December at home in a long depression where I spent most of it with my electronics confiscated (my parents couldn't trust I wouldn't look at the news) watching movies to try and cheer myself up and crying a lot. •Eventually after seeing my mum really upset and myself in the mirror at how much skinnier I was I decided to brave eating and soon my appetite returned and I resumed school •I was prescribed Setraline medication from the doctors which I found to work great for my anxiety but not for my ocd compulsions While things are MUCH better now, I still carry a lot of OCD symptoms that are noticeable on a daily basis: •Touching things a considerable ammount of times (must be certain numbers like 28, 57, 58, 64 and in some cases 84) •Having to thinking of a certain colour or topic while I do it (eg: blue, green, orange, purple, blue, green or film titles/celebrity names •Worrying about my sexuality. While I am straight as a ruler, my OCD tries to convince me that I am gay/bi. Even though I know it isn't true. Then I worry because I think if I am trying to erase through a compulsion the idea of being gay, does that make me a homophobe aka a grade A Twat? •Having scary intrusive thoughts about harming my family or children and sometimes animals and getting worried that I am an evil person if I am not immediately disgusted by it •Brain trying to convince me that if I like one thing eg a movie or an animal, I can't like both or many at once. That I must focus on one thing, and if attention draws from that thing it means I don't like it any more and have lost interest. •Replaying a part of a movie/song or rereading a paragraph a certain number of times until I'm satisfied •Worrying about stupid shit in general such as "If I ever met my favourite celebrity would they like me?" or "If I somehow become famous will the world like me or will they find me annoying?" or self-loathing, "If I wrote something would people think it good or would it make a good doorstop?" Anyway, that is all I have to say. But I feel like if I get this out I can look back on it years from now and see if anything's changed or if I'm still a head case ten years on. I hope I can help out a fellow OCD sufferer if they recognise themselves in any of the things I have listed above. Thank You!

[cosmosogler]

hello, today i slept in for 45 minutes because no matter how long i sleep i don’t seem to feel rested at all in the morning. so i got up at 9:45.

i should start practicing lucid dreaming again. might help me remember things a little better. or help me steer clear of exhausting nightmares. i guess the type of dream doesn’t matter. i could be sitting and exchanging terrible puns with a dream person all night and i’d wake up tired.

anyway i got out of bed and immediately returned to the thing i had been reading last night. i got up for lunch at around 12:30 and finished my hummus and made some soup. i only had a tiny bit of the soup though. 

also the group therapist called. insurance hasn’t even looked at the appeal yet. so we’ll have to see what happens tomorrow. i asked her to call me after 9. 

i made some backup plans in case the insurance really doesn’t come through. i should have worksheets to keep me busy between individual therapy sessions for the next two weeks either way. i feel bad, because the insurance guy said that they will “probably” cover more therapy sessions. but if i miss three in a row i’ll be discharged anyway, and also, “probably” doesn’t mean “definitely.” if i go to a session and then insurance decides NOT to cover it, my family will be down a thousand dollars, and right now with the busted car and the geriatric dogs and the various house repairs that will come with summer it just isn’t a good time to be spending money. 

lisa did say that this is for my health, and i do need treatment, and i... agree. but a thousand dollars is more than i have in my bank account (full of mom’s money). i dunno. i’ll have to make a decision tomorrow. i guess i’ll sleep on it.

i mean, i’ve already made my decision depending on what feedback i get, but, we’ll see.

then i went straight back to reading and regretted it immensely for the whole evening. i finished around 4. after that i took a look at my closet and pulled everything out all over the floor. and i cleaned my dresser and threw out a bunch of old stuff i wasn’t using any more and had an approximately 0.1% chance of needing in the future. and if i DO for some reason need a 2008 model ipod, there’s always ebay.

i talked to asher for a little bit about the stuff i was finding. it was kind of emotionally difficult. not just the bad grades. while looking through my notebooks i found, like, sketches of craig, and other people’s characters from a long time ago when i still talked to them. 

but i also found some genuinely funny doodles that i laughed at. good to know my sense of humor has remained flawless. i also found a bunch of old character designs, drafts, temporary names, aus i designed based around different fandoms... some of my characters haven’t changed significantly in appearance in basically 7 or 8 years. the only reason they look different is because my style changed over time, but their features and details are the same.

i’m... comfortable with that knowledge. i mean, there’s always room for improvement and change, and things i could streamline or flesh out, but having a solid idea of a character for so long is just, kind of nice? i don’t know if that can be classified as stagnation or not. it’s hard to look at something you made and be all “yeah, this is good enough to send out into the world.” 

i guess... with characters it might be different. like i still haven’t FINISHED the story they are supposed to be in. and over the years i’ve written for them a lot. so the permanent state of being for the characters was the fact that they were a work in progress. and i got comfortable with the idea that i could make mistakes or hash out really dumb ideas with these guys and it would be fine. so improving until i got to a place i was happy with wasn’t as hard as publishing a picture online for the public to see, and then publishing pictures frequently for years. i still see major problems with my visual art. heck, i still see major problems with my prose.

i also found some yearbooks and a scrapbook i made where i cataloged that time i was on the today show with david hasselhoff in new york city. also my tooth braces game was pretty strong.

looking at myself in the pictures got me pretty distressed though. and i went looking through a box trying to see if there was room for all these letters and i found... stuff that made me really unhappy actually. like the diary my old friend angel composed and then left on my doorstep when i asked him not to come to my house. where he detailed all his feelings and stuff. about. like, i don’t know how to describe it. one page was a love confession that i didn’t address. mostly because i was dating nic at the time, but also, because i just didn’t know what to do at all.

i don’t know why i kept the book. i guess it seemed rude to throw away the only copy of something that someone else wrote.

i also found my old diary, which i kept during a family vacation about fifteen years ago. i remember the trip pretty vividly and it was odd to see how my account of it didn’t quite line up with my memories. 

i did mention the panic attack i remember most about the trip though. i glossed over it really fast in the entry and was pretty vague about it. just said i didn’t feel good so i stopped playing my game. the diary picks up three years later when i mention that i was sad because my gramma’s best friend died. then my prose gets shot to hell the year after that because i had started posting on the internet and my ability to write like a normal person suffered drastically. the last entry is me talking about being really bummed that i had asked mom for a hug, and instead she yelled at me because i had forgotten something.

i know... i’ve always been depressed. but seeing a little kid give such a clinical description of their day through the depression lens was kind of rough. writing something down and immediately following it with “but i don’t like to think about it.” 

however i got everything organized and put away. i hope... i can start doing all the projects i have on shelves around my room. while i was putting some things in the goodwill pile i was kind of wishing i could go back and add to my experiences these little projects that i’d hidden away and forgotten about. the puzzles, the wood construction kits. that giant rollercoaster that i built in my room and left for like a year before dismantling it and never touching the box again.

but, all i got is now. so i gotta toss the things i didn’t do, and probably won’t ever do, and see if i can devote some energy to working on the stuff i kept. i don’t know if i will and that bothers me.

it is kind of nice to condense all my belongings though. i’ve got a whole empty shelf to work with now. well, a shelf and a half. i need to figure out how i want to arrange the shelves that are not in the closet. 

at least i got stuff to do if the group therapy falls through. so... either way i will win? 

less for mom to find when she next decides to snoop around in my room.

i basically only did those two things today. my sister went and got manuel’s for dinner at around 8:30. i wasn’t really hungry... i ate less than half my food. i anticipated my nausea though and got something that’s easy to reheat. and also a quart of salsa? manuel’s makes the best salsa i’ve ever had so i required a large supply. for myself and no one else. my mom said i need to ask my aunt for her salsa recipe so i can make some for myself in florida.

i was considering going through my clothes and culling some articles i no longer wear as well, but then i remembered that everything fits a lot looser than it used to so nothing’s really... uncomfortable to wear. maybe i will take a look through my shirt collection so that i have fewer things i will be tempted to drag along to florida.

i found a ton of art supplies and some old sketchbooks that i hadn’t started using yet. perhaps i could pick up a project there too. i have a lot of options. almost too many options to be able to make a quick decision. i may have to begin utilizing the to-do jar again. the anxiety jar was kind of a bad time. i haven’t touched it. 

ok, now is a good time to go to bed. i feel like there’s something else i wanted to talk about as usual but i didn’t actually do a lot of different activities today. just really long ones. 

i had kind of a heavy conversation with asher but i don’t really feel like rehashing it for the blog. it was mostly a running commentary on things i was finding in the closet anyway. i don’t need to immortalize it. 

the point is that i am still really uncomfortable with thinking about my childhood. or seeing myself as a child in pictures. i do not like the way my face looked. i do not like my writing voice. it’s pretty tryhard. i do not like the way i interacted with other people.

ha ha, as if i’m not a total tryhard now anyway. 

[alllthingsme]

A note you'll probably never read.

I haven't posted on here in a while. Mainly because of so many changes happening with moving to nyc and starting grad school. But sometimes on nights like these, it feels nice to write out what I'm feeling. To certain people even. Knowing they will probably never read it but atleast knowing its out there should they one day stumble upon it...

It's been almost a year now since my ex left me. And it was a really rough breakup for me. Already dealing with and trying to find the best treatment for my anxiety and depression, I put a lot of strain on my ex that he didn't deserve. I'm not going to pretend he didn't have his faults in the relationship because he certainly did and I'm sure he would still agree to that. But even after the breakup I just fell apart. I lost control and had a total breakdown. I harassed him. Texted and called him incessantly because I was terrified of being abandoned.... Again. I know now had I just given him the time and respected the distance he needed, the outcome may have very well been different. But you know what they say. Hindsight is 20/20. And now there's nothing I can do to change the person I ruined. And though that person was myself I'm a lot of ways, the person I really destroyed was my ex. I, being the damaged and broken (still am, but you know shatter a plate a few times and you'll never put it all back together) person that I was (am) I brought down another human being. Someone I love and care immensely about. Someone who literally and I mean LITERALLY put their entire life on hold for me. And I am so ashamed of myself for everything that I did.

This past year I've been through a lot. And had to admit things and discover things about myself that I'm really not proud of. I fell into a major depressive episode. I had panic attacks daily. I wasn't eating. I didn't sleep for 8 nights straight. I missed several days of work.Had panic attacks at work and had to be relieved so that I could go home. I was literally on a very dangerous and terrifying path to a mental breakdown. One I ultimately ended up having the night I attempted to take my own life. Thankfully my roommate came home and found me, but I hardly remember that now. It took months to recover and I still haven't. (Clearly I'm writing in my blog at 3 in the morning almost a year after he dumped my sorry ass) I ended up seeing a counselor for a while before I moved and discovered a lot about my mental health. More precisely my diagnosis. I also had several visits to my primary care physician to trial and error about 6 different psychiatric drugs before finding the combination and cocktail if you will that has worked most effectively. (The one I'm on now... One mood stabilizer, one antidepressant, and one sedative later and here we are--- all better right?) that in itself was truly draining and exhausting. Switching and weaning off one med and on to another. Going from one side effect to others. I have never felt so emotionally drained as I did when I was trying to find the right medicine.

However, more importantly I began to really understand why I was feeling and acting and behaving the way that I was. I later came to find out that along with my anxiety and depression I have a borderline personality disorder. Which didn't surprise me because it's hereditary and my grandmother had it as well. Including the others. But with it I finally found the answer to the irrational and terrifying behaviors I hardly remember or have an recollection of doing. On the night I attempted suicide, I got off work and drove (hysterically crying and having a panic attack) to my exes house calling him on the way and begging him to talk to me and see me. And to this day I don't remember driving there or back. I don't remember getting home. I don't remember doing any of it. I remember parts of it as if I were watching someone else do it. But not as myself. I remember feeling like I was watching myself open the bottle of trazadone and throwing back a few thousand milligrams. I remember it as if I were watching a movie. a bystander screaming at me to stop. Like I had lost all control of my own body. I guess I heard myself screaming though because that's when I immediately stuck my finger down my throat to try and throw up every pill I had swallowed. I began to vomit and dropped the rest of the bottle in the toilet before passing out from hypervenalting in the bathroom floor.

To this day it remains one of the most hauntingly terrifying moments of my entire life and I don't even remember it as if it happened to me. I remember it as if I were watching it happen to someone else. Which I would later understand to be symptom of a dissociative personality disorder. Also a symptom of BPD which now all makes sense. Dissociation occurs when your mind separates itself from your physical being and detaches from reality. It's a coping mechanism used by people who undergo serious trauma in life. As a way to protect themselves by detaching from the moment and seeing the events unfold from a third person perspective so as to not be the direct victim. Given my childhood emotional, physical and sexual abuse... I guess that now all makes sense. It's something I later realized I experienced during my severe panic attacks. A loss of control. Impulsive and obsessive behavior free to inhabit my body while I was temporarily "out for lunch- be back when the trauma is over".

It's truly terrifying to experience and also quite shameful. It has caused a lot of havoc in my life and made me realize how much I am to blame for so many fights and arguments. And breakups. Abandonments. Which brings me to the real point of this post- acknowledging the role I played in tearing apart the relationship I lay here at 3:30 in the morning crying over despite the fact that it ended a year ago.

I was controlling. Manipulative and just all around a really shitty boyfriend. I have/had deep rooted insecurities that constantly made me feel as if I wasn't good enough or that I was going to be left or abandoned again (guess I was right). I constantly feared he would find someone better or realize that he already had it with his best friend and didn't need me anymore.

Because of that, I ruined everything. I ruined me. Us. And him... Him. I did that. This man put his life on hold for me. Put off his dream of moving to New York so that he could stay behind and be with me. Take care of me and start a relationship with me. He did all of that for me and I was too fucking blind to see it. Though I wanted to support and push him to move he wouldn't. He stayed for me and then when everything fell apart, I left. He slipped up and made stupid decisions to which he is now suffering from... He lost his security. His apartment in Manhattan. He lost his way and it was and is... All my fault. And I am so torn up about it because everyday I just want to drive down, throw his shit in the car and drive him up here where he belongs and I can't. There's nothing I can do now. He won't talk to me. He won't answer me. He wants absolutely nothing to do with me to the point that I can't even reach out to him without the fear of being charged with harassment. I failed him. And us and I dropped all the pieces of our relationship into his lap and expected him to fix it all without ever taking 2 seconds to think about him and what he needed.

He later confessed that he never felt like he could share anything with me because I always changed the subject to myself. I used to hate that he wouldn't open up to me because it made me feel like he didn't care enough to. I could feel him drifting apart in the final months. He got less intimate. He stopped caring as much. He wouldn't hold me in bed. He wouldn't kiss me as long or hug me as hard. I slowly felt him slipping through the cracks of my fingers like sand, without ever once trying to tighten my grip and take initiative to turn things around. Instead, I made them worse. And continued doing so after he left.

Now. I'm in grad school. I'm in way over my head with a double masters program at a prestigious world renowned university that I am terrified I'll fail out of. Living in a city I love without the one who made me fall in love with it. 500 miles away from a man I haven't seen in months but still find myself crying over at 3:30 in the morning on a Saturday night. And on top of that, he is stuck in the shit hole town I handcuffed him to and feeling like a complete failure because of my Bullshit.

I posted something a while back out of anger. That I never should have said. Let alone post. I called him out. On everything. The mistakes he'd made. The mistakes I had made but had blamed on him. I called him names I never meant. And worst of all. I called him a failure for not moving away and making it to the city. A dream he's had for years. A dream he put on hold, to be there and support me while I chased after mine. And I called him a failure for that.... Yeah. No wonder he doesn't want anything to do with me. I don't blame him. And while he didn't know it at the time, I posted it to my blog but not publicly. It was a private post I had written just to vent. Which was suppose to be the extent of it until I spiraled into a rage of anger and sadness that led to me sending him the post directly via email. I don't know why I did it. I don't know why I wanted to hurt him that way. Because he didn't and never deserved it.

He doesn't know it but every now and then I lose what little self control I've developed and scroll through his tumblr. Often times just to see how his mood is that day and if he seems to be okay. Because I worry about him so much. Even still today. Sometimes there will be a post with a hash tag or comment that I almost guarantee Is about me. Sometimes I wonder if he knows I do it and post certain things on purpose. Who knows?

I guess part of me secretly hopes he does the same. And that one day he'll stumble across this post and read it and see the apology I so badly want to give him in person. An apology for so many things that I'd never deserve forgiveness for but would love the opportunity to atleast tell him. For the way that I acted both during. And after our relationship. The way I handled it. The breakup. The way I failed to respect him afterwards and give him space and time. The way I didn't listen. The way I selfishly did what I wanted with out ever thinking about how it would affect him or what he specifically wanted. I've since tried to do those things. I've accepted and acknowledged the fact that I'll probably never hear or see from him again. And never get the chance to say I'm sorry the way he deserves. Not that any amount of apology can make up for the turmoil and emotional damage I have caused. And not that I even deserve the chance to apologize. But maybe one day? Right. Probably not but I can't help but hang on to a little part of me that hopes I'm wrong.

Tyler, If you ever read this I want you to know that I am sorry. Truly and gunienly sorry for everything. I had something extraordinary right in front of me and I took it for granted. I lost site of what I had and I let it get away from me. I was emotionally abusive and will never forgive myself for the pain that I caused. I want you to know that I blame myself every day for the fact that you aren't where you wanted to be In life right now. Had it not been for me, I know you'd be in New York right now. Probably with some man who would have made you twice as happy as I ever could have and chasing your dream and your career. I know it doesn't do any good to say these things now but I want you to know that I am sorry I derailed your train.

But I know you enough to know that despite your fears, your hesitations, you'll find a way. You will make it out of Radford. You will move To new York. You'll slowly but surely work your way towards every dream you've ever had. You'll meet some great guy along the way and he will be truly blessed to have you. I just hope he knows that and doesn't make the same mistakes that I did. I hope the road gets easier for you. I hope you start to realize the beauty and worth in yourself that so many other people do. Because you deserve it more than anyone. You are more than meets the surface and although our journey together didn't last, I'm so glad that I met you and that you took me on it. Meeting you was one of the best things to ever happen to me and is a big part of why I am where I am today. And I'll never be able to thank you or give that back to you like you deserve. But for now I'll continue to think of you every time I pass a "2 bros pizza". When I'm sitting at the bar and look out the window. I'll remember shivering in front of you when you took me outside and told me you loved me for the first time. When I go to boxers, I'll remember you taking me there. Everytime I past Amsterdam, I'll think of you. When I get off the Turnpike and see the toll lane for "ticket" customers, I'll remember how you accidentally drove into a booth that was closed and had no one to hand your ticket to. I'll remember all of those things as I live here to constantly remind myself that you are what drove me to chase my dreams here. And the Hopeless romantic in me will always hope that one day, after you've moved up here, we will run into each other on the subway or downtown somewhere and we can try to work through our past. The Hopeless Romantic in me hopes we can one day work through it all and rebuild a life together because nothing would make me happier than the chance to give you back what you deserve.

I know realistically that will probably never happen but for you it will with someone else and they will be truly blessed and lucky to have you. I hope you know that I never meant to hurt you. I know you don't want to hear from me so I'll continue to keep my distance but just know that even still today...

I love you.

[yes-dal456]

Will My Kid Develop Anxiety Because Of Me?

When I was a child, my mom explained how a neighbor of ours was afraid of buttons. She couldn't select clothing with buttons and found it hard to even say the word. I remember thinking this was a really weird complaint, and wondered what could’ve possibly led to this unusual fear of something so ordinary.

My mom went on to describe an incident where a sewing box had fallen onto the floor while she was having tea with our neighbor. A collection of buttons scattered across the floor and the poor woman experienced a panic attack.

A few years later, the neighbor’s daughter, a friend of mine, shared she was also afraid of buttons. As a young girl, I imagined their phobia was airborne and could be contagious. I just couldn’t understand how someone could be scared of something as innocuous as a button.

Understanding anxiety, myself

Other people’s fears can often seem strange if we don’t share them. But what I have learned, along with 40 million other Americans, after facing anxiety at varying degrees, is that the fear is real. I, too, started to develop anxiety in my 30s. At first it was very manageable. It manifested as “nerves,” and appeared as a stomachache before important events or meetings. This progressed until I was feeling unwell before any social interaction, including simple activities like taking a taxi, going out by myself, or simply making a phone call. But the degree of my discomfort was never enough to stop me from going places or socializing. Yet it meant that I was uncomfortable a lot. I now manage these symptoms by giving myself enough time to get ready, doing deep breathing and relaxation exercises, and making sure I get enough sleep.

But since becoming a parent, I have struggled with knowing if I should allow my child to see how much normal daily activities can sometimes stress me out. I have trouble finding the balance between showing my little one that I am only human — that I often find life anxiety-inducing — and presenting a strong, resilient role model for him to imitate.

He is still young enough that I can explain away any unusual behavior on my part by claiming I just don’t feel well, or that I need a rest. But as he gets older I’m sure he may start to notice that I’m sometimes frozen by my worries.

I desperately want to help him avoid developing similar anxieties simply because he is mirroring my behavior. But I’m also aware that perhaps it would be healthy for him to view me as a real person and not a superhero. If he ever feels anxious himself, it may help him to know that I, too, have suffered, and I am a sympathetic and understanding confidante to share his feelings with.

Should parents share their anxiety with children?

Although my natural inclination is to withhold my feelings from my son in an attempt to spare him the truth that I sometimes don’t have it all together, there is some research to suggest that such an approach may be harmful to me and our relationship.

Laura England, a psychotherapist from Ottawa, Canada, believes that showing our children that we sometimes suffer, but more importantly showing them how we manage our emotions, is “the greatest gift we could give them.” However, she does note that fear, in particular, can be passed down from adult to child. She advises parents to talk about coping mechanisms and self-soothing activities so that children see their parents are active in their own treatment and are not victims of their condition. She suggests parents experiencing anxiety aim to describe the process, and model their conversation in the following way:

“I was feeling scared in the moment about X, and my fear got the better of me. I plan to remind myself next time to breathe deeply to help calm myself down.”

“Parents’ attempts to suppress negative and amplify positive emotions during child care can detract from their well-being and high-quality parent-child bonds,” says England.

You are not alone

Anxiety conditions are among the most common mental illnesses in the United States, according to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America.

Anxiety conditions are among the most common mental illnesses in the United States, according to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America. Anxiety affects every one of us at some point in our lives, and is a normal response to the ups and downs of the daily grind. Our neighbor’s fear of buttons may have seemed peculiar to us, or even a little ridiculous, but the effect it had on her was immense. What’s worse is that mental health issues, including anxiety, can be worsened by the stigma that often accompanies them. By talking to one another, which includes parents being sensitively honest with their children about their feelings, their limitations, and their varying emotions, we can help to break down these communication barriers and create judgment-free spaces where we can all get the help we need to cope with anything life throws at us.

Fiona Tapp is a freelance writer and educator. Her work has been featured on The Washington Post, HuffPost, New York Post, The Week, SheKnows, and others. She is an expert in the field of Pedagogy, a teacher of 13 years, and Master’s degree holder in Education. She writes about a variety of topics including parenting, education, and travel. Fiona is a Brit abroad and when she’s not writing, she enjoys thunderstorms and making Play-Doh cars with her toddler. You can find out more at Fionatapp.com or tweet her @fionatappdotcom.

The original article appeared on Healthline.com

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Will My Kid Develop Anxiety Because Of Me?

When I was a child, my mom explained how a neighbor of ours was afraid of buttons. She couldn't select clothing with buttons and found it hard to even say the word. I remember thinking this was a really weird complaint, and wondered what could’ve possibly led to this unusual fear of something so ordinary.

My mom went on to describe an incident where a sewing box had fallen onto the floor while she was having tea with our neighbor. A collection of buttons scattered across the floor and the poor woman experienced a panic attack.

A few years later, the neighbor’s daughter, a friend of mine, shared she was also afraid of buttons. As a young girl, I imagined their phobia was airborne and could be contagious. I just couldn’t understand how someone could be scared of something as innocuous as a button.

Understanding anxiety, myself

Other people’s fears can often seem strange if we don’t share them. But what I have learned, along with 40 million other Americans, after facing anxiety at varying degrees, is that the fear is real. I, too, started to develop anxiety in my 30s. At first it was very manageable. It manifested as “nerves,” and appeared as a stomachache before important events or meetings. This progressed until I was feeling unwell before any social interaction, including simple activities like taking a taxi, going out by myself, or simply making a phone call. But the degree of my discomfort was never enough to stop me from going places or socializing. Yet it meant that I was uncomfortable a lot. I now manage these symptoms by giving myself enough time to get ready, doing deep breathing and relaxation exercises, and making sure I get enough sleep.

But since becoming a parent, I have struggled with knowing if I should allow my child to see how much normal daily activities can sometimes stress me out. I have trouble finding the balance between showing my little one that I am only human — that I often find life anxiety-inducing — and presenting a strong, resilient role model for him to imitate.

He is still young enough that I can explain away any unusual behavior on my part by claiming I just don’t feel well, or that I need a rest. But as he gets older I’m sure he may start to notice that I’m sometimes frozen by my worries.

I desperately want to help him avoid developing similar anxieties simply because he is mirroring my behavior. But I’m also aware that perhaps it would be healthy for him to view me as a real person and not a superhero. If he ever feels anxious himself, it may help him to know that I, too, have suffered, and I am a sympathetic and understanding confidante to share his feelings with.

Should parents share their anxiety with children?

Although my natural inclination is to withhold my feelings from my son in an attempt to spare him the truth that I sometimes don’t have it all together, there is some research to suggest that such an approach may be harmful to me and our relationship.

Laura England, a psychotherapist from Ottawa, Canada, believes that showing our children that we sometimes suffer, but more importantly showing them how we manage our emotions, is “the greatest gift we could give them.” However, she does note that fear, in particular, can be passed down from adult to child. She advises parents to talk about coping mechanisms and self-soothing activities so that children see their parents are active in their own treatment and are not victims of their condition. She suggests parents experiencing anxiety aim to describe the process, and model their conversation in the following way:

“I was feeling scared in the moment about X, and my fear got the better of me. I plan to remind myself next time to breathe deeply to help calm myself down.”

“Parents’ attempts to suppress negative and amplify positive emotions during child care can detract from their well-being and high-quality parent-child bonds,” says England.

You are not alone

Anxiety conditions are among the most common mental illnesses in the United States, according to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America.

Anxiety conditions are among the most common mental illnesses in the United States, according to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America. Anxiety affects every one of us at some point in our lives, and is a normal response to the ups and downs of the daily grind. Our neighbor’s fear of buttons may have seemed peculiar to us, or even a little ridiculous, but the effect it had on her was immense. What’s worse is that mental health issues, including anxiety, can be worsened by the stigma that often accompanies them. By talking to one another, which includes parents being sensitively honest with their children about their feelings, their limitations, and their varying emotions, we can help to break down these communication barriers and create judgment-free spaces where we can all get the help we need to cope with anything life throws at us.

Fiona Tapp is a freelance writer and educator. Her work has been featured on The Washington Post, HuffPost, New York Post, The Week, SheKnows, and others. She is an expert in the field of Pedagogy, a teacher of 13 years, and Master’s degree holder in Education. She writes about a variety of topics including parenting, education, and travel. Fiona is a Brit abroad and when she’s not writing, she enjoys thunderstorms and making Play-Doh cars with her toddler. You can find out more at Fionatapp.com or tweet her @fionatappdotcom.

The original article appeared on Healthline.com

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

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