Adrift vs. afloat.

So there I was, going along in an ordinary overcast morning, trying to figure out what belonged on my to-do list, and how exactly I was going to approach any of those things (a topic for another day), when it landed in my email box.

The email from the client that suggested that he might be less than thrilled with how things are going right now.

I wish that I could say that I reacted in that moment with balance, confidence and aplomb.

Instead, what happened was that the air went out of my lungs - WOOSH - and I sat there barely blinking, barely breathing, feeling thoroughly outmatched by the situation at hand.

All at once I felt adrift, sure that any moment the vast ocean would open up and swallow me whole, dragging me down, down, down. My heart raced, my throat constricted, my head pounded.

(Image Credit: sxc.hu user a_kartha)

It only lasted a few minutes before I was able to begin shaking it off. I started problem-solving, thinking of scenarios that could make the situation better. I played "worst-case scenario" with myself and realized the worst-case scenario wasn't so bad. In short, I opened up my toolbox and started tackling the problem, and as I did so, I could feel the lurching, seasick anxiety feelings begin to ebb. I got back to work. The work I'm good at, with all of its challenges and problems and puzzles that I eventually do solve.

But the moment did happen to me. And I know it's happening right now to other people in cubicles and offices around the world, and at dining tables and in coffee shops too. People are sinking, unsure how they are going to make it to shore, unsure if their tired arms will be able to row them back to safety. Unsure that they are worthy of safety. Unsure that safety exists.

The hardest thing for me about suffering from anxiety is that it feels like I'm not supposed to talk about it. It's admission of a weakness. Like it makes me damaged, like everyone in my life will all make a collective "Ugh" sound if they know the truth, and assume I don't have my crap together and they can't trust me. Feeling ashamed of having anxiety has a very negative outcome - it makes me MORE ANXIOUS and makes me retreat further into myself. No good.

Today I want to work on casting off my embarrassment. I want to tell you that this thing does happen, where, just for a few moments, I'm sure I'll never live to see the sunset because I got a marginally-frustrated email. I also want to tell you that I can and do fight through it, because I just care so much about doing the right thing by the people I love.

I have friends and family who suffer from anxiety to varying degrees, and I can say for each and every one of them that deep down, they care so very much. They want to make things better, they want to help people, they want to see the good in the world triumph. They're just so darn  frustrated about the *how* that it can be overwhelming to their senses, and they question themselves, their worth, their place in this world.

I also find that they are incredibly tenacious. They fight so hard each day within themselves that when they are given a task or a cause outside of themselves to fight for, they attack it with a ferocity few can match. They can also be nimble problem-solvers; endless games of "what-if" in their own minds make them super-fast at running through scenarios and making Plans A, B, C, D, and Q.

I say that if you are fighting this hard all the time, you are probably a person I want alongside me in the daily battles we face in life. I also say that I want to be someone you can come to when you need to flap about like an insane duck, and I also want to be the person you come to when you've flapped yourself right into exhaustion and you just need rest, and tea, and endless Doctor Who episodes on Netflix. Rest a bit, we can flap again tomorrow.

Instead of feeling adrift on a vast sea, I wish that we could all join our rafts together, kind of like that Spring Break madness on Lake Havasu. I wish my boat could help keep your boat upright. I wish we could pass some beers around, enjoy the waves, and instead of feeling like we're sinking into nothingness, we could feel for awhile like we are just... afloat.