A personal story on the reality of living with anxiety. With unfiltered honesty and a touch of humour, AWARE's Courtney shares her personal experiences, from battling intrusive thoughts and self-doubt to navigating everyday challenges affected by her anxiety disorder. She challenges misconceptions and stigmas surrounding mental health while emphasising the power of self-compassion and building a support network.

Hi, my name is Courtney, and I live with a generalised anxiety disorder (and I definitely did overthink how best to start this blog, do I start with a hi or hello? What seems more approachable? I have already replaced hello with hi five times before settling on hi).

I now know that having an anxiety disorder means that how I think, feel, react, and process information can be distorted or altered. Before understanding that I lived with anxiety, I had just accepted that my thoughts and feelings were normal.

It was normal to count my shopping total before getting to the till to ensure that I had the correct money to give to the cashier and limit the chances for awkward conversation (thank goodness for contactless as my grocery bills have since got bigger than a Tesco meal deal). It was normal to check my PE kit at school six times in a row for the same items because my socks or trainers may have suddenly disappeared within minutes of the previous check. Feeling like I needed to vomit the night before any exam, appointment, or anything outside of the daily routine was normal. It was normal to click in and out of apps on my phone (even the calculator app if I had no data) to look busy so that others would avoid speaking directly to me. It was normal for me to be over-prepared by bringing everything but the kitchen sink to work to avoid having to ask someone for something directly (I still haven’t grown out of this habit entirely as I did bring a tape measure to work for this very reason). It was normal to use any other method of communication to avoid speaking to someone over the phone, even walking 20-30 minutes to speak with someone in person. I don’t really understand why my brain rationalises that speaking with someone in person is less frightening than speaking to someone over the phone, but that is what my brain decided. It is still normal for me to attempt to teach myself something before asking for help to avoid inconveniencing someone else’s time, which I know seems ridiculous. I have created 1000s of other little habits and behaviours that my brain has internalised as normal to avoid bringing attention to myself and limit potential negative interactions.

These intrusive thoughts and feelings would impact me in different ways.

I can be my own worst critic, and all the reviews are zero stars. There are days when nothing about me ever feels as if it is good enough. I constantly compare myself to others, belittling and discounting my achievements and accomplishments.

I can be my own fortune teller, and all the tarot cards are bleak. I constantly try to predict what will happen next or get stuck in this continual cycle of ‘what ifs’ as I spiral, trying to ensure I make the best possible choice.

I can be my own judge, and the sentence is a lifetime of not doing things I enjoy out of fear of what others might think - with a generous helping of feeling breathless and wanting to hide in my own skin. Don't wear that dress because it doesn't suit your body type. Don't laugh so loud because others may find it annoying. Don't order that meal because others probably think I should have a salad instead. Don't share an opinion on anything in case others think it's weird. Don't share how you feel in case others think I'm being dramatic. Don't do anything.

When I was growing up, it was normal for people around me to minimise these thoughts and feelings. People would tell me to stop being so sensitive or to stop being a drama queen, I shouldn't make mountains out of molehills, or I should give over. I tried, but these overwhelming and catastrophising thoughts and feelings were not a tap I could turn off. So, I stopped sharing my anxieties with others. Instead, I tried to push them down and bottle them up. The problem with trying to bottle them up is that my bottle could only hold so much, and eventually the lid no longer fits. The self-doubt about who I am as a person, the negative emotions about how others perceive me, and the fears about the consequences of my potential actions and inaction all pour out. I can try to fight it. I can force the lid closed, but ultimately the bottle starts to crack.

When the bottle eventually bursts, I feel completely vulnerable. My brain becomes overwhelmed by negative emotions and thoughts, and all I want to do is hide away and drown out everything, including myself. I no longer want to torture myself with thoughts about who I am, how I look, and what others think of me. I no longer want to catastrophise about the future or overthink the past, as I want time to stand still. My body becomes exhausted as the mental gymnastics caused by my anxiety finally claim its toll. All I want in those moments is to shut the door, close the blinds, and pull the covers over my head. Before I knew that I struggled with anxiety, these periods of exhaustion made me feel like a failure as I wasn't strong enough or couldn't cope.

I’m not a failure, and I’m not weak.

I'm stronger knowing that the negative thoughts and feelings are not normal, and I find strength in identifying them as altered forms of thinking. I find strength in treating others with empathy and compassion, as that is how I wish to be treated. If I can think, "wow that person is wearing something lovely today," then it creates the possibility that I exist in a world not full of negativity and judgement but one where people may think positively about me. I've found strength in sharing my thoughts and feelings with others who struggle with anxiety. I can laugh at some of the little habits we have in common and know that they get it. I've found strength in having a great support network; an encouraging partner who celebrates my successes with me, two incredible little dogs who force me to live and enjoy the present moment (you try having catastrophising thoughts when they want their walk), and a fantastic circle of friends with whom I can share the things I enjoy with without fear of judgement.

It's not always linear. Some days are worse than others; my anxiety can feel overwhelming, and the molehills truly feels as enormous as Mount Everest. However, I've found strength in calling out anxiety for what it is, creating an empathetic and compassion mindset, and surrounding myself with people who understand and help me find joy. So that sometimes the Mount Everest of anxiety becomes a molehill once more.